– You said you wanted life to stop, Hannah. Your life?
No response.
– Is that what you meant to say, Hannah? Those are very serious words, you know.
She knows every word that comes out of her mouth, Mr. Porter. She knows they’re serious words. Do something!
I know. They are. I’m sorry.
Don’t apologize. Talk to him!
I don’t want my life to end. That’s why I’m here.
– So what happened, Hannah? How did we get here?
We? Or how did I get here?
– You, Hannah. How did you get to this point? I know you can’t sum it all up. It’s the snowball effect, am I right?
Yes. The snowball effect. That’s what she’s been calling it.
– It’s one thing on top of another. It’s too much, isn’t it?
It’s too hard.
– Life?
Another pause.
I grab onto the outer bars of the rocket and pull myself up. My bandaged hand hurts. It stings to put my weight on it, but I don’t care.
– Here. Take this. An entire box of tissues just for you. Never been used.
A laugh. He got her to laugh!
Thank you.
– Let’s talk about school, Hannah. So I can get some idea how we-I’m sorry-how you got to this point.
Okay.
I start climbing to the top level.
– When you think of school, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?
Learning, I guess.
– Well, that’s good to hear.
I’m kidding.
Now Mr. Porter laughs.
I do learn here, but that’s not what school is for me.
– Then what is it for you?
A place. Just a place filled with people that I’m required to be with.
I sit on the top platform.
– And that’s hard for you?
At times.
– With certain people, or people in general?
With certain people. But also…everyone.
– Can you be a little more specific?
I scoot backward across the platform and lean against the metal steering wheel. Above the tree line, the half-moon is almost too bright to look at.
It’s hard because I don’t know who’s going to…you know…get me next. Or how.
– What do you mean, “get” you?
Not like a conspiracy or anything. But it feels like I never know when something’s going to pop out of the woodwork.
– And get you?
I know, it sounds silly.
– Then explain.
It’s hard to explain unless you’ve heard some of the rumors about me.
– I haven’t. Teachers, especially a teacher moonlighting as a counselor, tend to get left out of student gossip. Not that we don’t have our own gossip.
About you?
He laughs.
– It depends. What have you heard?
Nothing. I’m joking.
– But you’ll tell me if you hear anything.
I promise.
Don’t joke, Mr. Porter. Help her. Get back to Hannah. Please.
– When was the last time a rumor…popped up?
See, that’s it. Not all of them are rumors.
– Okay.
No. Listen…
Please listen.
Years ago I was voted…you know, in one of those polls. Well, not really a poll, but someone’s stupid idea of a list. A best-of and worst-of thing.
He doesn’t respond. Did he see it? Does he know what she’s talking about?
And people have been reacting to it ever since.
– When was the last time?
I hear her pull a tissue from the box.
Recently. At a party. I swear, one of the worst nights of my life.
– Because of a rumor?
So much more than a rumor. But partly, yes.
– Can I ask what happened at this party?
It wasn’t really during the party. It was after.
– Okay, Hannah, can we play Twenty Questions?
What?
– Sometimes it’s hard for people to open up, even to a counselor where everything is strictly confidential.
Okay.
– So, can we play Twenty Questions?
Yes.
– At this party you mentioned, are we talking about a boy?
Yes. But again, it wasn’t during the party.
– I understand that. But we need to start somewhere.
Okay.
He exhales deeply.
– I’m not going to judge you, Hannah, but did anything happen that night that you regret?
Yes.
I stand up and walk to the outer bars of the rocket. Wrapping my hands around two of the bars, I touch my face to the empty space between them.
– Did anything happen with this boy-and you can be totally honest with me, Hannah-did anything happen that might be considered illegal?
You mean rape? No. I don’t think so.
– Why don’t you know?
Because there were circumstances.
– Alcohol?
Maybe, but not with me.
– Drugs?
No, just more circumstances.
– Are you thinking of pressing charges?
No. I’m…no.
I exhale a full breath of air.
– Then what are your options?
I don’t know.
Tell her, Mr. Porter. Tell her what her options are.
– What can we do to solve this problem, Hannah? Together.
Nothing. It’s over.
– Something needs to be done, Hannah. Something needs to change for you.
I know. But what are my options? I need you to tell me.
– Well, if you won’t press charges, if you’re not sure if you even can press charges, then you have two options.
What? What are they?
She sounds hopeful. She’s putting too much hope in his answers.
– One, you can confront him. We can call him in here to discuss what happened at this party. I can call you both out of…
You said there were two options.
– Or two, and I’m not trying to be blunt here, Hannah, but you can move on.
You mean, do nothing?
I grip the bars and shut my eyes tight.
– It is an option, and that’s all we’re talking about. Look, something happened, Hannah. I believe you. But if you won’t press charges and you won’t confront him, you need to consider the possibility of moving beyond this.
And if that’s not a possibility? Then what? Because guess what, Mr. Porter, she won’t do it.
Move beyond this?
– Is he in your class, Hannah?
He’s a senior.
– So he’ll be gone next year.
You want me to move beyond this.
It’s not a question, Mr. Porter. Don’t take it as one. She’s thinking out loud. It’s not an option because she can’t do it. Tell her you’re going to help her.
There’s a rustle.
Thank you, Mr. Porter.
No!
– Hannah. Wait. You don’t need to leave.
I scream through the bars. Over the trees. “No!”
I think I’m done here.
Do not let her leave.
I got what I came for.
– I think there’s more we can talk about, Hannah.
No, I think we’ve figured it out. I need to move on and get over it.
– Not get over it, Hannah. But sometimes there’s nothing left to do but move on.
Do not let her leave that room!
You’re right. I know.
– Hannah, I don’t understand why you’re in such a hurry to leave.
Because I need to get on with things, Mr. Porter. If nothing’s going to change, then I’d better get on with it, right?
– Hannah, what are you talking about?
I’m talking about my life, Mr. Porter.
A door clicks.
– Hannah, wait.
Another click. Now the tearing of Velcro.
Footsteps. Picking up speed.
I’m walking down the hall.
Her voice is clear. It’s louder.
His door is closed behind me. It’s staying closed.
A pause.
He’s not coming.
I press my face hard against the bars. They feel like a vise tightening against my skull the further I push.
He’s letting me go.
The point behind my eyebrow is throbbing so hard, but I don’t touch it. I don’t rub it. I let it pound.
I think I’ve made myself very clear, but no one’s stepping forward to stop me.