Hi, guys. I'm so sorry for the delay; I had Covid. Even though my symptoms were mild, it kept me bedridden for ages. Writing needed energy I just didn't have.
Anyway, I hope you can enjoy this next chapter.
Kyle, the Pageant King
Chapter 9
Kyle concealed a yawn as the parade director spoke to his mother, along with a few other parents. Somehow, they'd reached the summer holidays, and before he knew it, he was back in Florida, preparing to ride in the Citrus Parade.
He looked around him, bored, as the director prattled on and on about what to expect. Feeling uncomfortable, he scratched his styled hair under his hat, as he took a few steps back into a shady spot; he doubted he would ever get used to hot weather and sunshine.
He was standing in a small group, all dressed in their citrus coloured tops and shorts, along with their sashes, as was he, and most of them were chattering casually to one another.
Kyle tapped his foot impatiently, and was just considering getting a drink when the parade director turned to them and raised her voice.
"Okay, guys, the parade's almost about to start, so if anyone has any questions, ask them now!" she called.
"Are you ready, bubbe?" Sheila approached him, holding his Citrus crown. "How exciting is this? You get to be in a parade!"
"Yep," he said shortly, yanking his hat off, not caring if he messed up his hair or makeup, and bunching it in his fists. He exchanged it for his hated crown, putting it on carefully, lest his mother launch into a thirty minute lecture.
He, along with the other kids and parents, walked over to the float. It was quite possibly the most garish thing he had ever seen. It was attached to the end of a large truck, which was decorated in orange and green tissue paper flowers in an attempt to look classy. The float itself was covered in big white scrunched up balls of tissue paper, and had a cheap, plastic rail running around the edge to give the illusion of safety. Stuck to the sides were large Styrofoam letters reading "Citrus Pageant Winners", and surrounding this were oversized, fake orange, green, and yellow flowers, along with plastic oranges, lemons, and limes. The bed of the float was covered in artificial grass, and there was a white platform in the middle, draped in green chiffon, and a set of stairs at the back. The stairs were flanked by some plywood castle turrets, painted white, and decorated with painted gold filigree. It was one of the tackiest things that Kyle had ever seen, and he shook his head in disgust.
Kyle and the other winners climbed onto the float, ducking under the safety rail, and the director and her assistant followed, and the adults began jostling the kids into place.
As one of two Overall winners, Kyle was positioned near the front, along with little Georgina, who had her mother with her. The other participants, the ones who had won their age divisions, were spread out along the rest of the float. A toddler was stood on the platform, her parent sitting next to her, and two of the eldest teens sat on the red and gold thrones that were perched on the top of the stairs at the back.
"Remember, everyone; smile, look happy, and wave!" the director called out from her spot on the ground near the front of the float.
Kyle glanced over to the left and saw his mother standing on the sidelines; she gave him an encouraging smile and nod, which Kyle did not return.
As pop music began to play and the float began to move, Kyle did not smile, not even when they reached the parade route. He stared at the throngs of people lining both sides of the street, not making eye contact with anyone. Everyone else on the float was laughing, chattering, waving, giggling, but Kyle refused to join in.
Directly in front of the float was a marching band, dressed up in red and white military style jackets and playing enthusiastically on their various instruments. In front of them was another float, but he couldn't see what it represented or who was on it. He couldn't see any other floats, but he knew there were a lot. He looked over at Georgina, who was grinning widely, waving, and blowing kisses while her mother knelt down next to her, and chanced a half glance behind him; everyone else seemed to be having fun. Logically, Kyle knew he should loosen up a little; after all, he was riding in a parade; most people would love to be in his position. He might never get a chance to do this again, so he should make the most of it, right? But he just couldn't bring himself to smile. He was sure that quite a few people in the crowd were looking at him and sniggering. Why wouldn't they? He was a boy standing on a parade float for beauty pageant winners; it must be the most hilarious thing they'd ever seen. And surely smiling would indicate that he was happy with what was going on, and he most definitely wasn't. Besides, it was too hot to smile and the float had no form of air conditioning.
'Just my luck,' Kyle thought, wiping his sweaty brow, his hand brushing against his stiff, sprayed coif, and he grimaced. He hated how crunchy his hair felt when it was all styled, almost as much as he hated having his hair on show at all.
As the parade went on, Kyle grew more hot and irritated. There were people with cameras, and he desperately hoped he wouldn't be in any pictures. A couple of helpers were walking down the streets, handing out fruit to the crowd; he caught sight of someone carrying a large bunch of bananas and his teeth itched with hatred and disgust. When was this hell going to be over?
The parade turned round a corner, and Kyle saw two more sets of marching bands, he saw cheerleaders, dancers, people riding in the backs of open top Convertibles, costumed mascots dancing around, among baton twirlers and people handing out brightly coloured shaped balloons.
He gazed around, frowning, hating everything about the situation, and caught sight of what seemed like countless floats in front of him, with many more no doubt bringing up the rear.
"Kyle! Kyle!"
An unfamiliar voice caught his attention, and he looked left and right for a moment before spotting the parade director walking alongside the float. "Smile! Come on! Don't look so miserable!" she called chirpily.
For a moment, Kyle just stared at her. Because that was what he needed; more people ordering him to smile and pretending to be happy when he didn't feel like it. However, he obligated by giving polite yet sarcastic grin that lasted just long enough for her to see, before it dropped from his face. Hey, she never said he had to keep smiling.
Kyle determinedly kept his head turned away from her, even when she called him again. Eventually, she gave up, and continued walking the parade route.
After what seemed like an eternity, the parade finally came to an end, and the floats had returned to the hangar-type residence where the winners had boarded them. As soon as he could, Kyle hopped down, and found Sheila waiting for him.
"Did you enjoy that, bubbe?" she asked, as Kyle took his crown off resisting the urge to throw it to the ground.
"Oh, yeah(!)" Kyle didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice, but Sheila was too busy rummaging through her purse to notice. He took the makeup wipe she offered him, and cleaned his face, feeling so much more free with it off. He didn't know how some people could wear it every day; it was bad enough every other weekend in a hot, sweltering ballroom, let alone every single day, especially in this weather.
"Shall we go back to the hotel?" asked Sheila, already walking that way. Kyle didn't answer as he followed her; there wasn't really anything of interest to him here, and it was far too hot for him to enjoy himself. At least at the hotel, he could find an air conditioned room to practise in for the upcoming pageant that weekend. He had no idea what it was called, or what the prizes were, or even what categories he was competing in. The only things he knew were that Tony was flying in later that afternoon, Jake would probably be there, and so would Brianna, so at least he had that. "It can't hurt to get in a little extra practice, right?"
"Sure(!)" Kyle's voice again dripped with sarcasm, but Sheila was too busy walking to their nearby hotel.
The next morning, too early for Kyle's liking, he was sat on a chair in their hotel room, with a white sheet covering his tuxedo, yawning at Tony did his hair. It wasn't terribly early; Kyle usually got up earlier than this for school, but he hadn't gotten a very good night's sleep. Still, at least his makeup didn't take that much time, unlike his hair.
"How come we're not going downstairs for this?" Kyle asked as Sheila applied her lipstick, using her compact mirror.
"It's just easier this way," was all she said. Kyle shrugged, not caring either way, and turned back to the little television that was playing cartoons, losing himself in the animations and storylines. It provided a pretty good distraction.
"Isn't Bobby here? And Maddox? Are they gonna come up here, or is Tony gonna go down there?"
"Bubbe, Tony's only your coach now," said Sheila, and Kyle did a double take. "Didn't I tell you? I'm sure I did. Anyway, he's your own private coach, and he only does your hair and makeup, so he can really focus on helping you out."
"Oh." Kyle wasn't sure how to feel about that. He liked Tony enough, but he felt that Sheila was getting a little extreme. What next, limo transportation to every pageant? Constructing a makeshift stage in the garage? He caught sight of Tony picking something up off the table, and he groaned. "I don't like the hairspray," he said as Tony held the dreaded can up.
"I know you don't," said Tony sympathetically, "but if we don't use it, your hair won't stay, and it'll fall flat."
Kyle held his breath as Tony began to spray his hair, but he still had to cough every now and then.
"I'm just going to find out if they've started yet," said Sheila, and she stood up and left the room.
"Are you almost done? I really hate the hairspray," asked Kyle.
"Almost," said Tony, now in front of Kyle, tidying up a few stray hairs. "D'you know how many people would kill for hair like yours? It's so thick!" He grinned as he leaned forward, smoothing down one last patch, and securing it with another spritz of hairspray.
"Yeah," Kyle groaned, thinking about all the countless salon trips, (Sheila said it would keep his hair in good condition), and about some of the younger kids who were fascinated with how "tall" his hair was and wanted to touch it. Every comment he heard make Kyle want to shave his head in protest.
Forgetting about the cartoons, he amused himself by imagining what would happen if he did shave his head, and his mother was so upset, she removed him from pageants for ever – like, so upset that the thought of a wig didn't even occur to her. It was as unlikely to happen as Cartman being genuinely nice to him, but it was fun to pretend.
Tony sat down in front of him, and opened his makeup bag. He glanced at Kyle and frowned slightly, putting the powder aside and searching his bag for some concealer.
"You not sleeping too good?" he asked, referring to the dark circles under Kyle's eyes, and Kyle shrugged, his gaze falling on the small tube.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Just some concealer; you look a bit tired, and this will hide those shadows under your eyes." He began to dab it on Kyle's face, expertly blending it until it couldn't be seen, before applying some powder over the top.
Sheila came back into the room, grinning widely, holding what looked like a magazine.
"Kyle, look at this!" She handed it to him, and Kyle cringed. It was the official pageant programme, and on the front cover, was him. It was from his most recent photoshoot, and it was a very Vogue style head shot of him in front of a light green background that drew attention to his eyes – another idea of Tony's. His hair and makeup was done, and he was in his tux and one of his crowns, and he his head was turned slightly to the left, his eyes focused on something slightly above to the left of the camera. "I can't believe they actually used it! How amazing is this?" Sheila gushed, and Kyle scowled, resisting the urge to rip the programme into shreds. He looked so ridiculous; he didn't know how Sheila couldn't see it.
"That's great!" Tony beamed, taking the programme and examining the cover. "What did I tell you about the green background?"
"When you're right, you're right," Sheila grinned. "I didn't really think it would work."
"Like I said; just the right shade of green, very subtle. Kyle's lucky to have a unique eye colour."
"I'm definitely going to keep this." Sheila placed the magazine on the table next to Tony's makeup kit. "I'm so proud, Kyle. Aren't you?"
"What? Because I took a decent picture?" said Kyle before he could stop himself.
"Because you're on the front cover of a prestigious national pageant programme," she corrected.
"It's not exactly Forbes or People, is it?"
"Kyle, I don't know where this new, disrespectful attitude has come from, but I don't like it. I – you are being disrespectful -" she cut over her son's protests. "I've put a lot into this, as you know, and it just seems like you're not really caring about what I do for you."
Kyle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I'm sorry," he said through clenched teeth.
"Come, on; we'd better get going – your group goes on in about half an hour," was all Sheila said in response, gathering up her bag and the programme, and waited by the door. Wordlessly, Kyle slid off his chair, and removed the sheet, before he and Tony followed her.
Several hours later, Kyle, Sheila, and Tony were back in the ballroom, and the two adults were watching Kyle as he performed his Casual Wear routine.
On stage, Kyle went through the motions, being sure to keep a smile on his face, and his eyes on the judges. He couldn't stop thinking about the programme cover; it annoyed him for too many reasons to list.
Then without warning, his mind went blank. Kyle forgot everything; where he was supposed to turn, his pageant smile, everything, and he froze on the spot, his eyes casting wildly over the audience. His smile looking more like a grimace, he spotted Sheila waving frantically at him. Once he had caught her eye, she began gesturing for him to continue. 'Improvise!' she mouthed, indicating he should start walking down the runway, to which Kyle did. He did his best to ad-lib, but his mind was still completely blank, and therefore he didn't remember anything he did, until the emcee thanked him and he stepped off stage.
Before he could get his bearings, Sheila was right in front of him.
"The judges could see you forgot your routine. Don't you ever do that again. Never freeze on stage no matter what."
"I'm sorry." Kyle shook his head a little bit, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"What happened up there?"
"I don't know; I just forgot," said Kyle, as they began to walk towards the double doors.
"Well, this is why we practise, isn't it, so this kind of thing doesn't happen." Sheila steered him out of the door, and they headed back up to their room so Kyle could change. "Hopefully, that was a one off."
Knowing that nothing he could say would appease her, Kyle silently entered the hotel room, and began to change into his next outfit, while Sheila waited for him. When he had finished, they headed back downstairs.
Back at home, Kyle yawned as he waited for the school bus.
"Hey, dude," came Stan's voice, and Kyle smiled and greeted him warmly. "So, how was it? Did you win?" he asked as Cartman and Kenny approached.
"Uh, I came, like, sixth or seventh in the whole thing," Kyle muttered, choosing not to mention just what he had won, which was National Cover Model. It was a given, as he had been literally on the front cover, but Kyle hadn't even known that it was a category.
"Oh, cool, what'd you win?"
"Oh, you know, just some stuff, and $500." Kyle shrugged, unaware that Cartman's ears had pricked up.
"Wow, you won $500?! Dude, what are you gonna spend it on?" Stan's jaw dropped, and Cartman and Kenny had moved closer.
"Don't know," Kyle lied, preferring to omit the fact that his mother took half for the pageants, and the other half he couldn't touch until he was eighteen.
"Wow, maybe you should enter a pageant, Kenny," said Cartman. "That $500 will last your family a day or two."
"Fuck you, fatass!"
"It's so cool that you get to win money!" said Stan. "Is that the biggest amount you can win?" Hey, they were kids; any amount of money that was larger than their allowance was something to be admired and awed at. Kyle shook his head, not at all comfortable with speaking about his new 'hobby' in Cartman's presence, but Cartman was being oddly quiet about it that morning. Kyle knew that he was probably planning something, but he doubted Cartman could humiliate him more than he already had.
"No, most of them give you $1,000 if you win first place. Sometimes $2,000."
Now Cartman was listening intently.
"Wow!" Stan looked in awe of his friend. "$2,000?!" Stan's eyes were practically popping out of his head. "Dude, I'd let my mom dress me up and go on stage if I could win $2,000! You can get rich so easy!"
"It's really not worth it," said Kyle, shaking his head.
"What do you mean?" Stan looked confused.
"Because the cost doesn't really cover it," Kyle began to explain. "Sometimes, the entry fees can go up to $500; then you got travel – plane tickets – hotel bills, food; you gotta pay for new photos. I mean, the girls that do this; sometimes just one dress costs, like $2,000, and they need three or four different outfits. And they got to pay for coaches, and hair and makeup, and all that. It's really not worth it. $1,000 is usually the biggest prize, so you can't really make money on this, and if you do, it all goes back into pageants."
Plus, it didn't account for the fact that not only did it cost to actually enter a pageant, but each additional category cost extra, and as the more categories entered, the better the chance of winning, so most every parent paid for every single category.
And most pageants had a theme; be it disco, or safari, or Old Hollywood, which meant contestants needed a specific outfit for that category (usually custom made), not to mention props. And then there were official T-shirts, which had to be purchased so as to be worn for promotional photos, and sometimes for crowning, and though the invitations to the ice cream socials and after parties weren't necessary, you could count on one hand the amount of mothers that didn't buy the tickets.
Kyle couldn't help but admire the organisers sometimes; the sheer number of people willing to pay to do this on a regular basis was mind-boggling. Intelligent though he was, he could not fathom how so many thought it was an investment to spend upward of $3,000 to win not even half; parents of contestants even needed to purchase tickets to get into the room where the pageant was being held. But, hey, they were willing to pay for all that, so there was definitely a demand for it. Honestly, he had no idea how his mother even afforded it; though his family was wealthy, Kyle still couldn't quite understand how Sheila managed to find the money for pageants. Even with his prize money, it still couldn't be enough to cover costs.
"A coach?" Cartman's snigger jolted Kyle from his thoughts, and he clenched his jaw. "Do you have a pageant coach, Kahl?"
"No," he lied, his hands balling into fists.
"Ha! You do, don't you?" Cartman bounced with glee. "Don't you, Princess? What, does she teach you how to wave like Miss America, how to blow kisses?" Cartman cracked up at the thought, doubling over.
"Cartman, I'm warning you!" Kyle started towards him, but Stan grabbed his jacket just as the bus pulled up.
Cartman continued laughing as they climbed onto the bus and took their seats. Kyle growled and massaged his temples as Cartman's cackling grew louder.
"I just can't believe you need a coach!" he wheezed, slapping his knee. "She teaches you routines, right? Does she teach you to twerk?" His eyes widened and he screeched as if he had just made the funniest joke in the world. "Little Princess Kahl, twerkin' for the pervs!"
Kyle had had enough; turning around, he reached over the back of the seat, and decked Cartman square in the face. Cartman looked momentarily stunned, before he stood and attempted to punch Kyle, who quickly ducked.
Soon, the two of them were in the aisle, rolling around, engaged in a full-blown fist fight, the cheering of the students filling the small bus.
Cartman managed to kick Kyle off him, and immediately leapt onto him, punching Kyle in the chest and stomach. His victory didn't last long forever, however, as Kyle managed to pin Cartman to the floor and began pummelling him.
At that point, bus driver, having caught sight of this regular occurrence, swerved sharply, sending the two boys flying into the side of a nearby seat, and putting an end to the fight.
"Enough!" he snapped, eyeing them in the rear view mirror as Kyle and Cartman got to their feet, grumbling. "Don't make me come back there!"
"Oh, yeah?! What you gonna do?!" Cartman snapped, fixing the driver with a steely glare. But the driver, who was at least twice as scary as Miss Crabtree, gave him an even steelier glare, and Cartman quickly sat down.
Throwing himself back down next to Stan, Kyle winced as he touched the bruised, tender skin around his eye.
"That fat bastard," he muttered, hissing quietly.
"You kicked his ass, though," Stan said, looking impressed. Still annoyed, Kyle didn't answer, and the four of them resumed the ride in silence.
At break time, the talk of prize money continued. Kyle, still holding a cold compress over his black eye, approached Stan, Kenny, and Cartman. He couldn't help but smirk at Cartman's busted lip. "Anyway," said Stan, as though the fight on the bus had not happened, "I still think it's so cool that you can win money."
"Yeah," Kyle sighed, adjusting his compress. "It's still a load of crap, though."
"Yeah, I guess, but if you only do one or two, then you could still win $2,000, right?"
".. Right," said Kyle, not wanting to explain why it would never work. They probably wouldn't listen to him, anyway; when did they ever? He decided to roll with it. "One or two offer $5,000, but the really big, important one has $10,000 as the prize for first place." He hadn't entered that particular pageant yet, but he knew Sheila had her eye on it.
Stan and Kenny looked super impressed, but a choked sound from their left caused them to be abruptly pulled from their daydreams.
"Cartman?"
They all turned to see Cartman staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed over, drooling slightly.
"$10,000," he said dreamily. "$10,000." Then he blinked and shook himself slightly. "You're telling me that I can win $10,000, and all I have to do is put on a tuxedo and smile at some perverts? Why didn't anyone tell me this before?"
The other three were just staring at him, amusement spread across their faces. Kyle said nothing; he couldn't deny it would be funny to watch Cartman make a fool of himself, but he didn't think it would end well. "Guys?" said Cartman, turning to face them. "Do you realise what we could do?" He ignored Kyle's groan. "I could win $10,000! I could finally achieve my life's dream!"
"What, inheriting a million dollars wasn't enough for you?" Kyle retorted.
"Well, I don't have that any more, do I, Kahl?"
"It was your own fault, you stupid fat fuck!"
"I don't know," said Stan slowly, doing his best to defuse the situation. Now that he thought about it, he didn't think it would be as easy as it sounded. He had seen how hard Kyle had to work, and he made it look so easy. They would probably have to do what Kyle did, and Stan really didn't see the appeal. Getting up at the crack of dawn to practise, and having to wear makeup sounded awful. He began to wonder if $2,000 was really worth it.
He looked over at Cartman and Kenny. "Why don't we just go play? I bet it costs a lot to enter, and we don't know anything about this stuff."
"That's what parents are for, dumbass! Besides, how hard can it be? If Kahl can do it, we can. I mean, all you have to do is smile, right? Right, Kahl?" Cartman leaned forward and began prodding and poking Kyle's forehead over his hat. Kyle batted his hand away, but Cartman kept prodding. "Come on, Princess, it's easy, right?"
"Not really," Kyle said, stepping back out of hitting range.
"If you're winning, the standards must be low. The judges must be crazy," Cartman smirked as Kyle flushed with anger and embarrassment.
"Oh, shut up!" Kyle snapped. "At least I can win them, unlike you!" It was a mistake to say this, and he realised that as soon as the words left his lips, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.
"You think you're better looking than me?" Cartman started laughing again. "Seriously. You look like that and you think you're better looking than me? Everyone knows I'm the hottest one out of all of us!"
"Being so fat you have your own ozone layer doesn't make you hot!" said Kyle, and Stan and Kenny practically collapsed they were laughing so hard.
"Ay! I could win one! The judges only pick you because they feel sorry for you. A pity vote!"
That certainly shut Kyle up. His face turned so red and he clenched his fist to keep from punching Cartman (again). Cartman had metaphorically hit Kyle where it hurt, and everyone knew it.
"Dude, not cool!" Stan glared at Cartman before walking over to Kyle, who was already walking away. Cartman only smirked as Stan and Kyle headed inside.
"Kyle, what happened to your face?"
Kyle had hoped to sneak up to his bedroom when he arrived home from school, but Sheila was in the living-room and spotted him.
"I got into a fight with Cartman," he said simply, as Sheila approached him and examined his eye.
"Again? What for this time?"
Kyle hesitated for the briefest moment, before deciding to just tell her the truth.
"He was making fun of me being in pageants; just like everyone else does. That's why we can't do that documentary," he barely refrained from calling it 'stupid'. "Because everyone will make fun of me even more."
"I told you I've already said yes; we can't go back on it now."
"Why not?" asked Kyle, as Sheila took him into the kitchen, where she rummaged around for an ice pack.
"Because don't you realise how hard it will be for her? She's already planning this; it's not cheap to film a professional documentary, Kyle. I thought you would have known that. If we back out now, then she'll have wasted money on cameras and stuff." Pulling out an ice pack, she held it out to Kyle, who placed it over his eye.
"Well, I know that, but she could do it about somebody else, then she won't have wasted any money."
"Yes, but she chose us. You should feel grateful." Bending down, Sheila gestured for him to remove the pack, and examined his eye. "It looks fine; just count yourself lucky that we don't have a pageant coming up – the swelling might not go down in time. Anyway, come with me, I want to show you something."
Kyle followed her upstairs, wondering what she had in store. Sheila opened the door to the trophy room and stepped inside. Kyle did the same, and saw his National Cover Model photo, poster size, hung on the wall, with the name of the pageant, the date, and his name written at the bottom. "It arrived this morning. What do you think?" she beamed, oblivious to the pissed-off look on Kyle's face.
"I think it's unnecessary," he said, and Sheila frowned at him.
"You think a display of the picture that won you a prize is unnecessary?"
"Well, you kept the programme; we didn't really need this, did we?"
"Well, you don't need toys and books and your cell phone and your iPad, but you like having them, don't you? This is no different. Besides, everyone who wins this title gets a poster like this."
"I guess," Kyle muttered, shooting a scathing glare at the poster. "Well, I've got homework, so I better go make a start on it." He retreated to his own bedroom. He didn't actually have any homework, but it was a chance to get some peace and quiet. Before he knew it, Sheila would be calling him down for evening practise. He flopped down onto his bed, as another headache came, almost right on cue, and pulled his hat down over his eyes.
Much as he tried to relax, he had too many thoughts swimming around his head. The same old thoughts about how he felt like he was trapped inside his own home, as he now got mocked and insulted whenever he hung out with his friends. Kyle couldn't even play online; if he did, he had to mute his mic as kids from school would make fun of him there, as well. It seemed he couldn't catch a break.
Kyle felt like he had no free time at all, or at least very little time to himself. If he wasn't practising his routines, then he was practising basketball, or having photos taken. He had chores and homework, and the effort of trying to maintain some dignity whenever he was at school, which always failed as Cartman wouldn't allow him to win in any way.
He managed to get in a brief nap before evening practise, but to his dismay, he found that it didn't help his headache at all.
~ X ~
Thanks for reading!