Rating: PG to light R
Synopsis: Seven drabbles showing off Zeke Tyler, the Midwestern version of a back alley dealer.
Warnings: A tiny bit of skeeziness in one.
Disclaimer: I own nothing--all fantasy on my end.
Author's Notes: Drabbles are always fun for me. *smile*
Opening up shop is done in the pop of a trunk, and Zeke is left to wait for those wishing to 'peruse his wares'. He had about twenty minutes before the warning bell rang; early stragglers drove in on buses, in cars, or simply walked. Zeke lit a cigarette and scanned the crowd. Some regulars had already gone in, but they'd bought scat the day before. Expected.
He sat back, yawned and relaxed, knowing that he'd at least pull in a few students before homeroom. He always did, but he didn't need the money. It was just… a thing.
“Um… excuse me…?”
Zeke looked away from the box of videos he'd been packing, finding a young girl standing behind him. She looked uncomfortable and unsure, but most freshmen or sophomores did anyway. “Hmm?” he replied, raising his eyebrows.
“I um… I left things at home, and-- well, I heard you sell stuff…” she stammered. Zeke listened slightly confused as she continued. “The machine in the girls' room only has cardboard, and…”
Zeke smiled and leaned into the trunk. “Plastic, then?”
Zeke smiled and brought out the 'Playtex' box of tampons. “Seventy-five cents a pop.”
Zeke almost turned tail, finding Miss Quentin where he usually has his lunch-smoke, searching through her purse. He'd already lit one, in fact, and he doesn't feel like getting bitched out.
Fine. He'd put on the “so what?” act. “Yea?” he said, taking a puff. 'See? I could GIVE a shit.'
Miss Quentin peered at him. “I could get fired for this… but how much for a cigarette?”
Zeke wanted to laugh out loud-- it's not the first time he'd sold something to a teacher. He tossed one her way and winked. “Call it a hall pass.”
On big tests days, Zeke makes a killing. One would think it's the scat, keeping students alert-- or the fact that he HAS sold copies of tests before. But the biggest sales happen right in the classroom, and he can't get shit for it.
“Shit… I left mine at home…”
“Me too; don't look at me.”
Zeke took out the box of number-two pencils. He paid about a dollar for all twenty of them, but in times of desperation, anyone pays anything. “A buck. Each,” he says.
Kids are careless with money, and should stop bringing ballpoint pens for tests.
“C'mon, man… I'm gonna crash tonight if you don't…”
Zeke liked making a buck, but he didn't like this. It's the third time Vinny Morrow had paid him a visit, buying three pens of scat each time. In three days.
“Look…” Zeke started, sighing deeply. The boy's an over-achiever-- straight A's, senior class vice-president… “You need some fucking sleep, not scat.”
Vinny trembled and set his jaw tight. His darkened eyes flashed wide as he continued. “Man, just one. All right? I'll pay you Monday!”
Zeke shook his head and turned away, feeling like he sold heroin, for fuck's sake.
You learned something new about fellow students when you're someone like Zeke. Doing the 'trades' he does gave him insight to the wants and needs of almost everyone here.
Gabe showed up at his car one day, looking blank and defensive. The young man never approached Zeke. “Um… hey,” Zeke said.
“Hey… look, you got condoms?”
Simple enough. Zeke shrugged and reached into his trunk. “You want flavored… ribbed…”
“Okay-- cherry, vanilla--”
“He likes vanilla--”
Zeke's head turned fast to look over his shoulder. Gabe's mouth hung open a few moments before practically running out of the lot.
Even if the new Geography teacher annoyed Zeke, that hadn't been the reason why he'd decked him during lunch.
Zeke sat in the front office, waiting. It'd be a bit before they'd give up and send him home, but not before he got to tell them why he'd done it. No one had asked him that yet.
So maybe when he informed them that Mr. Hall had propositioned Zeke to take pictures of Casey Connor in the locker room showers for one hundred and fifty dollars, they might actually thank him, instead of suspend him.
Not that he cared, or anything.
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