Page 17

zekechapman

hiii

It’s way too early, I told myself as my mom’s footsteps echoed down the hallway. Take several seats and calm the fuck down.

With a groan, I threw my head back against the mattress and willed myself to go back to sleep.

But I couldn’t get comfortable in the bright sunlight.

Every time I tossed and turned, the dress’s beads dug into my sides.

I’d been too exhausted to change after sneaking in through the window.

We’d danced for hours last night, and it was more fun than I could’ve ever imagined.

I smiled at the memory and felt for my phone in the sheets. The message thread was still pulled up when I unlocked it. Still unread. Forcing myself not to overthink, I swiped out of the app and tapped the photos icon.

Bronwen had used my camera to take a picture of us right before the night ended.

The captured moment was of Sawyer carrying her newly declared girlfriend, Kennedy, like a bride and me hugging both of them.

All three of us were grinning, and on top of my head sat a golden crown.

It’d been a gift from someone dressed as Max from the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are.

An official declaration that I was King of Pride.

Me, of all people.

There was no better place for that crown than on top of my dresser. The shiny “metal” was just cheap plastic, but it was so much more than that—a testament that I was doing something more. Something right. Something I wouldn’t hide away in a shoebox.

The photo faded to black as my screen went to sleep.

I let it flop against my chest and looked up at the rainbow flag above my bed.

Those bright colors against the white wall looked exactly how last night had felt: bold, disruptive, and, most importantly, proud.

The second speakeasy proved that I was helpful, and I was even more excited for the next one.

While we were cleaning up, a bearded ranger named Owen had offered the nature preserve for the next speakeasy.

I wasn’t sure if their lodge’s banquet hall would be best, would have enough space, would hold even more guests than the library’s third floor had.

Now that I was the King of Pride, I had a new reputation to uphold.

One that didn’t involve me being a fraud or a burnout or a disaster.

We need a QSA meeting, I thought, unlocking my phone to text the group chat. Then we get a game plan together and… My thoughts were interrupted by a yawn. What I needed to do was wake up. Shower and rinse off my makeup. Figure out what was next.

I put my phone to the side, but the urge to check Instagram again was too strong. Another yawn ripped through me as I tapped the icon. Then I sat up in disbelief. There was a tiny red notification signaling a new message, and I nearly sprained a finger rushing to check it.

bedmas_22

Really glad you messaged me back.

I tapped his profile. He’d accepted my follow request, but there weren’t any pictures of him to creep on. Only fancy nature shots. Mason’s artsy, I thought. Never would have guessed. Swiping back to the message thread, I typed out a reply with a smirk.

zekechapman

why wouldn’t I?

bedmas_22

Because of the way you left.

zekechapman

sorry about that

bedmas_22

I wish you would’ve stayed so we could talk.

He wanted me to stay? I could feel myself grinning as I rolled out of bed. The cool hardwood floor felt nice on my tired feet as I crossed over to the door. What does Sawyer know anyway? I didn’t always Z-step. Maybe I could be into him, and maybe he’d be into me if he got to know me.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee perked me up as I stepped into the hallway. “Morning, Mom!” I yelled with too much cheer, turning toward the bathroom. But she didn’t answer. A deep, gravelly voice from the living room yanked me down from my high.

“Come in here, son,” my father called.

I closed my eyes. Tried to force myself to wake up. Told myself there was no way the JACass could be here. This apartment was our escape from him.

“We need to talk, Anthony,” he added, and I bit down hard to stop from cursing at his use of my old name.

If he wanted to talk, I’d make sure he heard me once and for all. I turned on my heels, marching down the hallway with the same determination as I had in the town square. If he thought he could come here and tell me what to do, he was severely mistaken.

“Why are you here?” I asked, rounding the corner. He was sitting on the edge of the sofa, drinking coffee. Though it was Sunday morning, he was dressed for business. Polo and khakis, brown hair slicked, fake-ass smile that made my skin crawl. “And where’s Mom?”

“She’s downstairs giving us some time…” He went silent as he looked up at me. His eyes narrowed with disdain as he took in the dress and the makeup I’d been too lazy to wash off last night. “ Why on god’s green earth are you wearing that ?”

“I went to a costume party last night,” I grumbled, knowing where this was headed.

“You were out in public? Like that?” he asked, and took a sip from the coffee mug I usually used. “I thought you were smarter than that, Anthony.”

“Stop calling me that. ” I spat the last word out, already on the defensive. “Why are you here?”

“The strangest thing happened the other night,” he began, “while I was having dinner at The Cove—”

“With Mayor Buchanan.”

“With Thomas, yes,” he amended as he made himself at home on the sofa.

“Since you’re too irresponsible to take care of your truck, I’ve had to drive it around.

We can’t have it run-down.” He let out a sigh as though I were his only problem.

“When we went to leave, the engine wouldn’t start. You happen to know why that is?”

“No clue,” I said with a shrug, fighting the urge to laugh.

“I think you do, considering the towing company said the spark plugs had been removed. Take a seat.” He patted the cushion beside him. I stood up straighter and crossed my arms in refusal. “Or you can keep standing there like a petulant child.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“You’re about to be eighteen, Anthony,” he pointed out.

“It’s time to grow up and think about your future, to stop running around carelessly and painting vulgarities.

Your GPA tanked this last semester, and how do you think that’ll look on your application to University of Alabama?

” I tried to reply and tell him I didn’t care, but he kept talking over me.

“Not good. There’s no recovering from that, so I’ve already spoken to your coach.

He’s agreed to let you come back, and I’ll call up UA’s athletics director to see about leveraging your baseball skills—”

“No,” I said, raising my voice so he’d hear me.

“Okay, I hear you, son.” He held his hands out. “No baseball. That’ll just mean you need to buckle down senior year. Maybe we could get you some extra credit to at least bump you to salutatorian.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever heard me at all.” I shook my head and tried to keep from screaming at him. “I don’t care about having the best grades or getting into UA or law school.”

The fake politeness drained from his face, and he narrowed his eyes at me.

Those same blue eyes I had to see in the mirror, a reminder he was a part of me.

“Anthony, I’m not kidding around with you over this.

What would you do instead? I’ve raised you to follow in my footsteps, and you don’t know how to do anything else. Your future is on the line.”

“It’s always the future with you,” I snapped. “I’m finally who I want to be—”

“Someone who dresses in women’s clothes?” he countered. “Who makes a scene with that gay club?”

“Clothes have no gender, and the QSA, ” I stressed, “has made me feel prouder of who I am.”

“This isn’t up for debate.”

He leveled his gaze at me. Before, this would have been the end of the discussion. I would have agreed to his orders and gone up to my room and kept quiet. Not anymore. I was the goddamn King of Pride. I made my own rules now.

“You know what?” I asked rhetorically, mirroring his fake smile. “You’re absolutely right. Who I am isn’t up for debate, and I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

His jaw clenched as though he was chewing over his words before he spoke. At one time, I’d been terrified of disappointing him. I now realized the only person I ever disappointed was myself. “I don’t appreciate you talking back to me,” he finally said with an eerie calm.

“And I don’t appreciate how you’ve dictated every aspect of my life,” I said, matching his tone.

“Dodging my calls, hanging up on me, tampering with the truck, even being mad at me…all of that I understand. We’ll work through it.

” He gestured at the dress as he leaned forward on the sofa.

“But you have to stop this nonsense. You and your club are playing a dangerous game, especially after that Pride Day fiasco. All you’re doing is drawing attention to yourself—don’t roll your eyes at me, son. I only want what’s best for you.”

“I already know what’s best,” I answered resolutely, wishing I could rub it in his face that more people in this town supported the QSA than he’d believe.

“No, you do not. ” He shook his head slowly. “You only think you do, and I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Then why are you supporting Family First?”

He exhaled, his throat working roughly as he swallowed. “I’ve told you already, that’s business. It looks good for the law firm—”

I cut him off. “But it doesn’t look good to me. Doesn’t feel good either, to know my own father believes the queer community should just disappear.”

“Son, you’re not like this”—he motioned at the dress and makeup again—“and if you’d stop acting so gay, you’d be fine with the mayor’s ordinance. Keep your head down, and it won’t affect you.”

“Yeah, you said that.” My voice was strained, my temper skyrocketing over his derogatory use of “gay” like it was a bad thing. “Only you don’t understand that it does affect me and my friends and more people in Beggs than you know.”

He stood then, his height almost shocking in the cramped living room. I lifted my eyes, and he tilted his head down to meet my gaze. “You need to grow up,” he said sternly. But his words no longer had an effect on me.

“I am, ” I said, not backing down. Standing at my full height. “But on my terms, not yours.”