DITCH

Episode 4, Pt. 3

Tamieke tosses me a knowing look. "Henny, can you blame us? We're teenagers with raging hormones, what do you expect?"

I digress with a shrug. I had to give him that. Besides, I wasn't exactly high up on moral grounds to judge.

"Fine," — I roll my eyes at the expectant expressions surrounding me, waiting for me to state my reasons — "I got held up on some club-thing."

"Speaking of clubs, since today's Friday..." Jhett wags his brows, jiggling his shoulders and leaving the rest of us to fill in the gaps.

My shoulders flinch. Fuck, today is FRIDAY?!

I zone off, barely catching on to a few words from Jhett like 'new', 'opened', and 'town'.

Joule's jaw slackens. "I can't believe it! Like an actual club here in Averill?! You didn't tell us your families were taken over by extraterrestrial life forms!"

Like any other town, ours also has its own council that functions as a legislative body.  It's mostly made up of the town's founding families' heads and largest estate owners. Four families, in particular, hold most of the decision-making power. They are the Bryers, the Jerricks, the Richards... and the Darrells.

Emile laughs like a hyena as if the very notion was the silliest thing he's ever heard this morning. "Joule, please. In the Bryer family, money talks louder."

Jhett nods in agreement, rubbing two of his fingers with his thumb. Well, that explains where the Orson family stands as well.

Kian holds her phone over the table, the screen showing an IG post of what looked like the perforated steel interior of a hip nightclub.

BANG! BANG! Tamieke strikes the table with a ketchup bottle like it was a gavel, calling our attention. "Children, you better have your fake IDs, because I do declare, after Drag Race, we are going out tonight!" 

The 'mos share a look and suddenly break into a song-and-dance number around the table:

"We're here, we're queer,

We also like beer.

We're here, we're queer

Give us some free beer."

"Hold up, queens" — Tia interrupts, clapping her hands — "you do know we're having Tequila, right?"

"No duh, but it's just so catchy," Jhett reasons, still swaying his hips like the rest of the 'mos.

Even Kiana was mouthing off to the chant, snapping her fingers in the air.

"Keke," Tia groans.

Kiana shrugs, "It kinda is."

Meanwhile, the 'mos continue their singing, inviting every eye to our table — and by that, I meant everyone.

"Shush, you Mistresses of Conspicuous Misdeeds" — I butt in, and by some miracle they did — "save that shit for Pride Month.* I don't need somebody tattling to my aunts."

"Oh-kay!" — Tamieke raises his hands — "First of all, hakuna your tatas.* Literally. I can see a glimpse of your white privilege* from over here," he moves his hand across his chest.

I tug my shirt higher.

"Better. Second, we don't have Pride Month here. The town council made sure of that. Third" — he faces Tia this time — "Tea, we are having tequilas along with an assortment of other drinks, but it's just too catchy to pass up. If you can make up a good rhyme for gays and tequila, feel free to share."