Page 11 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

“Hopefully we will.” He stared at me as his glower dimmed to despair. “The principal changed the rule for clubs. If we don’t get at least twenty people signed up, the QSA will be disbanded when school starts back up in the fall.”

“Nobody told me about that!” I exclaimed in frustration, rereading the flyer. “Nothing on here says that.”

“We’ve talked about it in meetings.” The edge dropped from his voice as he spoke. “But you don’t come to all the meetings, and when you are there…you’re not really present.”

“That’s because…” Because I didn’t know how to be someone who belonged in the QSA. And I didn’t know how to tell him the truth or explain myself. “Cohen…I mean, it’s because…”

“It’s okay, Zeke.” He took the flyer from me, then walkedonward. “Let’s just get through tomorrow. Maybe we’ll get some sign-ups, and then you can resign from the club since it doesn’t seem like you really want to be here anyway.”

“It’s not okay…” I called after him, my voice a whisper.

I suddenly felt like I was up at bat, a human-shaped jumble of nerves. I leaned against the lamppost and tried taking a few calm breaths, another tip from Coach. But there were too many curveballs as I attempted to swing the doubt out of my head.Pride is about being heard.Strike one.You never know who’s listening.Strike two.You’re a bad gay.Strike three.

There was no winning when it came to Pride. My eyes burned, and the stars in the sky blurred. No matter how hard I kept trying, I didn’t have anything to feel proud of.

Chapter 5

I couldn’t get Cohen out of my head. His biting remarks had followed me home. Lurked in the corners of my tiny bedroom. Haunted my dreams while the sheets twisted around me. Breathed down my neck and woken me a little after three a.m. I’d slipped out onto the fire escape and ridden around town until moonlight gave way to sunshine.

And then I kept riding until it was time for Pride Day.

My dirt bike rolled to a stop back at Beggs Town Square, and I hesitantly put down the kickstand and dismounted. Everything Cohen had said about the QSA amplified the JACass’s warnings. But there were only rainbow flags waving, laughter and excitement drifting with the breeze as I scoped out the square.

Parade floats were lined up at the ready, and community tents were popping up in two rows along the landscaped grass. On one end, Sawyer and Kennedy set up speakers in the pavilion while Cohen snapped photos of the sponsors. They were sweaty, their “Beggs High School QSA” tie-dye shirts wet fromsummer heat. Had they given me one? I tried to remember, feeling suddenly out of place. I’d sleepily thrown on a vintageDoctor Whoshirt from the 2000s and a pair of grease-stained jeans hours ago. But now I felt stupid. After shimmying out of my jacket, I tied it around my waist as the truth sank in. As Cohen’s admonition from last night rang true.

Before the guilt could strike again, I set off on a mission.I’ll prove to them I’m not a bad gay.I searched for something to do other than “not be late.” The van for Estrella Books was parked next to the curb, and someone was struggling with boxes. My sneakers crunched on pea gravel as I marched over with determination.

“Need some help?” I asked, reaching out to steady the wobbling stack.

A woman peeked around the corner, and relief eased the tense lines of her brow. A lock of long salt-and-pepper hair fluttered as she blew out a sigh. “I wouldn’t say no,” she admitted, a kind smile dimpling her olive cheeks. “If you don’t mind.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” I took the boxes from her and cut my eyes across the square. “I’m Zeke with the Beggs High QSA.”

“Carmen Bedolla.” She held out her hand, then let out a laugh, its trill light and airy, as she realized my hands were full. “What you’re doing today is nothing short of beautiful.”

“Yeah…” That’s all I could say as I followed her toward the tents. The bright rainbow colors and laughter, the community coming together despite the mayor—all of it was supposed to make me feel proud. But it made me feel like an even bigger fraud.

“Thank you for what you’re doing,” she added as we reached the bookstore’s tent. “I’m so grateful you asked my shop to be part of Pride.”

“It, uh…it wasn’t really me,” I admitted weakly, unable to fight my growing imposter syndrome. “My friend Sawyer and the rest of the QSA did most of it. I’m just here, I guess.”

“You showed up today,” she pointed out as I set the boxes on the table. “Not everyone is brave enough to show up.” Her smile never faltered, and it felt like she was seeing me. That she somehow knew the hidden parts I’d kept in that shoebox.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, my voice rising.

“And thank you for helping, Zeke,” she replied as my phone buzzed in my pocket. “We need more people like you to raise their voice, especially with that hateful propaganda the mayor is pushing. Someone needs to make him listen.”

Her unwavering eye contact made me nervous. Unsure of what to say, I fidgeted with my phone and checked my notifications. A message from the QSA group chat flashed across the screen. “Guess I better help set up,” I finally said with a polite smile.

She wished me a happy Pride, and I wanted to thank her again. Tell her how much I needed her kindness. My voice got stuck in my throat, though. Too many emotions were lumped together. All I could do was give her a small wave goodbye, keeping my head down as I read the new texts.

QS-SLAY!

April4, 2025

Kennedy

we can use the pavilion for the drag stage

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