Page 9 of The Rebel's Guide to Pride

“We have a last-minute oil change coming in.”

Mom’s voice drifted under the minivan, and I snapped myattention back to the engine above me. My hands ached as I gripped the wrench and tightened the plug. It had been a nonstop day of emptying inky goop from engines into drain pans and refilling them with fresh oil. I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of grease, and rolled out from under the car on the small dolly mechanics used.

“Great,” I said through a yawn, and sat up, stretching my neck.

“Mmhmm,” Mom hummed as she adjusted the green shop hat over her blond waves. Her eyes softened as she looked down at me. “I know this must be jarring for you, and you never had to work before…but I’m really glad to have you down here.”

What she meant was that she needed the extra help but couldn’t afford to hire someone. Money was tight now, and the support payments from my father were barely helping us make ends meet. But she wanted to prove she could take care of me, of us.

“I mean, thisispunishment for flunking my junior year,” I mumbled.

“Almost flunking,” she corrected with a wry grin.

I shot her an unamused grimace, my face going slack as she took a seat across from me. We sat in silence for a moment as sounds from the lobby TV reverberated off the tiled floor. I checked my phone so I could count down the hours until the QSA set up for tomorrow. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be near Mom, but she kept trying to talk to me like we were back in the garage at our old house.

“Hey, Zeke,” she continued, forcing the conversation, “I know how hard it’s been…Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” I replied quickly, not wanting to rehash the pastfor the third time today. She was trying to prove she was here for me now with the incessant questions. But it never got us anywhere. The topic brought up too many emotions. And it always ended with me feeling guilty for the fact that, deep down, I resented her for letting my father walk all over us.

Her gaze held too much pity, and I quickly averted mine. My eyes went back to the portrait of Zelda and the smile she wore as if she knew exactly what I was going through. It was easy to imagine living a life like hers. One day Iwouldget away from the JACass and all his plans. But I still didn’t know who I was without them.

“You know, you remind me even more of her now,” Mom commented.

I glanced over, and she nodded toward the back wall. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Zelda never let anyone stop her from doing what she wanted,” she said. “She never tried to be perfect, she was a rebel. A free spirit who partied in speakeasies and kept everyone on their toes. Just like you’ve been doing since…”

I chewed my lip, my hands fidgeting as I looked up at Zelda. Maybe I could be like her. Maybe I could live my life and not give a shit about what other people thought wasbestfor me. It was like when I held a wrench in my hand, wielding it under a vehicle’s hood. How it felt to know I could easily take apart any engine and put it back together. Complete control—that’s all I really wanted.

“How about Pride Day tomorrow?” Mom continued, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Everything okay with that?”

“Guess so?” I said, this time with my voice rising. What Cohen had said still shook me.Are you even paying attention?

“You guess?”

I rolled my shoulders back like Coach had taught us to when we were tense with stress. There had been no nerves when we’d planned Pride, but I’d gone out riding again last night. Unable to sleep. Unable to get Cohen’s voice out of my head for miles and miles.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said in a determined voice, more to myself.

“If I haven’t said it already,” she started, “I’m glad you’re getting involved.”

Another attempt to prove she was here for me. She’d been going above and beyond since we moved out, to ensure I was supported. As much as I appreciated her efforts, it felt like it was a little too late.

I sighed roughly and shrugged. “I don’t really do much—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she corrected. “You’re speaking up by being part of it. That’s what’s important now. You never know who’s listening, so be proud.”

Pride is about being heard.But to me Pride felt like a fight. A war between who I should be and who I was.

“Just promise you’ll be careful tomorrow—” I started to interrupt her, but she shook her head. “You’re never careful. What you’re doing is more important than getting into stupid fights.”

“Fair.” I reached up, tenderly touching the bruised skin around my eye. “Fighting’s bad, I know.”

“One more thing,” she added, standing as a car pulled up to the garage door. The last-minute appointment was the only thing between me and getting out of here. “Promise you won’t—”

“I won’t get in a fight, I swear.”

She pointed a finger at me, grit under her nails like mine. “—that you won’t take the bait if someone tries to provoke you,” she finished.

---