Kyle, the Pageant King
Chapter 8
"Your Mini Supreme is... Kyle Broflovski!"
"Your Amateur Supreme – Kyle Broflovski!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this year's Overall Supreme, number 18, Kyle Broflovski!"
"Once again, give it up for Kyle Broflovski, your National Photogenic Supreme!"
Sheila was right; once Kyle started winning the high titles, there was no stopping him. Again and again, his name was called, and he would come up on the stage, and smile graciously as he was crowned, and given trophies, sashes, and sometimes money.
Sheila was actually disappointed at all these titles; Kyle had won one of only two major titles in a prestigious National pageant, and for him to win things like Mini Supreme, Mini Overall, which were the lower Supreme titles, felt like a huge step backwards for her.
She channelled her frustrations into Kyle's routines, making him practise over and over again.
"You have got to get these routines down," she repeatedly told him. "Look at the judge! Judge, judge!" she added quickly, as Kyle stood at the end of the pretend catwalk. "Come on! You should know what you're doing by now!"
All Kyle could do was keep on going, doing what he was told. The sooner he did that, the sooner practise would be over.
Truthfully, he kind of welcomed the relentless practising; the more time he spent at home, the less likely he was around others, and therefore less likely to be teased for his new "hobby". The rest of the kids in his class never passed up an opportunity to tell him how hilarious they found the idea of him competing in pageants was. It was all just one big joke to them, and Kyle had had enough, and now spent all of his free time at home. It meant spending countless hours in the garage running through his routines, but it was better than the alternative.
One evening, after he had finished for the day, Kyle sat on the sofa, absent-mindedly scrolling through Facebook, and he heard his mother talking on the phone in the kitchen. He frowned as he received yet another text from Cartman.
'How is the Princess doing today? My little Jewish Princess boy XD'
His jaw clenching, Kyle deleted it, as he did for practically every message Cartman had been sending him lately. Kyle rubbed his head, squirming at the headache that had just appeared. He'd been getting those a lot lately, too, and a lot of stomach aches. He didn't tell anyone about these, not even his mother; why would he? Everyone got headaches; he was no exception.
He heard Sheila stop talking, and then she entered the living-room.
"Who was on the phone?" he asked, removing his hand from his forehead.
"Just someone," was all she said, looking at him, then at the television. "You better get to bed, it's late."
"Okay," Kyle slid off the sofa, doing his best to keep his face neutral.
"Don't forget to brush your teeth," she said, holding out her arms for a hug.
"I won't, Ma," Kyle hugged her, burying his face into her abdomen, revelling in the darkness it brought.
"Good. And don't forget to exfoliate and moisturise," she said, and Kyle, who had already pulled away, stopped.
"Can't I just skip it tonight? I'm tired," he lied. Sheila looked aghast.
"No, you can't skip it," she told him. "If you skip one night a week, then next you're gonna end up skipping two nights a week, and before you know it, you stop doing it altogether. No, you do it tonight, and every night, okay?"
"Okay," Kyle sighed.
"I'm only doing this to help you," she reminded him, and Kyle only nodded. "Off you go, then; you have school tomorrow." Kyle nodded again and trudged off to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, and washed his face, using the special sponge Sheila had bought for him, before massaging moisturising cream into his skin. He did it as quickly as possible, just wanting to go to bed, hoping that a good night's sleep would help him feel better.
Teeth and face clean, he headed to bed, pulling the blanket up over his head.
"Good moooorning, Princess!" Cartman grinned when Kyle arrived at the bus stop the next morning.
Kyle, tired and still suffering with a raging headache, could only find the strength to roll his eyes, surprising the other three boys.
"Dude, you okay?" asked Stan.
"It's fine, guys," said Cartman, "he just doesn't like his new nickname. Which do you like better, Kahl? Princess, or Queen? Or JonBenet?"
"Don't care," Kyle muttered, rubbing his forehead once again.
"Hm, I can't decide; I guess it'll have to be all three," Cartman smirked. But Kyle only stared straight ahead, and the fat boy frowned slightly. "Hey. Hey, Kahl, what do you think of being called Princess Queen JonBenet? Huh? Is it annoying you, Princess Queen JonBenet?"
"Dude, fuck off," Stan moved closer to Kyle. "You all right, man?"
Kyle shook his head slightly, and turned to face his best friend.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"You seemed outta it for a moment, there."
"Yeah, I just got a headache, is all," said Kyle truthfully, and Stan nodded.
"All right, children, let's take our seats." Mr Garrison strode in late as usual, ignoring the fact that the kids were all already seated. He approached his desk, and began rifling through the papers on it. "I hope everyone's completed the homework I set for you. All except Kyle.." Mr. Garrison started to snigger, "who has an excuse."
Kyle's jaw clenched again and he stared at his desk as, again, laughter began to arise from around him.
"I did the homework," he growled, gripping the paper so hard he was surprised he didn't tear it, silently fuming. How much longer was he going to have to put up with this?
"Oh, great," Mr Garrison grinned, as the laughter died down to snickers.
"Yeah, Kahl, it's nice that you took the time from putting on makeup and posing to do your homework," said Cartman, and the laughing started up again.
"Fuck you, Cartman," Kyle growled, hardened gaze still fixed on the desk.
"All right, all right," Mr Garrison waved his hand. "I could do this all day, I really could, but you guys have a pop quiz on Friday, so you need to focus."
The kids groaned, and finally quietened. None of them made any further remarks to Kyle, who kept his eyes down. "Okay, children, who can tell me what a complex sentence is?" asked Mr Garrison, who was now standing in front of the blackboard, chalk in hand. He turned to face the students.
"Maybe we should ask Miss America over there," Cartman pointed to Kyle, before bursting into hysterical laughter, as did a few of the others.
"Fuck you, fatass!" Kyle hissed.
"Damn it, Eric, I don't want to get a call from Kyle's mother, so keep your mouth shut!" the teacher snapped, and Cartman immediately stopped laughing. He angrily folded his arms.
"That damn Jew bitch is always spoiling my fun!" he complained, but Mr Garrison ignored him.
When it was break time, Stan approached Kyle, who was still in his chair.
"Dude, you okay?" he asked again, and Kyle lifted his head.
"Huh?"
"Are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," said Kyle, but Stan wasn't convinced.
"Dude, you can't fool me; I know you too well. What's wrong?"
"I'm just not feeling too great," he admitted. "You know, I think I'm gonna go to the nurse."
"Why? What's the matter?"
Kyle had to smile a bit at Stan's concerned face.
"It's nothing, dude; just a headache. Maybe she can give me something for it."
"All right, then. Do you need me to come with?"
"Sure, if you want."
The two boys left the room, and walked down the halls. Stan just prayed that none of the kids would say anything to Kyle, or that they wouldn't bump into Cartman; it was the last thing they needed.
He waited while Kyle sat on the bed in the nurse's office, a place that the redhead spent far too much time in, and waited for the nurse.
"Well, what seems to be the problem?" she asked, looking him up and down. "You look fine."
"I have a bad headache," Kyle told her. "Can you give me anything?"
"I can give you some Tylenol," she said, before looking at him more closely. "Actually, you do look a little peaky," she observed. "I think you should stay in here for break."
"Fine," Kyle shrugged, not really caring either way. At least in here, he couldn't be harassed.
"I'll stay with you," Stan volunteered, taking a seat next to bed, and Kyle smiled at him. The nurse, fully aware of their closeness, only nodded, and left to get the medicine.
Kyle lay back on the bed, pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes, breathing in a small sigh of relief at the darkness. "Dude, I'll say it again; you really need to quit," said Stan, concern written all over his face.
"Yeah," he agreed, not even bothering to say that he couldn't afford to take a break. He was on another winning streak, and he knew that his mother wouldn't allow him to potentially ruin that.
"So, are you gonna tell your mom?" Stan asked, and Kyle smiled lightly.
"The season ends in about a month or so; then we take a break," he informed his friend, hating the fact that he actually knew this stuff.
"What?"
"Each year is like a season, right? Around August, they stop, and start back up again in September, kinda like school." It was only partly true; there were at least three National pageants that ran all throughout the year, and Sheila was of course going to enter him in those.
"Oh. Okay. Well, at least you get breaks," Stan shrugged. He supposed that was better than nothing, but his face said it all.
"Look, dude, I just have a headache because I didn't sleep well last night, that's all," said Kyle, sensing that Stan wanted to say more. "It's just a one time thing."
"Yeah," Stan said, deciding to keep quiet. All he could do was support Kyle and hope that he didn't burn himself out.
He hoped that, soon enough, he would be able to hang out with Kyle more; hearing that there would soon be a break in the competing gave him hope. Of course, travelling across several States to watch Kyle compete was always an option, but he just found the whole thing too creepy. It made Stan feel very uncomfortable to watch, and he would much rather play and chat with Kyle, rather than watch him walk around on stage, a plastic smile on his face.
Again, all he could was be a friend, and that meant being there.
Later that evening, the Broflovskis had just finished dinner, and the family had broken off to go and do their own thing. Gerald had retreated to his office, and Ike had gone to his room to continue gaming. Kyle was just about to go to his own room when the doorbell rang.
"Kyle, can you get that, bubbe?" called Sheila, who was busy washing the dishes.
"Sure," said Kyle, wishing he could just hide upstairs; he just knew that Cartman was at the door. He was surprised to find Bebe standing there, and she was smiling at him.
"Hi, Kyle," she chirped, grinning sweetly.
"Uh, hi." He was confused; Bebe never came to his house, and he started to maybe think that she was playing some kind of trick on him. His eyes quickly darted around, but he couldn't see anyone hiding. Maybe they were just too well hidden.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" she asked, and Kyle stood aside to let her enter.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"I came to ask about the homework?"
Kyle noticed that she wasn't looking at him; rather, she was scanning the walls of the living-room, her neck craning.
"Homework?" Since when did Bebe care about homework? And since when did she come to his house to ask about it? Something wasn't right.
"Yeah, like, I totally wasn't paying attention, and I don't know what the homework is, can I read your notes?"
"Uh -" Kyle barely had time to comprehend this, before Bebe began walking around the living-room.
"Where's your backpack?" she called, looking behind the sofa, while a very confused Kyle looked on. He had no idea what was happening, even as she ran upstairs. "Is it in your room?" came her voice, and Kyle followed her. He entered his room to find Bebe searching it.
"It's, uh, it's -" he headed towards his backpack, but Bebe had already left the room. Again, he followed, wondering just what she was doing. He opened his mouth, but didn't get a chance to speak, as he saw her head into his parents' room. "You can't go in there!"
"But I need to find your backpack!" she insisted, making Kyle even more confused.
After a quick, cursory search of his parents' room, she left, and went back into the hallway. Kyle saw the door she was headed to, and his stomach churned; the trophy room.
"You don't wanna go in there!" he practically leapt in front of the door, and tried to lead her away, but Bebe wasn't having it, and flung the door open.
"Wow," she breathed, her eyes gleaming at the sight of all the crowns and small trophies, which rested on newly built shelves, with poles underneath that displayed his sashes. His larger trophies were stood against the walls, and his plaques were mounted above the shelving. "Let's, uh, let's worry about the homework later." She stepped further into the room, grinning widely.
"I'll give you the notes tomorrow." Kyle tried to pull her out of the room, but she wouldn't budge. He cringed internally as she walked up to one of the shelves displaying his crowns.
"These are really something, you know?" Her eyes never left the jewels and crystals decorating the crowns, and she reached out to gently touch a trophy.
"You really shouldn't be here; I'm not supposed to have people over," Kyle lied, his hand gripping the door handle.
"I won't be long," she assured him, examining the sashes.
Kyle gulped and looked around the room; the crowns and trophies seemed to be laughing at him, but he couldn't help but look at the sashes and read the titles he'd won. "Mini Mr Colorado", "Prince Charming USA", "Citrus King", "Best Dressed", "National Portfolio", and "Overall Personality" to name a few. Kyle quickly counted them, his stomach dropping when he realised that there was more than thirty individual awards. He didn't realise he'd done that many competitions. Okay, some of them were from the same pageant; usually the smaller divisional trophies, but lately, he was getting the big trophies.
"Bebe, I'm really not allowed to have people over," he said, taking a step back and looking down the hallway. It was empty and he sighed in relief. Turning back, he saw that Bebe was wearing one of his biggest crowns, and she'd draped one of his sashes over her shoulder, a bejewelled sceptre in the crook of her arm.
"What do you think?" she grinned, looking around the room at her imaginary audience, while Kyle stared in horror. "This crown is really heavy, how do you do it?" She was wearing one of his Supreme crowns, which tended to look more like tiaras, in terms of appearance, albeit several inches high, and he could see why she'd chosen that one. It was at least ten inches high, silver, and decorated with silver jewels and edged with gold. The name of the pageant, "Glamorous Beauties", was written in black jewels along the base.
"Uh, it's uh -" but Kyle was quickly cut off by the excited Bebe.
"It's so pretty!" she gushed. "I have the exact perfect pair of shoes to go with this! What did you win it for, by the way?" She wasn't even looking at him, far too absorbed in looking at the rest of the crowns.
"Um, Portfolio," Kyle muttered, and she turned to face him.
"Portfolio? Like, pictures?" she asked, and Kyle nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. "Wow, so you can really win a prize for everything, can't you?"
"Yeah."
Bebe's eyes gleamed again, and she began to slowly walk the length of the room, waving and blowing kisses, while Kyle stood there awkwardly, watching. She couldn't keep her hands off the crown, and she kept twirling the sceptre between her fingers.
"You've won a lot," she observed after a while, stopping her imaginary catwalk to continue staring at the trophies. "You must be good."
Kyle said nothing, instead biting back the bitter remark that at least it was proof he wasn't the ugliest boy. He tried not to think about that; whenever he did, it put a dampener on his whole day. "These crowns are so gorgeous," she was practically drooling. "I can't believe you get to wear them whenever you want."
"Well, I don't," said Kyle. "I don't care about them."
"No?" Bebe faced him. "Why not?"
"Because I don't," was all he said.
"Huh." She pulled the crown from her head, and held it up to her face, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Well, that's a shame; I think they're amazing. It must feel great when you win."
"I suppose," Kyle sighed, just wanting her to leave.
"What?" She lowered the crown and stared at him. "I would love to win a crown like this!"
"Well, then, you enter a pageant," said Kyle shortly.
"Oh, I never thought of that," she said honestly. "Well, I don't think I could. But maybe, if you don't like these crowns, you could donate them? Perhaps to some kids who would get a lot of use out of them?" she hinted, practically hitting him over the head with her subtlety.
"They're – well, uh, my mom knows how many there are, and she'll know if one disappears." Frankly, Kyle couldn't care less about the crowns; he considered them more Sheila's than his; it was her idea, after all. But he knew she would flip if ever got rid of any of them. "I'm sure you can buy crowns online," he said, and Bebe's eyes lit up again.
"Ooh, you're right!" she grinned. "Every girl needs a crown, wouldn't you agree? I mean, it's every girl's dream to be a princess, and to wear all these gorgeous clothes, and have everyone stare at you..."
Kyle zoned out as she prattled on, wondering if he could convince her to put on a red wig and take his place in the American Beauties and Cuties pageant that weekend. Bebe definitely wouldn't mind, and he was sure his mother wouldn't see through the disguise, paper thin though it would be.
Before he could fully commit to the idea, Bebe was carefully placing the crown, sash and sceptre back on the shelves and rail, and was taking a last, longing look around the room. "Well, I suppose I'd better get going," she sighed, her eyes lingering on the crowns.
"Okay."
Eventually, Bebe left the room, walking as slowly as she could, and kept looking back over her shoulder.
"Hey, thanks again for the help with the homework," she said at the door, a far off look in her eye. Kyle didn't bother replying, knowing that she was far too caught up in her fantasies. "See ya!" she beamed, before skipping away.
Closing the door, Kyle leaned against it, breathing a huge sigh of relief.
On that Saturday morning, Kyle walked through the halls of the Holiday Inn hotel in Austin, Texas with Jake, chatting animatedly. They were both competing in the National American Beauties and Cuties pageant, and were dressed in their tuxes, with their hair and makeup already done. Kyle felt so relieved that he had makeup on; he still hated wearing it, but it covered up all his flaws, and if the judges couldn't see his flaws, then they would score him highly. The higher the score, the bigger the title, and that meant with each win, he was closer to quitting. Of course, then he hated himself for being relieved about wearing makeup.
Kyle was wearing his new tuxedo jacket; white, with emerald satin lining the lapels and jacket pockets, just like his old one. But this jacket was styled to look like a tailcoat, and he also had on an emerald green cummerbund. The style looked a lot cleaner than his old jacket, and the new cummerbund helped to draw even more attention to his eyes.
Sheila and Tony had also made some minor changes to his routine for the beauty round, despite Tony previously saying that he didn't need to. Now, Kyle would just smile at the judges and turn on the first X, rather than posing. When he would reach the end of the catwalk, he would take a moment to make eye contact with the judges, before doing a turn, and then he would blow a kiss, and tilt his head. From then on, the routine remained the same.
There weren't any major differences, and so Kyle hadn't found it too hard to memorise the new routine.
It was swelteringly hot, and he was extremely grateful for the air conditioning. All around them, pageant kids and their families darted around, some of the kids in their formal wear outfits, the mothers chasing their daughters with hairspray and lip gloss. It was chaotic as per usual, and the sound of excited shrieking, laughing, and chattering could be heard throughout the hotel.
Kyle stopped to examine some posters hanging above a potted plant. Nothing too interesting, just advertising a few plays at the local theatre, and some upcoming art shows. Nothing to catch his eye, and so they continued walking.
He was very glad his mother was beginning to loosen up a tiny bit, and allowed him to walk around and explore before the pageant started. They had at least thirty minutes before his age group were due to be called, and Kyle was determined to back in good time. If he could prove that he could be trusted, then Sheila would give him more leeway.
She appeared to have realised that giving him a bit of time to relax and release a little bit of energy would help him in the long run. Kyle had to admit, it was nice to just walk around freely, without his mother or Tony following him, constantly reminding him to keep his head up and shoulders back, remember to not let his smile slip, always fussing with his hair or his clothes.
He didn't know whether it was Tony who had gotten Sheila to back off a little bit, but he was grateful; now he didn't feel so tense when he was waiting for his turn to perform.
"Are you gonna get Pixie Stix?" asked Jake as they entered the large, modern looking lobby. He'd spotted a table, near the room where the pageant was being held, whereupon dozens of Pixie Stix were resting, waiting to be sold. Mothers usually fed them to their kids to give them the energy needed to go on stage.
"Nah; I don't really like them," Kyle lied.
"You don't? I love them," Jake approached the table and bought two. He offered one to Kyle, who only shook his head.
"We don't need 'em," he said honestly. "We don't have to do as much as the girls."
"Yeah, you're right," said Jake, as the two of them loitered outside the ballroom, where mellow pop music and cheering could be heard. "But I like to have the extra boost, especially if I wanna win King." King was the best he could hope for. Now that Kyle was off winning the Supreme titles, Jake and the other boys actually had a chance at winning King.
"Kyle!"
Kyle looked over to see a girl about his age running up to him, dressed in her jewelled cupcake dress and shiny white shoes, her hair in rollers. "You're here! I've missed you!" she cried, hugging him.
"Um, thanks?" he awkwardly returned the hug, not recognising her.
"It's me, Brianna," she explained, letting go of him, and taking a step back. "We met at the National Kings and Queens of America pageant?"
"Oh, yeah! Hi," he smiled at her, and she smiled back. "I also saw you at Regal Gems, as well, didn't I?" he asked, and she nodded.
He felt bad for not recognising her without all the makeup she usually had on. It was a shame, really, because she really didn't need it, he thought, as she turned around for him.
"Do you like my new dress?" she asked. "Mommy had it special made; I love the roses on it, and all the little gems and crystals. What do you think?"
"It's really nice," said Kyle honestly, taking in the large, crystallised roses decorating the sweetheart neckline, and the bodice that sparkled with silver jewels. Even though he was ignorant of such things, the new, slightly darker shade of pink complemented her skin much better than her previous pastel dress.
"I'm glad you like it," she beamed at him, her voice slightly breathless, playing with the stiff edges of the skirt. "I wanna wear it every day."
"Wouldn't you get sick of it after a while?"
"I don't think so. You know, I think you'll win something big today," she told him. "You're good."
"Thanks," said Kyle politely. She did this to him every time she saw him, but he didn't really mind; he liked her boundless energy. She always greeted him with a hug, as well. He didn't really mind it; in fact, it was quite nice. "I think you'll win something big, as well. You're really good, too."
"Aw, you're sweet. Well, I gotta go; I gotta get into hair and makeup. But I just wanted to show you my dress. I lost another tooth, so I use a new flipper now." Brianna pointed to her missing tooth, before darting down the hallway. "See ya!" she cried over her shoulder.
"You know, if she falls, that dress will make her spring right back up," said Kyle, and Jake laughed.
"It would be a lot easier if we had that. Last time, I was running and I fell over, and got my knees dirty, and my mom was annoyed because she couldn't get them clean in time before I had to go on stage."
"Oh, man, that's gotta suck," said Kyle sympathetically. "I don't wanna imagine what my mom would do." He tried to chuckle, but the knowledge that Sheila would be very, very unhappy with him made the laughter die on his lips.
The two of them entered the ballroom, and stood near the door, watching the pageant, where the six-year-olds were competing in the Beauty category. After a while, they walked down the side of the room, towards the front, and found some chairs, where the other waiting contestants were sat. As they passed Sheila and Tony, she caught his eye and tapped her wrist, indicating that he should keep an eye on the time, to which Kyle nodded.
"Hey, Kyle," several kids, mainly girls, but a few boys, greeted him with a smile, which Kyle returned politely. He knew pretty much all of the boys, due to the small number that competed regularly, but there were so many girls, he couldn't keep track of them all. He only knew Brianna because she'd been hanging around him a lot.
One of the boys had some small toy cars, which he shared with Kyle and Jake, and the three of them began to run them over the chairs, racing one another. A few other little kids nearby were laying on their stomachs, colouring, waiting for their turn.
"Hey, check this out," Kyle pulled his phone from his pocket, and showed Jake a video compilation of animal 'fails'. Okay, they were cheap laughs, but the video was amusing, and they enjoyed watching it. Looking to pass the time, they watched more videos, quickly becoming engrossed in the screen.
Soon after, Kyle was tapped on the shoulder, and looked up to see his mother.
"You'll be getting ready to line up soon," she said, holding her hand out for his phone, which he gave to her. He and Jake stood, waiting for the emcee to call for their age group. The two boys stood near the wall, and Sheila and Tony approached Kyle, while Jake's mother came up to her son.
Sheila began adjusting Kyle's tux, making sure it looked neat and tidy, while Tony checked to make sure Kyle's hair and makeup looked perfect. Kyle just stared ahead, wanting them to just stop and leave him alone.
"Remember," Sheila bent down and muttered into his ear, "when you're on your first X, take the time to spot the judges. Remember to keep the turns smooth, and your smile bright. Keep an eye out for my signals, and keep your back straight. And..."
Kyle looked down at the ground as she went on and on, as if he hadn't heard it all a million times before. Biting the insides of his cheeks, he took a deep breath, hoping for the nausea to die down.
It wasn't until he was due to go on stage that they left to go and watch from the audience.
"Hey, Kyle!" Brianna plopped down next to him after the Talent round, beaming. "You did great in Talent today. Well, you always do, but today was really good."
"Thanks," he smiled, resting his basketball on his knees. "You were great, too; you're a really good dancer." He wasn't just saying that to be polite; Brianna was a very talented dancer, doing all sorts of impressive flips and spins on the stage, which had the audience on their feet.
"Thanks!" Brianna swung her legs happily, the spangles on her shorts jingling. "I've been disco dancing like this since I was three, and I also used to do dance competitions, too, but I can't do dance and pageants."
"Why not?"
"Not enough time to do both," she shrugged, itching her eye, taking care not to get glitter on her fingers. "There's too much practise. Hey, will you teach me to spin the ball on your finger, like you do?"
"Sure, I guess."
"Really? It's so cool how you do it!" Her eyes wandered to the basketball nestled on his lap.
"It's hard to learn, but you can with practise," he said. "I don't think you could do it with those nails, though," he pointed to her French manicure, and Brianna giggled.
"It must have taken you ages to learn. I guess we'll have to do it after a pageant, 'cause that's when I can take my fake nails off," she said, and Kyle nodded. She reached up into her mouth, and pulled out her flipper, the top row of fake teeth many contestants wore to hide gaps from missing teeth.
For all his experience, Kyle had not known about this, and he was surprised that Brianna apparently had a second row of teeth.
"Oh! For a second there I thought you had a second lot of teeth; like a shark," he laughed, and Brianna laughed, too.
"Yeah, it's my flipper. You're lucky you don't need one. If you lost a tooth, would you have to wear one?"
"I don't know." Kyle had never thought about it before. The rules for the boys weren't as strict as they were for the girls, but he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he did lose a tooth. He doubted Sheila would make him wear a flipper, as he had pretty much all of his adult teeth, but he'd seen other boys with missing teeth, so maybe it wouldn't matter either way. To be fair, those boys didn't have Sheila Broflovski for a mother.
"I guess you won't need to. Want some candy?" Brianna produced a bag and offered it to him.
"What are those?" Kyle looked in the bag to see pastel coloured chewy squares.
"They're called Squidglets; they're really yummy. Try some!" She waved the bag in front of him, and Kyle hesitated. He hadn't eaten since that morning, bar a snack after the Beauty round. He supposed a little bit of candy would be okay.
"Sure, thanks," he reached in and took one.
"Come on, take more!" she prompted, putting a few more in his hand. Kyle allowed her to do so, and popped a sweet into his mouth.
"Mm! You're right; these are yummy!" He had to eat another one, they were so good.
"I told you. I have these all the time."
For a moment, they sat in silence watching the other contestants perform their talent routines. As per usual, it was mainly singers and dancers. "Well, I gotta go get changed now," Brianna said, after the pre-teen age group had finished. "Outfit of Choice is one of my favourites, 'cause I get to wear my Popcorn outfit."
Brianna usually wore a Popcorn Girl costume for her Outfit of Choice; a red and white striped two-piece dress, with a red, ruffled petticoat underneath. The skirt was decorated in fake popcorn kernels, and she had a mini popcorn box attached to her headband. "You've never seen it before, have you? My Popcorn outfit?" she asked, and Kyle shook his head.
"Don't think I have."
"Well, stick around when you're done, so you can watch my routine."
"All right," he agreed, unable to resist pulling a displeased face. "Ugh, I hate doing Outfit of Choice."
"Why?"
"I hate my outfit. That stupid cowboy thing." Whenever a pageant had the Outfit of Choice category, Sheila always made Kyle wear his Western Wear attire, and he hated it with every fibre of his being.
"Oh, I think it looks nice. Well, see ya in a bit!" Brianna jumped up from the chair, and waved at him as she left the room.
Kyle continued to watch the pageant by himself; Jake was off somewhere, and Kyle didn't feel like going to look for him.
He yawned just as Sheila came to get him, and without thinking, rubbed his eyes, smudging his makeup.
"Kyle!" she grabbed his arm. "Now look what you've done! Come with me." She took him back into the back room, where the contestants got ready, and pointed to a chair.
Kyle sat, and Sheila began removing the makeup. "Did you forget you were wearing it, bubbe?" she asked, and Kyle nodded. "You must remember not to rub your eyes in the future; now we need to do your eye makeup all over again."
"Oh, no," Kyle groaned, and Sheila frowned at him.
"You wait right here; I'm gonna go get Tony. You need to get changed soon; you can't be late on stage," she said, before leaving the room.
She soon returned with Tony, who smiled sympathetically at Kyle.
"Rubbed your eyes?" he asked, and Kyle only nodded, not looking forward to this. "Don't worry; you know I'll be gentle," Tony assured him, pulling out the dreaded eyeliner. Those words meant nothing to Kyle, as he leaned back in his chair as Tony held up the pen to his face.
"Kyle, you know you have to keep still," Sheila told him.
"I don't like the eyeliner; I hate it," Kyle admitted, shocking himself. He supposed it was because he was tired. He hardly dared look at his mother.
"Well, I'm sorry, bubbe, but you need to wear it. This is non-negotiable. Now, keep still."
Of course, Kyle did as he was told, his face contorted with discomfort.
"Welcome back, Miss America!" Cartman beamed as Kyle walked into class on Monday morning.
"Fuck off, Cartman!" Kyle snapped, the faint circles under his eyes betraying how angry he was.
"Jeez, Kahl, what's your problem? Did you lose? Did you lose the beauty pageant?" Cartman grinned, clearly having the time of his life.
"None of your business, wide load," Kyle scowled as he sat down.
"Oh, so you did lose, then? Did you come in last place?"
"I said, fuck off!" Kyle growled, as chuckles began to arise, as he knew it would. God damn it, weren't they sick of these stupid jokes yet?
"There's no need to feel ashamed, Kahl," said Cartman soothingly. "You'll get it next time."
Kyle thought about the National Talent trophy, sash, and crown he had picked up that weekend. He was so tempted to say he'd won, just to shut Cartman up, but he knew it wouldn't work. All it would do would add more fuel to the fire.
So, he clenched his fists, and set his jaw as he stared up at the table.
"Give it a rest, fat ass," said Stan, but of course, Cartman ignored him.
"I want Kahl to tell the whole class about how he lost the beauty pageant, about how he came last. That's what happened, isn't it, Kahl? I guess that list the girls made was true, wasn't it?"
"I didn't lose, you fat piece of shit!" Kyle hissed without thinking, but Cartman's grin only grew wider.
"Oh, so you won? In that case, then you deserve a congratulations!" Cartman stood up, and cleared his throat loudly. "There she is, Miss America,
There she is, your ideal
The dream of a million girls who are more than pretty
Can come true in Atlantic City
For she may turn out to be
The Queen of femininity
There she is, Miss America
There she is, your ideal..."
While Cartman sang, Kyle felt himself getting redder and redder. As the laughter from around him grew louder, with Cartman singing louder to compensate for it, his felt his temper rising.
He stood up, knocking his chair back, and in one quick movement, punched Cartman in the face so hard he crumpled to the ground. Cartman immediately started wailing, his voice rising in pitch and volume every second, his mouth wide.
Rubbing his sore knuckles, Kyle only sat back down as Cartman stumbled out of the room, his hands covering his face, past Mr Garrison, who didn't even look twice.
Stan sat back down, as well, unable to keep the smile off his face.
"Dude, that was awesome!" he whispered, grinning, and Kyle had to smile as well. He felt a bit better, now.
"I'll never understand why he keeps antagonising you, when he knows you can beat him to a pulp," said Kenny, who was also grinning. Honestly, it was always great seeing Cartman be taken down a peg or two. Perhaps one of these days, one of those punches might do something to his brain, and he'd see the error of his ways. Of course, Kenny knew that was wishful thinking; there was as much chance of that happening than there was of him making it through the week without dying.
"True, but I'm not complaining," Kyle shrugged, and Kenny chuckled.
Cartman re-entered the classroom in the middle of first period, holding an ice pack to his cheek, the left side of his face red. He glared at Kyle as he sat down, but he said nothing.
Eric Cartman might be a racist, manipulative sociopath, and could even be considered intelligent by some, but he was not one to back away from a chance to make others miserable, and that was why he resumed belittling Kyle later on during break.
After his now usual trip to the nurse's office, Kyle entered the playground to find Cartman and Kenny kneeling down together, with Stan waiting for him.
"What are you guys doing?" he asked.
"Are you sure you're allowed to play with us Kahl?" asked Cartman sweetly, a big bruise on the side of his face. "Won't it ruin your manicure?"
"I don't have a manicure, fatass!" Kyle snapped.
"Sure you don't, princess," Cartman smirked, enjoying the way Kyle seethed with rage.
Unusual for him, Kyle only stamped away, muttering angrily under his breath, and Stan didn't hesitate to follow him.
"Dude, you okay?" Stan asked, seeing Kyle sitting by himself on the edge of the playground.
"Fine," was Kyle said, but Stan sat down next to him. "Stan, please. I just wanna be alone right now."
Stan stayed where he was. "Stan, I'll be fine. I just wanna sit here."
Stan could only stand up slowly.
"Sure, dude. We'll be waiting for you," he said, before walking away, keeping one eye on his friend.
Kyle rested his chin in his hand and stared at the snowy ground. He was glad he'd punched Cartman (more so than usual), because he hoped it would signal the end of the teasing. Maybe if the other boys were afraid of getting punched, they would stop mocking him. But, on the other hand, it had never worked before, so why should it start now? He didn't know what to do; there seemed to be no solution to his problems. Even winning the Ultimate Grand Supreme wouldn't help, as he would still be teased, and quitting wasn't an option, as it would upset his mother. He felt as if he were stuck between a rock and a hard place.
"Hey, Kyle?" Kyle looked up to see Wendy standing over him.
"Hey, what's up?" He made to stand, but Wendy sat down.
"I just wanted to let you know that I think it's really great what you're doing," she said, and Kyle lifted his head.
"What?"
"You know the whole pageant thing. Maybe you doing this will make people become more tolerant of it. I think it's a really brave thing to do."
"Oh, you do?" he asked lightly, keeping his gaze fixed on his knees. "I didn't think you'd care either way. I mean, you're such a feminist, and all."
"Oh, I hate them, make no mistake," she said firmly. "I think they're terrible; judging people based on their appearance, making them think they aren't worth anything unless they have a tonne of makeup on; the idea of it is just so disgusting and degrading. But, I respect your choice to do it, and I'll support you." She smiled and then headed back over to her friends, leaving Kyle wondering how that was supposed to make him feel better. He only scowled to himself and bunched his hands into fists.
Kyle arrived home from school that day, intending to watch a little TV, and have a rest, before it was time to practise, because that was just what his life entailed now. At least Sheila had stopped entering him in the little local pageants every weekend, but that didn't mean he didn't have to practise every day.
"Is that you, bubbe?" Sheila called, and Kyle closed his eyes.
"Yeah, Ma," he answered wearily, and Sheila came into the living-room, looking excited. Kyle knew that look; whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good for him.
"I've just got the most amazing phone call!" she beamed, and Kyle's stomach dropped.
"Not "Toddlers and Tiaras" again!" he said firmly. "I don't wanna do that."
"No, it's not that. The lady who called is called Janet Cooper, and she's a film maker."
Kyle's stomach dropped even further, if that were possible.
"Oh, no. No, no, no!" he said. "That can't happen!"
"Well, why not?" Sheila stood in front of the television, frowning slightly. "She said she heard about you, and wants to do a documentary about pageant boys to help get rid of some of the stigma around it. You tell me what is so bad about that?"
"That would be terrible!" said Kyle, now on his feet. "You don't think she's gonna make us look like freaks? Or that she'll only show the bad stuff? You can't do this!"
"I can't do this? Who's the parent here, me or you? It's not going to be like that; I've seen her other films – she called me this morning – and they're really good. No manipulative stuff."
"No, I don't wanna do it; I don't want any part of it," Kyle insisted, folding his arms.
"Well, I'm afraid you have to; I've already said yes."
"What?!" Kyle stared up at her in horror. "No, you can't! You gotta call her and tell her you changed your mind!"
"I'm not gonna do that," she told him. "Why are you acting like this is such a big deal? You know what life is like for a pageant boy; if this helps raise awareness, what's wrong with that?"
"Because it's not gonna help. People already tease m.. pageant kids, why would this change anything?"
"I really think it will help," said Sheila, "so I'm not telling her no. This will be great for us, I know it."
"I won't do it," said Kyle obstinately.
"Excuse me? I just told you that I'm the parent, not you, and you will do as I say."
"I won't!" Kyle stuck his chin out defiantly.
"You have no choice. I've said yes, so we're doing it. Also, we might get other phone calls, as she wants to promote it." She left the room, and Kyle could slump back onto the sofa, face contorted with horror. This was not going to end well. That two-second clip of him on "Toddlers and Tiaras" had already ruined his life, and now he was going to have to deal with this. Wasn't he already being teased enough? Why did God hate him so much? There was no way out of this; he should have told his mother he wanted to quit while he still had the chance.
Closing his eyes, Kyle rubbed his forehead as another headache came, and he sighed. What was he supposed to do?
Kyle spent the next few weeks in a state of perpetual horror, dreading the moment this film maker would arrive to ruin his life forever.
Currently, he was on his computer, absent-mindedly scrolling through before evening practise began. He wondered if he could access his college fund and just leave. If he could just get that money, he would be able to just pack up and go. Honestly, it was the only option he could think of.
Deep down he knew it wouldn't work; Sheila would track him down. He wouldn't even be able to access his money without her knowing.
There wasn't anything he could do, except wait for this woman to come and make him even more of a laughing stock than he already was.
"Fuck," he muttered, pressing his hands over his eyes as yet another headache made its arrival.
When it had subsided somewhat, Kyle resumed scrolling randomly, before he saw a photo of himself, and he started. It was an article. An article about him! On the Internet, where anyone and everyone could read it! God, he might as well just change his name.
Knowing he was going to regret it, Kyle began to read.
"This is Kyle Broflovski. He is ten years old and lives in South Park, Colorado with his parents and little brother. But Kyle isn't an ordinary ten year old boy; he is a pageant king and competes regularly in national competitions.
Ever since he started competing a year and a half ago, Kyle has become one of, if not the most, successful boys on the pageant circuit, with eleven national titles to his name, including Overall Photogenic Supreme, Prince Charming USA and Overall National Talent.
'It's very rare for a boy to really succeed in pageants,' says pageant director Aileen Roberts, when asked what was it about Kyle Broflovski that made him win so much, even beating out tough competitions from dozens of little girls. 'The judges look for someone who's having fun on stage, a child who is enjoying themselves; they score very highly for that, and the most important thing is facial beauty. Kyle has a beautiful face, which is probably why he wins so much.'
Kyle's mother Sheila, who openly admits that it was her decision to enter him in pageants, couldn't be prouder of her son's success.
'I never dreamed that he would get so much attention; it's getting to the point where people know him when we arrive to compete," she gushes.
Since Kyle started competing on the pageant scene a year ago, his life has been an endless bout of photo shoots, private basketball lessons (for the talent round), modelling lessons with his coach and travelling, but Sheila says they wouldn't have it any other way.
When he had finished, Kyle slumped over his desk, his eyes closed. Forget going to school, he never wanted to leave the house. The stupid article even had a picture of him, hair and makeup and everything. Just his luck. To say he was unimpressed would be the understand of the century.
But when did his mother talk to these people? She had obviously gone behind his back. Great. Now he had this to deal with on top of everything else.
Sighing and pinching his nose, Kyle closed his computer before heading to the garage to practise.
On the way down there, he found himself thinking about a line from the article; Sheila had said people knew him, but did they, really? Now that he thought about it properly, he supposed it was true. He had quite a few pageant friends, and people would greet him by name when they saw him. But Kyle was too busy hating himself and the whole pageant scene to notice things like that. It didn't make him feel good to discover that people knew him, but he couldn't figure out why.
He had new moves to perfect, so Kyle tried to empty his mind in order to focus. It was difficult, though; he was so pissed off; at his mother, at the kids at school, at pageants.
"You ready?" called Sheila, and Kyle only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He stood to the side, waiting for the music to start. When it did, he put on his smile, hoping that it would improve his mood.
'Think of happy stuff,' he told himself, as he walked over to the first X, but it wasn't working as well as it usually did. The smile came on its own now, anyway, so Kyle focused on getting his new routine right. He went through his Beauty walk, feeling a little bit glad that this had also become muscle memory for him; it meant he didn't have to concentrate that much.
After that, it was time for Casual Wear. Sheila didn't want Kyle to have the exact same routine for every category, and so every one was slightly different. The moves were still the same, but the orders were changed, so that they appeared different. Kyle was one of the very few boys who actually had a full routine, which really made him stand out, which was exactly what Sheila wanted.
At Sheila's request, Tony had taught Kyle some extra moves to pad out his routines. Now, when Kyle stood on the first X, he would hold his right arm up and out to the side, with the palm out, like he was signalling someone to stop. His left arm was bent at the elbow, with the hand by his chest, also with with his palm out, and he would do a turn like that.
Afterwards, he would put his left hand on his hip, and slowly raise his right arm outward, while nodding, and stepping to the right at the same time. While doing this, his left foot slid in, so his feet end up touching. He then repeated the actions for his left side. After that came the other moves Tony had already taught him, including what he called the "Pizzas," where Kyle held his hands out like he was carrying pizzas, and turned.
On the 3rd X, Kyle would now hold his lapel, then turn. Then, he would hold his imaginary cuffs, turning to the right, resting his right heel on the ground, then doing the same with his left. Then he continued with the rest of the routine.
Focusing on keeping his smile looking natural, Kyle walked back up the fake catwalk, being sure to remember a sharp turn halfway up, and performed his spin while removing his jacket. At last, Tony seemed to have realised that walking with his hands on his hips didn't really suit Kyle, and so he had axed it. Now, all Kyle had to do was keep his arms loose as he walked.
While doing another turn, he placed the jacket over his left arm, and walked over to the last X, keeping his arm out straight. Once he was there, he did another turn, ending up with his back to the audience. There, he let the jacket fall down to his wrist, and caught it at the collar. Even though he was concentrating hard, he still felt annoyed at the fact that he had practised this routine enough that he knew exactly how to lay the jacket on his arm to be able to grab the collar when it fell. As he was doing this, he looked over his shoulder, smiling at the imaginary judges, before swinging the jacket over his shoulder.
Turning around to face the front, Kyle leaned back on his left foot, and gave the judges a finger gun, clicking his tongue, silently hating himself. He placed his right hand on his hip, and raised his left arm, still holding the jacket, and walked in a wide circle. Facing the audience once again, he smiled, and tucked his jacket under his left arm, he took a step forward and did a half turn, and took another step forward, and did another half turn. He waved at the 'audience' before stepping off.
"Ow," he mumbled, letting his smile drop, closing his eyes at the pain in his head.
"That was good, bubbe," said Sheila as she came over to him, and Kyle kept his face neutral. "You're really getting the hang of those moves; it was the first time you didn't forget your routine."
"Uh-huh," was all Kyle said, putting on his jacket.
"It just needs to be smoother, but practise will help with that. Right, we'll do it one more time, and then we'll stop; you need to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."
Kyle was too annoyed to ask what she meant by, and frankly, he didn't care. His life was already over; there wasn't much else she could do to make it worse.
Once practise was over, he silently dragged himself upstairs, and went to bed, but not without washing his face, lest Sheila come down on him like a tonne of bricks, before falling into a fitful sleep.
The following afternoon, he was sitting in the back of the car, earbuds in, glued to his phone. He didn't know where they were going, and he didn't care. It was probably another stupid photoshoot, because Sheila just had to have new pictures taken every other month or so. So, great, another day of being pulled to and fro, of being forced to sit for makeup, and having to do those ridiculous poses.
He and Stan chatted over WhatsApp as Sheila drove out of South Park, and into Denver. He only looked up from the screen when they had stopped and she opened his door.
"We're here, bubbe," she said.
"Where?" Kyle put his earbuds in his pocket and got out of the car. He saw they were parked outside of a fairly ordinary looking building, with plain white wall, and a black front door. Sheila had his portfolio tucked under her arm.
"KidStar Modelling Agency. It was part of your prize, remember?"
"Right," he said, wishing he could just get in the car and go home. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Kyle, why are you being so negative lately?"
"I'm not being nega-"
"Yes, you are. I'm trying my best to help you here, and all you do is throw everything back in my face."
"How is this gonna help me? Help me with what?"
"Come on, Kyle, imagine how great it would be if you got signed. Being in magazines would be amazing for your self-esteem, wouldn't it?" she asked, her tone gentle. "That's why we're doing all this. We worked really hard to get here, so I think we should at least hear what they have to say. Besides, if they sign you, you could make a lot of money; think of your college fund, bubbe!"
When Sheila turned and headed inside, Kyle rolled his eyes before following her. He bit the insides of his cheeks, too annoyed to speak as Sheila spoke to the receptionist, and they were taken to a small waiting room. After a while, a smiling, professionally dressed woman came into the room.
"Hello!" she grinned, shaking Sheila's hand. "Sheila Broflovski? Hi, I'm Mary; I'm one of the directors. It's nice to meet you. You are?" She directed this at Kyle as she shook his hand.
"Kyle," he replied, and they all sat down.
"Hi, Kyle. So, you won the Citrus pageant?" She asked Kyle, who nodded.
"Yes, I'm very proud of him; we're really excited to be here. We're interested in the modelling. Magazines, commercials, TV, and everything like that, you know?"
Upon hearing the words 'commercials' and 'TV', Kyle whipped his head up to look sharply at his mother.
"What?" he said, but Sheila continued speaking.
"Yes, I think it would be great for him."
Mary smiled politely, before turning back to Kyle.
"And how old are you, Kyle?"
"Ten," he said.
"He'll be eleven next May," said Sheila.
"Okay, and how long have you been competing?" asked Mary. Kyle opened his mouth, but Sheila got there first.
"We started a few months before his ninth birthday, so we've been doing them for about fourteen or fifteen months."
"Oh, so you're still quite new to the circuit, aren't you?"
"Yes, but he's won some very high titles like, -" Sheila reached forward and turned a couple of pages in the portfolio. "Look, 'National Portfolio' – this portfolio – 'Overall Personality', and 'Photogenic Supreme'."
"Right. Can I see the portfolio?" Mary asked, and Sheila handed the folder over. She kept her face professionally neutral as she flipped through the pictures, though she nodded in approval every so often. She turned the page to see a picture of Kyle in his Talent costume and holding his basketball. "Is this for the pageants, Kyle? The basketball?"
"Not just for the pageants, he's been on his school team for years," said Sheila, "but we get him private lessons to teach him tricks for the competitions."
"And how long have you been playing basketball?" Mary said to Kyle.
"Um, about -"
"It's been, what, three or four years, hasn't it, bubbe?"
"Yeah," Kyle said, unable to keep the look of boredom off his face, or hold back the small sigh that escaped from his mouth.
"What do you think?" asked Sheila, shifting forward in her chair.
"Well, he's got some really nice pictures, he's good-looking, and he photographs well. I'll just need to have a quick talk with the other directors. Will you excuse me for a moment?"
At Sheila's nod, Mary stood, and left the room, Kyle's portfolio in her hand.
"Are you excited, bubbe?" asked Sheila when they were alone.
"No," said Kyle, surprising them both. "I don't want to do this."
"You don't want to earn lots of money, and be in magazines?"
"No," Kyle insisted. "I've never wanted that, just like I don't want to be in that stupid documentary." He didn't know where this was coming from, but he was too full of adrenaline to worry about it.
"You've never mentioned this before," said Sheila. "But, honestly, I think this will be really good for you, we'd be crazy to turn them down!"
"It won't be good for me, Ma."
"Of course it would," Sheila kept her voice low, so as not to be overheard.
Meanwhile, Mary was in another room, with fellow director Leslie, who was looking through Kyle's portfolio.
"What do you think of them?" asked Leslie.
"Well, he's cute, I'll give him that; very attractive," said Mary.
"Did you get to speak to him?"
"No; every time I asked him something, his mother jumped in and spoke."
"Ah. Pushy parent?"
"You got it. I've dealt with her type before. She would be a nightmare for a booker," Mary said, having seen this personally more times than she cared to remember. "You can tell the kid's being forced into it."
"Too bad; we could have used him." Leslie gestured to the open portfolio. "He would be good for the Orange Juice promo."
"I know. Well," Mary sighed. "I'll go and tell her the usual, you know? If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, call the police," she joked, before picking up the portfolio, and heading back to the Broflovskis, putting on her professional face. "Hello, again," she smiled, sitting back down. "So, I've just been speaking with the other director. We both agree that you're very handsome, Kyle, but unfortunately, we just don't have anything they can use you for for the time being." She didn't miss Kyle sigh of relief, nor did she miss the disappointed look on Sheila's face. "We'll keep you on file, though, so perhaps if something comes up in the future, we might give you a call."
"Okay. Well, thanks for meeting us." Sheila stood quickly and shook Mary's hand, not even pretending to be happy. Kyle shook her hand, as well, grinning widely, and he could have sworn that she gave him a little wink.
"Well, that's that," said Kyle brightly as they returned to the car.
"Not really," said Sheila curtly. "We still have two more agencies to see later." She chose to ignore the look of shock horror on Kyle's face as she got behind the wheel.
~ X ~
I feel really bad about mentioning JonBenet here. I mean no disrespect to her memory at all, but I really felt that it was something Cartman would say.
So, should Kyle get a modelling job or two?