Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher Page 0,13

arm. “Maybe you’re right, Paul. It’s just . . . so hard to let go.”

Paulie looks at his watch. 8:30. He needs to get away. No Rocket shift tonight. Arney and Justin might still be at open gym. He’s tired, but not tired enough to put himself into the coma it will take to get a good night’s sleep on this night.

Paulie drops his workout bag onto the bleachers and watches Justin and Arney and several other guys he knows finish a five-on-five full-court pickup game. Jus and Arney play on opposite teams, guarding each other fiercely; it’s an even match. Both are strong and in good shape and what they lack in skill they make up in passion. Paulie finishes lacing up his shoes as Justin drives on Arney, spins and goes for the layup. As Justin stretches for the hoop, Arney undercuts him and Justin crashes onto his shoulder blades. All play halts at the sickening sound of bone on hardwood. After a fleeting hesitation Arney drops to his knees beside Justin, apologizing profusely. “Shit, man, I couldn’t stop. You okay? Hey, buddy, you okay?”

Justin lies there a few seconds, checking for damage. “Yeah, I’m okay. Watch that, man, you’re gonna kill someone.”

Arney brings the ball in on the next play and his guy drains a jumper, ending the game. Fist bumps, butt slaps all around. Almost. Justin walks away from Arney.

Arney spots Paulie, jogs over, and sits. “Been here since six,” he says. “Shoulda come earlier, we could have used you.”

“Swam this afternoon,” Paulie says. “Then had to check in at home. You guys up for a little two-on-one?”

“Hey, Justin!” Arney hollers. “Stay awhile and school the Bomb? Man, I’m sorry about that undercut.”

Justin looks up from the drinking fountain, twists his shoulders, and stretches. “Never too late to school the Bomb,” he yells back.

They shoot around long enough for Paulie to warm up, then line up at the top of the key to shoot for first outs. Arney swishes his first shot and the other two miss.

“Make it, take it,” Justin says. “Every bucket counts two, first free throw two, one after that. Score five, shoot free throws ’til you miss or hit five in a row and take it out. Game to twenty-one.” Standard cutthroat rules.

Arney shoots a three that deflects off the back rim in a high arc out to Justin, who drives to the hoop, right at Paulie. He goes for the layup, sees Paulie towering over him, pumps, switches hands, and attempts to force it from his off side. Paulie slaps the ball into the bleachers.

“Damn!”

“Don’t bring that weak shit in here,” Paulie says.

While the two trash-talk, Arney retrieves the ball and slides in for a layup.

Justin still jaws at Paulie. “Whose shit you callin’ weak? After that sorry show you put on in P-8 today?”

“It wasn’t my best ‘man-up’ hour.”

“You couldn’t pick a best minute outta that hour.”

Paulie backs Justin into the key, protecting the ball with his body. When Arney tries to sneak around to slap the ball out, Paulie crosses over and swishes a short hook.

“Man, you are messin’ with my stereotype. How is some tall pale distance swimmer scorin’ over me?”

“Over you isn’t exactly high,” Paulie says, dribbling to the top of the key.

“All I can say is you should have listened better in kindygarten,” Justin says. “Got to make good choices, man.”

Arney slaps the ball out of Paulie’s hand, steps back, and drops a perfect three. “I love playing with you guys,” he says. “While you go at each other, I just wait for opportunity.”

“How’s that fit with your stereotype?” Paulie says to Justin. “It’s one thing to get schooled by a tall pale merman, a whole ’nother thing to get spanked on the court by the ASB prez. You know how a guy gets to be student body president? By sucking at everything else.”

“Funny,” Arney says. “Hey, you guys, I gotta go. Sorry about your, uh, dilemma, Paulie. Maybe if you sit back and be cool things’ll work out.”

“Bet if you just told her who it was, it’d be all good,” Justin says. “Let her take it out on the chick.”

“Yeah, and be accessory to a felony,” Paulie says back.

“Maybe you should tell us,” Justin says. “We could leak it.”

Arney says, “There’s an idea.”

“I’m not tellin’ you guys anything.”

Arney pulls on his sweats. “Thought you always told the truth.” He smiles. “So . . . tell us the truth.”

“I am,” Paulie says. “The truth is, I’m