The Ongoing Reformation of Micah Johnson (2 page)

“So you are my friend?” he asked, and he was scared of the answer.

“I just said so, didn’t I? Doesn’t mean I’m taking your shit, but….”

“I need friends,” Micah admitted. “I don’t have that many.”

In fact, he could count them on one hand. Friends his own age, that was. These days most of his friends, or at least close acquaintances, were people older than him. He didn’t trust other teenagers. And his recent past taught him he had reason for it.

But he didn’t want to think about that right now.

“This is the sad part of the movie, right?” Emma asked, twirling her finger in the air as if conducting music. “Probably a really depressing song playing. Like something by one of those indie bands that think a banjo is more legit than a guitar.”

Micah grinned; he couldn’t help it. “Arsehole.”

“Aren’t you getting in enough trouble, using that word? But, seriously, friends will come. And you don’t need that many. You just need good ones. And you’ve got a good start with me. I mean, I really used to hate you.”

Micah waited for the punchline, but it didn’t come.

It hurt, but he knew he should focus on the “really used to” part of the sentence.

“Oh,” he said, finally.

“Can you blame me? I joined GetOut because I wanted support, but you were sucking up everyone’s time and energy and trying to make them all as miserable as you felt.”

And all that time Micah thought he hadn’t been getting any support. It turned out he had, and to paraphrase Emma, he had been an emotional vampire, draining anybody of every last drop that could have been devoted to helping the other kids in GetOut. He already had support; he just thought he needed more.

“Besides, you have more friends than you think. Your parents weren’t cold to you because you were gay. They were cold because you were giving them grief. Your brother worships you. You should see what he says about you behind your back. And then you’ve got Dec and Abe, two football legends of their time. They’d do anything for you. And you’ve got Simon and his friends.”

“That lot just have to do it because of Declan.”

Emma started searching through her messenger bag.

Pissed that she was no longer paying attention to his misery, Micah asked what she was doing.

“Found it!” Emma declared, holding something invisible between her forefinger and thumb. “The world’s smallest violin! Maybe you’d like to play it?”

It actually made him laugh. “Give it here.”

She handed the “violin” over and he inspected it closely.

“Nice design, huh?” she asked.

“I would expect nothing but the best quality from you.”

“Look, you’ve given ample opportunity for all of those people to run away from
you
, but they were the ones who chased you down. So just accept that people like you warts and all, and be grateful.”

“I am.”

“Then stop whining.”

“I’ll try. But I’ve had a lifetime of experience.”

She snorted. “I bet.”

He leaned across and covered her hand with his. She almost flinched with shock from the intimate contact he initiated. “Thank you.”

“For the violin? It’s okay. It was only a family heirloom. A Stradivarius, in fact.”

“You know what I mean. Thank you for being my friend. I didn’t deserve it.”

“You’re lucky I have a huge reservoir of forgiveness for the human race.”

She did, and Micah was more than glad of it. When he had first approached her after he ran away, he expected her to tell him to fuck off. Instead, she just looked at him for a long, silent moment and announced, “Okay. You have a month’s probation.”

“Excuse me?” he had asked.

“You heard me. You have a month. If you fuck it up, I’m out of here.”

And they had shaken on it.

A month passed, and although Micah hadn’t exactly been
perfect
during that time period, she had smiled when he asked her if the probation was up.

“We’ll give it another month.”

It was never brought up again, so while his probation hadn’t
officially
ended, Micah finally felt secure enough (and damn grateful) that Emma was a real friend.

As she was proving yet again, in this grotty milk bar.

“Anyway, you’re not as bad as you think you are. At least, this current Micah isn’t as bad as you think he is.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t think Carla the principal thinks so, but you can’t please everyone.”

“Ha, the only people I have to worry about pleasing at the moment—besides you guys, of course—are the recruiters.” The people hired by AFL teams to look for the best young players at drafting camps around the country tended to haunt his dreams at night, telling him he wouldn’t make it.

“I don’t think that’ll be too much of a problem. Dec told me you have quite a few agents trying to get you on their books already.”

“Dec told you that? I thought he was more discreet than that.”

“Okay, it was Simon.”

“Yeah,
that
I believe.”

“He just wants you to do well.”

“I don’t know why.” It truly stumped Micah. “Sometimes I think I was the worst to him out of everybody.”

“I’m not going to state the obvious.”

“What, because I’m worth it?” he asked, remembering to try to focus on the positives.

“Uh, no,” Emma said, shattering his attempt. “Nice try, though.”

“Oh, you were going to say I was equally bad to everybody.”

“Actually, I change my mind. You
were
pretty rotten to poor old Simon.”

Micah sighed.

“But he still wants you to succeed.”

“Well, I’m trying to be better.”

“So you went off the rails a little bit. We all do. And you had a really shitty year.”

“You haven’t,” Micah reminded her.

“Gone off the rails? I’m a late bloomer. Always have been. And when I go off the rails, I plan to do it
spectacularly
.”

“Hockey’s original bad girl.”

“And you know it. I’m going to put every bad boy football player to shame.”

“Emma Goldsworthy in Chocolate YoGo-Fuelled Street Brawl. Details at six.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Followed by cups of tea with child care workers. That girl sure knows how to party.”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Emma threw a balled-up napkin at him. “I’ll show you. I’ll make Brendan Fevola look like Taylor Swift.”

“Wow. I’m impressed you know a footy player’s name.”

“I happen to know a lot of them.”

“Name five.”

“I already named Fev,” Emma said. “Matthew Richardson, James Hird, Abe Ford, and Declan Tyler.”

“Impressive. Although you included two that you know personally.”

“Fine, Matthew Pavlich and Jobe Watson. Satisfied?”

“Wow, you do know your stuff.”

“Go on, smartarse, you name me a hockey player,” Emma dared him.

“Gus Johnson.”

“You only know him because he’s gay. Name me a female hockey player.”

Micah fell silent, knowing he was beaten.

“See?” Emma crowed. “Couldn’t do it.”

“I stand chastened.”

“Chastened? That’s quite the word. You’ve been hanging out more with your little brother.”

“I have been, actually.”

“That’s nice, Micah.”

“You being sarky?”

“No, I’m being genuine! It’s nice! Alex is a gem, and you’re lucky he’s just as forgiving as I am.”

“Even though he dobbed me in when I ran away?” Micah scowled.

“And aren’t you glad he did in the end?”

Micah was, actually. “Okay, you got me there. If Dec hadn’t turned up that night I ran away, I don’t know what I would have done. I had no more money, my boyfriend had dumped me, and I was a long way from home.”

“Surely you would have called your parents.”

After a long pause, Micah shrugged. “I don’t know. The way I was back then, that would have been too sensible. I wasn’t capable of sensible.”

Emma observed him thoughtfully. “Like I said, rough year.”

He didn’t want to dwell on it anymore. But even as he tried to dismiss it, memories flooded back. Of a look passing between two boys on the football field that signified an awareness of each other nobody else had picked up on. How that led—most likely deliberately, on both their parts—to them being alone in the change rooms. It hadn’t taken long for those barriers to come down, and they were kissing, too caught up in the moment to think about how they were exposed to anybody who could come in. Micah, excited that something—anything—was happening with a guy outside fantasy, was so much of a novice (and so was his partner) that he relied upon every cliché he had ever seen in a porn movie, and gone right for the obvious. The other guy had barely any time to protest—not that it seemed he wanted to, anyway. At least, until they had been stumbled upon. Then it was apparently easy to blame everything on Micah. After all, he was the one doing the thing. The perpetrator. The
predator
.

“Where have you gone?”

Micah snapped out of it. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of that afternoon in the change room for quite a while. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed about it. Oh, he
had
been, but it was more the embarrassment of people
knowing
and being witness to it. He wasn’t embarrassed about being gay. Not like the other guy, whose name Micah didn’t even want to acknowledge. The other guy had dumped him in all the shit and waltzed away scot-free, although maybe he would have to own up to it when he eventually came out. He might then look back and feel a little bit of shame for his refusal to stand with Micah and for the scapegoating he took part in.

“Just thinking,” he said finally. “About my annus horribilus.”

Emma stifled a grin.

“Oh, don’t even go for the joke, I beg you.”

“I won’t, I won’t! I mean, fuck, Micah, I know how horrible it was. Have you ever heard from that guy at all?”

It was the first time she actually asked him that, and he guessed it was a sure sign that they were real friends now that all cards were off the table.

“Nope. Don’t want to, either.”

“Well, it’s been a pretty rough year for him too, I’m sure.”

Micah knew he wasn’t as over it as he liked to pretend when the heat of anger welled up inside him. “Really? He got to write it all off, make out like I was some kind of molester or something. He’s fine.”

Emma looked at him with a pained expression. “Do you really think that? Because I doubt he is. In a way, you’re free. He’s not. And that will make it even harder for him.”

He wanted to tell her to fuck off, even though he had been thinking the same thing. It was one thing for him to maybe feel a little sorry for the guy, but all other sorrow and pity should be directed at him.

And a couple of months ago he probably would have yelled all that at Emma, although the likelihood of their having so intimate a conversation back then would have been nil. “Maybe,” he accepted, grudgingly. “But he dug his own grave there.”

“All of us have at one point.”

“Even you?”

“Oh yeah, I remember telling my mother that my first girlfriend was my math tutor. She didn’t even cotton on that it was strange I needed one, seeing I always got As.”

“And?”

“She lived in ignorant bliss until the night she caught us pashing in the carport.”

Micah burst out laughing.

“Look, it smiles!”

“It’s been known to,” Micah said.

“So mine might not have been as graphic as yours, but we all lie until we feel ready.”

“Or we’re forced to.”

“Or we’re forced to,” Emma agreed. “I suppose I could have made up some lie about how we were rehearsing
Romeo and Juliet
for the school play, and my poor mother trusts me enough that she would have believed me, but I was just too tired to keep on pretending.”

“And at least you didn’t blame it all on your girlfriend.”

“No, but in fairness, your guy didn’t really know you, did he? It’s not like there was any bond between you. Wouldn’t that have been worse, if your own boyfriend had done it?”

“Stop defending him!”

“I’m not. Okay, maybe I am. A little. But he’s got his own story too. And you don’t know it.”

“Maybe.” All Micah wanted to acknowledge now was that he wanted another milkshake.

“That’s your way of saying I’m right, right?”

“Don’t be annoying.”

“Now you’re definitely saying I’m right.” Emma grinned infuriatingly.

It was like having another sibling. She was as bad as Alex, except even worse because he didn’t usually press the point. Alex was content with just letting Micah know that he knew he was right, and then he would let it drop. With Emma, she kicked the winning goal and then ran over to your team and did a victory dance while screaming, “How do you like that, arseholes? Taste my glory!”

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.

“Emma’s right about something?” Declan asked, sliding into a seat beside her. “Must be a day ending in
y
.”

“See?” Emma said, presenting Dec like a trophy in a TV quiz showcase. “The man knows.”

“I like the sound of that.” Dec gave a cursory glance at the menu. “Want to record it for me so I can play it every time Simon says I’m wrong?”

“How did it go with Lady Carla?” Micah asked.

“I think GetOut will still be around for at least the next few weeks.” Dec crossed his fingers.

Micah flushed. “Sorry.”

“Get cracking on that letter tonight. You still have to write it.”

“I will. Can I buy you a milkshake?”

“Sure! That will make up for the ear-shredding I just got.”

Micah squirmed. How many times could he say sorry until Dec actually believed him? But he then noticed the twinkle in Dec’s eye and started to relax. Micah knew he himself was sarky at the best of times, but why was everybody else starting to do the same thing? He couldn’t even tell what was banter and what was seriousness anymore. Was this what it was like to hang around him? No wonder everybody was narky.

Narky. Sarky. Everything rhymed, too.

“Flavour?” he asked.

“Blue heaven,” Dec said.

Both Micah and Emma gagged.

“What?”