Page 5

I choked down the nostalgia and gave her the once-over. The dressy blouse she’d changed into for her host shift was pristine, her skirt short and flirty, and her heavy white Docs lent a cool touch. “Fabulous as always,” I assured her. “With an edge of desperation.”

“Not funny.” A knock sounded, and her voice pitched as she called, “Come in!”

“And you said I was the thirsty one,” I mocked as the basement’s outside door opened.

With the deadliest of glares, she threw herself on the cushions. Then she stretched back in a relaxed position. “Hi,” she said, all cool and collected despite how keyed up over her maybe-girlfriend she was.

Kennedy stepped inside, shouldering her tote bag with BHS Cheer embroidered across it.

The TV’s glow made the hazel of her eyes shine as she searched for Sawyer.

Then the corners of her pink-lipsticked pout lifted into an easy smile.

It was clear to see why my best friend was crushing hard.

Kennedy was effortlessly cool, even in the Beggs High School cheer practice uniform.

“Hi,” Sawyer repeated, transfixed.

“Hey,” Kennedy said, and tucked a black twist braid behind an ear.

They stared at each other for what felt like an excruciatingly long time.

At first glance, no one would think they meshed.

Kennedy was the definition of preppy-and-popular, Sawyer a quirky nerd of a badass.

But it was these moments when they fell into each’s orbit that made it obvious they were perfect for one another.

“Ehem…Do you two need a room?” I joked to break the silence, and the throw pillow smacked me in the face again.

Kennedy’s smile grew wide as she sat down on the sofa, dimpling her dark-brown cheeks until she took in my bruised face and blanched. “The hell happened to you?”

“Billy Peak…”

My voice went quiet when Cohen appeared in the doorway.

It was like we’d switched places, with my hair long now and his chocolate curls cut short in a perpetual state of bedhead.

He wasn’t the same boy I’d blurted my truth to over linear equations—the one who’d been both my first kiss and first heartbreak.

He’d gotten taller, thicker—with a peach emoji in his chinos.

That once-adorable grin was replaced with a scowl whenever he looked at me.

That look, paired with his polo-and-prep personality, only reminded me too much of who I used to be.

“Would say sorry that asshole gave you a black eye, but you probably deserved it,” he said by way of greeting, his voice grouchy. Condescension was written all over his infuriatingly cute face.

“You can do better than that weak-ass hot take,” I replied, and gave him the middle finger. Billy had bullied him for being fat, but here he was standing up for the jock out of spite.

“You two,” Sawyer began, motioning between us, “need to keep. Your. Shit. Together. For Pride Day.”

“It’s the Zasshole you have to worry about,” Cohen said, taking a seat far away from me. “He’s too dumb to know how important this is.”

Dumb. That’s what he thinks of me now. Like everyone else, he only sees what he wants to see.

My hands balled into fists as a smug grin spread on his face.

“Cohen,” I said through gritted teeth. “I really want to give you a black eye right now, see how you like it. But I won’t because I promised Sawyer. ”

He scoffed like I was a joke, rolling his eyes. “I’d like to see you try—”

“Oh my god,” Kennedy interrupted. “That must be a new record. Only thirty seconds before you’re threatening each other.”

“He started it,” I protested.

“Yes, he did.” Sawyer narrowed her eyes at Cohen before looking at me. “But you’re gonna end it, right? Because you know how much this means, and I’m your best friend—”

“His only friend,” Cohen inserted.

“—who worked really hard to make this happen,” she finished, ignoring his remark.

She expectantly waited for me to oblige. That was how she operated, always calling the shots. Sometimes it was easier to go along with it instead of butting heads. Let her take the lead since she was the gay guru, and I was just…here.

“Fine,” I said, slowly unclenching my fists. “I’ll keep my shit together.”

“Since when have you kept it—”

Kennedy cut him off. “Let’s just make it through Saturday, Cohen. Then you two can pound each other.”

“Ew,” I spat out quickly.

“That doesn’t mean what you think it does,” he told her, trying his best to ignore my glare. “Can we just get this meeting over with already?”

“Finally something we can all agree on.” Sawyer took a deep breath, then exhaled roughly as she grabbed her tablet.

“We have a tight schedule for Saturday, and we”—she pointed at Cohen and me again—“ have to make sure it goes as planned. Mayor Buchanan is just waiting for us to give him a reason to cancel this whole thing, so nothing can go wrong.”

Buchanan hadn’t even wanted to celebrate Pride Month in the first place. After the QSA got enough community signatures, we’d been allowed three hours instead of a full month. I’d been helping them cram as much gay as possible into each one, thrilled to know my father would hate every minute of it.

“I’m opening the drag show at noon,” Sawyer read from the agenda she’d created. After years of writing X-Men fanfic, she was performing as the tap-dancing Captain Jaymes Catz character she’d created. “Kennedy’s helping me with my drag king gear, so that means you two—”

“Will be helping the vendors get set up,” I finished.

“I’ll handle it,” Cohen corrected, giving me side-eye. “Your only job is to not be late.”

I opened my mouth to insult him, but Sawyer held up a finger in warning. My comment died on my tongue as she continued. “After the show, the community tents will open up. We’ll each take turns working the QSA table until it’s time for the parade to start.”

The parade would be the ultimate fuck-you to my father.

The route would go right by his law office, and I knew he’d come out to watch.

That’s what he’d done when I rode in the Homecoming procession last year.

He’d soon see me up on the QSA float holding a pride banner with Cohen.

I couldn’t wait to smile and wave at him.

Show him I’m speaking up, proud to be out—pretending like I wasn’t the biggest fraud for doing all this for the wrong reasons.

“We’re gonna have so much fun in the parade, Coco,” I said to him with a wink, shoving down the doubt that threatened to shake me.

At the sound of his old nickname, crimson erupted across Cohen’s cheeks.

I’d called him that during the quiet moments we’d shared in between study sessions.

In those moments we’d listen to Bleachers albums while sharing headphones and talk about our lives.

But when he’d asked me to be his boyfriend, I’d been too ashamed to tell him my father wouldn’t approve, too afraid to wear a bold rainbow pin and hold his hand.

So, I blew him off with some lame excuse about being friends, even though it hurt.

I’d felt bad until he immediately moved on to the mathletes captain.

That was how our rivalry started.

“We can be each other’s wingmen if there are any hot guys in the crowd,” I pushed, fanning the flames. If I can’t fight him, then… “Maybe Geometry Derick will be there!”

“You’ve turned into such a himbo,” he said indignantly, the blush giving way to annoyance. “Pride is about being heard, not finding someone to smash.”

“Excuse you, but I take offense to that.” I jabbed a finger at him. “And I know what Pride is.”

“But do you really?” he asked, shaking his head. “You joined the QSA after we did most of the hard work. Are you even paying attention to what’s happening in Beggs? What’s happening with state laws and the Supreme Court?”

“Whoa, way to go from zero to a hundred. Of fuckin’ course I’m aware of that,” I said, an edge to my voice.

I’d been right there with them as we met with the mayor and watched the hateful fallout from the petition.

I kept trying to be good enough, like him, but it felt like I was constantly playing catch-up. “I’m not dumb.”

“Maybe if you actually cared—”

“Enough!” Sawyer yelled in exasperation. She blinked slowly, took her glasses off, and cleaned them with the edge of her skirt. “Neither of you are allowed to talk until we go over this.”

Cohen let it drop but kept staring at me.

For a moment it felt like he was actually seeing me.

That he knew the real me, the Anthony Zeke Chapman underneath this hard-ass disguise, the one he had once fallen for.

But then he shook his head and wrote me off, just like everyone else.

It only added insult to injury that he was still as beautiful as he’d been when he treated me like I mattered.

I wanted to tell him this was all an act.

Instead, I forced myself to keep quiet and grabbed my phone from the sofa arm.

Forced myself to scroll Instagram and double-tap pictures of comic book artwork. Forced myself not to care.