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BeggsPublicLibrary

My name is Bronwen with the library, and we’d like to offer our third floor for Pride.

The Instagram message had burned in my mind since yesterday. It was an answer to a question I hadn’t thought to ask. An answer that had my mind sprinting ahead to next Saturday as I steered my dirt bike along the streets in search of a plan.

“We’ll only do it if there’s some privacy,” Sawyer said decidedly, passing my phone to Kennedy.

With a deep breath, I glanced up at her from my spot on the bachelorette pad floor.

I had to bite my tongue instead of saying she didn’t get to make that call.

“Actually,” I began evenly, “I checked it out last night. There aren’t any windows up there, and the back entrance is hidden from view. It wouldn’t be sus.”

I stuffed a handful of yogurt-covered raisins into my mouth and chewed aggressively.

They were my favorite, and Sawyer’s mom knew to keep the pantry stocked for me.

Between chomps, my neck prickled as Cohen stared me down with narrowed eyes.

It was like the last time we were down here—him looking straight through me.

He absently pulled at the collar of his polo, revealing a peek of chest hair that hadn’t been there three years ago.

“Like what you see, Coco?” I teased, even though he could’ve asked me the same.

Rather than disregarding me, as he was prone to do, he cleared his throat as his ears reddened. “You’re disgusting,” he muttered, shifting his gaze to the raisins. “I didn’t think anyone actually ate those.”

I shoved more in my mouth and offered him the open bag with a wink. “Want some?”

“Hard pass,” he said instead of picking a fight.

Something was off with him. That trademark glower was gone, and in its place was too much thoughtfulness.

I knew that look, had worn that look often since December.

If he hadn’t made us enemies, maybe I’d ask if he was okay.

Maybe I’d be more worried about him instead of relieved he wasn’t giving me the third degree.

“I think we should do it,” Kennedy said, snapping my attention away from Cohen. She pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, her yellow nails bright against her dark twist braids. “What do you think, Co?”

He glanced at me again and sighed. “The third floor is a wide-open auditorium with a stage,” he said without enthusiasm. “It would technically work.”

Sawyer tilted her head to the side in confusion. “How do you know that?” she asked.

“I read for the children’s story-time hour last spring,” he explained, and then he cut his eyes toward me again. “Let me stop you before you give me hell. Yes, I volunteered there. Yes, I’m trying to round out my college apps for the fall. Yes, I did like it.”

I should have snapped back at him, anything to knock him out of his weird mood.

But the dread of going back to Beggs High to start senior year felt like a kick in the balls.

Not today, I told myself, refusing to think about the future.

What mattered was now, what we were doing for Pride Month. That much I could control.

“Then it’s decided,” Sawyer said, taking charge as usual. “We’ll have it at the library.”

“What she said,” I muttered, grabbing my phone. “I’ll, um, let them know.”

“But it’s monitored by the security patrol,” Cohen added with a warning tone. My fingers stilled on the touchscreen, and I could tell by the waver in his voice that he was still shook. “Someone will most def notice everyone coming in.”

“Fair,” Kennedy agreed.

“Z,” Sawyer began, “didn’t your mom have a plan for that with her grand opening?”

“Uh…”

I thought back to March and how Mom had set up the lobby like a store called Zelda’s Music Emporium.

She’d stocked the shelves with her old CD collection and assigned me as the guard since I was too young to attend.

When guests arrived in their Roaring Twenties fits, they had to ask if we had any albums from this old girl group called the Spice Girls. Only then were they allowed to enter.

“She had a fake music store with a password.”

“We need a cover story like that,” Sawyer said thoughtfully with focus mode etched on her face.

“But it’s a library,” Kennedy pointed out.

I chewed on my lip as I tried to think, and I watched Sawyer do the same.

My gaze fell down to her faded blue shirt with the NEHS acronym peeling off.

She’d had it since we were inducted into the National English Honor Society.

I’d since gotten kicked out, all because of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.

Failing that test had been the start of my streak of bad grades, but I did remember enough of it.

How the main character had disguised herself to get her way…

“What if,” I started, a plan forming, “we tell people to dress up as their favorite book character? No one would suspect it was a Pride event then.”

“That’s…that’s really smart,” Cohen said, a note of shock in his tone.

“I know.” I grinned with satisfaction, knowing I’d proved him wrong, and turned to Sawyer. “Then you could go as Captain Jaymes Catz and do your drag routine since you didn’t get to.”

“Say less,” she said with an excited clap of her hands. “We’ll need to welcome everyone and then have the other drag performers I’d lined up for Pride Day and…has anyone seen my tablet? I need to take this down.”

Kennedy dug in her tote bag to retrieve a pen and notebook. “Here, just use this,” she said, handing them to Sawyer. “And write down that we should see if any of the QSA community supporters want to set up a table. The third floor is big enough.”

“Then we can do our original plan,” Sawyer said as she scribbled. “I could start the drag show. Does that work?”

A beat passed before I realized she’d directed her question at me.

I nodded in agreement, stunned that she was deferring to me now.

“We could even borrow the decorations from the shop’s grand opening,” I suggested, “and since we already have a stage…maybe someone could talk to the crowd again, like Carmen did?”

Sawyer smiled reassuringly. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Zeke.” I shrugged it off, but she held her hand to her chest. “I’m proud of you, titty promise. You’re really stepping up.”

“Thanks,” I said, a blush heating my cheeks.

From my periphery, I could see Cohen staring at me again. I refused to give in and look. To see just how much he disagreed with her. Instead, I put my hands behind my head and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. My eyes roamed the ridges as I forced down any traces of doubt.

Two hours later, we’d finally sorted all the details for Saturday.

The library was on board with what we had planned, and all that was left to do was make a post about it…

without making a post about it. Kennedy had said to be inconspicuous, and Cohen returned to form with a smartass remark.

It means to not attract attention, he’d said.

Put your Insta on private like mine. I’d reminded him that we purposefully unfollowed each other years ago, and he hadn’t spoken since.

I glanced over at the corner of the sofa while I scrolled on my phone.

He was doing the same, the glower back in place like it had never left.

The tension was excruciating, growing stronger by the second.

I checked the time and realized that Sawyer and Kennedy had gone to get the pizza delivery more than thirty minutes ago.

Ugh, I groaned inwardly as my stomach rumbled.

Unable to keep scrolling, to keep pretending like Cohen wasn’t sitting there stewing, I cleared my throat.

It was too loud in the too-quiet basement, and he startled.

“They’ve been gone waaay too long,” I said awkwardly.

“I bet they’re totally making out again. ”

“Just now figuring that out?” he asked. The sarcasm was half-hearted at best. “They’ll be at it for another fifteen minutes, at least, before they realize they left us down here.”

“Right, right…”

He made a noncommittal grunt as his fingers typed on his phone. I watched his brow unfurl. For a moment I could see the Cohen I remembered. The same guy beneath the asshole personality who’d made my brain glitch.

“Who do you think you’ll be for the speakeasy?” I asked, unable to handle the dead air between us.

“Dunno.”

Strike one, I thought, closing my eyes. “Well, I might go as Zelda Fitzgerald.” I’d given it some thought ever since we’d come up with the idea, and the painting of her in Mom’s shop kept coming to mind. “My mom has a dress and wig from the grand opening I could use.”

“She’s not a character, Zeke,” he pointed out, shooting me an annoyed glance. “She was an actual person.”

Strike two. I inhaled, exhaled through the unrelenting urge to punch the condescension off his face.

“Correction,” I tried again calmly. “She played the character people wanted her to…a goddess of chaos, the first American flapper. It was really because of the time frame and her upbringing, but I think it was all for show…What?”

His mouth was agape. “Nothing,” he muttered, red splotches spreading across his cheeks. “Just forgot you used to be smart.”

“Strike three,” I bit out, turning to face him on the sofa. “What the hell is your problem?”

He blinked rapidly, and I could practically see his thoughts racing. Ripples of that guy I used to know, who he turned into, someone else entirely new who was too serious all of a sudden. “Zeke,” he said through a breath. “Don’t start with me.”

“You started it, Coco,” I seethed. “Despite what you said, I’m actually trying to be a good gay and you keep trashing me. What gives?”

“Sorry,” he muttered. His warm brown eyes studied me for a moment before he swallowed roughly. “I shouldn’t have put you down like that, and I apologize.”

“Seriously, stop.” I gestured wildly at him, the newfound civility cringe-inducing. “You’re being weird as hell right now.”

He started to say something, a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue. Then he stopped himself and shook his head. “I can’t go Saturday,” he finally said, glancing down at his lap.

“That’s okay. You can help with the next—”

“No.” He cut me off. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

The audacity. After everything he’d called me out on, every hard truth he’d thrown at me? How I didn’t do enough for the QSA, how I don’t pay attention to the laws trying to erase us, how Pride was about something more —and he didn’t think my idea was good enough?

“Why?” I asked, my voice biting. “I know you were freaked because of the cop, and I understand. If we do get caught, you can blame everything on me. Everyone else does.”

He was giving me a stare down again, all the versions of him flickering as he considered what I said. I’d thought he saw the real me before, but now I knew it was the opposite. I was seeing the real him. And he was nervous and scared.

“I appreciate you saying that, really,” he began, his words pillowed in softness, “but I can’t risk my future. Not like this. I already told Kennedy, but…I’m volunteering with Carmen’s campaign. Plus, I’m working at The Cove and—”

“You asked me if I was paying attention,” I blurted. He was too concerned about his perfect college applications. Too much like how I used to be. “But are you ? What we’re doing is important.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. ” He sighed heavily. “I think we can change more minds on the inside, and helping the campaign will do that. Pride is about more than throwing parties, Zeke. You would know that if you did more with the QSA when we needed you, not now when it’s convenient.”

If he’d said that earlier, I might’ve decked him right on the spot. There was no winning with him. I knew he was anxious. I couldn’t fault him for that when I was as well. It didn’t stop the sting of his words, though.

“Nothing about this is convenient, Cohen,” I pointed out.

“Look”—he tugged at his collar again, and his shoulders slumped—“I’m glad you finally felt comfortable to come out and get involved for whatever reason, but I’m worried, okay? What if you get caught and the speakeasies hurt our cause? That’d only give Mayor Buchanan ammunition to use against us.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but I knew what he said wasn’t a lie. That didn’t make his digs hurt less.