Jay Asher - Thirteen Reasons Why

Hello, Marcus.

I grit my teeth. Marcus. I should’ve hit him with the rock when I had the chance.

Marcus, as you know, is one of the biggest goof-offs at school. Not a slacker goof-off, but a good goof-off.

Guess again.

He’s actually funny. An endless number of painfully dull classes have been rescued by a perfectly timed Cooley pun. So naturally, I didn’t take his words at face value.

Even though he only stood a few feet away, separated by a window, I kept talking to him through the phone. “You’re lying,” I said. “I am not on your list.”

His normally goofy smirk, at that moment, looked kind of sexy. “What-you don’t think I’m ever serious?” he asked. Then he pressed his list against the window.

Even though I stood too far away to actually read it, I assumed he’d only hold it up to prove that my name did in fact hold his top spot. Still, I thought he must’ve been kidding about getting together for Valentine’s Day. So I thought I’d make him squirm a bit.

“Fine,” I said. “When?”

The cheerleader covered her face with both hands, but through her fingers I watched her skin blush.

I don’t know, without her as an audience egging me on, I doubt I would have agreed to go out with him that fast. But I was playing it up. Giving her something to brag about at cheer practice.

Now it was Marcus’s turn to blush. “Oh…um…Okay…well…How about Rosie’s? You know, for ice cream.”

E-5. I saw that star on the map while riding the bus. I knew roughly where it was, just not which store specifically. But I should’ve guessed. The best ice cream and the greasiest burgers and fries around. Rosie’s Diner.

My words came out sarcastic. “Ice cream?” But I didn’t mean them that way. An ice cream date just sounded so…cute. So I agreed to meet him there after school. And with that, we hung up.

The cheerleader slapped her hands on the counter. “You have absolutely got to let me brag about this.”

I made her promise not to tell anyone until the next day, just in case.

“Fine,” she said. But she made me promise to spill every last detail afterward.

Some of you may know the cheerleader I’ve been talking about, but I’m not saying her name. She was very sweet and excited for me. She did nothing wrong.

Honestly. No sarcasm there. Don’t strain yourselves reading into my words.

Before, I thought I knew who the cheerleader was. But now, remembering the day we all found out about Hannah, I’m sure of it. Jenny Kurtz. We had Biology together. By then, I’d already heard. But that’s when she found out, scalpel in hand, an earthworm sliced down the middle and pinned open before her. She put down the scalpel and fell into a long, stunned silence. Then she got up and, without stopping by the teacher’s desk for a pass, walked out of the room.

I kept looking for her the rest of that day, puzzled by her reaction. Like most people, I had no clue of her random connection to Hannah Baker.

Did I tell the cheerleader about what happened at Rosie’s? No. Instead, I avoided her for as long as I could.

And you’re about to find out why.

Of course, I couldn’t avoid her forever. Which is why, in a little while, she’ll make another appearance on these tapes…but with a name.

The cold air isn’t the only reason I’m shivering anymore. With every side of every tape, an old memory gets turned upside down. A reputation twists into someone I don’t recognize.

I felt like crying when I watched Jenny walk out of Biology. Every time I saw a reaction like that, with her, with Mr. Porter, it threw me back to the moment I found out about Hannah myself. When I did cry.

When instead, I should have been angry at them.

So if you want the full Hannah experience, go to Rosie’s for yourself.

God. I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what’s real.

E-5 on your map. Sit down on one of the stools at the counter. In a minute, I’ll tell you what to do after seating yourself. But first, a little background on me and Rosie’s.

I had never gone there before that day. I know, it seems crazy. Everyone’s been to Rosie’s. It’s the cool, quirky place to hang out. But as far as I knew, no one ever went there alone. And every time someone invited me, for some reason or another, I was busy. Family visiting from out of town. Too much homework. Always something.

To me, Rosie’s had an aura about it. A mystery. In the stories I heard, it seemed like things were always happening there. Alex Standall, his first week in town, had his first fight outside Rosie’s front door. He told me and Jessica about it during our Monet’s Garden Café period.

When I heard about that fight, it came as advice not to mess with the new kid. Alex knew how to throw, as well as take, a punch.

A girl, whose name I will not repeat, had her first under-the-bra experience at Rosie’s while making out between the pinball machines.

Courtney Crimsen. Everyone knew about that. And it’s not like Courtney tried to hide it.

With all the stories, it seemed that Rosie turned a blind eye to anything going on as long as cones were being filled and burgers were being flipped. So I wanted to go, but I was not about to go alone and look like a dork.

Marcus Cooley gave me the excuse I needed. And it just so happened that I was free.

Free, but not stupid.

I was a little wary of Marcus. A little suspicious. But not of him so much as the people he hung out with.

People like Alex Standall.

After peeling away from our olly-olly-oxen-free group at Monet’s, Alex started hanging out with Marcus. And after the little stunt Alex pulled with the “Who’s Hot / Who’s Not” list, I didn’t trust him.

So why would I trust someone he hangs out with?

You shouldn’t.

Why? Because that’s exactly what I wanted for me. I wanted people to trust me, despite anything they’d heard. And more than that, I wanted them to know me. Not the stuff they thought they knew about me. No, the real me. I wanted them to get past the rumors. To see beyond the relationships I once had, or maybe still had but that they didn’t agree with. And if I wanted people to treat me that way, then I had to do the same for them, right?

So I walked into Rosie’s and sat at the counter. And when you go there, if you go there, don’t order right away.

The phone in my pocket starts vibrating.

Just sit and wait.

And wait a little more.

It’s Mom.

I answer the phone, but even the simplest words catch in my throat and I say nothing.

“Honey?” Her voice is soft. “Is everything all right?”

I close my eyes to concentrate, to speak calmly. “I’m fine.” But does she hear it?

“Clay, honey, it’s getting late.” She pauses. “Where are you?”

“I forgot to call. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She hears it, but she won’t ask. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

I can’t go home. Not yet. I almost tell her I need to stay till I’m done helping Tony with his school project. But I’m almost done with this tape and I only have one more with me.

“Mom? Can you do me a favor?”

No response.

“I left some tapes on the workbench.”

“For your project?”

Wait! But what if she listens to them? What if, to see what they are, she slides a tape into the stereo? What if it’s Hannah talking about me?

“It’s okay. Never mind,” I say. “I’ll get them.”

“I can bring them to you.”

I don’t answer. The words aren’t caught in my throat, I just don’t know which ones to use.

“I’m heading out anyway,” she says. “We’re out of bread and I’m making sandwiches for tomorrow.”

I exhale a tiny laugh and I smile. Whenever I’m out late she makes a sandwich for my school lunch. I always protest and tell her not to, saying I’ll make my own when I get home. But she likes it. She says it reminds her of when I was younger and needed her.