Page 68 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

I hadn’t thought of it that way. We’d both shared things about ourselves, but he’d known it was me. He was still as bold as he’d been freshman year.

“Obviously there’s still something between you two,” she continued, “but what are you gonna do about it?”

My hands fidgeted with my phone, waking the screen. I’d once told him we were better as friends, but that’d been an excuse. The message thread between us was still pulled up, glowing expectantly. Before I could stop myself, I typed out a question.

zekechapman

do you still listen to Bleachers?

“Ehem,” a gruff voice interrupted. “I’m gonna need to see your room key to verify you’re both guests.”

We both swiveled to look up at the hotel concierge. His face was pinched as he held his hand out impatiently. Sneaky birthday breakfast had officially been compromised. Sawyerand I exchanged a brief wide-eyed stare before she grabbed my hand.

“Run!” we both yelled at the same time.

We shoved our chairs back and took off through the dining room. Heavy footsteps sounded in our wake. We rounded the corner into the lobby, and her wig came off. It went flying past me in a blur of red. I couldn’t contain my laughter as I sprinted after her. And it felt good to let it out.

Chapter 28

I had two distinct memories of Estrella Books: the first was the day Sawyer and I reached for the last copy of the X-Men graphic novel, and the second was freaking out about the first speakeasy. Now here I was again, a distinct third time I knew I’d remember.

The door chimed as another campaign volunteer arrived. Each trill brought more laughter, even more people into the bookstore. Conversations fluttered as we sat in the tiny chairs of the children’s section. I gripped the edge of my seat and took a few deep breaths.

“Everything okay?” Sawyer asked, and I turned my attention to where she was perched on Kennedy’s lap.

“Uh-huh,” I said absently, glancing once more around the store.

But I wasn’t really okay. I’d gone riding last night, unable to sleep. Unable to shut off my brain. The news cycle of bills with confusing letters and numbers had played on a constant loopas I drove. Each campaign sign flashed by, but all I could see were the people I’d met this summer. From the speakeasies, the rec center, the rally for Buchanan—everyone blazing in my mind. A month ago, Cohen had asked if I was paying attention.

And now I couldn’t stop.

“Nervous about seeing Cohen,” Sawyer pressed with a smirk, “because you’re ready to give in to his yearning?”

“Wait,” Kennedy said before I could reply. She held her hand up to her chest in thought. The shades of her pink nail polish were bright against the white dinosaur shirt that I knew belonged to Sawyer. Then her twist braids swooped over her shoulder as she turned toward me in a rush. “You know Cohen likes you?”

“And they’re gonna quench each other’s thirst,” Sawyer teased.

I gulped as Kennedy’s grin widened. “About damn time,” she said, glancing across the store. “Iknewy’all were hate-flirting.”

“That’s, uh, that’s not it,” I finally said.

Another deep breath as I followed her line of sight. Cohen was snapping pictures of Carmen posing by the front counter. He was in his element, a set look of determination on his brow. Like he knew what he was doing here, like everyone knew what they were doing. And I was in a perpetual state of confusion.

“What if,” I began, lowering my voice, “we do this rally and register voters and she still loses?”

Sawyer’s smile fell. “Then she loses,” she answered. “But that doesn’t meanwelost…Just look around, Z.” She motioned to the crowded bookstore around us. “Do you really think all this will stop after the election?”

I shrugged, unsure how any of this worked.

“You only lose if you stop trying.” She shared a look with Kennedy; both of their smiles represented a decision made. “AndifBuchanan is reelected, all it means is that we’ll keep fighting so that they know we’re not going anywhere. Just like those Last Boyfriends did at Harper Valley High School to oust their principal and superintendent.”

“Even if they ban the QSA, Pride events, whatever other shit they throw our way,” Kennedy added, “they can’t make us feel like we don’t belong, not after everything that’s happened this summer.”

“The speakeasies made a place for us in Beggs. Brought us together,” Sawyer said.

Their words sank in as I looked to the front. So many familiar faces were here for Carmen’s campaign, from Owen to Jess to so many others I’d seen show up all summer. Their presence was a promise that we were here together. I was still figuring out politics and what it meant to fight for your rights. But there was one thing that eased the fear thrashing inside me, that eclipsed how it’d felt up on that billboard catwalk.

We’re not alone.

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