Laura Merrin popped an aspirin and washed it down with a gulp of water. Her temples ached and she massaged them. This was yet another headache in a long line of headaches, stemming from the usual and not-so usual proceedings of your average fifth-grade teacher. 

It had all started so innocently, really, she thought. The school year had started nearly a month ago, and everyone was in a tizzy because of redistricting. They had lost part of their student body, but gained another crop. It didn’t matter, kids were kids, but today Laura wished they hadn’t redistricted at all. This was her sixth year teaching, and she’d never had parents so worked up over seemingly nothing. 

She had arbitrarily assigned them seats, and had just happened to place Patrick Halpert and Chriselda Schrute next to each other. They were both nice children; Laura knew from her friend Sylvie who taught one of the fourth grade classes that Patrick was a good student, slightly inclined to socialize, but a good student nonetheless. Chrissy was one of the new students bussed in from the further outlying area of the district, but she seemed like a good kid.

Laura had noticed something between them on that first day. It was probably simple friendship, but Patrick had definitely been fascinated when Chrissy had stood up in her “Soldiers for Jesus” camouflage t-shirt and described playing on her dad’s paintball range during Laura’s annual “What I Did Over Summer Break” sharing session. 

When she sat down, he had whispered to her, and she had smiled, dimples popping out. Laura had overheard part of the conversation. (fifth graders didn’t realize that teachers develop superhuman hearing) They were discussing Patrick’s outdoor survival summer camp experience. Laura had smiled; all it took to make friends when you were ten was a shared interest in paintballs and building fires from scratch.

That day, she had watched them walk down the hall to pick up their little sisters, happy that Chrissy was adjusting to the new school and was making friends. They’d passed Laura again, waving, Patrick holding his small sister by the hand. Chrissy was followed by a gaggle of four girls with the same strawberry blonde hair who had to be her sisters.

By the second week of school, it was apparent that both had fallen hard for each other. Fifth graders were such horny little buggers that Laura was surprised it had taken them a whole week to make it official. On Thursday, Chrissy had been made captain of the Safety Squad and Patrick had been made captain of the Service Squad, and on Friday, she had passed him a note. Laura had been able to guess the contents, since Patrick had blushed beet red and made a check mark on the paper without looking at Chrissy. 

Tonight had been Curriculum Night, in which parents could come to school to hear all about how the district would be teaching their kids all they needed to know. Laura had expected the normal throngs of parents, meekly nodding along as she outlined her plans to include all of the state standards and benchmarks while preparing their kids for the rigors of middle school. She had expected questions about field trips and standardized testing and plenty of small talk.

She had not expected Dwight K. Schrute to brandish a paper in her face and accuse her of aiding a juvenile delinquent who was after his child.

As for Chriselda, well, she was another matter. Angela sighed. She had of course discussed womanly virtues with her daughter, but it looked like it was time for another session. Perhaps in this session they would also discuss how not to deceive one’s parents, divulge family secrets, or make veins pop out in Daddy’s neck.  

Angela sighed again.

They had arrived at the school precisely at 7 and looked for a place to park the children. There was free child care in the gym, but Angela had frowned upon the activities offered there; she disapproved of mixing arts with crafts. Dwight had felt it was a fire hazard to have several hundred schoolchildren in a gym with only high school National Honor Society students supervising. “They’re not even trained in CPR, I checked!” he had announced, “And those exits would become clogged with little bodies if there was a fire and everyone was trying to exit!”

They had settled the girls on a bench for the duration of the evening. Chriselda and Edrea had brought homework, Alarice had brought her knitting, and Geraldine and Matilda had a bag of books to share.  They promised to sit quietly and not budge.
           

After quick trips to the first, second, third and fourth grade rooms, Angela and Dwight had entered the fifth grade room and immediately spotted Chriselda’s desk. They had carefully inspected the work on top of the desk, duly noting the A+ spelling test and the perfect geography quiz. Dwight had opened the desktop, and Angela had just been about to comment on her pride in her daughter’s neatness when Dwight had pulled a sheet of notebook paper out.
           

They both read it. Angela’s jaw tightened and she had felt Dwight stiffen up and draw his breath in sharply. “Chriselda Martine Halpert. Chrissy S. Halpert. Mrs. Patrick Halpert. Mr. Patrick James H. Schrute.  Chriselda Martine Schrute-Halpert,” he had read in a deadly low voice.

Angela had been trying to process this in her mind when Dwight had marched up to the teacher and waved the paper in her face. “What is this? You are aiding and abetting a juvenile delinquent who is after my child!” he had sputtered angrily.
           

The teacher had taken a step back. “What?” she had said confusedly, taking a look at the paper, “Well, Chrissy and Patrick do sit next to each other, and they are friends, but that’s all I know!”

Dwight had glowered, and Angela laid a hand on his arm. Dwight had glanced at the paper again. “Halpert. Why is that so familiar? Did I hear that name on COPS?” he asked Angela.
           

The room had gotten quieter, as most of the other parents had edged out the door, so it was quite easy to hear when someone walked into the room and said, “Oh, my God!” Angela had spun around, intending to offer a piece of her mind about using the Lord’s name in vain. She had realized with a start that it was Jim and Pam, formerly of Dunder-Mifflin. Of course. Halpert. Angela had remembered the birth announcements that had come in the mail for Michael and the rest of the staff, one right around the time she was pregnant with Chriselda and the second when she had just had Geraldine.
           

They both had come forward, smiling, and Jim had offered his hand to Dwight. Dwight had looked at him suspiciously. “What is going on here?” he asked, “Is this a joke?”

Jim and Pam had both looked baffled. “No, we live about eight blocks from here, and our kids go here, and this is our son’s classroom,” said Jim.  
           

“You mean the son who is trying to corrupt my daughter?” Dwight had demanded.
           

Jim and Pam had looked confused, and Dwight had shoved the paper under their noses. Angela had noted that they both had looked shocked, but really, they were good at feigning ignorance. She had known what had gone on during their Dunder-Mifflin days. She didn’t like this at all. Who knew what ideas this boy was filling her daughter’s head with?

“Dwight, our son is ten. He can’t corrupt anything,” said Pam. Jim had still stood, stunned.

“If I may interrupt,” said the teacher, looking as though she’d have liked to do anything but, “but kids this age sometimes don’t tell their parents about their little schoolyard romances. I haven’t noticed anything inappropriate at all between the two of them.”

“Well, people are good at hiding things, and this boy might be better at hiding things than you are at seeing, “said Dwight. The teacher had looked taken aback.

 “Dwight, what is it exactly that you think is going on between our kids?” asked Pam incredulously. Angela had disapproved of her tone. Didn’t she know she was speaking to the Regional Manager of a renowned paper company? Or did she merely think Dwight was a scapegoat for more pranks?

“I think your son is trying to lure my daughter into lascivious happenings. She is just a child, and if you think that I am not aware that you put him up to this, you are wrong!” spouted Dwight, looking triumphant. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard,” said Pam. “Why is it ridiculous?” Angela had asked superciliously, “We all know what young men are after.”

“It’s ridiculous because he is ten years old and is still a child!” said Pam angrily. Jim had finally opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. As fate would have it, Patrick had chosen that moment to enter the classroom. He had started toward Pam, saying, “Mom, Jane won’t believe me that we can’t go on the playground. I told her it’s too dark, so will you please tell her?”
           

Angela had been so proud of how quickly Dwight jumped into action. He whipped a penlight out of his pocket and shone it in Patrick’s face. “What business have you with my eldest daughter?” he questioned authoritatively, and Angela pursed her lips in silent approval. Of course, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to the boy, but her daughter’s virtue was no trifling matter.
           

Patrick had looked scared, and Jim had stepped in and laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Dwight, this is stupid. Patrick and your daughter are just friends, right Patrick?” he asked.

His face had blushed deep red and he had mumbled, “She’s kind of my girlfriend.”

Dwight had puffed his chest out and startled everyone by bellowing, “CHRISELDA SCHRUTE!” and Angela had walked over to the door to get her daughter as she came in the room. “Mom, what’s going on?” Chriselda had asked. Angela frowned. “First of all, you’re not wearing those green cargo pants any more. I knew those were a bad idea.” She had marched her eldest to the front of the room.

Dwight had looked at his daughter. “Am I in trouble?” she had asked him. “That depends,” he had replied, “What is your involvement with Patrick Halpert?”

Chriselda had jutted her chin out in a defiant expression that had made Angela feel like she was looking in a mirror. “He’s my boyfriend. We’re going out,” she had responded.  Dwight had looked angry. “You’re not going anywhere right now, young lady. So as I understand, you were persuaded by this boy to ‘date’ him. Did he promise you things? Encourage you to deceive your parents?”
           

“Dad, no!” Chriselda had been outraged, and now looked very much like her father. “If you must know, I asked him out! And I didn’t tell you because you’d get mad!”
           

“I’m not mad!” Dwight had yelled, “I’m concerned for your virtue!”

“My virtue?” Chriselda had asked. “We don’t want you to travel down a path of corruption. No hand holding, because that leads to kissing. No kissing, because that leads to relations, which are only for married people,” Angela had answered imperiously.
           

Chriselda had still looked angry. “You got married in March, right, Mom? And my birthday is in--”

“Young lady, that’s enough from you!” Angela had interrupted hastily. Something like a grin had flitted across the faces of Jim and Pam, and she hadn’t like it at all.

Dwight had turned to Patrick again. “So you’ve never so much as kissed my daughter?” he had questioned. Patrick had shook his head and said, “No sir.”
           

“All right, this is ridiculous. We need to get home,” said Jim, “Dwight, Angela, it’s great to see you again, and I’m sorry you think we bribed our son to corrupt your daughter.”

Dwight had looked from one face to the other. “Fine. I can tell you’re telling the truth. But I don’t want these children to sit next to each other any more, Ms. Merrin.”

The teacher, who had been watching the proceedings in disbelief, sighed. “Fine, Mr. Schrute. But understand, I can’t make them not talk to each other. The best I can do is to rearrange their seats,” she had said wearily.

“Fine. The school board will be hearing from me,” said Dwight abruptly. Angela had glowered one last time, and then marched her husband and child out of the room. Chriselda had turned to wave goodbye to Patrick, and Angela had nodded brusquely to the Halperts.

She knew they should have home-schooled.

Pam slammed her car door shut and kneaded her temples. What a night. She’d had no idea that she would be dealing with Dwight and Angela’s neuroses after so many years, and now she had to deal with a crying son, a mystified daughter and a husband who looked like he was seriously weirded out.

            “Hey Dad? Why is Patrick crying? Mom, Patrick’s crying. Why are you crying, Patrick?” asked Jane, buckling herself in the backseat. “Mom, make her shut up!” moaned Patrick through his tears. “Jane, don’t worry about it,” said Pam, glancing at Jim. He looked slightly pale and wouldn’t meet her eye. That was odd. She wondered if he was angry that Patrick hadn’t told them about his girlfriend.

 “Patrick, sweetie, you can talk about it, if you want. We’re not mad at you,” she offered up. Patrick shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to anyone!” he cried angrily, folding his arms and looking out the window. Pam caught Jane’s eye in the mirror, and Jane shrugged.

            Luckily, home wasn’t far at all, and in just a moment, they were turning into the driveway. As soon as they got inside the front door, Pam announced, “You two get upstairs, brush your teeth and get into your pajamas. Dad and I’ll be up in a minute.”

            Patrick bolted for his room, and Jane followed at a more leisurely pace, her philosophy being ‘why run when you can hop, or skip, or pirouette?’ When Jane was finally upstairs, Pam reached out for Jim’s arm. “Hey,” she said, sitting down on the couch and pulling him next to her, “What’s wrong?”

            Jim smiled wanly and sighed, “Tonight was weird.” He rubbed his eyes. Pam reached out and smoothed his hair. “Are you angry that Patrick has a girlfriend and didn’t tell us?” she asked, “Or are you mad that she’s Dwight and Angela’s daughter?”

            “No, it’s fine that she’s their daughter. She seems pretty normal for a Schrute. I’m not even mad that he didn’t tell us. I know a bit about secret girlfriends, might I remind you?” replied Jim. He rubbed his eyes again. “Then what’s on your mind?” asked Pam.

            Jim sighed. “It’s just… He’s only ten! Isn’t that a little too young? I didn’t even know he liked girls,” he said, and Pam nearly laughed in relief. “I get it,” she said quietly, “You’re upset because our baby boy isn’t a baby anymore.” She cuddled Jim to her chest. 

            “Yeah, I am. It’s definitely weird. Didn’t we just bring him home from the hospital?” asked Jim, finally breaking into a true smile and hugging her, “I miss that. I wish he could stay little forever.” Pam smiled. “Me too. But I’m kind of excited to see what kind of man he becomes,” she said, and Jim squeezed her more. “I suppose I’d better go talk to him, man to man,” he said, sitting up, “Hopefully this will go better than the sex talk from last year, and he won’t be completely grossed out.” Pam laughed at the memory.

            They got up off the couch and Jim wrapped his arms around Pam. “I think when Janie-bug brings home a boyfriend, I’ll cry real tears,” he said, smiling.  “Yeah, but we’ve got a few more years with her. She hates boys,” grinned Pam, and Jim gave her a loud kiss. “Ew,” said Jane from the top of the stairs as she popped out of her room.  “To bed, Bug,” called Jim as he climbed the stairs.

He and Pam followed Jane into her room, and Jim tucked her in and gave her the special kiss that she loved (forehead, chin, cheek, cheek). When he left the room, Pam sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and smoothed her glossy brown bob on the pillow.

“Mom, does Patrick have a girlfriend?” asked Jane, playing with Pam’s necklace. “Yeah, but let’s be nice to him about it, okay? No teasing?” said Pam gently. “All right, I’ll try,” promised Jane grudgingly, “She’s Geraldine’s sister, right? She’s kind of bossy to Geraldine. And Geraldine is bossy to Matilda because she’s five, but not to me, because we’re friends.”

Pam smiled and kissed her girl on the forehead, chin and each cheek. Jane reached up and did the same, and Pam gave her a big squeeze. “Good night, sweetie. Sleep tight, bed bug!”

As Jane snuggled under the covers with her animals and Pam turned out the light, the phone ring and she heard Jim pick it up. “Hello? No, sorry, Jim’s not in right now. This is his secretary. Can I take a message? Sure. Mm-hmm, yup. I’ll let him know,” he said and hung up the phone. 

Pam came out of Jane’s room and pulled the door closed most of the way. “That was Dwight. He left a message to let me know that he’s having a trained spy keep an eye on Chriselda during school to make sure there’s no funny business between her and Patrick,” he informed Pam, who giggled. “Ten bucks says Dwight himself will be dressed in camo outside the classroom window tomorrow,” Jim added. “The odds are definitely in your favor, but I’ll take that bet,” agreed Pam. They shook on it, and then Jim nodded towards Patrick’s door. ‘Wish me luck,” he said, and Pam kissed him on the cheek.

She hung back outside the door, not really wanting to eavesdrop on this father-son moment, but wanting to hear how Jim would handle it. She loved seeing Jim being fatherly; it reminded her of why she married him. She had known he would be an amazing parent, and he did not disappoint. “Hey buddy,” she heard Jim say.

            “Hi Dad.” Patrick had stopped crying. “I’m sorry about what happened tonight, Pat,” said Jim, and Pam could hear him sit on the bed. “Why was her dad so mad?” asked Patrick.

“I think he was feeling like I’m feeling. He was surprised that his daughter had a boyfriend. Hey, did you know that Mom and I used to work with the Schrutes at Dunder-Mifflin, before you were born?” Jim asked. Patrick’s response was, “That’s weird.”

Pam smiled as she heard Jim reply, “Yes. Yes, it was very weird.” The he continued, “Listen, you’re not in trouble for not telling us about Chrissy. I know some things like these are private, but I want you to know you can always tell me or Mom anything.”

Patrick was silent for a moment, then replied, “I know. I’m sorry. I was going to tell you, but then I didn’t want you to make a big deal out of it!”

“I understand, and Mom and I will make sure Jane doesn’t tease you. But we’re sorry if we slip up and tease a little bit. That’s one of the ways you know we love you,” said Jim, and Pam smiled.  She wished Jim could have had this ‘teasing means we love you’ talk with Dwight, years ago, so Dwight wouldn’t have been so paranoid all the time. But then again, maybe it wouldn’t have worked, and Dwight would’ve been even more paranoid. She’d have to tease Jim about his true feelings for Dwight later.

She turned her attention back to her boys. “So tell me about Chrissy,” said Jim, “Is she nice?” Pam heard Patrick sigh. “Yeah,” he replied slowly, “but not too nice, you know what I mean? Like, well, in gym last week, we played Guard the Pin, and she was on the other team, and she just whaled the ball at me and took me down, even though she likes me. And Lindley Thompson had a clear shot at Spencer, but she just kind of giggled and threw it the other way, just because she likes him.”

Pam almost laughed aloud when Jim replied, “Sounds like a Schrute, through and through!”  He was right; Dwight would have done the same, probably worse because he took everything so seriously. He would have developed a plan in which he would have raided the other team and stolen the pins, disregarding the fact that the object of the game was merely to knock the other team’s pins down.

Patrick was on a roll. “And she’s neat, because she likes stuff like Lord of the Rings and baseball, and she plays paintball and takes tae kwon do classes. She’s just…different than the other girls. Lindley is really pretty, but all she does is giggle and whisper about Spencer. And, well, Chrissy is pretty, too, but she doesn’t care what she wears, and sometimes she hates to brush her hair, and she likes her glasses, and so do I.”

Pam was ready to edge back down the hall toward the master bedroom when she heard Jim respond, “She sounds like a great girl. Just whatever you do, buddy, be nice to her. Always be nice to girls. If you feel like you don’t want to be her boyfriend any more, talk to her about it.” She heard Patrick turn over in bed. “Dad, geez, of course I’ll be nice to her. And I don’t want to not be her boyfriend. It’s, well….it’s kind of like she’s my best friend.”

Pam tiptoed down the hallway. She smiled, knowing Jim could find no argument with that logic.

Chrissy Schrute leaned back on the school bus seat and rubbed her forehead. She had a slight headache, something that usually occurred after doing battle with her mom, and today's was no different.

Her mom had this scrutinizing Look that still scared Chrissy just a teeny bit, even though she had been standing up to her mother since she could pretty much stand up. The Look was so intense that even Chrissy's dad was kind of scared of it, and he never showed fear. Chrissy admired the Look's power, and was trying to harness it for herself. She could already make her two youngest sisters do almost anything with it, though her middle sisters Eddy and Ally weren't afraid of it anymore.

Chrissy yawned; she had been up late last night in a heated discussion with her mother. She had been subjected to lectures on the proper behaviors of young ladies many times before, but this was the most major thing to happen to cause a talk. She hadn't even gotten in this much trouble for shooting paintballs at the neighbors' house. Her dad had gotten plenty mad and scowled, but all he had said was "You must only use your power for good, Chriselda," and her mom had talked to her about how young ladies shouldn't behave that way.  This talk had been worse, and all she had dared to do was go out with a boy.  

After Patrick had waved goodbye last night, Chrissy's parents had turned to face Ms. Merrin again. "Since all you can promise is that my child will not have to sit near that boy, I expect that it will be so from now on," said her dad, glaring at Ms. Merrin, who sighed.

"Definitely, Mr. Schrute. Chrissy can stay there and I'll switch Patrick with someone else," she said.

Chrissy's dad looked around. He pointed to the seat farthest across the room from Chrissy's desk. "How about that one? I want him at that one," he said. 

"Ooh, yeah, switch Patrick with Chase Wilder, he's a dreeeamboat," said Chrissy happily. Her dad had glared at her, and she had felt her mother's pincers on her shoulder. She knew she'd be in even more trouble, but it was so much fun to milk it for all it was worth.

"Where does a nice, quiet female sit on that side of the room?" asked Chrissy's mom, unpursing her lips for the first time in a few moments.

Ms. Merrin had smiled in resignation again. "I'll have Patrick switch with Greta first thing in the morning," she said, and Chrissy's parents had nodded in approval.

Chrissy didn't mind, though she didn't show it. Greta was one of her friends, and now Chrissy and Patrick could write notes in the new code they had invented. Chrissy had a hidden copy of The DaVinci Code and The DaVinci Code II in her room, and she had been excited to learn that Patrick liked secret codes as well.

After Chrissy's dad made Ms. Merrin swear on her attendance book that Chrissy and Patrick would not sit together again, Chrissy felt the pincers on her shoulder again as her mother led her from the classroom. 

The van ride home was silent on Chrissy's part; her sisters had all clamored to know what was going on, but their mother had made them sing instead. Chrissy had refused to open her mouth, so the famous Little Singing Schrute Sisters five-part harmony sounded weaker without her strong alto. All her mom would say was "You girls have a show coming up this weekend at the retirement home in Berwick, so you'd better rehearse."

When they had pulled up into the long driveway, past the barns and Uncle Mose's dugout, Chrissy's dad had stopped the van and they all got out.

"Dwight, will you get the children off to bed?" asked Chrissy's mom.  Her dad had nodded. Usually, this would be occasion for him to bow and say something like, "Anything for my fair lady," but he didn't say anything like that last night. He had merely nodded and turned to herd the littler girls into the house.

Chrissy had started to sidle away, but her dad turned to her.
"Chriselda, please know that we are merely concerned with your virtue. You're our daughter, and we don't want you to become a victim of tainted love."

"You mean like the song?" Chrissy had asked.

Her dad had sighed. "No, not like the song," he said, and for the first time ever, Chrissy had heard him sound tired. Then Mattie had crawled up his torso, saying "Carry me, Daddy!" and he headed toward the house, saying “All right, my little spider monkey."

Chrissy had been left alone with her mother, who simply said, "March," and she followed Chrissy all the way up to the third floor to her bedroom.

Once inside, her mom closed the bedroom door and had turned to face Chrissy. "Young lady, I would like to know why you felt the need to deceive me and your father by consorting with a young man?" she'd said, and Chrissy frowned.

"I knew you'd be angry, so I didn't want to tell you," she replied simply, and her mother's frown lines got even deeper.

"Isn't the fact that we would get angry indicative that what you were doing was wrong?" asked her mother, folding her arms across her chest. Chrissy had felt privately that if her mom could breathe fire, she'd be in for a heck of a time.

"Well, I don't think it was wrong," said Chrissy defiantly, "I like Patrick and we're boyfriend and girlfriend."

She had nearly added 'so there', which might have worked on her sisters, but would cause her mother to explode.

"You are much too young to date, young lady, and I won't have you be corrupted by a boy!" said her mom angrily.

"Why am I too young? I like him best, he likes me best, and we like lots of the same things. We want to be boyfriend and girlfriend," replied Chrissy.  Her mom pursed her lips.

"You are at an impressionable age, and I don't want you to do anything inappropriate; boys like to bewitch girls into thinking they're in love!" said her mom angrily.

"Ew, Mom, no. I haven't even kissed any boy on the lips, that's kind of gross," said Chrissy, wincing, "I don't want to get strep throat or anything like that. Dad says ninety eight percent of germs are transmitted through saliva."

Her mom had nodded, muttering what sounded like, "Good one, Dwight" and still frowning added, "We're only forbidding you to talk to or even look at this boy because we care about you. Besides, we knew his parents and his father and yours never got along very well." 

"So we're the Montagues and the Capulets of Scranton?" asked Chrissy, flopping onto her bed and turning away from her mother.

"Don't drag Shakespeare into this, and turn around when I'm talking to you, missy," said her mom severely.

"It's Chrissy, not Missy," singsonged Chrissy. She'd known she was in trouble, and so what was another week or month of punishment? She was tired. She wanted to go to bed, and maybe dream about building an airplane with Patrick and flying over Hershey Park or Disney World.

"Chriselda Martine, watch your mouth. You're adding another week to your grounding, it's up to a month now. Keep it up, and it'll be two months," said her mom angrily. "You're not behaving like the young lady I know you are."

"You didn't want young ladies, you wanted boys, that's why you named us Chris and Ed and Al and Gerry and Matt," said Chrissy sulkily.

Her mom had rolled her eyes. "Now you're being completely ridiculous and you know it. You know I love my girls more than anything."

Chrissy sat up. "I know," she said grumpily," I just want you to trust me. Nothing bad is going to happen."

Her mom sat on the edge of the bed gingerly. "I- just want you to be comfortable talking to me about- things," she said stiffly.

Chrissy had blushed and looked down. She did not want to get into any embarrassing conversations if she could help it. "Of course I will, you're my mom," she mumbled.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and her dad had entered gingerly.  "Chriselda, I take it your mother has expressed our disapproval in your actions and has forbidden you to act inappropriately at school," he'd said stiffly. "No hanky-panky."

"She did," Chrissy replied glumly.

"Very well, then, no harm done, though harm might be done if that boy tries anything with my little girl," said her dad, crossing the room and holding Chrissy's face in his hands. "Goodnight, my little chickadee," he said, kissing her on the forehead.

" 'Night, Dad," she said, and he crossed back to the door before turning once more. "If it's male friendship you want, perhaps we could arrange a play date with Mickey or Levi Scott," he offered, and Chrissy had been horrified.

"Dad, no, please don't make me! Mickey smells like pee and cries all the time and Levi keeps talking about how he has a girlfriend in Canada, and I don't think she's real!" cried Chrissy.

As her dad shrugged and left the room, she could have sworn her mom said "Good girl."

"Three weeks," said her mom, and Chrissy had thought she was hearing things. "You're still grounded for three weeks, but I still want you to behave appropriately at school. That means no touching or kissing."

"Of course I will. Besides, didn't Dad first kiss you at work?" Chrissy wasn't able to resist asking.

"We were much older than you," said her mom, but it seemed as though something had melted a bit.

She leaned over and drew Chrissy to her. It was nice to hug her mom, Chrissy had thought, even if she was still kind of mad at her.

"Goodnight, baby," said her mother, kissing the top of her head.

"Good night, Mama," said Chrissy, feeling little again as her mom left the room.

She got into her pajamas and climbed into bed as she heard her mom, still in the hallway, say, "Really, Lord? Five girls?"

And now it was the next morning, and the bus was lumbering into the school driveway. Chrissy shook herself out of her reverie and looked through the window, searching out Patrick. She spotted him across the playground, and remembered the way he had gallantly defended her yesterday, saying, "I never kissed her!"

She touched a spot on her cheek, remembering what had happened two days ago on the playground. He was a good liar, she thought.