Page 6 of Unbreakable

Cassie

Tyler is everywhere.

Not in a stalker way. In a frustratingly persistent way.

He shows up to the literary magazine meetings, sits in the back, reads every piece that gets submitted. He volunteers to help organize the spring reading event. He even submits a piece himself, a short reflection on toxic masculinity in sports culture that’s actually… good.

Like, genuinely well-written and insightful. Which is annoying because I don’t want him to be talented at anything.

“He’s growing on you,” Lennox says one afternoon while we’re getting coffee.

“He’s not growing on me. He’s like a fungal infection.”

“Very poetic.”

“I’m serious. He’s always there. At the magazine meetings, at group hangouts, at the library. It’s like he’s following me.”

“Or like he’s trying to be part of a community that matters. Like he’s trying to change.” Lennox points out.

“People don’t change, Lennox. They just get better at hiding who they really are.”

“That’s not true.” She stirs her latte thoughtfully. “I’ve seen people change. Carter changed. Ryder changed. Jackson changed. Tyler is changing.”

“Tyler was part of the problem.” I could tell her how bad it got for me, how much I cried in my room, but I can’t be bothered to do it, because she seems to be on team Tyler.

“And now he’s part of the solution. Isn’t that worth something?”

“Not when he’s only changing because he feels guilty.”

“Does it matter why he’s changing if he actually is?”

I don’t answer because I don’t have a good response.

It’s harder to admit that he might actually be trying.

The spring reading event comes up before I’m ready for it. The literary magazine hosts an evening where students read their work, poetry, short fiction, creative nonfiction. It’s become a bit of an institution, with most of the friend group showing up to support whoever’s reading.

I’m reading a piece I wrote over winter break. It’s creative nonfiction, an exploration of what it feels like to be othered in spaces you didn’t realize were hostile. It’s not explicitly about sophomore year, but it’s informed by sophomore year. Everyone who was there will know what I’m talking about.

I’m nervous as hell, because this is maybe the first time I will say some things out loud for everyone to hear.

“You’re going to be amazing,” Lennox says in the greenroom, which is actually just a backstage area with bad lighting and uncomfortable chairs.

“I’m going to throw up.”

“You’re not going to throw up. You’re going to read this beautiful, powerful piece, and everyone’s going to sit in stunned silence before applauding. Then you’re going to come back here and I’m going to hug you.”

“What if I forget my words?” I rub my forehead, not sure how to calm myself down.

“You won’t. You’ve practiced this a hundred times.”

“What if Tyler’s out there and I lose focus?”

Lennox gives me a look. “Is that still about sophomore year or is that about something else?”

“It’s about sophomore year.” I quickly correct her.

“Mm-hmm. And nothing else?”