Page 34 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

“Estrella Books?” she asked.

“Carmen Bedolla is his grandmother.”

“She’s a good woman,” Mom said thoughtfully. “I talked to her when I went to pick up the club’s book, and I love what she wants to do for Beggs. And for your community. That’s why Roaring Mechanics is endorsing her campaign against the mayor.” Silence fell as I digested that news. She reallywastrying for me. When I looked back up, there were storms in her eyes. “Speaking of, your father and I will be discussing how he blindsided you yesterday.”

“It’s fine, I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to,” she said as a truck pulled up outside. “I’ll take care of it, but maybe you and I can have dinner and actually talk about the future”—I wrinkled my nose at the thought, and she held her hands up in a truce—“with no pressure about making a decision, I promise.”

“Okay,” I agreed begrudgingly, and then thought to add: “Thanks for, you know, helping me deal with this.”

She only grinned and patted my shoulder on her way to the lobby. I exhaled roughly, easing down onto the dolly. The wheels creaked over the art deco tile as I scooted back under the car. Everything she said was weighing on my mind. But one thing in particular had me digging my phone out of mypocket.She’s not wrong,I thought with a small smile, checking my messages.I do think I like him.

bedmas_22

You’ve talked about your mom a lot, but can I ask about your dad?

As I read and reread his message, my palms grew sweaty. I didn’t know how to reply to that and answer truthfully. I could feel his head on my chest, see his dark-brown eyes looking up at me. It made me want to tell him everything…but I was tired of rehashing the past.

zekechapman

there’s not a lot to tell other than I will never be like him

I stared at the screen until it dimmed and went to sleep without any new messages. The idea of becoming James Anthony Chapman terrified me, but our confrontation yesterday had only reassured me. I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps or grow up to be someone who’d force their kid to hide parts of themself.

You don’t know how to do anything else.When he’d first said that I thought it was true. He’d trained me into thinking my life had to look one specific way, that I had to be perfect, to be the kind of person the world expected me to be.

He was wrong.

Mom had said it herself: I was doing a hell of a job here atRoaring Mechanics. That wassomething.I sighed, my eyes tracing the engine parts above. Then I looked around at the tools I had spread out. Each one felt at home in my hand. Gave me control.

My gaze flickered to the back wall, where I could just barely see the Zelda painting. The smile on her lips was all-knowing. Proud to have lived the life she’d always wanted. She’d been free of her father, free to be wild, free to do whatever the hell she wanted. And now I was doing that too.

My fingers hesitated for a moment, then I tapped post. The Instagram photo was the one from last Saturday with me in the dress. Every time I looked at it, I could hear my father’s voice.If you’d stop acting so gay.His words had crawled under my skin, his disdain worming its way into my brain. I nearly reverted to the shame he had a habit of making me feel. However, I couldn’t stop staring at the crown on my head.

Being declared the King of Pride didn’t make me feel ashamed of who I was, and that was why I’d decided to post the picture. It was a reminder not to let him come into my new home, new life, and tell me what to do. Besides, the crown actually gave me an idea about where to have the next speakeasy, and that ranger guy had already offered the nature lodge. I’d captioned the photo with “meet us where the wild things are” and tagged Beggs Nature Preserve as the location.

Notifications were starting to pop off as I stretched out on the living room sofa. From comments declaring they wereready for the rumpus to an excessive use of eyeball emojis, I watched them pour in. Then bedmas_22 liked it.

Flutters filled my stomach every time I saw his username in my DMs. I was having fun just getting to know him, not that other-stuff’ing wasn’t fun. His questions made it feel like I was a mystery he was trying to solve.

Before I could check his latest message, a new text notification from Sawyer flashed across the screen. She’d sent a line of question marks that immediately killed my vibe. I assumed it was in response to my post; she’d probably typed it while wearing her focused expression. I almost second-guessed myself, but then I looked back at the photo of me with the golden crown on my head. It was all the proof I needed. Iknewwhat I was doing. She was just ticked that I hadn’t discussed it with her first.

Leaving her on read, I set my phone on the coffee table. I pushed the doubt out of my mind while I lay there and listened to the buzz of the oven timer. Mom was making breakfast for dinner—my favorite. She’d come upstairs after a very lengthy discussion with the JACass and started making biscuits from scratch. And I knew the choice of comfort food had to be a bad omen.

“It’s ready,” she called.

“Coming,” I replied, rolling off the sofa.

I made my way to the tiny dinette. She’d cleared stacks of papers off to the side and set out two plates.Oh, we’re def having a real talk,I realized, plopping down on the chair across from her.

“So…” I searched for something to delay the inevitable,and then I saw the book she’d left sitting at the end of the table. “How’s the, uh, book club?”

“They picked a great read,” she answered. “About this woman who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail to reclaim her life.” Her face lit up with a smile, a spark like when she’d bought the shop. “The club is planning a weekend cabin retreat to discuss it, but I don’t know if I’ll go.”

“You should.” I gave her an encouraging nod. “And, uh, do something for yourself.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, and then took a deep breath. “As much as I appreciate you saying that, we’re not here to talk about me. Hun, your father—”

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