‘Ew, you’re all sweaty,’ Ahmed says, but he accepts the kiss anyway.
Curtis looks at me. ‘Didn’t I hear you telling Jack you’d be at footy training today?’
My shoulders hunch, expecting mockery. My family would openly laugh at the idea of Little Zeke playing sports. Sabrina too.
I swallow some icing. ‘I missed it. Too hungover. He texted saying I could join on Tuesday. If I want.’
Curtis looks at me seriously. He hasn’t known me long, but he’s got this papa bear vibe. ‘Something holding you back?’
‘I think Jack got the impression I’m good at footy, and I’m not,’ I admit. ‘Charlie can vouch for that. I’m really bad at sports.’
Charlie turns to me, tattooed fingers drumming on the side of the couch. ‘I actually can’t, dude,’ he says. ‘I never saw you being shit at sports. I saw you run the other way, like you were too scared to try.’
Huh. He’s not wrong.
‘So you don’t think it’s ridiculous? For me to play footy?’
Charlie shrugs, licking a crumb of cake off his plate. ‘Dude, it’s your life,’ he says. ‘Do shit outside your comfort zone if you want. What doyouwant?’
The billion-dollar question I’ve been asking myself. I know I don’t want to live with Sabrina anymore. I know I don’t want to live with my parents. But I’m not so good at sussing what Idowant. And when it comes to footy, I’m not just unsure but terrified.
‘If I could come in as a rookie, and everyone knew I was shit, and I could learn and not be made fun of or called a poofter … yes, I’d like it,’ I say.
‘That’s literally what Jack and Brick set the Perth Centurions up for,’ Curtis says. ‘It’s no pressure, just social, gay men welcome.’
‘Do you think I should do it, Curtis?’ I ask.
Curtis smiles. ‘Son, you always look to the biggest adult in the room for approval, did you notice?’ My cheeks scorch hot enough to burn the pussy cake. ‘You don’t need my approval to join a football team.’
I know it’s tough love but it’s embarrassing to be gently kicked up the arse in front of everyone. Curtis has seen right through me in a matter of days.
‘I still feel like a kid who’s gonna get in trouble if I make the wrong choice,’ I admit.
‘You’re not a kid anymore, son: you’re a grown-ass man,’ Curtis goes on, not unkindly. ‘You gottaactlike a man, now. When I left New Orleans and moved to SF, I wanted a fresh start, a place where I could be myself. I don’t think you’ve ever had that. Live the lifeyouwant. Otherwise, why did you even bother leaving your hometown?’
Unlike my parents or Sabrina, Curtis’ tough love isn’t thinly disguised mockery; it’s meant to spur me on, like when you dig your heels into the flank of a horse.
‘Okay,’ I say, putting my cake down. ‘I’m gonna do it.’
I glance at Curtis automatically, and he’s already staring right back, dead in the eye.
‘What are you looking at me for, Zeke?’ he asks.
‘Oh, God,’ I say. ‘I was looking at you to get your approval. Again!’
I can’t stop. I am an approval addict.
‘Listen,’ Curtis says. ‘I’m gonna give you nothin’. No approval either way. Do what you want.’
Charlie, Ahmed and Rex watch with vague interest. I’m getting live therapy with a studio audience.
I try not to think about them, or Sabrina giggling at my footy game on TV, or Dad and Robbie mocking me not knowing what a fifty-metre penalty was. I focus, instead, on Curtis’ words.Live the life you want. Otherwise, whydidI even bother leaving Geraldton?
I tap out a reply to Jack and send it before I can change my mind.
‘Fuck,’ I say out loud.
‘Now, that’s growth,’ Curtis says. ‘You made a decision for yourself and stood on your own two feet. Football doesn’t make you a man. That does.’
