Page 32 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

“You were out in public? Like that?” he asked, and took a sip from the coffee mug I usually used. “I thought you were smarter than that, Anthony.”

“Stop calling methat.” I spat the last word out, already on the defensive. “Why are you here?”

“The strangest thing happened the other night,” he began, “while I was having dinner at The Cove—”

“With Mayor Buchanan.”

“With Thomas, yes,” he amended as he made himself at home on the sofa. “Since you’re too irresponsible to take care of your truck, I’ve had to drive it around. We can’t have it run-down.” He let out a sigh as though I were his only problem. “When we went to leave, the engine wouldn’t start. You happen to know why that is?”

“No clue,” I said with a shrug, fighting the urge to laugh.

“I think you do, considering the towing company said the spark plugs had been removed. Take a seat.” He patted the cushion beside him. I stood up straighter and crossed my arms in refusal. “Or you can keep standing there like a petulant child.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“You’re about to be eighteen, Anthony,” he pointed out.“It’s time to grow up and think about your future, to stop running around carelessly and painting vulgarities. Your GPA tanked this last semester, and how do you think that’ll look on your application to University of Alabama?” I tried to reply and tell him I didn’t care, but he kept talking over me. “Not good. There’s no recovering from that, so I’ve already spoken to your coach. He’s agreed to let you come back, and I’ll call up UA’s athletics director to see about leveraging your baseball skills—”

“No,” I said, raising my voice so he’d hear me.

“Okay, I hear you, son.” He held his hands out. “No baseball. That’ll just mean you need to buckle down senior year. Maybe we could get you some extra credit to at least bump you to salutatorian.”

“I don’t think you’ve everheardme at all.” I shook my head and tried to keep from screaming at him. “I don’t care about having the best grades or getting into UA or law school.”

The fake politeness drained from his face, and he narrowed his eyes at me. Those same blue eyes I had to see in the mirror, a reminder he was a part of me. “Anthony, I’m not kidding around with you over this. What would you do instead? I’ve raised you to follow in my footsteps, and you don’t know how to do anything else. Your future is on the line.”

“It’s always the future with you,” I snapped. “I’m finallywhoI want to be—”

“Someone who dresses in women’s clothes?” he countered. “Who makes a scene with that gay club?”

“Clothes have no gender, and theQSA,” I stressed, “has made me feel prouder of who I am.”

“This isn’t up for debate.”

He leveled his gaze at me. Before, this would have been the end of the discussion. I would have agreed to his orders and gone up to my room and kept quiet. Not anymore. I was the goddamn King of Pride. I made my own rules now.

“You know what?” I asked rhetorically, mirroring his fake smile. “You’re absolutely right. Who I am isn’t up for debate, and I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

His jaw clenched as though he was chewing over his words before he spoke. At one time, I’d been terrified of disappointing him. I now realized the only person I ever disappointed was myself. “I don’t appreciate you talking back to me,” he finally said with an eerie calm.

“And I don’t appreciate how you’ve dictated every aspect of my life,” I said, matching his tone.

“Dodging my calls, hanging up on me, tampering with the truck, even being mad at me…all of that I understand. We’ll work through it.” He gestured at the dress as he leaned forward on the sofa. “But you have to stop this nonsense. You and your club are playing a dangerous game, especially after that Pride Day fiasco. All you’re doing is drawing attention to yourself—don’t roll your eyes at me, son. I only want what’s best for you.”

“I already know what’s best,” I answered resolutely, wishing I could rub it in his face that more people in this town supported the QSA than he’d believe.

“No, you donot.” He shook his head slowly. “You onlythinkyou do, and I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Then why are you supporting Family First?”

He exhaled, his throat working roughly as he swallowed. “I’ve told you already, that’s business. It looks good for the law firm—”

I cut him off. “But it doesn’t look good tome.Doesn’t feel good either, to know my own father believes the queer community should just disappear.”

“Son, you’re not like this”—he motioned at the dress and makeup again—“and if you’d stop acting sogay,you’d be fine with the mayor’s ordinance. Keep your head down, and it won’t affect you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” My voice was strained, my temper skyrocketing over his derogatory use of “gay” like it was a bad thing. “Only you don’t understand that it does affect me and my friends and more people in Beggs than you know.”

He stood then, his height almost shocking in the cramped living room. I lifted my eyes, and he tilted his head down to meet my gaze. “You need to grow up,” he said sternly. But his words no longer had an effect on me.

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