Page 66 of I Did Something Bad
He stays,it dawns on me. He is the kind of person who, once he’s committed to something—a movie, or a secret, or another human being, like May or his family or myself—stays. I might’ve started out (warily) collaborating with him because I had no choice, but right now, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have by my side, anyone else I’d rather trust with my whole life.
“I’m going to go change,” he says, glancing down at the snot stain. Thankfully, he looks more amused than repulsed. “And then how about we get some food in us and start the interview?”
I pull out a chair, and before he’s even closed his bedroom door, I know: I’m not printing his secret. Ican’tbe. I still want theVoguerole, of course I do, and maybe (albeit unlikely) it’ll be the case that my article will be good enough that Clarissa will still offer it to me even though I don’t get her her exclusive. I’d like to think that my feelings for him have nothing to do with my decision—although I am self-aware enough to admit that that’s notentirelytrue—the main reasonis that after all that Tyler and I have been through, after all he’s done with and for me, I can’t expose what he did for his sister, or anything else he’s told me as a friend. A friend that he trusts. He deserves better than that.Iam better than that.
“What’re you so deep in thought over?” Tyler’s voice startles me, and I look over to see him emerging from his bedroom in sweatpants and a new T-shirt. Filters removed, I wonder if this is what he wears to bed.
You.
You, you, you.
“About how I’m going to find out exactly which convenience store you shoplifted that Snickers bar from,” I say, propping my chin on my fist.
“Do you cut your sandwiches into triangles or rectangles?”
“I’ve been asked a lot of questions in my day,” Tyler says, thinking while he finishes chewing. “But that’s a new one.”
“It separates the sociopaths from the non-sociopaths.”
“Triangles,” he says after a considering pause.
I smile. “Non-sociopath it is. Shame. The other one would’ve made for a better story.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Favorite song.”
“Easy. ‘The Best’ by Tina Turner,” he says.
I swallow my pad Thai and ask, “Why?”
Tyler shrugs. “Reasons.” He reaches out for a spoonful of the vegan green curry from one of the takeaway boxes laid out on the dining table.
“Such as?” I ask.
“It was my parents’ first-dance song,” he says after he swallows. “And they would randomly start singing it to each other all the time. Ithought—” He stops himself, head dropping down like he was an inch away from saying something mortifying.
“What?” I prod with a gentle laugh. “You thought what?”
He coughs. “I… used to think that that was how people confessed their love to each other. Cut to me in fourth grade, walking up to Susie, the cutest, smartest girl in my class—”
My hand flings up to my mouth but the gasp still seeps out from between my fingers. “Stop, you didn’t—”
“I sure did,” he says. “I walked right up to her, looked her in the eye, and told her she was simply the best and better than all the rest. Recited the whole thing like it was spoken-word poetry. Which, if I may say so, was pretty impressive.Youtry being nine and memorizing an entire song.”
“Sounds like you were ready to memorize wholescriptsat nine.”
He laughs. “Guess so.”
“Did it… work out?”
“Huh?”
“With Susie.”
“Oh,” he says, before letting out a long exhale. “No, she gave her coveted Valentine to Aung Myo. The prick,” he adds under his breath.
“Tyler!” I exclaim. “You can’t call a nine-year-old a prick.”
