Period 8

.19



Paulie, Justin, and Hannah sit on the dock on a warm spring day less than a week after the national media circus has left town and things have begun to calm down; pants rolled up, legs in the cold water, trying to make sense of it.

“How does this happen under our noses?” Hannah asks. “I mean, you’re right, Jus, anyone who says ‘It can’t happen here’ is a clueless douchebag, but I keep thinking all this was going on while we were living our regular lives.” She shakes her head. “Mary, Kylie. You gotta hate yourself for not getting to know them better. At least I do.”

Justin shakes his head slowly. “It’s amazing when everything you think turns out not to be the truth. Man, I’ve had a buzzer going off deep inside me about Arney long as I can remember. But I just thought it was because he was a shithead of the normal kind.”

“I know,” Paulie says. “When all this shit started coming out about him, there wasn’t any part of it that didn’t seem right.”

Justin looks at Hannah. “Lucky, lucky lady,” he says.

Hannah leans back, both hands on the dock propping her up. “You should have seen him at our house,” she says, tears rimming her eyes. “My dad jumped up when he threatened me and Arney just shot him. He didn’t hesitate. I feel so lucky it was only in the leg, but I don’t think Arney would have hesitated to kill him.” She shakes her head. “You should have seen him.”

“Just remember he didn’t,” Paulie says. “Your dad’s gonna be okay and everyone’s alive. I wanna know who set the fire at Kylie’s. That’s the guy I want drawn and quartered.”

“My bet’s Stack,” Justin says. “Or that f*cking cop.”

“Heard anything about her?” Paulie says to Hannah.

Hannah shakes her head. “God, I wonder how long she’s been sitting in class wanting to tell somebody. And where is Mary? I sure could’ve been nicer to her.”

“She’s somewhere, I bet,” Paulie says, “and I’ll bet we’ll hear from her again. The news said all the bad guys fingered Woody as the ‘brains’ behind the sex ring stuff, but none of them thought he was a killer. Rankin, yeah, but not Woody.”

“Profiler dude on CNN said the same thing,” Justin says. He kicks the water. “I woulda bet ol’ man Wells had a hand in it there for a while, but I guess I just didn’t get him.”

“He did have a hand in it,” Hannah says. “Raise your kids so they can’t think and sooner or later, your kids will be in trouble. At least that’s what Logs says.”

“Yeah,” Paulie says, “we’ll probably hear from her, but I’ll bet she’s never the same.”

Justin nods. “All the happy endings are taken.”

They look around at a junky turn-of-the-century Chevy cresting the hill. Paulie stands, waves. “Bobby Wright,” he says. “Told him to meet me up here.”

“Did he raise his hand and ask if you really meant it?” Hannah says.

“Gonna turn him into a channel swimmer,” Paulie says. “Don’t be dissin’ my man Bobby. He’s a work in progress. Been spending a little weight room time with him.”

Justin laughs. “How’s that workin’?”

“It’s gonna take a little more time in the weight room,” Paulie says.

The door to the Chevy opens and Bobby steps out. “I didn’t know you guys were up here having a meeting,” he says. “I could come back later.”

“We’re havin’ a meeting, all right,” Justin says, “but you’re invited. Step right up here.”

“Got your suit?” Paulie asks, looking down at the others. “A lot of work in progress.”



Logs watches from the back of the room as Period 8 slowly fills up on the last day of regular classes.

When everyone’s seated and into their lunches, Bobby Wright raises his hand.

“Bobby, I’m begging you, put your hand down. Spit it out.”

“What are we gonna do?” Bobby says.

“About what?”

“Some of these guys are graduating, but the rest of us are still here. What’re we gonna do with no Period 8?”

“Bravery doesn’t just last a few days, Aquaman,” Justin says. “That’s what you’ll do. Be brave.”

“You don’t need a classroom,” Hannah says. “Mr. Logs sleeps through half these things anyway. You can meet any time, any place you want.”

“Yeah,” Justin says. “Do it like the Thumpers.” He points to Ron Firth. “Those guys’ll meet in a barn.” He laughs. “They do midnight campfires at Twisted Crick.”

“And a damn good thing, too,” Paulie says.

“Always happy,” Firth says, “to light the way.”

Hannah turns to Logs. “Do you think we’ll ever hear from Mary? Do you think she’s alive?”

“God, I wish I knew,” Logs says. “Conventional wisdom says Woody Hansen took her. He’s gotta be watching television, so he knows the law knows everything he’s been into, the sex ring, the drugs, everything. Killing her could only make it worse.” He pauses and thinks a moment. “If Rankin didn’t find a way to hook up with them.”

The room is silent.

“Mr. Wells is putting considerable resources into finding her. Money can make things happen. I’ll pass along anything I learn.” He shakes his head. “I just don’t know.”

“How did Arney fool us like that?” Marley asks. “I mean, we elected him student body president. And knowing he’s been in Period 8 all this time, hearing us talk about our lives, makes me feel . . . I don’t know . . . shitty.”

Logs smiles, a smile devoid of humor. “I don’t know if Rankin found Arney or Arney found Rankin. You can bet they recognized each other on first sight. Guys like them have radar for human weakness and they feed on it. Arney Stack is a guy who will tell you a brilliantly conceived lie and then have nothing but contempt for you for believing it. People are objects to Arney. He learned early how to imitate things like care and intimacy, but he never felt either of them. Arney Stack is among a very small and very dangerous percentage of humanity. He’s twice as good at deceiving as anyone is at detecting him. And I’m with you all the way, Marley. I hate that he poisoned this place.”

“Desert’s a beautiful place at sunset,” Justin says, “but rattlesnakes live there.”

“My man,” Logs says. “King of the metaphor. Truth is, there aren’t a lot of people in the world like that, and you guys have already run into two of them. Statistically, you shouldn’t run into many more.” He shifts in his chair. “Look, if we let this drag us down, the bad guys win. That’s a cliché for a reason. Time will help. Somebody finding Mary would do wonders, or seeing Kylie come out of the hospital with some strength.” He gazes around the room. “Look at the good news: Hannah’s alive, and her dad will fully recover. Arney’s going away, and I’m not frozen fish food. That’s a start.” He exhales. “We all know how vulnerable we are now. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Tears well in Hannah’s eyes. “What are we going to do without you? Whether we’re staying or going, this is it.”

“I’m retiring, not dying,” Logs says. “I have the same telephone number in the same house with the overgrown lawn—in case any of you wants to bring your mower over to show your appreciation.”

Marley says, “Mr. Logs, if you were going to give us all one piece of advice to take out of here, what would it be?”

“Advice about what?”

“Anything. One thing.”

Logs thinks a minute. Then, “Don’t listen to me.”

Marley frowns. “What?”

“That’s my advice,” Logs says. “Don’t listen to me. I’m an old guy. Turn me loose and I’ll want you to learn from my experiences. I’ll remember things that happened to me in my time and think I should warn you. But that’s all BS. There is one teacher in this world and that teacher is experience. Mine for me, and yours for you. So that’s it. Don’t listen to me. Go out there and try stuff.”

Marley smiles, looks at Hannah. They execute a synchronized eye roll.

“I gotta give you one more,” Logs says.

“One more what?”

“Piece of advice.”

“Okay.”

Logs raises his eyebrows and points straight at her. “Stay alive. Do whatever you have to do to stay f*cking alive.”

There is a collective gasp. No one has heard Logs use that word in class. Paulie’s heard it from him plenty of times out in the world, but never here.

Logs shrugs. “Last day. What can they do to me?”

The bell rings and students rise to leave. Logs stands at the door receiving high fives, fist bumps, and hugs.

“We in the water this afternoon?” Paulie asks as he passes.

“In over our heads,” Logs says back.



Paulie pulls his car to the curb across the street from Hannah’s house and watches as she secures her single scull to the top of her car.

“That ought to hold it,” he hollers as she gives the last strap an extra tug.

Hannah shades the sunlight with her hand. “Hey, Paulie. I thought you guys were going to meet me at the lake.”

Paulie gets out, starts toward her.

Hannah walks to meet him and they stand facing each other in the middle of the empty street.

“I made a promise to God that night,” he says, and swallows hard.

“Yeah?”

“That if He’d help me save you, I’d be willing to give you up; quit wishing, whining, you know, aching for one more chance.”

Hannah smiles, eyes watering. “That was dumb.”

“But then I remembered . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t believe in God.”

Hannah puts her arms around his neck there in the middle of the street and holds tight. Paulie can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is, her arms are around his neck.

“I don’t know how this is going to go,” she says into his ear.

“I don’t either,” he says. “I just know it’s got a lot better chance than it did a minute ago.”



Mary Wells wakes in a dark motel room, listens for the man’s breathing.

Quiet.

She finds her cell on top of the dresser, grabs it, and walks outside into bright sunlight. She crosses the parking lot to the busy four-lane on the outskirts of . . . wherever she is.

She crosses the street to a Denny’s, takes a booth, and orders coffee, discovers from the waitress that she’s in Chico.

She takes out her wallet. A hundred twenty dollars and change, and her mother’s Nordstrom’s card. She sets the phone on the table, picks it up again, and dials her area code and the first three digits of her dad’s cell, stares at the screen.

Several young people burst through the entrance, laughing and teasing. One of the girls wears a letter jacket from the local university.

She watches them fill a booth, snatching menus from each other, looking . . . free.

She looks out the window at the passing cars and feels a weight lift. The waitress brings her coffee. “You okay, sweetie?”

Mary smiles and nods, thanks her, and puts the cell back into her purse.





About the Author



CHRIS CRUTCHER has written nine critically acclaimed novels, an autobiography, and two collections of short stories. Drawing on his experience as a family therapist and child protection specialist, Crutcher writes honestly about real issues facing teenagers today: making it through school, competing in sports, handling rejection and failure, and dealing with parents. He has won three lifetime achievement awards for the body of his work: the Margaret A. Edwards Award, the ALAN Award, and the NCTE National Intellectual Freedom Award. Chris Crutcher lives in Spokane, Washington.



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