Page 13

The shimmery moss shade of the dress made the blue of my eyes shine. Its neckline scooped low, and the little chest hair I had poked out. Pearlescent beading covered the bodice and fringed at the hemline—the incredibly short hemline.

Everyone’s gonna see my junk.

I watched the mirror on my bedroom door and jumped around.

Shimmied side to side. Shook my ass with a clacking of beads.

Nothing of prominence slipped out, and it’d work for the speakeasy.

Even if the degree of leg it showed was revealing.

So much so that my mind wandered to Mason and whether he’d be there to witness how much thigh I was displaying.

I hadn’t stopped thinking about him since Sawyer grilled me about never getting too close to anyone.

I studied my reflection. Mom had called it a flapper dress. If someone had told me back in December that I’d be fearlessly wearing one, I wouldn’t have believed them. Here I was, though, donning it proudly in my new bedroom.

Technically it wasn’t new, I guess.

There had to be a time limit on how long I could keep calling it that. It still felt like we’d just moved in, like Mom had just promised this was only temporary. Now, after six months in this alternate universe, I was still unsure where pieces of my old life fit in it.

I eyed the room behind me, the button-up and khakis draped over my bed.

I’d pulled them out of a box marked JACASS CLOTHES to wear to the rec center, but they looked wrong in the space.

The person I’d once been didn’t belong in this new life.

It was like working in the mechanic shop, how sometimes broken parts had to be replaced to keep an engine running.

How I could switch out bad memories for new ones.

I’m still Zeke, I reminded myself, staring at the pile of clothes I’d changed out of. A thrifted T-shirt with a faded four-leaf clover, worn-in jeans, Converse sneakers—it all made me who I was now. Less restricted, freer. Dressing up for the rec center won’t change that.

My phone lit up from the jeans pocket, and I turned from the mirror to check the notification. The dress definitely showed my ass when I bent over; I’d have to remember that if Mason did show up. The screen flashed with new-message reminders. Sawyer had double-texted me ten minutes ago.

Today at 4:53 PM

Sawyer

QSA meeting tonight?

Sawyer

Kennedy’s coming over and we need to finish details for the speakeasy

I started to type a response, telling her what I had planned tonight. But I backspaced and deleted it. It was something I had decided to do on my own, and I couldn’t risk her talking me out of it. Or worse, tagging along and taking charge.

Zeke

busy tonight but maybe tomorrow?

Sawyer

okay…?

I knew she was waiting for an explanation, but there wasn’t enough time to invent a cover story. I still had to shower and change. Leaving her on read, I tossed the phone back onto the pile of clothes and—

“Hey, hun,” Mom’s voice abruptly called out.

Her footsteps sounded down the hallway, and I gulped. My attention snapped back to the mirror, back to the dress I’d snuck from her closet. Panic set in as I rushed to grab my clothes to change.

“How do you feel about spaghetti for dinner?” she asked, her voice too close, and then the bedroom doorknob rattled.

“It’s for a costume party,” I nearly shouted as she stepped into the room.

“What?” she asked, slow to register what I was wearing. Then she shot me an amused expression. “Well, that’s just not fair.”

“Huh?”

“It looks better on you than it did on me.” She laughed and shook her head, blond waves tumbling. “It’s supposed to be loose, but you really fill it out.”

“Sorry, I should’ve asked first. I, uh, wanted to dress up as Zelda Fitzgerald,” I explained nervously. “For a, um, QSA thing on Saturday.”

“Here, let me help you.”

She stepped toward me as I stood stock-still.

Then she was zipping up the dress’s back, the metal clicking loud in between my heartbeats.

The bodice grew snug at my waist and even more snug across my chest. I exhaled through the tightness and looked in the mirror again, at her smiling face behind me.

“I have some jewelry you can wear with it,” she began, running her hand through my hair, “but I don’t think you’ll need the wig since you’ve let yours grow long. Just the headband should work.”

“Th-thanks,” I stammered, watching her watch me.

Her eyes were crinkly with a smile. And I knew that look. It was the same one she’d given me after I changed my first spark plug in the family SUV. Maybe we hadn’t come so far from who we used to be. Maybe I could replace the bad memories we had with better ones too.

“So spaghetti?” she asked.

“That sounds great to me,” I replied, turning to face her. “I’m going to volunteer at the rec center, but I’ll be home by seven.”

“Volunteer?”

“For their LGBTQIA-plus kids’ program. The mayor’s trying to cut their funding, and I want to help.”

She took a second to study me, her eyes drifting up to the rainbow flag above my bed. “I love that you’re still trying to fix things.” Her hand was soft as she patted my cheek.

“I’m…I’m trying.”

My face heated as she held my gaze, and then she stepped back.

“While you’re gone, I think I might head over to the bookstore and get the Women of Beggs Book Club pick.

Some of my old girlfriends reached out about it.

” She winked and motioned for me to turn around.

“Might have to pull a Zeke and keep my phone on silent so I can read. It has been ringing all day.”

I felt myself smiling, both happy and sad, as she unzipped the dress.

Happy that she was doing something for herself, sad that I couldn’t remember if she ever had before opening the mechanic shop.

Maybe I was starting to understand her better, that she was figuring herself out—how she was just a person, like me.

She excused herself so I could change, footfalls fading toward the living room. I grabbed my phone from my discarded clothes to check the time. The screen flashed 5:23 p.m. along with another text from Sawyer that I couldn’t deal with. I needed to leave soon to make it on time.

I slipped the dress off in a hurry and yanked on the khakis.

Then I buttoned up the shirt, shoved my feet into the maroon sneakers, and shuffled out of my room.

As I made my way down the hallway, a whimsical bell echoed through the apartment.

The old landline used for shop business was ringing from the makeshift office.

“Could you get that for me?” Mom called. “Tell them I’m not here!”

I yelled back that I had it and veered into the dinette. The bell sounded again with a third ring as I grabbed the clunky handle. “Hello,” I answered quickly. “Roaring Mechanics is closed for the day, and Katherine Chapman isn’t here.”

“Anthony?”

I nearly dropped the phone at the sound of my first name, my father’s voice. It was smooth, cheerful yet serious, and full of artificial sweetness. “What do you want?” I asked, my tone dropping low so Mom wouldn’t hear.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of your mother since you won’t answer my calls,” he said. “Son, we need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, gripping the phone tightly.

“There is plenty. ” He took a breath, waiting for a reply I wasn’t going to give him. “For starters, you destroyed my billboard, which was expensive to replace. Not to mention your grades are embarrassing, and then this nonsense with the QSA—”

“Why?” I cut him off. “Why are you sponsoring this Family First bullshit?”

“Anthony,” he began with a heavy sigh, “don’t be immature. The mayor’s plan won’t affect you if you’ll just keep your head down and stay out of it. You have to understand it’s just business, nothing personal—”

“And you have to understand that you can’t tell me what to do anymore,” I said, then slammed the receiver down.

I walked it off, my feet slapping the sidewalk.

The nerve of him to think I still cared what he thought.

To think he could gaslight me after the hell he’d put me through.

My strides lengthened as I hurried to the rec center with determination.

What I’d done for Pride Month had inspired them to refute the mayor’s agenda.

And, in turn, my father for supporting him.

It’s just business, he’d said. Nothing personal.

It sure as hell felt personal as the June sun bore down on me.

Mayor Buchanan, even the state governor, had made everything feel like it was targeted specifically at my existence.

Like I was trapped underneath a magnifying glass of laws and hate and ignorance that scorched me.

I didn’t know what to do about it or how I could even help.

But I did know I couldn’t go back to being a silent bystander.

My pace slowed as I reached the stairs leading up to the rec center’s entrance.

It wasn’t that far from Roaring Mechanics, but I felt like I’d just run a marathon.

My shirt was damp, with circles of sweat under my pits, my hair sticking to my neck.

I took the steps slowly as I wiped my face with the back of my hand, tried to smooth the wrinkles from the button-up, anything to make it look like I had my shit together.

The glass entrance chimed as the panels slid open, and I stepped inside. A blast of AC hit me in the face, a reprieve from the humidity. Fourth floor. I reminded myself of the details they’d sent, and headed toward the elevator. Room 13.

Before the metal doors closed, someone stepped inside without giving me a second glance.

There was no mistaking Cohen’s wide shoulders and perpetually messy hair, the way his chinos fit pleasingly snug.

I opened my mouth to antagonize him, still pissy over what he’d said, but his smile stopped me.

It dimpled his cheeks as he typed on his phone.