The Bones To Nowhere

*note: italic entries will be present tense, and regular entries will be past tense.  Beaumont wasn't popular by any means when he arrived at our high school. He was the outcast that had his own table at lunch, and sat in the back of each classroom as barely a shadow. He took notice of no one, and therefore he was not noticed in return.  The summer of 98' was a hot one. I guess that's why the winter was so chilling. This is an important factor in Beaumont's death, as he was found in an abandoned freezer in the middle of winter. But he'd been missing for months before then.  It's important to note that our town was small, and really, there were no possible leads on how this boy got into a freezer in the middle of the woods, and got stuck in it. No one was a suspect, because everyone knew each other (not to mention the lack of evidence and our not so substantial police force). And neighbors who have known one other for ten plus years don't just got around accusing the people they've grown up with for the death of a boy no one even really knew existed. No one but me.  I first saw Beaumont Greene sitting on a plastic chair in the far corner of the cafeteria, legs perched on the water fountain. This earned him dirty looks and sideway glances from students who wanted to fill up their water bottles. To say Beau was attractive would be an understatement, he was just so under the radar that no one even realized all his hidden potential, including how devishly handsome he was. He could have easily been popular had he wanted it that way, but Beau never really paid anyone any attention in this place. I think he had bigger plans for himself other than staying in the town of River Oaks. Ironic that this will be his home forever.  It wasn't like I was well known in my school, I was kind of an average cabbage. I flew mostly under the radar until it came to test days. I had my own group of friends, but nothing extravagant. Sometimes it barely felt like they were friends at all.  Beaumont was probably the only person who ever truly cared for me in high school. He would talk to me of his dreams to leave this god forsaken town, even though he'd just arrived. And maybe he would've, who knows now?  In order for one to realize how tragic his death was, they'd have to get to know him. And the only way for that to happen is if I tell his story.  We met kind of in a head- rush mostly; a meeting that wasn't really a first impression that one would think would make an impact, but somehow I feel it was meant to be.  "Why do you let them cheat off you?" I am startled and look to my right to see the new kid standing next to me. I shuffle through my locker, surprised he's actually talking to a living person. I debate on his question, why do I let others take credit for my hard earned work? Is it because I want to feel more accepted? No, not really. I think it's more for my own secret pleasure of knowing that every student who cheats off my work is only passing because of me. Granted, the teachers don't know that, but it is a little bit of self gratification. Regardless, it's still quite annoying, yes.  "I don't know. I guess it's just something that I don't pay attention to." Which is sort of true. On a daily basis I don't really think about others peering over my shoulder to find the answer to the number fifteen, or the plot to the novel we were forced to read. I guess I kind of just tune it all out.  "It should be. You should have more respect for yourself." And then he's gone. My cheeks instantly glow a bright red. Who is he to lecture me on self respect? He doesn't even care how others view him. As much as I hate to admit it, I wish that were a quality that I had more of- nonchalance.  Over the next few weeks I find myself bringing my hand closer to the edges of my page, or my arm blocking the ink of my pen from being seen by anything in the outside world of my desk. The way his words were eating at the back of my brain bugged me to no ends. Usually I would shrug such an encounter off, so why couldn't I do that now? Weeks have gone by, and that's the only time Beaumont has made an effort to talk to me, and now it's as if it never even happened. A few of my friends made plans to meet at the skating rink later to get some drinks and roll around in a circle, and what better way to spend a Friday night than out?   So I drove my parent's car that had recently gotten a new paint job to Rollin' Skates skating rink at the corner of town. There were a total of three cars in the parking lot, most of my friends carpooled after all. Most of the juniors in our school weren't allowed to drive, as their parent's could usually only afford one car- and they needed that car for work.  I was fortunate enough to have a stay-at-home father novelist. I guess he made enough money, nothing extraordinary, just plenty to get us by and have small pleasures too. He used to be quite the talk of town, but as he's gotten older his novels kind of just became a stock for shelves. They usually sat in the dusty corner of our local bookstore. At least they were buying them.  As it turns out though, my father is usually on the computer trying to form a cohesive paragraph for a new story. I usually do most of the grocery shopping, and overall house upkeep. My mom, on the other hand, is a major business tycoon- always at airports booking trips to cities all across the country. She's obviously the major bread winner of the house, despite not being here. She sends me a check every other week telling me to spend it wisely, and to get my dad his favorite snacks even though they've been divorced for years.  They aren't bitter towards each other, mom is just busy ninety percent of the time, and dad is a shut-in. It just didn't work out, and luckily that doesn't mean it ended badly. Mom still calls dad on a regular basis to check up on everything and ask if there's anything that needs to be done to the house, dad always denies any of her help though.  When I get into the skating rink, I see my group of friends hanging out in the corner table near the food stand. After about an hour, they decide to go ahead and grab their skates and head out to the floor. I opted to just watch, seeing as I never really liked embarrassing myself in front of others. My eye catches the familiar face of Beaumont Greene sitting all the way at the other end of the rink. He's writing in a book, when two seniors decided to rip it from his hands. I watch as they taunt him, laughing and prodding.  They were jocks, and their stupidity knew no bounds. I think Beaumont is the calmest person I've ever seen in a situation like that. He doesn't move, or give any insight of care whatsoever to what they were saying. How could he do that? Just sit there and let them poke fun at him?  Eventually they did give up, finding that his uninterest in the whole situation is quite boring. I debated on going over there, because rather than give the book back, they tossed it in the trash can, one boy pouring his drink on top of it as a final insult.  They made their way over to my table, and Beaumont just sat there, eyeing them. He didn't make a move to get the book, or at least, I didn't see if he did, because the seniors blocked my view from him. I cross my arms and look up at them. I honestly didn't really think any of that was hilarious in the slightest.  "Hey, Charlie, why aren't you skating?" I shrug my shoulders, not really understanding why they were speaking to me. Sure, my friends were all pretty popular, but I was just included. This drew minor unwanted attention my way.  "I don't really like skating." The tall blond jock was Tommy, I believe. He started towards my arm, grabbing me unexpectedly. I am shocked to be pulled from my seat. Beaumont was gone, I'd noticed.  When he'd walked out, I'm not sure. "Why not join us?" I politely decline his offer, after all I really didn't want to skate. I mainly just came for the food seeing as I haven't had time to do any shopping this week, takeout didn't seem like a bad idea. Dad is pretty fond of the rink's food anyway since it reminds him of when I was little. Those were better days for his career as well. Nostalgia works in strange ways. "Oh come on, just come and skate with us. It'll be fun, look, everyone is doing it." This somehow felt like a horrible 'say no to unsafe s*x' commercial, and it was borderline starting to piss me off.  "I said no Tommy, but thanks anyway." I hear ooh's and 'rejected!' Come from his guy friends that were all behind him, listening to his every word. Jesus Christ don't they have anything better to do? High school is a joke.  I guess this burned his ego, and he couldn't let some girl ruin his reputation, because he threw his hands up in the air as a surrender, but when I walk away I feel a sting right on my bottom. He smacked my ass. In front of the whole skating rink. Loudest sound I've heard in a long time. My friends were all hollering in laughter from the rink at the scene, and his bro friends were high-fiving each other. I feel tears start to fill in my eyes, as the sting from my cheeks lowers to my feet, but I blink them away before I turn back to face him.  I don't even think before I swing my arm back as hard as I can and nail him right in the nose. I don't really pay attention to anything else that happens afterwards, and I leave the skating rink to Tommy calling me a stupid b***h. I hear his friends trying to calm him down, and I hear one friend shout out orders to get a napkin for his bleeding nose. Oops. Sorry.  When I get home dad is waiting for me on the couch, he's not on his computer. I drop the keys and takeout on the table and sit next to him. My hand is pounding and he says nothing as he takes the all-ready-sitting-there first aid kit out to wrap it. "Tommy's mom called. Patricia I think, anyway she told me she wasn't going to press charges."  I roll my eyes at how a mother could defend her own son's actions toward another woman, but then I think that she probably didn't even know the whole story. "I told her to go ahead and press charges anyway, because your mom could get us a great lawyer if need be." I chuckle, my dad may be a shut-in, but he knew me. And he loved me a lot.  "Takeout is on the table, I'm going to bed. Thanks for tonight." He smiles kindly at me before grabbing the food and heading back to his workspace. We keep our conversations short and sweet, we always have. He did pause as if he were going to say something important, but instead it was only "goodnight pumpkin. Takeout, my favorite place too."  Monday morning, Beaumont makes an appearance next to me at my cafeteria table. My friends haven't arrived yet, I usually arrive early to school to study and finish up the little remaining homework I always manage to have. "Why did you punch Tommy?" I feel a little taken aback by his question. Who wouldn't want to punch Tommy? He's an absolute jerk.  "Why didn't you?" I counter back, because this time I'm standing up for what I did. "I don't really like to bully a bully. Usually they have their own reasons as to why they are the way they are." I narrow my eyes. Damn him. He's just an overall good person. Does he not see anything wrong with people?  "Well, regardless of his backstory, I'm not going to let a guy degrade me. He slapped my ass, I punched his face. Even trade- an eye for an eye am I right?" Or shall I say, an ass for a nose.  "Maybe you do have something in you after all." What that meant, I'm not sure. But he is gone after that, and one of my friends sat down in front of me asking me to spill the beans from Friday night. As if the whole school didn't already know.