Freak Show

XXXVIII

THE PREGAME SHOW

It’s here!

It’s finally here!

The big parade! It’s time for my float!

WHEEEEEEEEEE!

And, oh! I DO love a parade!

Seventy-six trombones, and all that!

Look around!

The majorettes in their kicky little tap suits—who DOESN’T want to be one? They are absolute FASHION ICONS, I tell you. The glittery, unsung goddesses of the Astroturf!

And the baton twirlers! SQUEEEEAL! Such skill! Such fun! And so thrilling!

Then there are the marching bands! And the flag-wavers! (The color guard?)

And, oh, the music and the bright stadium lights and the cheers from the people in the bleachers, AND THE CONFETTI! AND THE POM-POMS!

OH! It’s almost TOO MUCH!

I could go on. I won’t.

But now! to actually BE A PART OF IT!

I’m blessed. Truly blessed.

Why, I feel just like the pope in the popemobile, but pretty, you know, and about 173 years younger. And not evil.

So, maybe not.

Or Jackie Kennedy in her pretty pink suit, waving from the backseat of her convertible, with her husband by her side and . . . oh. Um. Yeah. That didn’t end well.

I know! Of course! I’m Cinderella in her horse-drawn carriage! Yes, of course! The spitting image! They say the resemblance is amazing! And WAIT until you see my gown! But . . . hmmm . . . come to think of it, the whole carriage thing didn’t end well for Cinderella, either.

Oh, dear. Do these things EVER work out right?

NO, NO, DON’T WORRY. I’m not foreshadowing or anything! I really don’t know! I was just asking!

First comes the marching band, all rip-roaring and rum-pum-pum, you know, then the color guard, with their flags waving, and the majorettes, all majorly being majoretty, et cetera, et cetera, and it’s all JUST GLORIOUS, of course. Rousing and really rah-rah. AND BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Then:

“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed the voice of Principal Onnigan. “Welcome to the Dwight D. Eisenhower Academy homecoming game preshow! I know how excited everyone is, so without further ado, I present the parade of floats, made by your homecoming queen candidates. First up, we have candidate number one: Miss Henny Nickerson . . .”

Henny’s float was on a hay trailer, and pulled by a golf cart.

On the flatbed of the trailer, Henny had constructed a miniature racetrack—oh, what a surprise—“the Eisenhower Derby,” she called it. The horses were labeled KNOWLEDGE, SPORTSMANSHIP, SOCIAL SKILLS, SCHOOL SPIRIT, MORAL CHARACTER, and FAITH. The finish line was GRADUATION, and the prize was a laurel of HAPPY MEMORIES TO LAST A LIFETIME!

Her motto was BETTING ON YOUR FUTURE!

Which made everyone absolutely HURL over the side of the bleachers. Now do you see why nobody likes her?

“Next up, we have candidate number two, Miss Alma Doty!”

There was polite applause as Alma rounded the gate.

Alma, poor dear, had obviously really struggled with her float. And obviously struggled all by herself.

On her undecorated flatbed she had arranged her entire Beanie Baby collection—all 1,375 of them—into the shape of a heart. And her motto FRIENDSHIP NEVER ENDS was written in Magic Marker on shelf paper and taped to the side.

Oh, if only she’d consulted me! I would have told her, straight up, yo, that quoting the Spice Girls is so last century! Rival or not, I would have helped her. Nobody should have to endure the chilly reception her float received.

I don’t know why she just didn’t ask her fellow shadow kids to help out.

Lynnette’s float was next.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Principal Onnigan announced over the loudspeaker, “our number three float and third contestant for homecoming queen—Miss Lynnette Franz!”

There was a burst of expectant applause that quickly sputtered to a lukewarm half-clap once her float actually came through the gate and rolled into view.

Yes, that initial “Ahhh!” was demoted to an “Uhhh” once folks got a good look at it.

“Oh . . . well . . .”

“Um . . . wow . . . okay . . .”

“It’s . . . not terrible. . . .”

“No, no . . . the colors are really . . . matching. . . .”

“And SHE looks beautiful!”

“Oh, yeah!”

“She’s a pretty girl, no doubt about it. . . .”

“NO SIREE, no doubt about it. . . . And the float . . . it’s . . . GOT FLOWERS!”

Let’s see:

Lynnette’s float consisted of a flatbed platform decorated with swaths of white satin fabric draped like a garland around the sides, some twisted crepe-paper streamers (in red, white, and blue), a carpet of store-bought floral sheeting, and dozens of droopy, partially deflated balloons bobbling behind. . . .

The banner read, simply: TRADITION.

There was a small elevated platform on the flatbed, where Lynnette stood, surrounded by her coterie of loyal, royal attendants—the court of Tiff, Sissy, Baba, Betsy, and Violet, all dressed identically in taffeta gowns of the deepest mulberry, with baby’s breath in their hair.

Lynnette waved regally to all the little people and continued to smile prettily, even as she became increasingly annoyed by the lack of thundering ovation that greeted her float’s appearance. THIS WASN’T HOW HER FANTASY WENT, Y’ALL.

But here’s the thing:.

This float is meant to be your legacy. It should be the ultimate expression of WHO YOU ARE, and the culmination of all your hopes and dreams and heartfelt artistic yearnings! Yes!

In short, it should be “you,” but A BIGGER YOU! A BETTER YOU! YOU BEYOND YOU!

So, BY GOD, it ought to be memorable!

So that’s why there was such a peevish reaction from the crowd to that rickety little rickshaw she trotted out.

These folks expect a SHOW! They want to be WOWED!

I mean, DEAR LORD, she’s only been planning this since SEVENTH GRADE! Is it too much to ask for a little effort?

And if they can’t be dazzled by her creativity or moved by her passion, at least they should be amused by some little in-joke or clever cultural reference.

AT THE VERY LEAST, it should include a passing reference to the Manatees, DON’T YOU THINK?

But this . . . THIS? THIS! THIS was beyond boring!

It was pitiful.

AND LAZY TO THE POINT OF LAUGHABLE.

She obviously didn’t try very hard. She had obviously used all her “float time” to gossip about who would be wearing what and taking whom to the big dance.

Or maybe she just had such a high opinion of herself, or thought she was such a shoo-in, that she imagined her mere presence in a pretty new dress was enough to win the popular vote.

But now, as her float rolled ominously past the crowd, Lynnette dropped the smile and wave and, instead, scowled hatefully to friends and longtime supporters. They responded with a few hollow “Hey girl!”s and “Lookin’ hot!”s. But this halfhearted show of enthusiasm wasn’t enough to negate what was already going down in academy history as a social disaster of unparalleled proportions, and one that Lynnette Franz couldn’t possibly recover from.

Her float totally Britney’ed, y’all.

“I knoooooooow. Can you imagine? She must’ve just wanted to diiiiiiiiiiie!”