Page 76 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

“And blue raspberry for you,” Cohen added as he held one up to me.

He’d remembered my favorite from back in the day. I couldn’t help but smile when I took it from him. “Thanks, Coco,” I said, our fingers brushing. Still weird not to be fighting with him, but I could get used to this. Wanted to get used towhateverthis was.

“Sooo,” Sawyer said, jumping off the float. She shot me a mischievous grin and turned toward Kennedy. “Didn’t you say you wanted to see if Carmen had that sapphic book you wanted in stock?”

“I did?” Kennedy asked, scrunching her face in confusion. Sawyer widened her eyes and jerked her head to me and Cohen. “Oh. Yes. That book. With the lesbians. That I want to read.”

“There’s obviously no book,” I deadpanned as Cohen climbed up beside me.

“Why are y’all being weird?” he asked, sitting beside me.

“Nooo reeeason,” Sawyer singsonged, and steered Kennedy toward the store entrance.

For a brief moment, panic spiked as they held each other’s hands. As I glanced around the parking lot in case anyone could see them. But I forced myself to take a deep breath of the humid air and exhale slowly. I wasn’t suffocating anymore.

“Y’all are totally gonna make out,” Cohen called after them.

Kennedy spun around with an evil grin on her face. “Funny,” she retorted, the hazel of her eyes catching what little sunlight remained. “I could say the same to you.”

“Not funny,” he muttered.

The insinuation meant only one thing. He had told her about our kiss. I waited until they disappeared inside before asking, “So she knows that I, uh, that we—”

“Yeah, that,” he finished with bashfulness.

He shoveled a bite of purple shaved ice into his mouth and looked over at me. His brown eyes went wide with nerves as he waited for my reaction. I could see a question in his gaze, the same one I’d been wondering:What does this mean?The bubble we’d built around ourselves was back. We were here together, atop the platform, like we’d been in the square and on Instagram. And I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said with a smile. “I legit just told Sawyer.”

His face went as red as the tiger’s blood sno-cone. “So, uh.” He blinked several times as he tried to form words. “Now they both know. That we did that.”

“You can say it, you know.” I laughed, nudging him with my elbow. “We kissed, and now…I don’t know what this is, Coco.”

“I don’t either,” he admitted with a shaky breath.

“I screwed up in freshman year before we had the chance to find out,” I began, offering him my hand, “but how about we figure it out now?”

He blinked a few times before slowly reaching out. His palm was warm and sweaty against mine. Our fingers lacedtogether as I held on to him. After taking apart what’d happened between us over and over again for the last three years, it was time to build something new.

“So, um.” I licked my lips, suddenly nervous, and paid way too much attention to the wood grain of the platform. “Saw and I have this tradition. We always go to the library’s outdoor movie night. They play a book adaptation with a projector, and it’s tomorrow. And if you don’t have plans and wanna hang…”

A beat of silence passed before I forced myself to look up at him. Red splotches had bloomed underneath his sunburn, but he was smiling. “Sure,” he finally replied in a soft whisper.

That one word broke the bubble around us. The rest of the world came rushing in with the calliope music of the shaved ice truck. With a gust of wind and rattle of streamers. With a reminder that we were here together.

And it felt right.

Chapter 32

The floorboards of my bedroom creaked with unrest, unease. I kept readjusting the shirt I’d pulled on while I paced. The collar was scratchy against my neck, circling my throat like a hand. I checked the time on my phone, letting out a sigh, and tossed it onto the bed. Any minute now, Cohen would pick me up. Then we’d go to the library with Sawyer and Kennedy to hang out, but I didn’t know if it was an actual date.

After all these damn years,I admonished, exhaling slowly through the nerves,why wasn’t I more specific when I asked?

My hands kept fidgeting, and I grabbed the cologne from my dresser to spritz myself. Ran my hands through my hair to try taming it again. It still felt surreal to think of Cohen as someone I was getting ready for, that we would hold hands and kiss until I’d want to other-stuff him…

The pride flag on the wall caught my eye, then the crumpled letter I’d taped beside it. I’d fished it out of the trash yesterday, smoothing down the folds from Mom’s clenched fist.Its scolding red ink was a reminder that the mayor thought I’d done something wrong—that trying to make Beggs feel more like home was bad. It only fueled my anger toward him and every hate-sign-carrying asshole from his rally.

And everything I was worried about suddenly felt insignificant.

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