Page 17 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

I steered my dirt bike over to the curb and threw down the kickstand. The engine shut off, the sudden silence ringing in my ears. I swung my leg over and marched toward the poster without second-guessing myself. The message in red ink got louder with each step. So loud I couldn’t hear anything else as I reached up and it tore off the glass.

Breathing heavy, I ripped it to shreds and threw them to the ground. Then I saw another one on the boutique next door. And on the store next to it.

Anger fueled me down the sidewalk, shredding poster after poster. Each tear sounded like a cheer, applause, the whoops Mason had yelled last night. Shredding the mayor’s strategy to win reelection felt like the ultimate fuck-you to this town and its hate. To my father and the confines I’d been forced to exist in. Because this was my fight too, just like Carmen had declared.

“Zeke, where have you been?”

My heart hammered against my chest as I jumped, banging my head on the window frame. One leg was still on the fire escape, the other on my bedroom floor.Damn it!Wincing, I turned to see Mom standing in my bedroom doorway.

“I, uh…” She crossed her arms as I searched for a fast excuse. There was no way in hell I could tell her the truth. It would only lead to yet another sex talk. Before seven a.m. After two injuries involving sneaking through windows. “I went out…for a walk?”

“All night?” she replied, her lips pursing. She knew she’d caught me in a lie. “Because you never came home, and I tried calling.”

“You did?” She nodded, and I grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t see a missed call in my notifications.”Because they’ve been blasting since last night.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she began as I slipped inside, “but isn’t your curfew eleven p.m.?”

“Is it?” I asked with an apologetic grin. “I thought with it being summer and—”

“Don’t you dare try to sweet-talk your way out of this like your father,” she said with a half-hearted scoff. “You’re not nearly as good at it as he is.”

I knew she was joking, but my chest deflated as I sat down on the edge of my bed. “Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling the ick of being compared to him.

“Where were you?” Before I could answer, she added, “You weren’t fighting again, were you?” She scoured my face for signs of a scuffle.

“No, I was with Sawyer,” I admitted, which technically wasn’t a lie. “We were working late with a QSA…meeting…and I accidentally fell asleep.” Another technical truth.

Seeming to buy it, she leaned against the doorframe. “He keeps calling me,” she said as she massaged her temples. “Because you keep sending him straight to voicemail.”

“Ugh,” I groaned, falling back across the bedspread. “One, nobody talks on the phone anymore. And even if I did…I blocked his number.”

“Zeke.”

“Mom.”

“He’s still your father.”

“I’m not his son,” I said, rolling over to look at her. “I want nothing to do with him.”

“Unfortunately, he’s in your life—”

“Until I turn eighteen next month.” She gave me a look that could have meant one of two things: I understand but cannot approve of your brave fight against that asshole, or it’s funny you’re about to be of age but still act like a child. I shrugged it off and looked back up at the ceiling. “What did he want anyway?”

“He said he saw you at Pride Day yesterday.”

“I saw him there too,” I grumbled, remembering how he’d turned his back to me. “Being a total dickwad.”

“He’s worried about you.” Her words came out strained, and I knew she was fighting to be civil. “Especially after yesterday. Are you okay?”

“My head hurts,” I said. “And my leg. But that’s totally unrelated.”

“I meant with Pride Day being canceled.”

“Oh. That.” If the speakeasy hadn’t happened, would I be okay? Probably not, but I was definitely livid either way. “It was shitty how he was there to help cancel it. He’s big mad I joined the QSA and helped with Pride Day after him telling me not to.”

“He’s concerned about you, that’s all. Take it from me, hedoesn’t do a good job of showing that he cares.” She frowned, breathing out heavily. “Look, I hate being put in the middle like this. He wants to talk to you. With your grades and college to think about—”

“That’s too bad.” I cut her off, and she shook her head sadly. “What?”

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