It’s Saturday afternoon and we’re all loaded into Gordon’s mother’s car – me, Tegan and Zoey, with Gordon driving. It was a forty-minute drive to Hubson’s Point up the coast, where we are playing today in the footy finals.
‘I can’t believe I’m actually going to watch a game of rugby willingly,’ Tegan says.
‘Aww, thanks for your support,’ I say.
Gordon drives us into the grounds and parks on a small hill where others have parked. I can see Jack and Harley and a few of my other teammates gathered across the field near the long building with the canteen and toilets and sheds. Beyond the building and across the highway behind it, I can see the ocean in all its blue, endless beauty.
It’s a sunny day, but when I open the door, it’s freezing outside. There’s a howling wind that feels like knives against my face.
‘I’ve gotta head over,’ I say to everyone else. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘Good luck, Jonah,’ they all say. As I walk around the outside of the field, I spot Dad’s Holden Astra arriving with Zeke and Luke in the back. He drives slowly, finds a park behind the goalposts, between two SUVs. I wave to him, Zeke and Luke. Zeke reaches his hand outside the window and waves back.
I arrive at the canteen where everyone’s gathered. Harley shares a glance with me as I go to shake Doug’s hand. It’s freezing out and my legs are so exposed in my short footy shorts that I can’t feel my testicles anymore.
As we walk to our shed, our opponents are entering the other one. They look big and strong, like adults. Some of them even have beards. We played them last month and they beat us 34 to 12. A nervous wave is washing over me as I watch them. There is a poison in my stomach telling me I’m going to either shit myself or throw up.
Walking into the shed is like walking into a cold concrete box. The walls are bare and solid, and benches are bolted to them all the way round. There are two massage tables, three toilet cubicles and two showers.
I sit on a bench beside Rodney. He’s got his noise-cancelling headphones on, bopping his head as he pulls on his footy socks. Doug hands out our jerseys. I’m wearing number 16 today. I’m shivering as Harley and Jack line up by the massage table. Jack gets his wrists strapped and Harley gets his right elbow strapped, as well as his ankle.
We dawdle out of the sheds for our warm-up. We stick down one end of the field, while the Hubson’s Point team are at the other end.
‘Don’t look at them,’ Doug says to us. ‘Focus on us. Worry about them when the siren goes off.’
We do ten-metre sprints first and then move into lunges and stretches. I spot Dad at the bonnet of his car with his arms folded. He’s watching me play for the first time since I was twelve, and I feel a little nervous about it. I remember when I told him I wanted to register to play, and the first thing that came to his mind was that I’m gay. I want to show him a gay guy can play footy and be just as good as the straight guys.
I’m all warmed up by the time we arrive back in the sheds. One of the boys is trying to psych himself up, jogging on the spot and smacking himself in the face.
Doug begins his pre-game rev-up. He marches around the change rooms with a raised voice.
‘I’ve done my part. It’s up to you fellas now … Dig deep, play for each other … you’re all brothers, work for the man next to you … show them we want this more than they do … fucking smash ’em out there …’
The urge to throw up is stronger. I really feel sick. I haven’t been this nervous before. I can feel it stirring in the centre of my stomach. The acidic bile is getting ready to climb to my throat.
We form our pre-game huddle. Doug stands in the middle and yells instructions at the top of his lungs. He sprays me with spit when he points his mouth in my direction. He looks like a bulldog cornered by strangers, barking and growling to scare them away.
‘Fucking do this, Dolphins! Fuck them up! They ain’t got shit on us! Trust in our plays and our structure, and play the game we want to play! If we’re on the back foot, kick early and bring yourselves back with your defence. Hands in!’
We all reach our hands to the centre of the huddle as Doug moves out and joins us.
‘Dolphins!’ we shout collectively. As we run out of the sheds, players shout final words of encouragement.
‘Let’s fucking go!’
‘No mercy!’
‘We got this!’
Jack slaps me on the back. ‘Talk today, Jojo!’
There is a small crowd cheering us from the grandstand. The team runs onto the field and me and four other guys sit on the bench along the sideline. I’m now ninety per cent sure I’m going to throw up.
The Hubson’s Point team jog out of their sheds and take the field.
The siren sounds and the ball is kicked off to begin the game. Doug is on his feet near us at the bench. Our prop takes the first hit up and gets smashed into the ground. I can hear the smacking of bodies.
Dad is still at the car. Zeke and Luke, both wearing hoodies, have joined him at the bonnet now.
Harley runs the ball forward and drags some of the Hubson’s Point players with him, pumping his legs. They get him on the ground and one of the players drops their shoulder into him. I swear my heart stops beating because I don’t want Harley to get hurt.
I spot Gordon’s car up the hill. I see his and Zoey’s faces close to the windscreen, and Tegan sitting in the middle back seat. The cold has returned to my arms and legs.
It’s ten minutes before half-time when Doug sends me onto the field. It’s like a war zone when I join the scrum. Our halfback feeds the ball through our legs and then it’s passed along our back line. They spread the ball to one of our outside backs. Our winger sprints up the field and dives over the try line.
We each congratulate him with pats and hugs as the ref blows his whistle to award the try. I’m puffed already and I haven’t even done anything yet. I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that we’ve scored the first points of the game.
At halftime, we’re leading six to nil. Doug is ecstatic in the shed, pacing around and clapping his hands.
‘We’ve got them right where we want them, boys,’ he says. ‘They’re trying to muscle youse. They’re trying to spook ya. You just gotta stand up to ’em like youse’ve been doin’.’
I’m feeling bruised and exhausted already. I’ve only played ten minutes but it feels like I’ve played thirty.
Most of the boys are antsy, on their feet, pacing. Doug speaks to Jack quietly, then he speaks to another boy. I’m sitting, sipping from a water bottle when Doug comes to me.
‘Jonah, I’m gonna start you in the second half. I just want fifteen solid minutes from you. Your only job is to bash their line as hard as you can when you get the ball and put your body in front of them when you’re tackling. Use your shoulders. All your strength is in your shoulders.’
I nod to Doug and he moves on to the next boy, and I’m stuck on the fact that my only job is in fact two jobs.
We take the field for the second half and within the first ten minutes, Hubson’s Point has scored two tries to lead ten to six. We get the ball from a knock-on in the centre of the field.
After the scrum, Harley takes a run and crashes into the defensive line. Jack takes the next run, and he nearly breaks through, dragging defenders ten metres before they get him to ground.
‘It’s yours, Jonah,’ our dummy-half says. It’s the third tackle and we’re twenty metres out from the try line.
As soon as Jack plays the ball, I start sprinting. The ball hits my chest. I run at full speed into the rushing Hubson’s Point defence. A bang on my thigh feels like an explosion on my bone. I yelp and the ball flies from my hand and into the hands of a Hubson’s Point player, while another tackler shoulders me to the ground.
‘Hold the ball, faggot,’ I hear. It’s our halfback, Rodney. He’s actually just dropped the F-bomb. No one’s ever called me that before. Faggot. And the game continues like nothing happened.
I feel like a baby lamb taking his first steps as I struggle to my feet. My right leg is pulsing with pain and my thigh is beginning to numb. The game continues down the field and I’m alone.
I examine my leg. It looks normal for now. I try to take a step, but the pain stops me.
Our trainer rushes across the field to me and hands me a water bottle. I squirt some in my mouth, wincing with pain as I try to take another step.
‘You right, Jonah?’ he asks.
‘My leg is dead.’
‘Have a rest. See if you can walk it off.’
It feels like there’s a rock growing in my thigh. The rock is getting harder as I limp for the bench, and I swear I can feel its edges scraping into my quadricep muscle. As I take my seat, our back line spreads the ball to our winger and he dives in the corner for a try. The small crowd on the grandstand erupts into cheers behind my back.
We’ve levelled the score. It’s ten all.
‘Looks like a cork to me,’ our trainer says, examining my leg. ‘Your game’s over.’
He gets a bag of ice, places it on my thigh, then wraps it with cling wrap. The ice is freezing but I’m still hot from the pain. Doug barks instructions to the team as they walk back to our side of the field. Our kicker misses his shot and the scores stay level.
All I can think about is that I’ve just been called a faggot for the first time and it feels worse than I thought it would. It feels like a knife in my gut, like someone has spat right in my face and it’s in my eyes and up my nose. I wish my leg wasn’t fucked, so I could get the hell out of here right now. I take a breath and decide to let it go. No one else cares, so why should I?
The game rolls on and with ten minutes to go, Jack crashes through defenders, lands over the try line and scores for us. Our kicker converts and we’re up sixteen to ten.
On the digital scoreboard at the far end of the field, time ticks down. Eight minutes. Five minutes. Three minutes.
Hubson’s Point receive a penalty on halfway and kick the ball downfield. They spend the last three minutes bashing our defensive line, throwing their bodies at us, spreading the ball wide, and being awarded penalty after penalty for offside players.
As the siren sounds, and the final tackle is made, I know we’ve won. Somehow, we beat them. Doug leaps in the air, fist pounding the sky.
I don’t care. I just want to leave. I want to get away from the boy who called me a faggot and all my teammates who seemingly didn’t hear a thing. They don’t want me here, anyway. I didn’t do anything to impact the outcome of this game. They don’t need me. I’m just a faggot.
We head into the sheds and everyone’s exhausted and bruised, laughing, congratulating each other.
‘How’s your leg, Jojo?’ Jack asks, sitting next to me on the bench.
‘Sore.’
Jack undresses beside me and gets into the shower. His pale back is covered in muscles and redness.
Harley glances at me as he turns for the shower beside Jack’s. He stops at the entry to the shower as our halfback Rodney passes by, fully dressed with his sports bag over his shoulder. Harley steps in front of him. Rodney says something to Harley.
‘Don’t call Jonah a faggot ever again,’ Harley says. It’s loud in here and voices echo on the walls, so no one else hears, but I do. Rodney smiles and widens his eyes. I can’t make out the next thing Harley says, but Rodney walks out of the sheds and Harley steps into the shower. Maybe I’m imagining it, or maybe Harley just defended me.
Oh no. I’m starting to smile.
The reserve graders come into the sheds and it’s time to leave. I hand my jersey back to Doug and follow the rest of our team filtering out of the change rooms.
Outside, I remove the ice from my leg and dump it on the grass by a drain. I walk sorely around the field, still hearing Harley’s voice, muffled as it was, telling Rodney not to call me a faggot again.
The damned smile comes back again. I probably look crazy to someone who’s seeing me watching my feet, smiling to myself, as I limp around the outside of the field towards the hill.
‘Jonah,’ I hear. I turn to see Harley jogging up to me, thongs flapping on his feet. His hair is wet and he’s alone, changed into new clothes with his sports bag hanging over his shoulder. He still has the strapping on his elbow and ankle from the game. ‘You good?’
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Yeah. I heard what you said to Rodney. Thanks.’
‘I meant your leg.’ Harley laughs. ‘Can you walk okay?’
‘Yeah, I can walk.’
Harley clears his throat, takes his eyes back to the field. ‘I mean, that was a shit thing to say, what Rodney said.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you cop that a lot?’ he asks.
‘What?’
‘Like … homophobia?’
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘Not to my face, anyway.’
Harley’s quiet for a moment. The empty space between us is filled with the next teams running onto the field and the crowd cheering. Dad is waiting for me on the hill, and my friends are waiting too.
‘You didn’t have to say anything,’ I say. ‘I mean … I know your mum told you to look out for me, but you really don’t have to stick up for me.’
‘I wasn’t doing it for my mum,’ Harley says. He glances to me again, with a smile on his face. I feel like the words are at the tip of his tongue – something he wants to say but can’t yet.
The ref blows his whistle to start the game on the field and we watch the first tackles.
‘Did you call back the theatre people about the audition?’ I ask.
‘Nah, not yet.’
‘Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? They might say no. That’s it.’
Harley smiles. ‘Would you come with me?’
‘To the audition?’
‘You said you’d come last time.’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t ask me to come last time.’
‘Well, yeah, true, but I’m asking you now.’ Harley chuckles. ‘Jonah King, will you be my moral support at the audition?’
My face is warm and I can feel the blush rushing to my cheeks. ‘Yes.’
A fight nearly breaks out in the game on the field, and the ref’s whistle is blowing. People from the crowd are yelling and Harley takes a step closer to me. I can smell the soap on his skin.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Harley asks.
‘Yeah?’
‘Is it hard … being gay?’
‘Hard?’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Like, is it tough?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m just me.’
‘Yeah. You’re right. Sorry. Silly question.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason.’
I can’t jump to conclusions. Even though I’ve already kind of done it, I told myself I’d never fall for a straight guy again.
Jack approaches from behind, munching away at a sausage roll. ‘Let’s go, Harls,’ he says.
‘I’ll see ya,’ Harley says to me.
‘See ya.’
I climb the hill to the parked cars. Zeke and Luke are smiling, hands in pockets, next to Dad at his car.
‘Good game, son,’ Dad says, shaking my hand. He squeezes me tight and smiles. He’s proud of me. ‘So what happens now?’
‘We play next week and if we win, we play the grand final the week after.’
‘Your leg’s a bit of a worry. You might have to sit out the next game.’
‘I don’t know. I’ll see how it feels.’
‘We might stick around for the next two games,’ Dad says. ‘You coming home with us, or your mates?’
‘I’ll go with them,’ I say.
Zeke and Luke give me fist bumps and then I limp to Gordon’s car and slide onto the back seat beside Tegan. Gordon says he’s going to go to the toilet before we make the drive back. He heads around the ground towards the canteen area.
‘Your leg okay, Jonah?’ Tegan asks. It’s just me, Tegan and Zoey in the car.
‘Yeah, just a cork.’
I send a text to Harley as I see him arrive at his car with Jack along the row.
Me: Thanks again for sticking up for me.
‘Guys, I need to tell you something,’ Zoey says. ‘Something I wasn’t meant to tell you because we didn’t want to hurt your feelings.’
‘You have piqued my interest,’ Tegan says. I think I know what Zoey is about to say next.
‘Well,’ Zoey begins, ‘Gordon asked me to go out for dessert with him tonight. I wanted to invite you two but he said he wanted it to just be us.’
‘Go on,’ Tegan says.
‘I think he’s going to tell me he likes me,’ Zoey says.
I don’t know if I should tell her Gordon told me about this, and that he does like her.
‘Interesting,’ Tegan says. ‘To be honest, I assumed you guys were, like, already secretly dating.’
‘What do you mean?’ Zoey asks.
‘Do you like him?’ I ask.
‘I … I think so,’ Zoey says.
‘Well, good then,’ I say, smiling.
‘Mmm,’ Tegan mumbles, sitting forward. ‘You guys are such great friends. Maybe you both like each other, but what if it doesn’t work out? Your friendship would be pretty much fucked.’
‘But maybe it’ll work out,’ I add. ‘You guys … you both … you know … you fit together. It makes sense.’
‘Really?’ Zoey asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘So what will you say if he asks you to be his girlfriend?’ Tegan asks.
‘Umm,’ Zoey says, looking out the windscreen to Gordon leaving the bathrooms across the field. ‘I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know.’
Gordon returns to complete silence in the car. Me and Tegan sit quietly in the back, waiting for one of them to speak. My phone vibrates in my pocket and everyone hears it. It’s a text from Harley.
Harley: Of course. Anytime.
As we drive out of the grounds and turn onto the highway, a fluttering warmth grows in my stomach. My leg doesn’t hurt so much anymore.