Page 54 of Flash

Lewis turns back to me. “Hey, how’d you get the name Arrow, anyway?”

“My last name is Rowe.” I shrug.

He frowns. “That’s it? My last name is White, can’t my nickname be Whitey or something?”

“That’s racist,” Jag deadpans.

Lewis throws his hands up in defeat. “Fine, whatever, I’ll be Tater Tot.”

“That’s the spirit,” Piston cheers encouragingly.

“Hey, by the way, do you sell any of those plants that eat people at your shop?” Jag asks.

“They don’t eat people, that was just a movie.”

Jag waves his hand dismissively. “Whatever, you know what I mean. They’re badass, I want one.”

Lewis’s lips twitch with a grin. “I know someone who cultivates them in a greenhouse, I’ll give them a call this week to get the info for you.” He looks around at my friends for a second, then asks, “Which one of you is ‘kitten,’ by the way?”

Hero laughs loudly and raises his hand. Lewis walks over to stand in front of him.

“I’m the only one who’s going to call Arrow ‘Daddy’ from now on. Got it, kitten?”

A ripple of titters go through the group, and Jag makes a hissing sound and mimes a cat scratching motion. Hero just stares Lewis down for a second before he nods.

“Sure thing, Tater Tot.”

A tightness in my chest I hadn’t realized was there loosens. This is going to work. They may have gotten off to a rocky start, but Lewis is going to fit in just fine with my friends. I squeeze the back of his neck affectionately and nod towards the Harleys all lined up in my driveway.

“Let’s hit the road.”

LEWIS

Unlike the short rides Arrow has taken me on around Fall Crosse, it takes us about two hours to get to the opening of the new LGBTQ+ youth center in Iowa. An electric feeling buzzes under my skin as we ride into the already crowded parking lot. We aren’t the only group of bikers here. Arrow lifts his hand to wave to a dozen guys wearing rainbow helmets and matching jackets, and they nod back. The otherwise unassuming building is flying a row of rainbow flags along with a banner that says “All are welcome.”

Today’s grand opening is meant to be a chance for the community to come see the new space and for people to donate or volunteer their time if they’re interested. Of course, these types of events always attract the worst kinds of people too, especially in a small town like this one.

We ride past a small crowd of people brandishing hateful signs and shouting obscenities and pull to a stop in a shady spot at the side of the building. Everyone clambers off their bikes and sheds their helmets. It’s hot, but the jackets all stay on, I’m assuming to present a united front.

“So, what’s the deal?” I ask, hopelessly trying to fix my flattened hair before giving up. “We’re not seriously going to go up there and start throwing punches, are we? Because Arrow’s hand just became functional again and I hit like a girl.”

“I wouldn’t say that to Ronda Rousey,” Jag says.

“Oh, Ronda Rousey would fucking demolish me. Honestly, a fifth grader on the playground could probably kick my ass.”

Jag chuckles and then, to my surprise, throws an arm over my shoulders. “Stick with me, Tater Tot, I won’t let the big, mean religious fanatics hurt you.”

I look helplessly back at Arrow as Jag leads me away. He grins and winks encouragingly.

“But, no, we’re not really going to start shit,” Piston assures me, falling into step with us. “We’re just going to stand there, look menacing, and keep those dickheads from intimidating the people who are here to enjoy the grand opening.”

“Oh.” My shoulders relax. “That sounds pretty fucking cool actually. I mean, I couldn’t intimidate a chihuahua, but I’m here for it.”

“It’s all about attitude,” Tex says, getting a few steps ahead of us and turning around so he’s facing me and walking backward. “Give them a ‘don’t fuck with me’ glare, like this.” he demonstrates with his square jaw set rigidly and his eyes flashing dangerously.

I scrunch up my face and try to copy his expression.

Jag bursts out laughing beside me. “You look like you’re trying to take a shit.”

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