Chapter One: Tape One, Side A
A shoebox sat on my doorstep with a note taped to the top that read, "Jackson, play these". I recognized Aria's messy cursive almost immediately. Someone must have dropped the box off last night. It was probably her mom. I had already seen Aria yesterday. I see her everyday. She's my best friend. I placed the box on the kitchen table next to my bowl of Frosted Flakes. I was the only one in my house that was awake this early. Glancing at the clock, I noticed it was eight o'clock. After finishing my cereal, I opened the box to find used tapes and my recorder. Aria had asked to borrow it about a week ago. When I asked what she needed it for, she insisted it wasn't important and refused to tell me. Each tape had a number painted on the side with purple nail polish. I popped in the first one labeled 'one' and listened.
PLAY
"Hello, everyone. This is yours truly, Aria Lock."
PAUSE
I thought I would be listening to her singing, but I guessed not. That's why I thought she wanted to borrow the equipment; to record her singing. I thought she had an amazing voice – good enough to go pro.
PLAY
"If you're listening to this, then my suicide was successful and now I'm dead. And also because you are one of the thirteen reasons I chose to end my life. Thirteen reasons, thirteen people, thirteen tapes, got it? Good. Here's how my little game works: you get the tapes in the order you appear in my reasons, listen to all of them, and pass them on to the person mentioned after you. It's as easy as that! If you don't pass them on, I've given a copy of the tapes to someone near and dear to me and he will make sure everyone in school hears them. Oh, and you, lucky number thirteen can take these tapes straight to hell."
PAUSE
What! I sat there frozen as a statue. Aria wasn't dead; she couldn't be. I had seen her just yesterday. My brain buzzed with questions that I guessed these tapes would answer. Maybe she wasn't dead. Maybe this was a cruel, sick joke. Yeah, that was it. A joke.
PLAY
"Now, if you're thinking 'Oh, my god! I have to call her parents!' Don't. I'm repeating myself – DO NOT call my parents. I'm sure they're already upset enough, but they don't need the people who killed their daughter calling them. Don't mention me, you never did before. Why start now? So that's what brings us to number one. Hey there, Maria Geno."
PAUSE
I needed to call her. Or her parents. Aria said not to though. If she was dead, they would've called me by now, right? So this is all a misunderstanding. Maria Geno; I could see why she was on Aria's list. If this was a real list. Seventh grade went waaay downhill for their friendship – if there ever was a friendship.
PLAY
"Maria, sweetheart, don't worry. You weren't the first. The first for what you ask? The first person to forget about me. I remember things pretty clearly so don't think I'll forget any juicy details, Maria. We were sitting together at lunch like we always did. We were friends; at least, I thought we were. Apparently, you had a different perspective. There we were at our lunch table talking about something unimportant when you began giving out invitations to a party. When you were finished, everyone had an invite – everyone besides me. This wasn't a mistake. You wanted to embarrass me in front of everyone by not giving me an invitation and making sure I knew I was not welcome. I didn't know what to do so I sat at the table silently – even thought I was embarrassed, even though I was blushing like crazy. You didn't care; that was your plan. People talked about the party from the second you handed out the first invitation to the day of. I was out of those conversations, of course, but still sat though them to be polite. That was always me – miss polite. I don't know why I always was. It's just the way I was raised, I guess. So kudos to you, Mom and Dad. You raised me to be weak. But for a minute, I didn't feel so weak, that was when your back was turned and you were talking to someone else about…would anyone like to guess? Correct! Your party. Maci Burns – hey, you're on here too! – tapped my shoulder. I turned to her.
'I heard she didn't invite you.' I nodded. Then Maci – not me – said 'What a bitch.' I never called you a bitch, but now that I think about it, you are one. The next day you confronted me in front of out entire English class and said, 'You think I'm a bitch? Look in the mirror and tell me what you see. If I ever hear that you're talking about me behind my back again, you'll be sorry.' And Maria can tell you that's exactly what happened. Now, I have a question to ask you, Maria. What the hell does that mean? You wouldn't hurt me. I know you wouldn't hurt me because then your reputation would be shot. And yes, you did make me cry in front of the class by saying that. Did you enjoy it? If you did, then that worries me. Only a heartless person like you would enjoy that. And you know why I cried? I cried because you hurt me for something I did not do and because I was absent two days straight before that scene because of being sick. That and my uncle passed away. How does that make you feel now? I hope it hurts like you hurt me. I hope you have that empty feeling in the pit of your stomach like I did. I hope some of the other people watch you like they watched me melt into tears. And lastly, I hope you're embarrassed for getting everything wrong. Now I'm dead. Your one little mistake took my life, along with twelve others' mistakes. How's that make you feel, Maria? Bad, I hope. Guess what, Maria. I had a party too. You know I had a party. And I regret that party 100% because of the people I invited. I'd regret it even more if you were invited too, but you weren't because you know why? You're a bitch. Got that? Now you can have something to hold against me. I'm sorry, didn't you hear me? Maria Geno is a bitch."
PAUSE
I heard something upstairs. Someone was awake. I paused the tape, knowing Aria wasn't done with Maria and grabbed a book I had been reading. I tried to look like nothing in the world was wrong. Nothing at all. There were no tapes and Aria was still breathing. My dad came downstairs.
"Jackson," he said, "What were you listening to?" Did he hear Aria's curses? I hoped not, although he wasn't too strict about cursing. Aria rarely cursed. And that's how I knew she never called Maria that; Mari did.
"Just some music. I bought it at a yard sale the other day. Me and…" I choked out her name, "Ar-Aria went." He nodded.
"Hey, Dad? I'm gonna go for a walk."
"Alright, be careful."
"I will. See ya, Dad." And I walked out the door, down the steps, and onto Aria's street. She only lives two streets away from me so it was an easy walk. I was running down her block, racing against time. If she was alive, she'd still be sleeping right now, her whole family would. But when I got to her house, both cars weren't there. Neither her mom's minivan, nor her dad's Impala. Oh, God! I felt tears warming my cheeks. No, no. She couldn't be dead. I should listen to these tapes – find out what's going on so I sat down at her steps and pressed play.
PLAY
"Later that day, Maria, you confronted me again. You said, 'I heard you were just talking about me again.' I had been reading the whole lunch period. Not in the mood to eat anything.
'No, I wasn't!' I was pissed, 'Who's telling you that?' And you said, 'You don't need to know.' But I did, Maria. I really did need to know. You walked away and someone else approached me; Mandy Lacer. Hey, Mandy! Mandy said, 'Are you mad at Maria?' I was stupid to respond, but pleased with what I said, 'No. I'm just confused.' And I walked away. That's when I saw Mandy walk over to you, Maria and say I was talking about you again. You came up to me, yet again and you know what I did? I walked away. I didn't even acknowledge you, I just walked away. So, with your poor judgment, Maria, and the help of the gossip-spreading Mandy, I am now where I wanted to be from that day on. You guessed it: dead."
PAUSE
I thought I helped her. I thought I helped her get passed that. But she didn't. She never would have, no matter what I did. I was so afraid that right now her parents might be at the hospital looking over their dead daughter's body. And little Kenny, her eight-year old brother, is crying in the waiting room with Aria's crushed grandmother. Why couldn't she have just lived? Why? Why couldn't she have just waited one more day? Have not done it at all? Why? I didn't know I was saying "Why?" out loud until Aria's neighbors smoking across the street were looking over at me. I lowered my head. There would be no more of us sitting in this very spot every night, going in at ten-thirty and texting each other until twelve. There would be no more trips to the pool together. No more of me sneaking up behind her and scaring her. No more of anything with her. It was all gone. And I never got to say goodbye.