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  “I’ll make it up to you, Paulie. I will.”

  “How are you going to do that? How are you going to do that, Mary? Jesus, what were you doing? I couldn’t get away from you.”

  “I know,” she says. “I was . . .” Tears stream down her cheeks. “I just don’t want you to hate me. I couldn’t stand that.”

  If anything will douse a fire raging inside Paulie Bomb, it’s that. “Look,” he says, pushing his wet hair off his forehead. “I don’t get it, but I can’t blame you. I’m the guy in charge of my zipper.”

  “If I went to Hannah . . .”

  “Jesus.”

  “I could tell her . . .”

  “She’d kick your ass. And nothing would change between her and me, unless it got worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Worse. You’re the Virgin Mary for chrissake. She’d think I . . .”

  “She’s not stupid.”

  Paulie takes a long breath. “Mary, there can’t be another guy who’s ever seen you like that. I’ll bet half the guys at the Armory thought it was you but knew it couldn’t be. Hell, I could walk into any boys’ locker room at Heller and tell them what happened and they’d laugh me out. C’mon, you know . . .”

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like—”

  Paulie slaps his open hand hard against the roof of the car, and Mary flinches. He breathes deep, pushing back equal parts of rage and pity, and curiosity. “Sorry. Tell me what it’s like.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me.”

  “God, you hate me.”

  He closes his eyes. “Look, Mary, you said you wanted to talk to me. I’m listening. I don’t hate you. I’m pissed but I’m as pissed at myself as I am at you. More pissed. If telling me what it’s like to be you helps me get it, then tell me what it’s fucking like.”

  She touches her forehead to the steering wheel. “It’s like I can’t just be me, ever, like there’s this thing I’m supposed to be and I have to be it. No matter how bad I feel or how much I hate how everyone sees me, there’s nothing I can do to change it. It’s like a black hole, it sucks you in and there’s not even a trace of you.” She closes her eyes. “When your life is like that, you do things . . . things you don’t understand. This is stupid,” she says. “You don’t want to know this.” She stares out the windshield, quiet. Then, almost as if to someone else, “There are spies everywhere.”

  “What?”

  Mary doesn’t seem to hear.

  “Spies?” Paulie says. “What are you talking about?”

  Mary’s head jerks. She hesitates, as if Paulie snapped her out of a daydream. “My dad,” she says finally. “He knows things about me there’s no way he could guess.”

  “Like . . .”

  “One of his friends saw me at Taco Time, what was I doing there? Or somebody saw me driving up by the lake, wasn’t I supposed to be home? There are forty thousand people in this town; there can’t be that many coincidences. Half the time he knows what route I take from school for my Running Start classes and I take a different one every time, just to mess him up.”

  “So how did you get away being at the Armory that night? Or with disappearing? What about your mom?”

  Mary looks out the side window. “My mother barely exists,” she says. “She just does what my dad says.”

  Paulie knows a thing or two about irrational parent behavior. He watches Mary and shakes his head.

  “All I ever hear from my mother is that my dad loves me and I should ‘do his bidding.’ I got to the Armory by telling him I had extra cheerleading practice. When I disappeared he was so freaked out he didn’t know what to do.”

  “So getting with me was one of those things you barely understand?” His voice is tinged with skepticism.

  “That’s part of it.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re safe. You don’t hurt people.”

  Paulie sits back. Great. I don’t hurt people, so I get screwed.

  “I messed up. There’s more to tell, but . . .”

  “Jesus, don’t stop now.”

  Mary leans back, grips the wheel until her knuckles are white. “Some awful things, Paulie. Awful things.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It wouldn’t do you any good to know.”

  In a low, measured voice, he says, “Mary, it might do you some good for me to know, or at least for somebody to know.” Paulie is being the Paulie who drives himself nuts. Why can’t I just say, “Tell it to your shrink”? I’m not supposed to be the fucking shrink. Why can’t I still be that guy Justin thinks can have any girl he wants?

  She shakes her head. “Trust me.”

  If you want to talk, say it all or go fuck yourself. He’s that close to saying it.

  She sees it in his eyes. “That can’t sound right coming from me,” she says.

  “Won’t argue with that. You gotta admit, Mary. This is bizarre. Getting all up in my stuff, then running into Hannah in the middle of the road at midnight and then the whole school’s looking for you dead in the woods. Hannah told Justin you were wigged way out when she found you. What was that about? And where did you go?”

  “I told you, Paulie, I can’t talk about it. It’s taken care of now, though, so you don’t have to worry.”

  “Were you high?”

  “Paulie, come on.”

  “Hannah also told Justin you didn’t even know where you were.”

  “Look, I was scared, okay? Can we leave it at that?”

  “Not if I ran the zoo,” Paulie says. “But I fucking don’t run the zoo.”

  There’s no open gym tonight, so Paulie drives aimlessly through neighborhoods killing time before putting in a couple of late hours cleaning up at The Rocket. He runs his earlier conversation with Mary over and over in his head and it still leaves him uneasy. Awful things, Paulie. What the fuck; he should get a million miles away from this.

  The calories he’s burned in the water today are catching up with him and a giant bag of buttered popcorn fills his imagination, so he pulls into the parking lot shared by the mall and the 16-screen cineplex.

  “Hey, Marley,” he says to Marley Waits through the glass at the ticket booth.

  “Hey, Paulie. Going to the movies alone, huh?”

  Paulie smiles. “It’s not that bad, yet,” he says.

  Marley looks at him with a hint of pity.

  “What I need more than sympathy right now is popcorn,” he says, grimacing. “Any chance you can get me in as far as the concession stand?” He raises his eyebrows.

  Marley looks behind her to see that no bosses are near, then back at him, shaking her head. “Don’t look at me like that,” she says, “you’re in enough trouble. And don’t sneak in on me, okay?”

  Paulie raises his right hand. “Good as my word,” he says, and Marley flinches. “I had that coming. I promise I will go only as far as the popcorn stand.”

  “Listen,” she says. “I’m really sorry about you and Hannah. I mean, I’m on her side and everything, but . . . well, I’m sorry.”

  Paulie turns to look behind him, aware he might be holding up the line. There is none. “Hell, I’m on her side,” he says, turning back. “It was dumb.”

  Marley shakes her head. “Who in the world did you . . .”

  “Privileged,” Paulie says.

  “Have you seen Hannah’s Facebook page?” Marley grimaces. “Man, I wouldn’t want to be whoever the chick was if she finds out. I mean, have you seen the arms on her?”

  Paulie smiles again. “I have seen the arms on her,” he says. I’ve also seen what they’re attached to. “Any chance I could get that popcorn?”

  “Sure.” Something behind him catches her eye and her face pales. “Don’t look now. . . .”

  But he does, in time to see Hannah getting out of the passenger side of Arney Stack’s Audi. Arney walks around the car toward her, places a hand in the middle of her back as they walk toward the theater.

  “Gu
ess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” Paulie says. “Thanks anyway.”

  “Aw, Paulie.” But he’s gone. He jogs to his Beetle and in seconds is pulling onto the main street.

  .9

  When Mary Wells walks into Period 8 the following day, the room goes quiet.

  “Ms. Wells,” Logs says. “Welcome back.”

  “Thanks,” she says in a near whisper, and moves sheepishly to a desk. She sits, hands folded on the flat surface in front of her.

  “Don’t mean to be pushy,” Justin says, “but how about bringin’ us up to speed.”

  Logs says, “Justin . . .”

  “No,” Mary says. “He’s right.” She’s quiet again, glancing quickly at Hannah, then Paulie. Almost imperceptibly Paulie shakes his head, don’t do it.

  She looks at Arney, who smiles and nods.

  “It was just some stuff at home,” she says. “My dad . . . I got all worried about my scholarship and was thinking about taking a year at the university here. It got ugly and I took off. I don’t know what my dad was doing reporting me missing like that.” She puts her head down. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  Only the two or three students sitting adjacent to Hannah hear her singsongy whisper, “Buuullll-shit.”

  “That’s it?” Justin says. Mary nods. “That’s it. I was being stupid.”

  Logs watches. He starts to ask about her torn-up room, but lets it go. “It would be insincere not to acknowledge that we were talking about you,” he says. “Or at least that we were talking about our responses to your disappearance.”

  Mary smiles. “It would be insincere to say I didn’t know that.”

  “Any problem for you if we continue with our discussion?”

  “No.”

  “Then, where were we?” Logs says.

  Bobby Wright raises his hand. “Taylor was talking about bad guys.”

  Justin’s head snaps up. “Bobby, my man,” he says. “That’s what I mean. Front and center.”

  “There’s not much more to say,” Taylor says, shifting in her seat. “I went home sick yesterday after this class. I hate even talking about that crap.”

  “You want to stop?” Logs asks.

  Taylor looks at her desk. “I’m okay.”

  “What about your mom?” Hannah asks softly. “Guys like that have to have a way in.”

  “That’s my mom,” Taylor says. “A way in.”

  “No offense,” Hannah says, “but file that under ‘Why Some Women Need Two Assholes.’”

  Paulie says, “Sweet, Hannah.”

  Hannah stares ahead as if she didn’t hear.

  “Who cares?” Taylor says. “The day I’m eighteen I’m out of there, even if I have to live in a cardboard box.”

  “If it comes to that, give me a call,” Hannah says.

  Justin says, “You got a cardboard box?”

  Hannah doubles her fist and Justin raises his hands in surrender.

  “Why is everything a joke to you, Justin?”

  “Because everything is a joke,” Justin says. “Sometimes it’s a serious joke, but it’s a joke just the same.”

  “That’s just stupid.”

  “Some jokes are,” Justin says, and turns sideways in his chair to face Hannah. “We’re sittin’ in this nice safe room trying to figure out why Taylor’s momma picks shitheads for boyfriends, or why Mary disappears and won’t tell us why really, or whether guys are assholes for having brains in our di . . . not in our heads. Everybody acts like they don’t know what bull it is when Arney goes Oprah on us at the same time he’s messin’ with Bobby, so we go ahead and pretend like we believe he’s gonna lead us to having each other’s backs.” He looks at Arney and rolls his eyes.

  “Look, I apologized,” Arney says. “And I don’t need you to believe me in order to do what’s right.”

  “Good,” Justin says back, “because I don’t. We been buds a long time, Arney, but that doesn’t mean I buy your stuff.” He turns back to Hannah. “So that’s why everything’s a joke to me, Hannah Murphy.”

  A muffled sob comes from the back of the room and all eyes fall on Kylie Clinton, face against a desktop, body shaking. A hush falls over P-8 and Logs raises a hand. “This might be a good day to cut it short,” he says. “Why don’t we call it quits and you can all take a little break and be on time to your next class for the first time this year.”

  Mary gets up slowly, eyes locked on Kylie.

  Arney touches Mary’s elbow, nods toward the exit, pushes her gently in that direction.

  The rest of the students gather their things and file silently out.

  Paulie gives Logs a quick see you at the lake, throws his backpack over one shoulder, and heads to AP English.

  Logs says softly to Bobby, who lingers at the door, “Would you hang out here in the hall for a while and tell my next class to wait if any of them shows early? I’ll write you an excuse.”

  With the door closed and guarded, Logs sits in the chair next to Kylie. No acknowledgment, and the sobs continue. “Do you want to talk about it?” he says.

  Head buried in her arms, she shakes it no.

  “Would you like to see a counselor?”

  The head shake is more emphatic.

  Kylie’s an unknown to Logs, pretty, quiet, new to Heller this year.

  “Make you a deal. I’ll take my next class across the hall; Ms. Kaywood’s got prep. You stay here as long as you want and I’ll cover for you with whatever your next class is, okay?”

  “Fancher,” Kylie says into the desk.

  “No sweat. He owes me. But you have to talk to me before you go home today, okay? Or at least to one of the counselors.”

  “You,” Kylie says.

  “Promise?”

  She nods.

  Logs gathers material for his next class and moves quietly out of the room, thanking Bobby for standing guard on his way across the hall.

  Logs stands in Ms. Kaywood’s classroom, watching Kylie Clinton through the window. She’s sitting in his classroom staring straight ahead. A light rap on the door. He walks over and opens it.

  “What’s up, Arney?”

  “You mind if I have a quick word with Kylie? I know her, I might be able to help.”

  Logs breathes deep. He knows from experience that a lot gets solved when the kids get involved, but he wasn’t in total disagreement with what Justin said to Arney earlier. “Okay,” he says. “But if she doesn’t feel like talking, apologize, turn around, and leave.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Arney says.

  Logs watches as Arney enters the room, approaches Kylie slowly. Kylie looks up, then away. Arney walks closer and puts a hand in the middle of Kylie’s back, kneels, and talks. Kylie nods, nods again. Arney pats her on the shoulder and stands to leave and Kylie puts her head back down on the desk. Arney gives Logs a thumbs-up through the window and walks out.

  When he returns to his classroom for the next period, Kylie is gone, but there’s a note on the desk. Thanks, Mr. Logs. I’m okay. I’ll catch up with you today or see you in the morning. Thanks, really.

  Paulie walks into Frank’s Diner and sits at the counter. In his opinion, Frank’s serves the best hamburger in town and they make shakes the old-fashioned way; hard ice cream and they give you the container once they pour the glass full. No whipped cream on top and no sprinkles. Just good old vanilla ice cream and Hershey’s chocolate syrup. Topped off with a side of onion rings, there are few greater delights from his limited culinary point of view.

  It’s not a popular hangout for kids, which is why he’s here, desiring to sit with his thoughts, gorge, and try to forget Hannah.

  Naomi Washburn is working the counter this evening. Naomi’s a friend of his mother’s. She started working at Frank’s three weeks after she dropped out of high school in the middle of her junior year and three husbands and five kids later makes a killer living on tips alone.

  “Paulie Bomb,” she says, ready to take his order. She squints, looking closer. “Hone
y, I’ve seen you looking worse but I can’t for the life of me remember when.”

  “Hey, Naomi.”

  “What’s going on, baby? You look shot at and missed, and shit at and hit.”

  “Tired,” he says. “Been working out pretty hard.”

  “Your momma tells me that happens when the world’s collapsing.”

  “Yeah, well, my momma’s not exactly Dr. Phil. But I’ll tell you, Naomi, I’m startin’ to think I’m crazy.”

  “All you kids are crazy,” she says. Her hand sweeps back toward the one booth filled with other high school students. Paulie nods at Ron Firth. “And you tip like shit. But relatively speaking, you’re probably not crazy. Why do you say that?”

  “You can’t tell my mom this, okay?”

  “And prove she’s a better psychologist than you give her credit for?”

  “I broke up with Hannah.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Wasn’t my idea,” Paulie says, “but the thing is, I’m, like, kicking myself for bringing it on—when I’m not so mad at her for not listening to me I could scream or punch something.”

  “Go back to ‘bringing it on.’ ”

  “Too long a story,” Paulie says. “I don’t know, I just wanted to explain myself.”

  “Would it make a difference?”

  Paulie smiles. “Probably not. Good point. Anyway, Arney’s been taking her out. . . .”

  “What? That inconsiderate shit,” Naomi says. “Why don’t you kick his ass?”

  “I told him okay.”

  Naomi’s look turns stern. “Ask me again if I think you’re crazy.”

  “It’s gonna happen with someone; she’s Hannah Murphy for chrissake. Might as well be with someone I know.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” Naomi says. “Somebody you don’t know, you can run into somewhere and pick a fight. It’s harder to do with a so-called friend, which by the way if he goes out with Hannah, he isn’t. Nobody wants to think about their ex with a friend. If I had time I’d tell you a little about that.”

  She’s right. Paulie’s been shocked awake nightly by the vision of Hannah and Arney in the movie parking lot.