The Ongoing Reformation of Micah Johnson by Sean Kennedy Page A

case of intersectionality.”
    “Well, aren’t you two getting chummy?”
    Both boys looked up to see Boyd hanging over their headrests. Micah wondered if this would make Jack’s resolve to be the most enlightened teenager in the camp falter, but he had a look of steel.
    “Kinda bum-chummy, in fact,” Boyd continued, as if they hadn’t already understood the inference.
    “That’s the best you can come up with?” Micah asked.
    Boyd ignored him. “What about it, Jack? Is it true what they say? ‘Baby, I chose this way’?”
    “You’re the one paraphrasing Lady Gaga,” Micah shot back. “Maybe we should check your pillow for bite marks.”
    “What the fuck did you say?” Boyd leaned in, pointing at him threateningly.
    “You heard me. And get your finger out of my face.”
    “You won’t be so brave once you get off the bus.”
    “I doubt you will be either. You look like the type who’s only brave when the numbers are on his side.”
    “The numbers are on my side, Nigel No Mates,” Boyd reminded him. He looked down at Jack. “Cat got your tongue, Bailey?”
    Jack seemed to wake up. “Nope.”
    “You not got anything to say?”
    “Nope.”
    Micah’s heart sank. Disappointed again. Fucking straight boys. Except good old loyal Carl.
    “Wait, actually, I do.” Jack casually flicked Boyd’s arm off his headrest. “This is a fuckwit-free zone.”
    Micah reined in the joyous laugh that wanted to break free and tell everyone on the bus that he wasn’t alone, he had an ally, and as long as he had one, it was a good start. But he kept on the detached mask, waiting to see Boyd’s reaction.
    It came quickly. Boyd was practically hanging over the seats, his feet kicking in the air as he lunged for Jack, but Micah found himself on his feet, ready to block whatever blow tried to land.
    But it never came, because Coach Marks appeared before them, rushing up from his seat farther along the front of the bus. Micah felt his presence rather than seeing him, and he could see Boyd backing down immediately.
    “Is there a problem here, boys?” Marks asked.
    “No,” all three said in unison.
    “That’s what I want to hear.”
    As he turned away, Boyd muttered, “There won’t be a problem once we reach camp. Later, fellas.”
    The threat hung in the air after him like a decaying fart.
    “Well,” Jack said, lost for words. And possibly amazed at himself.
    “I thought we had come to fight club there for a minute,” Micah said, his voice steadier than he felt. “Turns out we’re at drama camp.”
    Jack’s genuine laugh at Micah’s rather piss-poor quip made him feel a hell of a lot better.
     
     
    IT TURNED out Boyd’s threats were as empty as Micah expected. There was simply no opportunity for a rumble to happen in the car park of the campgrounds as long as there was a steady stream of activity happening around them. Coaches were sorting kids out into dorm rooms, some boys were fetching their bags, and Marks had a canny knack of hanging around Micah and Jack whenever Boyd strayed too close. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as Micah had originally suspected?
    Sleeping arrangements were called out, and Micah was relieved he was in the same dorm room as Jack—it meant he wouldn’t have to start all over again with a bunch of people who might not even speak to him. But with happiness comes sorrow—Boyd was also in their room.
    There was always a catch.
    They were given a half hour to get settled before lunch. Just before Micah followed the rest of his group, he saw a guy approach Coach Marks. He looked their age, but there was already something about him that showed he wasn’t one of the boys in the training camp. He didn’t seem to have the typical AFL build for starters—he had an athletic build, but it looked more like swimming, with broader shoulders and pumped arms. Micah knew he was staring, and he didn’t want to be caught doing it, so he quickly moved on.
    “I hope you’re not this slow on the