The Beginning of The End Part 2

I stabbed the potato on my lunch tray with my fork, looking straight at it, and avoiding wandering eyes around me. Tate was looking at me, concerned.
         “Maybe we should just go to the library...” He said, but his voice trailed off as I gave him a look.
         “I’m perfectly fine.” I said through gritted teeth, to let him know that I was not in fact perfectly fine, and that this was all his fault.
         That idiot had actually came and found me behind the church and practically dragged me to the lunchroom, of course I could have fought him off but it’s hard with Tate...
         I didn’t like being in rooms with large amounts of people... which is why I generally avoided the school freaking cafeteria.
         Tate shrugged and went back to his chicken patty, nonplussed. Stupid, emotionless git. I rolled my eyes and scanned the cafeteria.
         The teenagers had graciously given us a whole table to ourselves, mainly because everyone was afraid of me, but also because Tater Tot really didn’t have that many friends when he was neither sober or high. Being some what distanced from everyone else did make me feel a little better about the whole situation.
         I looked at Tate. I couldn’t help but feel just a smidgen of.... pity? Maybe? I wasn’t quite sure about what to call it. The boy had been getting high since the ripe old age of eleven years old, and he had suffered because of it. No one knew him like I, unfortunately, did. No one else saw how unfeeling he was. How he had so few emotions because the drugs and the alcohol had taken it all out him, but most of all no body saw how none of it was his fault. How could it be at eleven years old? He had been influenced by others, and the one thing I respected more than anything about Tater Tot was that he never tried to influence people the way he had been influenced.
         Actually that was really the only thing I respected about Tate. I had never done drugs, had never gotten overly drunk, I fought people and hid myself from the world instead. I was proud of that. I didn’t care about hurting other people, but I would not poison myself for a high... however apparently I would put myself in a position to get hurt for a high.
         I ignored that little thought.
         “I heard a rumor you were talking to Gaige Thompson.” Tate said, looking at me.
         “Well he did most of the talking.” I replied, not surprised that this seemingly unimportant piece of information about me was considered good gossip. Everyone always talked when I talked, because it happened so infrequently. When Tater Tot had first started talking to me, and I hadn’t ran away quite as fast as I could the teenagers had been nonstop talking about it.
         “He never struck me as someone you would give the time of day.” Tate said.
         I looked at him, glaring. “He’s not. He came up to me.” I said.
         “Sure.” Tate said, in an agreeable way. “Just be careful.”
         “Like I can’t take care of myself.” I mumbled.
         Of course Tate heard. “Seriously.”
         “Listen I’m not going to go striking up conversations with him.” I said, hotly. “He came up to me to get away from some chick, and I just didn’t leave. I’m sure it won’t happen again.” I rolled my eyes.
         Tate did not seems satisfied but didn’t press the issue. He was some what protective of me, always trying to get me to hang out with him over getting into fights and criticizing when I somehow ended up in a situation he didn’t like. It wasn’t some romantic thing, more a “you’re the only person who I can talk to when I’m sober so I don’t want you to end up dead or in jail” kind of thing.
         Tate and I finished our lunch in silence. It was somewhat awkward because of both of our limited social abilities, however I had an inkling that it would have been much more awkward with anyone else.
         I watched the normal high schoolers with disinterest. They talked, they ate, they thought they were different than one another, but really weren’t. It was a pattern. It was how they lived. In the very same way that me and Tate lived through our own fixations, the high schoolers lived through their social interactions, or own personal obsessions.
         My eyes landed on a group of Freshman. I recognized them. They were a group of kids who were always getting arrested or otherwise in trouble. On the fringe of the group there was a tall blonde boy, and my eyes rested on him. I had heard of him from Tate a few months ago. I thought his name was Peter something. He had been accused of murdering a little girl, but the court had found him innocent, instead blaming the girl’s father, but most people in the school still thought that the boy had done it. Everyone had expected him to transfer schools once the trial was over and he was allowed back in public, but he hadn’t, and no body knew why.
         I watched him for a few minutes, slightly more interested in him than I would have been in a regular high schooler. He seemed to not really be welcome in the group of trouble makers. Apparently despite their petty crimes they did not consider murder to be normal or okay. They looked a little bit scared of him, and I couldn’t help but see myself just a little in him.
         Except that I had never, ever killed anybody.
         I looked away from the boy. Tate was looking a little over my shoulder, avoiding looking at me directly. Stupid social inadequacies.
         “Tate.” I said quietly.
         He looked at me, apparently surprised that I had started a conversation. “Yeah?”
         “Who was that boy that killed that little girl?” I asked.
         “Peter Kindle?” He asked.
         “That’s his name?” So I had been right. “Who did he kill again?”
         Tate looked around a little to see if any body was listening. I knew that the subject of Peter had become taboo after he had returned to school. “Bridget Ella.” He said, almost silently. “She was two years old.” He looked a little sick, and paused. “But the jury said that it was her father.”
         “Yeah I know.” I whispered, we both leaned a little closer over the table so we could hear each other a little more clearly. “But why do people still think he did it?”
         “I think he just seems the type.” Tate said. “I don’t know if I believe he did it, but there was a lot of evidence against him.”
         “Like what?”
         Tate shrugged a little. “I don’t know the details, I heard most of it while I was drunk, and it’s all sort of fuzzy.”
         “Oh.”
         “Why did you want to know anyway?” Tate asked me, leaning back into his chair, creating a distance between us. I leaned back too.
         “I just noticed him over there, and was curious.”
         Tate seemed to accept my answer for once, and didn’t reply. I went back to watching the teenagers, but couldn’t help my eyes traveling back to Peter once in a while. He sat silently the whole lunch, seeming passive.
         I didn’t understand it. Why would someone purposely kill a two year old? Of course I didn’t know much about the situation so I wasn’t sure if I thought that Peter had actually done it or not, but still... I couldn’t help but think about murder, and how anyone could live with themselves after they had done it. I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming curiosity and fear of Peter Kindle that I had never felt about any one before.
         Except maybe Gaige Thorton.