Period 8 - By Chris Crutcher Page 0,39
too easy.
Wells’s eyes narrow. “Didn’t I meet you at the park when school kids were out looking for my daughter?”
“Maybe. I mean, you could have. We were all out there.”
Wells studies Paulie’s face, which Paulie holds devoid of expression. “I suppose she can give you a few minutes, but make it short.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait here.”
Paulie stands on the porch, taking in the surroundings. The porch wraps completely around the house like on a southern antebellum mansion, the lawn perfectly manicured.
“She says she can’t talk with you right now,” Wells says upon his quick return.
“Could you tell her it’s really important?” Paulie’s heart pounds against his breastbone. Wells was gone but a few seconds; Paulie doesn’t trust that he actually asked her.
“Son, I’m formally asking you to leave my property. I’m sure you don’t want me to call security.”
“You have security? Why in the world would you need security?”
“That’s none of your damn business. Now get off my porch.”
Paulie takes a deep breath. “Mr. Wells, I’m not a bad guy. I’m not here to cause trouble or do harm to your daughter. I’m asking you—I’m begging you—to tell her it’s really important, that it won’t take more than five minutes and we can have the conversation right here on the porch. It could affect my graduation.”
“Boy, you’ve got some nerve.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“C’mon. Five minutes.”
Wells disappears again and Paulie starts to sweat. It’s as if he’s starting a four-mile swim in shark-infested waters.
“Hey,” Mary says, coming down the stairs. “What are you doing here?” Her demeanor tells him he was right: Wells didn’t tell her he was here the first time.
“I need to talk with you about our project,” Paulie says, guarding against the possibility that her father is behind the door.
“Want me to get my notes?”
She’s a quick study. “Yeah, sure.” He’s been here only ten minutes, and already has a sense of extreme vigilance.
Mary hurries to her room, grabs a notebook, hurries back. She steps onto the porch, closing the front door behind her.
“Jesus Christ,” Paulie says.
“Sit next to me,” Mary whispers. “If he asks, it’s civics. He knows which classes I take at school and which I take for Running Start, but he wouldn’t know you and I aren’t in the same civics class.” The notebook is open to early semester notes, focused on actions by the Supreme Court. “We’re working on the court’s decision to treat corporations as individuals,” she says, “a decision he likes a lot. I’m writing advantages and you’re doing disadvantages.”
“This is like a test.”
“And you need to get an A on it. My dad has radar for lies, and you can bet he’s a lot better at flushing them out than you are at telling them.” She smiles. “Especially you, Paulie.”
“Man, how do you live like this?”
“I just try to stay on his good side,” she says. “When we’re done talking, go straight to your car. Don’t say good-bye or engage him in any way or he’ll get you talking and if you make a mistake, the hammer comes down on me.”
Paulie closes his eyes and sighs.
“Stare at the notebook and take that look off your face,” she says. She turns the page. “We don’t have much time, so tell me why you came.”
“I need to know something.”
“What?”
“And if the answer’s yes, it’s okay with me. I ain’t judgin’ nobody for nothin’, thanks partly to you, so there’s no cost to this.”
“What?”
“Did you tell Hannah that you and I—”
“No!”
“Did you tell Arney?”
She tells a lie that isn’t exactly a lie. “No.”
“I’m serious, Mary. It would be okay—”
“No.”
“Okay, one more. I know you think you answered this before, but did you guys have something going?”
Mary stares at the porch floor. Almost inaudibly she says, “No.”
“I’ve heard several people say he’s the one guy in the world—or at least the one teenage guy—who isn’t scared of your dad.”
“Arney and I did some community service stuff together for our college resumes. He’s picked me up here a few times. As long as it’s daylight . . .”
The front door opens. Victor Wells fills the entranceway. “Are you two about finished?”
“Yes, Daddy. Just a couple more minutes.” She laughs lightly. “Paulie is about three months behind on a project we have to turn in in time to be graded for the semester.”
“Two minutes,” her father says and moves back inside. Mary stands and pulls the door closed.
“You have anything for him?”
“Arney?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh. I hate his guts.”
“Care to elaborate?”
Mary looks at the ground. “No.”
Fuck. “Okay.