Page 35

I woke up early to start planning for Carmen’s rally, taking my laptop with me downstairs.

All day, between working on cars, I typed ideas into a document to get everything down I could remember about Pride Day.

The QSA had reached out to local businesses for their support.

Check. Reserved the town square. Check. Figured out the sound system and setup for tents.

Check and check. Everything was ready. All that was left to do was ready the parade float and actually get people there…

The thought of anyone gathering in Beggs Town Square turned my stomach.

Buchanan’s rally still haunted me. Lingering shouts had rattled like ghosts in my mind.

Their echoes followed me under each car, back up to the apartment at the end of the day.

I knew there was a strong possibility his supporters would crash our celebration.

The news coverage of the governor’s race only reinforced my worry, protesters heckling a candidate for speaking on LGBTQIA+ rights.

It had only reminded me of what I’d witnessed that night in June.

Gays aren’t welcome in Beggs!

My Family First ordinance is just the beginning!

Make Beggs safe for families again!

No matter how hard I scrubbed in the shower as I got ready after work, those memories left greasy fingerprints on me. They grabbed at me and sent my pulse into a frenzy. It had been easy to speak up at Carmen’s meeting, but it was something else entirely to be doing it for real.

Sweat from the too-hot water—and worry—beaded on my skin as I rushed to finish in the bathroom and then get dressed before Cohen picked me up.

I grabbed the stick of deodorant, swiped it a few extra times for good measure, and pulled on the shirt I’d got at the meeting.

It was white with a pink donkey and the matching words “VOTE FOR CARMEN.” The soft fabric clung to my damp chest, and I spritzed on cologne.

The last thing I wanted was to smell like the baseball locker room, especially since I’d be with him.

Alone with him and whatever it was that was happening between us.

With a sigh, I sat on the edge of my bed.

We’re only hanging up posters. That wasn’t anything to be afraid of.

Yet my legs kept jittering, unable to maintain the cool persona I’d worked so hard on.

The anxiety made me feel like the old me, as though I couldn’t get rid of Anthony Chapman no matter how hard I tried.

I glanced at the dresser, where I’d displayed the spark plug and the picture with Mom.

Then over to the tacked-up newspaper, to the flag above my bed.

Maybe the best parts of me never left, I thought.

They were just too quiet to be heard, too hidden to be seen.

Now I was shouting them to the world—and that made me nervous.

Shoving the worries of everything that could go wrong from my mind, I closed my eyes and lay back across the quilt.

For a moment, I felt safe like I had that first night in the bookstore’s basement.

Dancing and feeling alive. Feeling like I was welcome.

That was the determining factor, like in mathletes when we advanced to the next round by writing the expression as a product of its factors.

Everything that had happened this summer had led me to now.

I opened my eyes and looked back up at the pride flag.

For so long, I’d been afraid to be the kind of gay person who found meaning in it.

Those colors had intimidated me, each rainbow hue a possible threat if I displayed it.

And now…I’d come so far from the me who had been my father’s son.

I was about to lead a rally, fighting for everything that had once scared me.

But I had to do it.

Sitting up, I grabbed my phone. The front-facing camera launched with a swipe.

I angled it just right to include the flag in the background and smiled.

It would be the perfect photo to post to Insta to announce the final speakeasy, and I needed to get on it.

Face my fear of people gathering to rally.

However, before I could upload it a knock sounded on my door.

“Hey, Mom,” I called, startling when I saw who was standing in my doorway. “C-Cohen?”

“Your mom sent me up,” he said, and I suddenly felt self-conscious as he eyed my room. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, uh.” I shot off the bed with an entirely new nervous energy. “I was just taking a picture. For Insta. To tell people about the rally.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure,” I said, waking my screen. Instagram was still pulled up in editor mode with the shirt’s message on full display, the rainbow in the background. Then I began to doubt the wide grin I was wearing in it as I held it up for him. “Is it, uh…too cheesy?”

“Nah,” he said, blushing. “When you, um, smile like that, it makes your eyes shine…The way they crinkle makes you look happy.”

“I am.”

As soon as I said it, I knew it was true. I was happy with how my life was becoming mine and excited for whatever would come next. Excited to fight for the future I wanted.

This new feeling drove me to type the caption with details for the rally. Cohen watched and waited in my room, his DM conversation from over the summer sitting in my inbox. It felt like worlds were colliding as I posted the picture—that’s what everything felt like.

The last time Cohen and I had put up flyers in the square, he’d been in a rush.

Irritation had fueled his every stomp. This evening was different, though.

He fell in step with me as we traced the sidewalks.

I was in charge, holding up the posters while he taped them.

It made me feel like I had the first day I met him.

Casting a glance over at the monument, I remembered how Cohen had told me about David Beggs single-handedly building this town. How it’d made me want to do something important. That’s what it felt like as I held another poster up for him to tape.

“Done,” Cohen said leisurely.

He followed me without trying to stride away. No hurry to leave or puffs of indignation. I kept waiting for the facade to crack, for him to turn back into a smartass. But he showed no signs, not even once in the last few hours.

“Do you remember,” I started, and he looked over at me, “when we first met?”

“Um…” He scratched at the faint dark stubble on his chin. “Elementary school?” he guessed.

“It was before that,” I said, a small smile at the memory. How he’d been clutching his retro camera to take pictures. “Right here in the square when we were kids. We played tag—”

“That was you?” he interrupted.

“I’m extremely hurt you don’t remember me, Coco,” I teased.

His mouth twitched, a corner quirking up as he glanced at the monument. “I do recall you vowing to do something important one day.”

My steps slowed to a stop, and I turned toward him. “Really?” I asked. “You remember that?”

“It made me want to do something important too.” He full-on grinned then, holding up the posters to say that we were doing it. “I won’t forget it, just like that day when you—What does Sawyer call it? Z-stepping?”

“Shit-tacular Freshman Fall.” My heart fell at the memory. “I lied that day.”

He bumped me with his shoulder. “I know that now, and I don’t hold it against you. Even though you totally crushed me.”

“I’m sorry just the same.” My words were soft, floating up and away into the twilight. I kept my eyes on the sidewalk as we moved along. We were on the precipice of the moment we’d both been dodging. “If anyone, uh, Z-stepped, it was you.”

My stride quickened with anxiety, and he sped up. “What does that mean?” he called.

“As soon as we…stopped being whatever, you immediately moved on to Geometry Derick.”

He reached out to put a hand on my arm, slowing my pace. “About that,” he began, going splotchy. “God, I feel like such a dick.”

“You should.”

“To be honest…” A pause as he twisted the posters in his hands. “I was trying to make you jealous.”

“Wait… what? ” I gawked at him, seeing the boy who’d crushed me all those years ago. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me.” His face was completely red now, and it was so damn endearing I couldn’t be mad. “But you know, it was dumb. I should have respected your decision.”

“Hell, I don’t even respect my decision. I was too ashamed about my father to tell you the truth.”

“Yeah…”

I gave him a sidelong glance, and the warmth in his brown eyes was growing distant. “You could’ve at least picked someone else. Geometry Derick always smelled like deli meat. But I was jealous, just so you know.”

He didn’t laugh but grimaced instead, adjusting his shirt. “You don’t have to be nice to me,” he said, an edge to his voice.

“What do you mean?”

“I get that you don’t like me. I’ve been a dick to you, unintentionally led you on with the DMs, and, yeah.” He motioned at me, from my stomach up to my shoulders. “You’re you, and I’m me.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, unable to read through the thousand expressions flitting across his face.

“I know I’m fat.” He blinked several times, looking away from me.

“I thought maybe…maybe we were picking up where we left off, but you thought you were flirting with Mason. And it’s been so awkward between us, and I know it’s because you only see me as a friend. Like how you said we were better as—”

“Hang on—”

“Can we just pretend like the whole Insta thing didn’t happen?”

I shook my head, my mind racing to catch up with his jumping conclusions. Cohen was breathing heavy and on the verge of making a break for it. I knew how much it cost him to be honest. I’d paid that price countless times this summer.

“Cohen,” I started, grabbing his arm to keep him from running away, “it’s only been awkward because…because I am interested, okay? I don’t want to pretend, not anymore.”

“Zeke—”

“No, listen.” I put a hand on each of his shoulders and held his gaze. “You’re wrong on so many levels. And stop calling yourself fat like it’s a bad thing. What does that even have to do with me liking you?”

He shrugged, shying away. “You…you weren’t happy that it was me in your DMs.”

“I didn’t know how to react to you. I was embarrassed about what I’d told you.” He looked at me through his lashes. “But I meant everything I said. Everything.”

He bit his lip, his eyes glassy in the dusky light. I could see all the versions he’d been since we met as kids. How they were wrapping together and overlapping just as mine had. We’d lived so many lives since then. And we still ended up back here.

“Cohen—” I broke off, my voice rough.

Ever so carefully, I slid my hand along his shoulder to his neck.

Up to his cheek, cupping his jaw. I tilted his face up to mine and hesitated, to make sure I had permission.

Then I bent down and kissed him. It was gentle at first, deepening as he leaned into me.

My arms wrapped around him to pull him close.

It felt like our first kiss all over again, and I smiled against his lips.