“I’ll try my best,” Micah told him.
He also made sure to keep as much room as possible between them. Although he had never said so, Micah could tell Dane wasn’t entirely happy about a known homosexualist invading his living space. Dane was in his last year of high school, and probably still felt the pressure of being a normal heterosexual boy—and as every paper had trumpeted that new Dockers recruit Micah Johnson was living with Sam Mitchell and his family, it was probably all around Dane’s school. Micah could only imagine what was being said to Dane. So he cut the guy some slack, even if it usually exploded in his face.
Dane was so different to Sam—Sam was tactile with everybody, very comfortable with dispensing hugs and casual touches. Dane was in dire need of a stress ball, all tight and with a flashing sign above his head that growled stay away. He didn’t seem to have many friends either—maybe that was a consequence of having a famous brother: you didn’t know who your true friends were.
So all in all, Micah felt a bit sorry for him, even if it wasn’t reciprocated.
“Aww,” said Sam, from where he had suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Look at you two, getting along.”
Dane didn’t look up. He casually blew away an enemy soldier, and his gun’s sight tracked briefly over Micah’s avatar. “Just playing a game.”
“Cool,” Sam said, blatantly ignoring Dane’s not-so-subtle rebuke of any friendliness between him and Micah. “We’re having a barbie for dinner.”
“Surprise,” Dane mumbled.
“Sounds good,” Micah said, to make up for Dane’s prickliness.
“You’re going to join us, Micah?” Sam asked.
It was rare that Micah didn’t join them for dinner, but he guessed that Sam meant he would be there in spirit as well, actively socialising and trying to come across like a normal human being.
“Sure thing,” Micah said, gunning down another enemy.
“Excellent.” Sam left them to it.
“Excellent,” Dane mocked, and this time the gun’s sight didn’t waver over Micah’s avatar. He fired, and “Micah” disappeared in a spray of blood and bone.
“What the fuck?” Micah jumped up.
Dane shrugged, leapt to his feet and disappeared down the hallway, slamming his bedroom door behind him.
Micah switched off the console and the telly, and headed for the slim pickings of a sanctuary in his room as well.
Chapter 2
MICAH THREW himself down on his bed and activated FaceTime on his phone, hoping his mum would pick up.
She must have had her phone right by her; she picked up immediately. Relief flooded him when her face filled the screen. “Hi, honey!”
“Hey, Mum.”
“To what do I owe this wonderful pleasure of my famous son calling me of his own accord, twice in two days?”
“God, tone it down a bit, Mum. I always call you.”
Joanne nodded. “True. But you’ve been taking it up a notch lately. Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he lied. “Everything’s fine. Just wanting to touch base.”
“With little old us? I’m surprised you’d remember us, living in your palace by the sea.”
“The view’s nice.” He didn’t say what he ached to: that he would rather be in the boring outer suburbs of Melbourne with his family, nice view in Perth notwithstanding.
“You becoming a proper surfie?”
“Yep. Have my surfboard waxed and ready to ride the curl every morning, with The Beach Boys playing on my vintage record player.”
He actually was seeing a lot of the surf. The Dockers were firm believers in using Perth’s glorious beaches as training and recovery grounds for the players during the week. Micah had spent more time at the beach in the past two months than he had in his whole life.
“Groovy,” his mum said. “Oh wait, that was more of a sixties word, wasn’t it?”
“I’m pretty sure surfing and The Beach Boys were still around in the sixties. Didn’t Charles Manson live with them at some stage?”
“Leave it to you to bring up the morbid side of surf culture.”
“And my work here is done. How are Dad and Alex?”
“They’re good. Waiting for you to play a game so they can brag about you appropriately.”
“There’s no way Alex would brag about a Dockers player.”
Joanne laughed. “I think you’ll be the exception.”
Hearing that made Micah feel a little warm and gooey inside—the nice way, not the “have to run to the toilet and unleash the furies of hell” way. “Maybe I should send him some merchandise, then, if he’s such a fan.”
A wicked grin appeared on his mum’s face. “Do it! And I’ll make sure I’m recording him when he opens it.”
That would be a sight to see. And it only made him feel more homesick. He knew he better sign off before his mother cottoned on to it. “Okay, Mum. It’s almost dinnertime here. The Mitchells are doing a barbie.”
“Okay. Enjoy yourself. Tell them I said hi.”
“I will. Love you.”
“I love you too, Micah.”
Micah deactivated the call just in time. He buried his head in his pillow and allowed himself the indignity of tears.
IT WAS the smell of the barbie firing up, and a gentle knock on the door that woke Micah. He sniffed appreciatively, anticipating the delights of the meal to come and yelled, “Come in!”
Rhonda Mitchell cracked open the door. “You decent?”
Micah sat up. “What on earth do you think I’m doing in here?”
“I don’t know.” She threw the door open and walked in. “I’ve had two teenage boys. I’ve learnt not to be surprised by anything.”
“Gross.”
“Yep. Were you asleep?”
“Yeah, I dozed off.”
“I was thinking you were avoiding us.”
“No, not at all,” Micah yawned. “I’m looking forward to the barbie.”
“You better. I think Pete has enough down there to empty an abattoir’s stock.”
Wow. Rhonda was really coming up with the stomach-churning statements this evening. “Lucky for me I’m starving, then, I guess.”
Rhonda smiled, but she didn’t make any attempt to leave.
Micah sat there, not knowing what to say.
Rhonda opened her mouth, ready to speak, and closed it again.