Page 31 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

With a groan, I threw my head back against the mattress and willed myself to go back to sleep. But I couldn’t get comfortable in the bright sunlight. Every time I tossed and turned, the dress’s beads dug into my sides. I’d been too exhausted to change after sneaking in through the window. We’d dancedfor hours last night, and it was more fun than I could’ve ever imagined.

I smiled at the memory and felt for my phone in the sheets. The message thread was still pulled up when I unlocked it. Still unread. Forcing myself not to overthink, I swiped out of the app and tapped the photos icon.

Bronwen had used my camera to take a picture of us right before the night ended. The captured moment was of Sawyer carrying her newly declared girlfriend, Kennedy, like a bride and me hugging both of them. All three of us were grinning, and on top of my head sat a golden crown. It’d been a gift from someone dressed as Max from the children’s bookWhere the Wild Things Are.An official declaration that I was King of Pride.

Me, of all people.

There was no better place for that crown than on top of my dresser. The shiny “metal” was just cheap plastic, but it was so much more than that—a testament that I was doing something more. Something right. Something I wouldn’t hide away in a shoebox.

The photo faded to black as my screen went to sleep. I let it flop against my chest and looked up at the rainbow flag above my bed. Those bright colors against the white wall looked exactly how last night had felt: bold, disruptive, and, most importantly, proud. The second speakeasy proved that I was helpful, and I was even more excited for the next one.

While we were cleaning up, a bearded ranger named Owen had offered the nature preserve for the next speakeasy. I wasn’t sure if their lodge’s banquet hall would be best, would have enough space, would hold even more guests than the library’sthird floor had. Now that I was the King of Pride, I had a new reputation to uphold.

One that didn’t involve me being a fraud or a burnout or a disaster.

We need a QSA meeting,I thought, unlocking my phone to text the group chat.Then we get a game plan together and…My thoughts were interrupted by a yawn. What I needed to do was wake up. Shower and rinse off my makeup. Figure out what was next.

I put my phone to the side, but the urge to check Instagram again was too strong. Another yawn ripped through me as I tapped the icon. Then I sat up in disbelief. There was a tiny red notification signaling a new message, and I nearly sprained a finger rushing to check it.

bedmas_22

Really glad you messaged me back.

I tapped his profile. He’d accepted my follow request, but there weren’t any pictures of him to creep on. Only fancy nature shots.Mason’s artsy,I thought.Never would have guessed.Swiping back to the message thread, I typed out a reply with a smirk.

zekechapman

why wouldn’t I?

bedmas_22

Because of the way you left.

zekechapman

sorry about that

bedmas_22

I wish you would’ve stayed so we could talk.

He wanted me to stay?I could feel myself grinning as I rolled out of bed. The cool hardwood floor felt nice on my tired feet as I crossed over to the door.What does Sawyer know anyway?I didn’t always Z-step. Maybe I could be into him, and maybe he’d be into me if he got to know me.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee perked me up as I stepped into the hallway. “Morning, Mom!” I yelled with too much cheer, turning toward the bathroom. But she didn’t answer. A deep, gravelly voice from the living room yanked me down from my high.

“Come in here, son,” my father called.

I closed my eyes. Tried to force myself to wake up. Told myself there was no way the JACass could be here. This apartment was our escape from him.

“We need to talk, Anthony,” he added, and I bit down hard to stop from cursing at his use of my old name.

If he wanted to talk, I’d make sure he heard me once and for all. I turned on my heels, marching down the hallway with the same determination as I had in the town square. If he thought he could come here and tell me what to do, he was severely mistaken.

“Why areyouhere?” I asked, rounding the corner. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa, drinking coffee. Though it was Sunday morning, he was dressed for business. Polo andkhakis, brown hair slicked, fake-ass smile that made my skin crawl. “And where’s Mom?”

“She’s downstairs giving us some time…” He went silent as he looked up at me. His eyes narrowed with disdain as he took in the dress and the makeup I’d been too lazy to wash off last night. “Whyon god’s green earth are you wearingthat?”

“I went to a costume party last night,” I grumbled, knowing where this was headed.

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