August 25, 2015

Dear Diary,

Is it weird if I call you Diary? Do you want me to call you something else? How about…Diana. Like you're my friend, named Diana. No that's so weird. I'm pretending books are humans now, great.

It's me Hannah, Hannah Baker.

I need a place where I can just—well—just be. Today that place is Monet's, tomorrow maybe the park, maybe even getting to the Crestmont early…anywhere but home. Because even though I want to be alone, the last thing I want is to actually be alone.

I'm hoping I can take you with me, Diana. Let's go with that—"Diana." I have to say, the fact that you're covered in pink peace signs is kind of uncool, but it was either you, or a purple diary with a lock that said "Girls Rule." Side note: I should really tell Mom and Dad to carry more than 2 types of diaries at the store. But for now, you'll do. I hope you don't think I'm settling—I promise to never make you feel inadequate again, Diana. Because one thing's for sure, girls don't rule.

I'd like to make you a promise right now, mostly because I want to hold myself to it. I will never, ever show you to anyone. I will never tell anyone about you. I will never give away our secrets. Our secrets will live safely here.

There are things I'll tell you that I could never say out loud. But it's okay, because you're a book with no face, no heart, no brain…no offense. I know you won't judge me.

New school, new Hannah. I have a good feeling about Liberty High. It's only been a few days, but everyone seems…nice. Although, if I've learned one thing about high school, sometimes the nicest people are the ones who break you. They're so "nice" that they couldn't possibly do anything wrong.

But I won't start the year with that mindset. This is my fresh start. It's the year of Hannah and Diana! Oh god, I promise I didn't mean to make a rhyme. But now I did, and it's weird. Damn it.

Let's give this a try.

Hannah

Clay dropped the crumpled piece of lavender paper to the floor. It hit his bedroom carpet without a sound, even though it carried the weight of the world.

He picked it up and frantically examined it for a name, double checking inside his backpack to see if there were any other papers that had been slipped in.

"Where did this-? She had a-?" Clay breathed heavily, murmuring to himself.

He thought back to the 13 tapes that Hannah Baker had left behind. He thought about Mr. Porter, holding on to those precious, horrible tapes, and what he might decide to do with them.

Those tapes are the only evidence of what Hannah Baker was thinking. Until now.

A knock on the door—Clay's mom. "Clay, honey? How mad will you be if we have lasagna again tonight? I'm busy with the case and don't have time to cook." Her tone was joking, light as usual, until she saw his face.

"So mad, Mom…" Clay halfheartedly joked, still staring at the paper on the ground.

"What's wrong?" She ventured, taking a small step into the room.

"I just um, found a…note…in my backpack…from, a girl. But I don't know who put it there or why."