Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher Page 0,3
says.
“Perfect attendance for four years,” Logs says. “It’s unusual. I’ll check with the office.” He straightens papers on his desk. “So, how was the water this morning? How long ’til it’s warm enough for my wrinkled butt?”
Paulie smiles. “It came seepin’ into my suit, my testes headed for my heart. I don’t expect them back until maybe the Fourth.”
“I remember the days when I could tolerate that.” Logs laughs. “Back when I needed ’em anyway.”
“You are dangerously close to TMI,” Paulie says, and hesitates. “Actually, I might be in that boat myself, for a different reason.” He shakes his head slowly, hoisting himself onto a desktop. “Man, Mr. Logs, I messed up big time.”
Logs watches Paulie’s eyes cloud over. “Spill it, young ’un. The doctor is in.”
“How’d she find out?” Logs asks after hearing Paulie’s story.
“I told her.”
“Did the girl—and I appreciate your not revealing her identity, speaking of Too Much Information—did she threaten to tell?”
“God no,” Paulie says. “She begged me not to.”
“Did somebody catch you?”
“No.”
“Then why . . . how can I put this? It’s not exactly standard operating procedure for a young buck such as yourself to cheat, get away clean, then rat yourself out. I mean, don’t get me wrong . . . Jesus, I’m glad this is my last year.”
“You think I should have kept quiet?”
“Advice of this particular nature is way above my pay grade,” Logs says. “I’m just saying that in my experience working with kids . . . hell, in my experience being a kid . . . well, like I started to say, a jury of your peers might deem you short on survival skills.”
“That’s who I want passing judgment on me,” Paulie says back. “My peers.”
“I’m just saying. . . .”
“I know. Tell me something, Mr. Logs—if I had come to you before I told her, what woulda been your advice?”
Logs leans back in his chair, hands knitted behind his head. “I would have done any and everything in my power not to give it.”
“How come?”
Logs shrugs. “To avoid hypocrisy, I guess.”
Paulie frowns.
“You know, buddy, there’s this unspoken teacher’s code thing where I’m supposed to give you ‘moral’ advice.” He glances at his watch. “But it’s too close to P-8 and too close to my retirement for that. Look, I don’t know the circumstances under which you committed this heinous act, and I’ll thank you to keep it that way, but I’m rushing headlong into the age of mandatory Medicare. I went on my first date at age nine, took Amy Velar to the Shrine Circus. I knew more about male-female interaction then.”
“You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to be my guru,” Paulie says.
“If I were your guru, I’d have to share responsibility for the crazy shit you do. I have enough crazy shit of my own, thank you.”
Paulie runs his hands through his hair, his gaze drifting to the ceiling.
“Kidding aside,” Logs says. “There’s not a good reason to lie to people we care about. And we should honor our commitments. In a perfect world, right? I’m assuming you and Hannah were exclusive.”
Paulie nods.
“So if you had come to me beforehand I probably should have told you to tell her, but I probably would have asked if you thought it might happen again or if you believed you could reign in those impulses from now on.” He grimaces. “It’s likely I would have told you to give yourself another chance. Most guys would.”
Paulie looks at his lap. “Yeah, well, ‘most guys’ are exactly who I don’t want to be.”
“‘Most guys’ too ethically flexible for you?”
“I don’t care what anyone else does, it’s none of my business. I mean, it’s all bullshit. I don’t let my peers judge me, and I ain’t ending up like my old man.”
The bell rings; they walk to the door and watch the halls fill. “Got about five minutes before Period 8,” Logs says. “You wanna grab something out of the lunchroom?”
“I’d like to grab Hannah out of the lunchroom.” Paulie pats his stomach, shakes his head. “Not hungry.”
“If we’re getting into open water you’ll need to eat whether you’re hungry or not.”
“Gimme a day,” Paulie says.
Logs grabs a brown paper bag from his top desk drawer and removes a small plastic container of green salad with ranch and four very small hard-salami-and-cheese-on-rye sandwiches. He extends one of the sandwiches toward Paulie. “Take it,” he says. “For me.”
Paulie laughs, grabs the sandwich, and halves it in one bite. “I mean