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I f you did more…

I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. Inhaling the grease-saturated air in the Roaring Mechanics lobby, exhaling until my lungs burned.

My eyes grew heavy, the AC an escape from the hot garage. I slumped down farther in the chair with a groan. The entirety of my body was sore from unloading a shipment of tires earlier. The extra muscle I’d put on from baseball was gone, and now I felt weak in more ways than one.

I blinked slowly up at the Montgomery Evening News playing on the mounted TV.

The drone of the reporter’s voice mixed with the soft music playing from Sawyer’s phone.

She’d taken charge of the decorations Mom said we could use for the “QSA event,” throwing out all my suggestions so far.

I’d just finished untangling the string lights she decided we needed, but there were so many boxes left to go through. And sleep was catching up with me.

My eyelids fluttered, and Cohen’s voice ricocheted—

“I’m obsessed with Chappell Roan’s new album,” Sawyer said suddenly. I startled upright and rubbed at my face. “Like fully prepared to make it my entire personality for the foreseeable future.”

“Can’t wait for her fall tour,” I said with a yawn, shaking my head to wake up.

“About that…” Sawyer trailed off as I reached for another box, biting her lip in thought. She’d been doing that for the last few hours, as though she wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“What about it?” I asked.

“On a scale of only-slightly-pissed to butthurt,” she started, pink spreading across her cheeks as she unpacked a beaded curtain, “how bad would you feel if I went to the concert without you?”

“Hella,” I said pointedly. Concerts were part of our list of traditions, a platonic bestie date.

“We’re supposed to see our favorites together.

Reneé Rapp, Charli xcx, Omar Apollo…” I then remembered just how much those tickets had cost. Mom was barely making ends meet, and I couldn’t ask for more allowance like I had in the past. “But I’ll let it slide if you have a good reason, I guess. ”

“I do.” Sawyer held up a glittering mirror ball. Green shimmers danced in the overhead lighting, shining across her shy smile. “Kennedy loves her too…and if she says yes to being my girlfriend this weekend, then, you know…”

I nodded, my sleep-deprived brain slow on the uptake. Then my hands stilled while unpacking an inflatable archway. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” I blinked a few times as her words sank in. “You’re finally asking her to be official?”

“Yep,” she said, popping the P. Her coyness twisted into an excited grin. “Last night, she said she was ready to stop hiding. And all I could picture was walking down the hallway at school, her hand in mine, not giving a damn what anyone says.”

That was all Cohen had wanted, for me to be bold with him. “That’s great, Saw!” I exclaimed with too much pep, to hide the twinge of regret.

“It feels high-key dumb to be nervous about it now, especially after all I’m doing with the QSA’s Pride events.”

“I’m the one—”

“And if she says no,” she carried on, “promise you’ll go to the concert with me? And scream until our voices are hoarse? And let me buy as much merch as I want?”

I nodded in agreement rather than correcting her on who, in fact, started these QSA Pride events. She’d only get defensive, and arguing about it would only make me feel worse. The QSA, the petition for Pride, having my back all these years—she deserved the recognition too.

“But she’ll say yes,” I assured her, nudging her knee. “Just promise me that you two won’t be that cutesy couple who do everything together and leave me fending for myself.”

“Please,” she scoffed, but there was the hint of a laugh in her voice. “Who knows, maybe you’ll upgrade one of your boys into an actual boyfriend, and we can all hang out.”

“You’ve been writing way too much fanfic,” I deadpanned, “and are obviously delusional.”

“What about that guy you were dancing with last weekend?” The music cut off, a new-message notification sounding. “Mason Bedolla, right?”

I felt heat coil in my stomach and a ghost ache from that damned gnome. “He was fun…but I doubt I’ll see him again.”

“If you’d stop dicking around and let someone get to know you”—she glanced up while her thumbs tapped on her phone screen—“it might be something you want.”

“We’re absolutely not gonna talk about this.”

I rolled my eyes, and she stuck her tongue out at me. Do I want that, though? The last time I got close to someone it’d backfired so shit-tacularly that I got burned. Besides, I had more important things to worry about now.

“But I’ll make sure this weekend is epic for you,” I added, digging my phone from my jeans pocket. “Insta has been popping off about it.”

“How many people do you think will be there?” she asked.

Opening Instagram, I checked my latest post. The four slides were pictures of a pride flag, the square’s pavilion clock reading nine p.m., the public library, and a Halloween meme. I’d captioned it with “already thinking about this year’s costume maybe my favorite character? ”

“Fifty so far,” I announced. She had been worried it was too subtle at first, but I posted it anyway. And I was right to do so. Comment after comment of pride flag emojis racked up. Most of them were businesses in town, some people I hadn’t met. “I think we could get way more…”

A banner notification across the top of the screen distracted me. The Beggs Rec Center had just sent me a DM. Sawyer said something about too many people being risky, and I absently mumbled a “Yeah” as I clicked to read it.

BeggsRecCenter:

Hi Zeke, the mayor has threatened to pull funding for our kids’ program because it’s LGBTQIA+ inclusive. Your “underground” Pride month has inspired us to continue it regardless. I’d like to invite you to come check it out tomorrow in hopes you’ll volunteer. Let me know if you can make it! —Jess

Relief eased the tension in my chest. At least someone thought I wasn’t hurting the QSA’s cause.

A grin tugged at the corners of my mouth, that spark Cohen had dampened reigniting.

Yes, I can definitely make it! I typed. But the self-doubt that’d been hassling me all day stopped my thumb from tapping send. Was I even qualified to go?

“Hey, Saw,” I began, in hopes she’d encourage me, “what do you think about—”

A loud thwack sounded as she kicked at a roll of green carpet. “What a flaccid dickhead,” she yelled, waving her hands angrily at the TV. I followed her gaze to where the news report was covering the Alabama governor’s homophobic campaign messaging. “Can you believe this education reform bullshit?”

She looked at me expectantly, and I froze before glancing back at the Montgomery Evening News. “Yeah, um, total bullshit,” I agreed, even though I didn’t understand.

“He can call it what he wants, but he’s trying to erase all traces of queer history in the classroom,” Sawyer went on. “And the corrupt Supreme Court of Dipshits won’t do anything about it.”

The name of the proposed education bill filled the screen.

It was a mishmash of numbers and letters.

I’d never really paid attention to the news before we moved out of the old house.

The hate couldn’t reach me inside my shoebox.

But now? How was I supposed to know every single bad thing happening in the world?

“I can’t deal with this,” Sawyer said, turning away from the TV. “Sorry, what were you about to ask?”

“Oh, um.”

I fidgeted with my phone, unsure if I should tell her I wanted to volunteer. What if she wrote me off because I didn’t fully comprehend the magnitude of what was happening? What if Cohen was right?

“Do you think the speakeasies could hurt the QSA’s cause?” I asked quietly.

She pushed her wire-frame glasses up on her nose and shook her head. “Don’t let what Cohen said get to you, okay? I get why he’s worried, but we deserve to have fun too. And you were having fun, right?”

“Fun,” I echoed, remembering what it had felt like in the bookstore’s basement. How I’d been free to be myself and dance with Mason. How it didn’t matter if I was the best worst type of gay or not. “You’re right, we deserve to have fun.”

“And for all anyone else knows,” she added with a reassuring grin, “we’re just having a party.”

Pride is about more than throwing parties, Zeke.

Cohen’s dig shot through me. Doubt threatened to creep in as I eyed the abundance of decorations surrounding us.

We were throwing a party, but it was more than that.

It’d inspired the Beggs Rec Center to stand up against the mayor too.

That had to mean something . And I had to prove to myself that I could do more.

I unlocked my phone and tapped send on the reply.