Period 8

.5



Hannah brakes her car at the south end of the county park and jumps out. She fell asleep after putting Mary Wells to bed last night, woke up, hit the snooze button on her clock four times, and then put it on permanent snooze against the far wall, forgetting momentarily that Mary was in the next room. Except when she finally got up and checked, Mary wasn’t.

Logs stands talking with a police officer, surrounded by several students who have been searching. She insinuates herself between them. “Mr. Logs, can I talk with you? In private?”

“Hey, Hannah. What about?”

“About Mary Wells.”

“Mary Wells is who we’re talking about,” Logs says. “You can talk in front of Officer Rankin.”

“Mrs. Byers said Mary’s been missing two days.”

“That’s right.”

“I saw her last night.”

The officer says, “Where? When?”

“After I left your house, Mr. Logs, just after midnight. I picked her up in the middle of the road.”

Officer Rankin eyes Hannah, then Logs. “She was at your house at midnight? I was under the impression—”

“We were discussing—”

“Oh, for Christ sake!” Hannah says. “I’m eighteen years old. If I want to f*ck my teacher—”

Logs interrupts. “And tell the nice man you don’t.”

Hannah breathes deep. “Mary Wells has not been missing for two days. She was asleep in our guest room eight hours ago.”

“Her father said—”

“I don’t care what her father said. Her father’s the reason she’s scared of everything. Everybody knows that.”

Rankin removes his hat and scratches his head. “I’m sure Mr. Wells will be happy with this news. You’re sure it was Mary.”

Hannah looks at him like he’s an idiot. “I picked her up, drove her home, and put her to bed. It was Mary.”

“So where is she now?”

“When I got up this morning she was gone,” Hannah says, and shrugs.

“Did she say where she’d been?” Rankin squints, palms up. “Her dad hasn’t seen her for a while.”

“No, she didn’t,” Hannah says. “She seemed so out of it, I didn’t ask questions. She sure didn’t want me taking her home.”

“Out of it how?”

Hannah gives him the same look. “Out of it like she didn’t want to go home.”

Logs looks at Rankin. “What do you think?”

“I’ll call Mr. Wells.”

“What about the search?”

“Let me talk with Wells,” Rankin says. “I’m not calling anything off until I know more.” He walks toward his patrol car.

“What a dick,” Hannah says. “I just told him she’s not missing. What, he has to hear it from an adult?”

“He’s a cop,” Logs says. “He has to be sure. He doesn’t know you, Hannah, and thanks to you he may have some suspicion that you’re sleeping with your government teacher who is at least old enough to be your grandfather.”

“He’s still a dick,” Hannah says.

Logs smiles. Hannah Murphy is a reasonable young lady most of the time, but when she’s not, she’s not. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was driving home, the back way like I said. I was sleepy so I rolled down the window and was messing with the radio when I looked up and saw this, like, apparition. Mr. Logs, I almost hit her. She had to see me coming, I was the only car on the road and she was like, straddling the yellow line. She just looked up, all . . . vacant.”

“What did she say?”

“I asked if she wanted a ride home, was ready to offer her an alibi if she needed one. I mean, everyone knows her dad. Mary Wells could go out every night with a different guy if they all didn’t worry that the evening would end in their death.”

Logs watches Rankin sitting in his patrol car, one leg in and one out, talking on his police radio. “Maybe a little exaggeration?”

“A little, not much. The only guy I know who’s not afraid of him is Arney. Anyway, she did not want to go home but she didn’t have another idea. I mean, I could barely get her to talk. It was like she was on something. So I took her home with me.” She smiles. “Paying it forward. Who knows when I’ll need a hideout again? Anyway, when I woke up this morning I forgot she was there and decided to catch a little more sleep. Like, what am I going to learn in government?”

“You’re a funny girl.”

“When I remembered, I went into the guest room and it was empty.”

“You said the only guy not afraid of her dad is Stack?”

“Yeah, he says he’s taken Mary for coffee a couple of times. Walks right up to the door and starts a conversation. Mr. Wells treats him different than other boys. At least that’s what Arney says.”

“Arney’s a politician,” Logs says.

“Arney’s fearless,” Hannah says back. “Or crazy.”

As she says it, Arney walks up. “Hey, Hannah, how strange is this?”

“Stranger than you think,” Hannah says. “I was with Mary last night.”

Arney looks bewildered. “Last night? That’s not . . .” He starts to walk away, turns back. “When?”

“Near midnight,” Hannah says. “I almost ran her down. She was way zoned out, walking down the middle of the road. . . .” Hannah finishes her story much as she gave it to Logs.

“Wow, that doesn’t sound like Mary. You took her home?” He looks at students coming out of the woods. “So how does all this happen?”

“My home, not hers,” Hannah says. “What’s the matter with you, Arney? You think I’m making this up?”

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Just doesn’t sound like Mary, that’s all.”

“Well, she may very well be missing from her place for two days,” Hannah says, “but she isn’t gone. And like I said, she was whack.”

“What did she say?”

“That she didn’t want to go home.”

“Why would she not want to go home?”

“She’s Mary Wells, Arney. Would you want to go home if your dad was Mr. Wells? I don’t even know her dad’s first name, unless it’s Mister.”

“His name is Victor,” Arney says. “And he’s not such a bad guy if you don’t let him intimidate you. Shoot, I’ve been out with Mary.”

“You guys have been out out?”

“A few times,” Arney says. “A movie, whatever.”

“A movie,” Hannah says. “Little Mermaid?”

Arney shakes his head. “Her situation isn’t as bad as everybody thinks. Most of that stuff is rumor.”

“Yeah, right.”

Arney turns to Mr. Logs. “So we calling this off?”

“Officer Rankin is on the phone with Mr. Wells now,” Logs says. “They’ll give us direction soon.” He turns to Hannah. “Can you remember anything else?”

“No. I should have asked more questions, I guess.” She looks up to see Arney next to the police car, talking with Officer Rankin. She laughs. “Arney has to be in the middle of everything.”

A Lexus pulls into the parking lot. The driver’s-side door flies open and Victor Wells steps out. Officer Rankin approaches him from the patrol car and they exchange quick words, then approach Hannah.

Rankin says, “Victor Wells, this is . . . I’m sorry, young lady, I didn’t get your name.”

“Hannah. Murphy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Wells says. He doesn’t extend his hand. “Officer Rankin here says you claim to have been with my daughter last night. Might I ask why it took you so long to say so?”

Wells is a tall man, well over six feet, and athletic. Hannah stiffens. “I don’t claim to have been with her. I was with her.”

Wells looks Hannah up and down. “What time was that?”

Rankin says, “I told you, sir, around—”

Wells holds up a hand. “I want to hear it from the young lady.”

“I found her around midnight. She was walking on the road.”

“And what were you doing out at that time on a school night?”

Logs takes a deep breath, closes his eyes.

“You know,” Hannah says, “drinking, smoking dope, looking for cheap, easy sex.”

“Young lady, do you think this is funny?”

“I think,” Hannah says, “that it’s none of your business what I was doing out that late and if you want to know about Mary, you should ask me about Mary.”

Wells glares at Rankin, who shrugs.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Hannah. “I’ve been upset. Did my daughter tell you anything that might help us find her?”

“I offered her a ride home, but she didn’t want to go, and I’m probably breaking a confidence here, but it was because of you.”

“She has no reason—”

Hannah gestures surrender. “She didn’t want to go home. The rest of it is none of my business. She was kind of, like, disoriented, and not all that informative. I took her to my house. When I got up this morning she was gone. I thought she’d gone to school, then I heard on the news she was missing.”

“Nothing else was said?”

“Well, I offered her an alibi.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know,” Hannah says, “an excuse for being gone; ’course I didn’t know she’d been gone this long.”

“Why in the world would you do that?”

“To keep her out of trouble,” Hannah says. She glances over at Logs. Sheesh. Is this guy a mammal?

“I guess that’s what passes for loyalty these days,” Wells says.

“Actually,” Logs says, “that passes for loyalty in any days.”

“You’re sure it was my daughter. Mary.”

“I’ve gone to school with her for four years,” Hannah says.

“She’s never mentioned you.”

“Until today I probably haven’t mentioned her. I didn’t say we were friends, I said we’ve gone to school together.”

“I suppose there’s no reason to believe you’re not telling the truth.”

“I could be personality disordered,” Hannah says.

Wells ignores her.

“We need to call off the search,” Officer Rankin says. “Mr. Logsdon, could you help us call these kids back to the bus? I’ll catch up with your principal. You all might be able to actually get some education in today.”

Hannah slugs Logs’s shoulder. “That would make it different from most days, huh, Teach?”

“You make it hard to defend America’s youth sometimes, little girl.” To the officer, he says, “Yeah, I can get these kids rounded up and back to the learning factory.” He punches speed dial on his cell to let Dr. Johannsen know they’re coming back, then goes to round everyone up.

Logs walks toward Victor Wells, who’s now standing next to his car. “Mr. Wells, how can I help? Obviously your daughter hasn’t been abducted, but you still don’t know where she is. I’ve been worried about her lately; she’s not been in my noon gathering.”

Mary’s father regards Logs warily. “I have to tell you, Mr. Logsdon, I’m not a fan of your ‘noon gathering.’”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“It’s elements like—what do you call it, eighth period?—that put ideas into kids’ heads that come to this.” He waves his hand over the parking lot and the students now returning.

“You think my Period 8 is to blame for you and your daughter’s troubles?”

“What makes you think my daughter and I are having trouble?”

“Obstinate as she can be, Hannah Murphy doesn’t make things up. Your daughter’s gone, she has to know you’re worried, and she isn’t doing a thing to alleviate that worry. In my book that indicates trouble. Look, Mr. Wells, it’s none of my business what goes on in anybody’s home, if it isn’t abuse, other than how it affects a student in school. I’ve had Mary in one class or another since she was a freshman. She’s been a phenomenal student and for the life of me, before this last week I can’t remember her missing a class. Forgive me, but when I see a perfect student drop over the edge, I figure there’s a lot I don’t know. So, if there’s anything I can do to help, I’m offering it.”

Mr. Wells’s expression softens. “I appreciate that, Mr. Logsdon, but I’m afraid the kind of help you have to offer in this situation isn’t really help.”

“Suit yourself, sir. The offer stands.”



“That was an interesting way to start the day.” Justin Chenier leans back in his seat across the aisle from Paulie and looks out the bus window. “Look at Arney,” he says. “Gettin’ all friendly with the cops now.”

“Crazy, Hannah finding Mary wandering around in the middle of the night,” Paulie says. “You talk to her?”

“Shit no,” Justin says. “I think she’s still pissed at me for the other day in Logs’s lunchtime extravaganza.”

“Naw, Hannah’s not like that. She’ll be pissed at me forever, but you can say any shit you want to her.”

“Just got to be careful what you do, huh?”

“Exactly.”

Justin shakes his head. “Whew. Guy like Wells hollers, folks come runnin’. He’s a strange one.”

“He’s not as strange as everyone makes him out to be,” Arney says, plopping in the seat next to Justin. “A little uptight, maybe, but he’s a pretty cool guy if you get to know him.”

“Yeah, but Arney,” Paulie says, “room’s messed up big time. She’s gone two days and then he reports her missing, but meanwhile the room gets cleaned? Come on, man. I’ll bet Mary Wells hasn’t spent three nights away from home since third grade. Think about it: she’s wandering around all f*cked up at midnight, he doesn’t, like, check with the school or any of us, then runs to the cops hollering foul play.”

“Right on,” Justin says, “and by the way, we’re still missin’ a virgin.”

“That we are,” Arney says. “That we are.”