Page 54 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

That was surprising, and I gawked at him in disbelief. Cohen had always been so sure of himself, going back to when he’d told me about the town founder’s statue. That was one of the things that’d made my brain glitch out over him.

“I wish I’d had it too,” I heard myself admit. “All I had was a shoebox.”

“What?” he asked.

It’s nothing,I almost said. Then I thought of how I’d confided in Fake Mason, how it had felt to let some of the panic out. “My father didn’t allow me to talk about gay stuff,” I rushed to say before I chickened out. “I had to hide everything from him in a shoebox…including the QSA forms Sawyer kept giving me.”

“That’s the reason why you suddenly joined the club this year,” he surmised. “Because of your parents’ divorce.”

I nodded, and he opened his mouth. “Don’t say you’re sorry.” I cut him off. “Nothing you could have done about it.”

“But Iamsorry for you,” he said. “Sorry for all the kids in the program who need it. Sorry for so many things…”

“I am too,” I said, leaning back beside him. “I wish I could do something about it.”

“But you already are, Zeke, and I’ve been sitting on the sidelines playing by the rules.” He balled his hands into fists. “What do you do when the rules weren’t made with you in mind?”

“You don’t follow them then,” I said, biting my lip. “You break them.”

He looked at me, steely-eyed, and slowly nodded. “Then I’m helping you with the last speakeasy. There’s nothing else we can do, not unless the mayor gets voted out of office.”

“You’ll help?” I asked.

He gave me another nod, jaw clenched and brow furrowed. “We won’t let him intimidate us. So, fuck Family First. Fuck the mayor. Fuck his reelection campaign rally in the town square.”

“Wait, when is his rally?”

He checked the time on his phone and said, “Right now,” with a dejected shake of his head.

I could still remember how I’d felt on Pride Day. The way the mayor had stepped up onto the pavilion just to crush our dreams. The way my father had held his hand up to force me to be silent. The way I regretted not yelling at both of them in that moment, so they’d know how wrong they were. I refused to be afraid anymore.I won’t stand back and let it happen again,I decided.

“I have to go,” I said, shoving off the wall. “And I’ll need that pride flag.”

“Zeke, it’s not safe—”

“I’m not afraid of Mayor Buchanan.” I grabbed the wadded-up rainbow from his grip. “He won’t get away with this. Someone has to make him listen.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought it was the first weekend of June. A crowd had gathered around the square’s pavilion like they had a few weeks ago. There was a charge in the evening air, rumbles of excited conversation mixing with music softly playing through speakers. Signs held up with rainbows on them that gave me the illusion of safety.

But I knew better.

These were the people behind the Beggs Facebook Group, the ones who had protested over Pride Day. Their signs had Xs over the pride flag, the same bold red as the Family First posters on the lampposts. Their loud opinions swarmed me as I parked my dirt bike, small-minded battle cries overlapping as the engine cut off.

Up on the pavilion, the mayor was waving and smiling with a sick kind of glee. A deep inhale, an exhale as I planned to march up there and steal the microphone. Show him, show everyone in this rallying crowd, they couldn’t keep us from—

“Gays aren’t welcome in Beggs!”

The protest cry broke from the dull roar, and my attention snapped to the woman in front of me. Her giant sign waved back and forth as she yelled it again with vigor. My stomach bottomed out as I scanned the crowd, my shaking hands clutching the flag to my chest. More signs, more cries, more people showing their ass.

Nausea twisted my stomach when I saw the bright-blue truck with a Wildcats Baseball decal. It was parked close to the pavilion, and I knew the JACass was here supporting the reelection campaign.It’s just business, nothing personal,hereminded me as static crackled from the speakers. But the signs and yells and outright hatred feltextremelypersonal.

A round of applause sounded as the mayor grabbed the microphone. Time was running out. I had to push through the hate and stop him. My legs wouldn’t move, though. A ripple of fear kept me still. There was no way I could make it to the front. My pulse quickened as I considered bailing, that maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea after all.

I can’t be quiet about how wrong this is, not again,I thought, searching for another way around. Then I saw the Chapman Law billboard on top of Jones Hardware. The access ladder had been easy to climb that first day of summer. I’d be able to see everyone up there, and most importantly, they’d see me waving the pride flag.

Thinking fast, I hurried around the edge of the square. My legs wobbled, but I tried to shake it off. All I had to do was get up there and yell at the mayor. Get his attention, my father’s. Then I’d make both of them understand how this was personal for so many people in Beggs.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” Mayor Buchanan’s voice boomed from the pavilion. I hit the alley in a run and reached the ladder as his smooth twang resounded. “This town is a mess, and do you know who’s to blame?”

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