It's always the quiet ones. It's a cliché, but – like Stokely said – cliches become cliches because they're true. In the end, it won't be the jock who saved the world, or the castrating bitch, or the resident badass. It's all up to the quiet little guy, and he pulls through.
Casey's tougher than anyone gave him credit for. Tougher than Zeke gave him credit for. Although, in retrospect, anyone who could stand both Delilah and getting poled on a daily basis was pretty tough.
Hindsight's always 20/20.
Zeke thinks that Casey's greatest flaw is that he is beautiful. It's ironic too, because if Casey had been born a girl, there wouldn't be any problem at all. His (her?) beauty would be celebrated. But being a beautiful boy is a problem.
That's why the jocks hate him. He's much prettier than he should be. So pretty that for a moment they wonder. Where's the line between manly man and man's man. They wonder if maybe all those jokes about locker rooms and open showers and football teams are really true. So they beat Casey up, because only macho men with too much testosterone do that, and because a Casey with bruises and puffed up lips isn't quite so beautiful anymore.
Zeke isn't nearly that upset about his sexuality. He's not dumb enough to think it actually changes anything about him. At school he's untouchable, and nothing will change that. What could his family possibly do? Disown him? Ha. Ha fucking ha. His mother was probably off with a boy toy of her own right now. Dysfunction ran in the family.
His attraction to Casey is easy. The starry-eyed little freak is amazingly beautiful. Zeke knows beauty when he sees it. Zeke appreciates beauty too, and he'd like to write it off to that. He can't, unfortunately. Zeke has seen Casey bruised and broken and definitely not beautiful, and he still wants to push him up against the nearest surface. It's either a Casey fetish of epic proportions or he's in deep shit. Right now odds are on deep shit.
Casey and Delilah – not a good combination. In anyone's opinion. Under any circumstances. Seriously. Think about it. Casey and Delilah? Casey and Delilah. There is an inherent wrongness there. Bitch head cheerleader and ex-nerd. Wrong.
Stokely smiles at Zeke and lifts her beer. "Here's to the school badass and former geek."
She is, of course, absolutely right.
Casey is always either sleeping or bouncing around like a four year old on a sugar high. This translates to two speeds: off and hyperdrive. When he sleeps Zeke wants to molest him. When he's awake Zeke wants to help him channel that energy more effectively.
Ditto the deep shit comment.
Zeke was the by-blow of a big-time Hollywood producer. Born on the wrong side of the blanket, if you get his meaning. Zeke's mother threatened to go to the producer's wife and the tabloids with her story, but instead settled on a few million in a Swiss bank account. Pretty sweet deal that ensured three things. One, that Zeke would be raised by a legion of nannies while his mother hobnobbed around the globe with her new 'friends'. Two, the he would never meet - much less have a normal relationship with - his father. Three, that he would be constantly ostracized by his school mates' mothers, even though he wouldn't know exactly why until his thirteen birthday. Harrington was still small enough of a town that being a bastard and having a rich bitch of a mom kept you pretty isolated. And by the time Zeke was in the eight grade or so, when no one really cared what their parents thought of him, it didn't matter. He didn't want friends anymore. He'd gotten along just fine without them.
"Stokes?"
"Yeah?"
"What are the odds?"
She thought for a moment and then shrugged. "I think even a snowball has a chance in hell."
He wasn't entirely sure if that was comforting.