“If you two hit one side of town, we”—he nodded to me—“can do the other.”
“Yeah,” I added, the excitement rubbing off on me. “What else can I do?”
“Z,” Sawyer began, “youneed to be worried about planning this epic speakeasy rally.”
“I’ll help you,” Cohen said, his knees knocking against mine.
There I was again, brain glitching, but I wasn’t fighting it. Not anymore. We were in this together now.
Chapter 29
I woke up early to start planning for Carmen’s rally, taking my laptop with me downstairs. All day, between working on cars, I typed ideas into a document to get everything down I could remember about Pride Day. The QSA had reached out to local businesses for their support. Check. Reserved the town square. Check. Figured out the sound system and setup for tents. Check and check. Everything was ready. All that was left to do was ready the parade float and actually get people there…
The thought of anyone gathering in Beggs Town Square turned my stomach.
Buchanan’s rally still haunted me. Lingering shouts had rattled like ghosts in my mind. Their echoes followed me under each car, back up to the apartment at the end of the day. I knew there was a strong possibility his supporters would crash our celebration. The news coverage of the governor’s race only reinforced my worry, protesters heckling a candidate forspeaking on LGBTQIA+ rights. It had only reminded me of what I’d witnessed that night in June.
Gays aren’t welcome in Beggs!
My Family First ordinance is just the beginning!
Make Beggs safe for families again!
No matter how hard I scrubbed in the shower as I got ready after work, those memories left greasy fingerprints on me. They grabbed at me and sent my pulse into a frenzy. It had been easy to speak up at Carmen’s meeting, but it was something else entirely to be doing it for real.
Sweat from the too-hot water—and worry—beaded on my skin as I rushed to finish in the bathroom and then get dressed before Cohen picked me up. I grabbed the stick of deodorant, swiped it a few extra times for good measure, and pulled on the shirt I’d got at the meeting. It was white with a pink donkey and the matching words “VOTE FOR CARMEN.” The soft fabric clung to my damp chest, and I spritzed on cologne. The last thing I wanted was to smell like the baseball locker room, especially since I’d be with him.
Alone with him and whatever it was that was happening between us.
With a sigh, I sat on the edge of my bed.We’re only hanging up posters.That wasn’t anything to be afraid of. Yet my legs kept jittering, unable to maintain the cool persona I’d worked so hard on. The anxiety made me feel like the old me, as though I couldn’t get rid of Anthony Chapman no matter how hard I tried.
I glanced at the dresser, where I’d displayed the spark plug and the picture with Mom. Then over to the tacked-up newspaper, to the flag above my bed.Maybe the best parts of me neverleft,I thought. They were just too quiet to be heard, too hidden to be seen. Now I was shouting them to the world—andthatmade me nervous.
Shoving the worries of everything that could go wrong from my mind, I closed my eyes and lay back across the quilt. For a moment, I felt safe like I had that first night in the bookstore’s basement. Dancing and feeling alive. Feeling like I was welcome. That was the determining factor, like in mathletes when we advanced to the next round by writing the expression as a product of its factors. Everything that had happened this summer had led me to now.
I opened my eyes and looked back up at the pride flag. For so long, I’d been afraid to be the kind of gay person who found meaning in it. Those colors had intimidated me, each rainbow hue a possible threat if I displayed it. And now…I’d come so far from the me who had been my father’s son. I was about to lead a rally, fighting for everything that had once scared me.
But I had to do it.
Sitting up, I grabbed my phone. The front-facing camera launched with a swipe. I angled it just right to include the flag in the background and smiled. It would be the perfect photo to post to Insta to announce the final speakeasy, and I needed to get on it. Face my fear of people gathering to rally. However, before I could upload it a knock sounded on my door.
“Hey, Mom,” I called, startling when I saw who was standing in my doorway. “C-Cohen?”
“Your mom sent me up,” he said, and I suddenly felt self-conscious as he eyed my room. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, uh.” I shot off the bed with an entirely new nervousenergy. “I was just taking a picture. For Insta. To tell people about the rally.”
“Can I see?”
“Sure,” I said, waking my screen. Instagram was still pulled up in editor mode with the shirt’s message on full display, the rainbow in the background. Then I began to doubt the wide grin I was wearing in it as I held it up for him. “Is it, uh…too cheesy?”
“Nah,” he said, blushing. “When you, um, smile like that, it makes your eyes shine…The way they crinkle makes you look happy.”
“I am.”
As soon as I said it, I knew it was true. I was happy with how my life was becomingmineand excited for whatever would come next. Excited to fight for the future I wanted.
This new feeling drove me to type the caption with details for the rally. Cohen watched and waited in my room, his DM conversation from over the summer sitting in my inbox. It felt like worlds were colliding as I posted the picture—that’s what everything felt like.
