The Ongoing Reformation of Micah Johnson Read Online Free PDF

There were times when he caught Will looking at him, and when Will saw he had been sprung, he looked away immediately. Will Deanes was never going to have a career as a spy for the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation.
    But then, neither was Micah, most likely. Because he was being watched all the time as well, by the rest of the team. They always seemed to like to know where he was, just in case he was going to sneak up on one of them and—Micah actually didn’t know what went on the mind of paranoid straight boys—accidentally finger them or something? Which was strange, seeing the only guy who had ever been accused of fingering other players on the field was straight and claimed he was doing it to discomfort the opposition. And he was a rugby player, anyway.
    The one thing his team did do, however, was let him play football; as he could be relied upon to always play it well. But there still wasn’t any camaraderie between him and his teammates. Whereas they slapped each other’s backs—or arses, a nice nod to homoeroticism that amused Micah greatly—or hugged, or yelled congratulatory ripostes, whenever Micah did something deserving of the same there was silence, or a request to play on mumbled at the coach.
    After one spectacular side goal that really shouldn’t have been possible from the angle he was punting from, Micah gave himself a high-five slap and yelled, “Good going, Johnson!”
    The rest of the team stared blankly at him.
    Micah wondered what would happen if he started strutting like Beyoncé in a victorious lap around the goals. Sometimes he thought it would be worth whatever came afterwards just to see their faces as he shattered, but also gave a nod to, every stereotype of gay people that ever crossed their tiny little minds.
    Fuck it.
    “Now put your hands up!” he heard himself yell. “Oh oh oh!”
    He would have given anything for any other reaction than the usual carefully constructed blank faces. Giving up, Micah punted the ball towards Jaxon Simms and jogged off to the sidelines to grab a drink.
    Howard joined him, looking unhappy. “I thought we had our little talk about the chip on your shoulder, Johnson?”
    “I remember some things about it, I guess.”
    “Don’t be a smartarse. What was that little performance out there?”
    “Choreography by Beyoncé, vocal stylings by me based on the lyrics of Beyoncé.”
    Fuming, Howard shook his head. “I’m beginning to think you like trying to make things harder for yourself.”
    Was this guy serious? “You mean it could be harder ? In case you haven’t noticed, they are treating me like I’m nothing out there!”
    “If they were treating you like nothing, you would never get the ball.”
    He was either stupid or just pretending that he was. “No, they’re smart enough to let me play the ball because they know I’ll get the job done better than they will. They still want to win, at least. Even if that means kicking the ball my way.”
    “I also remember telling you to keep your ego in check, too. You’re part of a team, Johnson.”
    “So you keep saying. Doesn’t feel like it.”
    He knew it was a mistake. AFL recruiters were already starting to hit the schools and scope out the local coaches for intel on potential players. Micah knew that Howard, although fair enough to tell them Micah had professional skills as a player, would probably also tell them that Micah was full of attitude and most likely to cause trouble for any club that tried to take him on.
    But although Howard glared at him, he turned to yell at the team. “That’s enough for today! Hit the showers!”
    They did as they were told, although they were obviously interested in the coach and Micah having a heated discussion as well. Micah stood still, not knowing what to do. All he knew was that he was not going to join the others in the change room while they were in various states of nakedness and most prone to seeing him as a threat.
    When they were