Page 33

Last night, I slept.

The temptation to ride the streets of Beggs had nearly lured me out of bed. I lay there with heavy eyes, an odd sense of restfulness sinking me into the mattress. The last thing I remember was looking up at the pride flag and then…blinking away early-morning light.

Mom wasn’t in the dinette when I emerged from my room still groggy. At least the coffee pot was warm. I needed it to wake up, and three cups later I was downstairs in the garage and ready for another day of work.

The hum of the air compressor reverberated off the tiled floors, and I paused on the bottom step.

Mom was already at work, with her feet sticking out from under the family SUV.

A deep breath filled my lungs, then I exhaled slowly as I took in the shop.

The usual grease-permeated smell was replaced by disinfectant and lemons from when I’d cleaned yesterday.

It made Roaring Mechanics feel brand-new again.

Different, at the very least. Glimpses of dancing, of screams, of stomping footsteps fleeing filled my vision.

I rubbed my eyes, tried to rub away all thoughts of Saturday night, and crossed over to the toolbox.

My hands trembled as I opened the drawer.

The dread of what could be waiting after the raid had kept me from retrieving my phone, but I shook off the residual nerves.

Forced myself to pick it up and turn it on.

I held my breath while the screen slowly came to life.

For a second, it was as though I hadn’t been offline for more than a day.

Then the notifications started loading. Texts, voicemails, Instagram alerts—I checked those first, swiping to the app.

There were a dozen tagged photos of me from right here in the garage.

Pictures of the speakeasy and me dancing right before it all went to shit.

If I thought hard enough, I could still remember how free I’d felt the moment before hell broke loose.

Now that control I’d once had was gone. In its place were Insta Reels.

Captured videos of me screaming and opening the garage doors, the rush of bodies shoving their way out, the sound of Buchanan’s twang threatening us.

I tried to shut off those memories, my hands shaking as I held the phone.

My thumb swiped back to exit the video feed and check my messages.

There were countless alerts of tagged posts.

I scrolled past them, down to the unread messages until I saw the screen name I was looking for.

Cohen had sent multiple new DMs the night it all went down.

Sat 10:13 PM

bedmas_22

Just heard the mayor is searching for the speakeasy tonight

bedmas_22

I tried calling you but your phone went to voicemail

bedmas_22

You might want to call it off

bedmas_22

I’m on my way

bedmas_22

If you see this before I get there run

The messages lined up with his story about trying to warn me. It made me feel weirdly detached from everything that’d happened. If I hadn’t turned my phone off like a dipshit, all this could have been avoided. With a deep sigh, I started typing a reply back.

7:03 AM

zekechapman

thanks for trying to warn me

zekechapman

sorry I didn’t have my phone on

The wheels of the dolly creaked, and I sat my phone on top of the toolbox. Mom rolled out from under the SUV with oil smudged across her cheek. She sat up and startled when she saw me lurking nearby.

“You’re up early,” I commented, my voice scratchy from sleep.

“I was dying to use a power tool,” she said, reaching to turn off the air compressor. I knew exactly what she meant; we both had made a habit of tinkering on cars when life got to be too much. “You feeling better, hun?”

“I think so.” I shrugged and pushed my hair off my face. “The QSA meeting helped. We’re gonna plan a rally for Carmen, and we’re gonna meet her campaign team tomorrow. Maybe we can do something good.”

What I meant to say was Maybe I can do something good, and Mom sensed where I was headed. “Hey,” she said, standing up. “You will make a difference. You’re taking charge, and I’ll help with the rally in whatever way I can.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Her assessment made my hands itch to grab a tool, but the only thing I could control was myself.

She gave me a reassuring smile and started toward the garage doors. I watched her go, trying to blink away the memories from Saturday. Then my gaze landed on the Zelda painting. I wondered how she would’ve handled getting raided. If she had ever taken charge of her own life.

“Hey, Mom,” I began, still staring at the woman I’d been named after, “you told me all about Zelda escaping Alabama and starting a new life in 1920, but what happened to her after that?”

“That’s the reason why I admire her,” she said. “She became the person people expected her to be until she realized she could shine on her own. It wasn’t always easy, but she did it her way.”

I considered what that meant, how someone could find their way through all the versions they’d tried to be. Everyone had expected me to be Anthony Chapman, and then Zeke Chapman. But now? I wasn’t so sure who I expected me to be.

I turned to the toolbox for a wrench—to do the only thing I knew how to—and hesitated.

My phone screen was bright with a new notification.

Then there’s Cohen and the avalanche of emotions he makes me feel.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I checked for his reply. But it was a text from Sawyer instead.

Today at 7:36 AM

Sawyer

I’m out front with disguises and a list of hotels

“Oh, boo-bear, I’m so glad we decided to have a night away from the kids.”

Sawyer’s voice was thick with exaggerated Southern charm. She reached across the table to grasp my hand. Her long auburn wig glinted in the West Point Inn’s LED lighting as she lowered her head. We locked eyes over the top of her giant sunglasses, and it took every fiber of my being not to laugh.

“Yes, dear,” I managed as the concierge side-eyed us. Nervously, I smoothed my fake handlebar mustache. “Bill…and Bob, they’re such little bundles of misery—joy, I mean.”

We both held our breath while he passed by our table, then relaxed back in our seats.

“I think he’s still buying our cover story,” Sawyer said.

When we’d snuck by the front desk, she’d looped her arm through mine and made loud comments about being away from our kids.

Then she casually asked the concierge to have fresh towels sent up to room 425 as we slipped into the dining room.

“Exactly how much trouble will we be in if we get caught?” I asked, grabbing a sausage from my overflowing buffet plate. Mom had agreed to let me skip a few hours of work, and the last thing I wanted to do was call her from hotel jail. Is that even a thing?

“Technically,” she began with a smirk, “it’s advertised as ‘free breakfast’ without any stipulations. Non-technically…maybe a little trouble, so I’d suggest we make a run for it.”

“I can live with that.”

“Same,” she agreed through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “Besides, I owed you for missing your birthday.” Then she grimaced. “I really am sorry—”

“You apologized at least ten times in the car,” I said with an eye roll. “And I’ve forgiven you at least ten times too. We were both being stupid.”

She gave me a conceding head tilt, pushing her sunglasses up on her nose. “At least we still have the library’s outdoor movie night and the Ferris wheel.”

Those were the last two things on our list before the end of summer break. Then we’d have to press play and resume our lives. Start senior year and deal with the One Lifestyle ordinance if the mayor won— No. I cut my thought spiral off. That was the last thing I wanted to think about.

“So, uh,” I ventured, and took a sip of orange juice, “I think you should invite Kennedy to celebrate our traditions.”

“Yeah?” she asked. I nodded while shoving a bite of pancake into my mouth. “That’d be great, Z. I really…I really like her.”

“Consider my flabber fully gasted,” I teased with a wink. “It’s been a nonstop thirstfest with you two.”

She launched a sausage link at me, and it bounced off my forehead and onto the next table. We both froze as the concierge shot daggers at us. “Well, I’ll be gosh darned,” she said loudly in a drawl. “That there wiener just slipped right off my fork.”

“Sugar tits, you’re so clumsy,” I added as she grabbed it.

“All better now,” she offered with a flick of her wig. Then she lowered her voice. “The University of the South is her top college too, and if we both get in…If we’re still together next year, then maybe we could have a real shot.”

She shrugged, her focus clearly on the future. It had always been something I didn’t want to think about. She’d go off to study political science, and I’d be left alone to become a JACass lawyer. But now the future wasn’t so bad, not as bad as I thought it’d be.

“About college…” I trailed off, tapping at my phone screen for the time.

It lit up beside my plate, and we still had an hour before I needed to get back.

“I decided I want to do automotive technology”—she started to say something, but I held a hand up to stop her—“and I know it’s not law school, but it’s something I’m good at. ”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she said bluntly. “If it makes you happy, that’s what matters. Fuck the notion of prestigious assholery.”

Makes you happy echoed inside me, ran around the baseball diamond in my mind. It was the first decision I’d made for myself. And it felt strange. But empowering.

“Thanks for having my back, Saw,” I said, my phone screen lighting up with new notifications.

“That’s what besties are for, Z.”

I shot her a smile before checking to see if Cohen had replied. There were two Instagram messages waiting for me, and I felt my smile stretch wider as I swiped to read them.

9:02 AM

bedmas_22

You have nothing to be sorry for, Zeke.

bedmas_22

By the way…Hi, my name is Cohen, and I think it’s your turn to ask a question. If you want.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Sawyer asked.

“Just thinking about what makes me happy,” I said, catching her eye.

A slow grin spread on her face, matching mine. It was the same look we’d shared after watching Doctor Who and finding ourselves. It felt great to have her back on my side—but it was more than that. There were no secrets between us. Well, except for…

“And…I think I like Cohen,” I added.

“No shit,” she quipped.

“But I’m also kinda mad at him too.”

She pushed her sunglasses up in her wig and waited expectantly. I took a deep breath and launched into the whole case of mistaken Instagram identity. The real reason for the rivalry between Cohen and me. The way I’d ended things abruptly because of my father. The way I missed who I was with him.

“Z,” she started once I was done, “I never knew that was the reason why you two, like, hated each other.”

“If I had a TARDIS, I’d go back and tell you,” I said, twirling my fake mustache. “Maybe then you could’ve talked some sense into me.”

“But we’re here now…” She beamed at me sweetly, then she narrowed her eyes. “And I’ll beat some sense into you now if I have to. It’s not like he deliberately catfished you. Granted, he should’ve come clean immediately. But he was probably just as scared as you were. He did tell you things too.”

Oh.

I hadn’t thought of it that way. We’d both shared things about ourselves, but he’d known it was me. He was still as bold as he’d been freshman year.

“Obviously there’s still something between you two,” she continued, “but what are you gonna do about it?”

My hands fidgeted with my phone, waking the screen. I’d once told him we were better as friends, but that’d been an excuse. The message thread between us was still pulled up, glowing expectantly. Before I could stop myself, I typed out a question.

zekechapman

do you still listen to Bleachers?

“Ehem,” a gruff voice interrupted. “I’m gonna need to see your room key to verify you’re both guests.”

We both swiveled to look up at the hotel concierge. His face was pinched as he held his hand out impatiently. Sneaky birthday breakfast had officially been compromised. Sawyer and I exchanged a brief wide-eyed stare before she grabbed my hand.

“Run!” we both yelled at the same time.

We shoved our chairs back and took off through the dining room. Heavy footsteps sounded in our wake. We rounded the corner into the lobby, and her wig came off. It went flying past me in a blur of red. I couldn’t contain my laughter as I sprinted after her. And it felt good to let it out.