by Raziel Reid
“Ken, you have a fan.” Ken Hilton laughs at Ken Carson.
“Dude, is that supposed to be me?”
In the photo, Tutti is holding an Earring Magic Ken doll dressed in Ken Carson’s number 69 football jersey.
“It was a joke,” Tommy explains. “I made it for her birthday. You’re her favorite.”
“I am?” Ken Carson’s smile is big and genuine. The Kens’ resting bitch face is a smile, so Tommy can really tell the difference when it’s real. For a glitch of the screen, Ken Carson almost looks human.
“You’ve made it when you’ve been molded in miniature plastic,” Ken Hilton says. “But you know what children do with Barbie dolls…it’s a bit scary.”
Tommy gulps.
Ken Hilton’s eyes twinkle.
“It practically writes itself,” he says. “Text Tutti, Ken. Pretend you’re, like, wet for her.”
“Aw, bruh.” Ken Carson moans. “What’d Tutti ever do to us?”
“Do you need to be rewired?” Ken Hilton asks.
Ken Roberts snickers. He loves when Ken Carson is in Ken Hilton’s line of fire.
“There has to be something else that can be in my initiation post,” Tommy says desperately.
“You should be grateful that I’m making Ken Carson do all the work,” Ken Hilton says, throwing Tommy’s phone back at him. “But it’ll still count as your initiation. Everyone loves a good Two-Ton Tutti post. Of course, if you’re going to eat lunch with us on Monday we have to do something about your eyes. Every time someone with brown eyes looks at me I feel like I’m about to be blown up.”
“Fosh,” Ken Roberts bobbles.
Ken Hilton opens his nightstand drawer and pulls out a package of contacts. He grabs Tommy by the wrist, dragging him over to one of the mirrored walls. Tommy isn’t prepared for Ken Hilton’s fingers jamming into his eyes.
The contacts are like two moons, pulling the tide within Tommy. He feels the flood pool into his pineal gland and drown the last semblance of his soul.
Tommy is still trying to blink his vision into focus when Ken Hilton unceremoniously jabs a diamond stud straight through his ear. Tommy screams out in pain.
“Remember who made you,” Ken Hilton says.
FAMOUS FAMILY
After the Ken tryouts, Tommy goes home for the first time since his transition. He’s exhausted. The Kens hazed him hard. The cracker they took turns jizzing on and made him eat contained gluten.
The walk from Ken Hilton’s house down to the Mainland is even more depressing with the McQueen boots on his feet. Each step is a jingling struggle. Tommy’s pierced ear bled onto the boots, so Ken Hilton told him to keep them.
At first, Tommy’s parents are too distracted by the trending topics to notice the changes in their son. They sit down for dinner, and Siri says grace.
God is good.
God is great.
Let us thank him for our food.
And our followers.
When his mom finally does look at Tommy, her mouth drops open. She stares at him like he’s a picture on a magazine in a news stand, wincing, as if recalling the birthing pain paper cuts of having delivered such a trashy tabloid cover.
His dad blinks and takes off his glasses, squinting at Tommy. He lifts his phone and takes a picture. When the changes on Tommy’s face appear on the screen, he knows they’re real.
“Is getting plastic surgery a part of the SATs?” his father asks.
His mother starts crying. “You’ve been totally reconstructed. You have no idea how proud I am of you. I’ll tag you in the Facebook post!”
The next morning is Sunday, and Tommy’s parents take him to Famous Family Church to praise God for the “miracle.”
Outside the church there is a statue of Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the three wise men (the only three in Willows) posing for paparazzi. Inside, the stained-glass windows depict the crucifixion. Instead of INRI written above the cross, it says GUCCI. The Madonna is literally Madonna wearing a Blond Ambition–era cone bra. Jesus is definitely on steroids, and is rocking a man bun.
As Tommy and his parents enter, something is off. Tommy usually feels so uplifted at church, partly from the GHB in the blood of Christ. But this morning, Tommy feels a deep foreboding. When he crosses himself with holy water, he almost expects it to burn…
But it just rolls off his artificial skin.
GIRLS’ ROOM
Monday morning, Tommy gets picked up for school by Ken Hilton driving his pink Corvette. It honks in the driveway.
“Giddy up, bih!” Ken Hilton yells out the side of the convertible.
Tommy’s mom peeks out the window, sipping her morning Keurig as Tommy puts on his boots.
“I just knew you’d make friends if you got a nose job.” She smiles.
The Corvette honks again and Tommy comes flying out of the house. He knows better than to keep Ken Hilton waiting.
When he reaches the car, he realizes Ken Roberts and Ken Carson have been demoted to the backseat. They’re both glaring at him. Tommy rides shotgun, and it feels like a throne.
Ken Hilton greets him by reading his outfit. Shredded skinny jeans and a deep-V-necked T-shirt. “Suburbia’s sprawling.” Ken Hilton laughs. Ken Hilton tells Tommy he’s going to have to teach him everything, including the proper way to steal. Apparently jewelry is okay, but everything else makes him a klepto. Something about the difference between Lindsay and Winona…
“I can’t believe you live in the ghetto,” Ken Roberts says as they pass a three-story home with a Lexus in the driveway.
“Dude,” Ken Carson says. “I thought you dropped off the face of the earth if you leave The Hills.”
“You do,” Ken Hilton says, turning his head and giving Tommy a half-smile. “But don’t worry, Ken Roberts will help you find a sugar daddy and you’ll have your own condo in The Hills in a jiffy!”
“If I can find one willing, that is.” Ken Roberts fake-smiles in the backseat.
Ken Hilton pulls out a blunt from the glove compartment and sparks it. Tommy coughs as he takes a puff. His eyes turn even more bloodshot. They’re already bothered by the contacts. He took them out before he went to bed, and all night he was tossing and turning, feeling so anxious about his first day at Willows High as a Ken.
He woke up nervous but felt fine after he got ready for school, especially once the contacts were in his eyes—he was synced.
The Corvette pulls up to the front of school and Tommy steps out, lit as fuck. One of Ken Hilton’s minions parks his car for him.
When the doors of Willows High open, it’s like the pandemonium of a store opening on Black Friday. Everyone wants the new merchandise.
Tommy looks through the crowd with total confidence. He isn’t exactly sure where it’s coming from, maybe the Ken wavelength from standing in a row with the other Kens. They move as one down the hallway. Legs extended in a straight line, it’s a robotized strut, float, bounce. Tommy feels like he’s on a runway.
The envy in everyone’s eyes as they walk past elevates him. They don’t see Tommy Rawlins. Like Ken Hilton really did create him. Tommy never was.
Allan and Tutti are standing at the lockers. He notices Ken Carson and Tutti share a look, but Tommy ghosts them. No, Ken ghosts them. Tommy could never be so transparently rude, but with the blue contacts in, his eyes only look directly at diamonds.
All of a sudden, Tommy loses his footing. His vision blurs, his heart starts racing and his stomach is in knots. He’s so dizzy he has to lean on a locker to catch his breath. That’s it, no more kush with his Lucky Charms!
The Kens keep walking. Allan and Tutti come up to Tommy.
“You okay?” Allan asks.
Tommy tries to even his breathing. What’s happening? A second ago he was so confident, and now he’s wracked with insecurity. “How am I doing?” he asks.
“I’d say fake it till you make it,” Allan says. “But I guess in this case faking it is making it?”
Tommy laughs
. “I miss you.”
Allan blushes.
“Is the one-brown-one-blue your Ken look?” Tutti asks. “Or are you missing a contact?”
“Shit.” Tommy surveys the floor. “I’m already messing up!”
“There it is.” Allan spots the contact on the floor. Tommy bends over to pick it up. Some Barks players at the end of the hall whistle at him. Tommy doesn’t realize it’s for him until he sees Allan’s face turning even redder.
Ken Hilton sighs impatiently at the doorway of the girls’ room. “We have to touch up before first period!”
“I better go rinse this off,” Tommy says. “I’ll catch you guys later, okay?”
“Pop off a leg.” Tutti winks.
The Kens profess themselves to be “timeless,” but if time does exist in their world, it’s surely sped up. Minutes pass like the rotation of a disco ball. Tommy’s head feels like it’s spinning around his body.
“So, Ken Hilton,” Ken Carson says as the Kens line up in front of the bathroom mirrors. Tommy takes the far sink. “Aren’t you going to tell us about your date with your bae last night?”
Ken Hilton breathes so hard his hair actually moves. “There’s nothing to tell. He had coke dick again!”
“Brad Curtis can’t get it up?” Tommy asks. He rinses off his contact and puts it back in his eye. It’s like swallowing a Xanax. Like swallowing a bottle of them. He’s instantly calm. Tommy wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. The bitch is back.
“A part of me wants to write all about it on SoFamous,” Ken Hilton says, “but we’re a shoo-in for prom king and queen, so I can’t ruin his life until I’m wearing the crown.”
“#rulestoliveby,” Ken Roberts bobbles.
“Besides,” Ken Hilton says, “it wouldn’t just humiliate him, it would totally ruin me. If people know that Brad can’t get it up, they’d know he just can’t get it up for me. How many posts have we written on SoFamous about Francie Fairchild skipping class to abort his baby? He obviously has no problem getting it up for her.”
“Brad broke up with Francie for you,” Tommy says. He followed it obsessively. “You’re the one he wants. He chose you over her, and she’s the most popular girl in school!”
“Yeah, dude,” Ken Carson says. “She has a double-jointed tongue.”
Ken Hilton breaks down in fake sobs. “After the eight ball, Brad got confessional and told me they’re still sleeping together! He’s trying so hard to be gay for me, but he can only get turned on by girls. I even tried dressing up in drag!”
“Why don’t you top him, dude?” Ken Carson suggests.
“I’m not doing all that work! I just want to lie there and then be given a piece of jewelry when it’s over, like a lady.”
Ken Hilton sprays himself with Heiress.
“But Brad’s limp dick cannot leak.” He gives Tommy and the Kens a warning look. “And I don’t just mean literally. I mean, this can’t get out to anyone. He’ll never forgive me.”
“Don’t worry,” Ken Roberts says, typing rapidly on his phone. “I can’t keep a secret and my thoughts are tweets, but I started a private Twitter account for this exact reason. Your secret is secure with me.”
“Thank Baphomet we’re going to Dreamhouse tonight,” Ken Hilton says, touching up his foundation. “I read on the event page that some frat boys are bringing their pledges to stick it in a dude, like a rite of passage.”
Ken Carson smirks. “God bless academia, bruh.”
The bell rings for class.
“We have gay history first period, so rearrange your schedule,” Ken Hilton tells Tommy. “For today, we’ll just meet up with you in the caf at lunch.” Ken Hilton blows him a kiss before turning on his heels. “Don’t be late, bih.”
ON DOOMSDAY WE WEAR PINK
“So the new Ken is complete?” Brad Curtis gives Tommy a once-over as he sits next to Ken Hilton at the center table in the cafeteria.
The seat next to Ken Hilton is usually where Ken Roberts is placed, but he’s shoved over to make room for the new product line. Ken Carson is across from them, looking all around the caf.
“I don’t know, Ken, he may be even shinier than you.” Brad winks at Tommy.
“He is shiny, isn’t he?”
Ken Hilton brushes Tommy’s hair back with his hand.
“He ought to be. My dad said his surgeries took twice as long as the other Kens…”
Tommy’s eyes sting. He rubs his contacts, but it only makes the itching worse.
“Pre-game at my place before Dreamhouse tonight?” Ken Hilton asks.
“About that,” Tommy says. “I don’t think I can go. I don’t have a fake I.D.”
“Duh, we’re underage twinks! Doors will open like wallets.”
“Oh, well, there’s this thing—I’m actually not allowed to go clubbing on weekdays, or, like, ever. Every now and then my parents try to act like they’re responsible.”
“We only party on weekdays,” Ken Roberts says. “The 99 percent occupy Saturday night.”
“You can tell your parents you’re staying over at my house,” Ken Hilton offers. “Say we’re doing homework. We will be doing some reading, after all.”
“My parents might insist on talking to yours first. They don’t actually care, but it’s important to them that other parents think they do.”
“Not a problem. As long as I don’t tell my dad when my mom buys a new pair of shoes she lies for me whenever I want. And as long as I don’t tell my mom that my dad has already given the same pair to his medical assistant he pays off my credit card. So you see, Ken, you must come. The drugs are on daddy!”
“You’re so lucky, Ken. I wish my daddy was my real daddy,” Ken Roberts says.
“You’re adopted?” Tommy asks.
Ken Roberts laughs. “How amazing would it be if your sugar daddy could adopt you?! I hate my parents. I wish they were dead, and not just for the tragic storyline in my future Hollywood biopic.”
“You know the camera puts on ten pounds, right?” Ken Hilton says.
“There’s a filter for that.” Ken Roberts shrugs Ken Hilton off, but drops his fork on his tray. “So, Ken Hilton,” he says in an overly eager attempt to win back favor. “Aren’t you gagging over the new mall? Guess what it’s going to be called?”
“Plastic Place,” Tommy blurts out.
“How did you know?” Ken Roberts asks suspiciously.
“Oh, I just heard a rumor,” Tommy says quickly. He opens a can of cream soda and takes a big gulp. Something tells him to keep Blaine to himself. Tommy hasn’t forgotten how interested Ken Hilton suddenly became in their old camp counselor Derek when Tommy confessed he had a crush on him.
“My new daddy is the developer,” Ken Roberts says. “He let me choose the name.”
Tommy almost spits out his cream soda. Blaine’s dad is Ken Roberts’s latest owner? He shouldn’t be surprised—everyone in Willows has a latex-coated secret…But, like, wow. Tommy’s relieved he didn’t mention anything about Blaine’s dad or Plastic Place while he was at Ken Hilton’s house, or his initiation post might be a double-feature. He scans the caf for Tutti but she’s not at their usual table.
Across from him, Ken Carson is staring at his phone.
“Did you post?” Ken Hilton asks.
“Sorry, bruh, the video won’t load.” Ken Carson looks up. “Wi-Fi can’t connect. Maybe it’s, like, a sign. We should find something else to publish…”
“I always regret pulling your string.” Ken Hilton rolls his eyes at Ken Carson. He punches the passcode into his own pink-rhinestone iPhone.
A minute later, he places the phone on the lunch table and gives Tommy a satisfied smile.
“Initiated.”
Notifications ripple across tables. Everyone stops what they’re doing to see the latest post on SoFamous.
The first shriek of laughter is followed by others. The cafeteria is hysterical. Ken Hilton twists a strand of his hair around his finger, already bored.
Tommy follows Ken Carson’s line of vision. He’s watching as Tutti walks through the doors and picks up a lunch tray. The whole cafeteria goes quiet and looks at her.
All at once, everyone breaks out into song.
I wish I were an Oscar Mayer weiner / That is what I truly wish to be / Cause if I were a Oscar Mayer weiner / Everyone would be in love / Oh everyone would be in love
Tutti drops her lunch tray.
Everyone would be in love with me.
VIRAL
“Yes, Ken?” Mr. Hadley says when Tommy raises his hand during chemistry. It takes Tommy a second to realize that Mr. Hadley is talking to him.
“Can I have a lavatory pass?” Tommy asks.
Mr. Hadley seems rather taken aback that a Ken is asking if he can leave class. Kens ditch most classes and hold court in the caf. They sometimes show up for exams, but mostly just to take a selfie of themselves taking the exam in their cutest nerd-chic outfit.
The whole class stares at Tommy as he rises from his desk and steps into the hall. Tommy feels a thrill at being the center of attention. It seems to be the only thing he’s programmed to feel. Even when everyone was laughing at Tutti in the cafeteria, Tommy had felt a strange contentment. It’s not that he wanted to see Tutti humiliated, but he was just so consumed with the fact that Midge and some of the other cheerleaders were openly coveting his skin. It made his belly flip like he was on a roller coaster!
It’s the only emotion he’s known all day. He can’t quite describe it; it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. If the emotion had a name it would be ooooooooh. Or maybe weeeeeeeeee. It feels like taking whip-its while shopping really fast. Like the bubbles surrounding a cherry that has been plopped into a fizzy drink are rushing to the painted-nails emoji you have for a brain.