"On the back of her neck."
"That's not . . . so bad," The Gray Ghost said. "I expected . . . much worse."
There was no one in the chapel, where Jack regarded the prospect of turning his back on God with the greatest trepidation. But Mrs. McQuat steered him into one of the foremost pews. They sat down together, facing the altar. "Don't you want me to turn around?" Jack asked.
"Not you, Jack."
"Why not?"
"I think you need to face . . . the right way," The Gray Ghost said. "Don't you ever turn your back on God, Jack . . . in your case, I'm sure . . . He's looking."
"He is?"
"Definitely."
"Oh."
"You're . . . only eight, Jack. You're . . . already kissing girls at eight!"
"It was just on the neck."
"What you did was nothing . . . but you saw . . . the consequences." (Urination, bleeding, rigor mortis, stitches!)
"What should I do, Mrs. McQuat?"
"Pray," she said. "You should be . . . facing the right way for prayers."
"Pray what?"
"That you can . . . control your urges," The Gray Ghost said.
"Control my what?"
"Pray for the strength to . . . restrain yourself, Jack."
"From kissing?"
"From . . . worse than that, Jack."
From his father inside him, Mrs. McQuat might as well have said. When she'd added, "Pray for the strength to . . . restrain yourself," she hadn't been able to look him in the eye--she was staring at his lap! She meant the little guy, and all that he might be up to. Whatever was worse than kissing, Jack prayed for the strength to resist it. He prayed and prayed.
"Excuse me for . . . interrupting your prayers, Jack, but I have . . . a question."
"Go ahead," he said.
"Have you ever done . . . worse than kiss a girl?"
"What would be worse?"
"Something . . . more than kissing . . . perhaps."
Jack prayed that The Gray Ghost would forgive him if he told her. "I slept with Mrs. Oastler's bra."
"Emma Oastler? She gave you . . . her bra?"
"Not Emma's--it was her mom's bra."
"But Emma . . . gave it to you?"