"TROUBLED WATER" by the Crimson Kid  [Category: First/Last]

(All rights reserved. This story's setting is June of 1969 in a small
town in the U.S.A.)

   "Are you crazy?" 

   Perspiring freely while hammering together his stream-spanning
bridge, Paul glanced at his cousin.
   "Don't call me names, Miriam," he muttered.
   "Even if they're true?" she countered. "What did Marcie say would
happen if you built this bridge, after Brittie's mother complained to
her?"

   Her fellow twelve-year-old scowled. "Brittany shouldn't have
tattled."
   "Maybe not, but still..." 
   Paul's lips pursed. "I'm going to prove that I can beat that little 
tattletale--this bridge will do that."
   "Mrs. Sinclair doesn't want a bridge here, touching her property."
The blonde girl sighed in exasperation. "Marcie will be REALLY mad,
Paul--she told you no."

   "This is important," the boy insisted.
   "Important enough to get your bare bottom walloped twice?" Miriam
demanded rhetorically. "Marcie's hairbrush first, then Mrs. Sinclair's
strap--tell me that's worth it."
   "Sometimes you've gotta take risks to prove something." He resumed
his inexpert but determined hammering.
   "Senseless." She stalked off.

*********************************************************************

   "Didn't your mom say not to do anything yourself?" 

   "That bridge has to be wrecked," Brittany stated curtly.
   "Tell your mom, she'll call Marcie, they'll make Paul take it down 
tomorrow," her sleepover guest pointed out. "He'll do it with a
big-time sore seat, after both of them finish with him. Why risk
getting your butt blistered too?"
   "It's gotta come down," the cute ten-year-old insisted. "You gonna
help me, Miriam? That sledge hammer's awfully heavy to carry by
myself."

   "Now? Tonight?" Miriam was dumbfounded.
   "It's dark--commando mission."
   "You're nuts." The older girl frowned. "Count me out."

*********************************************************************

   "Why are you back here?" Marcella sounded puzzled.
   "Brittie's losing it," the girl explained. "I'm not going down with
her."
   "My bridge!" Jumping to his feet, Paul dashed between his cousin and
their babysitter, bursting out through the doorway into the night.

*********************************************************************

   Lugging the heavy hammer had slowed Brittany down, so she was
lifting it to swing when Paul crashed into her; they both fell,
splashing into the creek's cold water.
   "Leave it alone!" he sputtered, struggling to his feet.
   "It's coming down!" she threatened.
   As Brittany lunged toward the wooden structure, her bigger
antagonist grabbed her--but then slipped backward, pulling her
involuntarily with him. Their combined weight struck a supporting pole,
making an ominous sharp crack.

   "Up, quick!" Staggering forward, Paul pulled her away from the 
flimsily-built bridge just before it collapsed.
   "At least I got my way," she consoled herself.

*********************************************************************

   "You're both safe, anyway."

   "But their derrieres aren't," Marcella remarked, lowering Paul's
pajama bottoms as he lay upended across her thighs.
   "Not from us." Mrs. Sinclair did the same for Brittany, who was bent
over the couch arm; two pale posteriors were exposed.
    Miriam watched both women raise their punitive weapons--Marcella's 
flat-backed hardwood hairbrush and Mrs. Sinclair's razor strap--in
their left hands.

   "Any explanations for this obsession, before we start and later
switch off?" Marcella asked.
   Virtually face-to-face, both bare-bottomed spankees shrugged
stubbornly.
 
   SMACK!! Paul yelped.
   THWACK!! Brittany wailed.

   Miriam grimaced incredulously. "Madness! Madness!"

   {The End}