Page 20

BUCHANAN IS A JACKASS

I smugly stared at my newest Instagram post as Mom talked to a customer.

The donkey statue was coated with pink paint, with those four words written in black.

The caption read “Whoever did this is a true king.” I’d worked quickly after leaving the hardware store, snapping a picture before anyone could see me.

The only person who knew I’d bought the paint was Damian.

Before I could worry about him snitching, though, he’d commented with laughing emojis. Maybe we really were all good.

Too bad Sawyer and I weren’t.

She hadn’t brought up the post. I’d expected her to call me a simp again, and then we could go back to being good.

However, she completely disregarded any mention of speakeasies when she dropped off the decorations from last Saturday.

Which meant she was bottling up her emotions and would explode the moment I got in the way.

But I wouldn’t give her a reason to. The next speakeasy had to be perfect.

Bigger and better than the last one. Nothing could go wrong.

Then I’d prove to her just how seriously I was taking this.

I may have joined the QSA with ulterior motives, but I wasn’t that same Zeke.

I’d spent too many years being afraid and quiet—I was anything but that now.

If only Sawyer could see how proud I finally was.

With a sigh, I locked my phone. The dolly wobbled under my weight as I sat up to peer into the reception lobby. Mom had just finished up with the customer and was on the phone. The brake repair had been our first job of the day, and it was already lunchtime.

Things were slow. Too slow. My hands were itching to take something apart and put it back together. If nothing else came in soon, I’d resort to tinkering on my dirt bike until the rec center’s program meeting tonight. The engine warble could be fine-tuned—

“We have a tire alignment coming in,” Mom called, breezing back into the shop.

“Thank god,” I muttered.

She laughed and dropped down onto a shop stool. “You have at least an hour to keep messaging your new boo.”

“Nobody says that anymore.”

Despite the secondhand embarrassment over her outdated lingo, I couldn’t stop my grin.

Mason had been out with his friend when I’d Van Gogh’d the donkey.

He’d messaged as soon as I made the post and said he wished he could do something that brave.

Then we’d stayed up late DM’ing. Everything I was discovering about him made me crush even harder.

And if he was out last night, that meant he wasn’t grounded anymore and maybe he’d be at the speakeasy…

“Have you asked your new boo out yet?” Mom continued with a gleam in her eye.

“Stooop,” I said, throwing a grease rag at her.

My face must’ve been neon red judging by the way she smiled at me. I had to make the first move since Mason wasn’t picking up on any of the hints I’d dropped. “If it matters,” she began, nudging my foot with hers, “he was very nice and polite when I met him.”

“You what ?” My voice pitched high; I was unsure of where she was going with this.

“Remember how the shop is endorsing his grandmother’s campaign?” I nodded, still in shock. “She had some signs for me to put up, and Mason helped me load them into the SUV. We had a nice chat, and he—What do you kids call it? Passes the vibe check?”

“Oh my god.” My stomach twisted at the thought of them talking. “What did you tell him?”

She held her hands up in surrender. “Calm down. I didn’t say a word about you.

But if you want to know what I found out…

” I waved my hand, urging her to get to the point.

“Jeez, okay. He’s very sweet, smart, and knows his politics.

Said that helping the campaign would prepare him to run for Congress one day. ”

“Oh,” I said quietly as my heart plummeted.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh…” If he was into politics, then he’d find out how much I didn’t know. “I’m kinda dumb,” I admitted, not meeting her eyes.

“You’re not dumb.” She threw the grease rag back at me, and I ducked. “Sure, you might’ve done some dumb things with your grades, but that doesn’t make you stupid.”

“I meant about politics and…stuff.”

Talking about it made me uncomfortable. Cohen dragged me for being a bad gay, and Sawyer was so condescending about the QSA. They made me feel worthless and…

“I’m trying,” I added hastily. “Watching the news and trying to figure out what it all means, but it kinda goes over my head.”

“That doesn’t make you stupid,” she said, the teasing gone from her voice.

“I’ve seen how you are trying, and that’s what matters.

No one expects you to know everything or have the perfect solution.

You tried to make our town better with the QSA’s Pride Day.

That’s more than a lot of people do. They just sit back and accept whatever happens.

Just keep paying attention, and you’ll keep learning. ”

Her words were reassuring. “I definitely don’t accept the Family First ordinance,” I said forcefully.

“A lot of people don’t,” she said. “Just look at what happened last night in the town square with that statue. The campaign against his reelection is gaining traction. He’s threatening to punish the person who vandalized it if they’re caught.”

“I’m glad someone called him out,” I said without remorse.

The chances of me getting caught were slim, even if I’d posted the picture. No one saw me do it. Besides, the rush I felt knowing it pissed him off was worth it. Mom had just said I didn’t need to have a solution. But if I’d gotten him this shaken up, I really was doing something right.

Even Mason had said I was brave.

The last time I’d seen Cohen, I stormed out of The Cove.

He’d been standing at the back entrance, with crimson blooms across his fair complexion and mouth agape.

That same expression twisted his handsome features as I stepped into Room 13.

He was seated at a three-person table with a tween, and he glanced up at me as the door clicked shut.

He waved, but I pretended not to notice as I searched for a seat. There was only one left. At his table. Right across from him. Damn it, I griped, wavering by the doorway. I could just come to the next—

“Zeke! Thank you for coming back,” a melodious voice called.

I let go of the door handle with a reserved sigh, turning around. Jess, the program leader, was by Cohen’s table. She exuberantly waved me forward, and my stomach sank when I realized she wanted me to sit with him.

“Cohen has agreed to help train you in mentoring,” she said as I crossed over. “He’s helping Addi with homework, and they’re both super excited to have you here.”

That felt like hyperbole judging by the expression still on Cohen’s face.

His blush spread down to his neck as he moved his camera off the seat.

I reluctantly pulled the chair out, and Addi grinned, looking up from the workbook.

“I go by they/them pronouns,” Addi introduced themself with a wave, their smile faltering. “Not that my teacher cares.”

“We talked about this, Addi,” Cohen said to them under his breath. His voice was too soft, too smooth in comparison to how rough he usually was with me. “The teachers at Beggs Middle School are forced—”

“I know, Cohen,” Addi said with an exaggerated eye roll. They slunk forward and dropped their head onto the table, their afro puffs shielding their face from view. “It’s sooo mean how the governor and now the mayor won’t let us be us, ya know?”

I swallowed nervously. They knew more about the state laws than I did.

What am I even doing here? At any minute, Cohen would leap up and yell at me some more.

He’d out me as a fraud, and then it’d get back to everyone who came to the speakeasies.

They’d all know I didn’t deserve to be King of Pride.

“If you have any questions about the process, just ask my right-hand man,” Jess said, nodding at Cohen. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

She made her way across the room, and I wanted her to come back instead of leaving me alone with Cohen and Addi. Wanted to confess I was too stupid for this. Instead, I swallowed my fear and cleared my throat. “Nice to meet you,” I said to Addi, refusing to look at Cohen. “I’m Zeke.”

“What’re your pronouns?” they inquired thoughtfully.

It was the first time anyone had ever asked me that. “I prefer he/him,” I said, sitting down.

Addi nodded, smiling up at me. Then the expression faded as they looked back down at the homework on the table. “You any good with English essays, Zeke?” they asked.

“I used to be,” I said, doing my best to ignore Cohen. “What’s your assignment?”

“My teacher next year, Ms. Jemison, she wants me to write an essay on what my home feels like so we can introduce ourselves when school starts.” They cut their eyes to Cohen. “And he doesn’t like what I’ve written. But who cares? Who even gives summer homework? Ugh.”

“Addi, I didn’t say that,” he said, shaking his head. “I said it wasn’t what the directions stated.”

“You’d follow the rules even if they said ‘Jump into the park’s pond,’?” they muttered, causing me to snort a laugh. Because he really would.

“I’m obviously no Cohen, but I could try to help,” I offered. “What did you write exactly?”

“How Beggs doesn’t feel like home with the laws and stuff,” they said simply. “They’re hard to understand, and I feel dumb even if my daddy said all I had to know is that he’d protect me. But ya know, sometimes it just sucks.”

Cohen’s lips parted, and he gave a little inhale like he was about to launch into a speech, but I jumped in. “It does suck,” I assured them. “I feel that way too.”

“You do?” both Cohen and Addi asked.

“Uh…” Cohen eyed me intently as he waited for my answer. “Yeah, I’m still trying to figure out what’s happening out there in the world, and I feel dumb. I didn’t have a dad who said he’d protect me, so you’re already off to a good start.”

“You’re not dumb,” Cohen said, but I didn’t know if he was talking to me or Addi.

“No, you’re not,” I told them. “My mom said that we don’t have to know everything. At least you’re trying to understand. That’s what matters.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you—them.” Cohen turned to Addi, his face reddening. “You’re not dumb for writing this essay, but I don’t think that’s what Ms. Jemison meant. She wants to know about your bedroom or if you have a pet. Things like that.”

“That’s boooring,” they whined.

“It doesn’t have to be,” I offered, risking a glance at Cohen again.

“How would you write about your bedroom then, Zeke?”

I thought for a moment, my brain flashing back and forth between the apartment and the house. “I’d write about the pride flag I have hanging up in my new room,” I said. “It makes me feel at home now because I couldn’t hang it up in my old house.”

Addi thought for a moment, their face lighting up. “I have one of those!” they said. “It’s on my bedroom door, and my daddy has another on the front porch.”

“Write about that then,” I suggested.

They stuck their tongue out at Cohen, and stood up from the table. “I’m gonna get a soda, and when I get back, I’ll get to work.”

I grinned as they stomped off, but my face fell when I saw Cohen’s expression. His damned brown eyes were wide as he licked his bottom lip. My defenses were already up when he said, “That was good, Zeke.”

“Oh.” I sat back in the chair, uncertain if I’d heard him correctly. “Are you sure? Because I can do better. I don’t want to mess this up. Please tell me what to do.”

“You handled that perfectly.” He lowered his voice, checking over his shoulder. “And you’re not gonna mess anything up. I’m sorry”—he held his hand up as I started to object to his apology—“about your dad. I know you don’t wanna talk about him, but can I at least get something off my chest?”

I nodded, chewing on my lip.

“It all makes sense now, how we couldn’t…” I didn’t think it was possible for him to get even redder, but he did. “What I mean is, I’m glad we’re mending things…and I’m sorry for giving you a hard time and being a D-I-C-K to you.”

“I think these kids know how to spell, Coco,” I teased half-heartedly, uncomfortable at his prolonged eye contact. The unamused tilt of his mouth said he wasn’t taking the bait. “Fine, but why have you been such a giant, enormous, massive D-I-C-K to me?”

“Because I didn’t know who you were, Zeke.”

“And now you do?”

“I’m still getting to know you.” He swallowed roughly, his throat bobbing. “What I do know is that you’re doing great things for Beggs. I wish I could be as brave as you.”

Brave?

First Mason and now Cohen had called me that.

I couldn’t look away as his eyes crinkled with a shy smile—it reminded me of the way he’d smiled when he asked me to join mathletes.

It was like the old me and this new version of me were colliding together, overlapping.

And I was suddenly worried that my brain might be glitching over Cohen Fisher again.