Jay Asher - Thirteen Reasons Why

– What do you mean, “get” you?

Not like a conspiracy or anything. But it feels like I never know when something’s going to pop out of the woodwork.

– And get you?

I know, it sounds silly.

– Then explain.

It’s hard to explain unless you’ve heard some of the rumors about me.

– I haven’t. Teachers, especially a teacher moonlighting as a counselor, tend to get left out of student gossip. Not that we don’t have our own gossip.

About you?

He laughs.

– It depends. What have you heard?

Nothing. I’m joking.

– But you’ll tell me if you hear anything.

I promise.

Don’t joke, Mr. Porter. Help her. Get back to Hannah. Please.

– When was the last time a rumor…popped up?

See, that’s it. Not all of them are rumors.

– Okay.

No. Listen…

Please listen.

Years ago I was voted…you know, in one of those polls. Well, not really a poll, but someone’s stupid idea of a list. A best-of and worst-of thing.

He doesn’t respond. Did he see it? Does he know what she’s talking about?

And people have been reacting to it ever since.

– When was the last time?

I hear her pull a tissue from the box.

Recently. At a party. I swear, one of the worst nights of my life.

– Because of a rumor?

So much more than a rumor. But partly, yes.

– Can I ask what happened at this party?

It wasn’t really during the party. It was after.

– Okay, Hannah, can we play Twenty Questions?

What?

– Sometimes it’s hard for people to open up, even to a counselor where everything is strictly confidential.

Okay.

– So, can we play Twenty Questions?

Yes.

– At this party you mentioned, are we talking about a boy?

Yes. But again, it wasn’t during the party.

– I understand that. But we need to start somewhere.

Okay.

He exhales deeply.

– I’m not going to judge you, Hannah, but did anything happen that night that you regret?

Yes.

I stand up and walk to the outer bars of the rocket. Wrapping my hands around two of the bars, I touch my face to the empty space between them.

– Did anything happen with this boy-and you can be totally honest with me, Hannah-did anything happen that might be considered illegal?

You mean rape? No. I don’t think so.

– Why don’t you know?

Because there were circumstances.

– Alcohol?

Maybe, but not with me.

– Drugs?

No, just more circumstances.

– Are you thinking of pressing charges?

No. I’m…no.

I exhale a full breath of air.

– Then what are your options?

I don’t know.

Tell her, Mr. Porter. Tell her what her options are.

– What can we do to solve this problem, Hannah? Together.

Nothing. It’s over.

– Something needs to be done, Hannah. Something needs to change for you.

I know. But what are my options? I need you to tell me.

– Well, if you won’t press charges, if you’re not sure if you even can press charges, then you have two options.

What? What are they?

She sounds hopeful. She’s putting too much hope in his answers.

– One, you can confront him. We can call him in here to discuss what happened at this party. I can call you both out of…

You said there were two options.

– Or two, and I’m not trying to be blunt here, Hannah, but you can move on.

You mean, do nothing?

I grip the bars and shut my eyes tight.

– It is an option, and that’s all we’re talking about. Look, something happened, Hannah. I believe you. But if you won’t press charges and you won’t confront him, you need to consider the possibility of moving beyond this.

And if that’s not a possibility? Then what? Because guess what, Mr. Porter, she won’t do it.

Move beyond this?

– Is he in your class, Hannah?

He’s a senior.

– So he’ll be gone next year.

You want me to move beyond this.

It’s not a question, Mr. Porter. Don’t take it as one. She’s thinking out loud. It’s not an option because she can’t do it. Tell her you’re going to help her.

There’s a rustle.

Thank you, Mr. Porter.

No!

– Hannah. Wait. You don’t need to leave.

I scream through the bars. Over the trees. “No!”

I think I’m done here.

Do not let her leave.

I got what I came for.

– I think there’s more we can talk about, Hannah.

No, I think we’ve figured it out. I need to move on and get over it.

– Not get over it, Hannah. But sometimes there’s nothing left to do but move on.

Do not let her leave that room!

You’re right. I know.

– Hannah, I don’t understand why you’re in such a hurry to leave.

Because I need to get on with things, Mr. Porter. If nothing’s going to change, then I’d better get on with it, right?

– Hannah, what are you talking about?

I’m talking about my life, Mr. Porter.

A door clicks.

– Hannah, wait.

Another click. Now the tearing of Velcro.

Footsteps. Picking up speed.

I’m walking down the hall.

Her voice is clear. It’s louder.

His door is closed behind me. It’s staying closed.

A pause.

He’s not coming.

I press my face hard against the bars. They feel like a vise tightening against my skull the further I push.

He’s letting me go.

The point behind my eyebrow is throbbing so hard, but I don’t touch it. I don’t rub it. I let it pound.

I think I’ve made myself very clear, but no one’s stepping forward to stop me.

Who else, Hannah? Your parents? Me? You were not very clear with me.

A lot of you cared, just not enough. And that…that is what I needed to find out.

But I didn’t know what you were going through, Hannah.

And I did find out.

The footsteps continue. Faster.

And I’m sorry.

The recorder clicks off.

With my face pressing against the bars, I begin to cry. If anyone is walking through the park, I know they can hear me. But I don’t care if they hear me because I can’t believe I just heard the last words I’ll ever hear from Hannah Baker.

“I’m sorry.” Once again, those were the words. And now, anytime someone says I’m sorry, I’m going to think of her.

But some of us won’t be willing to say those words back. Some of us will be too angry at Hannah for killing herself and blaming everyone else.

I would have helped her if she’d only let me. I would have helped her because I want her to be alive.

The tape vibrates in the Walkman as it reaches the end of its spool.

The tape clicks itself over and continues playing.

Without her voice, the slight static hum that constantly played beneath her words sounds louder. Over seven tapes and thirteen stories, her voice was kept at a slight distance by this steady hum in the background.

I let this sound wash over me as I hold onto the bars and close my eyes. The bright moon disappears. The swaying treetops disappear. The breeze against my skin, the fading pain in my fingers, the sound of this tape winding from one spool to the next, reminds me of everything I’ve heard over the past day.

My breathing begins to slow. The tension in my muscles starts to relax.

Then, a click in the headphones. A slow breath of air.

I open my eyes to the bright moonlight.

And Hannah, with warmth.

Thank you.

AFTER MAILING THE TAPES

I fight every muscle in my body, begging me to collapse. Begging me not to go to school. To go anywhere else and hide out till tomorrow. But no matter when I go back, the fact remains, eventually I need to face the other people on the tapes.