It's been six months since the invasion, and six months and two days since he'd gotten laid. There's a definite correlation.
You know, Zeke remembers when he used to get laid. Mostly because it used to happen a lot. The school rebel holds a certain appeal if you know what you're doing, and Zeke usually knows what he's doing.
Zeke forgot how much not getting laid sucks. But he can't just go out and do it. Well, actually, Delilah is having a party, and his car is back from the shop -- but he can't. He won't.
The problem is Casey. The problem is that Casey doesn't even know he's being a problem. Because Casey doesn't know, and Zeke can't tell him.
Six months. Zeke doesn't know how he isn't crazy. That is a long amount of time for a teenage boy. Not just because he isn't getting laid, but because he spends all his time with the very reason he isn't getting the laid. Six months of hanging out with Casey -- cold showers before he gets to the house, warm showers afterwards – helping Casey with his homework and teaching him to drive, because his parents won't. When the clothes Casey gets for Christmas are two sizes too large, like always, Zeke drives Casey to the mall and gets him clothes that actually fit – which is a mistake. A big mistake. Not only does he have to learn to deal with a more attractive Casey, he has to learn to deal with other people noticing a more attractive Casey. It's really amazing, what clothes can do for you in high school. It's not that Casey even looks that much better. People just seem to think he does. And when people think better of Casey, Casey thinks better of Casey. Never mind that Zeke has been trying to build up his self-esteem for months. Once Delilah and all the empty-headed cheerleaders notice, it's like he doesn't even matter anymore.
Except, okay, Zeke still does. He knows Casey acts differently when he's around. He knows Casey lies to him. He knows Casey lies about them. Some people might see that as a bad thing, but since Old Casey couldn't even tell the truth without stuttering, Zeke just chalks it up to growing self-confidence, even though he knows Casey's still too insecure and too sensitive and too quiet. Zeke sees everything about Casey, and yeah, he wants him, but he knows he shouldn't push.
He thinks about it, sure. About how it might happen. That maybe Casey would say something he didn't mean, like it slipped out when he wasn't thinking. Or that Casey would even work up the courage to tell him, blushing and stammering.
Mostly though, Zeke thinks about doing something. Knows he shouldn't, but that's the point of most fantasy anyway. Like maybe kissing Casey when he reaches over the popcorn bowl when they're watching movies. Or before school in the car, or after school when Zeke's driving him home. Or in the dark room when Casey develops his photos and Zeke watches.
It's a vicious cycle; wanting, not wanting because you know you shouldn't. It's another problem Zeke's never really had before. If he knew, for general health or sanity reasons, that he shouldn't mess around with someone, he didn't. He just walked away.
He can't walk away from Casey.
So Zeke never expects anything to happen and he's kind of okay with that. Everyone's had someone who never loved them back or the one who got away or whatever. It's almost ironic that it's Casey, if you think about it. Zeke, who used to be the coolest kid in school, and Casey, who used to be the biggest dork Herrington ever had. Now Zeke shows up to class like everyone else and Casey's the school hero.
Actually, if you think about it, ironic doesn't even begin to cover it.
