Thirteen Reasons Why(29)

It was probably the same cheerleader who gave me my survey results.

She typed my name into the computer, hit Enter, then asked how many names I wanted. One, or five? I placed a five-dollar bill on the counter. She hit the number Five key and a printer on my side of the counter spit out my list.

She told me they put the printer on our side so the cheerleaders wouldn’t be tempted to peek at our names. So people wouldn’t feel embarrassed by who they got.

I told her that was a good idea and started looking over my list.

“So,” the cheerleader said, “who’d you get?”

Definitely the cheerleader who helped me.

She was joking, of course.

No she wasn’t.

Half-joking. I placed my list on the counter for her to see.

“Not bad,” she said. “Ooh, I like this one.”

I agreed that it wasn’t a bad list. But not wonderful, either.

She lifted her shoulders and called my list a shrugger. Then she let me in on a little secret. It wasn’t the most scientific of surveys.

Except for people seeking a depressed loner like Holden Caulfield. For that, the survey deserved a Nobel Prize.

We both agreed that two names on the list matched me fairly well. Another name, one that I was pleased with, brought an entirely different reaction out of her.

“No,” she said. Her expression, her posture, lost all its cheeriness. “Trust me…no.”

Is he on one of your tapes, Hannah? Is that who this tape is about? Because I don’t think this tape is about the cheerleader.

“But he’s cute,” I said.

“On the outside,” she told me.

She pulled out a stack of fives from the register, put mine on top, then went through the stack turning each bill the same way.

I didn’t push the subject, but I should have. And in a couple more tapes you’ll know why.

Which reminds me, I haven’t told you who our main man on this tape is. Fortunately, this is the perfect time to introduce him because that’s exactly when he showed up.

Again, not me.

Something started buzzing. A phone? I looked at the cheerleader, but she shook her head. So I swung my backpack onto the counter, fished out my phone, and answered it.

“Hannah Baker,” the caller said. “Good to see you.”

I looked at the cheerleader and shrugged. “Who is this?” I asked.

“Guess how I got your number,” he said.

I told him that I hated guessing games, so he told me. “I paid for it.”

“You paid for my phone number?”

The cheerleader scooped her hand over her mouth and pointed at the printout—the Oh My Dollar Valentines!

No way, I thought. Someone was actually calling because my name was on their list? Kind of exciting, yes. But kind of weird at the same time.

The cheerleader touched the names we both thought were good matches, but I shook my head no. I knew those voices well enough to know it wasn’t either of them. It also wasn’t the one she warned me about.

I read the other two names on my list out loud.

“It looks like you made my list,” the caller said, “but I didn’t make yours.”

Actually, you did make her list. A different list. One I’m sure you don’t like being on.

I asked him where on his list my name popped up.

Again, he told me to guess, then quickly added that he was joking. “Ready for this?” he asked. “You’re my number one, Hannah.”

I mouthed his answer—number one!—and the cheerleader hopped up and down.

“This is so cool,” she whispered.

The caller then asked what I was doing for Valentine’s Day.

“Depends,” I told him. “Who are you?”

But he didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Because at that moment, I saw him…standing right outside the office window. Marcus Cooley.

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.”