Thirteen Reasons Why(55)

What happened next, I’m not entirely sure. I wasn’t paying attention because, in your car, I felt secure. The air inside was warm and comforting. The wiper blades, on a slow speed, gently pulled me out of my thoughts and into the car. Into reality.

The rain wasn’t heavy, but it blurred the windshield just enough to keep everything dreamlike. And I needed that. It kept my world from becoming too real, too fast.

And then…it hit. There’s nothing like an accident to bring the world crashing back.

An accident? Another one? Two in one night? How come I never heard about this one?

The front wheel on my side slammed into and jumped the curb. A wooden post smacked into your front bumper and snapped back like a toothpick.

God. No.

A Stop sign fell backward in front of your headlights. It caught under your car and you screamed and slammed on the brakes. In the side mirror, I watched sparks fly onto the road as we slid to a stop.

Okay, now I’m awake.

We sat for a moment, staring through the windshield. No words, not a glance between us. The wipers smeared the rain from side to side. And my hands stayed gripped to my seatbelt, thankful we only hit a sign.

The accident with the old man. And the guy from school. Did Hannah know? Did she know Jenny caused it?

Your door opened and I watched you walk to the front of your car, then crouch between the headlights for a closer look. You ran a hand over the dent and let your head droop forward. I couldn’t tell if you were pissed. Or were you crying?

Maybe you were laughing at how horrible the night was turning out.

I know where to go. I don’t need the map. I know exactly where the next star is, so I stand up to start walking.

The dent wasn’t bad. I mean, it wasn’t good, but you had to feel some relief. It could have been worse. It could have been much, much worse. For example…you could have hit something else.

She knows.

Something alive.

Whatever your initial thoughts, you stood up with a blank expression. Just standing there, staring at the dent, shaking your head.

Then you caught my eye. And I’m sure I saw a frown, even if it lasted only a split second. But that frown turned into a smile. Followed by a shrug.

And what were the first words you said when you got back in the car? “Well, that sucks.” Then you put your key in the ignition and…I stopped you. I couldn’t let you drive away.

At the intersection where Tony turned left, I take a right. It’s still two blocks away, but I know it’s there. The Stop sign.

You shut your eyes and said, “Hannah, I’m not drunk.”

Well, I didn’t accuse you of being drunk, Jenny. But I was wondering why the hell you couldn’t keep your car on the road.

“It’s raining,” you said.

And yes, true, it was. Barely.

I told you to park the car.

You told me to be reasonable. We both lived close by and you’d stick to the residential streets—as if that made it any better.

I see it. A metal pole holding up a Stop sign, its reflective letters visible even this far away. But on the night of the accident, it was a different sign. The letters weren’t reflective and the sign had been fastened to a wooden post.

“Hannah, don’t worry,” you said. Then you laughed. “Nobody obeys Stop signs anyway. They just roll on through. So now, because there isn’t one there, it’s legal. See? People will thank me.”

Again, I told you to park the car. We’d get a ride home from someone at the party. I’d pick you up first thing in the morning and drive you to your car.

But you tried again. “Hannah, listen.”

“Park it,” I said. “Please.”

And then you told me to get out. But I wouldn’t. I tried reasoning with you. You were lucky it was only a sign. Imagine what could happen if I let you drive us all the way home.

But again, “Get out.”

I sat for a long time with my eyes shut, listening to the rain and the wipers.

“Hannah! Get…out!”

So finally, I did. I opened the car door and stepped out. But I didn’t shut it. I looked back at you. And you stared through your windshield—through the wipers—gripping the wheel.

Still a block away, but the only thing I can focus on is the Stop sign straight ahead.

I asked if I could use your phone. I saw it sitting there right below the stereo.

“Why?” you asked.

I’m not sure why I told you the truth. I should have lied. “We need to at least tell someone about the sign,” I said.

You kept your eyes straight ahead. “They’ll trace it. They can trace phone calls, Hannah.” Then you started up the car and told me to shut the door.

I didn’t.

So you reversed the car, and I jumped back to keep the door from knocking me over.

You didn’t care that the metal sign was crushing—grating—the underside of your car. When you cleared it, the sign lay at my feet, warped and streaked with silver scratches.

You revved the engine and I took the hint, stepping back onto the curb. Then you peeled away, causing the door to slam shut, picking up speed the further you got…and you got away.

In fact, you got away with much more than knocking down a sign, Jenny.

And once again, I could have stopped it…somehow.

We all could have stopped it. We all could have stopped something. The rumors. The rape.