(no subject)
Lateness for...
And why-for-not? :) I'd signed up for a fourth contribution, late, unable to finish it (or START it, really). But, here I and it iz. Well... the START of it. It's turned into a monster, probably a quad-pieced one...
Title: Sweet Valley (Pt. 1)
Pairing/Characters: C/Z(?), OCs, Mr. and Mrs. Connor
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Author's Note: I'm basing a lot of this story on my OWN experiences, including the invites, camaraderie and lesson learned as a young middle-schooler. Trying to capture it best I can. :)
Synopsis: A late contribution to ASD's 'Summer of Us' Challenge, as promised. Prompt #19, "Fruitpicking"... The summer before senior year, Casey finds some worth in taking on a new, promising and enlightening journey into the real world.
June 2nd
Casey stared at the envelope in his hand, his breath held and lower lip suffering from his gnawing at it. He knew his early arrival in the school cafeteria two weeks before meant that he had a chance. He'd actually gotten there an hour before the doors opened, panicking instantly in finding other students waiting in a messy, nonuniform line. Even if there were only ten of them, it'd been enough to put a damper on Casey's hopes.
First come, first served, they'd say. That'd been the Golden Rule for Herrington High's job fair, held on the Saturday morning into afternoon. Teenagers who wanted more than a meager weekly allowance and were willing to work hard, menial labor would gather to fill out forms, make copies of birth certificates or licenses and hope they got a job. But it wasn't just wanting work-it was wanting the best chance and what kind of work was offered.
Casey's diminutive stature wasn't a huge asset to 'Goldman's', the local tobacco field in town, but they'd take anyone. That was Casey's last choice on the form, of course; the three other options, though still the tiresome, grueling work variety, were better. Mostly girls were hired for the Parks and Recreation department, however unfair and sexist it was on both sides of the coin-girls were meant to play with children, while boys couldn't care less. But that'd been Casey's top choice, as he went against the grain and rather enjoyed babysitting in his neighborhood. The idea of getting paid to play games, make crafts and have the occasional pizza party was bliss.
'Sweet Valley' was another popular choice, Casey's number two. Though the place was in Ravenna, a half an hour away, the farm gladly sent buses out to other towns to bring in hard-working kids. Slaving in a tobacco field made fruit-picking look like a corner-office job. Twine-snapping scarring on the fingers, getting covered in dusty-dirt from tromping through aisle upon aisle of large leaves and coming across disgusting, hand-sized tobacco worms versus picking strawberries, blueberries and blackberries? No contest, even if blackberry bushes had prickles. It was well-known that as long as you weren't scarfing down five pints a day, the Sweet family didn't mind their employees snagging a fruit for themselves from time-to-time. The fact that there was an ice cream and burger shop across the street and down a quarter-mile made it even more tempting.
The third was tricky. 'Ray's Farm' required a lot of muscle, patience and the ability to deal with animals. It was an old-fashioned place; instead of the more modern methods of milking-machines, they insisted on having hands on the udders instead of pumps. Then, of course, was the mucking out of stalls, being knee-deep in manure and smelling like livestock when you went back home. It was the fact that they had easier tasks, like tending to chickens and feeding pigs that made Casey check that off over the tobacco option.
So, here it was. The answer, sitting in his hot, little hand. Less than a week after school ended, Casey would be reporting to wherever he was told to go, slaving his summer away. Pleasing his parents' want to have their son acquire a work ethic and the independence of having his own money to mess around with how he wanted-half his check, anyway, the other half being shoved into his savings account-made Casey finally tear the envelope open, reach inside and unfold the papers he found.
He sighed out a heavy breath of relief, seeing the handwritten words 'Sweet Valley' written in the blank between photocopied text. He'd spend the next hour reading the three pages of forms, work descriptions and requirements included.
June 28th
It would have been nice, Casey having his license and a car to take the drive to Ravenna himself. He felt a little lame in having to walk the half a mile to the strip-mall on Main to take the bus, but in finding other older students from school-luckily the more pleasant or chill-pothead variety, not a bully in sight, the insecurity had waned.
A half an hour later, the loud engine of the bus, sounding tired and shaky, was maneuvering into the drive leading to the farm. Casey and the other kids... and a lot of them were 'kids', as they also dipped into the middle-school market, bumped and jostled them all around until the vehicle groaned to a slow, grinding stop. Casey scanned the sights of the farm's large, wide fields and dense rows of bushes. A nervous smile tickled his lips; the air that came through the half-opened window next to him was thick, fresh and fruity-fragrant; that alone gave some promise that the work would feel rewarding.
Moments after the engine was shut off, a very thin, tall man walked to the bus door. He looked like a cowboy with his wide-brimmed hat, beige button-down shirt and jeans. The giant buckle of his belt gleamed in the sunlight as he motioned to the driver, who waved.
“Hey, Bill. Got the Herrington kiddos for ya,” the driver said after opening the doors.
“Good. Everyone-come on out and gather 'round,” Bill said.
Casey stood up quick and waited for his turn to pass down the aisle. With his heavy backpack slung over his shoulder, he made his way down, stepped off the bus and moved aside to let the others join the group. Chattering filled the air until Bill tipped his hat and smiled wide.
“Good mornin', everyone. Welcome to Sweet Valley,” he said. Everyone gave muted replies; Bill motioned behind him to the house and its large porch area. “We're all going to the porch; that's where you'll sign in. Mr. and Mrs. Sweet have the list of your names, alphabetical order, and will check you off to make sure you get paid for your work. I hope you all remembered to bring the forms you got in the mail; if you don't have each and every piece you needed to bring, you will not be able to work today, and will have to wait until the end of everyone's shift to get back on the bus.”
Casey listened intently, nodding along. He'd checked, re-checked and re-re-checked that he had everything he'd needed the night before, then repeated the process before making the walk to the plaza. It wasn't long before Bill turned and waved at them all to follow him.
“This is gonna be kinda fun,” a young blonde walking close-by said to her friend, who giggled.
“Bill's kinda cute.”
“He'd old!”
“He only looks about thirty, shut up!”
Casey grinned his way over to the tables. After a small wait to let those ahead of him sign in and receive nametags (“I feel like a geek,” 'Marshall' said as he stuck the tag over his flannel shirt's pocket) Casey was met with a kind-looking, twenty-something girl, also wearing a nametag reading 'Laura Sweet' who was just as skinny as Bill. “Hi... Casey Connor?” Casey said.
She scanned the list then nodded. “Yup. I'm Laura, the daughter of the owners. Nice to meet you,” she said.
“Thanks, the same.”
“Can you give me all your paperwork for me to file?”
Casey brought his backpack to his front, opened it and brought out the pages. “I don't have a license; it's a copy of my SS-card and birth certificate.”
“That's fine, Casey.” Laura took the forms, gave them a quick once-over and nodded again. “You look good to go, hon. Go on and take a nametag and marker. It's just so we all learn each other's names.”
“That's cool,” Casey said, even if he agreed with Marshall-it WAS a little dorky, wandering around with a 'Hello! My name is...' on their shirts, but its function was needed. He moved aside, wrote his name down on the tag and stuck it onto himself. Bill stood nearby, directing them all to the field holding the tallest bushes. Casey trudged on down; in looking to the right, he spotted a separate lot on the other side of the house filled with cars. Other older teens were walking over, those lucky enough to be able to cart their butts here themselves. Casey sighed and went to look away, but he snapped his eyes back when he saw a very familiar vehicle pull into the spot closest to the lawn's edge.
“Now HE'S cute,” the blonde's friend muttered as none other than Zeke Tyler stepped out of the cherry-striped muscle car, shut its door and strolled down the thin aisle of slate leading to the porch.
~*~
It wasn't that Casey had ever been afraid of Zeke... well, maybe a little. He was a tough, tall and imposing young man, unapproachable, even deadly, if the rumors were true. Despite his loner-status, there were many of them, all involving devious, underhanded deeds and behaviors. Wild parties, a new girl in his bed every other day, drugs-whatever could get people buzzing, Zeke provided in an ambiguous, inadvertent way. He never confirmed or denied anything, choosing instead to stay quiet and let everything slip on by. It left him a mystery, one Casey would find himself pondering on out of nowhere.
Casey was both intrigued and wary. Add the fact that Zeke happened to be the brand of broody-beautiful Casey liked looking at, and all Casey ended up with was confusion. Yet no matter how Casey enjoyed the 'scenery' Zeke provided, he made no attempt to wander over and say, “Working here too, huh?” Casey's summers were spent recovering, physically, mentally and emotionally, the urge to go out and be social never hitting him. Any interaction Casey would have with a fellow student, jock-bully or not between June and late August felt like an intrusion. Invasion, even. Casey's best friend was his computer, finding social interaction and fun through game-rooms and forums.
This summer was different, of course. Though he had to deal with other people here on the farm, most of them seemed nice. He had come across Erik Pulley, Herrington High's star lacrosse player. Though their interaction of, “Hey, 'sup?” had been brief, Casey felt comfortable enough to be around him as he was a popular but pleasant person. Other than that, having a job in another town without scads of 'Herringtons' around helped.
His too-pale skin was already looking a shade darker, even with the SPF-40 he'd slathered over every inch of exposed skin. Being out in the sun for the last three and a half hours made him feel both sickly-sweaty and revived. He DID need more vitamin-D.
The job itself seemed perfect. Sunshine, activity and plucking ripe, juicy fruits ended up being more pleasant than he'd imagined. He was already quick and nimble, allowing pint after pint to be brought down to the tables for Bill and Phil-the 'Sweet Twins', identical in every way besides choice of clothing-to sort through.
“You're pretty quick, kiddo,” Bill had said upon Casey's third return, a half-dozen pints of blueberries loaded into his cardboard crate. It'd made Casey smile and feel useful, something he wasn't used to-both the grinning and work-trait. Altogether, it encouraged him to keep up the pace and fill the pints with both care and quickness.
He'd just gotten to half a tray's worth of pints when a bell rang. Everyone stopped to look up; Phil waved and called, “Break time, everyone!”
Casey gave his tray a look, sighing. If he had his way, he'd just keep right on plucking, but knew that breaks were required... especially for people in his age bracket. He brought the finished pints to Bill then went to where everyone had dumped their bags. Nametags had been placed on them as well to avoid any confusion. Casey found his generic, Wal-Mart bought black pack and went over to a shady spot under one of the large oaks that lined the yard.
His mother, proud and happy that her son had gotten his first job, had packed a hefty lunch for him. Though it gave him an uncomfortable 'Momma's Boy' status, it'd been appreciated. His regular school-day meals were usually basic and boring, but she'd made this summer-job lunch extra special. He smiled upon finding a thick ham and cheese sandwich complete with lettuce, tomato and mayo, a bag of grapes, pack of peanut-butter sandwich crackers and a large square from the pan of homemade walnut-brownies she'd made the night before. “I want you to have a really good dessert,” she'd said after setting them on the counter to cool. However stifling and overprotective as Casey's parents could be, he was well-loved. At the worst of times, one of them landing him in the hospital after a run-in with Gabe Santora, that love was the only thing that kept him sane.
Though water-bottles were encouraged by the Sweet family to prevent dehydration, a small mark of Casey's 'growing-up' was also in the large vinyl lunch bag. Perhaps it was silly to feel like a big kid in his mother filling a thermos with creamed-and-sugared iced coffee for him when nearly every student at school would stop by Dunkin' Donuts every morning for caffeine-fixes, but he did. The energy he still had left would go up a few notches with every gulp he took of the drink, kept cold with the ice-pack that had been crammed in with everything else. He'd expected to be jealous of the others who walked or drove off to get hot lunches and milkshakes at the little diner, but not today. Today, he had it better than everyone combined.
He was just finishing the sandwich and moving on to the crackers when he paused to stare at the nearby lot. His chest tightened as he watched Zeke walk to his car, where he sat himself down in the driver's seat, turned the engine on and lit a cigarette. A bag of chips was brought out from the passenger side and opened; not a sufficient lunch, but Zeke was known for his crappy eating habits. The radio was playing, though Casey couldn't hear the song; classic rock, most likely. The young man had a thing for the genre, going by the tunes he'd be blasting when tearing into the school's parking lot.
Casey didn't know if he'd been spotted by the older boy. If he had, Zeke hadn't given any indication, or care. Casey himself had been glad when he'd been put in the rows furthest away from him, but couldn't exactly pinpoint why.
~*~
June 23rd
“Sounds like you're ready for a raise,” Mr. Connor had joked the night before at dinner after Casey had gone over the details of his first workday. Mrs. Connor had agreed, because of course their son was the most valuable person on the planet. However bashful it'd made Casey, he'd been high and happy over earning the day's pay-hungry, too, proven through his slamming back his dinner of pork chops, peas, and scalloped potatoes, with ice cream for dessert. By the time nine o'clock had come around, he'd been MORE than ready for a good night's sleep.
His second day wasn't as exciting as his first, more routine and methodical. The farm rotated them all day-by-day, which meant that Casey was sent to pick strawberries instead of blueberries. That meant dirty knees, calves and feet, along with more sun exposure. Casey would be asking his mother to pick up a baseball cap for him on her next trip to the mall... or maybe a bandana. 'Yea...' Casey thought as he finished clearing one plant and moved to the next. For whatever reason, he'd feel cool in wearing a stupid bandana, both in sweat-relief and attitude.
“Hey Tom!”
Casey looked two rows over where a young man, nametag reading 'Ben the Brick' (he WAS the most muscled one here) was nodding to the boy next to Casey's row. “Hey, what?” Tom answered.
“The 'rents are taking off Friday 'til Wednesday. Picking berries saved me from another shitty family reunion-wanna help me stock the fridge?” Ben asked.
“Shit, yea. Hey! Payday!”
“Huh?”
“Our checks come in on Friday.”
Casey couldn't help a tiny smirk as Ben scoffed. “We get our first checks NEXT Friday, ya dumb-shit,” he replied.
“Shut up, I was dumb a second... how we gonna buy brews and bud then? I've got a tenner on me, and I gotta get smokes after work,” Tom said.
“Mom's leaving me money for food. Hah. Food.” Ben chortled and looked around. “Everyone here would pitch in, I'd bet.”
“Not the middle-school crowd, dude, I ain't havin' that.”
Finished with the plant he'd been working on, Casey shuffled to the next; this made him closer to Tom, who looked to him with raised eyebrows. “Hey-Ca... what's the nametag say?”
“Who, me?” Casey asked. At Tom's snort and nod, Casey said, “Uh, Casey. Why?”
“Brews and bud, you in?”
It was as if the young man was speaking Greek. A few moments passed before Casey realized he was being invited to a booze-fest. 'The fuck...' he thought. “I... what, for a party?”
“Hah, suddenly I'm having a party??” Ben said, incredulous.
“That's what you said, 'the 'rents are leaving'. That means 'party at my place',” Tom replied.
Ben laughed as he moved to his next patch of berries. “Well YEA, but what-are we gonna invite everybody from work?”
“Why not? If they toss a few bucks in the pot...” Tom made a series of thick chuckles. “Hah, pot.”
Casey looked between them, blinking wildly. “My um... the allowances from MY 'rents don't get me that far,” he said.
“Five bucks, we get beer, some weed and share. C'mooon,” Tom said with a drawl, smiling wide.
“I... hah, dunno,” Casey said, even though he wasn't the party-type. But the fact that he'd been offered to have some fun with 'the guys' in the most indiscriminate way made him feel downright joyous.
“You keep saying 'bud' and 'weed'... my hookup's in lock-up, dude,” Ben said.
“Gotta be someone who knows someone who knows someone...”
The temptation to say, 'Zeke, the tall guy working the blueberries, he could make that happen,' was enormous. Casey didn't dare, of course. Thinking of Zeke made him look over his shoulder to the blueberry-area. He couldn't see anyone except two middle-school boys in the closest row, however.
The boys continued discussing party-plans, this time without including Casey. Before anyone knew it, the lunch-bell rang, and everyone was standing and bounding off to enjoy their break. Casey had seen the lunch items his mother had gotten at the grocery store the night before; a roast beef and Swiss wrap was just what Casey needed.
And again, Casey spotted Zeke going to his car to relax with the AC and radio. It was a bag of cheese-curls for lunch this time.
~*~
Jun 24th
Casey was starting to feel it. Though pleased he'd be clocking-in for another addition to the paycheck, he couldn't get rid of the urge to yawn, over and over again. It made him stop at the Dunkin' Donuts at the other end of the plaza, where he'd grab a quick coffee. He'd have enough left for the diner; as much as he'd loved his mother's lunch-love, he'd given some serious sweet-talking the night before to see if she'd let him try one of the “Most awesome chili-cheese fucking dog!”s he'd heard Ben talking about when he and Tom had returned to resume the workday. When he'd told her the meal was only four dollars and it included a bag of chips and soda, that he'd pay her back with his next check, she laughed heartily, dug a ten dollar bill out of her purse and said, “You earned it, sweetie. Enjoy.”
Though Casey had more than enough time to get his drink then stroll to the pick-up spot, he was thankful to find only two people at the counter ordering. The workers here were known for their expedience; Casey had only been standing behind the burly, flannel-wearing construction worker for a handful of seconds before his turn came. “Good morning,” the clean-cut man, a manager by all appearances greeted him.
“Hey... can I get... um, I guess...” Casey scanned the menu quick. “A medium iced coffee, plenty of cream, sugar?”
“Sure. Do you want to add one of our new turbo-shots?”
Casey shot his eyes to the sign on the counter, which advertised the add-on of extra caffeine. He had to chuckle. “Hah, hells yea,” he said, making the man chuckle as well.
“You got it,” he said.
No one was waiting behind Casey, but he stepped aside anyway and turned to stare at the unoccupied dining area and doorway blankly. 'Caffeine...' Casey thought, tapping his knuckles on the edge of the metal counter to the beat of 'Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine's Conga playing on the radio. 'Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga, I know you can't control yourself any-' Casey sang along in his mind before stopping dead and freezing at the sight of who'd just made the bells on the door jingle. Apparently, someone else from Herrington needed a fix to pick berries. Zeke, sleepy-eyed and yawning, strolled over, smacked his lips and went to look at the menu, but paused when he saw Casey standing there.
“Hey,” he said, his voice thick.
“Hey,” Casey replied.
Another yawn stretched Zeke's features; he covered his mouth, gave his head a shake and let his hand fall, revealing a one-cornered smirk. “Wanna join me in a raging methamphetamine-snorting habit?”
Casey blinked. “Huh?”
“Coffee isn't gonna do it for me today, I'm 'fraid,” Zeke said. “You look pretty dead on your feet, too.”
They were talking. Discussing. Or Zeke was; Casey finally let a smile on his face and replied, “I don't drink the stuff all the time, so... tolerance's low.”
“I'm gonna ask if they have a fuckin' IV-hookup they can sell me, giving me a drip of the shit...”
“Here you go.”
Casey whipped around to see the man sliding his coffee over to him. “Oh... yea, thanks, have a good--”
“Hah, hold your horses, young man; you don't need a dine-and-dash on your record,” the man said, chuckling through the words as he went to the register. Casey felt his face go red-hot with embarrassment as he handed the ten over.
“Sorry. It's... too early,” he said.
“No problem, I hear ya.”
It felt like forever until Casey was given the leftover cash. Wanting to make a run for it, he grabbed the cup, shoved the money into his pocket and made a quick nod to Zeke. “See ya at work,” he said.
“Yea, see ya,” Zeke replied.
Casey gave him a half-assed smile, went to the exit and strode out with purpose. He passed the GTO, unable to keep himself from glancing at the interior. It was probably cool and comfortable, AC on, music playing...
“Casey!” the sudden shout came from behind. Casey halted and turned halfway; Zeke was standing there, one foot outside, the other in. “The door's open, get in.”
Confusion hit Casey like a sledgehammer. “Dunks?”
“Huh?” Zeke said, sounding just as baffled. He then jolted a little, as if surprised. “No, not the restaurant-the car.”
“Oh...” Casey's looking-stupid moments were piling-up a mile a minute, and it was only seven in the morning. He saw Zeke rolling his eyes, but it came with another smirk. As Zeke went back for his order, Casey stepped to the passenger side and opened the door in a slow, fluid motion.
The spicy, smoky scent hit him first. Casey breathed it in a moment, catching a few more smells-leather, light cologne-then swallowed and slid into the soft, smooth seat. 'I'm sitting... in Zeke Tyler's... car.' Even his thoughts halted with nervous excitement. He'd just shut himself in when Zeke emerged from the restaurant, nursing a gigantic cup of hot coffee. Casey almost jumped when he opened the driver's side door, the metal of it obviously heavy. The cars of the seventies weren't made of cheap plastic like today's models, of course. When Zeke got in then shut the door, Casey felt like the air was sucked out. Grunting, Zeke settled in, pushed the AC's lever to the max and turned the volume knob of the radio to let the music come clearer. 'Brown Eyed Girl' was mid-play; Casey smiled meekly. “Thanks... for the ride,” he said.
“Buses suck. Consider this my good deed of the year,” Zeke replied.
“I'll give you gas money as 'thanks',” Casey said. Zeke scoffed, shook his head then backed out of the spot.
“Your weight takes about three cents outta the tank. You're good.”
Had that been stupid-moment number three? Casey wasn't sure, so he let it go. He decided to simply enjoy the speed put behind Zeke's exiting the lot; it had to be real freedom, controlling this cock-rocket...
“Lookit 'em... poor dopes.”
Casey flicked his eyes to the left; there the bus-takers were, standing in front of the Kmart. “Aw,” Casey said, though he really wanted to say, “Hah, suckers!” After all, he was currently sitting in an air-conditioned, classic-rocked-out GTO with the coolest loner in school. Or, Zeke had been that coolest loner. “So... did you skip graduation?” he asked with a grin.
“Hmm?”
“I heard you hadn't shown up-for the whole ceremony deal.”
Zeke gave him a sidelong glance, cocked an eyebrow then replied, “'Wasn't my time.”
“Um... huh?” Casey muttered.
“Never showed up for the finals.”
“Wha... you didn't graduate?” Casey asked; he shouldn't have been shocked. Zeke's record was well-known, though how Casey hadn't caught wind of his staying-back was astounding. “Why? I mean... finals, that's it?”
“I took a 'mental health day', you could say.” Zeke begrudgingly stopped at the red light ahead; he took advantage of the small wait in lighting a cigarette. He continued with the first exhalation of smoke in his words, “I weighed it. I could show up and fail miserably, or sleep in. Seeing as I spent half the night arguing with my old man over the phone, hanging up on the asshole twice, I needed to spend the day staring at my bedroom ceiling while chainsmoking.”
“But... you're so fucking smart.”
A slow, molasses-like grin spread over Zeke's face. “Oh, really?”
“Yea. You'd-start of the year, we were in the advanced physics class. D-period,” Casey said. “You can't just pretend you're smart to get into that class. They won't let underclassmen in there, even if they're smart enough.”
“Eh... I thought I'd be able to handle it, but it went way over my head,” Zeke replied.
“Not enough to correct Mrs. Gagnon when she fucked up that equation for frictional force.”
Zeke's smile faded-only a little, but Casey saw suspicion growing in his eyes. “You're one for remembering details, ain't ya?” he said, voice slow and calculating.
“It was striking-cos' everyone thinks you're a dumbass. But you're not,” Casey said pointedly.
“Awesome. A cheerleader. Let's drop by Profitt's place to see if she'll lend you her pom-poms.”
“No, let's not. Summer vacation was invented to get away from her for a few months.”
Zeke's laughter bellowed, bouncing around the interior. “Oh, there's hope for you yet. All along I've been seeing this imaginary leash around your neck with her dragging you around school.” The words were distorted by his rampant, heavy chuckling. “Del's got a nice rack, hips like handles, but I couldn't deal with her batshit A-type personality. I like my dick just fine, it doesn't need a metaphorical castration.”
Mere months ago, Casey would've decked Zeke for talking about Delilah so nastily. All it'd taken for a switch in perspective was the argument that ended with her telling him that he could, in fact, do the photo spread Friday night because Casey was a “Socially-inept, pathetic loser” who spent Friday nights jacking-off to internet porn. The torch he'd carried for close to four years had been snuffed out in an instant, and the only reason he stayed on the newspaper's staff was Connie Banks' begging, telling him that the paper would be nothing without his valuable, 'geek-awesome' photography skills. Connie Banks-the girl teased mercilessly for her acne problem and inch-thick glasses had proven that Casey had wanted the wrong qualities in a person for far too long, and that he should stop telling himself that Johnny Depp wasn't the hottest shit around.
Right now, however, Johnny couldn't compare to the smoke-sucking, gone-giddy young man sitting inches away from him. Casey wasn't tired anymore, and he hadn't had one sip of his coffee yet. He decided to start drinking it before the ice melted. “Wonder what they'd say,” he muttered, still deep in thought.
“What who'd say 'bout what?”
“What they'd say if they saw me getting a ride from Zeke Tyler.”
Zeke pulled a face and made a one-shouldered shrug. “Probably that we're fucking.”
The mouthful of coffee Casey hadn't swallowed yet was almost sent spraying over the glove compartment and windshield. He somehow managed to keep his lips shut; he covered them with his hand a moment and did his best to force the liquid down into his gullet. His behavior didn't go unnoticed.
“Well, 'they' would, wouldn't 'they'?” Zeke asked in a rhetorical way. “Everyone thinks you're queer, and anything to bring my rep down.”
“YOUR r-rep?” Casey said in an awful-sounding croak. “Don't make me choke, again. No one talks shit about you, cos' you'd kick their asses and they know it.”
Another mysterious smirk. “How many brawls I been in, Casey?”
“You...” Casey started to say; he fought desperately to cite the many fights Zeke had been in, but realized...
“I take it back; your memory sucks,” Zeke said.
~*~
On this day, the morning didn't go by as fast. What Casey had assumed was almost-noon ended up being 10:30, the muscles of his arms felt sore and each shuffle to a new strawberry plant felt like he was trying to drag a boulder over with him. The sky above held gray clouds, blocking sunshine, yet it felt hotter with heavier humidity.
Still, he worked on without complaint... spoken, anyway. The memory of the morning's ride in kept his spirits up; though he'd parted ways with Zeke hours before and hadn't seen him since, the half-hour spent in the car had been enough. Casey wouldn't let another lunch spent alone go by, however. Zeke had made the initial move in acknowledging they worked together, and had saved Casey from the bus. At noon, Casey would head straight to the car and ask Zeke if he wanted something other than the radio and sodium-stuffed snacks.
The bell's ringing made him jolt. It should have went off hours ago going by Casey's warped sense of time, but again, no complaints. He stood, picked up the tray of three pints to bring over to the collection tables then forced his gait to look cool, calm and casual, even if he wanted to skip to the lot like a six-year-old girl.
Zeke didn't disappoint. Once again, he was opening the driver's side door and moving in, but Casey took the last few yards in a jog and said, “Hey!” It made Zeke stop and turn.
“Hey,” he said.
“What are you havin'? For lunch, meaning,” Casey knew what was most likely on Zeke's menu, but didn't want to look like he'd been paying that much attention. Before Zeke could say, Casey nodded to the street. “I'm gonna head to the diner-place. Wanna come with?”
Zeke's expression stayed blank as he glanced to the car's interior, shrugged then shut the door. Instead of saying, “Sure, why not?” he lit a cigarette and walked slowly down the lot's gravel drive. Casey followed-joy. He had a hard time hiding it. “Some of the guys have said they have really good chili-cheese dogs. That's mine, today,” Casey said.
“Sure.” Zeke sounded tired, noncommittal.
“Have you eaten there before?” Casey asked. Zeke shook his head and took another drag.
“The 'guys', huh?”
“What?”
“You'd said, 'some of the guys said'.”
“Oh. Well, yea... Tom and Ben, they'd gone yesterday. They couldn't shut up about it,” Casey said.
“Ah. 'K, yea, I met 'em,” Zeke replied. How he could pack such a mysterious tone into so few words was almost appalling. Casey tried ignoring it, shrugging and walking along the road. A large group of girls was ahead of them, chattering like excited chipmunks and letting out shrill laughter. Zeke cringed and rolled his eyes. “Fuckin' chicks.”
“Yea, I know. But... they're nice enough.”
“I could do without the middle-school crowd. One girl, she's gotta be fourteen... won't leave me alone.” Zeke took a heavy drag again and let it out in a hiss. “She keeps telling me about this band she's trying to put together, and I made the mistake of telling her I once took a few guitar lessons. Now she's recruiting me... I mean, really?”
Casey snorted in amusement. “Next she'll be asking you to go to North Middle's winter semi-formal.”
This made Zeke scowl and shudder. Casey chuckled more, kicking loose pavement into the street. It broke apart, scattering into little pieces. It felt a little awkward, but natural at the same time. Casey was about to fight for something else to talk about when he took a breath and caught the scent of grilled food. “Oh... that smells good,” he said as the approached the shack-like diner. A small crowd was already at the two ordering windows, money being counted, menus stared at.
Like the coffee-stop, this place had quick service. They certainly had the crew to do it; at least four cooks were in the kitchens, while four young girls took and filled orders. Casey stood with Zeke by the chalkboard advertising meals and specials, taking in the glorious aromas; smoke, spice and sweet. This place raked it in, at least when it came to being within nose-shot of hard-working, starving teenagers. Though the onion-and-mushroom bacon cheeseburger sounded delectable, Casey stuck with the reason he'd come here. The boy who'd ordered fries and a milkshake moved aside to let Casey approach the grin-wearing, caramel-skinned girl looking at him.
“Hi! What'll ya have?” she asked.
“The chili-cheese dog meal, please.”
“Sure... what to drink?”
“Oh...” Casey gave the soda menu a quick scan then said, “Dr. Pepper.”
“O-o-okay... and for you?” she asked Zeke, who was looking away at the picnic tables full of kids. Casey frowned and nudged his elbow.
“Hey. Whattya want?” he asked.
Zeke blinked furiously and shot his eyes to the worker. “Just... an orange soda,” he said.
“Mmkay.”
As the girl bounded off to the cook's station, Casey's frown deepened. “Zeke, ya gotta eat?”
“'Not hungry. I almost never eat lunch,” Zeke answered.
“What'd ya have for breakfast?”
A series of scoffs puffed out from Zeke's lips. “I don't remember ever sucking your teat at any point in my lifetime. My mom may have been a shitty one, but I'm not looking for another.”
The young man wore an ambiguous smirk; it could mean he was annoyed, or bemused. Casey made a quick shrug, turned away and tried not to concern himself with Zeke's lack of proper nutrition. The fact that the girl had returned with his meal helped. “Here you go,” she said, also sliding their sodas out to them. “That's five-thirty-eight.”
She'd included Zeke's drink in his order. Seeing as Zeke wasn't paying attention to what was going on at all, Casey sighed and nudged him with his elbow again as he handed the girl the exact amount in bills and change. “Get your soda,” Casey said.
“Oh.” Zeke opened his wallet.
“I already got it.”
Zeke frowned a little but said nothing. After thanking the worker for the super-fast service, Casey grabbed his meal and turned to the picnic table area. He stared at the gorgeous mess of gooey-food on the paper plate, which strained a little in having the loaded dog upon it. “Yea, this is gonna be good,” he said to no one in particular. He sat down on an empty bench, two girls sitting across from him but distracted by their own jabbering to each other.
“You didn't grab napkins,” Zeke pointed out.
“Um... yea,” Casey muttered. By the looks of things, he was going to need them. Before he could get up, Zeke turned back to the diner.
“I'll get 'em, hold on.”
Casey watched him go, blinking slowly. Perhaps it was fair, his having bought the soda for him. Then again, Zeke had given him a ride today. They were simply going back and forth, doing each other favors; as Casey made mental notes to make sure he was the one making an offer next, another person plopped down next to him.
“Hey!” the newly-arrived Tom said. Casey grinned.
“Hey, what's up?”
“Not much! Oh, you got the dog. Sweet.” Tom lit a cigarette, puffed then said, “It's goin' down Friday. We're inviting anyone who wants to come by. You knew about it but still, it's official.”
It was here that Zeke returned, the promised stack of napkins in his hand. Casey gave him a quick smile, said “Thanks,” before turning back to Tom. “Still can't throw much in the pot, but I'm not planning on boozing it too hard anyway.”
“Whatever's whatever, man. We're just gonna have fun,” Tom said. He next looked to Zeke. “This guy said he'd help turn cases into kegs, so we're set.”
Casey cocked an eyebrow at the young man, who shrugged. “Not surprised,” Casey said.
“So, Friday night-festivities start at eight.” With that, Tom stood up and went to the small, dwindling-down line to get lunch.
Lunch. Casey sighed and picked up the hot dog carefully. “Here we go,” he said.
Zeke snorted as a large dollop of chili escaped; Casey was luckily hovering it over the plate, instead of covering his lap in meat sauce. It didn't matter, as every delicious flavor that could be stuffed into and onto this thing was worth a few dry-cleaning bills. As Casey chewed and enjoyed, Zeke took a sip of his drink then said, “You ain't goin' to that shit.”
“Hmm?” Casey hummed past his mouthful.
“The party. You ain't goin'.”
Zeke's tone was, again, mysterious. Casey finished swallowing and scoffed. “Who says?”
“Me,” Zeke replied.
“Hah, right. What was that shit you told me five minutes ago, about who your mom is?” Casey said.
“Doesn't matter... you still ain't goin',” Zeke said, casual and confident, as if Casey would suddenly bow and mutter, 'Yes, master.' That was quite the assumption.
“Are you saying I should keep being the school nerd and sit home and read on a Friday night? Cos' nope, I'm not. I do that every summer-since when am I invited to parties?” Casey raised his eyebrows.
“Your mom wouldn't let it happen, if she knew.”
“That's why she ain't gonna find out.”
Zeke took another sip, longer this time as Casey continued eating. With a smack of his lips, Zeke continued. “Who makes those big-assed lunches you've been eating the past few?”
“What? My lunches? Mom-what of it?” Casey replied. This was getting annoying...
“She fills up a tank-sized lunch-bag for you, full of... what, giant sandwiches? Desserts, I'll bet, half a grocery trip's worth of fruit, and your way of saying, 'Thanks, Mom' is going behind her back to chug a few funnels,” Zeke said.
The half-eaten meal was going ignored now. There were other things Casey had to tend to-namely, Zeke's sudden shit-storm of sanctimonious crap. After the display of rotten behavior and carelessness, never mind his staying back? “Me wanting to fuck-around doesn't mean I don't love my fucking parents or appreciate them-and like HELL I'm gonna 'funnel', I'll probably barely get through one beer!”
“Then why bother going?”
“YOU are! What're you gonna tell your mom, you're going to a late-night church service??”
“My mom ain't around.”
“Fine, your DAD, then.”
“He ain't around, either. C'mon, Casey... you seem to know every-thing about me, right? Haven't heard about my being on my own since seventeen?” Zeke told him. When all Casey could do was stare blankly at him, Zeke cocked his head to the side. “I'll tell y'know.”
“Huh? Tell what?”
“On you, to your mom.”
“Hey, Zeke!”
Casey's gawking and inner-raging was interrupted by a bubbly-middle school girl now standing next to him, her hair blonde with fading purple streaks. Zeke looked at her warily. “Hi... Melody,” he haltingly replied.
“I KNOW you said you didn't play guitar good, but I got another couple people here interested in my band! One girl's gonna sing with me, kinda like 'Wilson-Phillips'.”
Picturing Zeke amongst girls striving to be the next sappy girl-group was suddenly the most hilarious thing Casey could imagine. Of course, Zeke wasn't as amused. He rubbed his eyes with his hand. “Mel, your finding people for your... band doesn't magically give me strumming-skills--”
“Hah, what're you talking about, Zeke?” Casey blurted. The plan for revenge had come quick; as Zeke frowned at him, Casey chuckled and looked at Melody. “Don't let him fool you. He's just being modest-give this guy a guitar and he channels Hendrix.”
Melody smiled, but looked confused at the same time. “Hah, Hendrix...? Who's that?”
“Casey. Casey, I'll mean it when it happens. I promise.”
Zeke's mysterious threat didn't sway Casey in the slightest. “One of the best guitar players, ever. I've heard his rendition of 'Are You Experienced?' Believe me, it's unreal.”
“I KNEW you were just being modest!” Melody said to the older boy, who stood up in a shot.
“Okay, do I gotta get mean about it? Fine.” He looked directly at Melody, eyebrows raised and hands folded by his chin. “The last fucking thing I want on the planet is to be in a shitty little band full of middle school kids. 'Wilson-Phillips', really? Given the choice with a gun put to my head, you'll find me in the hospital after gouging out my eyeballs before joining a 'band' that'll get laughed off the stage at a 'Battle of the Bands' contest.”
Silence fell; even Casey, who knew that Zeke's words were more like knives when he wanted them to be, was shocked at how easy it'd seemed for him to crush a young, naïve little girl's hopes and dreams. Melody's lower lip trembled before letting a sob escape, then streams of tears. “Fuck's sake...” Zeke said before stalking off to head back down the road.
“Mel...” Casey went to say something, anything, but the fourteen-year old turned quick and ran to the bathrooms at the side of the building. Another girl witnessing the scene a few yards away ran after her, calling, “Mellie, what's wrong??”
Casey didn't know who the rotten, stinking bastard was in this situation; Zeke, or himself. Perhaps they'd both played the part just now.
~*~
“Hey-Case!”
Casey looked up from the plants he'd been set-up to work with and found Ben going to the aisle next to him. “Yea?”
“You're from Herrington, right?” Ben asked.
The two set down to slave-away while Casey nodded. “Yea-why?”
“My older cousin Lenny's from there, and I wondered if you'd give him a ride in on Friday. I live right here in Ravenna, so...”
“Oh. Yea, well, I don't have a car, and...” 'I dunno if I'm going anyway,' he continued in his thoughts. That afternoon had definitely put a damper on any fun-and-frolic Casey could've enjoyed this weekend...
“Ah. That's okay-I'd just wanted to check, cos' I said I'd give him a ride if he couldn't come,” Ben said, shrugging. “Figured I'd try and save some gas money.”
Casey smiled. “Yeeea. The no-license thing means I'll probably have to renege on going.”
“Hah, well, if I'm goin' to Herrington anyway I can take ya,” Ben said. “I'd asked Zeke a bit ago if he'd help out, but he said he might not make it at all. Still, he tossed me some serious cash cos' he said he keeps promise.”
“Yea. Yea, he's a real charitable guy...” 'Yea, right,' Casey thought to himself again.
“So, you in?”
“Well...” Casey paused to think a moment. Zeke had planned on going, with the means to do it-but that was the furthest method of Casey's getting to Ben's place. With his blacklisting Casey from going in the first place giving the parental-threat he had, how Casey had set him up to destroy Melody's dreams...
But there was the prospect of 'having fun' for once in his stupid, lame life. “I'll letcha know tomorrow after talking to my parents. My curfew went up a few notches with summer around, sooo...”
“Cool, I get it. Tom's parents know what HE gets up to at parties and make him sign... affidavits, or contracts, whatever,” Ben said with a guffaw. Casey chuckled along, feeling a bit better that he wasn't the only one here with wary, strict parents. Getting past their overprotective nature was going to be tough, but he'd be giving it his best shot. Anything to be part of 'the gang', for once.
~*~
It was the usual dynamic; on one end of the dinner table sat Mr. Connor, who wasn't going into an instant-defensive mode when it came to Casey's bringing up party plans. The other end, however...
“But... we don't KNOW this boy, or his family. And he's not from around here,” Mrs. Connor said.
“I know, but really, he's nice,” Casey replied, and it was true. Ben's supplying some drinks and weed for this thing didn't make him a bad seed, just a bit... delinquent. “Everyone at work is, really. It's not like high school, with the 'food chain' that goes on. We're all just... there, working together. Y'know?”
“Maybe. But I still don't like the idea that I've watched one too many programs about today's youth, and what trouble they can start.” She gave him a solid, motherly look. “I don't want you surrounded by drugs and drinking.”
“But it's a Friday night, and-since when am I invited, to anything?”
It was Mr. Connor's turn to clear his throat and weigh in on the issue. “DO you know if there's gonna be alcohol and other stuff?”
'Lie, lie, lie,' Casey thought, and no matter how much guilt could come if it, Casey replied, “I don't think so. I think his parents will be around... just out on a date, or something. But... look, even if there WAS--”
“It's gonna be a flat-out 'no' if you say anything more,” Mrs. Connor interrupted. Casey swallowed down the urge to roll his eyes-that was the one thing that would piss his mother off to the nth, more than any other show of defiance.
“You trust me, right? Even if there was that kinda crap there... I'm not IN-to it,” Casey finished.
“Hmm.” Mr. Connor took another quick bite of mashed potato then asked, “How're you gonna get there in the first place?”
“Frank...” Mrs. Connor said. Casey saw the hint of an 'in' here, his father contemplating the 'yes' that he'd be willing to give.
“A cousin of Ben's is from here, and Ben's planning on picking him up. So he'd said he could drive me to it, then drive me back,” Casey replied.
“Well... c'mon, Meredith, let's let him have some fun. He's right-he's always been stuck at home in the summer,” Mr. Connor said.
“Frank, I just don't know...”
“Mer, you seem to forget how we met.” Mr. Connor now wore a sly smile. “Your sorority sisters weren't exactly nuns, remember?”
Mrs. Connor looked obstinate, but the memories from years past her husband was bringing up-whatever they were-had her relax the tension in her face and turn to Casey. “Fine. But you will not, repeat, not be diving into any booze, or worse. I catch wind of anything like that having happened, you'll catch hell.”
He was growing up, even if he had to force it down his parents' throats. Casey smiled, thanked them then wolfed down the dinner. To make sure he made a good impression, he did the dishes first before putting it off for online-gaming. Even if that made it obvious that he was kissing-ass, he was going to be his mom and dad's Golden Boy as best he could.
~*~
June 26th
The ride from Wednesday had been a one-time perk, Casey figured... and expected. Both the day before and today, the Friday everyone had been buzzing about, had been on the bus to work, from work then to work again. Zeke had gone back to pretending Casey wasn't there, and Casey wasn't fretting over it.
Casey couldn't deny the satisfaction he felt in hearing Melody's two best friends say things like, “There goes asshole!”, “Hey, asshole!”, “I'll bet asshole sucks in bed.”, every time Zeke came within range of them. Zeke acted indifferent to it, but Melody seemed satisfied that she had backup when it came to her being told-off by the older boy on Wednesday. Those middle-school girls were small and relatively sweet, but fierce. 'Good on 'em,' Casey thought as he continued working, this day being spent in the blackberry end of the farm.
Despite the prickly thorns that'd scratch along Casey's fingers, he barely felt them, especially when Ben had come by quick to check his name off on the 'List O' Partiers' he'd brought to make sure they knew who'd show up. They may have wanted a good-sized crowd, but didn't want friends bringing friends bringing friends... “And fuck the babies around here,” Ben had said, nodding to two small, gangly boys both whining to each other about how much blackberries sucked.
When left alone with his thoughts a small while before the lunch bell rang, Casey figured it all out. If he'd ever been invited to a party being held by a fellow student, he'd refuse instantly then hole up in his room all night. Whoever it'd be, their intentions for his showing-up probably involved something nasty, like jocks showing up to give Casey an unsupervised, uninterrupted ass-kicking, or some other form of humiliation. But here, there was no fear that'd happen.
The guys who worked here, even the few Casey DID know from school-they worked here, most of them quick, diligent and devoted to the job itself. They were interested in earning their own money, while people like Gabe and the other bullies enjoyed their summers at each other's big, expensive houses. Gabe's mother was a well-known defense lawyer in town, which would come in handy years later when Gabe would get caught drunk-driving, or beating a girlfriend-whatever other criminal acts Casey could picture him committing. Gabe's best buddy Freddy also had it made. His parents were divorced, but his dad was in the film industry in California, giving Freddy the edge when it came to mailed checks and being loaded-up with expensive toys. The shimmering, metallic blue Audi he drove to school had always made Casey scowl; not from wanting it, but Freddy's having it, as if he'd been born entitled to the best while not having to work for anything he received.
Casey, Ben, Tom and almost every guy (and girl, really) here were in this working-world together. Instead of any of them showing off gleaming, golden watches like Gabe would showcase to anyone willing to take a look, they'd go over where their first paycheck would go; a new stereo, getting a car fixed, saving up for a car altogether... real-life, honest responsibilities. Sure, they'd delve into some fun-trouble when parents were around, some of it underage-drinking and that ilk. But in the end, who cared?
It was likely that, in their adult years, none of them would be working in corner-offices or have private jets to whisk them away to Paris every weekend. Though a few of them, Casey included, planned on attending a good college and having a chance at a better life, nothing was wrong with the others who'd either end things with their high school diplomas, or go on to enroll in trade-school instead of Ivy League. In the grand scheme of things, the world needed these teenagers to grow up and utilize the work ethics they'd learned during their time working hard in the hot, grueling humidity and being covered in dirt and too-ripened fruit juices. If every young person, silver spoons born in their mouths or not took on a summer job like this, the world would be an easier place to live in.
Lunch came and went in the blink of an eye. Younger kids kept bitching about being too young for the party being blathered about. One girl got a talking-to after being spotted enjoying too many freebies she'd picked, though she'd taken Bill's warnings seriously and didn't pilfer a nibble for the rest of the day. By the time the buses rolled in, everyone was ready for the weekend, rushing off to start it off right. After getting his bag, Casey spotted Zeke nearby getting his own. He considered going over, but didn't see the sense or purpose in it. He turned, filed through the crowds getting their things then stopped dead in hearing Zeke call out, “Hey, Connor!”
Casey turned reluctantly. “Yea?”
“Seventy Ash Street, right?” he said while rolling his tongue around the inside of his cheek.
Casey's address... was he about to give up on giving Casey shit on how he should conduct himself and give him a ride to Ben's? “Yea. Why?”
“I'll be dropping by to meet Mommy Connor for tea.”
'The FUCK you will,' Casey thought. The guy was bluffing-had to be. Casey gave him a snide look, raised both middle fingers Zeke's way and backed up toward the drive where the buses waited. Zeke's slow, sexy smile was made to leave Casey guessing. 'He won't,' Casey thought, or hoped anyway, as he turned away.
~*~
And why-for-not? :) I'd signed up for a fourth contribution, late, unable to finish it (or START it, really). But, here I and it iz. Well... the START of it. It's turned into a monster, probably a quad-pieced one...
Title: Sweet Valley (Pt. 1)
Pairing/Characters: C/Z(?), OCs, Mr. and Mrs. Connor
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Author's Note: I'm basing a lot of this story on my OWN experiences, including the invites, camaraderie and lesson learned as a young middle-schooler. Trying to capture it best I can. :)
Synopsis: A late contribution to ASD's 'Summer of Us' Challenge, as promised. Prompt #19, "Fruitpicking"... The summer before senior year, Casey finds some worth in taking on a new, promising and enlightening journey into the real world.
June 2nd
Casey stared at the envelope in his hand, his breath held and lower lip suffering from his gnawing at it. He knew his early arrival in the school cafeteria two weeks before meant that he had a chance. He'd actually gotten there an hour before the doors opened, panicking instantly in finding other students waiting in a messy, nonuniform line. Even if there were only ten of them, it'd been enough to put a damper on Casey's hopes.
First come, first served, they'd say. That'd been the Golden Rule for Herrington High's job fair, held on the Saturday morning into afternoon. Teenagers who wanted more than a meager weekly allowance and were willing to work hard, menial labor would gather to fill out forms, make copies of birth certificates or licenses and hope they got a job. But it wasn't just wanting work-it was wanting the best chance and what kind of work was offered.
Casey's diminutive stature wasn't a huge asset to 'Goldman's', the local tobacco field in town, but they'd take anyone. That was Casey's last choice on the form, of course; the three other options, though still the tiresome, grueling work variety, were better. Mostly girls were hired for the Parks and Recreation department, however unfair and sexist it was on both sides of the coin-girls were meant to play with children, while boys couldn't care less. But that'd been Casey's top choice, as he went against the grain and rather enjoyed babysitting in his neighborhood. The idea of getting paid to play games, make crafts and have the occasional pizza party was bliss.
'Sweet Valley' was another popular choice, Casey's number two. Though the place was in Ravenna, a half an hour away, the farm gladly sent buses out to other towns to bring in hard-working kids. Slaving in a tobacco field made fruit-picking look like a corner-office job. Twine-snapping scarring on the fingers, getting covered in dusty-dirt from tromping through aisle upon aisle of large leaves and coming across disgusting, hand-sized tobacco worms versus picking strawberries, blueberries and blackberries? No contest, even if blackberry bushes had prickles. It was well-known that as long as you weren't scarfing down five pints a day, the Sweet family didn't mind their employees snagging a fruit for themselves from time-to-time. The fact that there was an ice cream and burger shop across the street and down a quarter-mile made it even more tempting.
The third was tricky. 'Ray's Farm' required a lot of muscle, patience and the ability to deal with animals. It was an old-fashioned place; instead of the more modern methods of milking-machines, they insisted on having hands on the udders instead of pumps. Then, of course, was the mucking out of stalls, being knee-deep in manure and smelling like livestock when you went back home. It was the fact that they had easier tasks, like tending to chickens and feeding pigs that made Casey check that off over the tobacco option.
So, here it was. The answer, sitting in his hot, little hand. Less than a week after school ended, Casey would be reporting to wherever he was told to go, slaving his summer away. Pleasing his parents' want to have their son acquire a work ethic and the independence of having his own money to mess around with how he wanted-half his check, anyway, the other half being shoved into his savings account-made Casey finally tear the envelope open, reach inside and unfold the papers he found.
He sighed out a heavy breath of relief, seeing the handwritten words 'Sweet Valley' written in the blank between photocopied text. He'd spend the next hour reading the three pages of forms, work descriptions and requirements included.
June 28th
It would have been nice, Casey having his license and a car to take the drive to Ravenna himself. He felt a little lame in having to walk the half a mile to the strip-mall on Main to take the bus, but in finding other older students from school-luckily the more pleasant or chill-pothead variety, not a bully in sight, the insecurity had waned.
A half an hour later, the loud engine of the bus, sounding tired and shaky, was maneuvering into the drive leading to the farm. Casey and the other kids... and a lot of them were 'kids', as they also dipped into the middle-school market, bumped and jostled them all around until the vehicle groaned to a slow, grinding stop. Casey scanned the sights of the farm's large, wide fields and dense rows of bushes. A nervous smile tickled his lips; the air that came through the half-opened window next to him was thick, fresh and fruity-fragrant; that alone gave some promise that the work would feel rewarding.
Moments after the engine was shut off, a very thin, tall man walked to the bus door. He looked like a cowboy with his wide-brimmed hat, beige button-down shirt and jeans. The giant buckle of his belt gleamed in the sunlight as he motioned to the driver, who waved.
“Hey, Bill. Got the Herrington kiddos for ya,” the driver said after opening the doors.
“Good. Everyone-come on out and gather 'round,” Bill said.
Casey stood up quick and waited for his turn to pass down the aisle. With his heavy backpack slung over his shoulder, he made his way down, stepped off the bus and moved aside to let the others join the group. Chattering filled the air until Bill tipped his hat and smiled wide.
“Good mornin', everyone. Welcome to Sweet Valley,” he said. Everyone gave muted replies; Bill motioned behind him to the house and its large porch area. “We're all going to the porch; that's where you'll sign in. Mr. and Mrs. Sweet have the list of your names, alphabetical order, and will check you off to make sure you get paid for your work. I hope you all remembered to bring the forms you got in the mail; if you don't have each and every piece you needed to bring, you will not be able to work today, and will have to wait until the end of everyone's shift to get back on the bus.”
Casey listened intently, nodding along. He'd checked, re-checked and re-re-checked that he had everything he'd needed the night before, then repeated the process before making the walk to the plaza. It wasn't long before Bill turned and waved at them all to follow him.
“This is gonna be kinda fun,” a young blonde walking close-by said to her friend, who giggled.
“Bill's kinda cute.”
“He'd old!”
“He only looks about thirty, shut up!”
Casey grinned his way over to the tables. After a small wait to let those ahead of him sign in and receive nametags (“I feel like a geek,” 'Marshall' said as he stuck the tag over his flannel shirt's pocket) Casey was met with a kind-looking, twenty-something girl, also wearing a nametag reading 'Laura Sweet' who was just as skinny as Bill. “Hi... Casey Connor?” Casey said.
She scanned the list then nodded. “Yup. I'm Laura, the daughter of the owners. Nice to meet you,” she said.
“Thanks, the same.”
“Can you give me all your paperwork for me to file?”
Casey brought his backpack to his front, opened it and brought out the pages. “I don't have a license; it's a copy of my SS-card and birth certificate.”
“That's fine, Casey.” Laura took the forms, gave them a quick once-over and nodded again. “You look good to go, hon. Go on and take a nametag and marker. It's just so we all learn each other's names.”
“That's cool,” Casey said, even if he agreed with Marshall-it WAS a little dorky, wandering around with a 'Hello! My name is...' on their shirts, but its function was needed. He moved aside, wrote his name down on the tag and stuck it onto himself. Bill stood nearby, directing them all to the field holding the tallest bushes. Casey trudged on down; in looking to the right, he spotted a separate lot on the other side of the house filled with cars. Other older teens were walking over, those lucky enough to be able to cart their butts here themselves. Casey sighed and went to look away, but he snapped his eyes back when he saw a very familiar vehicle pull into the spot closest to the lawn's edge.
“Now HE'S cute,” the blonde's friend muttered as none other than Zeke Tyler stepped out of the cherry-striped muscle car, shut its door and strolled down the thin aisle of slate leading to the porch.
~*~
It wasn't that Casey had ever been afraid of Zeke... well, maybe a little. He was a tough, tall and imposing young man, unapproachable, even deadly, if the rumors were true. Despite his loner-status, there were many of them, all involving devious, underhanded deeds and behaviors. Wild parties, a new girl in his bed every other day, drugs-whatever could get people buzzing, Zeke provided in an ambiguous, inadvertent way. He never confirmed or denied anything, choosing instead to stay quiet and let everything slip on by. It left him a mystery, one Casey would find himself pondering on out of nowhere.
Casey was both intrigued and wary. Add the fact that Zeke happened to be the brand of broody-beautiful Casey liked looking at, and all Casey ended up with was confusion. Yet no matter how Casey enjoyed the 'scenery' Zeke provided, he made no attempt to wander over and say, “Working here too, huh?” Casey's summers were spent recovering, physically, mentally and emotionally, the urge to go out and be social never hitting him. Any interaction Casey would have with a fellow student, jock-bully or not between June and late August felt like an intrusion. Invasion, even. Casey's best friend was his computer, finding social interaction and fun through game-rooms and forums.
This summer was different, of course. Though he had to deal with other people here on the farm, most of them seemed nice. He had come across Erik Pulley, Herrington High's star lacrosse player. Though their interaction of, “Hey, 'sup?” had been brief, Casey felt comfortable enough to be around him as he was a popular but pleasant person. Other than that, having a job in another town without scads of 'Herringtons' around helped.
His too-pale skin was already looking a shade darker, even with the SPF-40 he'd slathered over every inch of exposed skin. Being out in the sun for the last three and a half hours made him feel both sickly-sweaty and revived. He DID need more vitamin-D.
The job itself seemed perfect. Sunshine, activity and plucking ripe, juicy fruits ended up being more pleasant than he'd imagined. He was already quick and nimble, allowing pint after pint to be brought down to the tables for Bill and Phil-the 'Sweet Twins', identical in every way besides choice of clothing-to sort through.
“You're pretty quick, kiddo,” Bill had said upon Casey's third return, a half-dozen pints of blueberries loaded into his cardboard crate. It'd made Casey smile and feel useful, something he wasn't used to-both the grinning and work-trait. Altogether, it encouraged him to keep up the pace and fill the pints with both care and quickness.
He'd just gotten to half a tray's worth of pints when a bell rang. Everyone stopped to look up; Phil waved and called, “Break time, everyone!”
Casey gave his tray a look, sighing. If he had his way, he'd just keep right on plucking, but knew that breaks were required... especially for people in his age bracket. He brought the finished pints to Bill then went to where everyone had dumped their bags. Nametags had been placed on them as well to avoid any confusion. Casey found his generic, Wal-Mart bought black pack and went over to a shady spot under one of the large oaks that lined the yard.
His mother, proud and happy that her son had gotten his first job, had packed a hefty lunch for him. Though it gave him an uncomfortable 'Momma's Boy' status, it'd been appreciated. His regular school-day meals were usually basic and boring, but she'd made this summer-job lunch extra special. He smiled upon finding a thick ham and cheese sandwich complete with lettuce, tomato and mayo, a bag of grapes, pack of peanut-butter sandwich crackers and a large square from the pan of homemade walnut-brownies she'd made the night before. “I want you to have a really good dessert,” she'd said after setting them on the counter to cool. However stifling and overprotective as Casey's parents could be, he was well-loved. At the worst of times, one of them landing him in the hospital after a run-in with Gabe Santora, that love was the only thing that kept him sane.
Though water-bottles were encouraged by the Sweet family to prevent dehydration, a small mark of Casey's 'growing-up' was also in the large vinyl lunch bag. Perhaps it was silly to feel like a big kid in his mother filling a thermos with creamed-and-sugared iced coffee for him when nearly every student at school would stop by Dunkin' Donuts every morning for caffeine-fixes, but he did. The energy he still had left would go up a few notches with every gulp he took of the drink, kept cold with the ice-pack that had been crammed in with everything else. He'd expected to be jealous of the others who walked or drove off to get hot lunches and milkshakes at the little diner, but not today. Today, he had it better than everyone combined.
He was just finishing the sandwich and moving on to the crackers when he paused to stare at the nearby lot. His chest tightened as he watched Zeke walk to his car, where he sat himself down in the driver's seat, turned the engine on and lit a cigarette. A bag of chips was brought out from the passenger side and opened; not a sufficient lunch, but Zeke was known for his crappy eating habits. The radio was playing, though Casey couldn't hear the song; classic rock, most likely. The young man had a thing for the genre, going by the tunes he'd be blasting when tearing into the school's parking lot.
Casey didn't know if he'd been spotted by the older boy. If he had, Zeke hadn't given any indication, or care. Casey himself had been glad when he'd been put in the rows furthest away from him, but couldn't exactly pinpoint why.
~*~
June 23rd
“Sounds like you're ready for a raise,” Mr. Connor had joked the night before at dinner after Casey had gone over the details of his first workday. Mrs. Connor had agreed, because of course their son was the most valuable person on the planet. However bashful it'd made Casey, he'd been high and happy over earning the day's pay-hungry, too, proven through his slamming back his dinner of pork chops, peas, and scalloped potatoes, with ice cream for dessert. By the time nine o'clock had come around, he'd been MORE than ready for a good night's sleep.
His second day wasn't as exciting as his first, more routine and methodical. The farm rotated them all day-by-day, which meant that Casey was sent to pick strawberries instead of blueberries. That meant dirty knees, calves and feet, along with more sun exposure. Casey would be asking his mother to pick up a baseball cap for him on her next trip to the mall... or maybe a bandana. 'Yea...' Casey thought as he finished clearing one plant and moved to the next. For whatever reason, he'd feel cool in wearing a stupid bandana, both in sweat-relief and attitude.
“Hey Tom!”
Casey looked two rows over where a young man, nametag reading 'Ben the Brick' (he WAS the most muscled one here) was nodding to the boy next to Casey's row. “Hey, what?” Tom answered.
“The 'rents are taking off Friday 'til Wednesday. Picking berries saved me from another shitty family reunion-wanna help me stock the fridge?” Ben asked.
“Shit, yea. Hey! Payday!”
“Huh?”
“Our checks come in on Friday.”
Casey couldn't help a tiny smirk as Ben scoffed. “We get our first checks NEXT Friday, ya dumb-shit,” he replied.
“Shut up, I was dumb a second... how we gonna buy brews and bud then? I've got a tenner on me, and I gotta get smokes after work,” Tom said.
“Mom's leaving me money for food. Hah. Food.” Ben chortled and looked around. “Everyone here would pitch in, I'd bet.”
“Not the middle-school crowd, dude, I ain't havin' that.”
Finished with the plant he'd been working on, Casey shuffled to the next; this made him closer to Tom, who looked to him with raised eyebrows. “Hey-Ca... what's the nametag say?”
“Who, me?” Casey asked. At Tom's snort and nod, Casey said, “Uh, Casey. Why?”
“Brews and bud, you in?”
It was as if the young man was speaking Greek. A few moments passed before Casey realized he was being invited to a booze-fest. 'The fuck...' he thought. “I... what, for a party?”
“Hah, suddenly I'm having a party??” Ben said, incredulous.
“That's what you said, 'the 'rents are leaving'. That means 'party at my place',” Tom replied.
Ben laughed as he moved to his next patch of berries. “Well YEA, but what-are we gonna invite everybody from work?”
“Why not? If they toss a few bucks in the pot...” Tom made a series of thick chuckles. “Hah, pot.”
Casey looked between them, blinking wildly. “My um... the allowances from MY 'rents don't get me that far,” he said.
“Five bucks, we get beer, some weed and share. C'mooon,” Tom said with a drawl, smiling wide.
“I... hah, dunno,” Casey said, even though he wasn't the party-type. But the fact that he'd been offered to have some fun with 'the guys' in the most indiscriminate way made him feel downright joyous.
“You keep saying 'bud' and 'weed'... my hookup's in lock-up, dude,” Ben said.
“Gotta be someone who knows someone who knows someone...”
The temptation to say, 'Zeke, the tall guy working the blueberries, he could make that happen,' was enormous. Casey didn't dare, of course. Thinking of Zeke made him look over his shoulder to the blueberry-area. He couldn't see anyone except two middle-school boys in the closest row, however.
The boys continued discussing party-plans, this time without including Casey. Before anyone knew it, the lunch-bell rang, and everyone was standing and bounding off to enjoy their break. Casey had seen the lunch items his mother had gotten at the grocery store the night before; a roast beef and Swiss wrap was just what Casey needed.
And again, Casey spotted Zeke going to his car to relax with the AC and radio. It was a bag of cheese-curls for lunch this time.
~*~
Jun 24th
Casey was starting to feel it. Though pleased he'd be clocking-in for another addition to the paycheck, he couldn't get rid of the urge to yawn, over and over again. It made him stop at the Dunkin' Donuts at the other end of the plaza, where he'd grab a quick coffee. He'd have enough left for the diner; as much as he'd loved his mother's lunch-love, he'd given some serious sweet-talking the night before to see if she'd let him try one of the “Most awesome chili-cheese fucking dog!”s he'd heard Ben talking about when he and Tom had returned to resume the workday. When he'd told her the meal was only four dollars and it included a bag of chips and soda, that he'd pay her back with his next check, she laughed heartily, dug a ten dollar bill out of her purse and said, “You earned it, sweetie. Enjoy.”
Though Casey had more than enough time to get his drink then stroll to the pick-up spot, he was thankful to find only two people at the counter ordering. The workers here were known for their expedience; Casey had only been standing behind the burly, flannel-wearing construction worker for a handful of seconds before his turn came. “Good morning,” the clean-cut man, a manager by all appearances greeted him.
“Hey... can I get... um, I guess...” Casey scanned the menu quick. “A medium iced coffee, plenty of cream, sugar?”
“Sure. Do you want to add one of our new turbo-shots?”
Casey shot his eyes to the sign on the counter, which advertised the add-on of extra caffeine. He had to chuckle. “Hah, hells yea,” he said, making the man chuckle as well.
“You got it,” he said.
No one was waiting behind Casey, but he stepped aside anyway and turned to stare at the unoccupied dining area and doorway blankly. 'Caffeine...' Casey thought, tapping his knuckles on the edge of the metal counter to the beat of 'Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine's Conga playing on the radio. 'Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga, I know you can't control yourself any-' Casey sang along in his mind before stopping dead and freezing at the sight of who'd just made the bells on the door jingle. Apparently, someone else from Herrington needed a fix to pick berries. Zeke, sleepy-eyed and yawning, strolled over, smacked his lips and went to look at the menu, but paused when he saw Casey standing there.
“Hey,” he said, his voice thick.
“Hey,” Casey replied.
Another yawn stretched Zeke's features; he covered his mouth, gave his head a shake and let his hand fall, revealing a one-cornered smirk. “Wanna join me in a raging methamphetamine-snorting habit?”
Casey blinked. “Huh?”
“Coffee isn't gonna do it for me today, I'm 'fraid,” Zeke said. “You look pretty dead on your feet, too.”
They were talking. Discussing. Or Zeke was; Casey finally let a smile on his face and replied, “I don't drink the stuff all the time, so... tolerance's low.”
“I'm gonna ask if they have a fuckin' IV-hookup they can sell me, giving me a drip of the shit...”
“Here you go.”
Casey whipped around to see the man sliding his coffee over to him. “Oh... yea, thanks, have a good--”
“Hah, hold your horses, young man; you don't need a dine-and-dash on your record,” the man said, chuckling through the words as he went to the register. Casey felt his face go red-hot with embarrassment as he handed the ten over.
“Sorry. It's... too early,” he said.
“No problem, I hear ya.”
It felt like forever until Casey was given the leftover cash. Wanting to make a run for it, he grabbed the cup, shoved the money into his pocket and made a quick nod to Zeke. “See ya at work,” he said.
“Yea, see ya,” Zeke replied.
Casey gave him a half-assed smile, went to the exit and strode out with purpose. He passed the GTO, unable to keep himself from glancing at the interior. It was probably cool and comfortable, AC on, music playing...
“Casey!” the sudden shout came from behind. Casey halted and turned halfway; Zeke was standing there, one foot outside, the other in. “The door's open, get in.”
Confusion hit Casey like a sledgehammer. “Dunks?”
“Huh?” Zeke said, sounding just as baffled. He then jolted a little, as if surprised. “No, not the restaurant-the car.”
“Oh...” Casey's looking-stupid moments were piling-up a mile a minute, and it was only seven in the morning. He saw Zeke rolling his eyes, but it came with another smirk. As Zeke went back for his order, Casey stepped to the passenger side and opened the door in a slow, fluid motion.
The spicy, smoky scent hit him first. Casey breathed it in a moment, catching a few more smells-leather, light cologne-then swallowed and slid into the soft, smooth seat. 'I'm sitting... in Zeke Tyler's... car.' Even his thoughts halted with nervous excitement. He'd just shut himself in when Zeke emerged from the restaurant, nursing a gigantic cup of hot coffee. Casey almost jumped when he opened the driver's side door, the metal of it obviously heavy. The cars of the seventies weren't made of cheap plastic like today's models, of course. When Zeke got in then shut the door, Casey felt like the air was sucked out. Grunting, Zeke settled in, pushed the AC's lever to the max and turned the volume knob of the radio to let the music come clearer. 'Brown Eyed Girl' was mid-play; Casey smiled meekly. “Thanks... for the ride,” he said.
“Buses suck. Consider this my good deed of the year,” Zeke replied.
“I'll give you gas money as 'thanks',” Casey said. Zeke scoffed, shook his head then backed out of the spot.
“Your weight takes about three cents outta the tank. You're good.”
Had that been stupid-moment number three? Casey wasn't sure, so he let it go. He decided to simply enjoy the speed put behind Zeke's exiting the lot; it had to be real freedom, controlling this cock-rocket...
“Lookit 'em... poor dopes.”
Casey flicked his eyes to the left; there the bus-takers were, standing in front of the Kmart. “Aw,” Casey said, though he really wanted to say, “Hah, suckers!” After all, he was currently sitting in an air-conditioned, classic-rocked-out GTO with the coolest loner in school. Or, Zeke had been that coolest loner. “So... did you skip graduation?” he asked with a grin.
“Hmm?”
“I heard you hadn't shown up-for the whole ceremony deal.”
Zeke gave him a sidelong glance, cocked an eyebrow then replied, “'Wasn't my time.”
“Um... huh?” Casey muttered.
“Never showed up for the finals.”
“Wha... you didn't graduate?” Casey asked; he shouldn't have been shocked. Zeke's record was well-known, though how Casey hadn't caught wind of his staying-back was astounding. “Why? I mean... finals, that's it?”
“I took a 'mental health day', you could say.” Zeke begrudgingly stopped at the red light ahead; he took advantage of the small wait in lighting a cigarette. He continued with the first exhalation of smoke in his words, “I weighed it. I could show up and fail miserably, or sleep in. Seeing as I spent half the night arguing with my old man over the phone, hanging up on the asshole twice, I needed to spend the day staring at my bedroom ceiling while chainsmoking.”
“But... you're so fucking smart.”
A slow, molasses-like grin spread over Zeke's face. “Oh, really?”
“Yea. You'd-start of the year, we were in the advanced physics class. D-period,” Casey said. “You can't just pretend you're smart to get into that class. They won't let underclassmen in there, even if they're smart enough.”
“Eh... I thought I'd be able to handle it, but it went way over my head,” Zeke replied.
“Not enough to correct Mrs. Gagnon when she fucked up that equation for frictional force.”
Zeke's smile faded-only a little, but Casey saw suspicion growing in his eyes. “You're one for remembering details, ain't ya?” he said, voice slow and calculating.
“It was striking-cos' everyone thinks you're a dumbass. But you're not,” Casey said pointedly.
“Awesome. A cheerleader. Let's drop by Profitt's place to see if she'll lend you her pom-poms.”
“No, let's not. Summer vacation was invented to get away from her for a few months.”
Zeke's laughter bellowed, bouncing around the interior. “Oh, there's hope for you yet. All along I've been seeing this imaginary leash around your neck with her dragging you around school.” The words were distorted by his rampant, heavy chuckling. “Del's got a nice rack, hips like handles, but I couldn't deal with her batshit A-type personality. I like my dick just fine, it doesn't need a metaphorical castration.”
Mere months ago, Casey would've decked Zeke for talking about Delilah so nastily. All it'd taken for a switch in perspective was the argument that ended with her telling him that he could, in fact, do the photo spread Friday night because Casey was a “Socially-inept, pathetic loser” who spent Friday nights jacking-off to internet porn. The torch he'd carried for close to four years had been snuffed out in an instant, and the only reason he stayed on the newspaper's staff was Connie Banks' begging, telling him that the paper would be nothing without his valuable, 'geek-awesome' photography skills. Connie Banks-the girl teased mercilessly for her acne problem and inch-thick glasses had proven that Casey had wanted the wrong qualities in a person for far too long, and that he should stop telling himself that Johnny Depp wasn't the hottest shit around.
Right now, however, Johnny couldn't compare to the smoke-sucking, gone-giddy young man sitting inches away from him. Casey wasn't tired anymore, and he hadn't had one sip of his coffee yet. He decided to start drinking it before the ice melted. “Wonder what they'd say,” he muttered, still deep in thought.
“What who'd say 'bout what?”
“What they'd say if they saw me getting a ride from Zeke Tyler.”
Zeke pulled a face and made a one-shouldered shrug. “Probably that we're fucking.”
The mouthful of coffee Casey hadn't swallowed yet was almost sent spraying over the glove compartment and windshield. He somehow managed to keep his lips shut; he covered them with his hand a moment and did his best to force the liquid down into his gullet. His behavior didn't go unnoticed.
“Well, 'they' would, wouldn't 'they'?” Zeke asked in a rhetorical way. “Everyone thinks you're queer, and anything to bring my rep down.”
“YOUR r-rep?” Casey said in an awful-sounding croak. “Don't make me choke, again. No one talks shit about you, cos' you'd kick their asses and they know it.”
Another mysterious smirk. “How many brawls I been in, Casey?”
“You...” Casey started to say; he fought desperately to cite the many fights Zeke had been in, but realized...
“I take it back; your memory sucks,” Zeke said.
~*~
On this day, the morning didn't go by as fast. What Casey had assumed was almost-noon ended up being 10:30, the muscles of his arms felt sore and each shuffle to a new strawberry plant felt like he was trying to drag a boulder over with him. The sky above held gray clouds, blocking sunshine, yet it felt hotter with heavier humidity.
Still, he worked on without complaint... spoken, anyway. The memory of the morning's ride in kept his spirits up; though he'd parted ways with Zeke hours before and hadn't seen him since, the half-hour spent in the car had been enough. Casey wouldn't let another lunch spent alone go by, however. Zeke had made the initial move in acknowledging they worked together, and had saved Casey from the bus. At noon, Casey would head straight to the car and ask Zeke if he wanted something other than the radio and sodium-stuffed snacks.
The bell's ringing made him jolt. It should have went off hours ago going by Casey's warped sense of time, but again, no complaints. He stood, picked up the tray of three pints to bring over to the collection tables then forced his gait to look cool, calm and casual, even if he wanted to skip to the lot like a six-year-old girl.
Zeke didn't disappoint. Once again, he was opening the driver's side door and moving in, but Casey took the last few yards in a jog and said, “Hey!” It made Zeke stop and turn.
“Hey,” he said.
“What are you havin'? For lunch, meaning,” Casey knew what was most likely on Zeke's menu, but didn't want to look like he'd been paying that much attention. Before Zeke could say, Casey nodded to the street. “I'm gonna head to the diner-place. Wanna come with?”
Zeke's expression stayed blank as he glanced to the car's interior, shrugged then shut the door. Instead of saying, “Sure, why not?” he lit a cigarette and walked slowly down the lot's gravel drive. Casey followed-joy. He had a hard time hiding it. “Some of the guys have said they have really good chili-cheese dogs. That's mine, today,” Casey said.
“Sure.” Zeke sounded tired, noncommittal.
“Have you eaten there before?” Casey asked. Zeke shook his head and took another drag.
“The 'guys', huh?”
“What?”
“You'd said, 'some of the guys said'.”
“Oh. Well, yea... Tom and Ben, they'd gone yesterday. They couldn't shut up about it,” Casey said.
“Ah. 'K, yea, I met 'em,” Zeke replied. How he could pack such a mysterious tone into so few words was almost appalling. Casey tried ignoring it, shrugging and walking along the road. A large group of girls was ahead of them, chattering like excited chipmunks and letting out shrill laughter. Zeke cringed and rolled his eyes. “Fuckin' chicks.”
“Yea, I know. But... they're nice enough.”
“I could do without the middle-school crowd. One girl, she's gotta be fourteen... won't leave me alone.” Zeke took a heavy drag again and let it out in a hiss. “She keeps telling me about this band she's trying to put together, and I made the mistake of telling her I once took a few guitar lessons. Now she's recruiting me... I mean, really?”
Casey snorted in amusement. “Next she'll be asking you to go to North Middle's winter semi-formal.”
This made Zeke scowl and shudder. Casey chuckled more, kicking loose pavement into the street. It broke apart, scattering into little pieces. It felt a little awkward, but natural at the same time. Casey was about to fight for something else to talk about when he took a breath and caught the scent of grilled food. “Oh... that smells good,” he said as the approached the shack-like diner. A small crowd was already at the two ordering windows, money being counted, menus stared at.
Like the coffee-stop, this place had quick service. They certainly had the crew to do it; at least four cooks were in the kitchens, while four young girls took and filled orders. Casey stood with Zeke by the chalkboard advertising meals and specials, taking in the glorious aromas; smoke, spice and sweet. This place raked it in, at least when it came to being within nose-shot of hard-working, starving teenagers. Though the onion-and-mushroom bacon cheeseburger sounded delectable, Casey stuck with the reason he'd come here. The boy who'd ordered fries and a milkshake moved aside to let Casey approach the grin-wearing, caramel-skinned girl looking at him.
“Hi! What'll ya have?” she asked.
“The chili-cheese dog meal, please.”
“Sure... what to drink?”
“Oh...” Casey gave the soda menu a quick scan then said, “Dr. Pepper.”
“O-o-okay... and for you?” she asked Zeke, who was looking away at the picnic tables full of kids. Casey frowned and nudged his elbow.
“Hey. Whattya want?” he asked.
Zeke blinked furiously and shot his eyes to the worker. “Just... an orange soda,” he said.
“Mmkay.”
As the girl bounded off to the cook's station, Casey's frown deepened. “Zeke, ya gotta eat?”
“'Not hungry. I almost never eat lunch,” Zeke answered.
“What'd ya have for breakfast?”
A series of scoffs puffed out from Zeke's lips. “I don't remember ever sucking your teat at any point in my lifetime. My mom may have been a shitty one, but I'm not looking for another.”
The young man wore an ambiguous smirk; it could mean he was annoyed, or bemused. Casey made a quick shrug, turned away and tried not to concern himself with Zeke's lack of proper nutrition. The fact that the girl had returned with his meal helped. “Here you go,” she said, also sliding their sodas out to them. “That's five-thirty-eight.”
She'd included Zeke's drink in his order. Seeing as Zeke wasn't paying attention to what was going on at all, Casey sighed and nudged him with his elbow again as he handed the girl the exact amount in bills and change. “Get your soda,” Casey said.
“Oh.” Zeke opened his wallet.
“I already got it.”
Zeke frowned a little but said nothing. After thanking the worker for the super-fast service, Casey grabbed his meal and turned to the picnic table area. He stared at the gorgeous mess of gooey-food on the paper plate, which strained a little in having the loaded dog upon it. “Yea, this is gonna be good,” he said to no one in particular. He sat down on an empty bench, two girls sitting across from him but distracted by their own jabbering to each other.
“You didn't grab napkins,” Zeke pointed out.
“Um... yea,” Casey muttered. By the looks of things, he was going to need them. Before he could get up, Zeke turned back to the diner.
“I'll get 'em, hold on.”
Casey watched him go, blinking slowly. Perhaps it was fair, his having bought the soda for him. Then again, Zeke had given him a ride today. They were simply going back and forth, doing each other favors; as Casey made mental notes to make sure he was the one making an offer next, another person plopped down next to him.
“Hey!” the newly-arrived Tom said. Casey grinned.
“Hey, what's up?”
“Not much! Oh, you got the dog. Sweet.” Tom lit a cigarette, puffed then said, “It's goin' down Friday. We're inviting anyone who wants to come by. You knew about it but still, it's official.”
It was here that Zeke returned, the promised stack of napkins in his hand. Casey gave him a quick smile, said “Thanks,” before turning back to Tom. “Still can't throw much in the pot, but I'm not planning on boozing it too hard anyway.”
“Whatever's whatever, man. We're just gonna have fun,” Tom said. He next looked to Zeke. “This guy said he'd help turn cases into kegs, so we're set.”
Casey cocked an eyebrow at the young man, who shrugged. “Not surprised,” Casey said.
“So, Friday night-festivities start at eight.” With that, Tom stood up and went to the small, dwindling-down line to get lunch.
Lunch. Casey sighed and picked up the hot dog carefully. “Here we go,” he said.
Zeke snorted as a large dollop of chili escaped; Casey was luckily hovering it over the plate, instead of covering his lap in meat sauce. It didn't matter, as every delicious flavor that could be stuffed into and onto this thing was worth a few dry-cleaning bills. As Casey chewed and enjoyed, Zeke took a sip of his drink then said, “You ain't goin' to that shit.”
“Hmm?” Casey hummed past his mouthful.
“The party. You ain't goin'.”
Zeke's tone was, again, mysterious. Casey finished swallowing and scoffed. “Who says?”
“Me,” Zeke replied.
“Hah, right. What was that shit you told me five minutes ago, about who your mom is?” Casey said.
“Doesn't matter... you still ain't goin',” Zeke said, casual and confident, as if Casey would suddenly bow and mutter, 'Yes, master.' That was quite the assumption.
“Are you saying I should keep being the school nerd and sit home and read on a Friday night? Cos' nope, I'm not. I do that every summer-since when am I invited to parties?” Casey raised his eyebrows.
“Your mom wouldn't let it happen, if she knew.”
“That's why she ain't gonna find out.”
Zeke took another sip, longer this time as Casey continued eating. With a smack of his lips, Zeke continued. “Who makes those big-assed lunches you've been eating the past few?”
“What? My lunches? Mom-what of it?” Casey replied. This was getting annoying...
“She fills up a tank-sized lunch-bag for you, full of... what, giant sandwiches? Desserts, I'll bet, half a grocery trip's worth of fruit, and your way of saying, 'Thanks, Mom' is going behind her back to chug a few funnels,” Zeke said.
The half-eaten meal was going ignored now. There were other things Casey had to tend to-namely, Zeke's sudden shit-storm of sanctimonious crap. After the display of rotten behavior and carelessness, never mind his staying back? “Me wanting to fuck-around doesn't mean I don't love my fucking parents or appreciate them-and like HELL I'm gonna 'funnel', I'll probably barely get through one beer!”
“Then why bother going?”
“YOU are! What're you gonna tell your mom, you're going to a late-night church service??”
“My mom ain't around.”
“Fine, your DAD, then.”
“He ain't around, either. C'mon, Casey... you seem to know every-thing about me, right? Haven't heard about my being on my own since seventeen?” Zeke told him. When all Casey could do was stare blankly at him, Zeke cocked his head to the side. “I'll tell y'know.”
“Huh? Tell what?”
“On you, to your mom.”
“Hey, Zeke!”
Casey's gawking and inner-raging was interrupted by a bubbly-middle school girl now standing next to him, her hair blonde with fading purple streaks. Zeke looked at her warily. “Hi... Melody,” he haltingly replied.
“I KNOW you said you didn't play guitar good, but I got another couple people here interested in my band! One girl's gonna sing with me, kinda like 'Wilson-Phillips'.”
Picturing Zeke amongst girls striving to be the next sappy girl-group was suddenly the most hilarious thing Casey could imagine. Of course, Zeke wasn't as amused. He rubbed his eyes with his hand. “Mel, your finding people for your... band doesn't magically give me strumming-skills--”
“Hah, what're you talking about, Zeke?” Casey blurted. The plan for revenge had come quick; as Zeke frowned at him, Casey chuckled and looked at Melody. “Don't let him fool you. He's just being modest-give this guy a guitar and he channels Hendrix.”
Melody smiled, but looked confused at the same time. “Hah, Hendrix...? Who's that?”
“Casey. Casey, I'll mean it when it happens. I promise.”
Zeke's mysterious threat didn't sway Casey in the slightest. “One of the best guitar players, ever. I've heard his rendition of 'Are You Experienced?' Believe me, it's unreal.”
“I KNEW you were just being modest!” Melody said to the older boy, who stood up in a shot.
“Okay, do I gotta get mean about it? Fine.” He looked directly at Melody, eyebrows raised and hands folded by his chin. “The last fucking thing I want on the planet is to be in a shitty little band full of middle school kids. 'Wilson-Phillips', really? Given the choice with a gun put to my head, you'll find me in the hospital after gouging out my eyeballs before joining a 'band' that'll get laughed off the stage at a 'Battle of the Bands' contest.”
Silence fell; even Casey, who knew that Zeke's words were more like knives when he wanted them to be, was shocked at how easy it'd seemed for him to crush a young, naïve little girl's hopes and dreams. Melody's lower lip trembled before letting a sob escape, then streams of tears. “Fuck's sake...” Zeke said before stalking off to head back down the road.
“Mel...” Casey went to say something, anything, but the fourteen-year old turned quick and ran to the bathrooms at the side of the building. Another girl witnessing the scene a few yards away ran after her, calling, “Mellie, what's wrong??”
Casey didn't know who the rotten, stinking bastard was in this situation; Zeke, or himself. Perhaps they'd both played the part just now.
~*~
“Hey-Case!”
Casey looked up from the plants he'd been set-up to work with and found Ben going to the aisle next to him. “Yea?”
“You're from Herrington, right?” Ben asked.
The two set down to slave-away while Casey nodded. “Yea-why?”
“My older cousin Lenny's from there, and I wondered if you'd give him a ride in on Friday. I live right here in Ravenna, so...”
“Oh. Yea, well, I don't have a car, and...” 'I dunno if I'm going anyway,' he continued in his thoughts. That afternoon had definitely put a damper on any fun-and-frolic Casey could've enjoyed this weekend...
“Ah. That's okay-I'd just wanted to check, cos' I said I'd give him a ride if he couldn't come,” Ben said, shrugging. “Figured I'd try and save some gas money.”
Casey smiled. “Yeeea. The no-license thing means I'll probably have to renege on going.”
“Hah, well, if I'm goin' to Herrington anyway I can take ya,” Ben said. “I'd asked Zeke a bit ago if he'd help out, but he said he might not make it at all. Still, he tossed me some serious cash cos' he said he keeps promise.”
“Yea. Yea, he's a real charitable guy...” 'Yea, right,' Casey thought to himself again.
“So, you in?”
“Well...” Casey paused to think a moment. Zeke had planned on going, with the means to do it-but that was the furthest method of Casey's getting to Ben's place. With his blacklisting Casey from going in the first place giving the parental-threat he had, how Casey had set him up to destroy Melody's dreams...
But there was the prospect of 'having fun' for once in his stupid, lame life. “I'll letcha know tomorrow after talking to my parents. My curfew went up a few notches with summer around, sooo...”
“Cool, I get it. Tom's parents know what HE gets up to at parties and make him sign... affidavits, or contracts, whatever,” Ben said with a guffaw. Casey chuckled along, feeling a bit better that he wasn't the only one here with wary, strict parents. Getting past their overprotective nature was going to be tough, but he'd be giving it his best shot. Anything to be part of 'the gang', for once.
~*~
It was the usual dynamic; on one end of the dinner table sat Mr. Connor, who wasn't going into an instant-defensive mode when it came to Casey's bringing up party plans. The other end, however...
“But... we don't KNOW this boy, or his family. And he's not from around here,” Mrs. Connor said.
“I know, but really, he's nice,” Casey replied, and it was true. Ben's supplying some drinks and weed for this thing didn't make him a bad seed, just a bit... delinquent. “Everyone at work is, really. It's not like high school, with the 'food chain' that goes on. We're all just... there, working together. Y'know?”
“Maybe. But I still don't like the idea that I've watched one too many programs about today's youth, and what trouble they can start.” She gave him a solid, motherly look. “I don't want you surrounded by drugs and drinking.”
“But it's a Friday night, and-since when am I invited, to anything?”
It was Mr. Connor's turn to clear his throat and weigh in on the issue. “DO you know if there's gonna be alcohol and other stuff?”
'Lie, lie, lie,' Casey thought, and no matter how much guilt could come if it, Casey replied, “I don't think so. I think his parents will be around... just out on a date, or something. But... look, even if there WAS--”
“It's gonna be a flat-out 'no' if you say anything more,” Mrs. Connor interrupted. Casey swallowed down the urge to roll his eyes-that was the one thing that would piss his mother off to the nth, more than any other show of defiance.
“You trust me, right? Even if there was that kinda crap there... I'm not IN-to it,” Casey finished.
“Hmm.” Mr. Connor took another quick bite of mashed potato then asked, “How're you gonna get there in the first place?”
“Frank...” Mrs. Connor said. Casey saw the hint of an 'in' here, his father contemplating the 'yes' that he'd be willing to give.
“A cousin of Ben's is from here, and Ben's planning on picking him up. So he'd said he could drive me to it, then drive me back,” Casey replied.
“Well... c'mon, Meredith, let's let him have some fun. He's right-he's always been stuck at home in the summer,” Mr. Connor said.
“Frank, I just don't know...”
“Mer, you seem to forget how we met.” Mr. Connor now wore a sly smile. “Your sorority sisters weren't exactly nuns, remember?”
Mrs. Connor looked obstinate, but the memories from years past her husband was bringing up-whatever they were-had her relax the tension in her face and turn to Casey. “Fine. But you will not, repeat, not be diving into any booze, or worse. I catch wind of anything like that having happened, you'll catch hell.”
He was growing up, even if he had to force it down his parents' throats. Casey smiled, thanked them then wolfed down the dinner. To make sure he made a good impression, he did the dishes first before putting it off for online-gaming. Even if that made it obvious that he was kissing-ass, he was going to be his mom and dad's Golden Boy as best he could.
~*~
June 26th
The ride from Wednesday had been a one-time perk, Casey figured... and expected. Both the day before and today, the Friday everyone had been buzzing about, had been on the bus to work, from work then to work again. Zeke had gone back to pretending Casey wasn't there, and Casey wasn't fretting over it.
Casey couldn't deny the satisfaction he felt in hearing Melody's two best friends say things like, “There goes asshole!”, “Hey, asshole!”, “I'll bet asshole sucks in bed.”, every time Zeke came within range of them. Zeke acted indifferent to it, but Melody seemed satisfied that she had backup when it came to her being told-off by the older boy on Wednesday. Those middle-school girls were small and relatively sweet, but fierce. 'Good on 'em,' Casey thought as he continued working, this day being spent in the blackberry end of the farm.
Despite the prickly thorns that'd scratch along Casey's fingers, he barely felt them, especially when Ben had come by quick to check his name off on the 'List O' Partiers' he'd brought to make sure they knew who'd show up. They may have wanted a good-sized crowd, but didn't want friends bringing friends bringing friends... “And fuck the babies around here,” Ben had said, nodding to two small, gangly boys both whining to each other about how much blackberries sucked.
When left alone with his thoughts a small while before the lunch bell rang, Casey figured it all out. If he'd ever been invited to a party being held by a fellow student, he'd refuse instantly then hole up in his room all night. Whoever it'd be, their intentions for his showing-up probably involved something nasty, like jocks showing up to give Casey an unsupervised, uninterrupted ass-kicking, or some other form of humiliation. But here, there was no fear that'd happen.
The guys who worked here, even the few Casey DID know from school-they worked here, most of them quick, diligent and devoted to the job itself. They were interested in earning their own money, while people like Gabe and the other bullies enjoyed their summers at each other's big, expensive houses. Gabe's mother was a well-known defense lawyer in town, which would come in handy years later when Gabe would get caught drunk-driving, or beating a girlfriend-whatever other criminal acts Casey could picture him committing. Gabe's best buddy Freddy also had it made. His parents were divorced, but his dad was in the film industry in California, giving Freddy the edge when it came to mailed checks and being loaded-up with expensive toys. The shimmering, metallic blue Audi he drove to school had always made Casey scowl; not from wanting it, but Freddy's having it, as if he'd been born entitled to the best while not having to work for anything he received.
Casey, Ben, Tom and almost every guy (and girl, really) here were in this working-world together. Instead of any of them showing off gleaming, golden watches like Gabe would showcase to anyone willing to take a look, they'd go over where their first paycheck would go; a new stereo, getting a car fixed, saving up for a car altogether... real-life, honest responsibilities. Sure, they'd delve into some fun-trouble when parents were around, some of it underage-drinking and that ilk. But in the end, who cared?
It was likely that, in their adult years, none of them would be working in corner-offices or have private jets to whisk them away to Paris every weekend. Though a few of them, Casey included, planned on attending a good college and having a chance at a better life, nothing was wrong with the others who'd either end things with their high school diplomas, or go on to enroll in trade-school instead of Ivy League. In the grand scheme of things, the world needed these teenagers to grow up and utilize the work ethics they'd learned during their time working hard in the hot, grueling humidity and being covered in dirt and too-ripened fruit juices. If every young person, silver spoons born in their mouths or not took on a summer job like this, the world would be an easier place to live in.
Lunch came and went in the blink of an eye. Younger kids kept bitching about being too young for the party being blathered about. One girl got a talking-to after being spotted enjoying too many freebies she'd picked, though she'd taken Bill's warnings seriously and didn't pilfer a nibble for the rest of the day. By the time the buses rolled in, everyone was ready for the weekend, rushing off to start it off right. After getting his bag, Casey spotted Zeke nearby getting his own. He considered going over, but didn't see the sense or purpose in it. He turned, filed through the crowds getting their things then stopped dead in hearing Zeke call out, “Hey, Connor!”
Casey turned reluctantly. “Yea?”
“Seventy Ash Street, right?” he said while rolling his tongue around the inside of his cheek.
Casey's address... was he about to give up on giving Casey shit on how he should conduct himself and give him a ride to Ben's? “Yea. Why?”
“I'll be dropping by to meet Mommy Connor for tea.”
'The FUCK you will,' Casey thought. The guy was bluffing-had to be. Casey gave him a snide look, raised both middle fingers Zeke's way and backed up toward the drive where the buses waited. Zeke's slow, sexy smile was made to leave Casey guessing. 'He won't,' Casey thought, or hoped anyway, as he turned away.
~*~