Thirteen Reasons Why(34)

Impossible. Because even though my legs stopped running, my mind keeps going. I let myself slide down against the cold glass, knees bent, trying so hard to hold back tears.

But time’s running out. She’ll be here soon.

Drawing in a full breath, I push myself up, walk over to Rosie’s, and pull open the door.

Warm air rushes out, smelling like a mixture of hamburger grease and sugar. Inside, three of the five booths along the wall are taken. One with a boy and a girl drinking milkshakes and munching popcorn from the Crestmont. The other two are filled with students studying. Textbooks cover the tabletops, leaving just enough room for drinks and a couple of baskets of fries. Thankfully, the booth farthest back is occupied. It’s not a question I need to consider, whether to sit there or not.

Taped to one of the pinball machines is a hand-scribbled Out of Order sign. A senior I sort of recognize stands in front of the other machine, banging away.

As Hannah suggested, I sit at the empty counter.

Behind the counter, a man in a white apron sorts silverware into two plastic tubs. He gives me a nod. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I slide a menu out from between two silver napkin holders. The front of the menu tells a lengthy story about Rosie’s, with black-and-white photos spanning the last four decades. I flip it over, but nothing on the menu looks good to me. Not now.

Fifteen minutes. That’s how long Hannah said to wait. Fifteen minutes and then I should order.

Something was wrong when Mom called. Something was wrong with me, and I know she heard it in my voice. But on her way over, will she listen to the tapes to find out why?

I am such an idiot. I should have told her I would go get them. But I didn’t do that, so now I have to wait and find out.

The boy who was eating popcorn asks for a key to the bathroom. The man behind the counter points to the wall. Two keys hang from brass hooks. One key has a blue plastic dog attached to it. The other, a pink elephant. He grabs the blue dog and heads down the hall.

After storing the plastic tubs beneath the counter, the man unscrews the tops to a dozen salt and pepper shakers, paying no attention to me. And that’s fine.

“Did you order yet?”

I swivel around. Mom sits on the stool next to me and pulls out a menu. Beside her, on the counter, is Hannah’s shoebox.

“Are you staying?” I ask.

If she stays, we can talk. I don’t mind. It would be nice to free my thoughts for a while. To take a break.

She looks me in the eyes and smiles. Then she places a hand over her stomach and forces her smile into a frown. “That’s a bad idea, I think.”

“You’re not fat, Mom.”

She slides the box of tapes over to me. “Where’s your friend? Weren’t you working with someone?”

Right. A school project. “He had to, you know, he’s in the bathroom.”

Her eyes look past me, over my shoulder, for just a second. And I might be wrong, but I think she checked to see if both keys were hanging on the wall.

Thank God they weren’t.

“Did you bring enough money?” she asks.

“For?”

“For something to eat.” She replaces her menu then taps a fingernail against my menu. “The chocolate malteds are to die for.”

“You’ve eaten here?” I’m a little surprised. I’ve never seen adults in Rosie’s before.

Mom laughs. She places a hand on top of my head and uses her thumb to smooth out the wrinkles on my forehead. “Don’t look so amazed, Clay. This place has been around forever.” She pulls out a ten-dollar bill and lays it on top of the shoebox. “Have what you want, but have a malted shake for me.”

When she stands, the bathroom door squeaks open. I turn my head and watch the guy rehang the blue dog key. He apologizes to his girlfriend for taking so long and kisses her on the forehead before sitting down.

“Clay?” Mom says.

Before turning back around, I shut my eyes for just a moment, and breathe. “Yes?”

She forces a smile. “Don’t be out long.” But it’s a hurt smile.

Four tapes remain. Seven stories. And still, where is my name?

I look into her eyes. “It might be a while.” Then I look down. At the menu. “It’s a school project.”

She says nothing, but from the corner of my eye I can see her standing there. She lifts a hand. I close my eyes and feel her fingers touch the top of my head then slide down to the back of my neck.

“Be careful,” she says.

I nod.

And she leaves.

I take the top off the shoebox and unroll the bubble-wrap. The tapes haven’t been touched.





Everyone’s favorite class…okay, everyone’s favorite required class…is Peer Communications. It’s kind of the nonelective elective. Everyone would take it even if it wasn’t required because it’s such an easy A.

And most of the time, it’s fun. I’d take it just for that.

There’s very little homework, and don’t forget the bonus points for class participation. I mean, they encourage you to yell out in class. What’s not to like?

Reaching down, I grab my backpack and lift it onto the stool where Mom sat only moments ago.

After feeling more and more like an outcast, Peer Communications was my safe haven at school. Whenever I walked into that room, I felt like throwing open my arms and shouting, “Olly-olly-oxen-free!”