AN: Thirteen Reasons Why is obviously such a loved book, it's on our reading list in English. One of the tasks we had to do was to write an alternate ending for one of the books. The little piece I wrote was so good it coaxed three whole words out of our teacher's pen: 'thrilling - well done'. I hope I'll get a few longer reviews for this.
Disclaim, disclaim, disclaim, you know.
The clerk takes the shoebox, wants to bring it to the back room, but my mouth works of its own: "Wait."
She raises an eyebrow questioningly.
The words are out. "I take it back. I...I don't want to send it."
The formalities take endless time, or at least that's how seems to me. Finally she puts the pen down with a sigh. "Finished. Is this all you needed, or did you change your mind again?" Every word is dripping venom.
I shake my head, pick up the box, and leave without a word.
I forgot my coffee.
Halfway to school, I suddenly feel very, very sick. The box hits the ground with a heavy thud as I clamp one hand over my mouth while the other grabs a lantern post. The cool metal seems to burn under my touch. I buckle over; my stomach heaves, bile rises in my throat, but I keep my jaw shut, force it down again. When I'm in control again, I relax my hands.
If Tony lives up to his promises, in a few days someone will receive seven audiotapes.
Thirteen names will be know all over the city, maybe even the country. Mine will be one of them.
Four people will hear how they killed Hannah in their own ways, not by her voice but via telly or radio or newspapers.
Twelve lives - maybe thirteen - will be destroyed forever. They will be marked: Liar. Stalker. Rapist. Murderer. They will be shunned, might wind up dead, by their own hand or someone else's.
The police will kick in, of course. The stop sign. Alcohol abuse. Rape.
Hannah's parents will be dealt the final blow.
Maybe my subconscience is playing a sick little joke. This isn't what Hannah wanted, but her wishes were never granted. And now I, who would have done anything for her, denies her her last one.
I pick the box up again - I'm not worried about the tapes, they are safe - and continue on my way towards the school, eyes fiixed on the ground.
That's why I don't see the person before she bumps into me.
The sleepless night has takes its toll on my reaction time; I lose my equilibrium and crash on the floor.
"I'm sorry", Skye's voice murmurs and I can hear her steps quickly walking away.
"Hey, Skye!" I jump up and run after her, the box lying on the ground, forgotten. "Skye, wait! I have to talk to you!"