by Sean Kennedy
“Fine,” Micah said, and he finally took into consideration what Dec had told him to do.
“That’s better.”
Micah saluted him. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Hey, everybody,” Boyd said, with a nasty grin on his face. “Guess what? Johnson’s making you do five laps!”
Grumbling started from all ends, but Micah was pretty sure it wasn’t all directed at him. Mutiny was on the wind.
“You never learn, do you?” Jack muttered as they began running, hanging at the end of the pack.
“I could have made a joke about busted arses and Moby Dick, but I didn’t.”
Jack rolled his eyes as he was huffing too much to talk.
The laps became more punishing with each go around. Boyd was grinning maliciously at each and every single one of his team members as they passed him. This was captain material? The recruiters seemed to think so.
Maybe they were right.
But then, Micah had never liked authority.
AS THE scratch match was scheduled in the afternoon, they had another set of sprint tests before lunch. They were exhausting, but Micah pushed through them with sore knees and burning muscles. Although he didn’t beat his personal best, he maintained a pretty close average, something he knew would stand him in good stead. He had to shake himself off when he heard Boyd crowing about how he had beaten his own by a full second. The recruiters would love that, and it would probably push him farther up the draft list.
It’s not a competition, he tried to tell himself.
Oh yes, it is, his other pessimistic, but realistic, side said mockingly. But keep telling yourself that, anyway.
The whole draft camp was the equivalent of the Olympics, and nobody wanted to go home without a medal. At this stage it didn’t matter whether you got gold, silver, or bronze—although, of course, gold would be the ideal; all that mattered was the weight of the metal in your hand. You would then know you had made it, and all that would consume you afterwards would be the possibility of which team would choose you.
So, eye on the prize. Not the person who could beat you.
Besides, Micah thought. There was always time for revenge when he took to the field again, professionally, when hopefully they were on opposing teams next year. Grinding Boyd’s face into the mud with his boot, perhaps whispering, “By the way, sweetie, it was me who took your boots. And I drowned them.”
Micah knew he shouldn’t be thinking of vengeance, but Boyd was worth it. He wasn’t a fellow traveller like Will, consumed by self-hatred and focusing it on someone else—he was just your normal homophobe who would hopefully be taken down a peg or two.
Eventually.
Because, unfortunately, it seemed everything was going his way just then.
Micah could see Dec standing with some of the other ex-players, watching them. He had his arms folded and didn’t look happy. Or maybe he was just trying to look neutral but was coming across as constipated. Micah hoped it was the latter—neutral, that was, not constipated or unhappy.
When there was a break, Dec beckoned Micah to join him.
He expected a shredding, but it wasn’t. “I figured you were probably stressing about your times. But it’s not like they’ve dropped, so don’t let it worry you. That’s not going to figure into their stats.”
“Oh. Okay.” Micah was happy to hear it but didn’t want to let on how relieved he was. “Is that all?”
“You were expecting something else?”
“Um, no.”
“I see you haven’t killed Boyd yet. Should I expect it will stay that way? Or am I setting myself up for a fall?”
Micah grimaced. “Don’t get your hopes up. But I’m trying.”
“That’s all I want to hear.”
Micah decided to share a little honesty. “It almost came to that, though.”
Dec’s expression—which Micah assumed had kept steady in order to try to convince the other recruits and ex-players that he had no bias—fell, and Micah knew truth could be a bitch. “Spill it.”
“I’m telling you this in in the interests of honesty.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And because I made a pledge to you earlier.”
“Oh, I’m going to love this, aren’t I?”
“I lasted perhaps two seconds of trying to be a better person, and then I stepped onto the field.”
Dec sighed. “Is this where I’m meant to say I’m surprised?”
“It was a temporary glitch, I swear.”
“And what would make me believe you this time?”
“Because I had an epiphany.”
A snort escaped from Dec. “An epiphany? Which saint appeared to you, Micah?”
“No saint. It happened when we were doing laps on the field.”
“Okay. You can tell me later. You have other people to convince now.”
Micah stuck out his hand. “Agreed.”
Micah really hadn’t had an epiphany. It was more just an acceptance of what had to be. It had finally sunk in. He wasn’t even sure Dec would like his reasoning, although he should just be happy that Micah had reached the train of thought Dec had always wanted him to—a continuation of the epiphany he had with Jack while waiting for the showers to free up earlier. If he couldn’t do it for himself, he had to do it for the people who cared about him.
Declan shook the offered hand. “If I ever have kids, do you think you’ve used up all their future angst?”
“If a saint appears to me, I’ll ask it.”
“I thought it was too good to be true.” Dec began to walk off. “Speak to you later.”
“I won’t let you down!” Micah yelled after him.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Dec called back.
Should he have made a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep? He wanted to yell an addendum after Dec, but it was too late. At least, I hope I won’t let you down. Or myself, when it comes down to it.
Oh, who was he kidding?
AFTER LUNCH there was one last set of interviews and then the scratch match. Five minutes into the game, Micah felt like he was playing two teams instead of one. He had to battle to get the ball, and it was often given to him with great reluctance. Instead of letting it consume him, he just took it off them when it was offered and fought to get it when it wasn’t. In the few vague moments he actually had to think about anything other than the play at hand, he wondered what it must look like to the recruiters. Did they know what he was working against? Or did they just see a selfish player determined to get the ball no matter what?
It was lucky Jack was on his team. And on his side. Because whenever Jack got the ball, he tried to get it to Micah. It was because of Jack that Micah managed to score two beautiful, near-perfect goals. On the second one, he even had team members other than Jack slapping him on the back in congratulations. For a moment he felt like he was part of them.
Until he saw Boyd scowling on the other side of the oval.
Funny how it only took that to make it all come crashing down again.
But Micah refused to let Boyd get to him. He had to think of the recruiters. Of the promise he made Declan. Of his family. And last—but he should really start thinking of himself as not least—himself.
In the dying moments of the game, the other team was ahead by three points. As Jack handballed to him, Micah barrelled past the fifty-foot line, driving towards the goals. He was on a slight angle as he had to avoid players ahead of him, and he expertly manoeuvred around their attempted tackles. Unfortunately this took him a little more off course than he hoped. There was a pack around the goals, expertly spread so Micah would have trouble getting through unscathed.
But none of them had noticed Boyd coming up behind them, and how he was waiting with his hands stretched in the air.
Micah’s heart sank. He knew it was still beating; the blood was pounding in his ears.
It was as if everything Dec had told him to do was being set up by a vengeful god.
The old Micah would have
pushed on regardless and gone for the goal.
The new Micah? Well, the really, really, really recently new and only slightly somewhat improved Micah knew what he had to do.
The other team weren’t expecting him to pass the ball on. Micah bounced the ball one last time and punted it perfectly—it hit the right spot on his toes with a satisfying thump—and watched as the Sherrin sailed over their heads and directly into Boyd’s arms.
As he caught it, Boyd looked just as surprised as the other boys. It would have almost been just as good to watch him fumble it and lose it in shock, but that wouldn’t have been good team camaraderie. No, Boyd caught it with a sure hand, and without even pausing to give the opposing players a chance to take him down, he swivelled on one foot and delivered it through the centre goals with a low punt.
It was just a scratch match, but you would have thought it was a grand final as Boyd’s team erupted. Seconds later an air horn blew to signify the end of the game. The other team looked shattered. Even though they knew it was just a scratch match, it was a game where recruiters were scrutinising their every move. It could count against them.
Micah didn’t know if he was still being watched, but he made a calculated move. He walked towards Boyd, his arm outstretched. Boyd glared at him, knowing it was a show, but it wasn’t one he could afford to refuse to be a part of. The two boys shook hands, though not a word was said, and they separated almost as soon as they touched each other.
But the gesture had been made. And Micah hoped it had been noticed.
“YOU DID it,” Dec said, his palm ready so Micah could slap it.
“I told you.” The slap was heavy, and Micah’s palm tingled. However, his whole body was tingling because he knew he had finally done the right thing. Maybe his pride was a little bit dented because he didn’t get to deliver a brilliant game-finishing goal, but his delivery to Boyd might just count more for him in the long run.
“Maybe you did have an epiphany.”
“Something like that.”
Dec grinned. “Nice little performance after the siren too.”
Micah laughed unabashedly. “Oh, you saw? I hope they all did.”
“They did. I’ve already heard them talking about it.”
Relief made Micah weak at the knees.
“They knew it was bullshit,” Dec continued, “but the gesture was seen for what it was. And they all like grand gestures, even if they’re not meant.”
“As long as it stands me in good favour, should I really give a shit?”
“That’s the spirit.” Dec couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh. “Go on. Celebrate with your team, and hit the showers.”
“Eww, not that kind of celebration. Me and change rooms and post-match celebrations aren’t a good mix.”
Dec sighed. “I see some things haven’t changed with your epiphany.”
“Wouldn’t you be disappointed if I was entirely good?”
“Not really, no. It would be peaceful.”
“You say that, but you’d miss it.”
“Just go, Micah.”
“Yes, Coach.”
Before he turned away, he saw Dec smile, chuffed at the nickname.
HE HAD time for a quick chat with Jack, who was in awe of the pass to Boyd and all it entailed for a possible turnaround in Micah’s attitude, before Kyle came up to join them.
“There’s talk about the two of you.”
“Really?”
“Both of us?” Jack asked, skeptical.
“Yep. They’re saying you showed loyalty and perseverance, Jack, because they knew at the start nobody was handing Micah the ball.”
Jack seemed a little deflated. “Loyalty and perseverance, sure. But nothing about my skills.”
“You’d be surprised how far it goes when they’re making their decisions,” Kyle said.
“No offence, but how do you know?”
“Are you forgetting who my dad is? I’ve grown up as an insider around all this shit. Plus, I was eavesdropping. Recruiters forget to keep shtum around the lackeys who are picking up the equipment after the gods of the field have vacated the premises.”
Jack still didn’t look like he believed him but nodded. “Thanks. I’m going to take a shower.”
Micah waited until he left, then said, “That was nice, what you said about him.”
“It’s true. I did hear them say that.”
“Does it really count?”
Kyle shrugged. “Sometimes they’d rather take on someone who is less developed but has the right attitude. They’re just as important. But in the end, numbers will probably count against him.”
Micah watched Jack walking towards the buildings. Maybe Jack had been right about himself all along. Not every good player had the skills exceptional enough to get him drafted. He felt something akin to heartburn as he watched his new friend disappear.
“Don’t you want to know if they said anything about you?” Kyle asked, breaking his train of thought.
“I guess. Okay, sure. Did they?”
Kyle laughed and actually reached out to push him back a little. Micah couldn’t help but thrill at the contact. “Look at you! Here I was thinking you’d progressed beyond the me me me stage.”
“Us arsehole egotistical football players never do.”
“You got that right.”
Micah wanted nothing more to grab him and kiss him, right there, in front of all of the stragglers. It was a maddening thought. It made him lose focus. Especially seeing he had told the guy he wanted him only as a friend. He believed that was called being a tease if he wanted to slut shame. If he was being generous with himself, and he wanted to be on behalf of all “teases” out there, he was just really fucking confused.
Kyle seemed unaware of his inner turmoil. “They’ve been saying it’s like something has switched on inside you.”
They have no idea. “That makes me sound like I’m possessed.”
“Maybe they think that’s a more likely option than you turning over a leaf.”
“But is it a good spirit or a demon?”
“Well, they like the change, so I’d say good spirit.”
Micah didn’t want to let himself believe it, in case it led to crushing misery later on. “Do you think it’s too little, too late?”
“What do I know? I’m not one of them. All I know is that they’re hoping it will stick.”
Changing tack, Micah focused on Kyle. “I hope they never catch you eavesdropping, or else you might not have a job next year.”
“My plan is to not be here next year. I’ll be on a baseball team, or studying at the AIS.”
“The Institute of Sport? In Canberra?”
“Yeah.”
Canberra was a long way from Melbourne. Even if Micah stayed in Melbourne after the draft.
“Besides,” Kyle continued, “all I do here is shit like picking up witches’ hats and putting them away. Any trained monkey could do it just as well. Also being one of the coaches’ kids comes with an expected trustworthy element. I’m invisible to them.”
“So why are you telling me?”
“Why do you think? Because I see you’re trying. Maybe you should have tried earlier, but that’s not worth arguing about now. But you’re going to have to do more.”
“If I get through to the proper draft camp, you mean.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. They know you’re a good player. You rank highly on that alone. But if you want to be secure in your chances for being drafted, you have to keep working on the rest.”
“Are you sure you want to stick to baseball? Sounds like you could be a recruiter!”
“Do you think you could ever give up football?”
“No,” Micah said without pause.
“Well, dickhead, that’s how I feel about baseball. It’s impossible to think about anything else.”
“I’d still like to see you in those tight pants.”
“Oh God, Micah, go have a shower. You smell c
heesy.” But Kyle grinned.
Micah obeyed the order, his heart feeling far lighter than it had before. He had patched things up with Dec, and things were looking more positive with the recruiters. One last night to get through, and he was home free.
And the night promised to be a little more exciting than listening to Boyd snoring.
Chapter 14
DINNER WAS raced through; speeches were made and largely ignored. Everyone knew camp was winding down. The boys didn’t have anyone to impress anymore, as the recruiters were gone. However, that didn’t mean they could completely slack off, as the coaches were still watching them keenly.
There was even dessert. Micah wolfed his down, feeling cream and sugar and saturated fat doing far more for his body’s endorphins than any drug ever could.
Games were held in the rec room and mock prizes given. There was much laughing when Declan Tyler presented Micah with “Most Improved Attitude,” and not all of it was mocking either. Micah felt he could come away from camp having clawed back a little bit of respect from his peers. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that much, but it was more than they had at the start. At least most of them had seen he had skill rather than just relying upon reputation and rumour, and like Dec had said, when they were out in the real world playing professionally, most of them would have to realise they couldn’t act like kids anymore.
What time is lights out? came a text from Emma.
Ten, he replied.
Okay. Meet us at the gates at 10:30.
Us? It sounded like she had achieved her mission, then.
Jack didn’t seem that excited when Micah told him the shenanigans were still on for the night. “I’m actually pretty tired. Maybe I won’t go.”
“You’re coming anyway. Jesus, you can sleep through the bus ride the whole way home and then again in your own bed. Live a little.”
“But it’s just going to be your friend, and Kyle, I guess, right? Exciting for you, not so exciting for me.”
“Emma will probably want to talk to you more, anyway. She knows enough about me. You’ll get enough attention.”
“More like you just want me to give her attention so you don’t feel so guilty when you sneak away to pash Kyle in the woods.”