Torey Adams

Character Analysis

Torey Adams is a small-town boy with a perfect life. We're talking two loving parents, money, freedom, a hot girlfriend, a band, sports—this guy is living the dream. And for most of his life, he's happily taken his privilege for granted. But when Chris Creed disappears, Torey can't nix the feeling that he and everyone else are responsible since they've all tormented the poor guy for years. The thing is, though, that nobody else at school seems to care. Chris was an outcast, after all, so how could his disappearance be any of their faults?

Thoughtful = Weird

In Steepleton, life is plenty fun and dramatic, but it's not exactly something to lie awake at night pondering or stew about in the middle of making out. Unless you're Torey, that is, because if Torey is any one thing, it's a thinker. And among his crowd of popular kids at Steepleton, over-thinking stuff is pretty weird. As Torey, well, thinks:

My friends had some clue I was abnormal, though they didn't know the full extent of it […] they didn't know I could have long conversations with myself […]. (2.15)

It's this fondness for thinking long and hard about things, though, that leads to Torey developing a critical relationship with the gossip mill his friends—and heck, most of his town—dutifully churn away on. And as he does, he decides that this is one circuit he wants nothing to do with. So while Torey's propensity to overthink things may be considered abnormal by his peers, it is also what enables him to break free from the ignorance and denial the rest of Steepleton suffers from.

An Unselfish Selfie

Before the disappearance of Chris, life was all about appearances for Torey. You know, cool girlfriend, cool band—that whole bit. In other words, Torey didn't spend a whole lot of time thinking about people other than himself. Sure he'd squeeze in thoughts about little things like loincloths and wax statues, but he didn't take time to actually think much about other people. That is, until Chris Creed went missing and his whole existence came crashing down.

With the disappearance of Chris, Torey undergoes a major shift in perspective. He begins paying attention to what makes people shallow and what makes people empathic, so that when Bo steps up to help Ali without missing a beat, Torey feels—perhaps for the first time—guilt about not doing so himself. He tells us:

Something inside me went off. I charged over her and went out the door behind him. I knew I didn't want to feel like a helpless little kid for the second time that night. (8.141)

Torey has been at Ali's house, spying on the Creed family even though Ali hates being around when her mom's boyfriend is there. The first time he felt like a "helpless little kid" this evening was when said boyfriend started having sex super loudly with Ali's mom for all the world to hear, something which Bo promptly puts an end to when he shows up. Bo's forthrightness and ability to act kind of blows Torey's mind, so when Bo gets ready to march over to the Creed's to get Chris's diary, well, Torey realizes it's time for him to swing into action, too.

Finally, Torey is moved by a desire to do the right thing. And whatever has shifted inside him seems to have shifted for good.

Singer-Songwriter Extraordinaire

At first, Torey is pretty satisfied with writing songs about nothing. After all, his life is pretty sweet, if also pretty self-absorbed, so it's not like he has a whole lot of heart-breaking material to work with. And his friends, who also all have easy lives, think the songs are awesome. As Torey begins to wake up, though, and pull his head out of his butt, he realizes that maybe having a perfect little life has it's down sides. He confesses:

They didn't know we weren't having sex; it was like our big secret. But it just wasn't making for a very good song. (6.12)

It may be that perfect lives don't lend themselves to great songs, or it may be that Torey just doesn't know how to write about his life in an interesting way and, as such, sorrow and chaos have nothing to do with good songs. Who knows? But one thing is clear: once Torey goes through the traumatic situation of coming face to face with that dead body, songs pour out of him like a fountain. Perhaps, then, instead of thinking of his former life as uninteresting, it's more accurate to say that it wasn't very interesting to Torey.

The Good Apostle

Torey (and his friends Ali and Bo) become firm believers in the truth that Chris Creed inadvertently taught them: outcasts are not worth less than the beloved majority. Torey is a late bloomer, slow to convert, but he does all the same, after thinking long, hard, and often about who is to blame for Chris's disappearance, and coming face to face with the undeniable truth that pretty much everyone who discredited him as a person holds a piece of the fault.

You know who else was pretty into outcasts and their value? A dude who went by the name of Jesus. Or Jesus Christ, to be official about it. And while we've got plenty to say about how Chris Creed is a stand in for the late great J.C. over in his analysis elsewhere in this section, what's important to note here is that insofar as Chris is a stand-in for Jesus, Torey is a model apostle.

The apostles, for those who haven't spent quality time with our super thorough and totally entertaining Bible guide (if we do say so ourselves), were—among other things—the dudes charged with spreading Jesus's good word after he rose from the dead.

The thing about this good word, though, is that it wasn't exactly super popular… you know, kind of like Torey's belief that everyone has value, whether they're a rich, pretty, popular kid or not. And while writing Creed.doc and sending it around isn't exactly the same as convincing people to follow the teachings of a poor, Jewish, crucified peasant, it is getting the word out and honoring the lessons Chris has taught Torey in its own way.