(no subject)
Just to repeat myself from the last post: sorry to be taking so long with this one. I didn't mean for it to blow up like this!
Title: Sweet Valley (Pt. 5)
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.
Previous Parts
Though Zeke was in a very-obvious bad mood as they set off for home, Casey didn't want to question him about it. After all, he didn't need to ask, already knowing what made him moody and quiet. Instead, it was best to paste a smile on and say, “Another day, another dollar.”
“Hmm. Yea,” Zeke said.
“Ben's talking about having another party. You goin'?”
Zeke rolled his tongue around in his mouth a moment. “Dunno if I'll be sticking around,” he said.
“What... work?” Casey asked. When Zeke nodded, Casey frowned and asked, “Why?”
“You know why.” Zeke slid his eyes over to give Casey a knowing look. “You heard 'em-Jas and Becks.”
“Huh?”
“Christ's sake, I saw you. Kinda hard NOT to, with you barreling through the bushes like a fuckin' rhino.”
A heavy sigh escaped Casey's chest. “Well... 'k, yea, I heard 'em,” he said. “But seriously, don't leave over that junk.”
“'That junk' doesn't happen when I'm alone in the house. Or at the very least, I don't have to listen to it,” Zeke replied. “It might get lonely, but at least I don't have to put up with chick-shit.”
“Zeke...” Casey said. There it was again; girl-bashing. “Not ALL the girls are like that. Jasmine, there, she didn't talk much crap about you, if at all.”
“It's enough. And don't get all 'sensitive male' on me. All the girls were talking about you this afternoon, y'know; all of 'em were saying how you'd been a jerk to Becca, leading her on and stuff,” Zeke said.
“Huh?”
“You heard. Still wanna defend those bitches?”
Casey took a deep breath then let it out, shaking his head. “I hadn't heard. I ran into a few girls while working; they didn't tell me anything, or bitch at me.”
“'Course they didn't. That's what girls do; they smile in your face then talk shit about you when you turn around,” Zeke replied.
“'K, say you're right. Why care about it? Hell, you yourself don't put any weight into their opinions, so?” Casey said. Noting Zeke's silence, Casey continued, “Why care when it means nothing? Just ignore it. Keep earning a paycheck and ignore it.”
It was Zeke's turn to sigh; he tossed the dying stub of his cigarette out the window and leaned back, one hand on the wheel, the other resting upon the opened window. “It's hard to ignore it when they think I'm fucking your ass,” he said bluntly. Casey was thrown back into silent-mode, especially when Zeke shot him another look. “Are we fucking, Casey?”
“I... no,” Casey replied.
“Well, we may as well start with the way those chicks talk.”
'God, don't SAY this stuff...' Casey thought. He needed to turn away to stare at the scenery they passed; shopping plaza, cars, people... “Let 'em talk. Who cares?” he muttered.
The rest of the ride was quiet, minus the mumbling radio and the whoosh of wind coming through the windows. They were soon driving into Herrington to Casey's street; Casey was stuck between wanting to make a hasty, “Goodbye,” before running into his home and begging Zeke for a nice, quiet afternoon at his.
It was odd to find Casey's mother standing at the end of the driveway; she was usually still at work, perming, cutting and coloring. The phone was in her hand while she stared at the car, its hood open. “The hell?” Casey muttered.
“She okay?” Zeke asked.
“Dunno... Mom!” Casey called to her. She looked over, raised her eyebrows and approached.
“Hi, honey.”
“What's goin' on?”
The woman groaned and shook her head. “I'm trying to get in touch with your father. He has the Triple-A card...” She looked back to the car, sighing. “I came home on my break to grab a few things I forgot for an extension-appointment I have and-well, the car seems to have crapped the bed.”
“Oh. Dang,” Casey said.
“Yea, well... is this your friend, Zach?”
Casey chuckled. “Zeke. Yea.”
“Oh, sorry.” Mrs. Connor leaned down to look to the driver's side, her smile wide. “Hi, there. I'm Casey's mom.”
“Figured,” Zeke said, smirking. He then sniffed and glanced to the car. “You, uh... need a ride?”
“Aw, thanks, honey. But no, I'm gonna need to get a tow for it. That's if my husband would answer his stinking cell phone, anyway,” Mrs. Connor replied with a groan.
“What's wrong with it, anyway?” Casey asked as he got out.
“Dunno-it just won't start. I'm wondering if it's the battery,” she said.
“Want me to take a look at it?”
Both Casey and Mrs. Connor turned to Zeke, who was getting out of the GTO. Mrs. Connor blinked fast and smiled. “Oh... honey, thanks, I don't wanna trouble you...”
“Nah, not a big deal... I'm good with cars,” Zeke said, shrugging. He went to the trunk of his car, opened it and brought out a large box of tools.
“Well, um-sure,” Mrs. Connor said. “Why not?”
Casey smiled as they walked to the drive where the car sat. With the hood already popped open, Zeke moseyed over to it, set the tools down and gave the insides a look-over. “The battery looks new. Do you know how old it is?” he asked.
“Umm...” Mrs. Connor sucked her lips in a moment before saying, “I'm-not well-versed in car-care, unfortunately. Casey's father is in charge of most of that.”
Zeke nodded slowly. “There's no corrosion, the thing looks okay. Lemmee test it.”
Casey watched with curiosity as Zeke opened his box and dug out a strange contraption of wires and what looked to be a remote. “What's that?”
“Auto-meter, tests the voltage the battery's giving off,” Zeke said in a blank tone. He went through the motions, hooking it up to the battery, flicked a few buttons and stared at the tool's screen. “Yea, it's fine.”
The device was unhooked and set on top of the box; Casey moved aside and let Zeke go to the driver's side. “Shoulda checked this first...” Zeke said, still airy and distracted-concentrating on the problem at hand. The keys were still in the ignition; Zeke sat down in the seat and turned them. Instead of the engine whirring or trying to, light but distinct click-click-clicks were made. “Yea, it's the starter.”
“Shit. What's THAT mean?” Mrs. Connor asked.
“Might be a big deal, might not. We'll see-Case, shut the hood.”
Casey nodded and followed the instruction given. After it came down in a small slam, Zeke grabbed the shift. “Good thing it's an automatic,” he said as he forced the shift to 'N'. “Casey-push the car back a bit.”
“Huh?”
“Do it, geez.”
Casey shrugged, braced his hands on the car and shoved at it. Though he didn't have much in the brute-strength department, the small slope of the drive allowed the car to move half a foot or so. “'K, stop,” Zeke said. He put the car back in park, pressed the brake down and turned the key.
“Oh!” Mrs. Connor gasped as the engine came to life. Even Casey was impressed, walking over with a big grin as Zeke got out.
“It's a dead spot in the starter; moving the car spins the starter a bit and moves it to a new contact. Not the most expensive fix in the world, I've done it before,” Zeke said. “I say just to take it to the mechanic when you can; doesn't have to be right now, just whenever you get a minute. I suggest Gary's on Forest Ave, he's an honest guy, won't try to bilk you out for crap you don't need.”
“THANK you!” Mrs. Connor exclaimed. In her excitement and gratitude, she leaned up quick to peck a kiss on Zeke's cheek and squeezed his arm. It made the boy jolt a little and cringe, but Mrs. Connor didn't notice-Casey did, leaving him worried. Mrs. Connor, still chipper and happy, hopped into the driver's seat. “I was afraid I'd miss out on a big tip, but I'm just gonna make it! Thanks so, so much, Zeke.”
“Yea. 'Welcome,” Zeke mumbled. He looked confused, eyes darting up and down, all around.
“Sorry... she's... like that,” Casey replied hesitantly once his mother had backed out and driven down the road.
“S'okay,” Zeke said, still mumbling. He went over to his toolbox and packed up the meter. Casey tried his hand at a smile, however shaky it was.
“I promise, she wasn't hitting on you. That's just how she gets when... yea,” he said.
“Yea, got it,” Zeke said, a little curtly.
Casey nodded and looked to the house. He realized then that he'd been to Zeke's, but Zeke hadn't crossed his own threshold. “Mom made a killer banana-bread last night. Wanna... go in and hang out a bit?” he asked.
“I dunno. I got a few things I gotta do,” Zeke said.
“C'mon. Please? I'm gonna get bored, sitting around.”
With a sigh, Zeke stood up with his box held at his side. After a pause, he shrugged. “Yea, whatever. Let me go put this shit back.”
Casey felt shaky with joy as he nodded. “'K, cool,” he said as calmly as he could.
~*~
“It's not beer, but...”
Zeke smirked, tossed his short-sleeved flannel on the arm of the couch and took the offered glass of cola. “It's not like I drink like a fish-don't sweat it.”
Casey smiled and walked to the other side of the couch. With 'The People's Court' playing on the TV, he set the other item, a plate holding four slices of banana bread on the coffee table. “Seriously, it's good-homemade and everything,” he said.
“Yea, looks good,” Zeke replied, reaching over to take a piece.
The boys settled back, sipping and chewing. Zeke expressed approval of the snack in his hum and nod. Casey, still in bliss over having someone 'over' got halfway through his slice and chuckled at the scene playing out on the set. “Talk about screwjob-mechanics...” he said of the man being sued over botched car-repairs, the plaintiff handing over document after document to the bailiff. “Why DO so many car guys take advantage like that?”
“Cos' they can. Thas' why people should know more about their cars,” Zeke replied through a mouthful. “If it's something that you depend on all the time, take care o' it.”
“I dunno if I could.”
“You work with computers, right?” Zeke asked. When Casey nodded, Zeke nodded back. “Then you could. Machinery's machinery, you just gotta get to know it a little.”
“Dad does... a little, like you said. He almost sued one guy in town after he gouged my mom's checking account for nothing at all,” Casey said.
“Which guy?”
“Shit, the... River Street, I think--”
“Pfft, Joe Torrone, fuck that guy,” Zeke interrupted to say, scoffing. “He's notorious, especially if you walk into his garage with a vagina.”
Casey couldn't help a snort. “Oh, here we go again.”
“What?”
“The whole 'chick hate' thing.”
Zeke cocked an eyebrow. “It's not hate-it's annoyance. Girls, they want independence, right? So don't make yourself so fuckin' vulnerable,” he said. “Everyone should know car-care basics, cock dangling between your legs or not. No excuses; either get to know your vehicle or become prey, pretty simple equation.”
“Well... okay, girls, they don't get the same... I dunno, opportunities? Or whatever, they don't get schooled in that stuff. Things like cars are more 'guy things',” Casey said.
“Don't be so sexist.”
“Huh? I'm being the opposite--”
“Y'know that kid in your class, the special-ed one-Jimmy?” Zeke said, the subject-switching sudden. Casey stayed silent as Zeke leaned back on the couch and looked to Casey. “The one who stole the glee-club's fundraising box?”
“Yea, I know,” Casey said.
“He got himself a pass on that, why? Because he 'didn't know any better'. Fuck that.”
“Well, c'mon. The guy IS special-needs.”
“So? You only make it worse in giving them excuses, when really? The kid's smart enough. He was smart enough to steal that shit to begin with,” Zeke said. “He waited for everyone to leave, went through the open classroom next to the band room where it was kept to sneak into the door connecting the rooms. He knew the band room was locked, so he went around that. You're gonna tell me he's just a 'retard'? Bullshit.”
“And this has to do with women and cars... how?” Casey asked.
“Dumbing shit down for people does nothing to help anybody. It's the fuckin' opposite; 'Jimmy didn't know,' 'She's a poor girl who never got taught about cars,' it's all a load of crap. If you wanna learn something, learn it.”
It made some sense, of course. Still, Casey shook his head. “At least my mom can bake. Most guys don't know how to do that, for the same reason.”
“Oh yea? Wanna come by my place for dinner?” Zeke asked with a smirk. “I had to learn THAT, too. It was that, constant take-out, crappy mike-meals or I starved to death.”
“Hah, what kinda dinner?”
“You tell me.”
“Hmm?”
“Your favorite dinner. Tell me.”
Casey looked his way, blinking slowly. After a moment of thought, he chuckled and said, “Lobster bisque, truffle-dusted macaroni and cheese and crème brulee.”
“Okay, that's pushing it. I'll make my usual,” Zeke said.
“Yea? What's that?” Casey asked.
“Ain't tellin'. You'll find out.”
Was he being invited to Zeke's for dinner-a homemade one? “When?”
“Mmm... gonna be busy tomorrow and Wednesday, how's Thursday sound?” Zeke asked.
“Uh... sure,” Casey said.
“Cool. Can't wait to make you eat your hat.”
“That's your secret recipe, huh?”
Zeke smiled, shrugged and took his next piece. Casey, meanwhile, wanted to master the space-time continuum, Thursday feeling far, far off.
~*~
Casey had expected Zeke's visit to be brief, but all had changed when he'd come back from the kitchen to get more cola and found Zeke pulling something from the living room shelf. “What--” he'd gone to ask.
“A photo album, interesting,” Zeke had said with a devious snicker.
As embarrassing as it'd been, Zeke paying witness to Casey in everything from diapers to that god-fucking-awful outfit he'd worn for Christmas '89 (“My mom MADE me wear that travesty,” he'd said of the pea-soup green pants and bright neon-blue sweater with a snowflake print that his great-aunt had made for him) it'd felt close... personal. They weren't just shooting-the-shit or having awkward silences when they couldn't come up with anything to say, but laughing together over Casey's much-younger self.
“It's nice here,” Zeke had remarked once the album had been fully-viewed. He'd gazed at the pictures hanging on the walls, mostly depicting family or Casey's school photos. It'd been a wistful sound in his voice, as if he wished the same for himself.
In the present, Casey was just about to ask Zeke if he wanted to check out his computer set-up when the front door opened. Mrs. Connor walked in and looked into the living room; a grin spread over her face. “Hi, boys,” she said.
“Hey... whoa, six o'clock already?” Casey said of the time.
“Yep. The aching in my feet prove it, never mind the tips. Whiiich...” The woman set her purse down, reached into her slacks' pocket and brought out a few bills. A ten was plucked from the small bunch and held out to Zeke. “Here. Thanks to you, Rosemary got her extensions in time for her important presentation.”
“Oh. No, don't worry about it,” Zeke said with a incredulous expression.
“No? Fine then, you're staying for dinner,” she replied.
Zeke didn't protest this time, choosing to smile and shrug instead. Casey, not full from their snacking in the slightest, asked, “What're we having?”
“Nothing too wild; just some Rice-Crispy chicken and cous-cous,” Mrs. Connor replied. “If you're good, I'll throw together a banana-pudding pie.”
“Ooh...”
“That's my baby's favorite,” Mrs. Connor said, beaming at Zeke; Casey blushed.
“Mooom...”
~*~
However simple the meal was, Mrs. Connor always put enough love into her cooking to make everything taste fantastic. Mr. Connor, glad to be home after a long, hard day on the factory-floor had doled out the dinner with compliments, telling Zeke, “This here's a staple of the family.”
Zeke had taken his plate, giving a courteous, “Thanks,” before tucking in. His awkward posture and demeanor was noticeable enough, but no one pointed it out; it seemed to be understood, especially to Casey. When had been the last time Zeke had sat down for dinner with a family, his or someone else's?
Halfway through, Mr. Connor looked to Zeke with a smile. “Thanks, by the way... for helping Meredith with the car,” he said, nodding her way.
“It was an easy job,” Zeke, eyes staying on his plate, said.
“Still, I wouldn't have thought of that trick, and I ain't too bad with cars,” Mr. Connor said. “And I gotta say-you've got yourself a sweet ride.”
“Seconded. What kind of car is it?” Mrs. Connor asked.
“1971 GTO,” Zeke replied.
“Mmm. Love muscle cars. I had a Camaro in college,” Mr. Connor said. Mrs. Connor chuckled.
“You and that car. A love affair of the ages,” she said.
Zeke smiled, looked between them and shrugged. “I couldn't drive a minivan, that's for sure.”
“Hah, nope-no soccer-momming for me, either,” Mr. Connor said.
Casey chuckled along; once his plate was clean, he gave his mother a hopeful look. “Where's the pie? I'll snag it.”
“You and sugar, another romance. In the fridge, honey,” she replied.
Casey left the table with child-like excitement. Pie, his favorite... not much changed, or would. He opened the fridge door and reached over to the pale yellow, gorgeous-looking dessert. The graham cracker crust was a sure delight as well. It was brought back into the dining room, Mrs. Connor doling out small dessert-plates.
“Are you as nuts for dessert as THIS kid?” she asked Zeke while nodding once to her son.
“Yea, it's all good,” Zeke replied. “Especially pie-any kind.”
“Cake's my biggee. Nothing like the rum variety,” Mr. Connor said with a smack of his lips, though he gave the slice handed to him a hungry gaze.
“Eh, cake's good... pie's better. It's the ultimate agreement,” Zeke said.
“Ultimate... huh?” Casey muttered.
“Yea, think about it.” Zeke took his first bite, hummed with pleasure, chewed then sat straighter. “You can end any argument going on bringing up the subject of pie.”
“Yea?” Mrs. Connor said, chuckling.
“Mmhmm. Works every time, doesn't matter what's being bitched about.”
Casey cringed-lord knew he'd get chewed-out by his parents for saying 'damn', but they paid Zeke's cursing no mind. In fact, Casey's mother leaned onto a hand to look at Zeke with interest. “More details, please. With the bickering that goes on at work, I need anything I can get.”
For the first time since they'd sat down, Zeke let out a few chuckles and looked up at her. “I was online, in some game-site; it had a chatroom, right? Some idiot brought up abortion of all things, and everyone was arguing; all I had to say was, 'Hey, I just made the most awesome apple pie' to distract 'em all. Think about it-there's a pie everyone likes. Don't like fruit? Cream, don't like that? Pot-pie. The list goes on.”
Never would Casey have imagined that Zeke would be sitting at their dinner table, never mind have a deep discussion about pie. It worked its charm, however, shown through Mr. and Mrs. Connor chuckling and nodding. “I never would've thought of that. I'm gonna use it,” Mr. Connor said.
“And had you made a pie?” Mrs. Connor asked.
“Mmhmm,” Zeke hummed around a forkful.
“A boy who cooks; I like that.” Mrs. Connor beamed. “Your mother taught you well.”
Zeke's smile faded, for obvious reasons. “Yea. Yea,” he muttered.
Knowing the need to escape, Casey ate quickly, swallowed the large mouthfuls down and said, “Hey, let's go up to my room.”
“Eh!” Mr. Connor gave Casey a pointed look and pointed to the table. “Dishes, perhaps?”
“Oh, let 'em go, Frank,” Mrs. Connor said, rolling her eyes. “He can do them later.”
“I'll clear,” Casey said. He proceeded to pluck the dishes, cups and silverware from the table, as many as he could at one time. Zeke stood and took a few himself.
“Aw, I'm loving you more and more,” Mrs. Connor told the boy, who smirked.
“Yea, well...”
“C'mon,” Casey said. He ventured into the kitchen, all but dumped everything in the sink and turned away. “I have GOT to show you this game I--” he went to say, but was suddenly stopped by a hand grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling him back. He turned his head and found Zeke giving him a look while tugging him to the sink.
“Rules are rules. I'll wash, you dry,” he said.
~*~
With Mrs. Connor downstairs with her husband, more than likely still chirping about how she'd love to adopt Zeke into the family, the boys ventured into Casey's room. It didn't hit Casey that he had Zeke Tyler in his bedroom until he turned to him with a smile, finding Zeke inspecting the many posters and pictures on the wall. 'Shit,' Casey thought, noting that Zeke had moved to the row of Casey-made photos right by his bed. “You, uh, wanna check out this--”
“You're good,” Zeke interrupted, still staring at the pictures.
“Huh?”
“You took these, right?”
Casey snapped out of it to nod. “Yea. Yea, most of 'em,” he said.
“Mmm,” Zeke hummed; crossing his arms, he leaned down to look at the set closest to the head of Casey's bed. He pointed to one and asked, “How'd you get this one?”
“Which?” Casey asked, but stepped over to see. Zeke was tapping a nature shot, a super close-up of a frog. “Oh. I just... laid down on the ground at the edge of the pond in Heather Park and sat by a few lilypads. That guy jumped onto one only about six inches away, didn't notice me. Well, the flash scared him off.”
“That's pretty cool,” Zeke said.
“Thanks,” Casey replied softly; it was hard to hold back a highly-pleased, shy grin.
“I hate the school paper-but like the pics you take for it.” Zeke kept moving his eyes from one shot to the next, his voice low and almost drowsy. “I actually cut one out and put it in my locker.”
It was getting impossible, keeping love and lust for this boy at bay. “Wh... Which one?” Casey asked, cursing inwardly at his stammering.
“It was this generic shot of the hallway-kinda like what you'd see in a magazine about the 'rise of school violence', blurry images of kids walking down the hall, at lockers... but... I dunno,” Zeke said, pausing a moment with a contemplative expression on his face. “It was framed perfectly, and the light was... perfect, too, like you'd commanded everything to fall into the right places.”
“Thanks... again, I guess,” Casey said. “I guess I'm good at something.”
Zeke finally turned away from the wall to give Casey an odd look; it was mostly blank, minus the small, suspicious squint he made with his left eye. “Of course you're good at something. Everyone is.”
“Besides taking pics and computers, there ain't much else. I act like a fuckin' girl in gym, according to Willis, never mind when I'm--”
“Willis can suck a dick. Seriously.”
Zeke's interruption caught Casey off-guard, but only for a moment. Chuckling derisively, Casey replied, “Well, c'mon. I DO suck in gym. People know where to aim the ball if I'm on the other side of the volleyball net, shit like that.”
“Y'know what I'd like to see more of at that hellhole, Case?” Zeke asked. He tapped the frog-photo again, harder. “Shit like this. Not... the asinine, useless worship of asshole-jocks everyone gives them.”
“Yea, well-you're a rarity. They almost cut the paper out of the budget for next year, but Mr. Allen managed to come up with funding for it. We all know he put it up himself, even though he won't admit it,” Casey said. “Maybe it IS a bit of a rag, but... well, he started it, and doesn't wanna let it go.”
“Good,” Zeke said.
Casey nodded, smiled and glanced back to his computer. “You wanna go online?”
“Eh... I'm more interested in a smoke, it's been a bit.”
“Hah, well, that's not allowed inside.”
“I guessed that,” Zeke said. He straightened, stretched up on tip-toe and groaned before saying, “Actually, I should head back home. Like I said, I gotta do a few things.”
“Oh,” Casey replied sadly.
“I been here hours, dude.” Zeke chuckled and cocked an eyebrow. “You ain't sick of me?”
“Why, you sick of me?”
“Nooo...”
Casey wanted to beg him to stay, and stay, and stay, but all good things had to come to an end-and Zeke was right, it had been almost five hours now. “I get it, don't worry,” Casey replied, adding a casual shrug.
“It was nice, though. Your mom's a good cook,” Zeke said.
“Thanks. And yea, I had fun,” Casey replied. “I'll walk you down.”
Zeke shrugged, nodded and went out first, Casey following. Once at the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Connor looked up from his paper to them. “Heading home?” he asked Zeke.
“Yea. Thanks for dinner,” he said.
“You're welcome-thanks for the car-fixing, again, kiddo.”
Casey opened the door for the boy and stood aside. “See you in the morning?” he asked.
“Yup. See ya then,” Zeke said.
'This is usually the part where a couple kisses each other goodbye,' came the unbidden thought as Zeke opened the screen door to leave. Nothing of note happened, just Zeke's quick wave, smile and turning around to hop down the porch steps. Casey gave one small wave back then fought down the urge to watch him go in his shutting the door. Just as the roar of the GTO sounded, Mrs. Connor came down the hall from the kitchen.
“Oh, he left?” she asked.
“Yea, he had stuff to do,” Casey replied.
“He's a really nice boy. He can come by anytime.”
Casey smiled wide. “Yea, he is. Thanks.” A yawn cut in now; he was pretty tired, especially with Zeke having left. “I'm gonna head upstairs and jump in bed early.”
“All right. I'll make your lunch in a bit; do you want ham and cheese, or something else?” Mrs. Connor asked.
“Oh... don't worry, Mom. I think tomorrow's gonna be a burger-day.”
“Hah, all right.”
“Hey-is that Zeke's shirt?”
Mr. Connor's question made Casey and his mother turn to look into the living room. The man was motioning to the couch where, indeed, Zeke's discarded flannel shirt sat on the arm. “Oh. And he's... long gone,” Mrs. Connor said as she plucked it up. She turned to Casey with her eyebrows raised. “He's picking you up in the morning, right? You can give it to him then.”
Casey stared at the clothing a moment before making a quick nod. “Yea. Yea, I can... do that,” he said. He took the shirt from the woman, smiled and went back up the stairs. Feeling odd, he went to the doorway of his room, tossed the shirt to his bookbag sitting on the bureau then went into the bathroom to wash-up.
After finishing, Casey went back to his room, where he threw on a pair of old knee-length sweats and turned to the bed. His eyes flicked to the bureau as if on their own... the faded red and white plaid fabric, looking worn and soft was tempting him. 'Don't,' Casey thought, but he ignored himself in favor of picking it up and bringing it with him to the bed.
This was the very definition of ridiculous-longing. Casey moved to his side, putting the shirt on his pillow to stare at. He didn't honestly want to do this; it was more torture than comfort, especially when he caught the mix of smoke, leather and cologne... sweat. The boy had worn this at work, catching moisture from his body, soaking it in. Without actually thinking about what he was doing, Casey slid his hand over the flannel a few times then pulled it an inch away from his face. He closed his eyes and breathed.
Zeke's hot summer day, all toils, troubles and moments of relaxation, was here with Casey. He could almost smell moods and feelings; smirks. Sarcasm. Sighs. Close to the collar was something very distinct, leaving Casey unable to resist the urge to press his nose directly into it. Near the back held something soap-like... 'Shampoo,' Casey thought. It was definitely that.
There were few moments where Casey almost burst into tears, feeling pathetic and more lonely than he could ever express. It should've been enough that they were friends, real friends, going well-past any expectations Casey could have ever hoped for. His fingers curled into a fist around the shirt and tugged it to his neck and chest-it was soap-opera like, at this point. Realizing this, Casey curbed the drama growing inside to breathe easier, evenly.
This was good enough, for now. He had to swallow it down and accept things as they were. After all the empty, depressing summer seasons he'd spent alone in his room, doing absolutely nothing new or special, he had it good. So, so good-he needed to appreciate, not cry. It was still hard to sleep, but when he did, Zeke was there with him, holding him with the sweet care Casey had grown to see in the seemingly cold, sarcastic young man... the boy talented in making everyone think he was perfectly fine with how things were, when he wasn't. Casey having the insight he did was enough to let him drift off into a night of confusing, muted dreams.
~*~
July 9th
“Hey... Casey.”
Casey looked up from the row of strawberries he'd knelt down to work with; Becca stood in the row next to his, carrying her own tray of pints. Things had been quiet between them since Monday, but that was to change, apparently. “Hey,” Casey replied blandly.
The girl hummed, knelt down and started her work. The silent discomfort between them made Casey move faster, plucking away... but Becca was equally talented at this 'art', going just as fast. After a good ten minutes, she sighed and said, “I wanna say a few things.”
Great. Casey bit his lower lip and made a quick shrug. “'K.”
“First off... I'm sorry,” Becca said. This made Casey stop and look up to her; she sighed and looked down to continue with the strawberries, slower this time. “You were right, I don't take rejection well. It's kinda hard to when the only two times you dared to go for somebody, that's all you got. Rejection... meaning. It's like-I wake up every day and wonder if I'm just not pretty enough, or... whatever.”
“Becca, that's... ridiculous,” Casey said.
“Whatever's whatever, but I shouldn't have said what I did. I mean, the 'gay stuff', y'know?” she told him with soft, apologetic honesty. “Just because you don't wanna date me doesn't mean you wanna be with a guy. I was really rude about that.”
The sincerity was almost overwhelming. If only Zeke was here, listening on; perhaps his opinion about girls would shift... or at the very least, think better of THIS girl. Casey eventually nodded slowly. “It's okay. I guess... y'know, you were just upset, so it's okay. We all say things when we're upset,” he replied.
“I know. I just wanted YOU to know. Y'know?”
“Hah, yea.”
“So... we're cool?” she asked. With the bright smile and nod Casey gave her, Becca beamed back. “Cool. I hate it when there's tension, so...”
“I'm sorry, too. I should've been honest from the start... didn't mean to 'lead you on', or anything,” Casey added.
“N'aw, it's okay. Miscommunication and all,” Becca said.
“Mmm.” Casey hummed and returned to his work, moving with ease-tension terminated. 'Well, not-really,' he thought. There were things left unsaid, and however inconsequential or 'nobody's business' they were, Casey realized that he'd never, not once, voiced them to anyone. He didn't know if he could trust Becca or not, but that applied to everyone; it was what made him hide. He couldn't take it any longer. “Becks?”
“Yea?”
“Can I be more... honest?”
Becca looked up; her eyebrows rose with interest. “I spos', what?”
Here it was... “You were right,” Casey said in a rush.
“About...?”
“Why I wasn't into you.”
Blinking slowly, Becca's hands stilled and she sat up. “You're... that?”
“Yea. I'm 'that',” Casey replied. As her eyes went saucer-like, he sighed and continued, “I don't like lying about it, but I gotta. And--”
“Oh my god, he IS your boyfriend!” she said, thankfully in a whispered-hiss.
“Who? Wait, Zeke?? No, no... no,” Casey replied. His eyes darted around the rows; no one noticed their conversing, and Zeke was nowhere in sight. “He's not.”
“With the way he acts around you, though? Shit!” Becca moved in closer, the shock dissipating a little to allow a wide grin. “Dude, ask him out!”
Casey gawked a moment before letting out a string of huffed-chuckles. “Nooo,” he drawled, shaking his head. “I've known him for too long, no way. He's not... like that.”
“I bet you WANT him to be 'that' though.”
Girls were intuitive, weren't they? Annoying, weird, and fucking psychic, not that Casey could hide his feelings that well once they were out in the open enough for people to read. With a long, sad sigh, he said, “Maybe. But it won't happen.”
“I can't help but be relieved, I hope that's okay. It's not me, it's you-for real,” Becca said, giggling a little. “You just like boys...”
“Shh,” Casey said, knowing his blush and embarrassed smile was noticeable.
“No one can hear us, silly.”
“I know...”
“Well, I think he likes you,” Becca returned to the subject of Zeke and the 'gaiety' she perceived in him. “Just tell me, honestly...that whole soda-dumping thing, it was on purpose. Right?”
“He... didn't come out and admit it, but-”
“But yea, it was. KNEW it.”
Casey sighed, smiled and rolled his eyes. “Becks... I don't know. He's just weird like that. At school, he's a loner, doesn't give a damn about anyone. But it's summer, and... well, maybe he's just needing the company.”
Becca shook her head, gave him a mysterious smile and moved to her next plant. They went quiet now, choosing to work instead of gab. Becca was the first to finish her tray; she stood up, looked down at Casey and grinned. “I'll see ya at lunch?”
“Sure. Wait.” Casey put as much urgency in his voice to make her stop and look back at him. “Don't tell. Anyone.”
Her lips parted, eyes blinking fast. “Can I tell Jas?” she asked. Casey groaned and went to protest, but she went on, “She totally thinks you're a jerk, like you think I'm ugly or something! I promise-she's my most trusted secret-keeper. She won't tell.”
They WERE best friends, and by all appearances, Jasmine wasn't a back-stabbing bitch. With a resigned sigh, Casey said, “Fine. But it ends there, got it?”
“Got it,” Becca replied. Her grin widened again and she hopped off to give the fruit to Bill.
Casey, left with one last pint filled it, not bothering to rush through it. 'Thank god she doesn't know I'm having fuckin' dinner at his place tonight,' he thought. It brought him back to reality-the last few days had been torture, the seconds, minutes and hours feeling like decades. But that morning, with Zeke asking if he had any food allergies, Casey had felt electrified.
A homemade dinner at Zeke's. There was no way it could be interpreted any other way... perhaps Casey should have felt as strung-along as Becca had, and with good reason. 'Shut up,' he thought more, smirking as he finished the tray.
~*~
Mrs. Connor gave Casey an odd look. “He's... making you dinner?”
“Yea,” Casey said. He was trying his best to be casual about it, but her suspicion made him feel uneasy. “You heard 'im-he says he can cook and wants to prove it.”
“Uh... huh.” Mrs. Connor finally moved away from the fridge, where she'd gathered salad ingredients for tonight's family dinner... sans Casey. “What are you having?”
“Dunno, he says he wants it to be a 'surprise'. That's why he dropped my butt off and told me to come by at six; he said he likes being alone in the kitchen, and didn't want me bopping around asking, 'wahtcha doin'?' a million times,” Casey explained. “It's... okay, right? I don't wanna just bail on you...”
“No, it's fine, sweetie.”
“Cool. Thanks, Mom.” Casey smiled, leaned in and pecked a kiss on her cheek. With that, he turned to walk away. “Gotta motor, I'll be back by eleven--”
“Casey?”
The strange, barely-hidden insistence in her saying his name made Casey stop and turn halfway. “Yea?”
Mrs. Connor stared at her son intently. Her brow creased, eyes narrowed; she seemed to be searching for something. Finally, before Casey could get nervous, she said, “Have fun.”
“I will,” he muttered back, managed another smile then set off. He moved faster than usual, as if he felt there was something he needed to escape.
Girls and women were intuitive, his mother included. She'd proven that too many times, even if she never spoke about her conjectures. It was hard, a son trying to hide his innermost secrets from a mother who already knew them.
~*~
The door opened; Casey had to grin at Zeke's stepping aside, bowing and holding an arm out to the inside of the house. “Dinner is served,” he said.
“Yeeea,” Casey said in a drawl, smiling sarcastically. He stepped in, planning on teasing Zeke but stopped when he caught the aromas hanging in the air. “What'd... ya make?”
“It's in the dining room. C'mon,” Zeke replied.
Casey nodded slowly and followed the older boy down the hallway to the back. On their way to the dining room they passed through the kitchen; the smells were most intense there, of course. Many herbs, spices and oils filled the air; pans and other tools were sitting by and in the sink. “You did SOME-thing intense, huh?” he asked just as he turned to walk into the dining room. He stopped dead.
“You sit over there.” Zeke motioned to the chair on the opposite side of the table. The low-lit room had an orange glow, but the small votive in the middle of the table cast a flickering circle of red and shadow. It made the ice-filled silver bucket holding a bottle glisten. This wasn't Zeke Tyler-it was a menu with no prices on it.
The next stunning, gorgeous sight was sat in the spot where Casey was to sit at. A large plate full of delectable-delights was there; a slab of peppered-pink meat upon an assortment of colorful vegetables, or fruits-who knew, was to one side, an asparagus dish on the other. “Okay... what... did you do?” Casey stammered.
“Bacon-wrapped asparagus and maple-glazed salmon with pineapple salsa,” Zeke said as he sat down in the seat across Casey's. “I woulda done it up even more with the millions of forks, all classy-like, but I think this is enough.”
“Um... yea,” Casey said as he sat down. He peered at the meal with intensity; the yellow discs were indeed pineapple slices, with fluffy lettuce as a garnish. The pile of homemade salsa sat close by, along with the long green stems with crispy, gorgeous bacon hugging them. “Zeke. Jesus,” he said, but jumped at the loud pop! that went off. He looked up and found the young man with a freshly-opened bottle of wine.
“Red goes best with salmon,” he said as he poured. Casey stared at his glass, crystal, more than likely as it was filled with the deep, crimson liquid. Zeke repeated the action with his glass, put the bottle back in the bucket then picked his glass up. It hovered over the table, presented to a confused Casey.
“Oh,” Casey muttered and picked his up to put by Zeke's.
“To summer,” Zeke said as he clinked them together.
~*~
Red wine would never be an ultimate favorite of Casey's, but it didn't matter. The sweet, musky fish complimented it well, even the vegetable portion. It was one of the most delightful, delicious mixes of food and drink Casey had ever enjoyed in his life, all brought to him by Herrington High's most famous, most wrongly-assumed know-nothing loser.
This was a date, plain and simple, but Casey kept that delusion to himself. He didn't need to utter a word about it; if Zeke didn't see this as it was, he was hopeless, just as delusional. Both of them-mad and full of confused, teenage wonder, caught in the snare of summer and coincidence.
Zeke knew what dessert did to Casey by now, so he should have known what something like Bananas-Foster would incite. He'd made a show of it, sending a flash of flame in the pan he brought in. Casey jumped, giggled then allowed the boy to serve it. After cooling, Casey took a bite and moaned. “It's sex,” he said.
“Hah, huh?” Zeke said as he tucked into his own.
“Sex. I never had it, but this is it,” Casey said of the sweet-treat he was trying to not devour in one gulp.
“Mmm, yea. Outta everything, food is a close-second to actual orgasm,” Zeke replied. He then nodded to Casey's almost-empty glass. “More wine?”
“No... two glasses was enough,” Casey said, but he took the last sip in anyway. Again, it made the food he ate full of bliss. He had to watch himself now; he felt giggly, high and ready to tell Zeke everything. “Thanks for this. You've proven yourself, big fucking time.”
“Like I said-you learn it, if ya gotta.”
“I'll probably be living offa microwavables in college, cooking's not my big thing.”
“Naw, you gotta learn this shit.” Zeke finished his dessert, sat back and lit a cigarette. “Don't mind if I smoke, do ya?”
Casey chuckled a little. “If I said yes?”
“I already lit it,” Zeke replied with a sly grin, lips parting a bit to let out a stream of smoke.
“So courteous,” Casey teased. It didn't matter; Zeke's gorgeous smile and posture while smoking was enough to make more heat prickle in Casey's groin and thighs. He distracted himself with the last few bites, swallowed and sat back. “This was so awesome. Thanks... again.”
“No prob. It's fun to share, with the right person.”
Casey looked to the boy with slits of eyes. “Yea? What makes me that 'right person'?” he asked.
“You just are. I mean... really, any other idiot at school would take one look at what you just ate and ask if they could order a pizza instead,” Zeke said. “They ain't willing to try new, better shit. You are... you're an artist, you get it.”
“I see,” Casey said. He squirmed a little and looked to the dirty dishes. “I'll clear.”
“Leave it. C'mon, let's go out on the porch. And here...” Zeke tossed the pack of cigarettes to Casey. “After-dinner smoke.”
Casey noticed they weren't the usual brand. Most of the time, Zeke smoked Marlboros; the writing on THIS pack was foreign. “What are they?”
“Imported. I order 'em, they don't sell these anywhere in Ohio that I've seen. Vanilla-infused, fucking perfect and smooth as butter,” Zeke said as he stood. “C'mon.”
“Hah, 'k,” Casey said as he picked the cigarettes up and followed Zeke to the back. He hadn't been out on the patio here yet; it overlooked the garage and yard beyond, the clear sky above letting starshine come through like million-watt bulbs. “Fuckin' nice out here.”
“Mmhmm,” Zeke hummed and took a seat on the small couch provided. Casey sat down with him; a lighter was handed to him which he took.
“Thanks... never smoked though.”
The next minute was spent with Zeke's lesson of smoky-corruption, everything from how to light it and breathe in the first puff to holding back the urge to cough a lung up. Casey felt an awful tickle and coughed of course, but only once. He took deep breaths before trying again; it went down a little easier. “Yea... s'n-nice,” he said with a crackle in his voice.
“Ain't it? I don't smoke 'em all the time. Just after special shit,” Zeke said.
'Special shit'? Casey shuddered hard, hoping Zeke saw it as just a reaction to the next puff he took. He let it out smoothly, staring at the long cloud he made until it dispersed. “I know I've said it before, but... it IS a special summer, to me,” he said.
“Yea. Agreed,” Zeke replied.
“It's like... I've never known this kinda thing. I've always seen summer as a hiding-place, not an actual vacation. I've never had friends, and-now I do.” Casey looked at Zeke with a tiny, hopeful smile. “It's good, having one. A friend, I mean.”
Zeke nodded slowly, though he looked unsure. “You've got friends actually-lots of 'em,” he replied eventually. “The guys-even some of the girls, I'll admit it, at work... they're good people.”
“Yea, I know. 'Wish we all went to school together; that'd make it easier,” Casey said. “We're barely into summer, but the time's already rushing by faster than I like.”
“We'll make good use of it,” Zeke said, finally smiling a little.
Casey hummed in agreement and lowered his face to stare at the cigarette burning between his fingers. However nice this was, or how nice Zeke was, not everything could erase the underlying insecurity Casey felt around every corner of life... “Zeke?”
“Mmm?”
“You do... like me. Right?”
“Wouldn't bother making you a world-class meal if I didn't, right?”
“Well yea, but when summer's over and we're back at school, things won't... change, will they?” Casey asked next.
The moment of silence following made Casey's heart pound with anxiety until Zeke rubbed his eyes and said, “We'll see.” Zeke took a deep, hissing drag and removed the cigarette from his lips as he deepened his stare at the sky. It seemed as if that was all he was going to say on the subject, and it wasn't enough.
“I just wanna be sure. That's all,” Casey replied in a soft voice.
“Nothing's 'for sure', Casey.”
“I know,” Casey said, wanting to add a 'too well' at the end.
“So... you DID like my cooking, right?” Zeke asked; he ceased the empty staring and turned his eyes to Casey. The small smile he wore said, Let's not talk about that right now. As much as Casey was starting to worry deep inside, he smiled back.
“Yea. And hell, think about it... Herrington has no fancy restaurants. You could be the first.”
“Huh? Y'mean, open my own restaurant?”
“Yea.”
Zeke laughed aloud. “Yeeea, don't think so. I ain't THAT good.”
“Shut up, you are. Like you said on Monday: 'everyone's good at something'. That's your 'something',” Casey told him. “You do that and I'll be the first to apply for a waiter position.”
“Oh no, you don't; you're going to an artsy-fartsy college, graduating top-of-the-class and becoming TIME magazine's most celebrated photog,” Zeke said. “You ain't staying in this crappy flyover town, sorry.”
Casey chuckled; whether or not Zeke was complimenting him, the idea of seeing Zeke every day, working for him, WITH him... “Yea, we'll see,” Casey said.
For a little while, all the pair did was smoke, breathe and gaze out at the night sky. A breeze blew through, rustling the leaves of the trees and bushes around them. The whole time, Casey's mind drifted off into small fantasies, all of which involved making a first move. Would Zeke slap his hand away or reciprocate? In fantasy, he'd let out a pleased sigh, turn and bring Casey into a warm, wet kiss, Casey's very first. Zeke owned all rights to it, as far as Casey's fantasizing, hopes and dreams went.
The sudden nudge made against Casey's arm roused him. He opened his eyes and said, “What?”
“You looked like you were falling asleep. What time you gotta be home?” Zeke asked.
“No, I wasn't fa...” Casey was interrupted by a yawn. Perhaps he had drifted off. When his face relaxed, he said, “Eleven.”
“It's only nine-thirty, but... long day.” Zeke stood up, stretched and said, “I can give you a ride home.”
Casey wanted to protest, beg to stay, even if it meant he'd drop off and have to explain to worried parents the next day as to what happened. Zeke had gone to the back door and plucked his keys from the wall and walked back, however, smiling. “C'mon, you need sleep,” he said.
With a sad sigh and reluctant nod, Casey followed him down the walk to the drive and got into the car. They were soon out on the road, windows down; once again, Casey put his hand out to let it fly and flop in the wind, listless and wistful. It seemed they'd entered a time warp, getting to his house quicker than he'd liked.
“I'll see ya in the morn,” Zeke said.
“Yea,” Casey replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. He paused to give Zeke a meaningful stare. “Thanks, Zeke. For dinner and... everything.”
The boy nodded slowly. “Ditto.”
It seemed a strange reply, but that's what Zeke was-strange. With a slow smile, Casey exited the car, went up the walk to his house and got onto the porch. When he got inside and turned to shut the door, he was surprised to see Zeke still at the curb, watching him... making sure he got in safely. He didn't dare wave; he simply shut the door and listened to the car engine rev-up and drive off.
~*~
July 15th
Ever since speaking of flying-time, Casey noticed it more than ever. Party-plans for that past Saturday got canceled with Ben's parents not leaving for a weekend-getaway, Jasmine had proven her quality in giving him coy, knowing smiles but keeping quiet altogether, Zeke picked him up, dropped him off, and before Casey knew it, it was already the middle of July, with every fun moment being just that-a moment, beautiful, but quick.
Word was going around that Ben's parents weren't going to be going anywhere for a while, until the middle of August. For a moment, that seemed far away... but again, in reality? 'Only a month away,' Casey thought as he checked in his last tray of blackberries. With only ten minutes left until the day was done, he wandered off to where the bags were kept with a few of the others. Tom was there, rifling around in his backpack. “Hey,” Casey said.
The boy looked up and smiled. “Hey, hey. 'Sup? Man, am I glad today's over...”
“Hah, yea. Goin' by quick though.”
“Today?”
“No, just... the whole summer,” Casey said.
“'Guess so, yea. They're already putting 'Back to School' ads on the fuckin' TV.” Tom shivered and scowled. “Assholes.”
“Yeeea, not lookin' forward,” Casey said. He plopped down next to his co-worker, who was bringing out a pack of Newports. “Can ya spot me one?”
“Sure,” Tom said, smiling and handing him a smoke. “Didn't know you smoked, dude.”
“Yea, neither did I.”
The boy laughed, lit his then reached the flame over to Casey. While this brand wasn't as smooth as Zeke's specialties, Casey didn't gasp or choke. His breathing stuttered a little, but at the first exhalation his body eased and relaxed. “Do you live in Ravenna?” Casey asked.
“N'aw, Medina.”
“Oh. I'm right in between you and here then.”
“Yea. I'm gonna get people's emails and shit before we all leave, just so we all stay in touch,” Tom said, relaxing with Casey with his arms up on bended knees. “There ain't much for me during the school year. I'm one of the 'shop idiots'.”
“Shop, huh? That's not my best class,” Casey said, chuckling.
“Aw man, I live for it. I have to go to regular school, though; the tech school in my town burned down to the ground a few years back. Sucks, cos' I'm stuck with the preppy jocks and shit, instead of 'my kind',” Tom said.
“I hear ya. I'm the class dork, big time.”
“Nut uh. You?”
Casey chuckled. “Don't tease,” he said, but Tom frowned.
“I wasn't being sarcastic.”
“Oh.” Casey fluttered his lashes, shrugged and took another drag. “Well, I am. Believe me-your social standing in the high school food-chain's WAY higher than where I'm at.”
“Stupid,” Tom said. “You're too cool to get that shit. Really.”
If Tom knew how valuable and needed his comments were, his head would spin more than Casey's was. “Thanks. Not sure if I believe ya, but... thanks,” Casey said. “What grade you goin' into?”
“Senior, you?”
“The same. Thank Christ-I need out.”
Tom chuckled and raised a fist for Casey to bump his onto. After that, Tom winked. “Won't be long. It'll fly,” he said.
'Already is,' Casey thought as the end-of-the-day bell rang.
~*~