New Brother

Chapter 16

I woke up the next morning with a buzz of anticipation.

Mum would be taking Randy and me into town so Randy could get his hair dyed black. He’d made some dumb comment about keeping it pink, but I couldn’t believe he’d do it. He’s too sensible for that.

While I was in town I would duck into the florist and order some flowers to be delivered to Liz. The night before, I’d agonised about what to put on the card, but I’d eventually decided a simple, “I’m sorry, David” would do. After all, my main purpose was to open up some communications, so we could talk about our problems and, hopefully, resolve them. Adam had convinced me that it was all just a big misunderstanding and that Liz would be happy to have me back. I wanted her so much I’d have done almost anything to end our separation.

That afternoon we would have our last basketball game before the start of the finals. It should be an easy win, but we were down to only six players, with Randy injured and Aiden off the team. We’d all be tired by the end of the match, but I had no doubts we would beat them without any real trouble.

I was nervous about the barbeque to follow at the twins’ place. They had said that their dad is a bit rabid on the subject of homosexuals. Did he know about Adam? If he did, then there might be some fireworks that night. At least, Adam could walk back to our place if he had to leave suddenly, though I think Dad would take us all home if it came down to that.

Scott and Chris would be at the barbeque as well, but it would be too obvious for them to come over to our house afterwards. I decided I would have a word with Adam and Randy to see if we could come up with a legitimate-sounding reason for them to come back to our place. That way, Scott and Adam could have some time together. They certainly wouldn’t be able to do that with Mr. Ricardo, the twins’ dad, hovering around. I couldn’t even imagine how frustrating that would be for those two guys — each knowing that his boyfriend was just there, within reach, but not being able to show any sign of affection.

On second thoughts, I did know how that felt. I’d gone through something similar with Liz earlier in the week, when the two of us were forced to sit together in that Media Studies class. It was absolute agony.

As I rolled out of bed, I was determined to not let myself go through that again. I glanced at the clock and saw it was still early. I grabbed some clothes and headed for the shower.

As I let the warm water soak through me, I had an inspiration for my dad’s birthday present. Mum’s reaction the night before, when I’d given her a hug and said that I loved her, showed me that I hadn’t been telling my parents how much I appreciate them. I’d need to get Randy and Adam to put in as well, but I thought it would be a good idea to shout them a dinner in town — just the two of them. We’d pay for it ahead of time, and all they would have to do would be to show up and enjoy themselves. Feeling pleased with myself, I turned off the water. The only thing I had to do then was to sell the idea to the other two potential contributors. It wouldn’t work unless we all put in.

I was very cheerful as I walked into the kitchen. It felt like one of those days when everything was going to work out. I wasn’t overly surprised to see my dad already in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand, staring out the window.

I silently made my own cup and joined him. There was a light drizzle of rain outside, and as a consequence, everything looked dull.

We stood there quietly, absorbing the scene while sipping our coffees. Without looking at me, my dad reached out a hand and placed it on my shoulder. I turned my head but he didn’t say anything — he just squeezed gently. I took that as an indication of thanks, or maybe affection. Sometimes Dad doesn’t say what he feels, but instead tries to communicate non-verbally.

Eventually, his cup was empty, though mine was still half full. With a sigh he turned away and started making himself some toast for breakfast. Instead of looking at the scenery outside, I watched my dad.

There was a slowness about his movements that was out of place. Something was dragging him down and, unless it was work-related, it had to be the situation with Randy and Adam. I was worried, but I didn’t know what to do or what to say.

As he finished buttering his toast, he looked over to me and caught my eye for the first time that morning. His face was haggard, as if he’d had little or no sleep.

“David, your mum and I are worried about both Randy’s and Adam’s safety. Yesterday’s attack could just be the start of things more vicious. Do you have any ideas on what we should do?”

Dad had asked my advice in the past, but never in such a desperate tone. Usually it was just to field some extra options to consider. This time it looked like he and Mum didn’t have any ideas of their own, at least not any that they were happy with. That didn’t make me feel particularly good, as I didn’t have many ideas, either.

“Apart from making sure they’re not left alone in public, I don’t know,” I admitted.

Dad sighed and bowed his head.

“That’s all we could come up with, too. Hopefully, the police will be able to charge the ones who attacked Randy. We’re going to inform the school first thing Monday morning. We just have to get through the weekend, first.”

He looked up, showing no enthusiasm.

“Your grounding is terminated. We’re going to need you to help out,” he added quietly.

The news that I was no longer restricted to the house would normally have had me smiling broadly. The reason for the lifting of the ban stopped that dead in its tracks.

A silence settled between us as we became lost in our own thoughts. While I desperately wanted to go order those flowers for Liz, I was having doubts on whether I should leave Randy alone at the hairdresser’s. Dad had scared me. Was Randy really in that much danger? And maybe even Adam, too?

While Dad was having his breakfast — a single slice of toast and another cup of coffee — I started to get something for myself. I didn’t feel like cooking anything, so I ended up with a bowl of cereal and a banana.

Mum came inside shortly afterwards. As is typical, she’d been out looking after the horses. Dad quickly poured her a coffee while she put away her wet jacket. The two of them had a whispered conversation that I made no attempt to overhear. I thought I knew what it was about, and I didn’t want to hear anything that might disturb me even more. The buzz of excitement that I’d woken up with had long since disappeared.

I’d finished my cereal and was pouring myself some more coffee when Adam entered the room, followed by Randy. Adam seemed tense and gave a couple of nervous glances over his shoulder at the younger boy behind him, but Randy looked defiant. He strode in as if he wanted everyone to notice him and his pink hair, and was daring us to make a comment.

When no one said anything about his hair, Randy seemed to deflate slightly. He still had an aggressive air, but he settled down and made his breakfast without a fuss.

Once the two were finishing their food, Mum was the one to light Randy’s fuse.

“Randy, dear, I got you a 9:30 appointment to get your hair colour changed. I suggest black, but if you want to go for a deep red or brown, that will be fine, too. You might even go for streaks or tips, if you like,” she finished with a soft smile.

“I like my hair the way it is!” my brother replied angrily, rising to his feet

“Your hair is currently pink,” Dad pointed out gently, “not one of the normal teen colour schemes.”

“I’m not getting my hair dyed!” Randy stated loudly and firmly. Standing with crossed arms, he glared defiantly around the room.

To my surprise, Dad slowly nodded his head.

“Okay, as long as you’re prepared to live with the consequences of that decision,” he replied.

Randy’s head jerked up and down. He was tense, and he didn’t seem sure that he’d made the right decision, but he wasn’t backing down.

“Good. The first thing is that either David or Adam, or both, will be with you all weekend,” Dad said.

“Why?” Randy exclaimed, looking angry.

“Because there are idiots out there who will take offense, and I want someone with you at all times,” Dad answered, leaning forward to make sure he had Randy’s full attention. “If you’re going to go around with pink hair, you are not going by yourself.”

Randy scowled and looked away before reluctantly nodding his head. Without turning back he headed down the hallway to his room. I admired the way Dad had manoeuvred Randy into accepting an escort for the weekend without revealing his real concerns. On impulse, I decided to follow my brother. He seemed almost in a semi-reasonable mood, and he might be ready to give me some answers.

Randy looked up at me as I approached his room. After an indifferent shrug in my direction, he started going through his CD collection. I stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Why are you insisting on keeping the pink hair, Giant?” I asked, trying to just sound curious, instead of accusing.

“I have a few reasons. None are good enough by themselves, but when I add them up, I think it’s a good idea,” he answered without turning to face me.

“Like what?”

He twisted his head and stared at me, looking like he was in deep thought. With a sigh, he straightened up, moved over to his bed, and sat down. Staring into space, he hesitantly started to answer.

“Probably the main one is that it feels like if I get my hair dyed, Luke wins. By leaving it pink, I’m telling him that I don’t care, and that what he did was a waste of time.”

He looked up at me and seemed a little distant, as if he was thinking of something else.

“I was reading one of Dad’s books a few weeks ago, and there was a character in it who was the target of a nasty joke, but instead of hiding away, she was brave enough to stand her ground, and that started to change people’s attitudes. The joke backfired. I don’t know if that will happen here, but I’m willing to give it a go. If people can see the level of abuse that Luke and his type dish out, they might stand up and help stop it.”

I shook my head. “That’s fiction, Randy. Real life doesn’t work that way.”

“Why not?” he asked indignantly. “At least it’s worth a try.”

Before I could respond, he continued, “It’s just a colour, anyway. If it was green, blue, purple or gold, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Pink’s a girl’s colour, though,” I pointed out. “That, and a colour associated with gays.”

“Do you know why that is? Kev explained it to me yesterday,” Randy said quietly.

“No,” I answered, intrigued by the sudden change of topic. At least Randy was talking, and not bottling things up. I decided to try to have a word with some of his friends. They seemed to be taking a strong interest in what was going on. “How does he know?”

“He’s a history buff. It seems it dates back to World War II. Jews weren’t the only ones in the concentration camps. Homosexuals were there, too. The Jews had to wear the Star of David to show what they were. Gays had to wear a pink triangle. That’s where it came from — a symbol the Nazi’s used to oppress homosexuals,” Randy explained. “The gay movement has picked up on that, and now it’s a symbol of pride for them.”

He stared directly into my eyes. There was a depth to his feelings, and it had seemed to flow through his words.

“I’m not going to let the Luke Williamses of the world take away my pride. He thinks this is shameful,” he said resolutely, indicating his hair. “I’m going to show him otherwise.”

In spite of my serious doubts, I couldn’t help but feel proud of my brother. Rather than just taking the abuse, he was planning on standing up to the bullies, and in a way that my parents would heartily approve. I knew I couldn’t do anything but support him.

I smiled as I said, “Okay, Randy. Let me know if you want me to do anything to help.”

He gave me a twisted smile.

“How about getting your hair dyed pink?”

I rocked back at that one. I wasn’t sure I could do it, but if I was really pushed I’d probably go through with it, for my brother’s sake.

Some of my shock must have been evident, as Randy gave a wide grin.

“Only kidding, Stick,” he said cheerfully. “Now, how about getting out of my room? I want to get changed, and I don’t need you perving on me while I’m doing that.”

I grinned and left quickly, closing the door behind me. That had been classic Randy at the end. Even if he still had lapses into anger and aggression, my brother was still in there.

I rejoined the others and found Mum and Dad asking Adam pretty much the same question Dad had asked me earlier. Adam didn’t have any better suggestions than me. He did make the additional comment that if they could convince everyone that Randy isn’t gay, it should stop him getting any more serious abuse. Mum started to ask how they could do that, but her voice faded and she just stared at Dad with a strange expression. Dad just shook his head and said they’d have to think about it.

I could understand that. As far as I could work out, the only way to prove he’s not gay would be for him to have sex with a girl. At fourteen, that was not something my parents could easily accept. I didn’t bother them with a summary of the conversation I’d had with Randy the day before. He hadn’t approved of the idea either, so the whole thing was not likely to happen.

I kept quiet on my other concern, too. Since Randy wasn’t getting his hair dyed, I wouldn’t be going into town. That meant no trip to the florist to order flowers for Liz. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t escape feeling that it would come over as being selfish. I would just have to come up with another plan.

With that out of the way, Mum started to get ready to do the grocery shopping for the week. When Randy emerged soon afterwards, she asked the three of us if we wanted to go into town. Adam and I turned as one to see what Randy wanted to do. He straightened up, as if he was preparing himself to face the hordes, but then dropped his shoulders. In a quiet voice he said he thought he’d stay at home until it was time for the match.

Adam quickly said he’d stay, too, as he wanted to get a little more study done.

I was about to say I’d stay, when Mum offered to take me to the florist if I would help her with the shopping. I grinned widely as I accepted. I had resigned myself to not organising flowers for Liz, but Mum hadn’t forgotten.

The shopping took the rest of the morning. Mum gave me some time off to organise the flowers, but she vetoed my suggestion of taking them in person. I still had to arrange for them to be delivered. She didn’t explain why, but just told me to trust her. I was at the shop for a long time as I tried to work out what to get Liz; there were just too many choices. Uncertain I was making the right choice, I eventually settled on a mixed arrangement that included some Australian native plants. It just seemed more natural and more “me” than the other selections.

With that out of the way, we headed back home for lunch. After quickly unpacking the car and putting everything away, I made myself a cheese and vegemite sandwich and a cup of tea. Not the biggest of lunches, but my stomach had started going queasy after I’d paid for the flowers. I was so nervous about whether it would work, and I was trying to sort out what the next step should be.

I was doing odd jobs around the house that afternoon when the phone rang. Mum picked it up and then yelled out for me.

“David! Phone!”

I headed into the kitchen where Mum was standing with the handset. Without a word, she gave it to me.

“David here,” I said.

“Listen, you bastard,” Trevor snarled, “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, but I’m not going to let you break my sister’s heart a second time. You stay away from her, you hear?”

With that he hung up.

I just stood there, speechless. The flowers had been delivered, but that wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. Did Liz see them, or did Trevor get rid of them first?

“What did he say, honey?” Mum asked.

“He told me to keep away from Liz,” I replied numbly.

“Did she see the flowers?”

“He didn’t say,” I answered, before throwing the phone onto the bench and racing off to my room. I wanted to get there before the tears started.

My hopes had been raised so high, first by Adam, and then by my mum’s help. Trevor had smashed those dreams with a handful of words.

As I lay face down on my bed, trying to smother my sobs with my pillow, I felt someone sit on the bed beside me.

“Don’t give up,” Mum said softly. “You’re hurting, but hope isn’t lost. The only one who can turn you down for good is Liz, not Trevor. We’ll wait until Monday and see if Liz says anything. Until then, hold on, honey. Don’t let go of your dreams.”

I nodded my head. I wasn’t prepared to give up, but I didn’t like the pain I was having to go through while I was hoping.

“Should I call her?” I asked, my voice still partially muffled by the pillow.

There was a pause before I heard her answer.

“I don’t think so, honey. Give her some time to think about it, first. You don’t want to aggravate Trevor any more, besides.”

When I didn’t say anything more, she put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently before standing up and leaving me to my misery.

I worked at taking Mum’s advice on board. While Trevor may have hated me, he wasn’t the one I was aiming for. If Liz would take me back, he’d come around; I was sure of it. He loves his sister, and he was just trying to protect her.

By the time Dad came in to tell me to start getting ready for the basketball game, I’d calmed down. Mum was right — I just had to be patient and see whether Liz had got the flowers.

I was slightly better than a robot as I got changed into my basketball gear, but I was still very wooden. Luckily it was only going to be Dad, Adam and Randy in the car with me. The twins were going with their dad. I slowly brought myself back under control and started to focus on the game that was coming up. By the time we arrived at the stadium, I was almost back to my normal self.

When we entered the basketball stadium, I quickly took stock of the game before ours. There was still about five minutes to go, but the Steels Creek team was leading by more than twenty points. It looked like it was going to be an easy finish to the main season for them.

As we walked along the end of the court, Leo was on a fast break, steaming down towards us. It was a regulation lay up, but he stuffed it up as his head snapped around at the sight of Randy. He quickly recovered, retrieved the ball, and shot a goal, but then couldn’t help staring for a second or two. With a shake of his head, he headed back to the other end of the court where the rest of his team was waiting. He glanced back over his shoulder a couple of times on the way, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Leo wasn’t the only one affected. B1, B2 and their dad were all staring, their dad scowling. Gary had left Mary behind and was already on his way to intercept us. Scott and Chris were whispering to each other — they knew about the hair, but clearly had been expecting it to have been fixed before we arrived.

“Bloody hell, Giant. What happened?” Gary asked as he came up to us.

“Luke Williams ambushed me on the way home from school, yesterday,” Randy stated with a touch of anger. Indicating his hair, he added, “This is the sort of thing the arsehole thinks is funny.”

“Why didn’t you just get it coloured?”

Randy scowled, but with a hint of a twisted smile. “I’m not going to let him win. I want everyone to know what he did to someone four years younger than him.”

Gary slowly shook his head. As he did, a slow grin crossed his face.

“Count on me, Giant. He deserves everything that’s coming to him,” he eventually remarked.

At that moment, I saw Michael O’Conner getting up from the Steels Creek bench and starting to make his way over to us.

We were all moving to the seats where everyone else was waiting when Michael reached us. He held out his hand to Randy.

“Sorry to hear about the attack, Giant. Dad told me all about it,” he said sympathetically.

Randy took his hand and gave a small smile as they shook. Every extra bit of support seemed to boost my brother’s confidence and self-esteem.

“Thanks, Michael,” he said. Looking past him, he added, “I should apologise to your dad for my behaviour yesterday. I wasn’t being very helpful.”

Michael shook his head while smiling.

“He understands. He told me that he thought you were still in shock when he spoke to you.”

Before Randy could say anything more, Michael wiped the grin from his face and leant forward.

“I need to tell you that I saw Nick Tremen talking privately with Luke Williams on Wednesday and again yesterday. I don’t know if it means anything, but I thought you should know,” he stated, lowering his voice.

“Who’s Nick Tremen?” Randy asked, scowling.

I realised I hadn’t passed along that information. Michael had told us on Wednesday, but with the events of that afternoon it had slipped my mind.

“He’s the guy I suspect of putting the paint in your bag,” I quickly interjected, before turning back to Michael.

“Thanks again, Michael. Can you give me your phone number before you leave?” I asked. “I think we need to keep in touch, if you don’t mind,” I finished lamely, realising I was assuming that he wanted to get more deeply involved.

“Sure, Stick. I’ll do that now,” he said, glancing back at the play on the court. “I don’t think I’ll be back in the game. We seem to be doing pretty well,” he finished, with a dry understatement.

With the wave of a hand, he trotted back to where his dad was sitting and had a quick word. Mr. O’Conner immediately started ferreting around inside the bag next to him and pulled out a pen and something to write on.

Turning my attention back to my teammates, I found Randy sitting next to Mary, filling her in on what had been happening. For the first time in a few days, he actually looked relaxed. Somehow, the way she was listening and paying attention to him was getting him past the anger and frustration. I decided to leave him in her capable hands, and moved down to where Adam was just sitting down between Chris and B1.

“Brett,” the twins’ dad said sternly as he rose to his feet. “Swap seats with me.”

B1 cringed, but did what he was told, throwing Adam an apologetic glance before he moved. It couldn’t be more obvious that Mr. Ricardo had heard the stories about Adam.

Rather than have Adam sitting next to Mr. Ricardo, I quickly jumped into the vacant space between Adam and Brian. The twins’ dad stared at me for a second. I returned his stare as innocently as I could, and he nodded and resumed his seat. He made enough room so that Brett could sit on the other side of Brian.

“Sorry, Stick,” Brian whispered to me out of the corner of his mouth. “He found out last night.”

“Will there be problems at the barbeque?” I whispered back.

Brian twisted and looked at his brother. I saw Brett grimace a couple of times and then shrug. Brian then turned back to me.

“We don’t think so, but we’re not sure. Just don’t let our dad get Ads or Giant alone,” he responded quietly.

That was not a promising start.

Turning to Adam, I whispered, “Did you get any of that?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “There was too much noise. What did they say?”

I quickly relayed the conversation. Adam shrugged and said, “We’ll wait until then. Your parents are going to be there, so I don’t think things will get out of control. Let’s get this game out of the way, first.”

He then turned to pass on the information to Chris and Scott. As he did, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“What happened to Giant?” Brian asked me, in a slightly louder voice than before.

I scowled as I stared blankly across the court.

“He was ambushed by some homophobic arseholes,” I declared bitterly. “They’re years older than him, but that didn’t mean anything to them. Even though he’s not gay, they think he is, and in their minds that makes him a legitimate target.”

“Do you know who it was?” Mr. Ricardo asked, concerned and apparently non-judgemental.

“Yes. It was someone from school. The police have been informed, and it’s in their hands,” I answered, turning to face him. I was surprised at his reaction. After the way he clearly didn’t want his sons to sit next to Adam, he showed nothing like that about Randy. Maybe the twins had convinced him that my brother is not gay.

“Good,” he replied, nodding his head sternly. “Even if he is a homosexual, he doesn’t deserve that.”

That was interesting. I had been assuming that if he was as rabid on the subject of homosexuals as the twins had warned us, then that was only one step removed from attacking them, like Aiden’s dad had. But Mr. Ricardo didn’t seem to be like that.

There was no time to ask him any questions, as the game before ours finished just then, and it wasn’t the right place for that sort of discussion, anyway.

I was pleased when some of the Steels Creek team came over to speak to Randy. While I was too far away to hear what they said, the body language, hand shaking, and especially Randy’s smiles, indicated that they were offering their support for my brother. I also noticed Michael speaking to a number of players and parents.

We warmed up for a few minutes before one of the refs called for the game to start. I noted that we had Neil and Lawrence as the two refs for the game. Both eighteen-year-olds were notoriously lazy, so the game could end up as rough one, but physically we were more than capable of handling the other team.

Our spectators were just Chris, Mr. Ricardo, Gary’s mum and Mary. The other team had a few parents, and that was all. It was going to be a quiet game, at least as far as crowd noise was going to be concerned. I felt relieved at that. I knew it was irrational, but I felt the less people around while Randy had pink hair, the better.

Dad quickly called out the starting five, or more accurately, who would be sitting on the bench. Randy was sitting out, as expected, and Gary was the other one. We all knew that Randy would be taking the court only if we really needed him. Otherwise, he was just there to cheer the rest of us on.

Before the ball was even tossed up by Neil, there was a bit of pushing and shoving around the centre circle. I could see it was going to be a rough game. With Randy out, I took the centre jump. I was very surprised when Lawrence blew his whistle as soon as the ball was tossed.

“Foul on number eight,” he announced loudly. “Keep your hands to yourself, next time.”

Adam just looked at him in amazement. “But I didn’t do anything,” he protested.

Lawrence blew his whistle again. “Technical foul, number eight.”

Dad jumped up, outraged. “What was that for?” he demanded.

“Disputing the ref’s decision,” Lawrence replied smugly, before heading down the court to administer the free throws.

We all just looked at each other. Everyone knew that the ref was cheating, but we didn’t know what to do about it.

“Adam, just stay out of it as much as you can,” Gary suggested, not very confidently.

“Four and one,” I quickly decided. “Adam, you stay up in offense.”

Everyone agreed, and we raced down to get into position for the free throws. Adam wasn’t going to play defense for the game. If he did, he’d be off the court in a matter of minutes, as Lawrence had made it clear than any contact between Adam and another player would be called a foul. Instead, four of us would play defense, and Adam would stay up the court, waiting for us to throw him the ball.

Against a better side, this wouldn’t have worked, but the team we were playing was second bottom on the ladder. Four of us were able to hold them out, barely. Lawrence was still clearly biased against us, but Neil made a special effort to try to be as fair as possible. The extra goals that the other team managed to get because of our decreased defense were balanced by the quick responses we got by throwing long passes down the court to Adam. Lawrence wasn’t blatant enough to make any more flagrant miscalls. As long as Adam was careful, he was okay. After a three-second call when he’d barely been in the key for a second or so, Adam took to shooting from just outside.

At halftime, we were eight points up. Normally, I would have expected that lead to be closer to twenty, but under the circumstances, eight wasn’t too bad. The worrying thing was that everyone had two or three fouls against them, except for Adam, who was sitting on four fouls. Even my dad had received a technical foul as the coach, for complaining about an obvious wrong call.

The other thing that was irritating everyone was that two of the dads of the opposing team were yelling out homophobic abuse. Their sons on the court were echoing them, without a whimper of complaint from Lawrence. Neil warned them both repeatedly, but he didn’t take it any further. If we opened our mouth to say almost anything, Lawrence was quick with a technical foul. Gary had only two fouls against him, but both were technicals for complaining to the ref. He had shown incredible restraint by keeping his mouth shut for the rest of the half — something he’d previously never managed to do.

Lawrence was only one ref, but he was making a huge difference. Instead of being an easy game, it was turning out to be one of the toughest we’d ever played.

“Okay, boys,” Dad said, as we all sat on the bench wondering what to do. “We don’t have to win this game. No matter what, our position on the ladder is secure. I’m prepared to pull the game, if you want. We walk out and don’t look back.” His disgust at the refereeing was crystal clear. Usually, Dad doesn’t make any comments about the refs apart from advising us on how to play to the game that’s being umpired. This was a rare exception.

We all exchanged glances. I was very tempted. Basketball is supposed to be enjoyable. Lawrence had sapped all the fun out of it, and was close to making me hate the game.

“You do that, and the bastard wins,” Randy said firmly. “We have to show we’re not intimidated. We quit now, and they’ll say we’re all a bunch of girls.”

“If I pull the team out in protest it’ll be my decision, not yours,” Dad replied. “I’m even happy for you to all yell abuse at me for doing so, as we walk out.”

“No, Giant’s right,” Gary said, nodding his head towards my brother. “We play this one out. If we lose, so what? As you said, it doesn’t matter. If we end up getting fouled out, we’ll still show that we aren’t quitters.”

Everyone quickly agreed. We’d play the game out, regardless of what they threw at us.

The second half started similar to the first. We were slowly pulling further in front, but everyone was in foul trouble. To be fair, Neil was trying to be as harsh on the other team as Lawrence was on us, but we had fewer players than they did.

With about five minutes to go in the match, we started to relax. The game was almost over, and it looked like we’d win. We were seventeen points up and we had the ball. At Dad’s suggestion earlier in the half, we’d taken to slowing the game right down. If we didn’t get a fast break, we’d take as long as we could before trying for a goal. The other team was getting frustrated at the tactics, but there wasn’t a lot they could do about it. Our competition uses a thirty-second shot clock only during the finals, so we took advantage of that and really stretched things out. The score wasn’t going to be as high as we would have expected, but we’d win.

Adam had the ball and was dribbling carefully across the top of the key when one of the opposition players raced out of their zone defense and slammed into him, knocking him to the floor.

Lawrence, who was only a few feet from the incident, blew his whistle.

“Charging foul, number eight. Keep your elbows down in future.”

It was the most blatantly biased call he’d made all match. Most of the rest could be argued, if you were extremely generous, but there was no way that Adam was at fault.

Randy jumped off the bench and charged onto the court.

“You bloody excuse for a ref! How could you call that a charging foul!” Randy yelled, as he raced towards where Adam was slowly picking himself up. Randy was furious, and wasn’t trying to hide it.

Lawrence backed quickly away, looking terrified.

“Well, what do you poofs expect, anyway? If you can’t take it, go back to the girls’ comp!” one of the other team yelled out.

Randy was ready to explode. He took one step towards the guy, but Gary, Brett, Brian and I grabbed him. I saw Scott standing at the side of the court, ready to charge on if we needed any help, but Dad was holding him back.

“Don’t get yourself into trouble!” I pleaded with my brother, trying to calm him down. “Don’t let him get to you.”

Slowly, we pushed Randy back to the bench. He resisted for the first few steps, but then allowed himself to be steered away.

“Randy,” Dad said, “if you can’t control yourself, go wait by the car. We can’t afford for you to get reported.”

Randy scowled for a second before he grabbed his bag and started to head off. In the meantime, the refs had informed Adam he had just been fouled out of the game.

“Adam, don’t leave the court!” Dad said quickly.

“He’s been fouled out, coach,” Neil said, trying to be reasonable.

“I’m allowed a full minute to make the substitution,” Dad replied testily. “He’s got until then to leave.”

Neil nodded his head in agreement and stepped away.

“Okay. I just want to run the clock down,” Dad explained to the rest of us who were hovering around. “I’m hoping that with both Randy and Adam off, things might calm down. But take care, all of you. If at all possible, keep the ball near Neil. If they try the same thing again, he’s more likely to make the correct call.”

“What about Randy?” I asked, worried that my brother was outside by himself.

“Adam, as soon as you step off the court, grab your things and follow Randy. Try to keep him out of trouble until I can join you,” Dad instructed. “I’m not going to wait for the end of the game. I just want to make sure things are okay here before I come out.”

With a quick look up at the clock, he nodded his head. “Okay, guys, we only have a few more minutes to go. Just play it safe. I don’t want any of you hurt. Get going.”

True to his word, Dad was out the door less than a minute later. We managed to get through the rest of the match without any real drama. There was a bit of verbal abuse, but even Gary let that go.

We were really relieved when we heard the siren sound for the end of the game.

We congregated in a corner of the stadium, as far from the other team and the refs as we could get. No one had suggested it, but it was an unspoken agreement that it was better to avoid any further contact.

As we stripped off our uniforms and put on our tracksuits, I saw Mr. Ricardo yelling at another adult, down the other end of the stadium. It was one of the parents who’d been yelling abuse during the match. Gesturing wildly, Mr. Ricardo seemed very agitated. I thought they were going to start throwing punches at each other, but then the twins’ dad turned and stormed away.

I also noticed Chris standing near the score bench while the refs signed off on the results. Suddenly, Chris looked around wildly and then ran out of the stadium.

“What was that about?” Scott wondered aloud, staring after his disappearing brother.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s good news,” I answered. “Why don’t you wait here while I go check it out?”

“We’re coming, too,” the twins chorused. The others quickly insisted on not being left behind.

So, as a group, we headed to where the refs were standing. Lawrence took one look at us and headed off in the direction of the toilets. He didn’t seem to want to take any chance on talking to us.

“Hi, Neil,” I said. “Can we look at the scoresheet?”

“Sure, Stick,” he said, seeming to be nervous about something. “I suggest you start by checking the back,” he added tentatively.

I looked at him in surprise. I picked up the sheet and turned it over. With the others crowding around, we read what Lawrence had written there.

Randy had been reported for threatening a referee.

“You’ve got to be joking!” I said to Neil.

“Sorry, but the report’s been made,” he said apologetically. “I suggest you organise some witnesses as to what happened. I guess I’ll be seeing you on Tuesday night.”

“That’s a complete load of shit!” Gary exclaimed, beginning to lose control of his temper.

“I can’t do anything about it,” Neil apologised again. “Sorry.”

A player from the other team approached at that point and asked to see the sheet. I handed it over without a word as I turned to look at my teammates. I just didn’t know what to say.

The others were still muttering angrily when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and saw that the player who’d taken the sheet was standing there with a piece of paper.

“Here’s my phone number. My dad and I will be witnesses for your brother, if you want. Just give us a call.”

I took the paper and looked at it in surprise. I saw the name Brendan Stanlen written there.

“Thanks, Brendan,” I responded with genuine relief. “That should make a good impression on the tribunal!”

He gave me a shy smile. “My dad and I think it was totally unfair what happened. I’m also thinking of quitting the team, after what the other guys said. None of you deserved that.”

I quickly scrambled for a pen and paper of my own, talking as I searched.

“We’re down a player. Give my dad a call and maybe you can switch over to our team for next season.”

“I’ll think about it, but I think you guys are too good for me. Anyway, good luck for Tuesday night, and good luck for the finals.”

I gave him our phone number, and with that he jogged off.

Dad arrived on Brendan’s heels.

“What’s this about a report?” he asked breathlessly.

“Randy’s been reported for threatening the ref,” I answered, looking around for Neil. The referee, after catching my eye, brought over the scoresheet.

“Here, coach,” he said in a resigned manner. “I’m guessing this is what you’re looking for.”

Dad took the scoresheet and read what was written on the back. He went white. After handing the sheet back to Neil, Dad glanced over our assembled team.

“Come on, everyone. It’s time to go to the Ricardos’ place for dinner,” he said, showing a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

We all trudged out of the stadium. Behind us, I heard Neil starting the next game. I didn’t think Lawrence had left the toilets.

Gary, Mary and Gary’s mum headed off to their car, and the twins followed their dad. Scott went over with us to where Chris was waiting with Randy.

“What’s this about being reported?” Randy asked angrily.

“Get in the car, everyone,” Dad said, ignoring the question. “Thanks, Chris. We’ll see you shortly.”

“Can I ride with you guys?” Scott asked quickly, before Chris had moved.

Dad and Chris exchanged looks.

“Okay,” Dad said with a sigh. “We can tell anyone who asks that you wanted to talk to Randy.”

We all clambered in — Randy in the front and the rest of us in the middle seats. Scott sat between Adam and me.

“What’s this about a report?” Randy asked again as soon as we were all settled.

“Lawrence reported you for threatening him,” I answered when Dad didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t do anything!” he snarled back. “That guy is full of shit!”

“This is serious, Randy,” Dad said, as he pulled out of the car park and onto the main road. “It can mean big trouble if they find you guilty.”

Randy shrugged. “So I miss out on the finals. Big deal. We’ll just try again next season. How many weeks would I get, anyway?”

Dad was silent for a few seconds.

“For this charge, they don’t measure the penalty in weeks,” Dad said quietly. We all strained to hear what he added next. “They usually measure it in years.”

“Years?” Randy repeated faintly.

“Years,” Dad affirmed.

“When I was a referee, I was only ever involved in one case like this. There were two charges. One was threatening a ref. The second was assaulting a ref after the match. All the guy did to get the second one was to poke the referee. He got two years for the first charge and five for the second. I doubt they’ve changed things much since then,” Dad said in a flat tone. “This is serious, Randy.”

We were all silent after that. No one knew what to say.

“I’ve got the phone number of a member of the other team, Dad,” I eventually said. “He offered to be a witness for Randy. He and his dad were not impressed by what happened.”

“That’s really good, David,” he said with some enthusiasm. “The tribunal is more likely to take notice of that than anyone from our team. Who is it?”

“Brendan someone,” I replied, digging into the bag at my feet for the piece of paper. “Brendan Stanlen,” I added, once I’d found the details.

“He said he’s thinking of quitting his team because of the abuse they gave out. I’ve suggested he join our team,” I added.

“Thanks, David. If he wants to play with us, I think that’ll be great.”

After that, the conversation died. Scott and Adam started up a quiet chat, but I didn’t mind being excluded. I had enough on my mind as it was. Dad had really scared me with his talk of Randy being suspended for years.

All too soon, we arrived at the twins’ house. Chris pulled up alongside us, and we all got out at the same time. Scott got out on the side between the two cars, so unless someone saw him exit, they’d probably assume he got out of Chris’ car. Even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t be that unusual for him to have gotten a lift with us.

I was a little nervous, worrying about what sort of reception we’d all be getting, but Mrs. Ricardo quickly put us ease. With a flair that only Italian mothers seem to manage, she had food and drinks in our hands before we realised. She repeated, for the umpteenth time, her criticism that I was too thin, and that I should come over for dinner more often. I stood there grinning, like I always do when she fusses over me. I gave my traditional sigh of relief when she moved on to Randy, telling him that he had to eat more if he was to keep growing. She didn’t seem to think he was tall enough…

I spotted my mum chatting with Gary’s mum. It looked like the two of them were talking about something serious, so I started wandering around the yard. The night chill hadn’t come yet, but it wasn’t far off. The rain from earlier in the day had ended and the sky stayed clear. From past experience, I expected the temperature to drop quickly with the sun, causing everyone to move inside.

Mr. Ricardo had already fired up the barbeque and was taking charge. He and his wife were exchanging an almost constant stream of Italian, accompanied by expansive gestures from both. It sounded like they were arguing, but their body language showed that it was just some of ritual between them.

We teens were alternating between feeling angry and feeling almost helpless. After someone told Maria, the twins’ younger sister, about the earlier events, the incidents of the basketball game were recapped endlessly, and everyone agreed that Lawrence was an arsehole. We just hoped he wouldn’t be refereeing during the finals.

Before long, dinner was called. As usual, the Ricardos had put on a brilliant spread of food. I wouldn’t want to judge on who over-caters more, mum or Mrs. Ricardo, but if I had to I’d say Mrs. Ricardo. Everyone grabbed a plate, piled it high with food, and started eating. Conversations kept going in fits and starts, but the main noise was just that of people enjoying their food. Maria took around a basket of homemade bread rolls for everyone, and the twins, each carrying a bottle of wine, wandered around to all the adults. Chris declined the wine, saying he had to drive, but all the rest had a glass.

After the outside temperature started to drop, and people had consumed all they wanted, everyone slowly migrated inside.

I kept an eye on Mr. Ricardo after we had moved to more constrained spaces. Apart from a slight frown whenever he looked at Adam, he neither did nor said anything untoward. Someone must have spoken to him; he wasn’t treating Randy like that. By the time people were starting to leave, I was feeling sure that everything was going to be okay.

Eventually, only our two families were left. I expected Mum and Dad to leave when Scott and Chris did, but to my surprise they headed back inside.

“Come on, boys,” my dad said as he and Mum moved away. “There is something we need to talk about.”

Randy, Adam, Brett, Brian and I followed them in. The twins exchanged puzzled glances, which they then shared with the rest of us. With a few shrugs, we all entered the house and went into the lounge room. There was only one likely topic that I could think of.

As we went in, Mum and Dad were sitting on a couch, Mrs. Ricardo had taken a chair in the corner, and Mr. Ricardo was standing in front of the unlit fireplace.

“Thanks for coming in, boys. Find a seat where you can,” Mr. Ricardo said as soon as we arrived. He looked nervous, but resolute.

“Maria,” he said sternly, “this does not concern you. Please go to your room.”

Maria pouted, but left the room as ordered. If I was right about what would be discussed, Mr. Ricardo clearly thought that, at twelve, Maria was too young to be involved. I thought he was wrong, as she’d contributed to our conversations outside, but none of the adults had heard those comments.

“Firstly, thank you, Kevin and Yvonne, for giving me this chance to say a few things,” he started, nodding his head towards my parents. “We need to clear the air, but we couldn’t do it with the others around.”

Mum and Dad stayed mute but gave him a non-committal nod in return.

Mr. Ricardo looked first at his wife and then at his two boys, before bringing his attention around to Adam.

“Adam, I have been informed that you have called yourself a homosexual,” he said cautiously. “Do you want to confirm or deny it?”

“I’m gay,” Adam said with a quiet dignity.

The twins’ father grimaced slightly and looked away for a moment. Taking a very visible deep breath, he turned his attention back to Adam.

“In that case, I have a number of things to say.

“I have been taught to believe that homosexuality is a sin. Despite recent attempts from various sources,” he said, glancing quickly at the other members of his family, “I have not changed my mind on that matter. However, I have been convinced that as long as you are not breaking the law, your sins, whatever they may be, are between you and God.”

He paused for a moment and leant forward slightly as he frowned at Adam.

“However, if I find out that you have done something inappropriate with either of my boys, I’ll make sure that you go to God as a soprano. Capisce?”

Adam shrank back slightly. Before he could respond, Brett spoke up.

“We’ve told you, Dad, Adam won’t do that!”

“I know, son, and I believe you. I’m just making sure that Adam doesn’t even think about changing his mind,” he said soothingly, as he looked over at his two sons.

Turning back to Adam, he frowned and repeated, “Capisce?”

“Capisce,” Adam conceded in a quiet voice.

“Good,” Mr Ricardo said, straightening up. “With that out of the way, you are welcome here at any time. You’ll have to excuse me if I occasionally preach at you,” he added with a small smile, “but you’re free to come and go as much as these two louts you’re living with.”

“Tony,” Mrs. Ricardo said hesitantly, “earlier today you were adamant that Adam wouldn’t be allowed to come here. What changed your mind?”

Mr. Ricardo sighed and looked away.

“The basketball game,” he said simply.

“What about the game?” Dad asked.

“It brought back some bad memories,” Mr. Ricardo said. Bringing his attention back to the other occupants of the room, he saw a total lack of comprehension on everyone’s faces.

“It goes back to when I was a young boy,” he started, but then he paused and looked over at his sons. “What does the word ‘Wog’ mean to you, Brett?”

“An Italian or Greek,” Brett responded slowly, like he was wondering if it was a trick question.

“Is that all?”

Brett just nodded his head, still confused. I looked over at Mum and Dad and saw them nodding with comprehension. They seemed to know what this was all about.

“When I was growing up it meant that, but it was also an insult. It was saying they were second-class people — almost less than human,” Mr. Ricardo explained patiently. “Attitudes were changing, and I only got the tail end as people slowly became more tolerant, but I know my dad and elder brother got it a lot.”

He turned back to Adam.

“It was like someone being called a poofter — not just because they are, but as a way of saying they are also scum, or lesser beings,” he continued. “That’s what struck me when I was watching your game and listening to what those parents and kids were calling you and the rest of the team. I remembered being called names as I grew up, names that cut into your very soul and make you wonder if that is what you really are. I had promised myself I’d never do the same to anyone else.”

Dropping his gaze to the floor, he added, “I almost forgot that promise.”

In the silence that followed, he looked up at Adam. His eyes were moist.

“Until I learn otherwise, you are the friend my boys have known for years. I hope you stay the same, and don’t change simply because your secret is out. On my side, I’m going to keep an eye on you, but I won’t interfere. You’ll get enough from others; I don’t need to add to it.”

He gave Adam a wry smile.

“And if I forget that, you have my permission to call me a ‘Wog’ to remind me.”

NEXT CHAPTER