Just Keep On Keeping On: Beck's Story

Beck Oliver. That guy with the handsome hair. That cool dude with all the girls. That boy who maybe everyone kind of had a crush on. That Oliver kid. Everyday you came to school, your fluffy hair done perfectly, cascading down to your shoulders and out in exactly two waves, and an outfit that looked like you hired a fashion designer to make for you the day before. That was put together, good looking, Beck Oliver.

You always strode into the school confidently, your one hand in your dark brown jacket and another grasping the brown cardboard that encased your freshly brewed coffee. I should know. I saw you every morning and it's almost as if I had deja vu because each day nearly always started out as a carbon copy of the last. You were the same old picture perfect Beck and nothing changed besides your outfit.

You were almost, dare I say, boring. Predictable. I wouldn't even have to attend school to know that the day I'm absent you would walk in through those double doors, three or four girls at your heels admiring the way you chewed your gum or perhaps drooling over your beautiful eyes, and you would casually slip over to your transparent locker, dismissing the girls with a flip of your hair, a wink, and an 'I'll catch you later.'

Ha. Ever the ladies' man.

But anyway, you know, now that I think about it, your locker was ironic. You said it represented that you had no secrets. That you weren't deep and essentially, or so you would explain with a small laugh, what you saw was what you got. There was nothing more to you than what met the eye. Or, at least that's what you wanted everyone to believe. Needed them to believe.

But, as the cliche goes, everybody has a story.

We didn't have many classes together, only two. Despite being part of the gang, you and I were always distant. Friends, yes, but we didn't connect. After all, I was your stereotypical nerd with glasses and, for a bonus, a puppet he used to portray all of his negative emotions, and you were the hyped up Hollywood popular male student whom all the guys wanted to be friends with and whom all the girls wanted to be with. We didn't exactly have personalities that matched, even though we attempted to make them fit. Like that one time where you and I had hung out and we had maybe a half hour's worth of subjects to talk about before it became awkwardly silent, neither of us able to think of anything to say or do, and I started to do that weird thing where I bite and play with my lips (luckily Cat had called not long after to break the silence). We just weren't that compatible.

Still though, I sat a few seats away from you in the two classes we had together and only made conversation when something that related to both of us came up, which wasn't often. So instead of saying needless things like 'how's the weather' or 'what's up' I just focused on the lesson at hand, occasionally glancing over at you, jealous of you, wondering what it would be like if just for a day, I could be the Robbie Shapiro- or better yet, the Beck Shapiro. I could be the transparent guy that girls fawned over and boys wanted to be. I could be the popular dude that losers and nerds envied.

And maybe once or twice every so often, I would catch myself zoning out, daydreaming about what it would be like to have the ladies laugh at my jokes, to be able to entertain my friends so that no one hurriedly walked away when I was trying to have a conversation, just to be someone else entirely on a whole different level of the social status. I would catch myself wishing that I was you.

If I ever told you that, I think you would laugh in my face, and to tell you the truth, now that I think back on it, I would laugh to. I was so naive back then. So stupid, even if all my grades were (and are even better than if I may add) an A average. See, I may have had book smarts, but I didn't have street smarts. Or, that's what everyone tells me. No real common sense. But everyone told you that you had it all. Street smarts and good grades.

Except, I don't think that you were all that smart. Not in the street sense. Because if you had been, maybe all these problems could have been avoided. Maybe you would've made better decisions. But maybe those are just my musings, because you were Beck Oliver, the boy who was smart.

Also, the boy who was confident.

People called you confident. You would walk into a room and command attention. It was almost as if you were standing up on a chair yelling, "Here I am world! I'm Beck Oliver! I'm over here!" Everyone would turn around and look at you and wave, nearly begging for you to notice them. And you would to. You would glance around the room, full of grins and smiles for everyone, even me. You were kind like that.

Anyway, it was like you would strut into a room, shoulders held up and straight regally, face beaming, an almost cocky smile sprawled on like a smack to the face. And for some reason, no one hated it. They liked how you could be so proud, so sure of yourself when so many other teenagers weren't. You almost became a role model for others our age. Something, or someone everyone aspired to be. You were phantasmagoric. Something unworldly.

Only, you weren't. You were human, just like the rest of us. And it's almost as though you failed everyone who had looked up to you. Like you lied to them about your life and made yourself out to be something you weren't. At least, that's the spin some people put on it. Some blamed you for what happened, but the majority pitied you and sympathized with you, painting you out to only have been a victim, something all of us are at one point in our lives. But me...I just think you're stupid. I don't blame you, but I don't think you're a 'victim' either. But when I told the others this, they yelled at me. Hollered at me that I didn't know what I was talking about and that I was never close to you like they were.

It was insulting really, although not that I'm not used to it.

These problems that you had...They all started out one day when you showed up to school five minutes before the bell when usually you're there about ten to fifteen minutes before class starts. Well, I shouldn't say they started out. I'm not entirely sure when it came about, when you realized what you had realized, but I noticed it that Tuesday when you had come a tad bit late. The others saw this as well, but didn't say anything, thinking nothing of it. I really didn't think anything of it either. Until I greeted you and asked if you were all right because you were looking a little lethargic. You answered, but I wasn't really paying attention, one, because I knew you would lie to me to cover up whatever it was you were hiding, and two, I was to shocked because, well...you stuttered. And Beck Oliver never stammered.

Not once in your whole life had you gotten caught on a word. It was like the fact that you were never scared. It just was. There was no reason for it; you had just never stuttered on a word a day in your life. Except, maybe that's a bad analogy because there actually was a reason you were never scared. I remember that time I had asked you about it while all of that...stuff...had been happening. You looked me in the eye, saying nothing, before sighing and looking down at the ground. It had hurt for me to see you lose all of that pride and gaze down at your feet in defeat. But, anyway, for some reason, you decided to trust me. Maybe it was because you felt as though you had nothing left to lose.

"I'm not scared of anything because there's never been anything that's scared me more than what I've experienced."

"I'm not scared because there's never been more scary experiences."

"I'm not scared."

Simple, yet not. I tried to press the matter, but you seemed to have had enough of it and had walked away from me, leaving me flabbergasted, futilely calling out your name in the hopes that you would return. But I should have known better, because you never came back anyway. That's just something you didn't do. Not really.

But, getting back to the point, that day that you stammered, that you got stuck on that one word...well it wasn't just one word. It was many more than that. Throughout the rest of the day, whenever I attempted to talk to you, there was always that pause before your words. Like you had been thinking, debating with yourself over what you should say and what you should keep secret. It was a hitch right before you talked, like your voice was stuck in your throat. I couldn't help but wonder what was causing you to hesitate.

So I asked.

But in response, you only grinned at me like I was a moron and ran a hand through your brown hair. I shouldn't have cared. I should have just let it go. But I began to almost, in a way, watch you instead of focusing in class. I began to notice more things about you. Like the way that your shoulders were slumping every so often and the way your award winning smile wasn't really all that anymore. Sometimes your breath, which was usually minty fresh (I was very observant, all right?) sometimes, kind of...smelled. But it was just little things. Mistakes that normal people made on a daily basis.

Except, you weren't supposed to be normal. You were supposed to have no flaws. You were supposed to be the perfect guy, the head honcho around Hollywood Arts. But here you were, at last exposing your imperfections, although hardly anyone realized. Not that they should because it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for the common student.

But one day it became more than just a hitch in your voice, more than just a small malfunction in your cleanliness. It was more like a stitch. Like a small string was slightly ripped and frayed. I don't think anyone else was able to see, but I did. It was brief, but I still saw it. I still saw your eyes water and fill with sorrow and this...unhappiness. Almost regret. Almost apprehension. Almost confusion. Almost. Your brows had furrowed slightly and you pursed your lips and bit the inside of your mouth like you were restraining yourself. You glanced down at your shoes and just stared. Just stared, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 seconds.

It lasted for maybe thirty-seconds. Just thirty-seconds. No one saw, no one realized. Just me. I was the only one who was able to note the way your frame shook slightly, the way your toes pointed slightly inwardly, and how your hands folded, supporting your forehead, elbows resting on your knees as you sat. But then it was suddenly...gone. Then it just disappeared and was replaced with the oh so familiar expressionless face of Beck Oliver.

After class, I caught up to you, put my hand on your stiff shoulder, and asked what had happened. You turned to me, gave me a grave smile, and shook your head as if to indicate no, don't ask. "It's nothing Robbie. Just have a lot of homework."

"Beck, I-I...I'm not stupid! I kno-" I had stammered, but you had just turned around and walked away, leaving me with a stupefied expression, mouth slightly ajar in the audacity of your actions and eyes bulging in disbelief.

After that occurrence, I usually made sure to check up on you during our classes together at least ten times (yes, I counted). We may not have been the best of friends, but we were friends nonetheless and that meant I cared about you. Besides, you were kind of my idol, as I said before.

Anyway, soon a week went by, then two...then three...and then I lost count but finally, somewhere along the line, you came into school, cracked. Broken. Out of place. You walked in through those double doors like you did every single weekday, but this time was different. You were messy looking. Dirty looking, like you hadn't showered last night and hadn't bothered to pick out an outfit that matched. It looked like you just didn't care and had decided to come into school with what you wore to bed. It was shocking to say the least. Sure, everybody had an off day once in a while where girls, and guys wearing man makeup, decided to apply nothing to their face and come natural, but you never did. Ever. You were Beck Oliver, and you were supposed to be perfect. Not this...this slob.

No one had expected this sudden change. It wasn't gradual; it seemed like a snap decision. You hadn't slowly deteriorated into this boy who looked like he had seen better days at the very least. It was fast. Quick with seemingly no legitimate reason for it. Like you had just snapped. The rest of the gang had immediately surrounded you, begging you to tell them what was wrong. You just said that you were tired and hadn't felt like dressing up and blah blah blah. I had honestly tuned you out because I was looking at Jade who was silently standing in a puerile remonstration of the world. She had her arms crossed, but something felt off. Like she knew something about this even though you two had broken up.

I had decided to question her about this when we were by our lockers and no one else was around.

"Jade?"

"What."

"What's up with Beck? He's acting all wonky recently, at least according to this new Pear Pad app I just got which can read feel-" Yes, I had used the feeling check app on you.

"Why should I know," she interrupted.

"Well I just thought since you two used to...you know...date," I mentioned awkwardly, sort of shrugging. I had hoped it had come off as cute instead of dorky or just plain idiotic.

"Can it Shapiro," Jade had responded, giving me an eye roll and then slamming her locker shut, storming away as per usual with her books. Except, I noted that she hadn't grabbed her history materials, whether in pure forgetfulness or to get away from me. Considering Jade West never forgot, I assumed it was the latter.

But I didn't press.

I went home that day without any answers. Although the next day, I was able to actually talk to you. For a little bit.

"Beck...why?" I floundered, gesturing to God knows what after I had dragged you into the janitor's closet. Sometimes I came here to cry just like Jade (although I highly doubt she came to cry necessarily; she wasn't exactly human and I wasn't sure if aliens had tear ducts) and I supposed it would be a nice secluded place to talk.

You took a moment, extended a hand to the nearby shelf and played with an item on it. Whenever we hung out and things became awkwardly silent when both of us ran out of things to say or do, you would feel uncomfortable and always find something to play with. It was like your way of occupying yourself so that you didn't have to deal with the problem at hand.

"I don't know."

"You can't not not know!"

"It's just...things have be-"

"Is it Jade?"

There was a heavy silence and I cleared my throat before repeating myself. You stopped playing with the item on the shelf and looked at me, not saying a word. Not confirming or denying. I began to squirm under your intense stare.

"Is it your family then?"

You merely scoffed.

"Friends?"

Still nothing.

"Friends, exes, and family?" I questioned, astonished.

You laughed to yourself, though it was more dry than I remembered and less enthusiastic. "You know Shapiro, you can be pretty intuitive." I wasn't sure whether to have taken that seriously or as a joke, so I said the next thing that came to mind.

"You mean I'm right?"

You didn't answer, instead replied cryptically. "Sometimes you gotta wonder where you're going in life and who's going to be in it, and who you're never going to see again." Then you walked out, although not without holding the janitor's door open for me to squeak through after you.

After that, I had tried again and again to get you to open up. I recounted tales of my failure of a childhood in the hopes to create, perhaps, a bond, even told you some secrets like why I carried Rex and what I used to keep my skin looking so healthy and baby soft it could almost rival Jade's. You would just grin and dismiss me without a second thought.

Until one day when I found you crying out in the hall in a small corner. Or, it wasn't crying, more like just staring, wallowing in this grief. Your eyes were teary, yet nothing fell, and you didn't make a sound. You just sat there, pressed up against the wall, kind of staring off into space. Not really there.

"Beck...Beck. Beck, come on, please get up or tell me what's wrong or something," I tried to persuade you and then reached down and grabbed your hand, gently pulling to get you to your feet. At least, before I realized how weird this might look to any passerby and dropped your hand.

"Beck!"

"Robbie, stop. Just go away."

"No! Not until you tell me what's been bothering you! You always look like a hot mess an-"

"Well what are you supposed to do when you feel like there's nothing else left to do? Can you tell me that?...Well can you!"

"I-I...What?" I asked blankly, not having been exactly prepared for that kind of question. I had assumed I'd be the one questioning and you'd be the one answering, but the roles were quickly reversed.

You scoffed and looked away from me. "This is stupid," you growled, getting to your feet, making no sense.

"W-What's stupid?" I squeaked.

"This!" You wildly gestured to everything with your arms, brown eyes open wide and scary. I'd never seen you so emotional before. You had always been so distant, so out of touch with your emotions that, usually, you never portrayed any.

There was a silence, neither of us knowing what to say or even to do. It was quiet and you refused to make eye contact with me, like if you avoided me this situation would just disappear. Or maybe it was because you didn't want to see my reaction to your quite unmanly outburst (since you always considered 'being a man' not allowing others to see your feelings).

After a while I cleared my throat. Then there was nothing again.

"Beck...I...I d-don't understand." It came out in a high pitched voice even though only a minute or so before I had cleared my throat.

You glanced at me angrily before trying to walk away, but I positioned myself to block you, although I was well aware that you could easily just knock me down. After all, you were strong, not like Andre, but strong nonetheless.

"What Robbie! Just get the hell out of my way!"

"It's not good to keep your emotions bottled up like this! One day you might explode, l-like a volcano or something! Trust me. I go every week to a group for teenagers where they can just spill what they're feeling and it helps! You can't just keep going around like this!"

You didn't say anything, just glared at me and pushed past me. I rubbed my shoulder where you had brushed past as I watched you stalk away.

The next day was awful. You didn't come to school. Although when you did show up the day after that, we didn't talk. Didn't do anything. And that was how the next month went. Everyday you would come into school unhygienic, messy looking, almost disturbing, and we wouldn't say a word to each other. You wouldn't even look at me.

I decided to give you time, because, as the saying goes, only time can heal. And it did. At least a little bit, because one day I came up to talk to you, after about a month or so, and you kept the conversation up, acting like nothing had happened and we were okay, even though I saw the slight fear in your frame and maybe perhaps noticed the way your eyes continually scanned my face for any sort of judgement.

Life went on more normally after that, except we started to hang out more. Have more things to talk about. I never knew we liked the same music, had the same fascination with older Disney movies, and, contrary to the popular 'nerds don't do sports,' we both liked skateboarding. There was a bunch of other things to and it made me feel guilty that I had pegged us as completely different personalities, separated by the walls of the social status chart, because you were just a regular guy. Like everyone else. Like me.

But then things began to get worse again and all our texts, all our phone calls, even all our plans to hang out just stopped. You skipped school at least once every week and you stopped talking. It was like you were setting up a barrier between you and the world. Like you wanted to surround yourself in with brick walls. Even though I so desperately tried to get to you, it didn't work. No, you just ignored all my texts, phone calls, and would avoid me because you knew that I was going to ask you what was up. Fortunately for me, you were predictable, and as time went on I was able to devise a plan to corner you so that you had to answer.

It was simple really. Every Friday, if you were here, you went into the Blackbox to grab some papers, or so I was informed. So one day I followed you in and quietly shut the door behind me. I leaned against it casually, barricading any attempts you may make to slip out.

"Beck," I greeted and you turned around, startled, papers flying out of your hand. Your expression of surprise softened into one of relief when you saw it was me, but then once again hardened into a look of dislike. "I...You...Just why, Beck. Why."

"Why do you keep trying to talk to me Robbie?" you countered after a small second in which you anxiously ran your hand through your greasy hair.

"I'll ask the questions," I asserted and you threw your hands up in the air, exasperated.

"Of course you will," you responded dryly before turning away from me and sitting down on a chair. You propped up your elbows on your knees and then buried your face in your hands and I felt a stab of pity. I felt like I was pushing you to do something you weren't quite ready to do. After all, if you said it aloud, if you admitted it, it would mean it was true. It would mean that you were opening yourself up to judgement and perhaps the slight chance that I could run from the room and shout the very things you told me in confidence.

I uncomfortably shifted from foot to foot before walking over to you. I put my hand on your shoulder and you looked up at me. We made eye contact, but it was brief and I quickly glanced away. I was never any good with communicating, especially when it involved looking into someone's eyes for long periods of time.

"You'll feel better if you tell me," I tried, or rather lied. You seemed to have known I was lying because you scoffed and shook your head. For some reason you had always been good at telling if someone was lying. Maybe it was because you yourself were a liar. A fake. You lived your life as though you had held no secrets, but that was a lie. Everything was just a lie in the end. I often wonder how you lived with that knowledge.

"Telling anyone anything won't change the situation. There's no point," you grunted with a dry laugh, something you had become an expert at in the last few months because you never truly laughed anymore. Not really.

"There's a point," I stubbornly insisted, taking my hand from your shoulder and crossing my arms across my chest. I stood tensely, waiting for you to argue back.

"Oh yeah? And what's that? So that you can go summon up magical fairies that can somehow solve all my fucking problems?" I winced at the curse word because you never cursed. It was against your morals. You always said what you say represents who are you and that if you talk bad, you are then, essentially, bad.

"So you admit you have problems," I stated.

"That's not exactly anything new," you countered harshly, your voice holding an edge to it so that if I was in the right frame of mind I would have been scared. But it's a funny thing that you always had this effect on me that made me braver. Maybe you made me aspire to be more confident like you. Either way, whenever I was with you, I felt a surge of bravery like I could argue against someone and actually, for once, win.

"Then tell me what's wrong," I encouraged you to speak your mind.

"You wouldn't understand," you barked back and I knew I must have had you cornered because whenever you couldn't think of any other half decent information to counter with, you resulted to cliches.

"You can't just assume. That's rude."

You chuckled at that, although I couldn't tell if it was because you truly found it funny or you just found it so insane that you were having this conversation with me of all people. The nerd with a seemingly perfect life, besides the occasional bullies, and a wealthy family. Then there was a moment of silence and you looked up the ceiling like you were thinking about something important, and maybe you were.

"Rob, what are you going to do in life?" you asked offhandedly. The question took me by surprise and I gave a crooked smile, eyebrows lifting in confusion.

"I, uh, have my plans."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"I'm going to be a famous actor one day. Do something that involves, um, Rex. Maybe have my own show for little kids that parents can cuddle with their children and watch together as a family. Can laugh together as a family," I admitted, slightly fearful that you would make fun of me because whenever I had told my aspirations to anyone else, they had all laughed in my face and told me good luck. No one believed I could do it. Everyone believed I was just the wimpy, sappy, nerd who may or may not be gay.

You smirked and played with your hands some. "That's a really good dream."

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Yeah," you answered.

"What about you? Do you have any, er, plans for the future, I guess?" I pressed, seeing no point in why you had originally brought this conversation up. Nonetheless, I decided to continue going with it.

"Nah." Your answer was plain and simple as well as slightly depressing.

"Nah? Well why not? If you really wanted to, you could be anything. Anyone. So what do you mean, nah?" I asked, baffled, because it was true. If you really set your mind to it, you could achieve anything. You just needed to clean up. You had the smarts, you had the talent, you had the charisma. You could be anything in life and it made me jealous just thinking about it.

"I can't," you deadpanned, shrugging, face emotionless.

"You can't?"

You allowed a grin to pull at the corners of your mouth. "Rob, I'm not going anywhere in life. There's no point in trying anymore. I'm going to stay here, at home, and you'll grow up and make kids across America laugh. That's it. There's nothing else left to explain," you stated and got up, tracking towards the double doors. I followed diligently behind you, spewing with anger.

"Uh, I think there is everything left to explain!" I insisted. "Beck Oliver you can't just leave this room like this and expect this conversation to be over. I can't be silen-" I cut myself off as you exited and let the heavy metal doors swing back in my face. And as you had said before, that was it.

You stopped coming to school after that. No one ever heard from you or saw you again. I tried calling you. I tried everything in the book like bicycling past your house slowly on the way to school, trying to peer into the windows. I cut some of my classes to go look around the school to see if you were here. I even visited Lane and asked what had happened to you, but he said he didn't know, or at least wouldn't tell me if he did.

The rest of the gang tried to find what had happened to you as well. Tori had even gone to your house a few times, but no one ever answered and the door was always locked.

So I decided to wait a few weeks to see if you would turn up. The weeks soon turned into months and months turned into three and people started to forget about charismatic, popular, smart Beck Oliver. Everybody turned to Andre to look up to and to model themselves after. You had been a fad and were now a thing of the past. No one cared about you anymore. No one wondered where you went any longer.

But I still cared. I still wondered where you had gone and why you had seemingly just up and left with no reason. And soon my questions were answered by an announcement over the loud speaker. It still rattles me to this day to think about it.

"Good morning students. This is your principal speaking. I'm sure you all remember Beck Oliver. A well liked boy with amazing acting talent. A few months ago he left this school and now...Now I'm sorry to say that...that even though...He just had so much promise...Beck Oliver had been found dead a few weeks ago. The police say it was suicide. I'm not sure why, but my condolences to any of his family and friends. He was a wonderful boy. A smart boy who many people looked up to. In honor of his death, I'm asking you all to make this week and next week his weeks. Wear..."

I really hadn't bothered to pay attention after that. All that was going through my head was that it couldn't be true. It couldn't be right. They must have had identified the wrong body because I had just seen you a few months ago. You were breathing then. You were alive. I just couldn't grasp the fact that what the principal was saying was true and that you really weren't here anymore. Why you weren't here anymore.

As expected, I, as well as all as the gang, took off from school for the week. I refused to leave the house and just sat on the couch, numbly watching television. I never cried. Just lived in shock. I didn't understand. You had everything. How could your life have gone so downhill? And so quickly as well? In just one year, you were gone. Our senior year no less. This wasn't supposed to have happened. You were supposed to have graduated with all of us. You were supposed to have gone on to do great things. You were always supposed to make it farther than me, the nerd.

But you hadn't.

Eventually I began to blame myself. There had to have been something I could have done to save you. Maybe if I had pressed a little bit more for information or even cared just a smidgen more this wouldn't have happened. You would still be here, smiling and laughing and care free. But you weren't. And you never would be.

The week dragged on slowly. My family tried to cheer me up but it never worked. Soon Monday rolled around and tired of sitting at home alone in my room with only a small lamp on for light, I went to school. Everyone was back and things seemed to be returning to normal except for the excessive donning of those suspenders you always wore in the wrong way. It was painful, I had to admit. Everywhere I looked I saw your signature style and sometimes I felt as though one of the brightly colored suspenders would be yours. They never were.

So life went on as normally as possible for the majority of us. Except for Jade's. She hadn't come to school at all the week everyone else returned. And not for the week after nor the week after that until finally, on a very dreary Tuesday, she returned, no make up, no highlights in her hair, and no coffee in her hand. I had originally assumed she was more upset than the others because when you two broke up I thought she still had feelings for you. And maybe that was so, but not entirely, because when I asked if she was okay even though I knew she wasn't (no one was), she broke down.

"Jade, hey, you're back. That's good to see," I greeted her, smiling sheepishly and leaning against my locker which was only around two down from her scissor covered one.

"Not really," she growled back tiredly. "It'd be better if I wasn't." She flung her locker open and scanned the books inside, but after deciding upon something she slammed it shut, having grabbed no books or anything school related from it.

"Hey, we all miss Beck just as much as you but we're al-" I tried to console her and let her know she was not alone but she must have took it the wrong way because she interrupted me mid sentence.

"Oh shut the fuck up Shapiro. You have no idea what you're saying," she spat. Then she angrily began to storm out of the school. I scurried after her, dropping my math book on the floor so that it wouldn't weigh me down if it just so happened that I would have to follow Jade all the way home or something just to get her to admit exactly why she hasn't been able to come to school for a month. Yes, you were gone and it was heartbreaking, but she had taken off much longer than everyone else.

"Uh, I beg your pardon, but yes I do," I anxiously called after her, also stomping out of the school. She picked up the pace and I began to run until I was in front of her. I spread my arms out wide like a barrier even though she could easily just walk to the side, which she did.

She gave a wry laugh. "Don't even attempt Shapiro," she hissed. I chased after her and firmly grabbed her shoulder even though I was well aware I was much weaker than her and if she wanted to, she could beat me up.

"What's up with you Jade?" I asked cruelly, narrowing my eyes. I gave her shoulder a squeeze when she looked down at her black combat boots.

"Beck's dead. What else do yo-"

"It's not just that West," I coldly barked and she looked up at me, alarmed. I was shocking myself. I had never been this abrasive, but she knew something about your death. That I could tell. I might not have had much common sense, but I could tell she was withholding information about your suicide.

When she didn't answer, I tightened my grip on her. "What happened to him," I demanded. Still she refused to answer, instead dropping her gaze to once again look at her combat boots. I began to get sick of it. "Why the fuck did he kill himself!" I screamed in her face, suddenly shaking her, anger possessing me when previously I had been almost devoid of all emotion. "Tell me West!" I shouted. She roughly yanked her shoulders away from me and then it was like everything finally hit me.

You really were dead. And I don't know why it took me that long to just fully realize it (because I had merely been aware of it beforehand) but it did. And it was frightening.

Tears started to fill my eyes. "Why?" I wistfully whispered to her. "Why?" I stood there, pitifully burying my face in my hands like I'd seen you do so many times, and I cried. Just cried and cried and cried, unaware if Jade was still here. Eventually I sank down onto the gravel just to cry more. As I did so, I felt someone drop down beside me and I picked up my head, glasses foggy, face wet. Jade was still here, but still she said nothing.

"You weren't his only friend you know you selfish gan-"

"I killed him," she whispered, shutting her eyes tightly and letting out a deep breath.

"How could you, you fu- what? You...You w-what?" I stammered in disbelief.

"I knew what he was going through. I...I could have stopped...could have stopped..." Jade looked like she was remembering something, her eyes glazing over and her body shaking. She tried hard to suppress her tears, but it just wasn't possible. She was shattering. And then Jade broke down and I had to wonder if this was the first time she was ever speaking about what had really happened. God Beck...you made Jade West cry. You're really something awful.

"W-What...What do you mean?" I pushed as she sobbed, her powerful stature shaking pitifully. It was unnerving. I had never seen Jade West cry before. I awkwardly rubbed her back, trying to be comforting, even though she had just admitted that she could have stopped your death.

"H-His parents w-w-were...were alcoholics. C-couldn't p-pa...pay the bills. Everyday they t-t-t-told him how worthless h-he was...Then I-I left him...Shouldn't have been so difficult. Should have b-been there for him. I-I knew his parents h-hated him and h-his s-siblings to. K-kicked h-h-him out a lot...They...They d-didn't like what he was doing with his life," she cried, admitting your dark secrets, sobs racking her body violently. She seemed so small and so hopeless. She looked so human for once. Mortal. Like she was an everyday person and not the strange alien I had made her out to be before. I hugged her close, trying to process what she had just told me.

"It wasn't your fa-"

"It was...I-I-It was all my fault...all mine," she whispered, seemingly all energy zapped from her frail body. She looked fragile, breakable even. And as we sat in silence for an hour or so (I really had no concept of time), she began to compose herself and finally broke away from my grasp and stood up. She looked at me long and hard and I returned it. Then she walked away, but as she went, I spotted one of your red suspenders folded up, tied, and hanging out of her back pocket. I couldn't help but wonder how she had come to possess such an item.

We never talked about what had happened ever again.

You know she never fully healed. She dropped out of Hollywood Arts a month before graduation. I heard she never left her hometown and that something really awful had happened to her. I never found out what or why, but I knew that whatever it was happened because of you. Because maybe she claimed to have left you, but in reality, you left her you fucking son of a bitch.

She didn't deserve this. Neither of you did.

You know, after that day that she told me what had really gone on and why you had really done what you had done, I stopped blaming myself for what had happened and instead blamed your parents. But as time went on, I all together stopped blaming people and just came to have accepted your stupid, stupid decision.

I never really understood why you had taken your life. Jade never really fully explained it. Just that you had been held back from living out your dreams and that you had been scorned. Your parents wanted you to stay home with them and earn money to pay the bills. To pay for their addiction. They didn't want to accept responsibility for the mess they had made and instead tried to make you clean it up.

I guess you just cracked from the pressure. Broke. Like a mirror splitting into a thousand little fragments, never to be put back together again.

But, whatever the reason, know this. I loved you Beck Oliver, like a brother. A role model. Someone that I could aspire to be. When you were with me, you changed me in ways I'll never forget. You gave me confidence, you gave me pride, you gave me some charisma. You even gave me the power to ditch Rex. You rubbed off on me.

So maybe that's why I'm doing this. Writing this all down, I mean. I owe it to you, I suppose. This is the tragic downfall of Beck Oliver, the kid that everyone thought was so transparent and so cool. I guess what you see is not what you get. Not really. You were a complex person that no one could truly figure out. Maybe after all this, maybe even if things had been different, you still would have died anyway. Because you were never meant to be understood. No, I don't think so. You were just there to appear popular and to give everyone around you the dreams you couldn't live out for yourself. You helped more people than you helped yourself.

So maybe there was no avoiding this. Perhaps it was bound to happen. Written in the stars as they say.

Either way, I want you to know I wish you were still here. You know, so that maybe Jade could have had a better life...And also, maybe because instead of people looking at the red suspenders hanging from my dark wash jeans as I walk down the halls of college, they could be looking at yours.

.

And as I gaze at the finished story in a saddened state, I can't help but think about Jade and what's happened to her. I think I'll go find her.

Author's Note: So next chapter he goes to find Jade, yay! Haha, hope you enjoyed! I've had this done a few weeks before TFJAB and Jade and Beck get back together, and even though I can see some improvement needs to be made, I just can't seem to think of how to make it better, and staring at it for another week or so isn't going to help!

Also, for anyone who is reading Raw Skin, I promise I haven't given up on it...I haven't been able to write, so I threw up this old story. It's already finished so it won't interfere or anything!

NOTE: This isn't my usual style!

So hope you liked and happy holidays! :)