Period 8

Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher



Prologue



A teenage girl steps out of the bathroom, clutching her blouse tight at the collar where the buttons are missing, walks across the grimy carpet, and slips her feet into her flip-flops. The man sits on the end of the bed pulling on his shoes, snaps the clasp on his watchband, pushes back his thinning hair. The girl stands, staring at him.

The man doesn’t speak.

“Uh,” she says in a whisper. “Can you help me get back to my car?”

“Sorry, darlin’,” he says. “By the way, what’s your name? Who do I ask for?”

“I’m Star,” she says.

He smiles. “Star. Where’s your young friend, Star?”

She shrugs.

“I’d like to help,” he says, glancing around the room, “but I’ve, uh, gotta run.” He picks his sport jacket off the floor, shakes it, puts it on. With his hand on the door knob he turns. “That was nice,” he says. “I’m, uh, sure someone will take you to your car.”

The door closes behind him and the girl drops to her knees, face in hands, gasping for breath. When she’s under control she grabs her purse and steps outside, squinting into the sun high in the sky. A familiar car pulls to a stop in the street and she hurries to get in.