Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher Page 0,17

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 fucked 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.”

.6

After school, Paulie heads for the lake. Logs may come later, but he’s buried in teachers’ meetings and a damage-control local news conference.

Paulie lays his wetsuit out on the dock, thinking about Hannah and Mary Wells and how his life has taken a turn for the bizarre. A paraphrased H. L. Mencken quotation he has taped to his bedroom wall pops into his head: “For every complex question there’s a simple answer—and it’s wrong.” He thinks too about All the Pretty Horses, a novel he read in English this year. The main character, John Grady Cole, says, “There ain’t but one truth. The truth is what happened.” There was a time when Paulie thought it was as simple as that: learn the truth and tell it. It started with a Sunday school lesson back in elementary school, one taught by a kind of hippie throwback youth minister who believed