The story you are about to read is fiction.
It has been posted with the consent of the original copyright author.
Please do not repost or republish without the express written consent of Uncle Kent.

Repressing a sigh, Mariette Wilcox looked out her classroom window onto the deserted playground. She longed to be out there, playing games with her friends ... or at the park, gathering material for her latest spy story ... or with Mr. Meadows, having him review her writing. Almost anywhere except here, at this conference between her mother and her teacher, Mr. Gungels. Parent-teacher conferences at best were nerve-wracking times for Mariette, but this one had an added element. She didn't much like Mr. Gungels, and he knew she didn't like him.

Mr. Gungels was one of those extremely "touchy-feelie" people. He always seemed to be putting his hand on Mariette's (and the other girls') backs or shoulders. Not that there was anything intrinsically wrong with that; Mariette's mother gave her lots of physical contact, and Mr. Meadows usually sat with his arm around her while reading her notebook. When Mr. Gungels touched her, though, it seemed ... well, different. Mariette couldn't quite explain it, but somehow she just felt uncomfortable whenever he put his hands on her. She couldn't remember him ever touching any of the boys in her class; nor could she recall any of them complaining about this seeming favoritism.

Then there was the time, on their field trip to the arts center, when they'd been eating lunch in the cafeteria. Without warning, Mr. Gungels had said "Mind if I snuggle in here?" and sat down right beside Mariette. There really wasn't room for him at their table, but that didn't stop him; he forced the girls to scrunch up together until they'd cleared a sufficient space. Mariette ate the rest of her lunch feeling his body pressed against hers. She finished eating and left as quickly as she could, without responding to any of his inquiries.

No, Mariette didn't like Mr. Gungels, but she figured there wasn't anything she could do about him. He really didn't touch her any differently than her other teachers had, and he never touched her in a forbidden area, so she figured she didn't have any grounds for making a complaint. She'd pretty much decided to bear it for the rest of the year, while giving him as little excuse for contact as possible.

Today, Mariette sat beside her mother across the desk from Mr. Gungels, safely out of range, while he went over the last half term. Despite their mutual dislike, she had to admit he was being fair. Mariette had made major strides in her work, and he made sure her mother knew it. Mrs. Wilcox just sat with her hands folded in her lap, though, nodding slightly, as if her daughter's progress were no more than she'd expected.

"Now," Mr. Gungels intoned, "we come to deportment. Once again, there's been dramatic improvement. Since her second detention, Mariette's conduct has been —"

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Wilcox interrupted. "Second detention? What second detention?"

Mariette felt a deep sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't seen that one coming. With the assistance of Mr. Meadows, she'd kept the secret of her second detention carefully concealed; now, though, her cover was blown.

"Mariette got a week's detention last month," Mr. Gungels explained. "Didn't she tell you?"

"No," Mrs. Wilcox replied, fixing her gaze on her daughter. "She most definitely did not." Mariette squirmed at the frosty tone that had crept into her mother's voice.

"What was the detention for?" the woman asked of no one in particular. Mariette figured it was time she contributed to the conversation.

"For ... for writing in my notebook during History class," she said in little more than a whisper.

"I see." To Mr. Gungels: "When exactly did this detention take place?"

He told her.

She turned her attention back to Mariette. "You told me you were doing research for Norman that week!"

"I was, Mom! I was ... just ... doing detention ... at the same time..."

"*And* you told me he paid you for your time!"

"Well ... he did ... but I wrote an essay on the Battle of Gettysburg for school, too! Honest, I did!"

Mrs. Wilcox glanced at Mr. Gungels, who nodded his confirmation. He *might* have told her that he'd written "Excellent work!" on the essay when he returned it, Mariette thought sourly.

"And just *why* didn't you tell *me* about this detention, young lady?"

A chill ran through Mariette at the dreaded "young lady" label. If she had any doubts about where this conversation would wind up, they were gone now. "You ... you said you'd take my notebook away —"

"So you went behind my back and conspired with Norman to get out of your punishment, eh?"

"But I got punished, Mom!"

"Getting paid for your detention hardly constitutes punishment, young lady."

"I know that, Mom. Mr. Meadows punished me."

"Really? And just how did he punish you?"

"He —" Mariette hesitated. She really didn't want to discuss this in front of Mr. Gungels.

"Answer me, young lady. *Now*."

"He ..." Mariette glanced at her teacher, who looked on avidly. "He ... p-paddled me."

She heard a sharp intake of breath from Mr. Gungels. "I'll discuss that with Norman later," Mrs. Wilcox said dryly. "But there's some business we need to handle right now." She opened her purse and took out a large maple-backed hairbrush. "As you can see, I came prepared."

Mariette's innards twisted themselves further into knots at the sight of the hairbrush. It only served one function in the Wilcox household ... and that wasn't brushing hair. "Mom ... please ... no ..." she whimpered.

"And why not?"

"Because I already got punished for getting detention!"

"This isn't for the detention. It's for keeping secrets from me."

Mariette couldn't argue with that. To be truthful, her conscience *had* been bothering her. Still, though, she hesitated.

"Don't tell me you don't think you deserve this, young lady!"

"No, Mom, I ... I know it was wrong, and I-I do deserve a" (another quick look at Mr. Gungels) "a sp-spanking, but ... do we have to do it now?"

"Yes, young lady, we do." She patted her knee. Even though Mariette knew this moment was inevitable a long time ago, she still found the prospect of getting spanked here, in front of Mr. Gungels, appalling.

"*Now*, Mariette!"

That tone brooked no disobedience or further delay. Sighing again, Mariette stood up, crossed to her mother's right side, and arranged herself in the traditional position. "I hope this doesn't offend you, Mr. Gungels," Mrs. Wilcox remarked.

"Not in the least," the teacher replied. "I've always believed that corporal punishment is an effective means of disciplining children. I only wish the school district hadn't banned it a few years back."

I just bet you do, Mariette thought, willing herself to remain still as her mother lifted her skirt. One small sop to her ego: all her Winnie-the-Poohs were in the laundry. She had on plain whites today. At least *that* particular secret remained concealed from Mr. Gungels' prying eyes.

Even that miniscule triumph dissipated entirely with the first touch of fingers at the waistband of her panties. It really didn't matter *what* kind of underwear she had on; in a few seconds, they'd be around her thighs. She'd rather have Mr. Gungels see her in Baby Bop panties than show him her bare bottom. "Mom, please," she moaned.

"Mariette! I'm surprised at you! You should know better than to even ask that!" Mrs. Wilcox admonished. True to form, she smoothly whisked her daughter's panties down. Mariette lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could deny her teacher's presence by refusing to look at him. She could clearly hear his breathing.

SMACK! SMACK! Mariette quickly realized she had more pressing concerns than Mr. Gungels — namely, her mother's palm. SMACK! SMACK! Two more crisp swats, and the spanking was well underway.

Mariette kept her eyelids clamped closed, but, inevitably, the tears began leaking through. She managed to keep her reactions under control, emitting only a soft "Oh!" with each spank. She knew the real test still lay ahead — when her mother used the hairbrush (as she inevitably did).

Sure enough, after a seeming eternity (but what was, in reality, only a few minutes, during which time Mariette's cheeks acquired a healthy pink glow), Mrs. Wilcox finished the warmup. "Now to make sure you've learned," she announced. Mariette knew the hairbrush was imminent, and tried to prepare herself.

CRACK! CRACK! "OWWWWW!" As always, the first impacts caught her by surprise. No matter how many times Mariette felt the hairbrush, she could never quite remember the pain it caused. She took a firm grasp on the legs of her mother's chair with both hands, determined to ride out the storm without letting Mr. Gungels see how much she was hurting. At least, she thought grimly, her mom using the hairbrush meant her spanking was just about over.

Mariette's resolve withstood the furious assault; she managed to avoid pleading for mercy or trying to fend off the blows with her hands. When the hairbrushing ceased, she rested only for a moment, then quickly got to her feet and reached for her panties.

"Not so fast," her mother stopped her. "You aren't done yet."

She wasn't? "What else is there, Mom?"

"I *think* you know," Mrs. Wilcox replied, inclining her head toward Mr. Gungels.

For just a moment, Mariette stood confused; then she realized her mother's intent. She thought frantically. "Please, Mom, no!"

"Mariette..." Mrs. Wilcox's voice held a threatening tone.

But the girl wasn't ready to submit just yet. True, she'd gotten paddled by Mr. Meadows after spying on him, but her actions directly affected him. She couldn't see how keeping her detention from her mother concerned Mr. Gungels at all. It just didn't make any sense. "But, Mom ... why?"

"Because I said so. Do it, Mariette. *Now!*"

"But —"

Mrs. Wilcox raised the hairbrush. That settled things. Mariette didn't like what she was about to do, but she knew any further delay would just result in additional spanking; and then, she'd have to take the next step anyway. She took the hairbrush from her mother's hands, shuffled over to Mr. Gungels, and fixed her gaze firmly on his tie clip. She couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

"Mr. G-Gungels ... I'm s-sorry I ..." (She couldn't think what she should be sorry for.) "I'm sorry. P-please take the h-hairbrush and f-f-finish p-p-punishing m-me."

"I'd be happy to, Mariette." Somehow she knew he'd say that. He took the hairbrush from the girl's outstretched hands, then guided her around to his right side and over his knees. He smoothly raised her skirt, leaving her backside bare again. Mariette, her facial cheeks burning at the renewed indignity, gripped the legs of his chair, trying to brace herself for the renewed onslaught from the hairbrush. She couldn't pretend it wouldn't hurt, but if she could get through it, then the whole thing would be over —

SMACK! "OH!" The outcry came more from surprise than pain. Instead of the firm impact of the hairbrush, she'd received a solid blow from Mr. Gungel's hand! It was like he was starting the spanking all over again! That wasn't fair. Surely her mother wouldn't make her suffer *that* much!

Mariette turned pleading eyes towards Mrs. Wilcox; but the woman merely sat quietly, watching calmly while the teacher continued slapping her daughter's bare buttocks. There'd be no relief there.

Thinking back to when Mr. Meadows spanked her, Mariette recalled how uncomfortable she'd been at the feel of his hand on her bottom. Well, his touch was infinitely preferable to that of Mr. Gungels!

Closing her eyes yet again, the girl gritted her teeth, determined to control herself from then on. If she had to take the spanking (which she did), she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much pain she was in.

Mariette weathered her second handspanking stoically; however, when Mr. Gungels started pounding away with the hairbrush, her tenacity ebbed rapidly. She couldn't help an involuntary buck upward with her legs and a small "Ow!" each time the hairbrush landed.

Her resolution weakening, Mariette dug down deep inside herself to find new strength. He can't make me beg, she thought grimly. CRACK! "Ow!" I won't beg. CRACK! "Ow!" I won't. CRACK! "Ow!" I *won't*. CRACK! "Ow!"

Despite her determination, Mariette was seconds away from breaking when she heard her mother's voice. "Mr. Gungels?" CRACK! ("Ow!") CRACK! ("Ow!") "Mr. Gungels! That will be enough."

She could sense her teacher's reluctance; nevertheless, he stopped the spanking. As quickly as she could, Mariette climbed off his lap, hastily pulling her skirt down to minimize her exposure. "A-am I d-done n-now, M-mom?" she asked, hating the quaver in her voice.

"Well, I'm not sure," Mrs. Wilcox replied. "That depends on how the rest of the conference goes. I think you should go stand in that corner." She indicated the far corner of the room, across from the window. "Don't pull your panties up yet. That way it'll be less trouble if I have to put you over my knee again. And no rubbing!"

Her embarrassment and frustration increasing, Mariette shuffled over to the corner, managing to keep her panties at thigh-level. At least her skirt covered both her throbbing, burning hindquarters and her lowered underwear. She stood staring at the intersection of the two walls, trying not to fidget too much, and wiping fitfully at the tears still rolling from her eyes.

Fortunately, the second detention proved to be Mariette's only sin. Mr. Gungels wrapped up the conference a few minutes later, with nothing but praise for his pupil's performance. When he'd finished, Mrs. Wilcox turned to her daughter and said, "All right, Mariette, pull up your panties and let's go. You can rub if you like," she added as an afterthought.

Mariette quickly reached beneath her skirt and restored her panties to their proper position, wincing as the fabric contacted her tender flesh. She resisted the temptation to rub. Not in front of Mr. Gungels.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Gungels," Mrs. Wilcox said as they left. "Mariette, don't you have something to say?"

"'Bye," Mariette muttered, heading for the door.

"Mariette! Do you need a lesson in manners?"

That was the last thing Mariette needed. Swallowing hard, she turned toward the man (still not meeting his eyes), and forced out, "I'm sorry, Mr. Gungels."

"That's better," Mrs. Wilcox said. "And?"

"And ." This *really* frosted Mariette. "T-thank you for p-punishing me."

"My pleasure, Mariette." Big surprise, she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Have a good weekend, and I'll see you Monday!" That wasn't something *she* would look forward to.

Halfway through the ride home, Mariette tore her mind away from the friction of the car seat against her battered rear end, to a more important matter. "Mom . wh-what are you going to do about my notebook?"

"As soon as we get home, the *second* thing I'm going to do is burn that damned notebook," Mrs. Wilcox replied.

"Th-the second thing?"

"Yes. The first thing *we* need to do is have a long talk with Mr. Meadows!"

"But, Mom —"

"The matter is settled, Mariette. *Don't* push me!"

The girl lapsed into a broody silence for the rest of the ride. So far, she'd gotten a bare-bottom paddling from Mr. Meadows; she'd been spanked by her mother; and (she still shuddered, thinking about it) she'd been spanked by Mr. Gungels. Now she faced the loss of her notebook — and that seemed worse than all the spankings she'd gotten put together. It just seemed so unfair (although, deep down, she had to admit it was her own darn fault for taking her notebook to school in the first place).

Before much longer, Mrs. Wilcox pulled into her driveway, got out of the car, and headed determinedly for her neighbor's. Mariette, although unbidden, followed along. She'd gotten Mr. Meadows into this, now she had to see it through. Besides, there might be another opportunity to argue her case about her notebook.

Mr. Meadows opened the door to Mrs. Wilcox's knock. "Gloria, Mariette, what a pleasant —" He cut himself off when he noticed Mariette's still-red face and her mother's angry expression.

"I need to speak with you, Norman," Mrs. Wilcox said, her tone icy. "May we come in, please?"

"Certainly." They followed him to the now-familiar living room, declining his invitation of liquid refreshments. Once the adults were seated (Mariette preferred to stand), Mr. Meadows asked, "Now, what's this about?"

"We've just come from a conference at Mariette's school," Mrs. Wilcox announced. "Where I heard about her detention, and how you conspired with her to hide it from me."

"Oh. Oh, my," Mr. Meadows responded, shooting a sympathetic glance at Mariette. She blushed anew. Although Mr. Meadows must have suspected what happened, it was still embarrassing to have it confirmed.

"How dare you —"

"Hold it a minute," Mr. Meadows interrupted the incipient tirade. He turned to the girl. "Mariette, would you excuse us for a while? I think your mother and I better discuss this in private."

Grateful to be excused from such a potentially heated scene, Mariette started out of the room.

"If you want to lie down for a while, you can use the guest bedroom," he called after her.

He might have been reading her mind, Mariette thought, as she quickly ascended the stairs and shut the bedroom door behind her, cutting off the renewed "discussion" going on below.

Lying on her side on the soft bed, Mariette started dealing with the feelings she'd been suppressing since her mother first spanked her. A maternal spanking was never pleasant; the added element of Mr. Gungels made this one particularly hard to stomach. Having her bare bottom spanked in front of him was embarrassment enough. His participation added an extra layer of humiliation — especially since Mariette, despite all her efforts to see things from her mother's point of view, still couldn't come up with a good reason (or *any* reason, for that matter) for him to spank her. And then she'd have to face him again, in school, next Monday.

What hurt the most, though - more than the still-lingering throbbing in her backside, more than her embarrassment, more than her disgust at feeling Mr. Gungels' hand on her bare flesh — was the demise of her notebook. She'd spent many hours writing in that book, filling page after page with her creations, some good, some not-so-good. For (it seemed) the first time in her life, she'd finally found something she enjoyed doing and was relatively successful at; but that was all over. She could argue, Mr. Meadows could argue, but Mariette knew her mother too well. Once Mrs. Wilcox made up her mind, that was that. Her notebook was history.

This was, Mariette concluded, far and away, beyond any shadow of a doubt, the absolute worst day of her entire life. Rolling onto her stomach, she buried her face in the pillow and let her tears flow, weeping unabashedly for a long, long time.

After Mariette cried herself out, she became vaguely aware of some strange noises coming from downstairs. They sounded like a slow, rhythmic CRACK!, accompanied by a feminine "OW!" After a quick trip to the bathroom to wash her face and blow her nose, she headed downstairs to investigate.

When she entered the living room, she beheld a very unusual sight. Mr. Meadows, seated on the sofa, had Mrs. Wilcox turned over his left knee, both arms pinned behind her back, and his right leg over hers. The woman's dress was up about her waist and her panties had been lowered to mid-thigh. In his right hand, Mr. Meadows wielded the ping pong paddle. As Mariette watched, he raised it shoulder-high and brought in down against her mother's buttocks, producing the CRACK! "OW!" she'd heard upstairs. From the appearance of Mrs. Wilcox's backside, Mariette guessed he'd been paddling her for a while.

Mariette's first impulse was to rush to the woman's assistance; then she reconsidered. Mr. Meadows, she knew, wouldn't be paddling her mom without a good reason. She remained in the entryway, watching as the scene played itself out.

Mr. Meadows lowered the paddle. "*Now* are you going to listen to me?" he asked.

"Never! Let me go!" Mariette's mother demanded.

By way of reply, Mr. Meadows took up the paddle again and administered another dozen swats to the crimson cheeks stretched out over his knee. "I'll give you the same option you give Mariette," he informed her. "Either you can listen, or I'll keep paddling you until you're ready to."

"Okay! Okay! I'll listen!" Mrs. Wilcox replied through gritted teeth.

"Excellent! As I *tried* to say earlier, it was wrong for Mariette to hide her detention from you, and it was wrong for me to go along with her. But, don't you think taking the notebook away would be too drastic a punishment?"

"I'm her mother! She shouldn't be hiding things from me!"

"Have you ever known her to hide anything from you before?"

"No, never!"

"Then doesn't that show you how important the notebook is to her?"

"She shouldn't be wasting all her time writing in that notebook anyway!"

"Now, Gloria, I don't think you can honestly call Mariette's notebook a waste of time."

"She's always going on about what a great writer she's going to be when she grows up! Children need structure and discipline, not such nonsense!"

"Yes, children do need structure and discipline. But they need dreams, too. Mariette's still very young; please don't take her dreams away from her now."

Mrs. Wilcox's response astounded Mariette. Instead of an angry rebuttal, she burst into tears. Mr. Meadows sat quietly, patiently waiting while the woman wailed and sobbed. After a long interval, her crying slowly subsided, and she began speaking.

"You ... you don't understand ... how hard it's been..."

"All right, then." Mr. Meadows put the paddle aside and lifted Mariette's mother into a seated position on his lap, her bare bottom overhanging his thigh. "Tell me. Take your time. Tell me all about it."

Mrs. Wilcox leaned against Mr. Meadows' chest, curling up like a little girl. Mariette had never seen her mother acting like this. Slowly, with much tears and sniffling, the story came out.

"I ... I started dance lessons when I was four ... kept it up all through school ... won a scholarship to college ... then I met Jack ... and got pregnant ... he-he said he'd always stay by me ... and we'd find a way I could still go to college ... but, when Mariette was born, he ... he took off ... he never even saw her..."

Mariette listened, enthralled. She'd rarely heard her mother speak of her childhood, or of her father.

Mrs. Wilcox continued. "I-I gave up college and ... and dancing ... took whatever job I could find ... worked my way up to where I am now ... so I could afford ... a home ... and a life ... for Mariette..."

"And you've done a wonderful job," Mr. Meadows interjected. "She's a very remarkable young lady. You should be proud of what you've accomplished."

"Yes ... she is ... and I am..."

Mariette's amazement grew. She'd almost *never* heard her mother say anything like that about her.

"At this conference," Mr. Meadows continued. "Other than the detention, how did Mariette do?"

"She ... she did excellent ... her teacher ... had no ... complaints..."

"So, in other words, her schoolwork started improving about the same time she got her notebook?"

Mrs. Wilcox had to think about that for quite a while. Finally, she admitted, "Yes ... I guess that's true..."

"How has she been around the house?"

"Wonderful ... she g-gets her ch-chores done right away ... I h-haven't had to sp-spank her nearly as much..."

"Then, wouldn't you say that, overall, having the notebook has been good for Mariette?"

"She ... she got the two detentions ... and she kept things from me..."

"Yes, she did, Gloria. Those were mistakes. Everyone's going to make them. And, what she went through to hide the second detention from you, and keep her notebook, should show you what it means to her. I paddled her good, let me tell you."

No doubt about *that*, Mariette thought as she rubbed her bottom reflexively.

Mrs. Wilcox looked up at him. "As hard as you paddled me?"

"If anything, harder."

"Wow." She sat silent for several long moments. "I ... I think I understand, now."

"So does Mariette get to keep her notebook?"

The girl held her breath.

"Y-yes ... yes, she does."

Unable to contain herself any longer, Mariette raced into the room. "Thank you, Mom! Thank you, oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, rushing to hug her mother.

"Mariette!" said Mrs. Wilcox, startled by the strength of her daughter's embrace. "How long have you been listening?"

"Pretty long, I'd say," Mr. Meadows chuckled. "But can you really blame her? You were making enough noise a while back to wake up the whole block."

Mrs. Wilcox mustered up a rueful smile. "Yes ... yes, I suppose I was." She gently disengaged her daughter's arms from around her neck, while Mr. Meadows assisted the girl to a seat on his other thigh.

"Tell you what," he said, wrapping his free arm around Mariette's waist. "If she ever misbehaves with her notebook again, how about we both paddle her? After all, that's what happened this time. She got spanked by me, and then by you."

"And Mr. Gungels," Mariette added.

She could feel Mr. Meadows tensing up. She'd complained to him, all too often, about her teacher. His smile fading, he turned to Mrs. Wilcox. "You let Mr. Gungels spank her?"

"Y-yes..."

"Why?"

Mariette's mother thought for a long time. "I-I don't really know," she finally confessed. "It ... it seemed ... like a good idea at the time." She reached across Mr. Meadows to her daughter. "Mariette ... I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Mom." With her notebook secure, Mariette felt in a forgiving mood.

"If ... if you want ... you can change classes ... so you ... so you don't have to face him again."

Mariette considered this carefully. On the one hand, not having to put up with Mr. Gungels' intrusions any more sounded very tempted. On the other hand, though ... she'd have to go through the administrative process of changing classes. She'd have to come up with something to tell all her friends (she couldn't very well tell them the truth). And, she'd still encounter him in the hallways; it wasn't a very big school. "No, Mom, that won't be necessary. I'll stay in the same class."

"Are you sure, Mariette?"

"Yes, Mom, I'm sure. It'll be like ... you remember, in the first grade, when those bullies kept picking on me, and I came home crying? And you told me, if I didn't let those kids have power over me, they couldn't hurt me. It'll be like that. I won't give Mr. Gungels any power over me."

"Very wise, Mariette," her mother said, nodding. She felt Mr. Meadows squeeze her a bit tighter.

"And how about you, Gloria?" he asked. "Are you going to start dancing again?"

"Me? But it's too late for that —"

"Nonsense. It's never too late. The community center gives classes on all kinds of dancing."

"But — I couldn't — I mean, I'm too old to start dancing professionally —"

"Listen carefully, Gloria. I didn't mean for you to become a professional dancer. Mariette writes in her notebook because she likes doing it. She may become a professional writer, she may not. The thing is, she enjoys it. You should dance because you enjoy it."

"But ... what will I do with Mariette while I'm at class?"

"She can stay with me. It'll be a pleasure having her here. Besides," he added, casting a meaningful look at the nearby paddle, "I think I know how to handle her when she acts up."

"Well ... okay, then. I'll call the community center tomorrow."

"That's a good girl."

Mariette, snuggling up close against Mr. Meadows' chest, watching the interaction between her neighbor and her mother closely. There was more going on here than met the eye, she thought. Mariette Meadows ... that had a nice ring to it, didn't it? Then she shook her head. That was getting *way* ahead of the game. For now, it was enough to sit and enjoy moments like these. The worst day of her life? This could very well turn out to be the best.

The next Monday, Mariette approached her classroom with a newfound resolve. She noticed Mr. Gungels standing by the doorway, welcoming his pupils as they entered.

"Good morning, Mariette," he said as she walked past. "How was your weekend?" He reached out to put his arm around her shoulders.

She stepped away from the oncoming limb. "Please, don't."

He looked confused. "Don't what?"

"You know." She nodded at his still-outstretched arm. "That. Please don't."

"But ... but why not?"

"It makes me uncomfortable, and I'd rather you didn't do it."

"You didn't say anything about it before."

"I am now. I'd rather you didn't do it."

Dropping his arm, he shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, I guess."

Mariette continued to her desk. She noticed several of the other girls watching her and whispering among themselves. She sat down, not attempting to hide her smile. Things, she figured, would be pretty different around Mr. Gungels' classroom from now on.

If you'd like to email Kent about Mariette the spy, write: kentls001@worldnet.att.net

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