The next day at school Tim held up his end of the behavior contract. He had done most of his homework, was on time to his classes, stayed awake during the lessons, was respectful to all his teachers, and had had no alcohol. He was surprised to find that it was kind of exhausting to be fully engaged.

Finally the school day ended. Tim had an hour before practice started at 4 pm, but he could not go home. The day before Coach Taylor had declared that Tim was to be in his office at 3 pm to receive his consequences for walking out of practice. Billy had reminded his younger brother that morning not to forget about that appointment.

"Billy, did you ever get paddled?" the teen had asked.

"Twice. Coach McGill busted my ass once. …Whoooo-wheeee! You do not want to mess with him," Billy exclaimed. "And Vice Principal Trucks did too. His wasn't so bad. But the problem with gettin' in trouble with him was that he always called to let the parents know, so you know… I was in double trouble when I got home."

"Yeah, I bet Dad was real understandin'," Tim laughed.

Billy looked off into the distance dramatically and said nothing. Then he shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory. "It was …brutal," he smirked, winking at his brother.

"Hey," Tim said, suddenly concerned. "Is that true for me too? Am I gonna be in trouble with you tonight?"

The man stopped and considered the question as he drank his coffee. "No, not this time. Any trouble in the future though, definitely."

Relieved, mostly, the teen vowed never to get in trouble at school again.

Tim knocked on Coach Taylor's open door at 3:02 pm. He'd left weightlifting a bit early so that he would not be late to the meeting. In truth, the boy had been worrying about the paddling since lunchtime. How would he endure it? He still had a bit of soreness left from Billy's punishment, even though there were no marks.

"Coach," the boy said. "I'm here for our meetin'."

"Come on in, Tim. How was your day? Did you uphold the behavior plan?"

"Yessir."

"Good to hear. I've told all your teachers to let me know if they have any problems with or concerns about you. And then I am gonna let your brother know. No more little talks from anybody. You understand?"

"Yessir."

"I imagine your brother has already made it clear what the consequences will be if there is anymore trouble at school."

"Yessir. The belt."

Coach Taylor nodded. "Well, sounds like my father. Kept me on the straight and narrow. Hope it'll work for you too."

"Yes, Coach, I think it will."

"Good, good, good. Yesterday, I asked you if you wanted to be on this team. Your answer still 'yes'?"

"Yessir."

"I'm glad. Then can you tell me why you walked out of practice?"

"I've been watchin' the game tape… from when Street...," Tim confessed. He was immediately filled with intense emotions and stopped talking to collect himself.

Coach Taylor leaned forward and said, "Look at me, son."

Once the boy was able to meet the man's gaze, Eric continued, "What happened to Jason Street was nobody's fault. This is football. Things happen. It was an accident. You understand me?"

"I didn't even try, Coach. I didn't even--," Tim whispered.

"Son, you were on the other side of the field. It wouldn't have mattered. It was an accident. It was not your fault. Look at me."

Tears slid down the boy's face as he struggled to control his emotions.

"I want you to let yourself off the hook, son," Coach Taylor stated. "I want you to let yourself off the hook."

"Yessir."

"Be smart."

"Yessir."

"Now, you ever walk out of one of my practices again," Coach said firmly. "And I will kick your ass off the team. That's a promise. Understood?"

"Yessir."

"You owe me a practice."

"Yessir."

With that, Coach yanked open his desk drawer and pulled out a wooden paddle. "After this," he said, gesturing toward the paddle. "We'll call it even."

"Yessir," Tim said, standing up.

"Bend over. Put your hands on the desk there," the man instructed, as he walked around the desk to stand behind the boy.

Tim did as he was told and bent over, his nervousness surging.

"You ready?"

"Yes, Coach."

The man lifted the paddle and brought it down on the boy's behind, clearly using only a portion of his strength. Still, the sharp pain surprised the teen, causing him to gasp quietly.

"One," Eric said. "…And done."

Tim looked back over his shoulder, not standing up, certain that he had misunderstood something.

"Coach?"

"That's it, Tim. Stand up. We're even… this one time. Got it?"

"Yessir."

"Son, show up to practice on time, sober and ready to work your ass off and we'll be fine. You'll be fine. I want you on that field, but I care more about you the person than you the football player. If you can't keep it together off the field—in class and in the town—then I'll do what it takes to set you straight. Maybe kickin' you off the team permanently. Or bustin' your butt with this here paddle. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yessir," the boy nodded.

"Now, grab a chair and get out your homework. We've got time before practice starts. You can use that table over there. Just move those notebooks out of your way."

"Ok," Tim said. "And thanks for lookin' out of me. I won't let you down."

"Always happy to help, son," Coach Taylor said, watching the boy get to work reading Great Expectations.