Page 64 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

“People have been quiet for far too long in Beggs, and now they’re speaking up.”

Before, politics went over my head, but now it was making sense. “Then how can I help?” I asked.

Someone coughed, and the intense stare down between Cohen and me was broken. “What he means,” Sawyer started, “is how canwehelp?”

“Yeah,” I corrected, my face on fire. “I meant the QSA.”

“We did get some new members signed up,” Kennedy said. “We could all get together and do something to help Carmen.”

“Like make more campaign signs?” Sawyer offered, and Kennedy nodded excitedly.

“That’s a great idea,” Cohen said. “We need to get them up as soon as possible.”

“On it,” Sawyer promised.

She grabbed her tablet, and it was like the QSA planning sessions for Pride all over again. Her thumbs flew over the screen as Kennedy scooted closer, pulling out a pen and notebook from her tote. It left me to sit there on my own while theydiscussed a plan of attack. I didn’t know what I could do that’d be useful instead of making everything…messier.

“What about me?” I asked, eyes downcast.

“You should throw one more speakeasy,” Cohen said without hesitation.

“What?” I balked at him. “I just told Sawyer I won’t do that. Not after what happened. I’ll just screw it up again.”

“No, you won’t.” He shook his head firmly. “You won’t be doing it alone, either, and what if…What if we didn’t hide it? We could…Wait, we could make it a rally for Carmen in the town square!” I shot him a confused look, and he continued on in excitement, more so to himself. “Yeah, that would work, and I still have the QSA parade float in my garage. We could decorate it for the campaign—”

“Are you sure?” I cut in.

“Zeke,” he began, smiling in a new way that I almost didn’t recognize, “you’re a genius, and we got this…but only if you feel comfortable.”

A genius?I thought. He hadn’t called me that since I won us the mathletes competition. Back before everything fell apart. The versions of me were overlapping again, the past mixing with the present. All that was missing was the future.

“I, uh.” He kept smiling like he believed in me, and it was the first time in a long time that someone had. “But, uh.” I tried again. “How exactly would it work…if we did?”

“First, we’d tell Carmen the QSA will organize a rally,” he jumped in, confidently taking charge. “We can reserve the town square, make sure the mayor can’t fault us for anything.” He scratched at his bedhead and licked his bottom lipin thought. I hated to admit it, but I found this side of him attractive. “You can post to your Insta with the time and date like you did with the other speakeasies. We’ll get as many people there as possible and make it feel like a big party.”

“It can’t be a party,” I countered, now aware of how much hard work the QSA had done this year. “If we do it, it should mirror the QSA’s original plan for Pride Day.”

“Zeke, I love that idea,” Sawyer inserted, flashing me a grin.

“What if we had a voter registration drive too?” Kennedy suggested. “Most of our senior class will support her because of Buchanan’s new One Lifestyle bullshit.”

“That’s wonderful, Ken.” Cohen beamed, and then to me in a softer tone, added, “See, we got this.”

The rich brown of his eyes was warm. Too warm, too sultry to look away from. It was setting me on fire, and I could feel Sawyer watching me from behind her tablet. There was an undeniable blush on my face.

Do I like him back? Did I ever stop?

Upstairs, a doorbell sounded, and Kennedy got to her feet. “Pizza’s here,” she announced, reaching out to help Sawyer up. “We’ll go, um, grab it while you two figure out if we’re gonna do this or not.”

They left quickly, and I knew they’d be gone awhile. That they would find a hidden place upstairs to make out until the pizza turned cold. Their footsteps echoed up the basement steps, and both of us fell into silence as the door shut.

A few moments passed, and I could feel Cohen watching me. Waiting on me to address the big gay elephant in the room now that it was just us. “Uh…they’re totally gonna suck face,” I finally mumbled.

“No doubt,” he said.

I cleared my throat to ask about Carmen’s campaign again, anything to keep this from getting weirder. He looked up at me through his eyelashes, and I could see his face in the moonlight. Hear him confessing it was him on Instagram. I had been so mad at him last night…but now I was angry at myself. I’d just assumed it was Mason messaging me—I hadn’t even asked before spilling my guts in his DMs. Despite that, Cohen wasn’t Z-stepping. Maybe he really did mean everything he’d said.

Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Why bedmas_22?”

---