Page 27

zekechapman

who are you?

He dodged my question. His reply was that it didn’t matter, only that he was warning me.

For a split second, his message had me worrying over everything Sawyer had said.

Dangerous and reckless and if you get caught…

But then the comments on the selfie I’d posted—excited RSVPs and pride flag emojis and praise—reinforced how I’d felt last weekend.

The people in Beggs were listening, rallying behind what I’d created.

I wasn’t scared of Mayor Buchanan, of Family First, or of getting caught.

Screw the warning. The mayor was shaken because of the upcoming election.

Because I’d painted that donkey statue and called him a jackass.

Him knowing about the Pride events only strengthened my resolve.

I’d make this last weekend huge in spite of him, my father, Fake Mason, the QSA.

Everyone else was expecting me to be their King of Pride, and I would finish this month with a bang.

I reread my DM thread with bedmas_22 for what felt like the millionth time and shoved my phone into the pocket of my khakis.

Shoved his warning out of my head as I took the steps up to the rec center.

He might’ve been trying to help, but he was also a stranger who’d tricked me into telling him things I’d never told anyone else.

I was so unbelievably ashamed over it, because I’d actually started to like whoever this person was.

And I was sick of being betrayed by everyone I let in.

The lobby’s doors slid open, and I crossed over to the elevator to press the call button.

I welcomed a deep inhale of the AC-chilled air after the stifling heat.

Summer break was nearing the halfway mark, and it felt like it was only getting hotter.

My reflection in the shiny metal panels glared back at me in a disheveled state.

My polo was damp and wrinkled underneath my unseasonable leather jacket, my hair slick with sweat from the dirt bike helmet.

I adjusted the shirt and ran my hands through my blond waves while I waited.

The elevator arrived with a ding, and Cohen rushed out as soon as the panels slid open.

He collided with me and knocked both of us off-balance.

We tangled together, his bookbag spilling.

“Sorry,” he mumbled in a thick voice, scrounging to shove everything back inside the bag.

Then I noticed his bloodshot eyes, his wet cheeks.

“Are you okay?” I asked, picking up a wadded pride flag.

“No, Zeke,” he choked out while snatching it from me. “I’m obviously not okay.”

His snide remark felt too much like how things used to be between us. “Seriously,” I began, putting a hand on his shoulder, “what’s up?”

He shook me off with a heavy breath. I almost cussed him out, but the retort died on my tongue. His eyes met mine beneath his glower. I knew that expression, knew how the lurking sadness looked on my own face. “Hey,” I tried again, my voice low. “What happened?”

“It’s over,” he said with a sniffle, gripping at the rainbow material. “They even tore down the flag.”

“What is?”

A beat passed before his facade cracked, and then he was hugging me.

The smell of rosemary and tea tree shampoo filled my nose as he put his head on my shoulder.

I patted him on the back, unsure of what else to do.

“The mayor defunded the mentor program,” he said hoarsely.

“They fired Jess and told the volunteers to go home.”

“What the actual fuck?” I asked, pulling away to look at him.

“One of the parents didn’t, didn’t…” He sniffled, wiping his nose on a shirtsleeve. “They said we were teaching their kids to be queer. There was a complaint filed, and now…That damn ordinance has ruined everything.”

I immediately thought of my father, how he’d told me just to keep my head down and I wouldn’t be affected. But Family First wasn’t just about me, and it was affecting more and more people in Beggs—this was proof. “That’s such bullshit,” I said. “What can we do?”

“Nothing, Zeke,” he replied despondently. “It’s hopeless.”

Hopeless. I was tired of feeling that way. “Surely there’s something. We could do it ourselves—”

“We can’t!” He cut me off with a shake of his head. “I’ve spent the last hour trying to think of something, but I doubt parents are gonna risk singling out their kids now. This meant so much to me and…Sorry, I don’t mean to be a dick.”

“You have every right to be a dick,” I offered. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” He let out a sigh and leaned against the lobby wall. “I’m so pissed off right now. I keep thinking about how much I’d needed something like this when I was younger. How I’d been confused and felt out of place.”

That was surprising, and I gawked at him in disbelief. Cohen had always been so sure of himself, going back to when he’d told me about the town founder’s statue. That was one of the things that’d made my brain glitch out over him.

“I wish I’d had it too,” I heard myself admit. “All I had was a shoebox.”

“What?” he asked.

It’s nothing, I almost said. Then I thought of how I’d confided in Fake Mason, how it had felt to let some of the panic out.

“My father didn’t allow me to talk about gay stuff,” I rushed to say before I chickened out.

“I had to hide everything from him in a shoebox…including the QSA forms Sawyer kept giving me.”

“That’s the reason why you suddenly joined the club this year,” he surmised. “Because of your parents’ divorce.”

I nodded, and he opened his mouth. “Don’t say you’re sorry.” I cut him off. “Nothing you could have done about it.”

“But I am sorry for you,” he said. “Sorry for all the kids in the program who need it. Sorry for so many things…”

“I am too,” I said, leaning back beside him. “I wish I could do something about it.”

“But you already are, Zeke, and I’ve been sitting on the sidelines playing by the rules.” He balled his hands into fists. “What do you do when the rules weren’t made with you in mind?”

“You don’t follow them then,” I said, biting my lip. “You break them.”

He looked at me, steely-eyed, and slowly nodded. “Then I’m helping you with the last speakeasy. There’s nothing else we can do, not unless the mayor gets voted out of office.”

“You’ll help?” I asked.

He gave me another nod, jaw clenched and brow furrowed. “We won’t let him intimidate us. So, fuck Family First. Fuck the mayor. Fuck his reelection campaign rally in the town square.”

“Wait, when is his rally?”

He checked the time on his phone and said, “Right now,” with a dejected shake of his head.

I could still remember how I’d felt on Pride Day.

The way the mayor had stepped up onto the pavilion just to crush our dreams. The way my father had held his hand up to force me to be silent.

The way I regretted not yelling at both of them in that moment, so they’d know how wrong they were.

I refused to be afraid anymore. I won’t stand back and let it happen again, I decided.

“I have to go,” I said, shoving off the wall. “And I’ll need that pride flag.”

“Zeke, it’s not safe—”

“I’m not afraid of Mayor Buchanan.” I grabbed the wadded-up rainbow from his grip. “He won’t get away with this. Someone has to make him listen.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought it was the first weekend of June.

A crowd had gathered around the square’s pavilion like they had a few weeks ago.

There was a charge in the evening air, rumbles of excited conversation mixing with music softly playing through speakers.

Signs held up with rainbows on them that gave me the illusion of safety.

But I knew better.

These were the people behind the Beggs Facebook Group, the ones who had protested over Pride Day.

Their signs had Xs over the pride flag, the same bold red as the Family First posters on the lampposts.

Their loud opinions swarmed me as I parked my dirt bike, small-minded battle cries overlapping as the engine cut off.

Up on the pavilion, the mayor was waving and smiling with a sick kind of glee. A deep inhale, an exhale as I planned to march up there and steal the microphone. Show him, show everyone in this rallying crowd, they couldn’t keep us from—

“Gays aren’t welcome in Beggs!”

The protest cry broke from the dull roar, and my attention snapped to the woman in front of me.

Her giant sign waved back and forth as she yelled it again with vigor.

My stomach bottomed out as I scanned the crowd, my shaking hands clutching the flag to my chest. More signs, more cries, more people showing their ass.

Nausea twisted my stomach when I saw the bright-blue truck with a Wildcats Baseball decal.

It was parked close to the pavilion, and I knew the JACass was here supporting the reelection campaign.

It’s just business, nothing personal, he reminded me as static crackled from the speakers.

But the signs and yells and outright hatred felt extremely personal.

A round of applause sounded as the mayor grabbed the microphone.

Time was running out. I had to push through the hate and stop him.

My legs wouldn’t move, though. A ripple of fear kept me still.

There was no way I could make it to the front.

My pulse quickened as I considered bailing, that maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea after all.

I can’t be quiet about how wrong this is, not again, I thought, searching for another way around.

Then I saw the Chapman Law billboard on top of Jones Hardware.

The access ladder had been easy to climb that first day of summer.

I’d be able to see everyone up there, and most importantly, they’d see me waving the pride flag.