The Book of David by Anonymous Page A

yelled into it.
    His mom smoothed his bangs out of his face and said, “I’mso sorry, son.” He pulled away from her again, and she turned and smiled sadly at me as she slowly walked toward the door. “You’re a good friend to come over and check on him.”
    The truth is, I feel like the worst friend of all. I’m the one who benefits from Tyler’s injury. I’m the one who is all worried about what the kid who wrote this blog post thinks of me. What would Tyler do if he knew that every time I close my eyes I see the hem of Jon’s T-shirt riding up his stomach? What would his mom say?
    She wouldn’t think I was such a great friend then, would she?
    Maybe I’m not.
    After she left the room, I sat down on the bed next to Tyler. I reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze. He shrugged my hand away.
    â€œDude. Get off me. Just get outta here.”
    â€œWhat?” I asked. “So you’re just gonna push away everybody who tries to help you?”
    â€œWhat the hell can you do to help me, man? What can my mom do? Jack shit. That’s what everybody can do.”
    I sat there, feeling helpless. I wanted to run and get as far away from Tyler as I could. He felt lethal at that moment—like he might explode and take me with him.
    â€œI can just . . . be here.” I said it so quietly, I wasn’t sure he heard me.
    He did.
    â€œWouldn’t you rather be off somewhere with New Jon?” he scoffed.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou heard me,” he snarled.
    â€œTyler, you’ve been my best friend since seventh grade. Jesus.”
    He wiped the back of his hand under his nose, and his cheek across the shoulder of his shirt. Then he looked right at me. His eyes were rimmed with red and puffy from crying.
    â€œReally? Have I been?” he asked.
    I frowned. “What the hell are you talking about, dude? Of course.”
    He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not sure I even know who you are.”
    My heart started racing. The beat was thumping out He knows He knows He knows against my rib cage. He was saying it without saying it.
    I tried to laugh it off—like every other time Tyler was ever a hothead, like every other time he’d lost his temper and thrown his fist against a locker or a putter against the mini golf green.
    â€œChrist.” I rolled my eyes. “Nice drama, dude. They should cast you in that damn musical.”
    Tyler stayed quiet, so I reached over and grabbed the crutch he’d thrown and leaned it up against the wall beside hisbed. “Dad got me a new rifle for my birthday. Come over on Saturday. Let’s try it out and hang.”
    I don’t really care that much about hunting, but Dad’s a big deer hunter, and it’s something we’ve always done together. Usually Dad shuts down his construction business for the first week of the season in November and takes Tyler and me out for a few nights. We sleep in a tent, and he lets us have a couple of beers when we’re sitting around the campfire.
    â€œI can’t even drive,” Tyler said. “I have to have surgery the end of this month anyway. No way I can go hunting with you guys.”
    â€œHave Erin drive you over,” I said. “Monica’s stopping by after rehearsal. We’ll chill. It’ll be normal—like it was before all . . . this.”
    I was headed for the door when his voice stopped me: “Don’t you get it?” Something about his tone stopped me midstride. I turned around and saw his eyes on fire. A chill ran down my spine. “It’ll never be like it was,” he said quietly. “This changes everything.”
    I don’t remember driving home, or dinner, really. I stayed awake last night for a long time thinking about what Tyler meant by that remark.
    I’m certain he wasn’t talking about football.
    He was talking about us.

Wednesday, September