Thirteen Reasons Why(49)

The kisses felt like first kisses. Kisses that said I could start over if I wanted to. With him.

But start over from what?

And that’s when I thought of you, Justin. For the first time in a long time, I thought of our first kiss. My real first kiss. I remembered the anticipation leading up to it. I remembered your lips pressed against mine.

And then I remembered how you ruined it.

“Stop,” I told Clay. And my hands stopped pulling him in.

You pushed your hands against my chest.

Could you feel what I was going through, Clay? Did you sense it? You must have.

No. You hid it. You never told me what it was, Hannah.

I shut my eyes so tight it was painful. Trying to push away all that I was seeing in my head. And what I saw was everyone on this list…and more. Everyone up to that night. Everyone who caused me to be so intrigued by Clay’s reputation—how his reputation was so different from mine.

No, we were the same.

And I couldn’t help that. What everyone thought of me was out of my control.

Clay, your reputation was deserved. But mine…mine was not. And there I was, with you. Adding to my reputation.

But it wasn’t like that. Who was I going to tell, Hannah?

“Stop,” I repeated. This time I moved my hands under your chest and pushed you away. I turned to the side, burying my face in the pillow.

You started to talk, but I made you stop. I asked you to leave. You started to talk again and I screamed. I screamed into the pillow.

And then you stopped talking. You heard me.

The bed lifted on your side as you got up to leave the room. But it took you forever to leave, to realize that I was serious.

I was hoping you’d tell me to stop again. To stop leaving.

Even though my eyes remained shut, buried in the pillow, the light changed when you finally opened the door. It grew brighter. Then it faded again…and you were gone.

Why did I listen? Why did I leave her there? She needed me and I knew that.

But I was scared. Once again, I let myself get scared.

And then I slid off the bed and down to the floor. I just sat there beside the bed, hugging my knees…and crying.

That, Clay, is where your story ends.

But it shouldn’t have. I was there for you, Hannah. You could have reached out but you didn’t. You chose this. You had a choice and you pushed me away. I would have helped you. I wanted to help you.

You left the room and we never spoke again.

Your mind was set. No matter what you say, it was set.

In the hallways at school, you tried catching my eye, but I always looked away. Because that night, when I got home, I tore a page from my notebook and wrote down one name after another after another. The names in my head when I stopped kissing you.

There were so many names, Clay. Three dozen, at least.

And then…I made the connections.

I circled your name first, Justin. And I drew a line from you to Alex. I circled Alex and drew a line to Jessica, bypassing names that didn’t connect—that just floated there—incidents all by themselves.

My anger and frustration with all of you turned to tears and then back to anger and hate every time I found a new connection.

And then I reached Clay, the reason I went to the party. I circled his name and drew a line…back. Back to a previous name.

It was Justin.

In fact, Clay, soon after you left and shut the door…that person reopened it.

On Justin’s tape, the first tape, she said his name would reappear. And he was at that party. On the couch with Jessica.

But that person’s already received the tapes. So Clay, just skip him when you pass them on. In a roundabout way, he caused a new name to be added to this list. And that’s who should receive the tapes from you.

And yes, Clay—I’m sorry, too.





My eyes sting. Not from the salt in my tears, but because I haven’t closed them since learning Hannah cried when I left the room.

Every muscle in my neck burns to turn away. To look out the window, away from the Walkman, and let my eyes stare into nothing. But I can’t bring myself to move, to break the effect of her words.

Tony slows the car and pulls over to a curb. “You okay?”

It’s a residential street, but it’s not the street of the party.

I shake my head no.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asks.

I lean back, resting my head against the seat, and close my eyes. “I miss her.”

“I miss her, too,” he says. And when I open my eyes, his head is down. Is he crying? Or maybe trying not to cry.

“The thing is,” I say, “I never really missed her till now.”

He sits back in his seat and looks over at me.

“I didn’t know what to make of that night. Everything that happened. I’d liked her for so long from far away, but I never had a chance to tell her.” I look down at the Walkman. “We only had one night, and by the end of that night, it seemed like I knew her even less than before. But now I know. I know where her mind was that night. Now I know what she was going through.”

My voice breaks, and in that break comes a flood of tears.

Tony doesn’t respond. He looks out into the empty street, allowing me to sit in his car and just miss her. To miss her each time I pull in a breath of air. To miss her with a heart that feels so cold by itself, but warm when thoughts of her flow through me.