Period 8 by Chris Crutcher
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 it. I don’t want to be my dad,” he says. “At least not in that way. An affair about every year and a half, caught every time. Three weeks in an apartment or a motel, then back. Mom all hurt and shit but scared to lose him.”
“I guess your folks are better parents than mates,” Logs says. “Not good, but not all bad, either.”
The first of the Period 8 kids saunter in, and Paulie clams up. He’s been with some of these kids in P-8 for four years, and they’ve been through some intense discussions. Paulie is famous for making raw disclosures, but he does not feel like airing his shit with Hannah in this room. Not yet.
.2
“Hey, Tak,” Arney Stack says as he rushes into Period 8, removing his jacket. “Heard you got taken out in the semis.”
“Mr. Stack,” Logs says. “Missed you in class this morning.”
“Student council meeting,” Arney says. “Didn’t you get the memo from the office?”
Logs nods. He doesn’t read office memos. Arney knows that.
Josh Takeuchi opens his lunch sack, which contains the first real lunch he’s had since he started dropping weight at the beginning of wrestling season. “Yeah,” he says, opening a ziplock bag containing three baloney sandwiches and two Snickers bars. “I got taken out in the semis.”
“What happened? You went all the way to the finals last year,” Arney asks.
“Yeah,” Josh says, stuffing his mouth with the first sandwich. “I was sweating it this year, you know, having major doubts, and Firth told me to put it in the hands of the Lord.”
Light laughter. “How’d that work for you?” Arney says.
“Not sure,” Josh says back. “When I won the quarters I dropped to one knee and pointed to the heavens.”
Marley Waits laughs out loud. “How’d that work for you?”
Ron Firth drops his forehead to the arm of his overstuffed chair.
“Again,” Josh says, “not sure. I thought I was giving it up to the Lord but Terrence Davis was standing on the balcony right above me.”
“Who’s Terrence Davis?” Marley asks.
“The guy who kicked my ass in the semis,” Josh says.
Firth looks up. “Do I have to do everything for you, Tak? You got to look where you’re pointing, man.”
“My Asiatic brother Tebowed up to his next opponent?” Justin Chenier says. “Damn!”
“You think this Davis guy intercepted it?” Bobby Wright asks.
Paulie closes his eyes and smiles. Literal Bobby.
“Actually, I think this Davis guy didn’t care if I Tebowed him or not,” Josh says. “All he cared about was how quick he could put my shoulder blades on the mat.”
Ron Firth laughs. “You sure you dropped to the right knee? If you do it wrong, it’s occult.”
Josh just smiles and stuffs his face with the second sandwich. He points to his mouth. “Got a lot of catchin’ up to do,” he says, but all anyone hears are words passing through bread.
Logs wads his lunch sack and puts a three-pointer into the wastebasket. “So, what’s up?” he says as the last of the Period 8 kids settle in, digging through backpacks and getting comfortable in desks and beanbags and old chairs Logs has hijacked over the past forty years on their way from the teachers’ lounge to the Dumpster. What’s up? is the way Logs starts every Period 8.
Any subject is fair game. No qualifications to enroll, no grade or credit, no attendance taken, but in a given year membership is consistent. There were years when Period 8 was the only reason Logs taught, when the educational philosophy du jour provided him almost no satisfaction; years when his personal life was in such a shambles he could barely bring himself to the classroom each day. But Period 8 always brought him to life and grounded him. “I’m an old guy and you guys are young,” he says at the start of every year. “But we have one common reference point: we’re all as old as we’ve ever been. We all have history, and a future. History is known, the future not so much. My history is longer and hopefully my future shorter than yours. But we have the same challenge: to view what has happened to us in a way that influences what will happen.”
Period 8 protocol: nobody gets hurt. Well, hurt maybe a little, but not injured.
“What’s up is this,” Hannah Murphy says.
Paulie can tell from her tone this is going exactly to the place he wants to avoid. Sweet Hannah. No prisoners.
“Hannah Murphy,” Logs says. “Take it away.”
“Are all men pigs?” she says.
Star lets herself into her empty house. Her dad is at work and her mother is collecting for the Junior League auction. She looks at her watch, thinks about school, shelves the thought. She’ll catch up. She’s always been able to catch up. She reaches to the bottom of her purse for a small pill, pops it, and starts running a tub in her bathroom.
“Are all men pigs,” Logs says, scratching his chin. “Preamble to the male Bill of Rights, I believe. But methinks this question is loaded.”
“Will a guy screw anything that makes itself available?”
“There may be exceptions in single-cell organisms,” Logs says, “but if you stick with reptiles and mammals, you’ve got a pretty solid case.”
Hannah glares toward Paulie, scowls, and looks away, back to Logs. “How are guys and girls supposed to trust each other, or more particularly, how are girls supposed to trust guys? I mean yeah, girls cheat, but it’s got to be way more with guys.”
Paulie slumps in his frayed easy chair. “Don’t keep it general for me,” he says to Hannah. “The half of this group that hasn’t seen your Facebook page is now up to speed. This is P-8. Keep it real.” He says it without sarcasm or spite.
Hannah shrugs. “Your call, superstar.”
Discomfort bounces around the room. Nobody wants to mess with Hannah Murphy, but among the girls the news that Paulie Bomb is free isn’t all bad.
“So. I cheated,” Paulie says.
Justin’s eyes narrow. “Ooooo.” He looks at Hannah. “How’d you find out?”
“What difference does it make, Justin,” Hannah says. “He cheated.”
“The chick threaten you?” Justin says to Paulie. “Who was it? Maybe I got somethin’ on her.”
Paulie sighs. “Nobody threatened me. I cheated and I said so.”
“To who?” Justin says. “You told somebody and they ratted you out?”
“I told Hannah,” Paulie says. “Jeez.”
Girls look at one another and then at Hannah. Guys look at one another and not at Paulie.
“Lemme get this right,” Justin says. “You slipped up, didn’t get caught, so you brought in friendly fire?”
Logs looks at the floor, slightly embarrassed. Justin sounds dangerously like him.
Paulie says, “Yup.”
“Good thing you’re not runnin’ for ASB prez again,” Justin says. “Don’t think I could rally anyone behind you in th
At the end of his junior year, when Paulie made his failed run for the office of associated student body president, Justin, the self-proclaimed voice of people of color at Heller High, rallied his troops in support, but Arney Stack carried the majority of voters nearly two to one. Paulie was cool, but Stack had an actual political agenda and a campaign staff.
Paulie smiles sadly over at Hannah. “Naw, man, it was completely thought out. You think I’d put myself in harm’s way without thinking about it?”
Hannah is incredulous. “Can you believe this? Paulie Bomb cheats on his girlfriend, has the huevos to step up, and I’ll bet ninety percent of the guys in this room think he’s a pussy. Any of you chicks want to go lesbian with me? I mean, I’m liking the guy who cheated on me better than the ones who didn’t, and I don’t like him at all.”
“I don’t think he’s a pussy,” Bobby Wright says. It’s vintage Bobby, barely audible.
“Nobody said he was a pussy,” Justin says to Hannah. “I said he was stupid.”
“Hard to see how you’re helping me here, Jus,” Paulie says.
“You sure aren’t helpin’ yourself,” Justin says back.
Hannah scans the room. “Okay, guys, show of hands. How many of you heroes have ever cheated on your girlfriend?”
No hands are raised.
“Duh!” she says. “Don’t know why I thought I’d get truth out of a bunch of guys who think another guy’s an idiot for fessing up. The praying mantis has it right, eat the guy’s head off during conception and raise the kids on your own.”
“Wait,” Justin says. “I’ll give you that some dudes aren’t, like, Superman when it’s about comin’ clean, but it’s not like we lie all the time. Fact, I’ll bet ninety percent of our lies are just about sex.”
“That makes it okay,” Marley says.
“I’m just sayin, it’s not like we lie just to lie. And chicks lie about sex, too.”
“You’re a math guy, Justin,” Hannah says. “How do you think the two compare? Like right here at Heller, if you knew the total number of lies told about sex on any given day, think it would be fifty-fifty, boys and girls?”
Justin smiles. “Maybe not fifty-fifty . . .”
“Yeah,” Hannah says. “Maybe not.”
Paulie’s jaw tightens. He wants out of this conversation. What happened was barely even about sex, but he started down that road back when he told Hannah, and he knows where it ends. “Take me home, in fucking silence . . .”
“It’s not a fair fight, Murph,” Justin says. “You took brother Logs’s bio class.”
“I don’t know where you’re going with this, Justin,” Logs says.
“Stay with me. This shit is scientific.”
“We’re with you,” Hannah says.
“This might sound a little crude . . .”
Hannah rolls her eyes.
“. . . but guys’re hard-wired, man. Look at dogs. You don’t see some female dog breaking her chain and scaling a six-foot fence to get to a dude dog. But a Great Dane will ride across the river on the back of a dog-eatin’ alligator to rub up against a Chihuahua in heat knowin’ you can’t put tab A into slot B. We do that shit ’cause there’s no choice. You never catch me saying ‘The devil made me do it.’ Darwin made me do it.”
Logs shakes his head, grateful that Period 8 kids seldom take these conversations home.
“Dude,” Arney says. “Do you find it hard to keep a girlfriend?”
“Man, I’ve always got a girlfriend.”
Paulie leans forward and touches his fingers to his toes, resting his head on his knees. “He means the same girlfriend, Jus.”
“Yeah, well, see, that’s the point,” Justin says. “We’re not doing this right. We’re not doing it how we were made. You could make a case we’re actually goin’ against God’s law.”
Ron Firth, the driving force behind Youth for Christ at Heller High, guffaws. “That would be a different law than I know. There’s a way men and women are supposed to act.”
“My point exactly,” Justin says. “We’re not men and women. We’re boys and girls. Brain science guys say we’re not cooked yet, remember, Brother Logs?”
“I do remember, Mr. Chenier, and I’m impressed that you understand all the wires may not be hooked up yet.”
“No problem believin’ that,” Justin says. “Man, if I had to operate in this confusion the rest of my life, I’d take drugs.”
Marley Waits’s hard gaze connects with Hannah’s and they execute their flawless synchronized eye roll. Marley says, “Every one of my mother’s boyfriends—and they come in twos and threes—has a version of this very same song, though I have to say none of them so far is as funny as Justin Chenier.” Marley has been a four-point plus student in every AP class Heller High School has offered and is, as she puts it, headed for the big time; her choice of most of the best universities in the country. “To put it in Hannah Murphy terms, what a bunch of happy horseshit.”
“Maybe,” Logs says, “but Justin’s biology argument isn’t a bad place to start.” Logs waves a hand through the air, left to right. “How many of you have had some difficulty in relationships that you think has solely to do with the difference between male and female points of view?”
Students who have never even had a relationship raise their hands.
Paulie stands, stretches, moves toward the door. “I’m a little raw right now,” he says. “I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow.”
Hannah shakes her head in disgust. Arney smiles and watches Paulie go. His old buddy has never learned to play the game.
“Okay, folks,” Logs says, “let’s keep this civil.” He nods toward Hannah, who shakes her head in mild disgust. “So where do we start? Justin, you were about to make a case why girls should give guys some leeway with their reptilian behavior.”
“Not exactly how I was gonna put it,” Justin says, “but yeah, there’s driving force to consider.”
“What you call ‘driving force,’ we call horny,” Marley says.
“Sweet,” says Heather Cole, a tough little freshman cross-country runner. Hannah reaches across the aisle to high-five her.
“Call it nature,” Justin says.
“So you think nature should trump your word?” Heather says.
“You shouldn’t be trying to get our word. We’re too young to be giving our word, at least for the long haul.”
Josh Takeuchi finishes his last sandwich and stretches out on his beanbag. “Everything stays in the room, right?” Logs nods.
“’Cause I got a cool thing going with Sandra and I don’t wanna get quoted out of context. . . .”
“Everything stays in the room,” Logs says.
Tak turns to Hannah. “Soon as schools out, take your journalism recorder out on the street and ask every adult you pass if they’re with the girl or boy they were with in high school.”
Hannah says, “This is . . .”
“Naw, serious,” Tak says. “We aren’t made so we know exactly what to do. We gotta fuck up to find out.”
“Brain science?” Marley says. There is a definite sarcastic tinge.
Tak shrugs. “I guess. I don’t know what it’s like for chicks, but when the circumstances are just right—or wrong—like when nobody’s gonna find out . . . what can I say?”
“Maybe nothing more,” Logs says. “Let’s wrap this. Tell you what though, folks. These are questions you’ll have to consider at some point, and the sooner the better. A good marriage counselor runs about a hundred-fifty an hour.”
“You talkin’ from experience?” Justin says.
“First time I went it was only fifty,” Logs says.
“How’d it work?”
“I live with a cat.”
.3
“I’m telling you, man, this might be too soon for you. It took me an hour to get feeling back into my hands.” Paulie unloads his wetsuit from the back of the Beetle while
“Couldn’t have you diving in and taking the easy way out,” Logs says, “not after today’s P-8.”
“The easy way out?” Paulie gets it. “Oh, the easy way. Nah, I’d rather kill myself than commit suicide. This is a temporary situation that won’t last more than fifteen, maybe twenty years.”
“You’re the Lou Gehrig of the water, my man,” Logs says. “Seriously, though, you doing okay? Losing someone is no damn fun. And we’re talking Hannah Murphy.”
Paulie shakes talcum powder onto the inside of the wetsuit and over his body and chucks the container to Logs, who does the same. “I know, man,” he says. “I just gotta trust that the universe didn’t give me the best girl first. Hannah’s cool, but . . .”
“But what?”
“But if it had been the other way around, if she’d cheated on me and then asked me, like, three or four times for a chance to explain, I’d have let her goddamn explain.”
“You’re pissed.” Logs starts pulling on his suit. “Man, this is going to be cold.”
“Yes, and yes,” Paulie says. “And in just a second when we hit the water, none of this will matter.” He adjusts his goggles.
They do hit the water and the air rushes out of Logs’s lungs like he’s a fireplace bellow. “You’re right,” he gasps, catching his wind. “I don’t give a damn about your miserable life.”
“Worst part’s over,” Paulie says after the water in their suits has approached body temperature. “Let’s do it.”
They swim out about the same distance Paulie swam earlier and turn parallel to the shore, treading as they set timers on their watches. “I’ll take the first fifteen,” Paulie says, “then you. We’ll switch off and get the feel of it.”
Both Paulie and Logs have put in monster indoor workouts during the winter and hit the weight room on off days. They have very different stroke patterns; Paulie’s long and even, while Logs takes seven strokes to Paulie’s five to make up for arm length and hand span. But they’ve been swimming together long enough that they fall into each other’s pace automatically.