Free Trust Me, I'm Trouble by Mary Elizabeth Summer Page B

most treasured memories of Tyler with our community.”
    The next hour is torture as student after student walks up to the podium and tells a tearful story of how Tyler affected them. I listen to every single one, trying desperately to suppress my memories with theirs.
    “I was convinced I’d never be able to remember all my lines. I panicked and told Tyler I was going to quit the play. But he wouldn’t let me. I still remember him dressed in that ridiculous costume, putting his hand on my shoulder and saying, ‘You can’t leave me here alone with these yahoos.’ He barely even knew me. We’d talked maybe once since I started at St. Agatha’s. But he ran lines with me for a month….”
    The voice from the stage fades into ambient noise as a too-strong memory bubbles to the surface….
    “Well, I have the perfect remedy,” Tyler says. “Close your eyes.”
    Out of curiosity, I humor him.
    “Okay, open them.”
    When I do, he’s making a ridiculous face—eyes crossed, head tilted forward, one finger stretching his mouth into a clownish grimace. I laugh reflexively. His face snaps back to its normal gorgeousness, his delighted smile echoing mine.

    “Works on my little sister every time,” he says. “Ready for another one?”
    I nod and close my eyes ….
    I come back to the present, holding my head. Another student has replaced the last. I focus on his words.
    “…thought for a second he was going to flatten me. I mean, it was a crappy thing to do, I know. I hadn’t meant for things to get that out of hand. And he’d have had every right to beat me to a pulp. But Tyler stepped in, totally diffusing the situation before I ended up in the hospital. I owe him all my remaining teeth, if not more….”
    And then I swirl under again….
    Only when he pulls me to his chest and I am bound by his arms do I notice that I’m shaking.
    After a few minutes, he says, “Where can I take you?”
    “I don’t have any place. I don’t have anyone.”
    “You have me,” he says, and my heart feels a little less like a prisoner of war ….
    Stop, I beg my sadistic brain, fixing my attention on Tyler’s best friend, Nick, who’s taking his turn onstage.
    “…a thousand little things that all added up to my best friend. We did everything together from the time we were twelve. Every sport, every class, every party. It’s hard to feel like my life didn’t end when his did. Every day is a struggle. And the worst part is that I never…I never told him…”
    And don’t I know how that feels? I finally give in and let Tyler drag me under.

    “You mean everything to me. And that means I do whatever it takes to save you. Even if saving you means losing you.”
    I stop arguing, but I’m breathing hard and glaring at him.
    Tyler’s gaze softens. “Sam is not the only one who loves you…”
    Bryn hands me a tissue. I stare at it, my eyes dry as a desert. But as soon as I touch the lotion-infused paper, the waterworks start. Thanks, Bryn. Thanks a lot.
    After the last masochist leaves the stage, Sister Rasmussen steps up to the mike. “Thank you, everyone, for sharing those stories. As long as you carry Tyler’s memory with you, he will never truly be gone. Now, for the dedication, I will turn the podium over to Mrs. Richland.”
    Tyler’s mom looks like a different person. She’s still the ice queen I remember, but there are deep cracks in her facade that weren’t there before. I flinch, dropping my gaze. This is the part I was dreading the most, seeing her. I avoided the newspapers, the online “news” articles, the media circus surrounding Tyler’s death and his father’s incarceration as much as I could. I didn’t want to see what I’d done to his mother or the rest of his family. I couldn’t stand the thought of watching stoic Mrs. Richland fall to her knees, knowing that I was responsible. I accidentally came across one grainy photo taken of Tyler’s family at his funeral and it almost choked me.