The Ongoing Reformation of Micah Johnson (18 page)

“Great. Thanks. You’re as helpful as a psychiatrist, just asking people how they feel and never giving any advice.”

Dec’s phone buzzed, but he ignored it. “Okay. Point taken. It’s different for everyone, but you know what worked for me?”

“Alcohol?”

“Funny. Having good friends. Relying on them. Talking to them. And don’t give me that bullshit about how you don’t have any, Micah. You have more than you think, and now you’ve started letting them back into your life, you have far more than you had six months ago.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.”

“And above all else—”

“What?”

“Be the best player you can be. Nothing pisses off your enemies more than you being better than them.”

And Micah saw yet another flash of the player Declan Tyler used to be: the quiet achiever who dominated the field with a cool and casual levelheadedness that was sometimes mistaken for arrogance.

Micah wanted to be just like that. But his greatest fear was that he was too volatile to ever achieve it.

Dec yawned, his long arms stretched over his head. “I better call Simon again. He was on my back about having to sort things out with you. As if I wasn’t going to do it.”

Simon was still being nice to Micah, even after all the grief he’d caused—and still continued to cause. He and Dec truly were gluttons for punishment. “Say hi to him for me.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Hey, Micah?”

“What?”

“Can I just give you one last bit of advice?”

“For ever or just for today?”

“Knowing you, probably just for this hour.”

Micah sighed. “Is this about me always fighting with you?”

Dec shook his head. “No, I’ve just come to expect that of you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try harder, I promise. I don’t mean to fight with you all the time. It’s just….”

“What?”

“I really respect your opinion, and I don’t like you thinking badly of me.” It came out in a rush, and he saw Dec’s eyes widen at the honesty.

“I don’t think badly of you, Micah. Honestly.” Dec tapped his phone against his palm. “Sometimes I don’t like what you do, and I wish you would do things differently instead of always doing the same bloody thing over and over again when you know it’s not going to make things better, but I don’t think badly of you.”

“Oh.” Micah stood there, unable to move, just letting the warmth of Dec’s words ride over him. “Okay. So what were you going to say before? Hit me with your best shot.”

Dec looked as if he thought he may have been pushing it a little, after this tender moment, but he did it regardless. “You say you know, but you have to
understand
that recruiters are ruthless. They want an all-rounder, and that’s somebody who can be a brilliant player and a good team player. They’re already talking about you, Micah.”

“What are they saying?”

“Nothing I haven’t already told you before. They know how good you are at the game. But they’re worried about your attitude. If
anything
stops you from being drafted, and I’m saying
if
because really, I don’t think you’re going to be overlooked, but if one thing stands in your way, that’s going to be it.”

Micah felt the sting of angry tears, but he swallowed them down. “Okay. So tell me what to do.”

“You know what to do. I’ve said it a million times.”

“Don’t rise to the bait,” Micah said. It was oft-told but seldom regarded advice, and he didn’t have to think very hard to know this was the answer Dec wanted.

“And what else?” Dec asked.

“Show them I can be part of a team. Be the best.”

“Let’s just work on the first part right now. That’s what they’re watching for.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and Micah?”

“What?”

“I know you and Simon both love your sarcastic repartee with others, but when you go in for the psychological tests….”

“What?”

“Please pretend to be someone else.”

This actually made Micah laugh. “That might be the best piece of advice you’ve ever given me.”

“Just listen to it for once.”

“Thanks, Dec.”

“See you later.”

As Micah walked off, he heard Dec on the phone. “Hey, babe. … Yes, I’ve spoken to him. … When am I ever
not
nice to him? … Okay, Simon….”

Micah smiled and left Dec to his privacy.

IT TURNED
out he was late for warm-up, and Boyd wasn’t too happy with him—even more so than usual.

“Where have you been?” he demanded as soon as Micah met up with them on the field. “You were meant to be here ten minutes ago.”

All thoughts of being good were instantly dismissed. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m the captain.” Boyd seemed to think that meant everything.

“I didn’t need reminding. I also didn’t know cruise director was your job.”

Boyd’s eyes narrowed. “Is that some sort of gay joke?”

Micah was about to ask him how exactly he knew what cruising was, but Boyd continued without waiting for a response. Micah shrugged, deciding Boyd was probably the type who thought everything was some sort of aspersion on his sexuality.

“It’s my job to make sure we’re doing what we’re told to do. And that involves being on the field when we’re meant to be.”

“For someone who is so stuck on the rules, weren’t you the one who snuck in a bottle of Jack and had it after dinner the first night of camp?” Micah looked at the other boys for support. “How quickly they forget once they taste power.”

There was no sign of support from the other boys crowded around them.

“How would you even know that?” Boyd asked.

“I know I’m not one of the popular kids, but I’m not blind.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you were captain, you could try and bust my arse for that, but you’re not, are you?”

Micah went for the obvious. “I could try to bust your arse, but I think you would enjoy it too much.”

There were some snickers from the cheap seats, but Micah ignored them.

“What the fuck are you saying?” A vein was throbbing on Boyd’s neck.

Micah was amused more than anything.

Jack jumped up from where he was squatting on the grass. “No need to make this any worse, guys.”

Micah smiled at Boyd. “He’s right.”

“Where were you?” Boyd asked again, slowly.

“Seeing Declan. You can go and ask him if you like.”

“That’s right. The batty boys gotta stick together.”

Micah lunged forward but Jack caught him.

Now it was Boyd who was grinning maliciously. “Everything all right, Johnson?”

“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.