Tim Riggins sauntered up to the office, wondering what he could be in trouble for now. When he pulled open the door to the main office, he was surprised to see his brother standing just inside.
"Hey, man, whatcha doin' here?" the boy asked quietly.
"I've checked you out. You're comin' with me," Billy responded, gruffly.
Confused, Tim followed him out and waited until they were in the parking lot to ask again.
"What's goin' on? Why are you here?"
"Hurry up. We've got somewhere to be," Billy barked. "We'll get your truck later."
The teenager picked up his pace slightly.
Once the boys were in the truck, Tim said, "What's goin' on, Billy? You mad?"
His older brother took a deep breath and said, "Yeah, I'm mad. I just spent the mornin' learnin' what you've been up to and I'm disgusted with you."
"What are you talkin' about?"
"The Alamo Freeze? Bustin' out that window? Sound familiar?"
Tim's shoulders drooped.
"Oh," he murmured.
"What about throwin' a beer bottle at your teammate's head? Or walkin' out of practice? Bein' drunk at practice? Gettin' Rally Girls to do your homework? Havin' an attitude with teachers? Sleepin' in class? Bein' late to school? Any of this sound familiar?"
Tim nodded, unable to look at Billy.
"Yeah, well, we're goin' to the Alamo Freeze now to see what Mr. Noble wants you to do."
"I'll pay for the window."
"Obviously," snapped his older brother.
"And apologize."
"You'd better."
"What else can I do, Billy? How can I make it right?" Tim asked.
"Better start thinkin' about how," Billy growled.
The boys drove along in silence. When they pulled into Alamo Freeze, men were working on removing the shattered window.
Tim felt shame in the pit of his stomach. Stupid. So stupid, he berated himself.
"Stay by the truck," Billy commanded, as he went inside.
Tim leaned on the pick-up, arms crossed. Although he appeared calm, his stomach churned and his heart raced.
After about 5 minutes, Billy pushed open the door and held it for Mr. Noble, who walked with a limp. The old man, probably in his 70s, wore a Vietnam Vet cap and a sour expression on his craggy, lined face.
Billy and Mr. Noble stopped next to the truck and starred at Tim, who had straightened up, hands by his side, looking contrite.
Before Tim could find his voice, Mr. Noble snapped, "Well, boy, you ain't got nuthin' to say? I've knowed you since you were knee high to a grasshopper an' you gonna do me like this? If I was your daddy, I'd tear you up! I'd tan your hide so good you wouldn't sit for a week!"
"Yessir," Tim said, nodding. After a moment, "You can, if you want, Mr. Noble. ...Give me a lickin', I mean. ...I know I deserve it."
Tim stood silently, but neither Mr. Noble or Billy said anything.
So the boy continued, "I'm really sorry, too. I was drunk... and mad... and stupid. I wasn't thinkin'. I'll pay for the window or work it off. Whatever you want."
Tim went quiet again and stood waiting for a response from either man.
When Mr. Noble still didn't respond, Billy took a deep breath and said, "Yeah, alright. Seems fair to me. You made an ass of yourself while you were drunk, and now your ass is gonna pay while you're sober."
Billy unbuckled his belt, pulled it off, folded it, and let it dangle by his side.
Electricity shot through Tim's stomach like he'd just touched a live wire. Despite his older brother's frequent threats over the last two years, Billy'd never actually whupped him.
"You know, Tim," Billy's sharp tone brought the boy out of his trance. "Everybody saw you bust out this window. Mr. Noble coulda had the law on you for destruction of property, vandalism, public drunkenness, just to name a few. But he didn't. And you didn't even have the decency to come check on the damage you caused? You coulda made this—well, not right—but better. But you didn't. You did nothin'. ...I'm so disappointed in you right now."
The teen's shoulders slumped and he stared at his feet. Billy watched his brother for a few moments, then shook his head and commanded, "Drop your jeans. Bend over the truck."
Tim's eyes snapped up to his brother's face. Billy expected him to argue, but instead the boy simply turned away, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and pushed them to his mid-thighs. He bent forward, leaning on the hood of the truck.
Sounds sharpened as his humiliation grew. Tim could hear the men working and talking near by. People passing on the street, chatting. All these people were about to witness his shaming.
Quit your bitchin', the boy chided himself.
"Mr. Noble?" Billy asked. "You wanna give him a few licks?"
Tim could see his brother offering the old man the belt.
"No, son. That's your job. Now do it good enough ya don't have to do it again, ya hear?"
"Yessir," Billy replied.
He turned back to Tim and said, "You're gettin' 17. Got it?"
"Got it," the boy replied quietly.