Dylan, a young man, tells the story of his friendship with Tyler, a college student who commits a mass shooting at a party off-campus.
They meet at their dorm welcoming party and, though Tyler is a bit odd, Dylan finds him interesting. Slowly they form a close friendship, navigating college life, dealing with campus culture, rampant partying, bullies, mental illness, loneliness, and manhood. Semester after semester, Tyler is unable to fit in, and signs that he is struggling build to a dangerous level. Dylan learns troubling details about his past, and they have deep conversations about their issues and how life should be lived.
Despite efforts by Dylan and family members to help Tyler, his mental health declines, and the end result is this tragic and deadly event. Dylan can only wonder what could’ve been done, why Tyler walked a dark path, and how he, Tyler’s family, and the college can try to pick up the pieces.
Dylan, a young man, tells the story of his friendship with Tyler, a college student who commits a mass shooting at a party off-campus.
They meet at their dorm welcoming party and, though Tyler is a bit odd, Dylan finds him interesting. Slowly they form a close friendship, navigating college life, dealing with campus culture, rampant partying, bullies, mental illness, loneliness, and manhood. Semester after semester, Tyler is unable to fit in, and signs that he is struggling build to a dangerous level. Dylan learns troubling details about his past, and they have deep conversations about their issues and how life should be lived.
Despite efforts by Dylan and family members to help Tyler, his mental health declines, and the end result is this tragic and deadly event. Dylan can only wonder what could’ve been done, why Tyler walked a dark path, and how he, Tyler’s family, and the college can try to pick up the pieces.
“Do I know you?”
Startled, Tyler looked at me. He shook his head in a fast, faint motion.
“Didn’t I sit next to you in Chemistry 101? Yesterday morning? In the huge lecture hall?”
He didn’t show any sign of recognition.
“You were left-handed. You had to reach over to write anything down because that fold-out desk is only on the right side of the seat.”
“Uh, I am left-handed. I do take Chemistry 101. That was probably me. I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”
Tyler hadn’t spoken in Chem 101, so this was the first time I heard his voice. It was shaky and meek. It fit his body language. He seemed uncomfortable standing next to the snack table, a pretzel squeezed between his thumb and fingers.
“You definitely look familiar. Anyway, I’m Dylan.” I offered my hand, using the greeting they had taught us at orientation: offer name and then offer hand.
“Tyler.” Now I knew the name of the classmate I had sat next to in my very first class of college. But I didn’t know I was shaking the hand of a young man who would become a close friend, and, two years later, during a raging blizzard, kill four students at random, then himself, in an act of senseless violence. An active shooting that came with no obvious warning, no threats, and no known motive, carried out by the student I was currently facing. He seemed all right when I met him for real that day. More than a little awkward. I didn’t think of that as too unusual; the whole welcoming party was horrifically awkward and forced. Someone had written “Welcome to Harris Hall” in purple glitter paint that oozed shiny purple tears on a banner that sagged over the front desk. Tyler’s hand reached out toward mine but stopped before it made contact. I shook it. His hand felt limp and sweaty. He swallowed with a wince.
“Yesterday, when Professor Chandra told us to look at the student on each side of us and said that one of us, statistically speaking, wasn’t going to graduate, I saw you. You didn’t look at me, though. You were still taking notes.”
“I fell behind. It was hard for me to write on those desks. They’re new to me.” Tyler glanced down and made a bashful smile.
“Hey, you have braces.”
Tyler opened his mouth to show me. They were bright blue. They gave his teeth the look of sapphires adorning bumpy ivory. “I got them late. They don’t bother me—at least, not anymore.”
“Never had any myself. My sisters had them.”
Tyler didn’t say anything. He kept looking down and then back up at me, like he was trying to make eye contact but couldn’t figure out when or for how long.
I sighed. “So this is it. College. Midwestern University. Very creative name.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“What do you think of Harris Hall? I didn’t expect it to be so old. Look at the walls here, they’re all concrete blocks. I thought this campus was modern.”
Tyler said something but the racket from all of the students near us buried his words.
“What?”
He breathed in and spoke a little louder. “I just wish it had air conditioning. It’s so hot I have trouble sleeping at night.”
It was odd that he said this, since he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt that draped over him. The September heat had not relented, even though the sun had already set. Cold bottles of water had been provided for the welcoming party, and they were disappearing at an alarming rate. I had a half-empty one in my hand and, like all the other freshmen in the lobby, I was wearing a T-shirt.
I took a sip and bumped into someone behind me. “I’m glad I got the twelfth floor, that’s the top one. It’s one of the best views. No other tall buildings around. And with the windows open, it’s nice and breezy. What floor are you?”
“Same as you.”
“Really? Sweet. What a coincidence. We have the same chem class and we’re on the same floor. That’s why you looked so familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen you up there. There aren’t that many people per floor. Are you closer to the north end or south end?”
“South.”
“I’m north. Right next to one of the quads.” Speaking about dorm rooms reminded me that I hadn’t seen my roommate Henry at the welcoming party despite the mandate that everybody in Harris Hall had to attend. I scanned the lobby again for him and still didn’t see him. He was the only person I knew in the dorm, and I only knew him because we were roommates. When the welcoming party started, I tried to find him but couldn’t, and then I tried joining one of the tight, cloistered groups of students that the welcoming party had fractured into, but I couldn’t do that either. Everyone already knew each other. It seemed like everybody had already made friends, or had carryover friends from high school, in the dorm. I wasn’t so lucky. And it looked like Tyler had run into the same trouble. He had marooned himself next to the snack table after the rest of the dorm had picked the table almost clean. After I heard one of the groups making teasing comments about the lonely, silent boy munching on pretzels, I paid more attention to him. That’s when I recognized him. Getting to meet Tyler was an unexpected victory in my book. I couldn’t wait to make new friends in college. He seemed like a perfect candidate. The other students mocking him from near one of the couches only made me more eager to befriend him. I couldn’t stand the joy they were having at his expense.
“So, do you know anybody here?”
Tyler shook his head rapidly.
“Are you an engineering major?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not, by the way, just undecided. Seems like most people in Chem 101 are in engineering.”
“Oh.”
The groups surrounding us grew louder the more we learned about each other. The welcoming party sounded closer and closer to an actual party. Girls’ laughter pierced the rising chatter, and some guys had started playing pool in the corner. Sweat started to bead on Tyler’s forehead.
“Okay!” a girl shouted. She strolled up to the snack table, followed by several others. “If everyone could quiet down.” A wave of silence crept from her to the corners of the lobby. We all turned toward her.
She introduced herself and welcomed us to Harris Hall and Midwestern University. A senior, she was one of the Resident Advisors of the all-honors dorm. Each floor had a Resident Advisor, she explained, an older student who lived on the floor, enforced the rules, and helped us freshmen adjust to dorm life. And, if we hadn’t yet noticed, each floor was gender-specific—odd floors for girls, even for boys. Now, each RA would call their floor together to meet up and get to know each other. She called hers, the first floor. Tyler and I looked at each other with smiles burning up our faces, shaking our heads. We knew we would be the last called. We had the highest floor.
As each floor was called and gathered, I watched different groups of guys and girls shuffle to different parts of the lobby. At around the seventh floor, I caught Tyler staring at me.
“Do you want to sit next to each other tomorrow in class?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, without thinking.
By the time the tenth floor retreated past the front desk like prisoners chosen for hard labor, it hit me that I would have trouble finding Tyler in the massive lecture hall. “Wait, how will I find you in Chem 101?”
“I’ll sit where I sat last time. I like to sit in the same place.”
“Okay.”
The last RA stepped forward. I saw him on the twelfth floor during move-in week. He clapped his meaty hands together.
“I guess we’re the twelfth floor,” he said. Nearly two dozen guys were left, all pushed in toward the snack table to make room for the other floors. “Gather closer. I know, it’s uncomfortable, but it’s loud in here.”
In the shuffle, Tyler and I got separated from each other while making room for the other guys. He was short and rail-thin, so I only glimpsed his face bobbing forward between taller shoulders and wider chests. He looked too young. Acne dotted his face and he had probably never shaved in his life. He had blond hair down to his eyebrows and blue eyes. Some news outlets would incorrectly label him an adolescent.
Our RA cleared his throat. “I’m Jeremy. I’m twenty-one years old, and no, I won’t get you beer. Unless you pay me.” A lot of the twelfth floor snickered and exchanged looks.
“Okay, so, there’s some things I have to go over.” Jeremy pulled out a wad of papers from his pocket and unfolded them. “I’m supposed to tell you that MU is the best rated public university in the Midwest, and one of the largest, but this is all bullshit.”
More of the guys scoffed and laughed.
“As you can tell,” Jeremy started, glancing around, “we got screwed with Harris Hall. It sucks. Some of your grandparents might have dormed here. There’s no air conditioning at all, so I hope you brought fans.” He yawned. “The other thing these papers tell me I should do is have everybody introduce themselves and say a little something about their lives. We won’t be doing that, because that’s gay. I’m sure everybody here knows how to make friends. And party. That’s a requirement here. Now, we need to establish floor rules. These are any rules you guys want to create for the twelfth floor. Let’s hear some ideas.”
At first, nobody offered possible rules, until Jeremy gave some examples about behavior and keeping the floor clean. A short debate followed where a few guys made some suggestions. They got whittled down and simplified, and without giving any additional input, Jeremy passed two rules into twelfth floor law by slamming his hand down on the snack table.
“That’s official. Rule one is don’t be a douchebag. This includes not going into your room if your roommate has a sock on the door handle. He’s getting lucky and he needs his privacy. Rule two: Don’t shit in the shower. Let me write those down.” He did so with gusto, scrawling them on the back of one of his papers in marker. I didn’t participate at all in coming up with the rules and neither did Tyler. He watched in apprehension, even squirmed at times, unable to relax. I caught his gaze once and he grinned, as if it took great effort, and then looked away.
“With those absolutely perfect rules squared away, any questions?” Jeremy checked up and down each side of the table. “This is your final offer.”
A shorter guy with a buzzcut raised his hand.
“You don’t have to raise your hand, dude.”
He lowered his hand. “Is it true if your roommate kills himself, you get free tuition?”
“Nope. Total blasphemy. It’s not even a good rumor. I spent half my freshman year trying to convince my roommate life wasn’t worth it. But then he got a girlfriend and I knew it was a waste of time. Besides, there are suicide-prevention screens over the windows here. If someone does kill themselves in Harris, I’d be impressed.”
There was more shocked laughter from the floor. I had expected a lot of wild things in college, but not this from an RA. It dawned on me that Harris Hall was going to have a lot of surprises under Jeremy’s leadership.
Tyler had a face of disbelief. His hands, which had retreated into his sleeves, contorted into knots. Everything about the loud, disorganized welcoming party and Jeremy’s crude words seemed to overwhelm him. Dorm life must’ve been something completely different from what he had anticipated, and, crucially, it bothered him more than excited him. I was sure the other guys around the snack table couldn’t have expected what the welcoming party and our RA were going to be like, but their reaction was more excitement than worry. Big grins spread over their faces each time Jeremy mentioned the possibilities of partying, alcohol, and sex, and their uneasiness faded each time he said something ridiculous. It was going to be a free-for-all.
“So if any of you guys wanna come work out with me at the Rec Center, or learn how to use the machines, I’ll make it happen. And if any of you can bench more than me, I’ll buy you a beer. Oops, I mean non-alcoholic beverage. You guys aren’t quite old enough yet.” Jeremy clapped his hands together again. “All in all, the point here at MU is to have fun. Maybe, if you get bored, go to some classes. Now, you guys stay here, chitchat. I’m heading back up to my room—I have a hangover to sleep off. If you’re wondering why I have a hangover on the second day of classes, then don’t worry, you’ll learn—give it some time.”
Jeremy turned and weaved his way through the other floors still coming up with their rules, headed toward the dingy elevators. The rest of the twelfth floor stood around at first and made a few offhand remarks about him. Conversations slowly grew around what Jeremy had brought up. All I did was listen. The twelfth floor had no shortage of views on how to make the most out of the college experience. The outspoken guys dominated the discussion, quickly getting to know each other. Judging by their progress, I was already falling behind. I checked to see if Tyler had done anything, but he was gone. I did a lap around the snack table to make sure bigger guys hadn’t blocked him from view—nothing. He had vanished. It didn’t bug me. It intrigued me. I wanted to know more about him. He came across as somebody who followed the rules, but he had ignored Jeremy’s order to stay put.
Within minutes, the other floors broke from their meetings and the groups dissolved into more chaotic clusters, boys’ and girls’ floors intermingling. Talk turned to the upcoming weekend and the first real parties of the school year. I stuck around to do one final check for Henry and to see if Tyler had returned—he could’ve gone to the bathroom—but he never did. I wondered if he had heard the other students teasing him. Maybe he figured he had fulfilled his duty to attend the meeting and didn’t need to be there anymore.
I never did find out why he left. It didn’t occur to me to ask him the next day in Chem 101, where I found him in the same seat, the seat he said he’d be in. I had a whole set of classes and an unfamiliar campus and college life to sort out.
I had discovered him by chance. Randomizing computer programs had placed us in the same Chemistry 101 lecture and on the same floor of the same backwater dorm. I didn’t dwell on him. Nothing about him hinted at danger or hostility. If anything, he gave the impression of a boy unable to even stand up for himself.
Tyler and I sat next to each other in every lecture for Chem 101 and didn’t talk about much outside of basic chemistry. He had a different lab section for the course, but the lab sections all did the same thing every week, so we would compare notes for the lab reports before Professor Chandra began his lectures. We were not friends at this point, as some reports claimed. I only saw him a few times on the twelfth floor of Harris Hall and barely anywhere else. Our rooms sat on opposite ends of the floor, and we spent a lot of the time tucked away behind our steel doors, studying and, at least for me, feeling homesick. When Chandra suggested we all find study partners, I asked Tyler at the end of the lecture if he wanted to work with me. A great chorus of desk-folding and backpack-gathering from students filled the auditorium in a kind of flat commotion. The echo-dampening panels on the wall did that, stealing all the depth and texture from the noise. Tyler said yes. The panels made everybody in the auditorium feel distant, out of reach, including him. He asked if meeting up to tackle chemistry would be a regular thing. I said sure. We called it a study session because we couldn’t think of anything else to call it. I arranged the first one at his room. Henry liked to take long absences from my room and I hadn’t yet figured out any pattern to them. I didn’t want to risk Henry interrupting us in the middle of balancing equations.
The day of our first study session had gorgeous weather. A Monday evening in the breezy calm of early fall. Returning from math class, I took a slower route back to the dorm, winding around buildings for the fresh air instead of going through them. Harris Hall clung to the western edge of campus—a tall brick rectangle right alongside Lyndon Avenue. I had spent the day in classrooms, so I took in the sights of MU’s buildings, a mishmash of age, size, and architecture. The new ones, all steel and glass, looked like summaries of buildings. The sun peeked over their roofs. Plenty of students strolled or hurried along the paths. To me, it was weird to see thousands of people my age all living in one small place. Campus sometimes felt like a miniature dystopia. As long as the weather stayed pleasant, the walkways at the center of campus boasted as much foot traffic as Lyndon Avenue did vehicle traffic. Small sections of flat, well-maintained grass filled in the space between the concrete walkways. Larger green sections in more open areas had been raised into tall hills or mounds. The university did this on purpose to increase its greenspace surface area, which increased its government funding.
The calming background track of distant cars whistled through the maze of nearby streets, creating a comfortable mood—like crickets chirping outside a tent on a camping trip far from home. It was an experience I couldn’t find anywhere else in the city. The time I spent on those paths, sometimes with Tyler, became some of the best moments of my college life. I got to see all kinds of clubs, activities, protests, promotional giveaways, and other sights and sounds I’d never seen before. Outdoor meditation classes. Cosplay battles. Public marathon-Bible-reading sessions. I once saw a group standing in a circle holding onto a parachute, waving it up and down to bounce a ball like my gym class in grade school. Students used the green space to sunbathe and toss football or Frisbee. Not a lot of fraternizing happened on the walkways, though—everybody had earbuds in, wires draping their faces, blasting music.
I stood at Tyler’s door. The colorless beige paint coating the door had chips and marks on it, scars from years of freshmen and whatever the hell they had been up to. Dubstep music blared from a room further down the floor, closer to my room, echoing dull and flat along the stone block walls, which had been painted a sickly off-white. Tyler’s side of the floor looked just like my side. The low, dirty ceiling made it feel like an insane asylum. Even the windowless doors all lined up and looked identical. The weathered tile floor reminded me of tectonic plates, as each tile piece had shifted on its own over the decades, creating gaps or smashing into neighboring tile pieces or pushing under it. Many were cracking or had corners missing. Three empty energy drinks rested on the tiles at the end of the hall. As the dubstep thumped, I knocked again on Tyler’s door, wondering how productive our studying would be.
The door unlocked and he let me in. The room key on my lanyard clanged against the doorframe as I entered. He didn’t smile, only looked at me and went back to his bed where books and papers lay scattered in various piles.
“You like dubstep?” I asked.
“No.”
I shut the door behind me. The music still oozed in. His dorm room nearly reflected mine, except the beds weren’t lofted and the whole room looked cramped. Two tiny desks: one near Tyler’s bed covered in books and papers, the other one holding nothing but a mouse and USB drives. Clothing littered the floor. The one window was right over Tyler’s bed. It faced east, toward the center of campus. No setting sun from this view, only shadows and stoic buildings.
His roommate wasn’t there. The room had a messy stillness—the clothes on the floor, the dubstep thudding off the walls. It felt like an upstairs bedroom during a house party where all the secret things happen.
“Dylan, you can use my desk,” he said.
I took the black plastic chair. A calculator and an array of pens and loose-leaf sheets were stacked and lined up on the wood laminate. I pulled a notebook out of my backpack.
“Yeah, too bad there aren’t any spare chairs in here,” Tyler said, squeezing his bare feet on the bed.
“What’s your roommate’s name?”
“Jake.”
“Why not use the chair by his bed? Unless he’s a total dick he won’t mind.”
“Oh, okay.” He got up and hurried over to move the chair closer to me.
He set the chair down and slid into it. His thin, bony shoulders drooped. He had the body of a boy at the dawn of its teenage years. Even his voice cracked and wasn’t that deep. Somebody who saw him on campus might’ve assumed he was a high-schooler getting a tour. I had broadening shoulders and a jaw starting to square up. And we were both eighteen. He hadn’t cut his hair since I had first seen him and it was starting to look messy and get into his eyes. He didn’t keep it short until closer to the shooting.
“Did the fish die?” I pointed to a fish bowl on the dresser. It was full of water and nothing else. No pebbles on the bottom and some kind of plastic top screwed on. I didn’t see any fish food around.
“No, my roommate, Jake—oh that’s right, you already know his name—he hasn’t bought anything yet. Says he’s picky about what species he wants.” We both stared at the fish bowl.
“Oh, really? Is he weird or super into animals?”
“He’s a business major. I don’t know.”
“Ehh. He probably wants it for the novelty. A conversation-starter. It would be a good way to get girls interested.” I looked back at Tyler. He had his hands jammed in his pockets. “And plus, I’ve heard of way worse quirks from my friends about their roommates. If goldfish is all, you got a lucky deal.”
“Yeah.” Tyler freed his hands and grabbed his chemistry homework from the bed.
I took it as a sign to get down to business and that’s what we did. I wasn’t mad about him short-circuiting a little small talk. I was kind of glad he wanted to hit the books. We could’ve talked more about roommates, and we did in later sessions, but to see a hint of initiative came as a great relief to me. In my first weeks at MU I had seen a lot of the same apathy about academics that I had seen in high school.
The dubstep beyond the door cut off as we worked over some concepts and practice problems. The pointed shadows outside the window consumed the campus below. When we tackled a difficult problem and tried reworking it, my mind filled with nothing but letters and numbers. I became so focused I forgot where I was, forgot I was twelve stories up in a stifling dorm with no air conditioning. Even that nagging feeling of getting a slow start to jumping into college life faded. Tyler wiping his forehead of sweat was my one distraction. We plowed through the lesson and finished a lot more than I expected.
After studying, we did a few housekeeping chores for that first meeting. We traded cell phone numbers. I’m not sure why it took us that long. I was the one who asked. He almost never asked me questions as we got to know each other. I hadn’t yet figured out how deep his shyness ran. I thought he was having freshman butterflies, still getting used to a new environment. At least that’s what his behavior was relaying to me.
“What’s your last name?”
“Eberle,” he said.
“Like ebb and flow of a river. Pretty unique name.” The news mispronounced his name a lot. They could never get the lee at the end of his name. “Mine’s Evans. I think my family changed it from a German name to fit in. That’s why some last names are so common. Immigrants wanted the most generic American last names to fit in.”
“Yeah.” He looked at his feet. “I don’t know many people with my last name.”
“Where’re you from?”
“Peach Grove.”
“So you’re from around here?”
“Yeah. Out-of-state tuition is too expensive. This is as much student debt as I’m willing to take.”
“Don’t worry, I get that. I’m just south of you. I’m from Little Turtle. That means we’re both from suburbia-land. I guess that’s one thing we have in common.”
“Yeah great,” Tyler said, “I bet my lawn looks better than your lawn.”
He smiled. Though many accounts described him as a dry, unexpressive young man, he smiled plenty around me. Not goofy, wide smiles that showcased his braces, more like meek signs of appreciation, like he was happy that I talked to him in a casual, pleasant way. Although telling exactly what his smiles meant could be hard at times, I grew used to them, even expected them. He had plenty of small, honest expressions that students and professors around him missed.
“How do you like it here? Living on your own, away from parents?”
Tyler made a big shrug and fiddled with his pencil. “Well, it’s okay. It’s always loud here. I feel like I’m always on edge.”
“At least here things happen. Before MU, school was always so boring.”
“I know. Classes were too easy for me. I didn’t understand why other students had trouble learning the lessons.”
“I’m starting to think classes here are going to be easy too. This homework is mostly reviewing what I had in high school. But here, like Jeremy said, classes are secondary. It’s what else MU has—the experiences. But that’s not just Jeremy, the other guys say that.”
There was a brief silence. A humid breeze flowed through the open window, ruffling and crinkling papers.
“Can I tell you something?” Tyler asked.
“Sure.” I didn’t expect anything too personal, but it did surprise me to hear a question like that during a simple study session. I steeled myself for what it might be.
“When you first came up to me, at the welcoming party, and asked if I knew you from class, I did recognize you. I just said I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“I was kind of frozen when you asked me. It was a split-second decision, but I was afraid. I thought you were going to ask me a bunch of questions like ‘Why are you alone by the snack table?’ or ‘Why were you so quiet in Chem 101?’ I’ve been asked questions like those before. Or worse, that you were just there to make fun of me on some kind of dare by other guys. I’m usually…I don’t know. Defensive. So I played dumb at first, but then you seemed to ask innocent questions. It took me a while to realize what you were really doing.” Tyler glanced up from his pencil to me, a wince seeping out of him.
“Alright.” I kept my tone neutral. He was so sincere I didn’t know what to make of his small confession. “I guess that’s fair enough. Here it can still be as brutal as high school, maybe even more so.”
“If I had known you better, I wouldn’t have done that to you.”
“Look at it this way: At least you’re honest.”
Tyler's Only Friend by Brian Rader is a thought-provoking and deeply moving narrative about more than just a tragic school shooting. It delves into profound themes of identity, belonging, and the complexities of mental health and masculinity. This story explores the challenges of coming of age amidst societal pressure and mental health struggles.
The book follows the story of Tyler, a freshman in college whose reserved, timid and quiet nature contrasts with the vibrant and extravagant social scene at his college. Despite Dylan being the story's narrator, the narrative remains focused on Tyler throughout the story and paints him as the central figure around whom the story revolves, with Dylan being his sole confidant and peer. Tyler's difficulties in navigating the party-centric college culture and forging connections with those around him serve as the backdrop to the reader's journey of experiencing the events that lead up to the tragedy.
You might be thinking, 'Oh, not another book about a school shooting!' This is absolutely not the case here, let me tell you why.
Rader crafts a truly refreshing narrative that strays from conventional narratives surrounding similar topics by focusing on Tyler, the perpetrator, rather than the victims. Tyler's Only Friend overcomes the boundaries of a typical portrayal of such events, delving deep into Tyler's psyche and circumstances. It's a refreshing take that humanises the perpetrator, shedding light on the complex interplay of societal expectations, toxic masculinity, and the college-culture pressure to conform. Through Dylan's perspective, the reader is provided with profound insights into the human brain, the impact of concussions on mental health and the struggles of individuals attempting to conform to social norms. This isn't a story merely about the tragedy of a school shooting; it's a thought-provoking exploration of the multifaceted factors that contribute to such events.
Although I have so many amazing things to say about this story, I did find it to have a slow start, which might not be a good fit for some readers who prefer to dive straight into the action. The tone changes throughout the novel in random places as well, where some segments and interactions feel like something straight out of an American Pie film to some very dark and heavy scenes and moments directly after - I thoroughly enjoyed this change of pace, but it definitely had to grow on me.
Tyler's Only Friend by Brian Rader is an essential read for readers who love to immerse themselves in heavier reads that do not stray away from discussing some heavier and darker subjects. I finished this novel in a single sitting, and it becomes a page-turner once you get into the flow of it. This exceptional debut truly gets you thinking and your heart racing.