Page 25 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

“No, you can’t,” he said again. There was a severe tilt to his chin as he stared up at me. “I’ve been a mentor for two years here, and this is too important for you to screw up.”

“I know it is,” I asserted quickly, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“The threat to cut funding is real,” he said in a hiss, “and Jess has already dealt with too much grief for being trans. You’ll only ruin everything with your Zasshole attitude.”

“No, I won’t—”

“But you will.” His eyes narrowed, and he pulled away from me. “These kids need a role model, someone they can talk to and rely on like Jess, especially with all the bullshit happening.”

“I know—”

“You don’t—”

“Will you let me talk?” I asked in exasperation, and he threw his hands up. “Iknowthis is serious, and I want to help…I want…to be the type of person who could’ve been there for me.” My admission was a timid whisper, and it sent my heart fluttering.

He opened his mouth, closed it, struggled for words. “We’re here to mentor them,” he finally said, grasping the strap of his bag. “Help with schoolwork and answer questions because their teachers aren’t allowed to discuss LGBTQIA-plus topics in the classroom. They need someone on their side. You can’t…” He looked down at his canvas sneakers. “You can’t do to them what you did to me.”

“What?”

“Pretend to care and then just shut yourself off.”

Though I was taller than him, he was staring down at me. As if I were shrinking, my excitement deflating. His gaze sent heat blazing across my cheeks. The same scorned embarrassment I’d felt when he quickly moved on to Geometry Derick. He still saw what he wanted to see when he looked at me. Between the phone call with my father and now this, my temper was blazing like the heat outside.

“Cohen,” I began, fighting to keep my voice low, “you don’t get to make me feel like shit becauseyou don’t know me.You don’t know what my father is like, or why I was so afraid—” I cut myself off, blinking furiously.Shit.I hadn’t intended to spill my guts.

“W-what do you mean?” he stammered. “Afraid of what?”

“It doesn’t matter because I’mherenow to make up for all the times I couldn’t be.” I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. Leaned in toward him, closer, until I could count each of his long eyelashes. “You told me to do more, but you won’t even let me try. So take your pretentious attitude and shove it up your ass. I don’t care if you hate me, not anymore.”

A flush spread up his neck, and he murmured, “I don’t hate you.”

“Could have fooled me.” I brushed passed him and continued down the hallway.

“Wait,” he called. “Your dad…Is that why you ended things? Zeke, don’t walk away. Can we just talk—”

“Why do you even care?” I tossed back.

My eyes were welling up, but I refused to acknowledge it. He’d keep discounting me no matter how much I tried to be like him and Sawyer and Kennedy.Not anymore,I swore, opening the door to Room 13.

The first thing I noticed was the giant pride flag hanging from the ceiling, the next thing was laughter coming from the tables. The program had already started, with groups spread out around the room. A buzz of excitement was in the air—a giant exhale as the kids worked with their mentors. They held their heads high instead of keeping their faces down. Instead of holding their breath inside a shoebox like I had. Instead of being afraid, despite the threat in Beggs.

That was when I knew my father was wrong. The mayor’s ordinance affected more than just me and the QSA. More than I could have ever understood until now.

Chapter 11

“Where were you last night?”

Sawyer’s fingers clacked on the keyboard as she checked reservations. I was seated on the floor behind the elaborate host desk at The Cove, and the Friday dinner rush was set to arrive at any moment. She’d begged me to come hang but had been lobbing questions at me since I got here. “You had a ‘D appointment’ with Mason instead of helping me plan for tomorrow, didn’t you?” she continued, eyeing me over her glasses.

“Nooo,” I said through a mouthful of breadstick I’d swiped from the kitchen.

I had tried to clear my head on the walk home from the rec center. Tried to forget how Cohen had called my name as I left. The way he’d said it had made me walk faster. I didn’t have it in me to deal with his hot-and-cold attitude, not after making up my mind to help mentor.

“Besides, I haven’t even talked to Mason since we fellasleep…” I trailed off, thinking about the unopened Instagram message I’d received late last night.

The DM had popped up moments after I approved a follow request from the private profile bedmas_22, and the preview was just a simple “hey.” Given the username, I knew it had to be Mason Bedolla. I’d gotten messages like that before, knew the fun places they’d lead. But every time I went to open it, I stopped myself. Because what was the use? Mason was only interested in the person he thought I was that night…or his parents wanted to know why their gnome was destroyed.

I took another bite of breadstick, chewing as I thought. Then I realized it was quiet. Too quiet. I looked up at Sawyer, and her mouth was agape. “What?” I asked.

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