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The only person in the house is Rex. Curtis and Charlie are working at the bar. Ahmed’s staying the night with Kayla and Tenille.

Rex and I sit on the white sofas watchingFriday Night Footy. He gets stoned and I get drunk.

‘What you doin’ tomorrow night?’ Rex asks. He holds up his phone: the black-and-yellow Grindr background is recognisable. ‘Wanna split a dude?’

‘Huh?’

‘You wanna split a dude?’ he repeats, burping. ‘I got some bottom coming round; he wants to be double-teamed. Real sub pig. You wanna spit-roast him with me?’

It’s so surreal the way he talks about splitting a bloke’s arse the way most guys discuss splitting a slab of beer.

‘Don’t think I’m free,’ I say. I am, but I’m not sure having a threeway with a housemate is a stellar idea – what if things get awkward?

‘Damn shame,’ Rex says. ‘This one really wants to be used.’

I scroll through my socials and see Sabrina has made a new post on Facebook. She’s shared Xander’s open letter about the Tool Shed, adding her own commentary:

About time someone took a stand against this bar. Congratulations @Xander.Sullivan. As an ally I believe LGBTQIA+ venues are important but there is no need for them to be vile and display pornography in public. Please sign & share! Support LGBTQIA+ venues that are safe and inclusive instead.

She’s signed off the post with a rainbow flag emoji.

My guts go ice cold. I feel like I might vomit. How could I say yes to moving back in with Sabrina when this is what she really thinks?

Allison – Shane’s new girlfriend – has left a comment on Sabrina’s post:Why are you such a prude, Sabrina?! You’re the most fake feminist I’ve ever met.

Allison’s comment has seven angry-face reacts from Sabrina, Victoria and their other friends, but three likes, and a heart react from Shane himself – who apparently hasn’t been blocked yet.

I desperately want to like Allison’s comment too.

But Ghost Zeke is in charge, so I don’t.

I pass out on the sofa, which is for the best. When I wake up on Saturday morning, I don’t have to deal with being in the same room as Charlie, who I assume is passed out in his bed.

Nor do I have to deal with Curtis or Rex or Ahmed. Everything feels so negative in this house right now. I think it’s time I did move out.

At least I still have footy. Footy’s the only thing left that makes me happy.

When I rock up to the oval, I walk to the Centurions’ usual circle. Rogan’s pumping footies up with Dom. Brick is looking at his phone. Fergus and Tommo are handballing a footy to each other. Jack’s nowhere to be seen.

I make eye contact with Mason, who’s pulling a stray thread off his guernsey and staring at the goals like he has no idea what to do with them. ‘Hey, Firetruck,’ I say gently. ‘You okay?’

Mason’s Adam’s apple bobs tellingly. ‘Not so great, mate,’ he admits. His eyes are pained. ‘Charlie’s not answering my texts.’

‘Wish I could help,’ I say. ‘We had a blue last night, too.’

‘Oh.’

‘Charlie gets like this sometimes,’ I say. ‘He pushes everyone away.’

‘I don’t get what I did wrong,’ Mason mumbles.

I don’t form a proper response, because on the sidelines of the oval, I see a slim, blonde-haired figure in a beige cardigan appear, carrying a folding chair and a takeaway cup of coffee, and I fly clean out of my body.

What the hell is Sabrina doing at footy training?

Sabrina snaps her folding chair into place a few metres from our circle. I overhear her have a short exchange with Brick, who looks mildly bemused at her presence, but adds, ‘Well, any mate of Zeke’s is welcome to support us at training, I guess!’

I try to catch Brick’s eye as I jog past him – I want to give him a sign I don’t want Sabrina here – but he’s distracted by Rogan asking him something.