The Ongoing Reformation of Micah Johnson Read Online Free PDF Page A

noticed the physical isolation Micah endured between plays, he didn’t say anything. He seemed to think the best way to deal with Micah was just to treat him as some unknowable and untouchable object that, although irksome, actually made his team better. But he didn’t mind giving him hell when Micah’s other football commitments, especially when it came to the semiprofessional league and the upcoming draft, clashed with the school football team.
    “Three laps to start!” Howard yelled.
    As usual, Micah was ahead of the pack. He wanted them in his wake to remind them that no matter what they thought, he was just as good as them. In fact, he was better.
    They knew, and it burned them.
    It was some satisfaction to know that his skill bothered them. It clashed with the stereotypes they believed of gay men—they expected him to prance across the field like he was in Swan Lake rather than a footy game. Not that there was anything wrong with prancing—if a gay man wanted to prance, he should have the freedom to bloody well do it. When Micah had first been forced out of the closet, he used to worry about how he presented. If he put his hand on his hip, did he look too effeminate? If he ran a certain way, did it betray his orientation?
    A healthy amount of time passed before he had an epiphany—fuck it. If he did, he did. He wasn’t going to change himself or worry about how he presented to anybody. If he soared like a gazelle rather than a bull, it would improve his game anyhow. If he spent all his time on the field consumed with other issues, like the ongoing clash between perceived femininity and fragile masculinity, he would never get drafted. He played whatever way Micah Johnson had always played—because he had always been fucking good at it.
    His muscles burning as he started the second lap of the oval, passing some of his team members who were struggling behind the others—and who gave him filthy looks as he swanned past—Micah wondered which of the possible suspects were most likely to be his new “friend” on Facebook. Although they all did a pretty good job at ignoring him en masse, Micah knew there were different levels of dislike and distrust between them. Take Joe Russo, team captain, for example. Micah knew for a fact he had a gay uncle. He had met Nick Russo at a number of GetOut events because his graphic design business donated their services. Half of the pamphlets the GetOut foundation produced were personally designed by Nick, and he had become a close friend of Declan’s. But Joe conveniently ignored that fact, and it did not affect his interactions with Micah; Micah was not one to tell tales either, so Nick was unaware his nephew willingly let homophobia run rampant in his football team.
    Despite Joe’s reticence to carry a banner declaring “I love my gay uncle! And I guess my gay teammate is okay too!” Micah knew Joe wouldn’t harass him in cyberspace. That would be going a step too far. Cyberbullying was a coward’s game, because it was done in anonymity and the bully never had to take responsibility for what he did, or face any possible consequences.
    So it was someone who was more low-key in their hatred of him, or at least thought they were.
    Completing his final lap, Micah turned to watch the rest of the team come in. He stretched his right leg behind him, holding it up to his back as he noted their reactions as they passed by. Most ignored him, some looked with neutral expressions, but Will Deanes was furious. He also quickly dropped his gaze with the sure look of a guilty Facebook abuser.
    And Micah knew he had his man.
     
     
    THE FACT the culprit was probably Will Deanes was a bit of a surprise, though. Will had actually never said a word to him, unlike some of the others. But maybe that was it—Will let all his venom flow on the computer screen instead. Now that Micah had narrowed his list of suspects to one, he found himself observing Will more and more throughout practice.