Thirteen Reasons Why(33)

Have the only two people you truly trust turn against you.

Have one of them use you to get back at the other, and then be accused of betrayal.

Are you getting it now? Am I going too fast?

Well, keep up!

Let someone take away any sense of privacy or security you might still possess. Then have someone use that insecurity to satisfy their own twisted curiosity.

She pauses. Slows down a bit.

Then come to realize that you’re making mountains out of molehills. Realize how petty you’ve become. Sure, it may feel like you can’t get a grip in this town. It may seem that every time someone offers you a hand up, they just let go and you slip further down. But you must stop being so pessimistic, Hannah, and learn to trust those around you.

So I do. One more time.

The last movie of the night is playing, so the box office is empty. I stand on the swirling marbled floor, surrounded by posters of coming attractions.

This was my chance, at this theater, to reach Hannah.

It was my chance and I let it slip away.

And then…well…certain thoughts begin creeping around. Will I ever get control of my life? Will I always be shoved back and pushed around by those I trust?

I hate what you did, Hannah.

Will my life ever go where I want it to?

You didn’t have to do it and I hate the fact that you did.

The next day, Marcus, I decided something. I decided to find out how people at school might react if one of the students never came back.

As the song goes, “You are lost and gone forever, oh my darling, Valentine.”

I lean back against a poster locked behind a plastic frame and I close my eyes.

I’m listening to someone give up. Someone I knew. Someone I liked.

I’m listening. But still, I’m too late.





My heart is pounding and I can’t stand still. I walk across the marble floor to the box office. A small sign hangs by a chain and a tiny suction cup. CLOSED—SEE YOU TOMORROW! From out here, it doesn’t look so cramped. But in there, it felt like a fishbowl.

My only interaction came when people slid money over to my side of the glass and I slid back their tickets. Or when a coworker let themselves in through the rear door.

Other than that, if I wasn’t selling tickets, I was reading. Or staring out of the fishbowl, into the lobby, watching Hannah. And some nights were worse than others. Some nights I watched to make sure she buttered the popcorn all the way through. Which seems silly now, and obsessive, but that’s what I did.

Like the night Bryce Walker came. He arrived with his girlfriend-of-the-moment and wanted me to charge her the under-twelve rate.

“She won’t be watching the movie anyway,” he said. “You know what I mean, Clay?” Then he laughed.

I didn’t know her. She might’ve been a student from another school. One thing was clear, she didn’t seem to think it was funny. She placed her purse on the counter. “I’ll pay for my own ticket, then.”

Bryce moved her purse aside and paid the full amount. “Just relax,” he told her. “It was a joke.”

About halfway through the movie, while I sold tickets for the next show, that girl came tearing out of the theater holding her wrist. Maybe crying. And Bryce was nowhere to be seen.

I kept watching the lobby, waiting for him to show. But he never did. He stayed behind to finish watching the movie he had paid for.

But when the movie was over, he leaned against the concession counter, talking Hannah’s ear off as everyone else left. And he stayed there while the new people came in. Hannah filled drink orders, handed out candy, gave back change, and laughed at Bryce. Laughed at whatever he said.

The entire time, I wanted to flip the Closed sign over. I wanted to march into the lobby and ask him to leave. The movie was over and he didn’t need to be here anymore.

But that was Hannah’s job. She should have asked him to leave. No, she should have wanted him to leave.

After selling my last ticket and turning over the sign, I exited through the box office door, locked it behind me, and went into the lobby. To help Hannah clean up. To ask about Bryce.

“Why do you think that girl ran out of here like that?” I asked.

Hannah stopped wiping the counter and looked me straight in the eye. “I know who he is, Clay. I know what he’s like. Believe me.”

“I know,” I said. I looked down and touched a carpet stain with the toe of my shoe. “I was just wondering, then, why’d you keep talking to him?”

She didn’t answer. Not right away.

But I couldn’t raise my eyes to face her. I didn’t want to see a look of disappointment or frustration in her eyes. I didn’t want to see those kinds of emotions directed at me.

Eventually, she said the words that ran through my mind the rest of that night: “You don’t need to watch out for me, Clay.”

But I did, Hannah. And I wanted to. I could have helped you. But when I tried, you pushed me away.

I can almost hear Hannah’s voice speaking my next thought for me. “Then why didn’t you try harder?”





CASSETTE 4: SIDE A




On my way back, the red hand flashes, but I run through the crosswalk anyway. The parking lot holds even fewer cars than before. But still, no Mom’s.

A few doors down from Rosie’s Diner, I stop running. I lean my back against a pet store window, trying to catch my breath. Then I lean forward, hands on my knees, hoping to slow everything down before she arrives.