Page 10 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

“Got it.”

I rolled my eyes, but what she’d said echoed inside me.You never know who’s listening, so be proud.That advice was more supportive than what my father had said when he’d found out about Pride Day. He’d told me to be quiet and not draw attention to myself. He’d warned that people would protest. It’d made me feel like the space my friends had fought to take up didn’t matter, that it was easier to stop trying than to risk causing a scene.

The Beggs Town Square was nothing more than a bit of hoity-toity landscaping. It housed a raised pavilion and a monument in the square’s center commemorating the town founder. Fancy pea gravel lined the sidewalks as they twisted and turned with small-town charm, leading toward the statue. My parents had taken me to see its installation when I was a kid, Mom and me playing hide-and-seek in the bushes along the paths.

I could still remember darting out of the hydrangeas beside that marbled likeness of Mr. David Beggs and his faithful donkey. Could still remember how this kid had been snapping pictures of it with a retro camera from the ’90s. He’d grinned and told me how the founder single-handedly built this town, and I stared up at it with wide eyes. That was themoment I knew that one day I wanted to do something important too.

It was also the moment I’d first met Cohen Fisher.

But he didn’t remember how he’d smiled at me or how we’d played around the square that day. We’d grown apart only to come back together freshman year, only to grow even farther apart after our falling out. So far that he no longer felt like the person I once knew. Even though he could still often be found with a vintage camera, he was a stranger who made me feel like I would never be good enough.

He was a few steps ahead of me as we passed the statue in a rush. The evening was dragging on while we worked to hang up the last of the QSA membership flyers. Every time he would hold one up for me to tape, he’d let out an irritated sigh if I took too long. Yet he never complained. I didn’t know what was worse, his quietness or the threat that at any moment he could turn into a sharp-tongued smartass.

The streetlamps flickered to life in the settling dusk as I trailed after him. The beams were a spotlight on Sawyer’s hatchback. Its molten shade of orange glinted as two shadows kissed in the front seats. After we’d turned the pavilion into a makeshift stage, Sawyer and Kennedy decided to take a break. And by “break,” they’d obviously meant an hour-long make-out sesh while I was stuck with Cohen.

“Can youhurry?” he called, finally breaking his silence.

He was at the next lamppost, and I could see his eye roll from here. “Can you not walk so fast?” I replied, making sure I took my time catching up to him.

“I have somewhere to be after this,” he said.

“A hot date?” I teased with a sneer. He only shook his head instead of sparring with me. “What?”

“Nothing.” He grabbed the tape out of my hand and hung up the poster himself. “I promised I wouldn’t let you get to me.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, rushing as he hurried to the next post.

“You know exactly what it means.” The expression on his face, how it went slack, deflated my grin. “You’re trying to get under my skin because that’s what you do, and I’d much rather get this over with.”

I wanted to argue with him, but I was too tired after working all day. “Fine,” I said in a huff, dropping the pretense. “If you need to be somewhere, then go. I can finish this by myself.”

He shook his head severely as we continued walking. “This is too important to risk you screwing it up.”

“What the hell?” I grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “I’m here helping, so why are you—”

“I’m just giving my opinion, Zeke.”

“If you’re gonna ride my ass, at least buy me dinner. Damn.”

A flicker of disgust, of something similar to annoyance, flashed across his face. Then he jerked his arm out of my grasp and held up the flyers. “Do you even knowwhywe’re hanging these up?”

“Because the QSA is leading Pride Day,” I said. “I can read—”

“It’s not just that.” He rubbed at his messy bedhead, a humorless laugh echoing into the dusk. “Why are you even in this club?”

“Let me see,” I said, counting on my fingers. “I’m gay. It’s the only queer club at school. And mybest friend,Sawyer, started it.”

He ignored my emphasis, conflict knitting his brows as he studied me. “God, you’re such a bad gay.”

“Excuse me?” My voice broke despite myself.

The guilt struck, sinking its fangs into my stomach. He was right, and I knew it. Knew that my involvement with the QSA was for selfish reasons, that my ulterior motive was shitty, that I didn’t know how to be gay without hearing my father’s voice telling me to stop flaunting it. I was a failure at being their version of the best and being my father’s version of the worst.

“I, uh, I’m pretty sure you can’t say that,” I managed.

“It’s the truth, Zeke. You’re so worried about yourself that you don’t notice what’s really happening in town.” He pointed at the flyer, reading the last line. “ ‘Beggs High Schoolneedsyou to join the QSA.’ ”

“So what?” I asked, snatching it from him. “We already have four members. Maybe we’ll get a few more.”

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