Thirteen Reasons Why(28)

You guessed it. The one from the party, with my arm around her waist, looking like I was having the time of my life.

Quite an actress, Hannah.

I told her, “No, we’re just acquaintances.”

“Well, it’s a really fun picture,” Ms. Benson said. And this, these next words, I remember exactly: “The wonderful thing about a yearbook photo is that everyone shares the moment with you…forever.”

It sounded like something she’d said a million times before. And before, I probably would have agreed. But not with that photo. Anyone looking at that photo would definitely not be sharing our moment. They could not come close to imagining my thoughts in that picture. Or Courtney’s. Or Tyler’s.

Everything about it was false.

Right then, in that office, with the realization that no one knew the truth about my life, my thoughts about the world were shaken.

Like driving along a bumpy road and losing control of the steering wheel, tossing you—just a tad—off the road. The wheels kick up some dirt, but you’re able to pull it back. Yet no matter how tightly you grip the wheel, no matter how hard you try to drive straight, something keeps jerking you to the side. You have so little control over anything anymore. And at some point, the struggle becomes too much—too tiring—and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy…or whatever…to happen.

Pressing my fingertips hard against my hairline, my thumbs against my temples, I squeeze.

In that picture, I’m sure Courtney was wearing a beautiful smile. Fake, but beautiful.

She wasn’t. But you couldn’t know that.

See, Courtney thought she could jerk me around wherever she wanted. But I didn’t let that happen. I jerked myself back on the road just long enough to push her off…if only for a moment.

But now? The survey. For Valentine’s Day. Was this just another chance to get thrown off the road? Was this survey, for the guys who found my name on their list, going to be the excuse they needed to ask me out?

And would they be extra excited about doing that because of the rumors they’d heard?

I looked at the slit in the top of the shoebox, too thin to squeeze my fingers through. But I could lift off the top and take out my survey. It’d be so easy. Ms. Benson would ask why and I could pretend I was embarrassed about filling out a love survey. She’d understand.

Or…I could wait and see.

If I had been smart, if I had been honest with my survey, I would have described Hannah. And maybe we would have talked. Seriously talked. Not just joking around like last summer at the movie theater.

But I didn’t do that. I wasn’t thinking that way.

Would most students, as I expected, get their list and just have a good laugh, thinking nothing of it? Or would they use it?

If Hannah’s name and number had shown up on my list, would I have called her?

I slouch down into the cold bench, leaning my head back. Far back, like the tip of my spine might burst if I keep going.

Very little, I told myself, could go wrong. The survey was a joke. No one’s going to use it. Calm down, Hannah. You are not setting yourself up.

But if I was right—if I called it correctly—if I willingly gave someone an excuse to test those rumors about me…well…I don’t know. Maybe I’d shrug it off. Maybe I’d get pissed.

Or maybe I would let go and give up.

This time, for the first time, I saw the possibilities in giving up. I even found hope in it.

Ever since Kat’s going-away party, I couldn’t stop thinking about Hannah. How she looked. How she acted. How it never matched up with what I heard. But I was too afraid to find out for sure. Too afraid she might laugh if I asked her out.

Just too afraid.

So what were my options? I could leave the office a pessimist and take my survey with me. Or I could leave it as an optimist and hope for the best. In the end, I walked out of that office with my survey still in the box, unsure of what I was. An optimist? A pessimist?

Neither. A fool.

I close my eyes, concentrating on the cool air floating around me.

When I went into the movie theater last summer for a job application, I pretended to be surprised that Hannah worked there. But she was the whole reason I applied.

“Today’s the day!” the cheerleader said…cheerfully, of course. “Pick up your Oh My Dollar Valentines at the student body office today.”

On my first day at work, they placed me in the concession stand with Hannah. She showed me how to pump “butter” topping into the popcorn.

She said that if someone I had a crush on came in, I shouldn’t put butter in the bottom half of the tub. That way, halfway through the movie, they’d come back out asking for more. And then there wouldn’t be so many people around and we could talk.

But I never did that. Because it was Hannah I was interested in. And the thought that she did that for other guys made me jealous.

I hadn’t decided yet if I wanted to find out who the survey matched me up with. With my luck, it’d be a fellow lumberjack. But when I walked by the office and found no one standing in line, I thought…what the hell.

I went up to the counter and started saying my name, but the cheerleader at the computer cut me off.

“Thanks for supporting the cheerleaders, Hannah.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled. “That sounded dumb, right? But I’m supposed to say it to everyone.”