Page 1 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

Chapter 1

Sometimes you have to face your fears, whether you want to or not.

And I was absolutely terrified of heights. The metal edge of the billboard’s catwalk scraped my knees as I tried to muster the courage to stand. Climbing the rusty ladder up two stories to the roof of Jones Hardware hadn’t been easy, especially with a can of paint in tow.I’ve made it this far,I encouraged myself, taking a steady breath of warm night air.Just don’t look—

The concrete sidewalk of the town square waited below, and my eyes snapped shut. A gust of wind tousled my long, grown-out hair as I gripped the edge. If my father were here, he would ask me one simple question. It was the same question he’d asked when I came to him afraid of the boogeyman or when I was nervous while learning to ride a bicycle. “Anthony Zeke Chapman,” he’d drone, “what have I told you about fear?”

Don’t let anyone see it.

That was what I’d heard my entire life, him telling meto hide my weaknesses so I could be the best version of myself. The versionhe’dmolded me into. For the longest time, I’d thought that was who I wanted to be too. Thebestreputation, thebestgrades, thebesttype of gay—silent, so the world wouldn’t put a target on my back.

“Piss off,” I said to all the memories of James Anthony Chapman, the JACass.

I forced myself to open my eyes and stand. My hands were shaking as I checked the time on my phone. Its lit screen flashed three a.m., and I shoved it back into the pocket of my vintage leather jacket. Summer break officially began three hours ago. My nosedive of a junior year was over, my life free from the shitshow it had become since last December. If I were still talking to my father, he’d say that he had tried to warn me about coming out…

Gripping my backpack straps with white knuckles, I turned to see how high I’d climbed. A halo hovered over the town square thanks to the orange-hued streetlamps. But it was the darkness lapping at the edge of their receding glow that captured my attention. That was exactly how it felt living in Beggs, Alabama. Growing up here had taught me that everyone expected you to blend in, with that same perfunctory shine. And if you couldn’t—or if you refused to—fit it into their definition of “good,” you weren’t welcome.

“Learned that the hard way,” I whispered under my breath, the words lost with no one around to hear them.

Somewhere deep inside was the old version of me, who still answered to Anthony, my first name, inherited from my father. I wondered what Anthony would be doing right now. If he was still on the varsity baseball team, the Wildcats, or ifhe was partying out in the cow pastures and pretending to flirt with cheerleaders or if he was in bed without a worry instead of roaming the streets. But it didn’t really matter, because this new version of me, who went by my middle name, Zeke, was here, just out of reach of the town’s deceiving glow, and he was no longer welcome.

And that made me angry.

I’d given up on sleep hours earlier, the news Mom dropped at dinner still too loud in my head: the divorce was final after five months of back-and-forth between their lawyers. I’d snuck out of the apartment and jumped on my dirt bike. Drove to the Fort Wood neighborhood, where we once lived. Climbed through my old bedroom window to get the shoebox I’d secretly kept in the bench seat beneath the sill. I had left it behind when we moved out because I’d thought I wouldn’t need it anymore. Thought the secrets I’d been forced to keep didn’t belong in our new life, where I wasn’thisson anymore. But leaving it there with him didn’t feel right either.

It weighed heavily in my backpack as I turned to look up at the billboard. The smiling father-and-son duo was a ten-foot reminder of the past, a promise that Chapman Law was afamilybusiness. That version of me was as much a stranger now as the father beside him. Other than my blond hair and his brown, we were so much alike. Same blue eyes and fake smile and dress clothes. We weren’t the same, though. Not anymore.

That Anthony Chapman was supposed to graduate as valedictorian next year. He’d go on to study at University of Alabama, where he’d get accepted into the School of Law. Eventually, he would pass the bar exam and join the firm. Then he’d be just another JACass…

“Fuck that,” I swore, rage outranking my fear of heights.

I bent down to grab the paint can and brush. They’d been sitting on our old back porch from when he’d had the house repainted. The cheerful sky blue felt symbolic of his fresh start, but now it was time for my own.

My body froze as an engine sounded, and I peered over the edge. A cop car slowly crept around below me. Panicked heartbeats sent me crouching against the catwalk, hoping the officer wouldn’t see me. A minute passed excruciatingly slowly, without any flashing lights or yells for me to “stop right there!” I risked a glance over the catwalk’s edge and saw that I was alone again.

“Figures,” I breathed out.

Beggs was too sleepy-eyed of a town to notice. Everyone believed what they were told instead of actually paying attention. They worked on their cattle farms and plowed their fields with tractors and carried on none the wiser. They couldn’t see through the picture-perfect lie my father sold them. And it was time to finally expose him for who he really was after the hell he had put us through.

Laughter bubbled out of my throat when I stepped off the ladder. The last flutters of fear made it come out in a stutter. “Ah-ha-hah.” I wiped the grit from my palms on the ripped, old jeans my father loathed, and I looked up with a grin.

So worth it.

A giant penis in sky blue stretched across the ten-foot picture of my father. I’d made it as graphic as possible, completewith two very large testicles. The perfect metaphor. I let out another laugh and grabbed my phone to take a souvenir picture. My handiwork wouldn’t stay there long after he saw it in the morning. At least he’d know exactly what I thought of him.

“Suck on that,” I muttered, focusing the camera.

Right as the flash went off, muffled voices sounded just inside the hardware store. Then the metal side door sprang open with a loud screech. I jumped as fluorescent light washed over me, then stumbled back on my ass by the dumpster.

“Bro, you can’t drive home,” someone was saying.

That smooth, deep voice was a ghost from the dugout. I knew it belonged to the tall guy whose figure was complemented by the baseball uniform in ways I’d fantasized about. Damian Jones shuffled outside, and I froze so he wouldn’t see me. He had his arm around a stumbling Billy Peak, the new pitcher since I’d quit the team.

“You’re still lit, man,” Damian added, struggling to keep Billy upright.

“Am not,” Billy slurred in contradiction. His pale face was pinched, his legs wobbling as he tried to keep up with Damian’s strides. “Give me my keys—”

Damian cut him off. “You just spent the last hour barfing in the cornfield.” He leaned Billy up against the building and locked the side door. “Bro, you owe me big time for cleaning your ass up in my dad’s bathroom.”

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