“Ha.”
“—being fearless, daring, and, most importantly, you knew what you wanted and spoke up. I’m so proud of you and your friends for this community you brought together. I know that no matter what happens, it won’t stop you from being you.”
Silence fell between us as the baseball game of thoughts played in my mind. I didn’t know who I was anymore. If I was the same guy Billy wanted back on the team or the person I’d tried to become. My gaze drifted to the portrait of Zelda with her coy smile. All I knew was that Mom had named me after her favorite woman in history. As though I was destined to be just as loud and rebellious as her. As my mom.
“Just promise me you’ll continue to speak up regardless of what happens here in Beggs,” she added, pulling me into a hug.
What she’d said about plan B reverberated in my head as she held me tightly. It made me feel like a child again, like we were in the garage at our old house. However, I now knew I couldn’t stay quiet the way my father had taught me back then. I’d spent so long comparing myself to him, when really it was Mom and me who were the same. It wasn’t because we were capable of fixing everything—we were capable of changing out what was broken. After I’d spent all those years learning from her, she was still teaching me something new. Something just as meaningful.
“I will,” I finally promised as she stepped back.
“That’s my boy.” Her voice was sure, her smile assuring as she checked her smartwatch. “I’m gonna start closing down, and then we can grab takeout for dinner.”
“Hey,” I began, nodding toward the SUV’s hood, “do you think you could help me change the spark plugs before we call it a day?”
Chapter 31
I’d grown up in Beggs, Alabama, thinking there were only two sides. Either you blended in with the small-town charm or you were an outcast if you couldn’t fit everyone else’s definition of perfect. But I’d been wrong. There was another side of this town. I’d just never seen it hiding in plain sight until now.
It was the people who’d helped us pull off the speakeasies. Their support was evidence of allies in town. They were like the twinkling stars I’d seen in the sky while riding last night: always here but not able to be seen until darkness. They were easy to spot if you really looked. Driving through town now, I could see each shining light—the “all are welcome” stickers on storefront windows, pride flags, pink donkey signs—that made up a constellation of safe spaces.
This was the Beggs we had created for ourselves.
I sped past each emblem of support, toward Estrella Books. Today, we were preparing for the last speakeasy. One last chance to make sure Carmen’s rally shined on Saturday. I knewMom was right and that I would still be me regardless of the outcome. Even though I was still figuring that out, I knew one thing for certain—I was welcomed no matter who I was. The proof was in the bookstore’s parking lot.
The QSA parade float took up the middle row of spaces, and campaign volunteers were already decorating it. Flashes of rainbow glinted in the sunlight like armor as they prepared for battle. I turned into the drive, pulled beside Cohen’s silver Camry, and killed the dirt bike’s engine. At one time I would’ve felt like an imposter in comparison to all these political advocates. Instead, I kept both my head held high and those feelings of inferiority from causing doubt.You belong here,I asserted once more before dismounting.
My hair was already soaked from the helmet, and I ran my hands through the tangled waves. The midday sun bore down with the brutal heat of July. But there was somethingmoreamid the climbing temperature. A promise of tomorrow in the air, in the sweltering humidity pressing down on Beggs, in the excited buzz of conversation around me.
Wiping sweat from my brow, I made my way over to the crowd. Everyone who had come together for that first speakeasy was here. There were so many faces that had become familiar since that night in the bookstore’s basement. Owen climbed down from the float, his beard covered in sawdust. Bronwen and Kennedy spray-painted a Pride mural on the side banner. Jess helped Sawyer hang streamers from the back. Carmen smiled as she addressed new volunteers. And then there was Cohen.
He intently studied a clipboard while my heartbeats sped up. While I fought the urge to run over and grab him by theshirt and kiss him again. As though he could hear my thoughts, he glanced up. A shy smile lifted the corner of his mouth when his eyes found mine. A radio signal from their brown depths promised we’d talk later. The equation of him and me required BEDMAS rules to solve, but I was finally figuring it out.
A sudden thud tore my attention away from his adorable splotchiness. Owen had crossed over to his nature preserve truck and let the tailgate down. The cargo bed was loaded down with a massive podium. It looked newly made, fresh wood stain glistening, and way too heavy for him to unload alone.
“Hey,” I called out, crossing over to him. “Need some help?”
“I wouldn’t say no,” he replied with a gruff laugh.
The detailed craftsmanship was evident as I drew near. Its smooth edges and rounded corners, even a wood-burned inscription of Carmen’s name, showed just how much work had gone into its construction. I came to a stop beside Owen, gazing up at it. “Did you make this?” I asked.
“Sure did, with a downed tree from the preserve,” he replied with a smile. “A congratulatory gift for our future Madame Mayor.”
“Wow…” I could appreciate how he’d used his own hands to make something. It was similar to what I’d been doing at the mechanic shop. “But wait,” I started, the conversation about a plan B still ringing in my mind, “what if she loses?”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said simply with a shrug. “It’ll still be a podium, still be a gift regardless.”
Still berattled inside my head as we slid it out of the truck. We’d still be here too.I’ll still be here.But I didn’t know what my plan B was yet. The idea of the future caused me to struggleboth with what Mom had said about being myself and the weight of the gift.
“This is heavy as fu—heck,” I grunted over the echo of his words. My biceps were on fire as we carried it. The muscles I’d had from baseball weren’t as strong as they used to be. “Seriously think my arms are gonna turn against me and rip themselves off.”
Owen’s laugh came out in a rough chuckle. “Not too much farther,” he said reassuringly. “You’re doing great, Zeke.”
“Trying as hard as I can,” I mumbled. The rally had to be perfect. I’d messed up too much already, and I didn’t want to prove my father right. For everything that had happened this summer to be a waste.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you don’t have to try so hard?” I glanced over at him, and he gave me an all-knowing look. “It’s like what I tell my child, you just have to try your best.”
“Easier said than done.”
