The doorbell would always ring at five after eight, but it always took Zeke another five minutes to get to the door and open it. Stokely was used to it by now, and waited patiently outside.
"Hey Zeke."
"Hey Stokes. Men in Black or Batman and Robin?"
"Couldn't you have rented something else?"
"The only thing else Blockbuster had was a hundred copies of Titanic." Which was like a movie monster of Harlequin novel, in Zeke's opinion. Too frightening for words and to be avoided at all costs.
Stokely sighed and tossed her jacket to Zeke. "Batman and Robin. Bring me the men in tights."
"Batman and Robin," another voice piped in. "But definitely less because of the tights."
"Casey?" Zeke stared in disbelief at the short brunette in front of him. He turned around quickly and quirked an eyebrow at Stokely. "Did you invite him?"
"Uh huh."
Stokely was wearing her 'I'm pleased with myself' face, which was a very scary face to begin with. It reminded Zeke of a cat who had just pinned a bird underneath its paws. He wasn't sure if the bird was Casey or if it was him, but the look was definitely creepy. Stokely was just like that sometimes.
"Is it a problem?"
And now Zeke was ready to kick himself in the head. Casey had that look on his face – the one where he thinks he doesn't belong -- that he's in the way. Zeke thought they'd kissed that look goodbye a long time ago, but it seems that Casey's self-esteem was still at pre-apocalypse level.
"No, no. I didn't know you were coming, that's all." Zeke reached out to briefly muss Casey's hair, savoring the feel of it under his fingers. "I just wish Stokely had told me. I would have bought more beer."
The idea of Casey drunk was very appealing.
It just figures he'd be a lightweight too.
Stokely sat on the couch and swung a beer bottle back and forth. "You know, I'm sick and tired of you fucking around him. It's amazingly annoying to watch. Just tell him."
Zeke tore his gaze away from where Casey was lying stretched out on the sofa and glared at her. "Look who's talking. Stones and glass houses. Why don't you make a move on Delilah, huh, Stokely? What's the worst she could possibly do? Insult you? Tell people you're a lesbian?"
"Shut up." Stokely's eyes flashed and her jaw tightened. "You wanna talk about who can throw stones and who can't? I don't think either of us really wants to go there."
"You don't have a friendship to fuck up, all right? I'm between the proverbial rock and goddamn hard place."
The only sound in the room was the blare of the late-night movie that was playing on TV.
"Just fuck him."
"Stokes..."
"Seriously," she considered blearily. "Send him straight to heaven and crashing back down, and he'll be yours forever."
"I don't want a fuckbuddy."
Stokely giggled. It was a surprisingly feminine sound. "Aww. How cute. Zeke is in love!"
"Shut up."
"... I still say fuck him."
"Stokely. Not helping." Not with Casey – still unconscious – lying only a few feet away from him. One of Zeke's thumbs brushed over Casey's forehead. "So not helping."
After that Stokely didn't say much of anything, except for one random comment on the mountain of subtext between two men who run around in tights and live in the same house. Especially when one is named is 'Dick'. Zeke agreed with her, but that was another thing you never told Stokely.
"What time does he have to be home?"
Stokely shrugged her coat over her shoulders. "Parents didn't say. I'd go with the wee hours of the morning."
"Right." The uptight middle-class. Better make it before two.
"Zeke?"
"Ah. So you're still alive." Zeke had only been checking obsessively every half-hour, after all.
"I am alive?"
"Yep. Probably in desperate need of aspirin, but alive."
"Good to know," Casey croaked.
"... milk?"
"It's good for you. Builds strong bones."
Casey stared at him.
"It makes your breath smell better and it's less obvious than mouthwash. Now drink it."
"Yes, sir." Casey meekly took the glass from Zeke's hand.
"Oh. And aspirin."
"Thank you," Casey breathed. Zeke managed to ignore how much of a sex-voice that was. Well, mostly ignore.
The ride home was quiet, and that isn't right. Casey was a bit of a chatterbox once you got to know him. But he's probably just quiet because he's tired and semi-hungover. He wasn't asleep long enough to be truly hungover, but Zeke also thinks this is the first time Casey ever went drinking.
Zeke pulls into Casey's driveway at 1:52, and notices that there aren't any lights on in the house. It surprises him. Casey's parents always seemed so clingy. The type that actually went to every parent's night and met with all the teachers. All in all, Zeke thought they would probably have sent out a police bulletin at this point, not be tucked into bed.
"They let up a bit after the whole alien thing." Casey smiled thoughtfully and stepped out of the car.
"Wish I'd known. You could have stayed longer." Zeke followed Casey up the front walkway. "Do you have a key?" If not, Zeke is pretty sure he can pick the lock. Delinquency comes in handy from time to time.
Smiling wryly, Casey twisted the handle and pushed the door open. "It's small town Ohio, Zeke. They don't lock their doors."
"'Cause danger only comes from aliens after all."
"Right."
The corner of Zeke's mouth twisted up. "Night, Case."
"Night, Zeke."
Before he knew what he had done, Zeke reached out and pushed back a bit of Casey's hair out of his eyes. Casey blinked, and Zeke walked back to the car. By the time he pulled out of the driveway Casey had closed the front door, and all the way home Zeke called himself ten kinds of fool.
On Monday Zeke strode into school two or three periods late. He lounged in the bathroom until fourth period Global History, took Mr. Carter's test and aced it. He strolled out into the quad for fifth period lunch, heading toward their table. "Their table" used to be Zeke, Stokely, Stan, Delilah, and Case. Now it's just Zeke, Stokely, and Casey, and Zeke likes it better that way.
The problem is that only Stokely is at the table.
"Where's Casey?"
"Out on the bleachers."
"Shit." Casey only went out on the football field when he was upset. Like 'Delilah-break-up' upset. Or 'fight-with-his-parents' upset. The kind of upset that sent him into a depressing downward spiral.
"I'll just eat alone," Stokely said. Zeke took that to be the polite version of 'go after him, fuckwit,' and he wasn't going to argue.
Zeke stopped about halfway up the bleachers and tilted his head to look at Casey. "Is there a reason you're eating alone?"
"Felt like it." He studiously avoided looking at Zeke and took another bite out of his sandwich.
Zeke picked at his fingernails for a minute before shrugging. "Do you want me to leave?"
"You don't have to."
"Okay. Then I demand Pringles."
Casey smiled briefly. "How can I expect a growth spurt if you eat all my food?"
Zeke took the Pringles from Casey's outstretched hand, and smiled back when their eyes met. "I hate to be the one to break it to you, but alcohol stunts growth."
"Great. I'm just all around screwed."
Casey just said 'screwed'. For a few seconds Zeke's brain skipped around like a broken CD. Casey never swore. Zeke is terribly, terribly tempted to ask Casey to say it again, but that isn't telling in the least. He shoved a Pringle in his mouth and chewed quickly.
Casey is about halfway through his sandwich before he remembers who they've left hanging in the quad. "Oh. Stokely..."
"She said she didn't mind eating alone today. I think she'd got some stuff to work out."
"Stan?"
More like Delilah, Zeke thinks, but he nodded and agreed anyway.
Zeke finished up the Pringles and began to amuse himself by throwing pieces of gum wrapper at Casey's head. Casey turned around to glare at him and Zeke just barely kept a straight face.
"Asshole."
Okay, that was even worse than screwed. Zeke had to swallow twice before he could speak again.
"You coming over again Friday?"
Casey rolled up his garbage and tossed into the back of the bleachers. At Zeke's shocked look, he shrugged. "I hate football."
Zeke grinned. "All right. What about Friday?"
"Maybe. I don't know..."
"I promise I won't make you drink milk again," Zeke said seriously.
Casey laughed and started down the bleachers. "Okay. You coming to English today or hanging in the bathroom?"
"I think I'll go to class. Victorian poetry all this week, right?"
"Riiiiiight." Casey knew this was going somewhere.
Zeke began to grin almost maniacally. "The Victorians were a repressed lot."
Stokely took another half-hearted stab at her salad. Great. The futility and plain crappiness of life reflected in limp lettuce and warm cheese.
"Hey."
Stokely watched as Delilah carefully sat down next to her.
"What do you want?"
"I heard about Stan."
"And?" Only Stokely could make a conjunction sound like a curse word.
"I want to..."
"If you say you're sorry, I swear to God I'll undo the good of every facial treatment you've ever had," Stokely hissed.
Delilah smirked and drummed her fingernails on the table. "All right. Then, do you want revenge."
"What?"
"I've got some interesting little tidbits about Stan. Stuff I kept underwraps when we were dating. I was wondering if you wanted to know."
Delilah never did anything without an ulterior motive. Ever. And she certainly never did anything without thinking it through and seeing all the possible outcomes. She'd probably be a damn good chess player, but that wasn't really mainstream enough for her. So the real question was why Delilah was doing this and what she hoped to get out of it. Delilah's help was a double-edged sword. Stokely had no doubt that Stan would be hurt by this, whatever it was, but she probably would be too.
"No."
Delilah smiled. "Your loss."
Every time, was all Stokely thought as Delilah got up and walked away.