"She came over to my house," Tony says. "Hannah. And that was my chance."

"I had my chance, too," I tell him. I take off the headphones and hang them on my knee. "At the party. She was freaking out when we kissed and I didn't know why. That was my chance."

"The blue one," I say. "Let me guess. You were working on your car."

I close the car door. My stomach is settling.

"With her bike. The one she always rode to school."

"So she came over to your house," I say.

"Clay, the signs were all there," he says.

"We're all to blame," he says. "At least a little."

Inside the car, it's dark. And quiet. With the windows rolled up the outside world seems deep asleep.

"For what?"

"You noticed I didn't puke in your car."

Tony takes his keys out of the ignition. Something to hold on to while he talks. "I've been trying to figure out how to say this the whole time we've been driving. The whole time we've been sitting here. Even when you were puking your guts out."

"I did." He smiles, looking down at his keys. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

"Why?"

He laughs. "Who would've thought, right? But she never came over to my house before, so I was a little surprised. You know, we were friendly at school, so I didn't think too much of it. What was weird, though, was why she came over."

He looks out the side window, and his chest fills with air. "She came over to give me her bike."

The words sit there, undisturbed, for an uncomfortably long time.

"But this baby never breaks down," I say.

"She wanted me to have it," he says. "She was done with it. When I asked for a reason, she just shrugged. She didn't have one. But it was a sign. And I missed it."

I summarize a bullet point from the handout at school. "Giving away possessions."

"This thing always breaks down," he says. "I'm just always around to fix it. So I told her that I couldn't take her bike. Not without giving her something in return."

Tony nods. "She said I was the only one she could think of who might need it. I drive the oldest car at school, she said, and she thought if it ever broke down I might need a backup."

"And you gave it to her?"

The signs were all there, all over, for anyone willing to notice.

"Like a handheld recorder or something. Something you didn't have to plug in but could walk around with. And I didn't ask why. I told her to wait right there and I'd get one."

He turns to me, his face hard. "I didn't know what she was going to do with it, Clay."

"God."

"She asked me how I made my tapes, the ones I play in my car." He leans his head back and takes a deep breath. "So I told her about my dad's old tape recorder." He pauses. "Then she asked if I had anything to record voices."

"What did you give her?"

He wipes away tears from his own eyes and then wipes a hand across his upper lip. "I should have done something."

"I'll never forget this," he says, and he turns to look at me. "Her eyes, Clay, they never looked away. She just kept looking, straight into my eyes, and started crying. She just stared at me and tears began streaming down her face."

"Wait, I'm not accusing you, Tony. But she didn't say anything about why she wanted it?"

"What did she ask for?"

I shake my head. "She wouldn't have told you."

"If I had asked, do you think she would have told me?"

No. By the time she went to Tony's house, her mind was made up. If she wanted someone to stop her, to rescue her from herself, I was there. At the party. And she knew it.

"No. Just the tapes. But it didn't make any sense because Hannah and I have third period together and she was at school that day."

"A few days later," he says, "when I get home from school, there's a package sitting on my porch. I take it up to my room and start listening to the tapes. But it doesn't make any sense."

"What?"

"So when I got home and started listening to the tapes, I went through them so fast. Fast-forwarding to find out if I was on them. But I wasn't. And that's when I knew that she'd given me the second set of tapes. So I looked her up and called her house, but no one answered. So I called her parents' store. I asked if Hannah was there, and they asked if everything was all right because I'm sure I sounded crazy."

"Did she leave you a note or anything?"

"What did you say?"

"I told them that something was wrong and they needed to find her. But I couldn't make myself tell them why." He takes in a thin, jagged breath of air. "And the next day at school, she wasn't there."

"But how are you keeping track?" I ask. "How did you know I had the tapes?"

We both laugh. And it feels good. A release. Like laughing at a funeral. Maybe inappropriate, but definitely needed.

I want to tell him I'm sorry, that I can't imagine what that must've been like. But then I think of tomorrow, at school, and realize I'll find out soon enough. Seeing the other people on the tapes for the first time.

"I went home early that day," he says, "pretending I was sick. And I've got to admit, it took me a few days to pull myself together. But when I returned, Justin Foley looked like hell. Then Alex. And I thought, okay, most of these people deserve it, so I'm going to do what she asked and make sure you all hear what she has to say."

"You were easy," he says. "You stole my Walkman, Clay."

"No. They would've denied it, right? So I'd hold up a tape when they got close and tell them to get in because I had a song I wanted them to hear. Every time, based on their reaction, I knew."

"But everyone else, they were a little trickier," he says. "I'd run to my car after the last bell and drive as close to the front lawn of the school as possible. When I saw whoever was next, a couple days after I knew the last person had heard the tapes, I'd call out his name and wave him over. Or her. I'd wave her over."

"And then you'd just ask if they had the tapes?"

"No. If they didn't run away, I'd have to do something, so I'd play them a song," he says. "Any song. They would sit there, where you are, wondering why in the hell I was playing them this song. But if I was right, their eyes would glaze over, like they were a million miles away."

"So why you?" I ask. "Why'd she give the tapes to you?"

"And then you'd play one of her tapes?"

"I don't know," he says. "The only thing I can think of is because I gave her the recorder. She thought I had a stake in it and would play along."

I flinch. She wants to believe my excuses so bad. Every time I lie, she wants to believe me so much.

She asks if I've been drinking.

"I know. But it's late. My dad's going to start wondering if I broke down somewhere."

"Sure."

He faces the windshield and grips the steering wheel. "I've got to go."

"I told you I might be out late."

"Clay, where are you?" She sounds hurt.

"Clay?"

I scroll through the list of names, hit Send, and she picks up right away.

"I'm sorry. But I'm going to need a little longer. I may need to stay at Tony's tonight."

"Hey, Mom."

"What, you don't want him messing under your hood again?" I grab the door handle and then, remembering, let go and pull out my phone. "I need you to do something. Can you say hello to my mom?"

"I know. You did. I was just hoping to hear from you by now."

Right on cue, "Hello, Mrs. Jensen."

"I didn't mean anything by that," I say. "Honest."

"Mom, no. I swear."

"You're not on them, but you're still a part."

"Okay, well, this is for his history project, right?"

His eyes stare straight ahead.

"I don't know. I'll probably go home. But I don't want her to worry if I don't."

He turns the key, the engine starts, and he flips on the headlights. "Do you want me to take you somewhere?"

I press Play.

"Honestly. Thank you," I say. And when I say it, I mean it for more than just the ride. For everything. For how he reacted when I broke down and cried. For trying to make me laugh on the most horrible night of my life.

I get out of the car and shut the door. His car pulls away.

It feels good knowing someone understands what I'm listening to, what I'm going through. Somehow, it makes it not as scary to keep listening.

"I trust you, Clay."

I grab the door handle and nod toward the house. "This is where I'm at in the tapes," I say. "But thanks."

I tell her I'll be home before school to get my stuff, then we hang up.

"Where are you going to stay?" Tony asks.

Half a block away, Tony's Mustang stops at an intersection, takes a left, and drives away.

Back to the party, everyone. But don't get too comfy, we'll be leaving in just a minute.

I sit on the curb, a few feet from where I vomited out of Tony's car. If whoever lives here, because I have no idea whose party it was, wants to come out and ask me to leave, I welcome it. Please do.

If time was a string connecting all of your stories, that party would be the point where everything knots up. And that knot keeps growing and growing, getting more and more tangled, dragging the rest of your stories into it.

I wanted to leave, but where would I go? I couldn't go home. Not yet.

And wherever I went, how would I get there? I was too weak to walk. At least, I thought I was too weak. But in truth, I was too weak to try. The only thing I knew for certain was that I wanted to get out of there and not think about anything or anyone anymore.

When Justin and I finally broke that awful, painful stare, I wandered down the hall and back into the party. Staggered in, really. But not from the alcohol. From everything else.

I grabbed for the piano in the living room. Then the piano bench. And I sat.

Then a hand touched my shoulder. A gentle squeeze.

I drop my head down to my knees.

Jenny, this one's for you.

It was Jenny Kurtz.

Somewhere, at that moment, I was walking from block to block trying to figure out why I'd left that party. Trying to figure out, trying to understand, what had just happened between me and Hannah.

So I looped my arm in hers and she helped me up. Which felt good, letting someone help me. We walked out the front door, through a crowd either passed out on the porch or smoking in the yard.

The cheerleader from the Student Body office.

And I can still remember every song that played.

The sidewalk was damp. My feet, numb and heavy, shuffled across the pavement. I listened to the sound of every pebble and leaf that I stepped on. I wanted to hear them all. To block out the music and the voices behind me.

While blocks away, I could still hear that music. Distant. Muffled. Like I couldn't get far enough away.

Jenny, you didn't say a thing. You didn't ask me any questions. And I was so grateful. Maybe you've had things happen, or seen things happen at parties that you just couldn't discuss. Not right away, at least. Which is sort of fitting, because I haven't discussed any of this until now.

Jenny asked if I needed a ride home, and I almost laughed. Was it so obvious? Did I look that terrible?

So, Jenny, you led me to your car. And even though my thoughts were somewhere else -- my eyes focused on nothing -- I felt your touch. You held my arm with such tenderness as you lowered me into the passenger seat. You buckled me in, got in your seat, then we left.

Well… no… I tried. I tried once, but he didn't want to hear it.

Is that the twelfth story? The thirteenth? Or something else entirely? Is it one of the names written on her paper that she won't tell us about?

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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?

Okay, now I'm awake.

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

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.

And yes, true, it was. Barely.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

"It's raining," you said.

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.

She knows.

Something alive.

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.

I told you to park the 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.

"Why?" you asked.

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.

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.

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

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.

"Hannah! Get… out!"

I didn't.

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.

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.

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.

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

You.

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

There must have been something I could have said. At the very least, I could have taken your keys. Or at the very, very least, I could have reached in and stolen your phone to call the police.

Actually, that's the only thing that would've mattered. Because you found your way home in once piece, Jenny. But that wasn't the problem. The sign was knocked down, and that was the problem.

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

There was no Stop sign on that corner. Not on that night. And one of them, one of the drivers, died.

The old man.

No one knew who caused it. Not us. Not the police.

B-6 on your map. Two blocks from the party there's a Stop sign. But on that night, for part of the night, there wasn't. And it was raining. And someone was trying to deliver his pizzas on time. And someone else, headed in the opposite direction, was turning.

I never knew the guy in that car. He was a senior. And when I saw his picture in the newspaper, I didn't recognize him. Just one of the many faces at school I never got to know… and never would.

But Jenny knew. And Hannah. And maybe Jenny's parents, because someone fixed her bumper real fast.

She didn't know. Not about the man in the other car. She didn't know it was the man from her house. Her old house. And I'm glad. Earlier, she watched him pull out of his garage. She watched him drive away without noticing her.

I didn't go to his funeral, either. Yes, maybe I should have, but I didn't. I couldn't. And now I'm sure it's obvious why.

But some of you were there, at his funeral.

Driving to return a toothbrush. That's what his wife told me as we waited on her couch for the police to bring him home. He was driving to the other end of town to return their granddaughter's toothbrush. They'd been keeping an eye on her while her parents were on vacation, and she'd left it behind by accident. The girl's parents said there was no need to drive across town just for that. They had plenty of extras. "But that's what he does," his wife told me. "That's the kind of person he is."

For those of you who did go, let me describe what school was like on the day of his funeral. In a word… it was quiet. About a quarter of the school took the morning off. Mostly seniors, of course. But for those of us who did go to school, the teachers let us know that if we simply forgot to bring a note from home, they wouldn't mark us absent if we wanted to attended the funeral.

Two officers helped her husband inside, his body trembling. His wife got up and walked over to him. She wrapped him in her arms and they cried.

And then the police came.

When I left, closing the door behind me, the last thing I saw was the two of them standing in the middle of the living room. Holding each other.

On the day of the funeral, so those of you who attended wouldn't miss any work, the rest of us did nothing. In every class, the teachers gave us free time. Free to write. Free to read.

Mr. Porter said funerals can be a part of the healing process. But I doubted that very much. Not for me. Because on that corner, there wasn't a Stop sign that night. Someone had knocked it over. And someone else… yours truly… could've stopped it.

Free to think.

More and more, in very general terms, I'd been thinking about my own death. Just the fact of dying. But on that day, with all of you at a funeral, I began thinking of my own.

And what did I do? For the first time, I thought about my own funeral.

I don't know what people think of you either, Hannah. When we found out, and since your parents didn't have a funeral in this town, no one said much about it at all.

I reach the Stop sign. With the tips of my fingers, I reach forward and touch the cold metal pole.

I could picture life -- school and everything else -- continuing on without me. But I could not picture my funeral. Not at all. Mostly because I couldn't imagine who would attend or what they would say.

I mean, it was there. We felt it. Your empty desk. The fact that you would not be coming back. But no one knew where to begin. No one knew how to start that conversation.

I had… I have… no idea what you think of me.

It's now been a couple of weeks since the party. So far, Jenny, you've done a great job of hiding from me. I suppose that's understandable. You'd like to forget what we did -- what happened with your car and the Stop sign. The repercussions.

But you decided not to let that happen, Hannah. It was you who decided.

Maybe you didn't know what people thought of you because they themselves didn't know what they thought of you. Maybe you didn't give us enough to go on, Hannah.

But you never will.

So instead, I walked. But not back to the party. My mind was racing all over the place. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't walk straight.

I want to look back. To look over my shoulder and see the Stop sign with huge reflective letters, pleading with Hannah. Stop!

If not for that party, I never would have met the real you. But for some reason, and I am extremely grateful, you gave me that chance. However brief it was, you gave me a chance. And I liked the Hannah I met that night. Maybe I could've even loved her.

I, on the other hand, only have to think about it for one more day.

I turn away from the Stop sign and walk away.

If I had known two cars were going to crash on that corner, I would've run back to the party and called the cops immediately. But I never imagined that would happen. Never.

But I keep facing forward, refusing to see it as more than it is. It's a sign. A stop sign on a street corner. Nothing more.

I turned corner after corner with no idea where I was going.

I wanted to wait. I wanted the phone to just keep ringing. I wanted life to stay right there… on pause.

And then I heard tires squeal, and I turned, and I watched two cars collide.

We walked those streets together, Hannah. Different routes, but at the same time. On the same night. We walked the streets to get away. Me, from you. And you, from the party. But not just from the party. From yourself.

When someone finally did answer, I sucked in the tears that wet my lips and told them that on the corner of Tanglewood and South…

Eventually, I made it to a gas station. C-7 on your map. And I used a payphone to call the police. As it rang, I found myself hugging the receiver, part of me hoping that no one would answer.

I can't follow her map anymore. I am not going to the gas station.

But she cut me off. She told me to calm down. And that's when I realized how hard I had been crying. How much I was struggling to catch one good breath.

It was to report an accident. An accident caused by a fallen sign. An accident I was never aware of… until then.

I cross the street and move further away from the party house.

But that night, after hanging up the phone, I wandered the streets some more. Because I had to stop crying. Before I went home, I needed to calm down. If my parents caught me sneaking back in with tears in my eyes, they'd ask way too many questions. Unanswerable questions.

Over the past few weeks, I've walked out of my way so many times to avoid that house. To avoid the reminder, the pain, of my one night with Hannah Baker. I have no desire to see it twice in one night.

I swing my backpack in front of me and pull out the map.

I unfold the map to give it one last look.

I stuff the map deep into a bush and walk away.

Then I crumple it up, crushing the map into a ball the size of my fist.

At school the next day, when everyone replayed the events of what happened the previous night, that's when I found out who had called. And it wasn't to report a fallen sign.

She told me the cops had already been called and were on their way.

I was shocked. I couldn't believe you actually called the police, Jenny.

But I shouldn't have been shocked. Because as it turns out, you didn't call them.

And I can't go home.

That's what I'm doing now. Staying away. I wasn't crying the night of the party, but I can barely hold it back now.

And I walked for hours, imagining the mist growing thick and swallowing me whole. The thought of disappearing like that -- so simply -- made me so happy.

God. I let out a quivering breath and close my eyes. The end.

So I walked without thinking about which roads to take. And it felt good. The cold. The mist. That's what the rain had turned into by then. A light mist.

But that, as you know, never happened.

I pop open the Walkman to flip the tape. I'm almost at the end.