Julie's pov

"Get up, it's time to get ready for church!" Shane yelled, outside our closed door.

Uggh. Now don't get me wrong. I don't have anything against church, per se. I love God and I've accepted Jesus as my personal savior, I just have an utter dislike of anything that gets me out of bed before 10am on a non-school day.

It's not technically mandatory to attend worship at NJC but let's just say it's strongly encouraged. You can attend whatever house of worship you choose but you will be attending one of them. Some attend one of the two nearby Catholic churches, others go to the Baptist or Lutheran church and some go to the Jewish synagogue. You get the picture. Well, we attend the Methodist church downtown.

"I'm not giving you another warning. We are leaving in ten minutes. DO NOT make me wait for you." It was Shane, poking his head through our partially opened door. Apparently, he was looking for a response as he wasn't leaving.

Maybe he had asked a question that I missed. Sometimes I tune him out. I figured I better not respond since I wasn't sure exactly what I would be responding to. Hopefully, Stacey, Lisa, or Carrie were listening. No such luck. We were all silent as Shane fully moved inside our doorway and stood in our room now. Oh oh, the vein on the left side of his forehead is starting to bulge. That is definitely not a good sign.

"Have I made myself clear, girls? You now have eight minutes." Shane was losing his patience.

"Yes sir," we all chorused in unison, anxious to have him leave us alone. Mini crisis averted. We were all wrapping up getting ready.

"Let's go Julie. We're gonna be late," Stacey whined. Carrie and Lisa were already in the car.

"I'm coming," I said, somewhat exasperated and short of breath. "I can't find my other shoe. Dammit," I cursed. Just then, I looked up to see a very foreboding Mike standing in our doorway. Please don't let him have heard. Please don't let him have heard me curse, I whispered silently to myself and God, as a prayer of sorts.

"Now!" was all Mike had to say to let us know he meant business.

Thank you, God. Mike didn't hear me curse.

"Yes!" I exclaim a little too loudly, as I see the heel of my missing black pump peeking out from under Lisa's bed.

"What?" Mike asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Yes sir," I say, trying to recover while grabbing my shoe and putting it on as we're rushing out the door.

Shane is standing by the running car parked out front, holding the rear passenger door open for Stacey and I.

"That's strike one, ladies," he hisses, as we pile into the back seat. Mike, who already jumped behind the wheel, puts the car in drive and we peel out of the parking lot before Shane even has his door fully closed.

"I certainly hope we're not going to be late," Shane says, turning to look directly at me and Stacey. We slump down in our seats, cowering from his cold glare.

We arrive at church with literally three minutes to spare. As we rush in the building after racing through the parking lot, we hurriedly head for the coat room. Oh oh, I think to myself, the greeters are already gone, not a good sign. We pass through the narthex and head into the sanctuary, only to find a rather packed house, I must say. The only seats open with enough room for six are in the second pew. Uggh. Nobody likes sitting up front, in school or church. We take our seats and almost immediately the organist begins to play as the pastors and acolytes walk down the center aisle.

Shane shoots Stacey and I another stern look as I pretend to be engrossed in the bulletin, perusing the 'what's happening this week' section.

Whew, I let out a little sigh of relief as I start to relax. I like our church. I find it serene and peaceful, in a way. Our head pastor has a good sense of humor and the four of us enjoy going to youth group, even though the youth pastor is a little bit of a nerdy, goody two shoes. I guess that kind of comes with the job description though.

About twenty minutes into the service, Lisa gets up to join the children's bell choir in the balcony. They're providing the special music for today's service.

What happens next is a sequence of events so absurd, it's rather hard to explain but I'll do my best. After Lisa vacates her seat, I notice Stacey rummaging through her purse. She pulls out a six inch green, bendy Gumby doll and stands it on the pew where Lisa was sitting (Seinfeld reference anyone?)

For whatever reason, or no reason at all, I find this utterly hilarious and I let out a little giggle as I'm trying to contain the laughter. Shane, who is sitting two seats to my left, turns and gives me the death stare. As in, "keep it up and I will kill you." I try my best to stifle my giggle but I just can't. I don't know why I find this Gumby sitting in Lisa's seat so funny but I do.

Meanwhile, Stacey is sitting on the other side of Lisa's seat, perfectly stoic, acting like an angel. I don't know how she does it. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold it in without bursting out laughing.

Shane leans over Carrie and not so gently squeezes my leg right above the knee, hissing in my left ear, "This is strike two. Knock it off!"

I know he means business but I'm afraid I'm going to lose it as Stacey starts kicking Gumby's legs in a chorus line type dance. I stand up and start sliding my way out of the pew to my right as the laughter starts to escape my mouth. I know I have to leave or I will start cracking up right in the middle of the church service. What I didn't know was that shortly after I slid out of the pew to the right, Shane slid out to his left.

Still trying to contain the laughter, I walk over to the water fountain and bend down to get a drink, thinking maybe this will help me compose myself. Behind me, I hear someone intentionally clear their throat. A cold chill passes right through me. I know it's not possible, but I swear I detect a British accent in that throat clear. Slowly I stand up, feeling the daggers in my back from the pair of eyes on me. I cautiously turn around.

Sure enough, Shane is standing behind me, nostrils flaring, with his hands clasped behind his back, over his navy suit jacket. His forehead vein is throbbing quite noticeably. I feel about two years old and two feet tall when he looks at me this way.

With steel in his voice and ice in his veins, he says, "Strike three."

I audibly gulp in an effort to swallow my heart back into my chest.

"I'm sorry," I stammer, trying to get myself out of trouble and somehow make this better.

"Not. One. More. Word," Shane says, pausing between each word to punctuate the effect. You know the saying if looks could kill? W pell the toe tag was on and fresh dirt was flying.

Shane grabbed the back of my neck with his right hand and roughly led me down the hall to the basement stairs. The rooms down there were all dark and empty as Sunday school wouldn't start for another forty-five minutes. He ushered me over to the room at the end of the hall, furthest away from the stairwell. As he opened the door and pushed me through, the light turned on automatically.

"I warned you," he said, "but you continued to misbehave." He grabbed one of the tiny Sunday school chairs meant for a preschooler and loudly slammed it down in front of his left leg. "COME HERE!" he commanded, as he propped his left foot up on the chair while simultaneously removing his belt.

Mike was the only one who could remove a belt faster than Shane. There were times you literally couldn't even see him do it while he was standing right in front of you. He was that quick. Shane was a close second though. I heard the whoosh of the belt pulling through his pant loops and my fate was sealed.

Shane bent me over his left leg, the chair providing a lift so his leg had a nice flat surface he could easily drape me over. He swiftly lifted my skirt and laid the first stripe of the belt across my ass. My underwear did little to cushion the searing pain. He quickly brought the belt down again, closer to my thighs. I inhaled sharply, trying to catch my breath. Shane never said a word. He wasn't much of a conversationalist while wielding the belt.

The third, fourth, and fifth strokes hit exactly the same place, right below the tailbone. Damn Mike, for teaching him how to hit the same exact spot within millimeters, I swear. Strokes six and seven hit the sit spots, while eight, nine, and ten favored the left cheek and you guessed it, eleven, twelve, and thirteen favored the right.

I couldn't hold back the tears any longer, they were streaming down my face. I have a feeling this harsh punishment has a lot more to do with disrespecting Kimberly at dinner the other night than goofing around during church service; collateral damage if you will.

After stroke fifteen, Shane lifted me off his leg, put his belt back on, and turned to leave as he said, "Pull yourself together and get back to the service. We'll finish this discussion when we get home."

When I didn't respond immediately, he turned to face me.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir," I responded quickly. After Shane left, I took a minute to rub my rather sore behind and then headed up to the bathroom to wash the tear stains off my face. When I looked a little more presentable, I returned to our pew to sit rather uncomfortably through the remainder of the service. The topic of today's sermon was how to turn the other cheek. Now tell me God doesn't have a sense of humor? Which is more than I can say for Shane.

After the service, we all enjoyed the awkwardly silent ride home. When we arrived back at the NJC, I was hoping Shane had forgotten about finishing our discussion. Although, we never actually had a discussion to begin with, unless you count the communication between his belt and my behind.

Mike held the front door open for everyone as we funneled inside.

As I headed toward our room, following close behind Carrie, I stopped when I heard Shane say, "Julie, I'd like a word with you please."

I rolled my eyes and sighed before turning around.

"Fine," I responded, in a thoroughly defeated voice.

Mike came up behind me and squeezed the back of my neck, rather harshly, while whispering a warning, "Watch your tone, young lady." Turning away, Mike asks, ever so sweetly, "Mind if I sit in on your discussion, Shane?"

"Of course not," Shane responded.

Great, the more the merrier, I always say. I followed them into Shane's room, dreading the upcoming lecture. There should be some sort of law that prohibits following a belting with a lecture. Extending the pain to this level, seems cruel enough to violate the Geneva convention.

" Sit," was all Shane said, as he motioned to a wooden chair beside his bed. Mike closed the door. I winced as I sat my sore behind on the hard wooden seat.

"Would you care to explain that spectacle you made of yourself in church?" Mike asked.

"I'm sorry," I said, half-heartedly.

"That's not an explanation," Mike replied, clearly annoyed with my response.

I didn't know what I could say about why I was laughing without implicating my cousin Stacey. I wasn't going to throw her under the bus. She didn't even do anything wrong.

"We're waiting, Julie. We want an explanation." Shane this time.

"Something I saw reminded me of this really funny meme. I just couldn't get it out of my head. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass the two of you."

Shane replied, "Let me make this very clear to you. Behaving that way in church is unacceptable. It's rude, childish, and disrespectful. Do you understand?"

Yep, this punishment clearly was payback for the way I treated Kimberly at the restaurant.

"Yes sir," I replied automatically, just wanting this conversation to be over.

Mike then looked me dead in the eyes and said, "I have no doubt Shane handled the situation appropriately but if it happens again, you will answer to me." He said those last five words slowly and deliberately to get his point across.

Kind of hard to misinterpret that thinly veiled threat but, whatever.

"Am I clear?" Mike asked.

How many rhetorical questions can this lecture contain, I mused? Seriously, is there any other answer to these questions except the one I was about to utter? Oh look, I just added another one to the count.

"Yes sir, crystal clear." The annoyed tone of my voice didn't go unnoticed by Shane.

"You watch your tone, young lady," Shane warns me, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed.

"I don't expect we'll need to have this conversation again," Mike says, phrasing it more as a statement than a question.

I shake my head no.

"You're dismissed," Shane says, with finality in his voice.