When the mayor of a small Alabama town starts targeting Pride events, bad boy Zeke begins hosting a series of “Pride Speakeasies” in this joyful queer coming-of-age!
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Matthew Hubbard’s The Rebel’s Guide to Pride, which is out now.
There’s nothing Zeke Chapman wants more than to tarnish the perfect reputation his father is so obsessed with. He quit the baseball team, started fighting at school, and nearly flunked junior year. Newly out as gay, Zeke isn’t sure where his queer identity fits in with his bad-boy persona. His father has always told him to stay quiet and not attract attention, but his friends are pushing him to be just as out and proud as they are. Most days, Zeke isn’t sure how to be a “good gay” or what that even means.
When his best friend, Sawyer, begs him to help the QSA plan Pride Day, he obliges—mostly to piss his dad off. But then the mayor announces an ordinance that cancels all LGBTQ+ celebrations. Angered by the injustice—and his father’s support of it—Zeke decides to put his rebellious ways to good use and plans a series of underground “Pride Speakeasies”.
As the speakeasies grow, and the community comes together to declare him “King of Pride”, Zeke finally feels like he’s doing something that matters. But friendship drama, a mysterious cyber-crush, and rising tension with his rival and ex Cohen “Coco” Fisher threaten to undermine his newfound pride. When his final party ends in near-disaster, Zeke must ask himself what he’s really trying to do. After all, there’s a reason that the first pride was a riot.
Sometimes you have to face your fears, whether you want to or not.
And I was absolutely terrified of heights. The metal edge of the billboard’s catwalk scraped my knees as I tried to muster the courage to stand. Climbing the rusty ladder up two stories to the roof of Jones Hardware hadn’t been easy, especially with a can of paint in tow. I’ve made it this far, I encouraged myself, taking a steady breath of warm night air. Just don’t look–
The concrete sidewalk of the town square waited below, and my eyes snapped shut. A gust of wind tousled my long, grown-out hair as I gripped the edge. If my father were here, he would ask me one simple question. It was the same question he’d asked when I came to him afraid of the boogeyman or when I was nervous while learning to ride a bicycle. “Anthony Zeke Chapman,” he’d drone, “what have I told you about fear? ”
Don’t let anyone see it.
That was what I’d heard my entire life, him telling me to hide my weaknesses so I could be the best version of myself. The version he’d molded me into. For the longest time, I’d thought that was who I wanted to be too. The best reputation, the best grades, the best type of gay–silent, so the world wouldn’t put a target on my back.
“Piss off,” I said to all the memories of James Anthony Chapman, the JACass.
I forced myself to open my eyes and stand. My hands were shaking as I checked the time on my phone. Its lit screen flashed three a.m., and I shoved it back into the pocket of my vintage leather jacket. Summer break officially began three hours ago. My nosedive of a junior year was over, my life free from the shitshow it had become since last December. If I were still talking to my father, he’d say that he had tried to warn me about coming out . . .
Gripping my backpack straps with white knuckles, I turned to see how high I’d climbed. A halo hovered over the town square thanks to the orange-hued street-lamps. But it was the darkness lapping at the edge of their receding glow that captured my attention. That was exactly how it felt living in Beggs, Alabama. Growing up here had taught me that everyone expected you to blend in, with that same perfunctory shine. And if you couldn’t–or if you refused to–fit it into their definition of “good,” you weren’t welcome.
“Learned that the hard way,” I whispered under my breath, the words lost with no one around to hear them.
Somewhere deep inside was the old version of me, who still answered to Anthony, my first name, inherited from my father. I wondered what Anthony would be doing right now. If he was still on the varsity baseball team, the Wildcats, or if he was partying out in the cow pastures and pretending to flirt with cheerleaders or if he was in bed without a worry instead of roaming the streets. But it didn’t really matter, because this new version of me, who went by my middle name, Zeke, was here, just out of reach of the town’s deceiving glow, and he was no longer welcome.
And that made me angry.
I’d given up on sleep hours earlier, the news Mom dropped at dinner still too loud in my head: the divorce was final after five months of back-and-forth between their lawyers. I’d snuck out of the apartment and jumped on my dirt bike. Drove to the Fort Wood neighborhood, where we once lived. Climbed through my old bedroom window to get the shoebox I’d secretly kept in the bench seat beneath the sill. I had left it behind when we moved out because I’d thought I wouldn’t need it anymore. Thought the secrets I’d been forced to keep didn’t belong in our new life, where I wasn’t his son anymore. But leaving it there with him didn’t feel right either.
It weighed heavily in my backpack as I turned to look up at the billboard. The smiling father-and-son duo was a ten-foot reminder of the past, a promise that Chapman Law was a family business. That version of me was as much a stranger now as the father beside him. Other than my blond hair and his brown, we were so much alike. Same blue eyes and fake smile and dress clothes. We weren’t the same, though. Not anymore.
That Anthony Chapman was supposed to graduate as valedictorian next year. He’d go on to study at University of Alabama, where he’d get accepted into the School of Law. Eventually, he would pass the bar exam and join the firm. Then he’d be just another JACass . . .
“Fuck that,” I swore, rage outranking my fear of heights.
I bent down to grab the paint can and brush. They’d been sitting on our old back porch from when he’d had the house repainted. The cheerful sky blue felt symbolic of his fresh start, but now it was time for my own.
My body froze as an engine sounded, and I peered over the edge. A cop car slowly crept around below me. Panicked heartbeats sent me crouching against the cat-walk, hoping the officer wouldn’t see me. A minute passed excruciatingly slowly, without any flashing lights or yells for me to “stop right there!” I risked a glance over the catwalk’s edge and saw that I was alone again.
“Figures,” I breathed out.
Beggs was too sleepy-eyed of a town to notice. Everyone believed what they were told instead of actually paying attention. They worked on their cattle farms and plowed their fields with tractors and carried on none the wiser. They couldn’t see through the picture-perfect lie my father sold them. And it was time to finally expose him for who he really was after the hell he had put us through.
Laughter bubbled out of my throat when I stepped off the ladder. The last flutters of fear made it come out in a stutter. “Ah-ha-hah.” I wiped the grit from my palms on the ripped, old jeans my father loathed, and I looked up with a grin.
So worth it.
A giant penis in sky blue stretched across the ten-foot picture of my father. I’d made it as graphic as possible, complete with two very large testicles. The perfect metaphor. I let out another laugh and grabbed my phone to take a souvenir picture. My handiwork wouldn’t stay there long after he saw it in the morning. At least he’d know exactly what I thought of him.
Excerpted from The Rebel’s Guide to Pride by Matthew Hubbard Copyright © 2025 by Matthew Hubbard. Excerpted by permission of Delacorte Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
