Hi, everyone, how's lockdown treating you all? It's messed up my sleeping pattern like crazy, but I get a little more time to write, so I'm grateful for that.
Kyle, the Pageant King
Chapter 7
It had been four months since his Supreme win, and Kyle was absolutely exhausted. He'd not won any major titles since the National Beautiful Heart pageant, and not for want of trying.
At that moment, he was trying to catch a quick nap before evening practise began. On top of the pageants, and the preparation, Kyle was now a regular at the salon; he had his weekly lessons with Tony, his basketball lessons, plus getting measured for clothing, photographs, not to mention keeping on top of his schoolwork, and Kyle felt like he was spreading himself a bit thin.
Sheila wanted everything perfect; with perfection came the titles, she told him.
Too soon, Kyle found himself in the garage, ready to rehearse.
"Are you ready, bubbe?" Sheila asked, hand hovering over the play button.
"Sure," was all Kyle said, getting into place.
"Remember, we're gonna start aiming for the high titles, okay?"
"I know."
"Once we get there, then we're there, you know? Once we reach those titles that give cash prizes; that's where we wanna be. Now, get ready." Kyle set his smile in place as Sheila pressed play, and announced him. "Kyle, remember to look at the judges; look at them."
"I am."
"No, you're not; you've got to look at the centre judge; look in their eyes."
Kyle, too tired to argue, only nodded.
As per usual, he thought of things he enjoyed, to make his smile seem genuine. It worked, as Sheila couldn't fault that, but she always seemed to find some other area where he needed to improve. "Head up!" she ordered, watching her son like a hawk, Kyle complying. "Remember, keep the shoulders back. All right," she paused the music, and Kyle stopped. "Right, listen, we're gonna have to come up with some signals," she told him. "On stage, I can't shout out to you what you're doing wrong, so signals with help."
"Okay, Ma."
"Right," Sheila said after a while. "When I do this," she flattened her hand, and placed it under her chin, "that means you lift your chin slightly. Don't make it too obvious; it's gotta be subtle. And when I do this," she smiled widely, and pointed to her cheeks, "that means your smile's slipping. Again, make it subtle; they'll take points off if it looks fake."
Kyle nodded once again. "Al' right, let's do it one more time, and then we'll work on Casual Wear."
"What's the one this weekend called again?"
"It's the America's Showcase of Beauty in Atlanta, and next month, we have the National Citrus Pageant in Florida."
"A.. citrus pageant?"
"Mm-hm," Sheila nodded. "It's a big one, with good prizes. It's a natural one, though, so no make-up allowed, so you make sure you continue with your skincare routine, okay, bubbe?"
"Okay, Ma."
"Sheila, are you sure this is.. good for Kyle?" asked Gerald that evening, when the kids had gone to bed.
"Of course it is!" she said. "You should have seen how happy he was when he won the Supreme title."
"But apart from a crown, what is it really giving him?"
"Confidence; I keep telling you. It's improving his self-esteem."
"But I haven't seen any changes in his confidence levels, or his self-esteem."
"Well, it doesn't happen right away, you know!" she said sharply. "These things take time."
"But you've been doing it for over a year! You've sunk, I don't know how much money into this, and for what? A couple of cheap plastic trophies?"
"You don't get it," she shook her head. "You don't win big right away; no one does. He's working hard, and pretty soon, he'll start winning the kind of titles that award cash."
"That's not the point -"
"You're the one who brought up money."
"These sort of contests aren't doing anything for his self-esteem," said Gerald. "How is letting a group of strangers judge him by the way he looks, helping his confidence?" Selfishly, he wanted Kyle to quit the pageants because, well, it made him feel weird to see his son wearing makeup and posing. It was wrong. Boys didn't wear makeup. Although their town was close-knit, they were also close-minded. If anyone found out about what his kid was doing, they would never let him hear the end of it. He'd be the lawyer with a fairy for a son.
"They do help; if you actually came along, you'd see it."
"I think they're more for you." Gerald regretted it as soon as he said it, but it was too late to take it back.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Her eyes narrowed.
"Nothing; I was just saying -"
"You were saying that I was doing this for me? That I don't care about my son? I care way too much; that's why I'm doing everything possible to make him happy! Kyle asked to do this, don't forget. If it makes him feel better about himself, is that so bad?"
"Well... no, but -"
"Then it's settled. Kyle and I will continue with the pageants, and you will keep your nose out." Sheila nodded curtly, rose, and went upstairs.
~ X ~
"Dude, you really need a break," Stan said, when Kyle arrived at the bus stop. "You look exhausted."
"I do?" Kyle looked to the ground self-consciously.
"Yeah."
"Thanks." Kyle managed to smirk. "Don't worry; as soon as I start winning big, then I can relax."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, course."
"Okay, then." They waited companionably for a few moments. "So... do you have any more coming up?"
"Yeah. A big one this weekend in Atlanta."
"What's it called?"
"I can't remember," Kyle admitted.
"You look like shit, Kahl," came Cartman's gleeful voice as he waddled up to them, grinning widely.
"Stop smiling, Cartman; your mouth will never be as wide as your ass," Kyle snarled.
"Ay! What's your problem? Oh, I know! You were up all night with explosive diarrhoea, weren't you?"
"You been spying on him?" grinned Kenny, joining the group. Cartman pulled a face.
"You couldn't pay me enough to spy on that boring piece of crap there!" He pointed at Kyle, who only groaned, filled with relief when the bus turned up.
As he climbed on, Kyle caught sight of his reflection in the window. Much as he hated to admit it, Cartman was right; he did look awful. He was paler than usual, and had dark circles under his eyes. He felt a twinge of – was it disgust? – at the sight of himself, as his mother's words ran through his head. 'You need the make-up.' She was right.
After school, Kyle was right back to practise, as he couldn't afford to be rusty, or so his mother said. He didn't think he could handle competing for much longer, and that was why he had to give it his all. Like he said, the sooner he won, the sooner he could stop.
"Come on, energy!" she called, as Kyle ran through his casual wear routine. "You need to keep that energy up!"
Kyle focused on focusing and smiling on the imaginary judges, while Sheila called out orders. He didn't bother answering her; that meant he wasn't focusing. "Right, I wanna run something by you," she said, when he had finished.
"What is it?" He took a seat.
"I was thinking that we could turn the spare room into a trophy room."
Kyle, who had been taking a sip of water, froze.
"Is that.. necessary? I mean, can't we keep them in your room?"
"We have been, but I'm running out of space. Have you forgotten how much you've won already? I think having your own display room would be great. You'd like that, wouldn't you, bubbe?"
"I suppose."
"You suppose?" she looked down at him disapprovingly. "You don't want to display all the crowns, trophies, sashes, and all the prizes that we worked so hard for? Or did you just want me to toss them in the trash?"
"No."
"Well, that's what it seems like to me."
"No, a – a trophy room would be cool, Ma," said Kyle, and Sheila smiled. As she walked away, Kyle face palmed; he was in too deep now, and he knew it. He didn't think there was any going back now.
Kyle yawned as he sat in a hotel ballroom in Atlanta, waiting for his age group to compete. He was sat on one of the chairs as he watched the eight-year-old girls compete in the Beauty section.
"At least we've only got this today," Jake leaned over and whispered in his ear, and Kyle nodded. He'd met Jake a few pageants previous, and they'd become friends.
"Yeah, at least we can do stuff afterwards," he said quietly, resisting the urge to scratch his combed, sprayed hair.
Just as before, the ballroom of the hotel was packed, and the audience was cheering loudly for every contestants. Kyle now expected to see parents with badges and T-shirts with their child's face on, and parents miming their kid's routine behind the judges, and just generally a lot of eagerness, and excitement, and tension. It was just what was expected on the National circuit.
"Kyle, get ready, bubbe," said Sheila, and Kyle and Jake slid off their chairs, and lined up by the side of the stage.
Even at Nationals, there still weren't that many boys competing; the most Kyle had ever seen was seven in his group, including himself, and so it was easy to recognise fellow competitors, and make friends. "Remember the chin; keep it up, and keep the shoulders back, okay? Keep one eye on me, and watch out for my signals, and remember to keep it subtle."
"Okay," said Kyle, as the emcee called for them to line up. He dropped his jaw, and settled into his 'pageant smile,' as he stepped onto stage with the rest of his group.
To his dismay, he was standing next to Alex, one of the best competitors Kyle had ever seen. He was an endless bundle of energy, and played right into the judges hands, winking, bowing, and blowing kisses. His heart sank; he'd never beaten Alex before, and now, he honestly just wanted to quit and go home.
Nonetheless, he smiled out at the judges, letting his mouth hang open, when they had to turn around.
"Please welcome, with a nice round of applause, number two – Kyle Broflovski!" announced the emcee, and the audience clapped and cheered, as Kyle stepped onstage for the beauty round. He smiled brightly, keeping his eyes on the judges, as he walked over to the second X. His turns were smooth, his poses natural, and it was clear to see that he had improved a lot. Kyle was sure to keep his peripheral vision focused on his mother, who was standing behind the judges table, keeping an eye out for her signals.
He saw Sheila place one hand under her chin, and he lifted it slowly and slightly, the way he had been taught. Keeping his smile bright, Kyle salute and pointed to the judges. "Okay, that was contestant number two; Kyle Broflovski! Thank you, Kyle!"
The audience applauded and cheered, and Kyle stepped off stage, letting his smile drop.
"Well done, bubbe," said Sheila, smiling at him. "I think you're finally getting the hang of this."
"Thanks, Ma," Kyle tried not to let his surprise show on his face. "Hey, since I'm done for today, can I go see my friends?"
"All right," she relented, "but don't leave the ballroom."
"Aw, okay," he said, before darting into the crowd. He soon became aware of cameras, not small video camcorders like many of the parents used, but huge movie-type cameras, with external lights and microphones. There was a small team of men and women nearby, all of them wearing identical black shirts, and the cameraman had a pair of headphones on. Kyle stopped walking and stared at them, wondering who they were filming. They didn't seem to be focusing on any one particular contestant, and so he shrugged it off, and continued walking through the crowd, soon spotting his friend.
"What are all these cameras for?" he asked Jake, as they lounged on the floor near the back of the room.
"Oh, didn't you know? They film "Toddlers and Tiaras" at this pageant," said Jake, and Kyle looked up at him in horror. Admittedly, he had thought it was an overzealous family supporting their kid.
"What?!" Oh, God, this was bad; this was very bad. "Toddlers and Tiaras" was Cartman's favourite show; if he spotted Kyle... he couldn't bear to think of it. "They don't film us, do they?"
"No," said Jake, and Kyle relaxed slightly. "Usually, they call you, and ask if you wanna be on there. They do film the whole pageant, and just use the bits they want."
"Hope they don't use us." Kyle looked over at the cameras apprehensively. "How do you know this? Were you on it?"
"Yeah, about two years ago. It was all right; they were only with us about a week," Jake shrugged, leaning back on his hands as he watched the competition. "Worst part was school, though; kids teased me."
"That's why I'll never go on the show," said Kyle determinedly. Jake only nodded politely, biting back what he longed to say; 'I've seen your mom; if she says yes, then you're going on the show.'
"It was okay," Jake confirmed, "they didn't do much of that crazy editing; worst they did was use all that dramatic music, before the competition, when I was getting ready to go on stage."
"Still, they shouldn't do that at all. It's a kind of clickbait, you know, using angles and music to make people keep watching; it's wrong."
"Yeah, I didn't like it, either, but it's not like there was anything I could do about it."
"Couldn't you have told your mom you didn't want to?"
"I could've, but I wanted to be on the show."
At this, Kyle turned to look at Jake, surprised.
"You did? Why?"
"Well, I wanted my friends to see what it was like; they'd never come and watch, you know, and they think that we're basically dressed up like little girls, and things like that. And I thought it'd be cool to be on TV," he admitted.
"Fair enough," Kyle nodded. "Do you think it was worth it?" he asked, and Jake paused.
"I guess," was all he said. Kyle said nothing, and continued to watch the competition, glancing over at the cameras every so often.
The following day, Kyle and Sheila were back in the ballroom, ready to compete in the Swimwear category. Kyle had yet another new outfit; white swimming trunks, patterned with green and orange palm leaves, and white flip flops. His hair was curly, but still styled neatly.
He tugged on the waistband, trying to be sure that it hid the scar on his back from his kidney transplant. He felt rather exposed and self-conscious.
Before he was called to the stage, Kyle pulled up his shorts once again, before putting on his smile.
"Contestant number two, Kyle Broflovski!" called the emcee, and Kyle stepped on stage. He felt lucky that he didn't really have a proper routine; he just had to strike a pose and a twirl on each X. He did have to walk a bit faster, as his music had an upbeat tempo. As usual, he kept his eyes on the judges, smiling widely. As he walked bouncily down the runway, he subconsciously held his breath, hoping the judges wouldn't notice his scar. It wasn't the fact that he may get marked down, it was the fact that it could be seen, and he didn't want attention drawn to it. Because then they would ask why he had it, and then they would ask why he needed surgery; a kidney transplant, to be precise. And then they would ask why he was diabetic. It was the same old thing every time. Lots of people looked at him weird when they discovered he had diabetes; like it was catching.
Nonetheless, he grinned at the judges, before turning on the spot and facing them again. He clenched his fist under his chin, and tilted his head slightly before making his way back up the catwalk. On the last X, Kyle held out his arms, and turned once again, smiling at the judges. "Give it up for Kyle Broflovski; thank you, Kyle!"
Kyle then stepped off the stage, the sound of applause and cheering ringing in his ears.
"That was okay," said Sheila, as the two of them walked to the back of the ballroom. "It was your first time with this category, so it's nothing more practise can't fix. Right, you'd better get changed for Casual Wear."
Kyle nodded, and then ran back up to the hotel room to change, Sheila hurrying along behind him.
Later that evening, Kyle and Sheila were back in the ballroom, ready for crowning to begin. Kyle was back in his tux, and he was sat at the front with Jake, and few other friends. Sheila was sitting with Jake's mum, and they both stopped chattering as the 7 – 9 boys made their way to the stage. Sheila still thought Kyle was the best looking one up there; even if she wasn't his mother, she would think that. Again, he was the only redhead, which definitely made him stand out.
As per usual, the smaller, divisional prizes were awarded first. Kyle raised his hand as his name was called, and he was given a small trophy for "Best Smile." Jake won "Best Personality," and the adorable Alex won King, much to no one's surprise.
When the boys awards had been given out, they left the stage, and Kyle continued sitting with Jake, chatting quietly. He knew his mother was disappointed with him; he knew she expected him to do better at this point in time. But, the scoring was down to the judges, and their opinion was their opinion.
"Okay, ladies and gentleman, we're going to start awarding our Supreme titles, are you ready?" called the emcee, and the crowd cheered wildly. "Okay, your 0 – 5 Novice Supreme is... Kayla Leigh!"
Kyle applauded along with the rest as four-year-old Kayla toddled on up to the stage and was crowned. She stood next to her five foot high trophy, and was handed $100 in cash.
There came a steady stream of winners, ranked from lowest to highest. 6 – 10 Novice Supreme, Overall Novice Supreme, Mini Overall, Mini Overall Supreme. "And the Mini Supreme winner – Kyle Broflovski! Come on up, Kyle!"
Kyle's jaw dropped, before he headed up onstage. A sparkling silver crown – his biggest one yet – was placed on his head and a sash was draped over his shoulder, and a wad of dollar bills was put into his hand. Still feeling a bit shocked, Kyle held the money tightly as he smiled for the cameras, and then he was free to go.
Grabbing the five foot trophy; red and gold, and covered in jewels, Kyle stepped off stage and was greeted by his mother.
"Well done, bubbe!" she grinned, and Kyle grinned, too. He arranged the money into a neat pile, and placed it into the envelope he had been given. "How much did you win?"
"250 dollars," he said, which was quite exciting; his first cash prize. He didn't think he'd ever had so much money. Maybe he could finally get that new computer, or tickets to see Robert Smith in concert?
"Right, I'll take the half of it when we get home," said Sheila, and Kyle's face fell.
"What? Why?"
"For your college fund."
"But I already have one."
"Every little helps, right?"
"But.. I won it," said Kyle slowly. "Shouldn't I get to choose?"
"Bubbe, it's only half; it's not like I'm taking everything. Besides, it's not 'taking'; this is for your future. You don't want to have a crappy, half full college fund, do you? For God's sake, I'm trying to help you, here."
"I thought you said that my college fund had interest?"
"It does, but that doesn't mean we can't add to it. It doesn't hurt to have a little nest egg, to have some money left over."
"Okay, Ma." Kyle held back a sigh, and the two of them went up to their hotel room.
Back at home, Kyle was getting a bit of rest before his coaching lesson, while his mother cleared the spare room, putting the boxes of stuff they didn't really need up in the attic. Then, after that, shelving and hooks were installed, and his awards were displayed all around.
Privately, Kyle thought the room looked a bit bare; the trophies barely lined one wall, but he soon realised that Sheila probably wanted to room to be full to the point of bursting. Or perhaps she just wanted one Ultimate Grand Supreme trophy. Or both. Kyle didn't know. He didn't know which would be worse.
He wondered if he could keep the door closed (and locked); it was so embarrassing having a room dedicated to his awards.
On the plus side, they were no longer in the living-room, which meant they weren't instantly visible, so he could be thankful for that.
"You're doing so well," Tony praised, during a quick little break, and Kyle couldn't help but smile. "None of my boys have won Supreme titles before. Now, since we want to keep you winning them, we're gonna make some changes to your routines."
"Yeah?"
"Nothing major; just some extra steps to really make you stand out. These steps can be used in all your categories, except Beauty – your Beauty one is fine. But Sportswear, Casual Wear, and the others? They could use a little something, you know? A little oomph."
"What do we do?"
"Well, we'll run through Casual Wear, and I'll tell you when to stop, and we'll add some things, okay?"
Kyle nodded and got into position, waiting for the music to start. When it did, he smiled, and walked over to his first X. As usual, he placed a hand on his hip, and turned, and was just about to continue walking, when Tony paused the music. "Right, stop there for a minute; I think we can add something to that," he said, walking forward. "Okay, here's what we'll do," he said after a minute. "When you step on stage, go to your first X, but don't turn; instead, put your right hand on your hip, and turn to your left, and tilt your head back just a little bit. Come on, do it with me," and Kyle copied him. "Look at the judges, and then nod, and then you can turn around. Let me see you do it." He watched his young charge, hand on chin thoughtfully. "Hm, it still needs something more. Oh, okay, after you nod at the judges, turn back to the front, and then hold both arms up – no, not all the way, about halfway up, with your palms flat." Tony watched Kyle attempt it, and smiled patiently. "Imagine you're holding a pizza in each hand," he moved forward, and adjusted Kyle's arms. "That's it; keep your elbows bent, and your palms flat, and now do your turn. Great! Then bring your arms down, and then lift your hands to place them on your hips. Good; now, walk over to the second X. You can take your hands off hips; that's it, just keep 'em loose. Here, you can just turn, it's fine, and then you walk down the runway."
Once Kyle had reached the end of the imaginary catwalk, Tony stopped him once again.
"What do I do now?"
"We're gonna change things up here. First..." Tony hesitated, narrowing his eyes, "I want you to.. when you reach the end of the runway, put your hands on your hips and do a half turn, so your back is facing the judges. And then I want you to stretch out your left leg, and point your toe – keep the foot on the ground; good – and stretch out your right arm, so it's pointing up diagonally, and stretch your left arm down diagonally." He again helped Kyle get the right positions. "And you're gonna quickly do all three of those at the same time; let me see you do it. That's it; remember to keep the moves quick and sharp. Okay, okay; now, as you put arms out, give the wrists a quick flick, like so." Tony quickly moved his wrists in a small, circular motion, as he stretched out his arms. "It's little things like that that really draw attention to the routine," he explained. "Okay, so show me that; nice and quick. Okay, not bad, but don't worry; we'll work on it. So, after that, in one quick movement, I want you to bring your left leg in, put your left hand on your hip, and your right one to your head, like you're holding on to the brim of an imaginary hat. Good! Now, bend your knees, a quick little bounce, and turn all the way around to your left to face the judges. Do a little nod. Keep the pose! Don't move your feet; keep 'em crossed, and then turn to your right; all the way around, and face the judges again. Good. Remember your smile. Step out to the left, and then the right, and keep your right hand flat and straight, as you move it across your forehead. No, remember; in time with your other moves. Let me show you quickly."
Tony planted out his left foot, as his right hand, his elbow raised so his face could be seen, gently touched the left side of his forehead, his fingers flat and straight, like he was saluting. When he repeated the move with his right foot, the hand slid across the hairline. "The trick is," he said, "when the hand is on the left side of the head, look slightly to the right and vice versa. Like I said, tiny things like that just elevate the whole performance."
Kyle only nodded. "Because when you turn back to face the judges, your feet are still gonna be crossed, so this is why we step out like that; to uncross them. And after that, we need one more thing here..." Tony trailed off again. "We need a pose," and he turned to Kyle. "What do ya wanna do?"
"I don't know," said Kyle honestly.
"All right, maybe you could blow a kiss, or something; we can work that out later. Anyway, once you do that final thing, what you're gonna do is, you're gonna put your hands back on your hips, and start walking forward – that bouncy walk, remember? – and you're just gonna take two or three steps, before you walk in like a tight, little semi circle, and start going back up the runway. Okay, got that? You wanna just do that little part for me, the walk?"
Kyle did so, he got his pageant smile ready, placed his hands where they needed to be, and started walking. Unlike the Beauty section, the other walks were expected to be lively, perky, like they were having fun. You were supposed to make it like you had a spring in your step, and move your arms, as well. For the girls, it was known as the "sassy walk;" thankfully, Kyle didn't have to sway his hips like they did.
He walked forward, keeping his eyes on the pretend judge, and began to walk in a small half-circle. As he did so, he looked over his shoulder, keeping his gaze fixed on the empty sofa, until he couldn't turn his head any further, and then he walked back up the runway.
"Like that?" he asked.
"Very good!" Tony beamed. "I just wanna make one addition; about halfway up the catwalk, do a turn."
"A turn? Like, I stop?"
"No, no stopping. Just walk, and walk, and then, in quick movement, cross one foot in front of the other and give me a nice, sharp turn. Wanna give it a try?"
"Okay." Kyle moved back down towards the other end of the living-room, and did his little half-circle walk, and made his way back up the pretend catwalk. At around the halfway point, trying not to slow down, he gave a quick spin, before carrying on.
"That was good," Tony nodded, "but we'll need to work on it."
Kyle needed to keep both feet on the ground, and his hands on his hips. With his spinning on one foot, he did resemble a rag doll just a little bit, with his flailing limbs. But that was what practise was for. "And then, when you reach this X, this second one, give me a one-and-a-half turn. So, right now your back's facing the judges; we wanna do a quick 360, and then carry on so you end up facing them."
"Sure." Kyle gave it a go, but ended up somehow getting his legs tangled together, and he tripped and fell.
"It's all right; it's why we practise," he grinned, as he helped Kyle to his feet. "I'm gonna show you a little trick. I'll do the turn; watch my feet, okay?"
Kyle stepped back and observed Tony start the routine from the runway walk onwards. At the halfway point, his right foot turned inward and the man turned crisply, ending with his ankles crossed, and he carried on walking. He then quickly hopped onto his left foot, and crossed his right ankle over his left, and gave a full turn. When he had done that, he repeated the same little hop, to uncross his feet, and did a half turn, so he was back facing the front. "Did you see what I did? The hop? That's what I want you to do; great way of preventing your legs all tied up."
"Okay," said Kyle, and he went back over to the end of the room.
Pretty soon, he had almost perfected it, and they had filled in that missing move; Kyle would simply place his hands at his shoulder line, and then bring them down and out, like he was presenting his clothes. He thought it was incredibly stupid, but Sheila had made it clear she trusted Tony's input over his.
"So, these moves will set you up for Casual, Sportswear, Outfit of Choice, and Western Wear," Tony said after Kyle had run through the routine more times than he could keep track of. "But I think we could step up Swimwear a notch. Talent and Beauty are fine."
"Wonderful," said Sheila, getting up from her spot in one of the comfy armchairs.
"The next pageant is National Citrus Model, isn't it?" Tony clarified, while Kyle helped himself to some juice.
"Yeah, it's a natural one, as well."
"The good thing is, we won't be needing these routines," said Tony, and Kyle almost spat out his drink. Then why the hell had they wasted a whole lesson learning these moves, if they weren't going to use them? He would have much rather practised the stuff he would be needing for this new pageant.
"Yeah, we're gonna compete in all the optional events," said Sheila, which was news to Kyle. "The modelling is very simple, isn't it? I couldn't find out much on the website."
"Yeah, it's just a simple runway, with four X's, and you do one turn on each X. Kyle can do that in his sleep," Tony smiled, and Sheila nodded in agreement.
"I'm hoping it will help our chances," she admitted. "The simple modelling, I mean. It's a different system, so we've gotta do what we can, right?"
"Every little helps," Tony agreed. "Kyle?" he said, and the boy looked up at him. "We've got fifteen minutes left; wanna work on a new move?"
"Sure."
"Okay, I'm gonna teach you how to remove a jacket. That little one-and-a-half turn we did? That's when you'll take the jacket off. Now, since we don't have any of your costumes here, we can just practise with your own."
"Okay."
"Right, first I'll teach you how to remove it, and then we'll work on doing it while turning."
Kyle put on his jacket, but left it unbuttoned, and faced Tony. "It's really very simple; you just grab the lapels, and move your shoulders back, letting your arms go straight." He and Sheila watched Kyle attempt it; it was okay; the shoulders jerking back needed to be a lot more subtle, and he needed to keep his head still. Still, it was his first try. "The important thing is to not let the jacket fall to the ground," said Tony, as Kyle bent to pick it up. "The judges will take off points for that."
"They will?"
"Yeah, so we wanna keep hold of it, and carry it with us."
"But what if it just slips out of my hands?"
"I have another little trick for that; the moment you feel the jacket go back past your elbows, hold your hands out, like so." He held his arms down, his hands raised up. "The jacket falls onto the hands and stays there."
"Okay." Kyle tried the move again, and that time he didn't drop the jacket.
"Great. Then, after you've done that final turn, grab your jacket, try and grab it from the neckline, and swing it over your shoulder, and then go over to your last X. Do another turn – wait, do a half turn, and then look over your shoulder at the judges. Look over your left shoulder, and wink, all right? Then turn to the front, and that's it," Tony beamed once again.
"I think I got it," Kyle said honestly.
"You'll get the hang of it," the coach said kindly. "After Citrus, we're gonna start working on a few new moves, okay? Don't forget to practise what we did today?"
"All right," was all Kyle said, putting on his jacket.
"I'll record myself doing the routine, and then I'll send it to you. All right? See you next week!"
"Bye."
"Exciting, isn't it?" said Sheila, during the drive back home. "Just think; none of the other boys have these kinds of routines; they'll really make you stand out."
Kyle only hummed in response. "Bubbe, what's wrong? Don't you like the moves?"
"I do," Kyle lied. "But shouldn't we be focusing on the one that's coming up, where I won't need them?"
"Kyle, you need to get these moves down, and the more you do them, the sooner that will be."
"Well, yeah, but..." he trailed off. "Couldn't we have worked on stuff for this next pageant?"
"We don't need to," Sheila told him. "You won't need any routines for Citrus; all you do is walk normally to every X, and then turn; it's that simple. Were you even paying attention?"
"Yeah."
"Then, I don't understand why this is confusing for you. We work on these new routines, so that when we go to a new pageant, they're perfect."
"Okay, Ma." Kyle regretted even mentioning it.
Stan, Cartman, and Kenny had become accustomed to hanging out without Kyle. It had been several weeks since Stan had spent any time with him outside of school, and he didn't like it. It seemed that Kyle barely had time to answer his text messages. Stan didn't agree with any of it, but he was just a kid, it wasn't like there was anything he could do about it.
Cartman, of course, was over the moon that the annoying Jew was hardly there to spoil his fun. At last, he was free to do whatever he wanted in peace without Mr Buzzkill ruining everything with his preachy speeches.
The three of them were at Cartman's house, watching television. It felt weird, only having three of them there, but it was even weirder having Butters there, which was why Stan had vetoed the blonde joining them that day. It felt like Cartman was trying to replace Kyle, and he wouldn't allow that to happen. They were the original friend group, and that wasn't going to change (and holding audition for a new friend after Kenny died didn't count).
"Ugh, "Toddlers and Tiaras" again?" he complained, as Cartman switched channels just in time for his favourite show to start.
"What?"
"Can't we watch something else?" It wasn't that the show reminded him of Kyle; it was just that it was a terrible show.
"Hey, if you don't like it, then leave, hippie."
Stan said nothing, but stayed where he was.
As the show went on, he buried himself in his phone, glancing up every once in a while to shake his head at the nonsense playing out on the screen.
"Oh, my God! Look, you guys, it's Kahl!" gasped Cartman, and Stan's head whipped up just in time to see a flash of red hair. It was less than half a second, so he wasn't certain, and he really, really hoped that Cartman was wrong.
"That's not Kyle. Just because he has red hair," said Stan casually, feeling a bit sick. He dreaded to think what would happen if Cartman found out about Kyle's new 'hobby', and his fingers hovered over his keypad.
"No, look! I'll prove it to you guys!" Cartman grabbed the remote and rewound the show, until the back of a red-haired boy appeared on the screen. He turned and Stan and Kenny saw that it was indeed Kyle. Although, the boy was only shown for two seconds, there was no doubt that it was their friend, and Stan's stomach dropped.
Cartman was knelt in front of the television, filming the show with his phone, cackling.
Trying to keep a neutral face, Stan texted Kyle, while simultaneously wondering how he could somehow get hold of Cartman's phone and delete the video. He knew that whatever Cartman was planning, it wasn't going to be good.
"What are you gonna do?" he asked.
"Why, nothing," said Cartman sweetly, but Stan knew from experience that his sugary tone didn't mean squat.
"Cartman," he warned, "don't do anything."
"What makes you think that I would wanna do anything to my dear friend, little pageant princess Kahl?"
"Cartman, I swear to God, if you say anything about this -"
"Did you know? You did, didn't you?" Cartman's eyes widened with glee. "Oh, my God, you knew he was doing this?! Is that why he's been so busy lately?"
"Give it a rest, fatass," said Stan sharply. "I didn't know, all right?"
"Yeah, enough already," said Kenny, though he was shocked at what he had seen. "Go burn off some of that hatred, and take a walk."
"Don't tell me what to do, you poor piece of crap!" Cartman snapped, waddling back to the sofa. "Surprised you didn't know, Stan; Kahl's your butt buddy, isn't he? I thought he'd tell you."
"Look, this is probably the first time he's ever done this; why would he tell me?"
"'Cause you two are butt buddies!" said Cartman.
"God damn it, fat ass, get over it!" Stan snapped. Far from being shocked, Cartman was grinning.
"Yeah, you knew about this," his smile grew wider. "I feel very upset that my good friend Kahl has been keeping secrets from me; makes me feel angry, you know?"
"What are you planning?" asked Kenny, as Stan glanced down at his phone. Still no answer from Kyle, but Stan felt that the least he could do was warn him that Cartman knew. At least then, Kyle could prepare himself.
"Nothing; what do you take me for?" Cartman didn't even try to contain the evil glint in his eyes, and Stan decided to drop it. For the time being, he was powerless.
For once, fate seemed to be on his side, as he noticed that Cartman's phone had slipped out of his pocket, and was now wedged in between the sofa cushions. All he had to do was wait, and he wouldn't have to wait too long.
As predicted, Cartman soon got up, citing the need for more snacks, and as soon he was out of sight, Stan grabbed his phone, and deleted the video. He sighed, before quickly replacing the phone. Kenny opened his mouth, but quickly closed it, when Cartman reappeared.
Now, Stan could relax.
Kyle, determined not to let his grades slip, was doing his homework in his bedroom, when a knock came at the door, and his mother entered.
"Kyle?"
"Yeah?" he put down his pen, and turned in his chair.
"I've got some good news."
"What is it?" he asked, noting her pleased expression. Lately, her idea of 'good news' was anything and everything to do with pageants, and so he was wary.
"I just got off the phone with someone, and they offered us something amazing."
"What?"
"They offered us a spot on "Toddlers and Tiaras"!" she beamed, and Kyle's jaw dropped. "Isn't that great?"
"No!" he cried, and Sheila looked disappointed.
"No? But, bubbe, they asked us; it could be great."
"Ma, I really don't want to do it."
"Why not? It might do wonders for you; you might get noticed."
"Get noticed for what?"
"Some of the kids that have been on that show have been offered modelling contracts! That would be perfect for you."
"I don't want to do it," he repeated. "I don't want to be on the show."
"Kyle, we've only been doing this for just over a year now, and they called us. Some of the kids on that show have been in pageants for at least four years! You should be proud."
"I -" he didn't want to say that he wasn't proud. "I just really don't want to."
"I think it'll be really good for you."
"I don't. Being on TV isn't for me."
"You're actually going to turn this down?" She looked upset. "After all the work we've put in?"
"Mom, we can still do pageants, just not on TV."
"Well..." she paused, and Kyle waited, knowing that she was trying to get him to agree. "If that's what you want, then fine, we won't do it," she said eventually, before walking out. Kyle just stared after her. Had she actually given in? He felt weird; that never happened.
Still reeling, Kyle returned to his desk, and pulled out his phone. He saw he had a text from Stan, and he opened it.
'Dude Cartman saw u on tv and he knows about the pageants.' Kyle's heart almost stopped. What was he going to do? But the most important question was, how did he get on television? His stomach sunk as he remembered the camera crew at Showcase of Beauty; the camera must have got him.
Another text drew him from his thoughts, and he looked back at the phone. 'He got a video of it but I managed to delete it but I wanted to let u know.'
'Thanks dude', Kyle texted back, dreading Monday. Knowing that the video had been deleted didn't make him feel any better. Just knowing that Cartman knew about the pageants was enough to make him want to move. He suddenly didn't feel like doing any homework.
The next morning, Kyle braced himself as he approached his friends at the bus stop.
"Hey," he said, standing next to Stan, as always.
"Piss off, Jew," Cartman kept his gaze fixed ahead of him, and Kyle stared at him, confused.
"Whatever, fat ass; why don't you try coming up with something original, for once?"
"Oh, you want me to come up with something original? How about this – 'Princess'? It suits you," he smirked.
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing, Princess."
"Don't call me that!" Kyle could feel Stan giving him a warning look, but he was past caring.
The bus pulled up, and they all climbed on.
"Calm down, Kahl; can't have you popping a vein, now can we? Wouldn't want to ruin your face."
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" snapped Kyle, taking his seat, wishing with everything he had that Cartman would just shut up.
"Why are you being so defensive? Popped veins don't look good, and that's a fact."
"Why would you even care?"
"Oh, my God. Guys, can we just, please, have one day – one day – where you don't fight or argue?" Stan sighed, pinching his nose.
"I can do that, if Kahl can," Cartman smiled sweetly. Kyle, in no mood to fight, simply slumped against his seat, remaining silent until they arrived at school.
To his surprise, Cartman left him alone, and didn't insult him in any way. Not that it made him feel better; he knew that Cartman was up to something.
After lunch, it was time for them to present their project, and Cartman asked to go first.
"Go ahead, Eric," Mr Garrison waved his hand, and Cartman went up to the front of the class, with Butters obediently pulling down the projection screen.
"Thank you, Mr Garrison. I know my project was supposed to be about Thomas Jefferson, but I found someone much more interesting, so I started over. My project is..." Cartman pushed a button on the small remote he was holding, "Kahl." And a picture of Kyle appeared.
A few of the kids turned to glance at him, but many of them didn't care; the rivalry was nothing new.
"What are you doing?!" Kyle snapped.
"Now, now, Kahl, please don't interrupt; it's so rude. Now, as I was about to say, Kahl Broflovski is just a nine-year-old boy, and like many other boys his age, he has hobbies. Some of these are normal. He enjoys texting, gaming, hanging out with his friends." As Cartman listed these off, he clicked through a series of photographs showing Kyle doing just that. "But," he continued, "some people have hobbies that they don't like to share with other people. Maybe they're shy; maybe they're embarrassed."
Kyle's head snapped up; he knew where this was going, and he stood.
"Cartman!" He walked up to the front of the class, and tackled the boy, knocking him to the ground. Cartman managed to keep hold of the remote and clicked it, revealing a photo of Kyle being crowned at one of his pageants. "I'm gonna kill you!" he screamed, punching the laughing boy in the face.
"Kahl does pageants!" Cartman yelled, seemingly not caring about the blows being landed on him, and he pressed the button again, revealing another pageant photo.
"Oh, no," Stan groaned, as laughter began to arise, and the kids stared in amusement at the photos. They were so entertained by the thought of a boy doing beauty pageants, that none of them paid any attention to the full-on fight happening on the floor, which never happened. Fights between Cartman and Kyle were always fun to watch. "They're not real!" Stan cried, unable to see his friend like this. "You know that Cartman is good at Photoshop!"
The kids were still pointing and laughing, except for Kenny, Wendy, Butters, and Bebe, though she was staring at the pageant crown with wide, admiring eyes. "Cartman faked them; you know how he likes to annoy Kyle!"
Cartman, though still being viciously attacked, pressed the button one final time, showing the same "Toddlers and Tiaras" clip he had filmed.
This caused the students to erupt in full-blown, finger pointing laughter, and Stan turned to Mr Garrison, only to find the teacher laughing, as well.
Kyle threw Cartman to the ground, and looked up at the class, his cheeks burning. He shook his head once or twice, before running out of the room. "Damn it, Cartman!" Stan snapped, before taking off after his friend.
He ran through the halls; he checked the bathrooms, the library, the broom closets, but he couldn't find Kyle, and so, he headed back to class.
Cartman was now back in his seat, looking very innocent, and the rest of the class were still talking about what they had seen. "The hell is wrong with you, fatass?" Stan hissed as he sat back down.
"What? I'm just sharing his hobby."
"That's not what you were doing, and you know it!"
"Jeez, Stan, don't get your dick in a twist. What's the big deal?"
"Kyle didn't want people to know for a reason; because he knew you would do this to him!"
"Well, maybe next time he won't be so secretive!"
"You're such an asshole!" he snarled. "How did you even get that video? I deleted it!"
"Yes, I thought you might do that," Cartman nodded. "That was why I left my cell; I was testing you. I simply watched the episode on catch-up and recorded it then." He looked way too pleased with himself, and Stan buried his head in his hands.
Kyle had fled school property, but had not gone home; he didn't want anyone asking questions. Instead, he'd gone to the public library; hardly anyone ever went there, and so he wouldn't be disturbed. He closed his eyes; how was he supposed to go back to school? His mother wouldn't understand, so he couldn't tell her, and his father would be no help at all. Ike had been unusually distant from him, like he was embarrassed to have Kyle as a brother.
Kyle sighed; he really needed to win that Ultimate, and finally quit.
When school had finished, Kyle remained in the library, until he was sure that everyone had gone home. He found Stan waiting outside his house, and Kyle ducked his head, blushing furiously.
Without saying a word, Kyle headed into the house, Stan following him, and they went up to his bedroom.
"Kyle, I never told anyone, I swear," said Stan, as his best friend flopped down onto the bed.
"I know you didn't," Kyle nodded. "I know." He paused, the both of them looking awkward. "How did he find out?"
"After he saw the video, he went online, and did a little digging. They're on, like, the official website. Like I said, I deleted the video, but he just watched the show again, and got it."
"Right." Kyle nodded again, cursing his wins.
"What are you gonna do?" he asked.
"I don't know," Kyle admitted. "I have to go back to school, but I really don't wanna deal with that."
"I'm sure they'll get over it eventually," said Stan, sitting down next to his friend.
"I can't wait for 'eventually'!" Kyle snapped. "Anyway, I – I can't focus on this right now; I have to practise."
"Now? School's just finished!"
"Yep, now. Mom says you can never have too much practise." Kyle slid off the bed, rubbing his temple.
"Okay," Stan took the hint, and stood also. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Probably not. I'm gonna fake sick."
Stan did a double-take.
"You are? Are you sure your mom will fall for it?"
"She will." Kyle had never faked being ill before – he got sick enough as it was – but he knew that his mother would keep him off for a few days if she thought he was unwell. The Citrus pageant was that weekend, and they had to be there on Friday, and as it was taking place in Florida, they had to leave on Thursday. They would be flying, but Sheila wanted to get there early to help eliminate jet lag. He knew she wouldn't want to miss the pageant, and so she would do whatever she needed to do to keep him healthy.
"Well, all right, dude; do what you gotta do. See ya."
"Bye, dude."
Kyle's strategy worked; he spent the next two days at home, and soon enough, he, Sheila, and Tony were in Florida, at one of the many Hilton hotels. It was just as chaotic as he expected, and now they were in the ballroom, waiting his turn to practise on the stage. The stage itself was raised a few feet off the ground, with large spotlights lining it. Black sparkly curtains formed the back, with thin drapes of orange, green, and yellow here and there, to bring out the citrus theme. That evening was the talent competition, which was completely separate from the rest of the pageant.
Sheila insisted that Kyle run through his Beauty walk, along with Citrus wear first, as there wouldn't be time after the talent category.
"Remember to keep your head up," said Sheila, as Kyle stepped onto the stage, looking for the judges' table. He only nodded, and settled into his smile.
Although he was glad that the modelling was simple, Kyle felt even more nervous; this was a huge event, and none of the kids were allowed to wear makeup of any kind. "Okay, good," she said, when he'd stepped down. "Do you remember what you have to say?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, good, now let's go upstairs so you can get changed."
"All right, Ma."
Twenty minutes later, they were back in the ballroom; Kyle was in his vest and shorts, along with his sweatbands, and was holding his basketball, and Sheila had his hoop.
It seemed that every contestant was also participating in the talent competition; it was a chance for an extra prize. The ballroom was almost full to bursting point, and that didn't include some of the crazy props some of them had brought.
"Right, you know how to do this, so you don't need to worry," said Sheila, as his category (ages 7 – 10) began to perform. "Just do what you always do."
Kyle nodded, gripping the ball tightly.
When it was his turn, he walked up behind the emcee, up to the curtain that hid the waiting contestants from view. He saw Sheila approach out of the corner of his eye, and hand the CD to the emcee.
A smiling lady was waiting behind the curtain.
"Hello," she grinned, and Kyle smiled weakly. "I just need to make sure you're not wearing any makeup," she said, and pulled out a facial wipe. Having no choice, Kyle only nodded, and she swiped it over his face. "Okay, you're good." She turned and saw the previous contestant leaving the stage. "Okay, the stage is yours."
"Thanks," Kyle said, watching as his mother quickly set up the hoop. He could hear intrigued muttering.
"Please welcome, in the 7 – 10 age division, number four, Kyle Broflovski!" called the emcee, and the crowd applauded. He stepped up on to the stage, and briefly hesitated, before walking out from behind the curtain. Facing the audience, he smiled as his music started to play.
He'd been doing this for so long that it had become muscle memory, and he had learnt long ago to not focus too much. He'd done that in the past, and ended up literally dropping the ball, possibly costing him a high title.
It was easy for him to smile and look happy while he performed his tricks to a cheering audience; he genuinely enjoyed this part of the competition. He was playing his favourite sport, and getting heaps of praise for it, and he'd won awards for it. That was the dream, right?
He kept his smile bright as he reached the end of the catwalk, spotting the judges, and spun the ball on his fingers, and the crowd went wild as usual.
Listening to his music, Kyle went back up the catwalk, and began his jump shots. He was still no good at hearing the beat, or counting in time, but he knew he only had two minutes, and he was pretty good at counting that. "And that was contestant number four, Kyle Broflovski! Thank you Kyle!"
Kyle stepped off stage to applause and cheering, panting slightly, while Sheila grabbed the hoop.
"I think that was the best you've ever done it," she said, as they returned to their seats.
"Thanks, Ma. Hey, can I go and get changed now?"
"No; crowning will start soon," she said, and Kyle blinked.
"What?"
"This is separate to the actual pageant, remember? So they crown right away."
"Oh, okay." Kyle settled back in his chair, and watched the rest of the competition. It was mainly singers and dancers, although there were a few cheerleading routines, and one magician.
Soon enough, the competition was over, and he was back up on stage with the rest of his age group.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your 7 – 10 category! Weren't they great; give it up!" the emcee roused, and the audience whooped and cheered. "This was a tough age group to judge," he continued, "there were so many good acts. But we have the winner here, and he is... Kyle Broflovski!"
Kyle was actually gobsmacked, as he stepped forward, as everyone clapped for him.
A large red and silver crystal crown was placed atop his head, and a monogrammed sash draped over his shoulder. A large, gold trophy was put next to him, decorated with yellow, orange and green crystals, and a handful of dollar bills was given to him.
As he smiled for the cameras, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. He'd won a national award for his talent; this must mean he was good!
As he stepped off stage, he couldn't stop smiling, and he was still beaming when Sheila approached him.
"Well done!" she grinned, and Tony slapped him a high five, and they walked back to their seats.
"I can't believe I won," Kyle said, removing the crown; it and the sash were of no interest to him, but the trophy and money were proof of his accomplishments. Sitting down, he counted out the money: $200. No, only $100, he reminded himself, after remembering that his mother would take half. He folded them money up, and placed it in the envelope, concentrating on making it all neat when his mother's voice caught his attention. "What?"
"I said, are you looking forward to it?"
"Looking forward to what? The pageant?"
"No. Weren't you paying attention to the emcee? Each talent winner gets to perform at the crowning ceremony on Sunday!"
"Oh." He supposed that would be okay. Performing his favourite sport without all the usual pressure? He couldn't see a downside. "Cool," was all he said.
"Right, we'd better get to bed; we have an early start tomorrow."
The following day, Kyle was in the ballroom, dressed in a black T-shirt with a bright orange logo on it – the official Citrus logo, and was also wearing black jeans, waiting to go on stage for his interview. He didn't have any makeup on, and his hair was brushed, but still curly. He was fiddling with his fingers as he nervously chewed his lower lip.
"Stop that," Sheila admonished, leaning down over him. "You're gonna make it swollen."
"I don't think I can do it, Ma," he admitted, feeling his stomach churn at the mere thought of going on stage.
"What are talking about?"
"I can't do this one; I just can't."
"Why? This is no different to any of your other pageants; in fact, this one's easier. All you have to do is go to each X and turn."
"Yeah, I know."
"Then what is the problem?" she asked. Kyle looked over at the stage, his voice failing him.
"Nothing, Ma," he said eventually.
"Okay, well, it's almost your turn; remember what you have to say?"
"Yeah -"
"Okay, you've only got 45 seconds, so make them count. Speak clearly and loudly, and don't stumble over your words. Make sure your head's up, and you're looking at the judges."
"Okay, Ma. I have to go on now," Kyle pointed to one the backstage crew gesturing for him, and Sheila stepped back. He quickly settled his mouth into his 'pageant smile', before realising that he didn't need it for this pageant. He had to be natural.
"Good luck, bubbe."
Kyle nodded, and stepped onto the stage, and walked down to the third X, hoping his smile looked okay.
"Hello," smiled the centre judge, a middle-aged man with short blonde hair and brown eyes. "Please tell us your name and your hobbies."
"My name is Kyle Broflovski. I enjoy playing basketball, swimming, and playing with my friends."
"What would you like to be when you grow up?"
"I'd like to be a professional basketball player," he answered, remembering to keep his voice clear and loud, but not too loud, and making eye contact with each judge, just the way he had been taught.
"And what is your favourite thing to do?"
"My favourite thing to do is play with my little brother."
"And what has been your greatest accomplishment?"
"My greatest accomplishment would be overcoming my stage fright to do pageants," Kyle reeled off from memory.
"Okay, thank you very much, Kyle."
"Thank you, judges." Kyle nodded politely, before turning and walking off stage. As soon as he was out of their eyeline, he suddenly found that his legs were shaking a little bit. He was more nervous for this pageant than he had been for anything in his life, because he wasn't allowed to wear makeup. His bare face wasn't good enough to win; if it was, then he wouldn't need makeup; even his own mother had said it. If he didn't win a decent title here, she was going to be very unhappy.
"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" said Sheila, as they headed back to their seats. "I don't know what you were so worried about. This will be the easiest pageant; the modelling is so simple, you can do it in your sleep!"
The following day, Sheila, Kyle, and Tony were back in the ballroom, as the crowning ceremony officially began. Kyle had already performed his basketball routine to a very appreciative audience, and when he'd finished, Sheila had made him change back into his black jeans and black Citrus T-shirt. Certain that he was going to win a high title, she wanted him to look decent for the cameras.
Kyle was feeling rather frazzled. True, the modelling had been simple, just like his mother had said, but he felt extremely anxious, and he was dreading how disappointed Sheila would be when he didn't win, because he knew he wasn't going to.
His age group had already gone up for awards, and he'd won a medal for "Best Smile," but hadn't won King.
Chewing on his lip again, Kyle began to nervously tap his feet, wanting it to be over already.
"Stop that," Sheila leaned down, keeping her eyes on the stage. "People can hear you."
Kyle stopped, but then he began to swing his legs. At least that made no noise. He could hear Sheila and Tony talking quietly to one another – about what a tough competition it was, how they were only giving out two major titles; one Overall Winner for the 0 – 6 group, and one for ages 7 and up, and so it was going to be very difficult. Kyle only had one chance, and it was a very slim chance.
"The prizes are amazing here," he heard Sheila say. "I mean, the opportunities alone could be great."
"And now, our first Overall Winner..." began the emcee, and you could have heard a pin drop. "Can I get a drum roll, please?" he called, and the audience instantly began drumming their hands on their knees. "Your 0 – 6 Overall Winner is... Georgina Matthews!"
The audience erupted as little five-year-old Georgina toddled up onto the stage and was crowned. "Well done, Georgina!" praised the emcee as the girl was photographed. "Okay, we have our second Overall Winner here," he held up a small card. "First off, I wanna congratulate all of our wonderful contestants here; haven't they been great?" he enthused, and the audience applauded once again. "Okay, the scores have been tallied, and your Overall Winner for the 7 and up age group is... Kyle Broflovski!"
Kyle, who had been too worried to pay attention, heard his name be called, and he looked up. Sheila was on her feet, being hugged by numerous other parents, while Tony had grabbed his hand, and was taking him to the stage. The entire room had erupted in cheering and clapping, and Kyle stepped on stage, and stood on the X at the end of the catwalk.
As he tried to figure out exactly what was going on, a flurry of activity surrounded him. A large silver crown decorated with orange and green jewels was placed on his head, and an embellished sash was placed over his right shoulder.
Still feeling quite confused, Kyle managed to remember to smile as a fur-lined velvet robe was draped around his shoulders, and he was handed a bouquet, a sceptre decorated in little crystals, and a large wad of dollar bills. A five-foot tall golden trophy, decorated very similarly to his talent one, was placed next to him, and the cameras flashed as the crowd cheered. "Ladies and gentlemen, your 7 and up Overall Winner: Kyle Broflovski! Give it up for Kyle!"
Weighed down by everything, Kyle clumsily got off stage, where Sheila and Tony were waiting for him.
"Bubbe!" Sheila hugged him tightly. "Do you realise what you've done?" she asked, her arm around him as they walked back to their seats. She was holding the trophy and the bouquet, while Kyle kept hold of the money and the sceptre.
"No."
"Bubbe, you beat everyone here except for one person. Look at all this!" she gestured to the crown and trophy. "Look at that crown; it's like it was custom made for you!" she gushed. "But that's not all!" her eyes began to gleam, and Kyle that familiar sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"What?" he dared to ask.
"You get a modelling contract!" she cried, and Kyle's heart sank.
"Oh, really? That's cool," he lied.
"Isn't it? Of course, it doesn't mean they'll sign you – but they'd be crazy not to – but the contract from one agency is available, and then there's a contract for another agency, and you get to be interviewed for another contract with another agency; isn't that exciting?"
"Sure." Kyle hoped he sounded interested.
"And there's even more; you get free entry to two National pageants, and a complimentary professional photo shoot, and you get to be in the official Citrus parade!"
"Wow. Sounds great, Ma." Kyle swallowed hard, staring straight ahead, even forgetting to count the money.
"So, how much did you win?" she asked, and he looked down at the money in his hand, and he began to count it.
"$1,000?!" Now there was expression in his voice. "Wow!"
"Remember, bubbe -"
"Yeah, yeah, I know; you take half." Kyle realised what he had done, but it was too late to take it back.
"Kyle!" she looked shocked. "What's with the attitude? You know I'm only doing this to benefit your future!"
"I know, Ma," said Kyle quickly, not wanting her to chew him out in front a huge ballroom packed with tonnes of families. "I'm just tired, I'm sorry."
"Well, we'd better get to bed, anyhow; we're flying home tomorrow."
"Okay."
"Great job today, Kyle," Tony grinned, rising and stretching.
"Thanks," the boy smiled. He and Sheila said their goodnights, before heading up to their room.
"By the way, bubbe," Sheila asked, as she stood in front of the mirror, removing her makeup, "when are you going to actually start looking happy when you win?"
Kyle, in the middle of double-checking the contents of his suitcase, looked up at her.
"I wasn't expecting it; I was a little bit shocked, that's all," he said honestly.
"You shouldn't be shocked by now; you win more often than not."
"I just wasn't expecting to win here; there was a lot of tough competition."
"I know, but you have to have confidence in yourself. That's part of why we do these contests, so you should have some by now. You've got to get rid of that silly, deer in the headlights look, okay?"
"Okay, Ma."
"Good. Now go to sleep; we have an early flight."
Not being used to warm weather, Kyle found it hard to sleep. He lay awake for hours, feeling as though there were snakes writhing around in his stomach, but he didn't know why. All he knew was that he was dreading going back to school.
~ X ~
Done! What did you think?