Since he had been put on a behavior contract over a month ago, Tim Riggins had been walking the straight and narrow. His grades had mostly improved and he had had three great football games in a row. Coach was pleased with everything he saw during practice and had been giving the boy more of a leadership role. Billy also praised his brother's progress.

However, Tim was struggling with a secret guilt. He had been sleeping with his best friend's girlfriend. His best friend, who was now paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair. Although the boy had finally broken off his relationship with Lyla, his shame was threatening to take him down hard.

One evening, as Billy fixed dinner, he heard the front door open. "Tim? That you?"

When there was no response, the man turned away from the dishes cooking on the stove and saw his younger brother quietly enter the kitchen. Right away, Billy could see that the boy was upset. Then he noticed the boy's black eye.

"What happened, Tim?" he asked. "Who did that to you?"

The boy sat quietly, not making eye contact. Finally he whispered, "Jay."

"So… he found out about you and Lyla?" Billy asked.

Tim nodded. "…He called me a coward."

The man just nodded, silently commiserating. Billy had spoken his mind about Tim's relationship with Lyla before. There was no reason to point out that the boy had gotten exactly what he deserved.

Billy dished out food and they ate in silence. After he'd done the dishes, Tim went to his room without a word.

Before he went to bed, Billy opened Tim's door and saw that the boy had fallen asleep on his bed fully dressed. He gently pulled the boy's boots off and covered him with a blanket.

Mr. Trumbo's first period Algebra 2 class was a buzzy blur. Tim had been tardy and didn't have his homework.

Diego Suarez, a basketball player, leaned forward and teased, "Riggins, better be careful. You don't wanna get another whuppin' from Billy!"

"Fuck off, Diego," the teen intended to whisper.

"Mr. Riggins, that language has earned you a write-up," Mr. Trumbo said. "Please take this note to Mr. Trucks."

Tim sighed, annoyed with himself. He took the note and headed to the office. He knocked on the VP's door and was told to enter.

"Mr. Riggins, what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Trumbo sent me." The boy handed over the write-up and waited for the Vice Principal to read the report.

"Huh, I have been getting good reports about you, Tim. You wanna tell me what's going on?"

Tim looked at his feet and finally said, "No, sir."

"Does it have anything to do with that black eye you got?"

The teen said nothing.

"Did you get that from Billy?"

Tim looked up, surprised. "No, sir. He's never punched me. Well, not since we were little, I mean. And especially not after our dad tore his ass up."

Mr. Trucks stared at Tim for a moment, taken aback. He could see that the boy was going through something, but that he wasn't going to talk about it. He shook his head and looked down at the write-up.

"Ok, so let's see what this says. So, you were tardy, did not do your homework, and then were disrespectful to your class by cussin', is that correct?" Mr. Trucks asked.

"Yessir."

"Okay, you have a choice: detention for a week or you can take a paddlin'. What will it be?"

"…Um. …I'll take the paddlin'," Tim said quietly.

The man nodded, stood and took a long, wooden paddle off the wall. "Bend over. Hands on the arms of the chair there."

Tim obeyed, silently hating himself for his own stupidity.

The first lick landed with a loud smack. After a few seconds, pain erupted across the boy's behind. The teen gritted his teeth and held his breath. Thwack! Tim grimaced, surprised at the pain. Whack! He winced, holding his breath until the sharp pain subsided.

"Stand up, Tim."

The boy complied. He stood waiting for instructions.

"Of course you know that I'll be letting Billy know about your paddling."

"Yessir," the boy sighed.

"Here's a pass for your next class. Make sure the day gets better, please."

"Yessir, I'll try."

Tim stopped by the bathroom before heading to class. In the stall, he tried to rub the sting from his behind. It didn't work, so he checked his face in the mirror and walked on to class. He hoped his stiffness didn't give away that he'd been paddled. He swung by his locker and, after checking that he was alone in the hall, took long swig from the flask inside. Then he took a second swig, feeling the warmth spread through his chest.

Chemistry was gonna suck. He handed Mr. Strickland his pass and mumbled, "Sorry I'm late."

"We're reading from the textbook now, on page 172."

The boy nodded and took his seat, carefully. As the class continued to take turns reading, Tim could feel his eyes growing heavy. Soon, he'd drifted off, completely unaware that the teacher had called on him to read. The class looked at the sleeping boy and started giggling.

Mr. Strickland walked to his desk, opened his plan book, picked up the telephone and dialed a number.

"Hello, Billy, this is Mr. Strickland. You asked me to call if there were any problems. Tim has fallen asleep in class again. …Certainly. Thank you. …Yes, I'll see you shortly." The man hung up and continued to lead the class in reading and discussion, as Tim slept.

About 20 minutes later, there was a knock on the classroom door. Mr. Strickland waved Billy inside. The class immediately broke out into "ooooohs" and chatter.

Billy ignored the commotion and walked over to where his brother slept.

"Tim," he spoke sharply. The boy stirred a bit.

"Tim, wake up," he said again, shaking the boy's shoulder.

"Five more minutes, Billy," the boy groaned. The class giggled again.

Billy bent forward and whispered in his ear, "Get your ass up now and come with me."

Tim opened his eyes and seemed surprised to see his classmates staring at him. Then he looked up at his angry brother and murmured, "Oh no."

"Excuse us, Mr. Strickland. Tim will be back shortly," Billy said.

The class snickered, but Mr. Strickland called for silence.

Billy turned and walked out of the class, and the teen trudged out of the room after him.

Please God, just let him ground me or something.

They walked down the hallway in silence, until Billy came to a faculty restroom. He opened the door and said, "In."

Tim could see from his brother's face that he had no chance of talking his way out of this whupping.

Once inside, Billy locked the door and immediately took off his belt.

"Drop your pants and boxers," the man commanded.

"Please, Billy, wait until we get home. Please," the boy begged.

"If have to tell you again, you're getting more licks. Understand?"

Tim nodded and unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them to his knees. Then he pushed his boxers down too.

"Bend over and hold the sink," Billy said.

The boy did and prayed that the whipping would be quick. The belt hummed through the air and thwacked across his backside. Tim stood up immediately, shocked by the intensity of the pain.

"Bend over, boy," his brother snapped. The teen nodded and bent back over. This whipping, after his earlier paddling, was going to be hard to endure. A second lash slashed his bare behind, and he groaned. He could feel tears already prickling at the corners of his eyes.

Billy swung the belt again and heard the boy whimper. The belt fell over and over until finally (after twelve blows) the man put his belt back on. He gave his brother a few moments to calm down before he said, "Pull your pants back up and wash your face."

Tim did as his brother said. After he'd dried his face, he turned to Billy, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Boy," Billy said quietly. "I know you are hurting, but you cannot let yourself fall apart. You hear?"

"Yessir."

"I might not have whupped you, except that I can smell the alcohol on your breath. Now, you're going back to Strickland's class and be attentive, you got me?"

"Yes, I got it."

Suddenly, the man pulled his little brother to him for a hug. It took a moment but soon Tim hugged him back.

"Sorry, Billy," the boy whispered.

"You got anymore alcohol with you now?"

"In my locker."

"Ok, let's go get it. I'll take it with me. If you try bringing booze to school again, I will beat your butt in Mr. Trucks' office. Understand?"

"Yessir."

After they stopped by the locker, Billy hugged Tim once more.

"Look, have a good rest of the day and we'll go fishing tonight, ok?"

Tim smiled and nodded, "Sounds good."

Then he walked stiffly back to class, wondering how he'd make it through the rest of the day.