Thirteen Reasons Why (6 page)

I grip my knees tighter. Jackass Jimmy.

When I first saw that list, given to me in history class, there were a few names I didn't recognize. A few new students I hadn't met yet or wasn't sure I had their names right. But Hannah, I knew her name. And I laughed when I saw it. She was building quite a reputation in a short amount of time.

Only now do I realize, that her reputation started in Justin Foley's imagination.

Later that day, passing Hannah in the halls, I took a look back as she walked by. And I had to agree. She definitely belonged in that category.

I disagree, Hannah. All the way down.

And a lot more than that, I'm guessing, are about to find out.

I tear the blades of grass out of the gutter and stand up to leave. As I start walking, I rub the blades between my fingers till they fall away.

A pause in her speech. I reach into my jacket and turn the volume up. She's uncrinkling a piece of paper. Smoothing it out.

Alex's list was a joke. A bad one, true. But he had no idea it would affect her like this. This isn't fair.

And what about me? What did I do? How will Hannah say that I scarred her? Because I have no idea. And after people hear about it, what are they going to think when they see me? Some of them, at least two of them, already know why I'm on here. Do they see me differently now?

No. They can't. Because my name does not belong with theirs. I should not be on this list I'm sure of it.

I did nothing wrong!

God. I don't believe it.

The first red star. Hannah's old house. There it is.

But I don't believe it.

This house was my destination one other time. After a party. An elderly couple lives there now. And one night, about a month ago, the husband was driving his car a few blocks away, talking to his wife on the phone when he hit another car.

I shut my eyes and shake my head against the memory. I don't want to see it. But I can't help it. The man was hysterical. Crying. “I need to call her! I need to call my wife!” His phone had disappeared somewhere in the crash. We tried using mine to call her back, but his wife's phone kept ringing. She was confused, too afraid to click over. She wanted to stay on the line, the line her husband had called her on.

She had a bad heart, he said. She needed to know he was okay.

I called the police, using my phone, and told the man I would continue trying to reach his wife. But he told me I needed to tell her. She needed to know he was okay. Their house wasn't far.

A tiny crowd had gathered, some of them taking care of the person in the other car. He was from our school. A senior. And he was in much worse shape than the old man. I shouted for a few of them to wait with my guy till an ambulance arrived. Then I left, racing toward his house to calm his wife. But I didn't know I was also racing toward a house Hannah once lived in.

This house.

But this time, I walk. Like Justin and Zach, I walk down the center of the road toward East Floral Canyon where two streets meet like an upside-down
T
, just as Hannah described it.

The curtains in the bay window are shut for the night. But the summer before our freshman year, Hannah stood there with Kat. The two of them looked out, to where I am now, and they watched two boys walk up the street. They watched them step off the road and onto the wet grass, slipping and tumbling over each other.

I keep walking till I reach the gutter, pressing the toes of my shoes against the curb. I step up onto the grass and just stand there. A simple, basic step. I don't slip, and I can't help wondering, had Justin and Zach made it to Hannah's front door, would she have fallen for Zach instead of Justin a few months later? Would Justin have been wiped out of the picture? Would the rumors never have started?

Would Hannah still be alive?

It's nearby.

Blue Spot has always looked grimy from the sidewalk, so I've never actually gone inside.

I walk along the sidewalk in front of Hannah's old house. A driveway climbs up a gentle slope before disappearing beneath a weathered wooden garage door.

Hanging over the front of the counter, a wire rack holds all the best candies. Well, they're my favorites anyway. And the moment I open the door, the man at the register rings me up–
cha-ching–
Even before I pick up a candy bar, because he knows I never leave without one.

Ever since she arrived, Hannah rode a blue bike to school. I can almost picture her now. Right here. Backpack on, coasting down the driveway. Her front wheel turns and she pedals past me on the sidewalk. I watch her ride down a long stretch of sidewalk, passing trees, parked cars, and houses. I stand and watch her image disappear.

Again.

Then I turn slowly and walk away.

Alex! That's right. Yesterday, someone shoved him in the halls. Someone shoved Alex into me. But who?

That day, as usual, a bell jingled over the door as I walked in.
Cha-ching!
went the register. I picked out a candy bar from the rack on the counter, but I can't tell you which one because I don't remember.

I caught Alex to keep him from falling. I asked if he was okay, but he just ignored me, picked up his backpack, and hurried down the hall. Did I do something to piss him off, I wondered. I couldn't think of anything.

I wince. What happened in that store because of Alex's list?

No, I don't want to know. And I don't want to see Alex. Not tomorrow. Not the day after that. I don't want to see him or Justin. Or fat-ass Jackass Jimmy. God, who else is involved in this?

I follow the sidewalk around a corner, away from the residential streets, on my way to Blue Spot.

It's amazing how a town can change so much in one corner. The houses behind me weren't big or fancy. Very middle class. But they sit back-to-back with the part of town that's been slowly falling apart for years.