Page 62 of Hell's Kitten

I’m really hoping that we can perhaps get some momentum going for support online. Thatmightjust pressure the mayor to call off his hate campaign. It’s probably too little too late, but I just can’t stand the idea of him winning like this. That’s the way the world works, though, isn’t it? Those with power often get it by trampling on others to reach the top. If we can try and make some of the wider world see what a crook he’s been, maybe that will be some kind of justice.

God knows we almost certainly won’t get any real recompense.

“All right, everyone!” Donna yells, clapping her hands before waving people closer to her. “We’re here to make some noise. We’ll be doing some filming so we can spread the word, but we do want to get the attention of our dear mayor and his lovely wife as well. So don’t do anythingstupidnow. No throwing shit over the gate. Try and keep your language PG-13 so we don’t give them an excuse to censor us. Keep your tempers in check. Sound good?”

The crowd claps and shouts back various affirmations. I see Ruben, the owner of Horowitz’s, standing with his arms around his boy, Xander. He’s got a picture of a T-rex on his poster that reads ‘EAT THE RICH,’ which makes me smile.

“We’ve got a few live-streams going,” Donna continues, “but just ignore them. The folks directing them know what they’re doing, and if they need anything in particular from you, they’llholler. Now, we’ve got some chants we want to do, but they’re super easy, so don’t worry. And…uh…”

She frowns, her words trailing off as she squints down the road. My heart flips, worrying that it’s the sheriff come to shut us down before we’ve even begun. But it’s not a cop car that Donna’s focusing on.

It’s a group of people walking along the street. And they’re wearing a lot of purple and teal.

My heart leaps into my throat as I realize now that our throng has gone quiet that I can hear the newcomers yelling a chant of their own, and there’s a beat banging out on drums. They’re on both sides of the residential street, flanking a car that’s rolling slowly toward us. No—there are several cars, I think. As they approach, their voices are becoming louder and louder, and I can see people jumping and dancing around excitedly.

And leading them is a young man wearing cat ears.

I gasp as my hand flies in front of my mouth. It can’t be, can it?

Really, I should have learned by now not to underestimate my boy.

“What’s going on?” Leah asks me. She’s got her phone up, streaming everything live for our channel. I can see how crazy the comments are going.

“I think the cavalry just arrived,” I say faintly.

It’s not just cheerleaders who are with Jessie—which—I don’t understand? I thought he had to quit the squad? Anyway, I can also see football players and members of the marching band—that would explain the drums. Also plenty of people in regular clothing. God, there’s got to be at least a hundred of them, surely?

As they get closer, I can see they’re also filming themselves as well as us. The cheerleaders are leading the charge at the front, as their name might suggest, shaking pom-poms and clapping.Other people have signs similar to ours, calling the mayor a liar and demanding justice. Several signs are asking to see the receipts. I don’t really know what that means, but I’m guessing they’re on our side.

“Hey, there,” Donna says, stepping forward with a wave. “Have you come to join us?”

A small Asian girl skips forward to shake her hand. She’s wearing a cheerleading uniform and has teal glitter on her eyelids, sparkling in the sunlight. “We have!” she cries. “I’m Lakelyn, the captain of the Paddle Creek Kittens. We brought some friends with us. I hope that’s okay?”

“Girl, the more, the merrier,” Donna says. Her brow is slightly creased. “But, uh, why?”

The captain glances back at Jessie before turning back to Donna. “We heard there were folks who needed help, and that’s what we do, ma’am. Besides, we came across some information we thought might help y’all.”

Jessie purposefully hasn’t met my eye yet, but my attention is pulled from him as I see cheerleaders starting to make their way into the crowd, handing out leaflets. I take one with a frown. “What’s this?” I ask the girl with purple in her long braids who gave it to me.

She winks. “Oh, nothing you can’t find all over the internet…as of about three hours ago.”

With a cackle, she keeps moving through the throng. I glance down at the leaflet.

My first impression is that there are a lot of statistics and a few photos. I recognize Mayor Durham right away. He seems to be standing next to or shaking hands with various different people. Someone near me gasps. Another voice whoops, and I see people start to excitedly chatter to each other. I’m struggling to focus on the information right now, but it seems to be talking about all the people Durham bribed in order to getour businesses shut down. Not to mention clearly outlining his embezzlement charges.

Whoa.

Hope blossoms in my chest like a fragile little flower. Where did they find all this dirt? Could this actually make a difference? Sway the community if we spread what really happened backed up by facts? I know not everyone cares about the truth when they’re whipped up into a frenzy, but it might be enough to get some people to switch their votes to Sanchez instead.

I have to discuss everything with my favorite person, the one who I think made this all happen. When I look up, though, Jessie has vanished. My heart drops. All I want to do is run to him, gather him up in my arms, and never let him go. But he might not want that. I wouldn’t blame him if he were furious with me.

As I anxiously scan the crowd, he’s nowhere to be found. The drums and whistles are so loud now I feel like I’m at the football stadium. Speaking of which, I spy an assistant coach I’ve seen at some of the games. He’s with Trey, one of the guys who works at the garage with Ruben. He seems to pull his bike apart more than he rides it, but I know him and his husband from the pub. The football coach is their boyfriend. So is the slim, young blond guy with them.

Leah is still filming, but she’s been joined by that gothy woman who came into the café, asking about a new black cat—the mama Leah apparently helped to find around the back of the library at the college. She and the other blonde girl seem mesmerized by the pale woman, who I think is the librarian. She’s talking to the assistant coach. Next to the other blonde girl is a man rocking a tennis skirt confidently holding hands with an older man in a tweed suit. Oh—it’s Mr. British Reusable Cup.

The cars have parked around us and are blocking the street. I see more customers I recognize from the café. People have come out wearing uniforms from not only Butterflies but alsothe garden center, the convenience store, the Sunken Treasure motel, and that cheesy dinosaur fast food place, Dino-Mite.

That drag queen from The Ice Cream Parlor who did the bingo night at O’Toole’s is dressed to impress from the top of her enormous purple wig to the tip of her six-inch sparkling heels. She’s with a woman in a uniform from the tram company, writing signs on cardboard, using the hood of a car for support.

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