Little Miss Firecracker   The standalone sequel to the Spangled Leotard. by Torey Copyright © 2013 Torey All Rights Reserved.

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"Okay Jude, suck it up!" my Momma said as she zipped up my red-white-and-blue leotard.

It was a little tight. I felt like I was going to bust out of it.

"You're going to have to lose some weight," she said. "You're gettin' a little pooch in the belly."

"Gee, thanks, Momma!" I said sarcastically.

I protested that she bought it a little small, but to know avail.

"Jude, you're on stage in five minutes," said Miss Moultrie, my twirling teacher and pageant coordinator of the Little Miss Firecracker Pageant.

Yeah, you heard that right.

The Little Miss Firecracker Pageant, which was part of what my mother calls Linville's "Americana" of the Fourth of July.

Credit Barbara Jean Miller for wanting to put her "little Janegirl" front and center as part of this lovely event during the holiday festivities.

Yup, she thumbed through the rule book.

"There's nothin' in here that says a contestant can't be a boy," she said at a meeting of the pageant committee.

"I don't care if things like that ain't done like this in Tennessee!" she shouted at one gray-haired mother.

The pageant committee backed down after she used words like "sue," "ACLU" and "national media coverage."

Instead, there is a spread on me on on the front page of the Smoky Mountain Gazette today in a pageant dress, in curls and makeup.

"Now, everyone knows Jude is the littlelist drag queen in east Tennessee," my mother's boyfriend, Lloyd, told her as he lay the paper down on the coffee table in our double-wide trailer.

"Don't listen to Lloyd," Momma said as she worked on my makeup in my dressing room. "You're my child! You should never be ashamed of who you are!"

"But Aunt Liza says I'm going to Hell," I said as she finished brushing my hair.

"Don't you mind that snake handlin' bitch," Momma said. "Now get up and let me take a look at ya!"

She admired her work. She proved her friends wrong when she said she could put my hair in curls. My face was caked with makeup and dark red lipstick.

"And it doesn't show," she said of her work between my legs. She used ice to shrink my small "pecker and balls" even smaller and taped it down. She learned her technique from a story about female impersonators about how to "tie the package."

I rolled my eyes when she said I was all set for the swimsuit competition.

She did such a fine job, she vowed to take me to pick out bikinis at Wal-Mart after the pageant.

"No more ugly boy suits for the rest of the summer."

I adjusted my leotard before walking out on stage. I pulled down my leotard a little to make sure my butt cheeks wouldn't show. I wore cowgirl boots and they clopped when I walked on stage.

There were a couple of jeers, and some laughter.

"Look at that little queer," someone shouted.

"Get off the stage, faggot," another one said.

I tried to block it out. Once the music started, I was able to do so.

My baton routine was to Katy Perry's "Firework."

I pranced around on stage, and did a few tricks with my baton, throwing it up high and catching it. And twirled it while I tried to kick my legs high.

To my surprise, the audience loved it.

"She's ... I mean he's really good!" I heard one lady shout when I finished my routine.

I curtsied when my talent routine was done.

Kaylie, one of my friends who was one of the Mountain Darlins with me, gave me a hug when it was over.

I have to admit, I was a bit relieved when it was over.

"You did so good!" Momma shouted. "You made your Momma proud."

"Jude, you did really good," Miss Moultrie said. "Your hard work paid off."

"Thanks," I said.

She was the one who helped me with the routine. Don't know what I would have done without Miss Moultrie. She encouraged me throughout the pageant and told me to ignore "ugly" comments.

"You've been a little trooper," she said when I walked off the stage after doing my little walk in a swimsuit.

She knew about my feelings about being different. She also knew I wasn't entirely comfortable sometimes with my mother's efforts to put me out front and center.

"You know, Miss Moultrie, I do think this is a little fun," I said before I entered my dressing room for the final part of the competition.

My mother helped me into my dress.

"Oh my God, I can't believe how beautiful you look," she said, showing me my reflection in the mirror.

Not to brag, but she was right.

"Go out there with your head held high," she said. "No matter what anyone says, you're my beautiful child, baby girl."

I gave her a strange look.

"What?" she asked.

"That's the first time you called me your baby girl," I said.

"You don't like it?" she asked.

"No, it's fine," I said as I walked back out on stage.

I was a little nervous, afraid I'd hear more jeers.

There were none.

And much to my surprise, I was named third runner-up out of the 16 girls in the competition.

My friend Kaylie won first place.

"There'll be other pageants," Momma said as I came back to my dressing room.

Other pageants?

Well, OK, I'm actually cool with that.