13 Reasons Why ~ Alex Standall: Taped Over

Chapter 1 ~ Finding the Beginning of the End

16:15

I walk up the same old path to my front door. The breeze blowing my bleach-blonde hair. The same old breeze. I stare down at my feet, my hands pulling at the straps of my backpack.

"It's okay," I whisper to myself. The thought of her runs through my head. Her innocent eyes, her perfect smile. Why did she do what she did? Why did my friend - Hannah Baker - commit suicide?

I walk up to my porch fumbling around to get my keys. They fall out my hands, onto the floor. As I grope to get them, I notice something. A brown parcel. Immediately, I jump to the conclusion that it's father's.

The keys turn and the front door flings open. I take the parcel into the kitchen and put it on the countertop. I lean against the countertop, rolling my head back. The stress of losing a friend is eating it's way into my brain. But I couldn't have helped her could I?

My attention darts towards the parcel on the countertop. Mother and father won't be home till late into the night. Hesitantly, I flip the parcel over in order to open it. Written on it: Alex Standall. I feel a layer of me peeling away, as if, somehow,my deepest, darkest regrets have caught up with me, holing a knife to my throat...

I take my keys, ripping through the brown paper. To my surprise there is a box. An old shoebox. I peel off the lid. Carefully. Fearfully. Inside, there is a map. I open it - finding small points written on in blue pen. I toss it to the side. Underneath, tapes. Tapes? What? I throw my self back in frustration. My eyes find their way back to the open shoebox.

The cupboard under the stairs is cold and dark. I reach into the back... finding the boombox. I take the shoebox and boombox up to my room.

My room is an understated room; with grey walls, wardrobe, table and bed. Sighing, I dump the boombox beside my bed and take one tape out of the shoebox. Written in a blue, sparkling liquid is the number one. I press a button on the boombox and put in the tape.
I fling myself onto the bed as I press play.

"Hey, it's Hannah. Hannah Baker."

I sit up swinging my feet over the side of the bed. My hands trembling with fear.

"That's right. Don't adjust your... whatever
device your hearing this on."

My heart is beating rapidly; I can hear it in my ears and feel it in my chest.

"It's me, live and in stereo. No return engagements, no encore. And this time absolutely no requests."

I wring my hands together and lower my head.

"So settle in, get a snack. Because I'm about to tell you the story of my life."

No, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening.

"More importantly, why my life ended..."