(no subject)
Most of this was written in the landromat a few weeks ago, and then the writer's block had set in. But I've been in the mood to get things done. :)
Title: Into the Fray (Pt. 3)
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: Hard R
Synopsis: An 'event' may be what Zeke needs to get by, and Casey makes a new friend.
Warning(s): Heavy violence, piles of angst.
Disclaimer: Nope! Not mine!
Previous Parts: Prologue, One, Two
After a supper of more bread with margarine, mashed potatoes and some sort of--meat, Zeke was shuffled off to the next part of his day.
‘Fuckin’ ‘anger management’,’ he thought while sitting in a room with other convicts. He was pretty damned sure that most of the guys here had done MUCH worse things that he had, and not for good reasons, either. To make matters worse, he and another prisoner had to speak first, in an ‘introduction’ way. He made a mumbling of his name and why he was there, then proceeded to listen to the instructor go on and on, writing things on a large sheet of paper, all ridiculous suggestions: ‘What are ‘triggers’ for you that make you angry?’… ‘What environment makes you uncomfortable?’
“Jail, for one,” Zeke grumbled to himself. It was loud enough for the man next to him to hear; he snorted in appreciation.
“You said it,” he mumbled back.
Zeke shook his head and listened to the instructor’s little lessons, saying things that meant absolutely nothing to him. After the hour was up, Zeke and the rest of them filed out to have their free time in the dorm.
First things first, however. He’d smoked the last cigarette he’d ‘bought’ from Rodney on the prison yard, where somehow, he’d managed to stay safe. On the way to the dorms, he decided to check and see if his mother had come through with the money she’d said she was going to send. He walked up to the main counter, where a man sat behind a fiberglass panel. “Hey. I want to check and see if I had anything come through Western Union?” he asked.
The man nodded and turned to a computer. “Name?”
“Ezekiel Tyler.”
A moment passed as the man typed in the name and checked records. To Zeke’s great relief, he nodded. “Yup, thirty dollars. That’s the limit for the week, so use it wisely. Go ahead and make purchases, then come back to the desk and I’ll deduct it from your monies.”
Zeke nodded; all he wanted was a pack of cigarettes and a magazine, in case his books got boring. He wondered if now that he did in fact have SOME sort of currency, it would come with a bit of clout. Perhaps someone like Rodney didn’t get many funds during the week, and it’d be Zeke’s turn to make a deal.
Once he paid, Zeke left the small store and shuffled off to the dorm. He got inside and sighed, feeling a bit lighter in just getting out the matchbook Rodney had given him and unwrapping his pack. He waited until he was in the dorm to light up, his lungs filling with smoke as he walked through the groups of guys sitting around at tables, doing everything from playing cards to watching TV. Not wanting to look like a dork, Zeke got up to his and Rodney’s cell, tossed the magazine up on his shelf and pocketed the smokes.
The problem now lie in the fact that Zeke didn’t know where to go. He didn’t want to look like Rodney’s lapdog, even if the guy may have been a safe spot. May have been, as everything here was ambiguous when it came to trusting someone. He spotted the man sitting a few tables away; in the middle of an intense round of cards. An empty table was behind his small group--well, nothing was wrong with hanging back without looking like a complete wallflower. Zeke edged his way through the various seats and the men sitting in them, some looking at him with a wary gaze or just staring ahead at the football game playing. With a sigh, he finally reached the table and sat down. Rodney noticed and raised his eyebrows. He said nothing, turning back to his game.
Zeke let out a long line of smoke and watched--observed, really, searching out faces and behavior carefully enough. He sat back in his chair and tried relaxing. After all, this first day had taken its toll. His hands were still sore and stiff from the dryer’s immense heat, and the harsh soaps he’d washed the clothes and sheets with. The smoke and warmth from his cigarette wasn’t helping, but he didn’t really care.
Just as he leaned forward to try to hear the TV better, two men were suddenly standing by his chair. “Hey kid,” the burlier of the two said. He glanced back to his friend, sneered and looked back to Zeke. “That’s my chair.”
Zeke narrowed his eyes. There were about fifty empty seats here… “Too bad I’m sitting in it, huh?” he replied.
“Oh, gonna give me shit, huh?” the man said. “Maybe if you had some oatmeal, I’d let it go.”
Christ. Had everyone caught wind of this ridiculous instance? The two men chuckled lightly, the burly one shaking his head. He leaned forward, getting close to the side of Zeke’s face. “Say what you want, kid. Go on, say something. I fuckin’ dare you to.”
“C’mon, Danny, stop fuckin’ around and just smack the bitch,” the friend said.
Zeke quickly pondered his options. ‘Danny’ meant business--if he said something, he’d take a hit, more than likely. If he didn’t and got up to let the jackass have his chair, he’d be an easy target to everyone else. Feeling trapped, Zeke realized that there was another option.
‘It’s either the infirmary or being this guy’s bitch…’
All it took was for Danny to flick his ear once, trying to get a response. The sound of his chuckle made Zeke clench a fist and in two quick moves, he drew it back and aimed it directly into the man’s face.
It was a good punch, but not enough to knock Danny on his ass. He stumbled three or four steps back, looking shocked at Zeke’s reaction. Zeke stood up quick, as everyone else did to watch. While Danny was trying to gain his footing, his friend now decided to hop in.
‘Fuck, two against one… a ‘fair fight’ ain’t observed HERE…’ Zeke thought frantically as the man shoved his shoulder into Zeke’s stomach. They both landed on the table Zeke had been sitting at, chairs getting pushed over and falling. Whoops and cheers from the men watching sounded off, making Zeke’s ears pound. There was another problem at hand, in the form of the angry man grabbing the front of his shirt, bringing him up and slamming a hard, heavy fist into his face.
Stars burst behind Zeke’s eyelids, disorienting him a moment. He felt himself getting dragged to his feet, and a second set of hands grabbing his arms. “Little fuck!” the familiar voice of Danny’s said from behind. “Gotta learn who’s boss, kid. Get him again, Reg.”
Zeke opened his eyes in time to see Reg pulling back a fist. Bleary-eyed or no, Zeke was able to see it coming, and react. He leaned back on the one holding him from behind, kicked his legs up and caught ‘Reg’ on the jaw. He’d managed to get him on the floor, at least. With Reg down, Zeke’s next worry came into play. Adrenaline was still flowing, for a hundred different reasons, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle his original assailant’s next attack. He tried his best to slam his body backwards--get him against the wall or another table, anything in his favor. He finally felt them stop, and heard Danny grunt loudly. But before he could gain his bearings, he found himself laying back again, this time on Danny.
The man took advantage; a hand fisted in Zeke’s hair, holding him still, and his other hand slammed into his nose, brutally. For a moment, Zeke could do nothing but flail, hissing angrily as he tasted blood. He felt like he’d gone deaf with the yelling going on, catching vague shadows of people close by. Desperate, he pushed his head up as far as he could and slammed it back down.
He hadn’t realized that he’d done it until he heard Danny bellow and felt his hands leave him. He couldn’t move, however; he soon did, but only because Danny had moved and pushed him off. Missing a chair by centimeters, Zeke fell on the cold, hard floor, wasted and wanting to throw up.
“Bastard…”
The kick Danny gave to his stomach barely had any force, and it made Danny fall over--but it still hurt. Every muscle clenched tight as Zeke finally heard guards yelling out and filing through the throng of prisoners.
~*~
“Hey Mom.”
“Oh hello, sweetie!” Mrs. Connor replied, her voice happy. “How are you doing?”
“Okay,” Casey said, sitting on Tammy’s couch with a sigh.
“How’s the second week of school going?”
“It’s good… same as the last time we talked.”
“Well, that’s okay--it might get more exciting some time soon. Shoot, I wish your father were home, he’s out with friends. He’s been wanting to hear from you, too,” she said. “Did Auntie Tammy get the internet service yet?”
“No, not yet. I guess the cable company’s gonna come on Friday.”
“Oh, good… it’ll be great for your studies, AND we can e-mail each other,” she cheerfully replied--though the next sigh she took sounded sad. “We miss you, honey. I hope you don’t mind, but I gave some of your friends the number there. Stokely wants to call you soon, to see if maybe she can come over this weekend.”
“Oh… sure, yea,” Casey said, feeling a little brighter. “I’d love to see her. Maybe I should call her myself.”
“Maybe.”
“So, um… has…” he started, feeling nervous. He cleared his throat and tightened his grip on the phone. “Has Zeke called?”
Mrs. Connor paused. Finally, she let out a small puff of breath. “No, honey, he hasn’t,” she answered. “But you never know--it’s been only a week and a half. He might just be getting… adjusted to what--well, what he’s got to…”
“Mom, he’s in jail. It’s okay to say it out loud,” Casey muttered, hating her stammering. “Maybe I can write to him, or something. Or visit, I dunno…”
“Well, I’d maybe get information first--on whether prisoners can have visitors or not.”
Casey almost chuckled. “Mom, they HAVE visitors. Haven’t you ever watched ‘Law & Order’?”
“Not really… you know me, I’m the fluffy-movie type,” she answered.
Casey switched the subject, not wanting to talk about boyfriends in jail anymore. They didn’t have much to talk about, besides Casey’s acing his advanced physics class and his father’s possible promotion at his job. Other than that, it was small talk. After about fifteen minutes, Casey looked to the clock. “Oh… it’s almost four, I gotta help Auntie Tammy with dinner in a bit.”
“Okay… you be a good boy for her,” Mrs. Connor said.
“I will, Mom…” Casey replied, half-exasperated, half-amused. Even if this was an old annoyance of his mother’s over-protectiveness, he missed it, now. Before he went to say goodbye, he perked up. “Oh! Mom, I forgot to ask… um, Aunt Tammy said she could put me on her insurance, if you’d let me drive her van.”
“Well… I don’t want this to burden her…”
“I wouldn’t drive to school or anything--just use it to go out for a day out or… something,” Casey hesitantly explained.
“Hmm,” Mrs. Connor hummed. “Let me call her tonight to talk about it. Maybe we can send her the money.”
“All right. Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome, hon. Be good.”
“Said I would,” he replied with a smile. “Bye.”
“Bye bye,”
Casey hung up the phone and stared at it a few moments before setting it down on the coffee table. He wanted to just sit there, unbothered and blank. But Tammy would be home with the groceries soon, and not one night had gone by without Casey helping out with supper… and if he had to be honest, he sort of liked it.
~*~
Tammy smacked her lips at the first bite of scalloped potatoes. “Mmm… these are fantastic, Casey. Better than how I usually make them.”
“Nut-uh,” Casey muttered, grinning a little as he took a few bites himself. “I’d never made them homemade. My mom always used the ‘Betty Crocker’ variety.”
“Oh--no, no, no. I’m going to have to talk with my sister on this,” Tammy said with an exaggerated look of distaste. “People have this ridiculous notion that buying something straight off a shelf is quicker, when if given a little skill, homemade can even be faster.”
Casey had come to appreciate this philosophy; everything he ate tasted wonderful. It wasn’t to say that his mother was a terrible cook, but he’d learned so much in so little time, just from being next to his aunt in the kitchen. He witnessed her making a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies within minutes, amazing him with her speed. It had brought him back to being in Zeke’s kitchen, where they’d been helpless in trying to make chicken nuggets and instant mashed potatoes. Casey hadn’t put enough water into the ‘Hungry Jack’ potato flakes and left it on the stovetop too long, while Zeke had set the oven too low, creating the ‘Why Are These Fucking Things Still Frozen?!’ mystery. They’d ended up ordering out, figuring that they’d starve if they didn’t.
Casey was willing to bet that right now, Zeke would’ve killed for their horrendous, botched meal at this point. ‘Why am I always worried about what he’s EATING?’ he thought, puzzled… until he swallowed hard, realizing that maybe he didn’t want to think about what he didn’t want to think about…
‘Zeke’s tough. He’ll be okay, just keep thinking that.’
“Casey?”
Casey snapped his eyes up from the table. Seeing Tammy’s concerned expression, he tried smiling. “Oh, sorry. I was, um--just thinking and stuff.”
“Ah,” Tammy sighed out. She pursed her lips a moment before taking a quick bite of potato. “Hmm… about your friend?”
Casey swallowed. “Yea,” he softly replied. “I’m just wondering… how he’s doing. It scares me. I know that I wouldn’t make it a day in jail.”
“It’s a scary thing to think about. It’s okay to worry.”
“Yea, I know. I just wish I could find out how he is--maybe call or visit him. Y’know?”
“Well, if that’s what you want to do, you may as well try.”
His aunt’s understanding of the situation helped him think through things more clearly, but still felt hurt and lost. “I feel guilty,” he admitted. Tammy’s silence at this made him look up from his plate. “He’s in there… because of me.”
“No, Casey,” Tammy started, shaking her head. “He’s in there because he made a choice, and however bad it may have gotten, it was his choice. Nothing more.”
“I just wish he’d done it different. I’ve put up with the bullying for ages now, and he knows it. All he had to do was shove them away, or something… it was… it was scary, the way he’d just…” Casey explained. He was flustered and tense as he thought back to the crazed events; the way Zeke had come upon the scene and just… Casey shivered. With his plate mostly empty, he pushed his chair back. “I’m all done. I’ll start the dishes.”
“All right,” Tammy said.
Casey nodded and began collecting the plates and serving dishes from the table. Having something to do, no matter how small a task, felt good. It took his mind away from his troubles in the smallest ways, but it worked.
Sort of.
~*~
No matter how many times he pressed the button marked Sprite, the soda machine was NOT giving up the drink Casey had rightfully paid for. For such a classy school, it was ridiculous that this was happening. “Damn it,” Casey said, deciding to punch any other button to see if they’d work.
“Here.”
Casey went to look behind him for the source of the voice, but jumped back when a shiny-shoed foot kicked out just next to him, towards the machine. It connected, hard, to the money slots. Casey heard a clattering of coins and a banging, then watched as his Sprite clambered out to the bottom. Blinking furiously, he turned with a smile to the girl that had helped him. “Thanks… I’ll have to remember that trick,” he told her.
“Yea, it took me a few bucks until I figured it out,” she chuckled out.
Casey sighed and bent down to get his drink. He went to uncap it, and just as he was about to say something else, the liquid fizzed in fury and began spraying out from the small openings he’d made. “Aw, shit…” Casey lamented, bending away quickly. He watched as the soda calmed, leaving a puddle below.
“I should’ve warned you about that, too.”
Unable to help a few chuckles, Casey shook his head. “It just isn’t my day, I guess.”
“Maybe not…” she replied. “So hey, I haven’t really ‘met’ you yet. We're in physics together, my name’s Sandra. You can call me ‘Sandy‘, though. ”
Ah… she had seemed familiar. Finding her as the same girl that had watched him with a smile in class, he grinned. She WAS pretty, with dark caramel skin, curly dark hair and a bright smile. Of course, she wasn’t his type… ‘One cock too few,’ he thought while putting his hand out to her. “Casey,” he replied.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. The handshake she gave was firm, her grip solid. “I’m glad to help; most of us are. I was surprised when I came here two years ago after moving to Ohio, after being in public schools for forever.”
“Oh yea--I know whatcha mean.”
“Are you from around here?” she asked.
They began walking out from the small veranda together, ambling casually onto the lawn to join in on their lunch period. “Yea, I’m living with my aunt to come here, for now. My last school sucked,” he explained. He didn’t know how much he wanted to divulge to her, so he shrugged and tried to smile. “Just… full of assholes.”
“That seems to be the norm nowadays. My old school needed guards and stuff, metal detectors--we once had some kid show up with a huge knife. Pretty scary shit,” Sandy said.
“Wow,” Casey mumbled. As bad as things could get in Herrington, there had never been a need for such intense security as that. “Sorry to hear that. That HAD to suck.”
“Eh, it’s old news,” she cheerfully replied.
For the rest of lunch, Casey found himself sitting with the girl under the trees, his favorite spot so far. They talked with their mouths full, about anything, from their old schools to what classes the liked--and hated, finding that they shared the same disdain for English. They both agreed that reading was a fantastic pastime, but being forced into boring literature or going over things that became monotonous was irritating.
Before they knew it, the warning bell rang, signifying the end of lunch. Casey gathered his things and sighed. “Looks like it’s back to the grind,” he said.
“Uh huh. I have Spanish next--you?”
“Hah… English,” he replied. They both chuckled their way back into the school and parted ways once in the main hall. Once in his classroom, Casey realized that he now felt a bit lighter and easygoing… even if he felt that he’d have to break a heart. He realized that he’d never done that before.
~*~
Title: Into the Fray (Pt. 3)
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: Hard R
Synopsis: An 'event' may be what Zeke needs to get by, and Casey makes a new friend.
Warning(s): Heavy violence, piles of angst.
Disclaimer: Nope! Not mine!
Previous Parts: Prologue, One, Two
After a supper of more bread with margarine, mashed potatoes and some sort of--meat, Zeke was shuffled off to the next part of his day.
‘Fuckin’ ‘anger management’,’ he thought while sitting in a room with other convicts. He was pretty damned sure that most of the guys here had done MUCH worse things that he had, and not for good reasons, either. To make matters worse, he and another prisoner had to speak first, in an ‘introduction’ way. He made a mumbling of his name and why he was there, then proceeded to listen to the instructor go on and on, writing things on a large sheet of paper, all ridiculous suggestions: ‘What are ‘triggers’ for you that make you angry?’… ‘What environment makes you uncomfortable?’
“Jail, for one,” Zeke grumbled to himself. It was loud enough for the man next to him to hear; he snorted in appreciation.
“You said it,” he mumbled back.
Zeke shook his head and listened to the instructor’s little lessons, saying things that meant absolutely nothing to him. After the hour was up, Zeke and the rest of them filed out to have their free time in the dorm.
First things first, however. He’d smoked the last cigarette he’d ‘bought’ from Rodney on the prison yard, where somehow, he’d managed to stay safe. On the way to the dorms, he decided to check and see if his mother had come through with the money she’d said she was going to send. He walked up to the main counter, where a man sat behind a fiberglass panel. “Hey. I want to check and see if I had anything come through Western Union?” he asked.
The man nodded and turned to a computer. “Name?”
“Ezekiel Tyler.”
A moment passed as the man typed in the name and checked records. To Zeke’s great relief, he nodded. “Yup, thirty dollars. That’s the limit for the week, so use it wisely. Go ahead and make purchases, then come back to the desk and I’ll deduct it from your monies.”
Zeke nodded; all he wanted was a pack of cigarettes and a magazine, in case his books got boring. He wondered if now that he did in fact have SOME sort of currency, it would come with a bit of clout. Perhaps someone like Rodney didn’t get many funds during the week, and it’d be Zeke’s turn to make a deal.
Once he paid, Zeke left the small store and shuffled off to the dorm. He got inside and sighed, feeling a bit lighter in just getting out the matchbook Rodney had given him and unwrapping his pack. He waited until he was in the dorm to light up, his lungs filling with smoke as he walked through the groups of guys sitting around at tables, doing everything from playing cards to watching TV. Not wanting to look like a dork, Zeke got up to his and Rodney’s cell, tossed the magazine up on his shelf and pocketed the smokes.
The problem now lie in the fact that Zeke didn’t know where to go. He didn’t want to look like Rodney’s lapdog, even if the guy may have been a safe spot. May have been, as everything here was ambiguous when it came to trusting someone. He spotted the man sitting a few tables away; in the middle of an intense round of cards. An empty table was behind his small group--well, nothing was wrong with hanging back without looking like a complete wallflower. Zeke edged his way through the various seats and the men sitting in them, some looking at him with a wary gaze or just staring ahead at the football game playing. With a sigh, he finally reached the table and sat down. Rodney noticed and raised his eyebrows. He said nothing, turning back to his game.
Zeke let out a long line of smoke and watched--observed, really, searching out faces and behavior carefully enough. He sat back in his chair and tried relaxing. After all, this first day had taken its toll. His hands were still sore and stiff from the dryer’s immense heat, and the harsh soaps he’d washed the clothes and sheets with. The smoke and warmth from his cigarette wasn’t helping, but he didn’t really care.
Just as he leaned forward to try to hear the TV better, two men were suddenly standing by his chair. “Hey kid,” the burlier of the two said. He glanced back to his friend, sneered and looked back to Zeke. “That’s my chair.”
Zeke narrowed his eyes. There were about fifty empty seats here… “Too bad I’m sitting in it, huh?” he replied.
“Oh, gonna give me shit, huh?” the man said. “Maybe if you had some oatmeal, I’d let it go.”
Christ. Had everyone caught wind of this ridiculous instance? The two men chuckled lightly, the burly one shaking his head. He leaned forward, getting close to the side of Zeke’s face. “Say what you want, kid. Go on, say something. I fuckin’ dare you to.”
“C’mon, Danny, stop fuckin’ around and just smack the bitch,” the friend said.
Zeke quickly pondered his options. ‘Danny’ meant business--if he said something, he’d take a hit, more than likely. If he didn’t and got up to let the jackass have his chair, he’d be an easy target to everyone else. Feeling trapped, Zeke realized that there was another option.
‘It’s either the infirmary or being this guy’s bitch…’
All it took was for Danny to flick his ear once, trying to get a response. The sound of his chuckle made Zeke clench a fist and in two quick moves, he drew it back and aimed it directly into the man’s face.
It was a good punch, but not enough to knock Danny on his ass. He stumbled three or four steps back, looking shocked at Zeke’s reaction. Zeke stood up quick, as everyone else did to watch. While Danny was trying to gain his footing, his friend now decided to hop in.
‘Fuck, two against one… a ‘fair fight’ ain’t observed HERE…’ Zeke thought frantically as the man shoved his shoulder into Zeke’s stomach. They both landed on the table Zeke had been sitting at, chairs getting pushed over and falling. Whoops and cheers from the men watching sounded off, making Zeke’s ears pound. There was another problem at hand, in the form of the angry man grabbing the front of his shirt, bringing him up and slamming a hard, heavy fist into his face.
Stars burst behind Zeke’s eyelids, disorienting him a moment. He felt himself getting dragged to his feet, and a second set of hands grabbing his arms. “Little fuck!” the familiar voice of Danny’s said from behind. “Gotta learn who’s boss, kid. Get him again, Reg.”
Zeke opened his eyes in time to see Reg pulling back a fist. Bleary-eyed or no, Zeke was able to see it coming, and react. He leaned back on the one holding him from behind, kicked his legs up and caught ‘Reg’ on the jaw. He’d managed to get him on the floor, at least. With Reg down, Zeke’s next worry came into play. Adrenaline was still flowing, for a hundred different reasons, but he wasn’t sure if he could handle his original assailant’s next attack. He tried his best to slam his body backwards--get him against the wall or another table, anything in his favor. He finally felt them stop, and heard Danny grunt loudly. But before he could gain his bearings, he found himself laying back again, this time on Danny.
The man took advantage; a hand fisted in Zeke’s hair, holding him still, and his other hand slammed into his nose, brutally. For a moment, Zeke could do nothing but flail, hissing angrily as he tasted blood. He felt like he’d gone deaf with the yelling going on, catching vague shadows of people close by. Desperate, he pushed his head up as far as he could and slammed it back down.
He hadn’t realized that he’d done it until he heard Danny bellow and felt his hands leave him. He couldn’t move, however; he soon did, but only because Danny had moved and pushed him off. Missing a chair by centimeters, Zeke fell on the cold, hard floor, wasted and wanting to throw up.
“Bastard…”
The kick Danny gave to his stomach barely had any force, and it made Danny fall over--but it still hurt. Every muscle clenched tight as Zeke finally heard guards yelling out and filing through the throng of prisoners.
~*~
“Hey Mom.”
“Oh hello, sweetie!” Mrs. Connor replied, her voice happy. “How are you doing?”
“Okay,” Casey said, sitting on Tammy’s couch with a sigh.
“How’s the second week of school going?”
“It’s good… same as the last time we talked.”
“Well, that’s okay--it might get more exciting some time soon. Shoot, I wish your father were home, he’s out with friends. He’s been wanting to hear from you, too,” she said. “Did Auntie Tammy get the internet service yet?”
“No, not yet. I guess the cable company’s gonna come on Friday.”
“Oh, good… it’ll be great for your studies, AND we can e-mail each other,” she cheerfully replied--though the next sigh she took sounded sad. “We miss you, honey. I hope you don’t mind, but I gave some of your friends the number there. Stokely wants to call you soon, to see if maybe she can come over this weekend.”
“Oh… sure, yea,” Casey said, feeling a little brighter. “I’d love to see her. Maybe I should call her myself.”
“Maybe.”
“So, um… has…” he started, feeling nervous. He cleared his throat and tightened his grip on the phone. “Has Zeke called?”
Mrs. Connor paused. Finally, she let out a small puff of breath. “No, honey, he hasn’t,” she answered. “But you never know--it’s been only a week and a half. He might just be getting… adjusted to what--well, what he’s got to…”
“Mom, he’s in jail. It’s okay to say it out loud,” Casey muttered, hating her stammering. “Maybe I can write to him, or something. Or visit, I dunno…”
“Well, I’d maybe get information first--on whether prisoners can have visitors or not.”
Casey almost chuckled. “Mom, they HAVE visitors. Haven’t you ever watched ‘Law & Order’?”
“Not really… you know me, I’m the fluffy-movie type,” she answered.
Casey switched the subject, not wanting to talk about boyfriends in jail anymore. They didn’t have much to talk about, besides Casey’s acing his advanced physics class and his father’s possible promotion at his job. Other than that, it was small talk. After about fifteen minutes, Casey looked to the clock. “Oh… it’s almost four, I gotta help Auntie Tammy with dinner in a bit.”
“Okay… you be a good boy for her,” Mrs. Connor said.
“I will, Mom…” Casey replied, half-exasperated, half-amused. Even if this was an old annoyance of his mother’s over-protectiveness, he missed it, now. Before he went to say goodbye, he perked up. “Oh! Mom, I forgot to ask… um, Aunt Tammy said she could put me on her insurance, if you’d let me drive her van.”
“Well… I don’t want this to burden her…”
“I wouldn’t drive to school or anything--just use it to go out for a day out or… something,” Casey hesitantly explained.
“Hmm,” Mrs. Connor hummed. “Let me call her tonight to talk about it. Maybe we can send her the money.”
“All right. Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome, hon. Be good.”
“Said I would,” he replied with a smile. “Bye.”
“Bye bye,”
Casey hung up the phone and stared at it a few moments before setting it down on the coffee table. He wanted to just sit there, unbothered and blank. But Tammy would be home with the groceries soon, and not one night had gone by without Casey helping out with supper… and if he had to be honest, he sort of liked it.
~*~
Tammy smacked her lips at the first bite of scalloped potatoes. “Mmm… these are fantastic, Casey. Better than how I usually make them.”
“Nut-uh,” Casey muttered, grinning a little as he took a few bites himself. “I’d never made them homemade. My mom always used the ‘Betty Crocker’ variety.”
“Oh--no, no, no. I’m going to have to talk with my sister on this,” Tammy said with an exaggerated look of distaste. “People have this ridiculous notion that buying something straight off a shelf is quicker, when if given a little skill, homemade can even be faster.”
Casey had come to appreciate this philosophy; everything he ate tasted wonderful. It wasn’t to say that his mother was a terrible cook, but he’d learned so much in so little time, just from being next to his aunt in the kitchen. He witnessed her making a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies within minutes, amazing him with her speed. It had brought him back to being in Zeke’s kitchen, where they’d been helpless in trying to make chicken nuggets and instant mashed potatoes. Casey hadn’t put enough water into the ‘Hungry Jack’ potato flakes and left it on the stovetop too long, while Zeke had set the oven too low, creating the ‘Why Are These Fucking Things Still Frozen?!’ mystery. They’d ended up ordering out, figuring that they’d starve if they didn’t.
Casey was willing to bet that right now, Zeke would’ve killed for their horrendous, botched meal at this point. ‘Why am I always worried about what he’s EATING?’ he thought, puzzled… until he swallowed hard, realizing that maybe he didn’t want to think about what he didn’t want to think about…
‘Zeke’s tough. He’ll be okay, just keep thinking that.’
“Casey?”
Casey snapped his eyes up from the table. Seeing Tammy’s concerned expression, he tried smiling. “Oh, sorry. I was, um--just thinking and stuff.”
“Ah,” Tammy sighed out. She pursed her lips a moment before taking a quick bite of potato. “Hmm… about your friend?”
Casey swallowed. “Yea,” he softly replied. “I’m just wondering… how he’s doing. It scares me. I know that I wouldn’t make it a day in jail.”
“It’s a scary thing to think about. It’s okay to worry.”
“Yea, I know. I just wish I could find out how he is--maybe call or visit him. Y’know?”
“Well, if that’s what you want to do, you may as well try.”
His aunt’s understanding of the situation helped him think through things more clearly, but still felt hurt and lost. “I feel guilty,” he admitted. Tammy’s silence at this made him look up from his plate. “He’s in there… because of me.”
“No, Casey,” Tammy started, shaking her head. “He’s in there because he made a choice, and however bad it may have gotten, it was his choice. Nothing more.”
“I just wish he’d done it different. I’ve put up with the bullying for ages now, and he knows it. All he had to do was shove them away, or something… it was… it was scary, the way he’d just…” Casey explained. He was flustered and tense as he thought back to the crazed events; the way Zeke had come upon the scene and just… Casey shivered. With his plate mostly empty, he pushed his chair back. “I’m all done. I’ll start the dishes.”
“All right,” Tammy said.
Casey nodded and began collecting the plates and serving dishes from the table. Having something to do, no matter how small a task, felt good. It took his mind away from his troubles in the smallest ways, but it worked.
Sort of.
~*~
No matter how many times he pressed the button marked Sprite, the soda machine was NOT giving up the drink Casey had rightfully paid for. For such a classy school, it was ridiculous that this was happening. “Damn it,” Casey said, deciding to punch any other button to see if they’d work.
“Here.”
Casey went to look behind him for the source of the voice, but jumped back when a shiny-shoed foot kicked out just next to him, towards the machine. It connected, hard, to the money slots. Casey heard a clattering of coins and a banging, then watched as his Sprite clambered out to the bottom. Blinking furiously, he turned with a smile to the girl that had helped him. “Thanks… I’ll have to remember that trick,” he told her.
“Yea, it took me a few bucks until I figured it out,” she chuckled out.
Casey sighed and bent down to get his drink. He went to uncap it, and just as he was about to say something else, the liquid fizzed in fury and began spraying out from the small openings he’d made. “Aw, shit…” Casey lamented, bending away quickly. He watched as the soda calmed, leaving a puddle below.
“I should’ve warned you about that, too.”
Unable to help a few chuckles, Casey shook his head. “It just isn’t my day, I guess.”
“Maybe not…” she replied. “So hey, I haven’t really ‘met’ you yet. We're in physics together, my name’s Sandra. You can call me ‘Sandy‘, though. ”
Ah… she had seemed familiar. Finding her as the same girl that had watched him with a smile in class, he grinned. She WAS pretty, with dark caramel skin, curly dark hair and a bright smile. Of course, she wasn’t his type… ‘One cock too few,’ he thought while putting his hand out to her. “Casey,” he replied.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. The handshake she gave was firm, her grip solid. “I’m glad to help; most of us are. I was surprised when I came here two years ago after moving to Ohio, after being in public schools for forever.”
“Oh yea--I know whatcha mean.”
“Are you from around here?” she asked.
They began walking out from the small veranda together, ambling casually onto the lawn to join in on their lunch period. “Yea, I’m living with my aunt to come here, for now. My last school sucked,” he explained. He didn’t know how much he wanted to divulge to her, so he shrugged and tried to smile. “Just… full of assholes.”
“That seems to be the norm nowadays. My old school needed guards and stuff, metal detectors--we once had some kid show up with a huge knife. Pretty scary shit,” Sandy said.
“Wow,” Casey mumbled. As bad as things could get in Herrington, there had never been a need for such intense security as that. “Sorry to hear that. That HAD to suck.”
“Eh, it’s old news,” she cheerfully replied.
For the rest of lunch, Casey found himself sitting with the girl under the trees, his favorite spot so far. They talked with their mouths full, about anything, from their old schools to what classes the liked--and hated, finding that they shared the same disdain for English. They both agreed that reading was a fantastic pastime, but being forced into boring literature or going over things that became monotonous was irritating.
Before they knew it, the warning bell rang, signifying the end of lunch. Casey gathered his things and sighed. “Looks like it’s back to the grind,” he said.
“Uh huh. I have Spanish next--you?”
“Hah… English,” he replied. They both chuckled their way back into the school and parted ways once in the main hall. Once in his classroom, Casey realized that he now felt a bit lighter and easygoing… even if he felt that he’d have to break a heart. He realized that he’d never done that before.
~*~