The Abstinence Teacher by Tom Perrotta Page A

weight?”
    “I’ve been running,” Ruth explained. “Mainly just to keep sane.”
    Arlene nodded sympathetically, as if she understood exactly why Ruth might have needed to take steps to preserve her sanity. She was a tax-attorney-turned-massage-therapist—a true renegade, given the narrow parameters of acceptable adult conduct in Stonewood Heights—and Ruth had always considered her a kindred spirit.
    “I’ve been meaning to call you for months,” Arlene said. “But you know how it is. Mel’s been traveling for work, and I run around so much, I barely have time to breathe.”
    “That’s okay,” Ruth told her. “I’ve been pretty busy myself.”
    The falseness of the moment was painfully apparent to both of them. Four years ago, they’d been good friends. They had each other’sfamilies over for dinner, went on double dates with their husbands, took the kids to movies, museums, and amusement parks. But Frank had known Mel since high school, and it was tacitly understood by everyone involved that he would get custody of the Zabels after the divorce. Ruth and Arlene tried to sustain an independent friendship for a while, but it had petered out after a couple of melancholy coffee dates.
    “It’s a shame what they did to you,” Arlene said. “You didn’t deserve to be raked over the coals like that.”
    “Thanks.” Ruth appreciated the sentiment, though she would have appreciated it a whole lot more a few months ago, back when the coals were still burning.
    “I don’t know where all these Bible Thumpers are coming from,” Arlene said. “I mean, they didn’t used to be so—uh-oh!”
    Ruth looked up just in time to see one of the Comets steal the ball from Nadima and boot it upfield to the Asian girl. A roar of anticipation went up from the Bridgeton fans as their star offensive player dribbled past Hannah Friedman and broke for the net. Alone in the goal, Louisa Zabel seemed jittery, uncertain whether to hold her ground or rush forward and force a shot.
    “Oh God,” Arlene said, grabbing hold of Ruth’s wrist.
    The Asian girl had a wide-open shot from ten feet out, but she drilled the ball straight at Louisa, who swatted it away with her gloved hands, then dove for the rebound, curling her body around the ball before the shooter could follow up.
    “Way to go, Lou-Lou!” Arlene screamed. “Get it out of there!”
    Louisa leapt to her feet, sprinted forward, and flung the ball almost to midfield.
    “Wow,” said Ruth. “She’s got quite an arm.”
    “This game’s gonna give me a heart attack,” Arlene said. “What was I saying?”
    “The Bible Thumpers?”
    “Ah, forget it.” She waved her hand in disgust. “I’m sick of talking about it. The whole world’s going nuts.”
    “It’s the kids who are being cheated,” Ruth pointed out. “You got a small group of fanatics telling everybody else what they can and can’t do, what they should and shouldn’t read or talk about. Where’s it gonna end?”
    “I wish it were a small group of fanatics. I’m starting to think there’s more of them than us. I mean, they’re running the country.”
    “It’s only because they’re louder. The people on our side aren’t speaking out. It’s like we’re a bunch of wimps who don’t believe in anything.”
    The Stars had a throw-in. Nadima raised the ball high over her head and heaved it into an empty space in the center of the field, a little bit ahead of one of her teammates—a quick, dark-haired girl Ruth had never seen before—who came streaking out of nowhere to meet it. Unfortunately, one of the Comets—Number 14, with the Wagnerian braids—arrived from the opposite direction at exactly the same time. It was a sickening thing to watch: the two players crashing into each other at full speed, both going down hard.
    The bigger girl got up right away—she was crying and clutching her midsection—but Maggie’s teammate remained motionless on the grass. Tim Mason and John Roper came