The Abstinence Teacher by Tom Perrotta Page B

running onto the field before the ref had even blown the whistle.
    “Who got hurt?” Ruth asked.
    “That’s Abby, Tim’s daughter.” Arlene drew an anxious breath. “I hope she’s okay. Last week, a girl from Willard Falls broke her collarbone. They had to take her away in an ambulance.”
    The players took a knee while the coaches attended to Abby. Tim Mason crouched at his daughter’s side, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He addressed a worried comment to his assistant, who nodded grimly, and signaled to the ref. By this point, the Bridgeton coach had wandered onto the field to see if he could help.
    “This is scary,” Arlene said.
    At almost the same moment, though, Tim’s face broke into a dazzling smile of relief as Abby pushed herself into sitting position and held out a hand. In a single smooth motion, her father hoisted her up from the ground and cradled her in his arms. He asked a question; she nodded yes. The spectators applauded as they made their way slowly across the field, like an old-fashioned bride and groom.
    “He seems like a nice guy,” said Ruth.
    “Who, Tim?”
    “Yeah. I just met him a little while ago.”
    “He’s good with the girls,” Arlene said, a bit stiffly.
    Ruth couldn’t help herself. “I actually thought he was kinda cute. I mean, I know he’s married and everything.”
    “You’re joking, right?”
    “He’s a little short,” Ruth conceded. “But he’s got a good build.”
    Arlene hesitated for a moment, apparently trying to decide if Ruth was pulling her leg.
    “You know he’s one of them, right?”
    “One of who?”
    “That church. Tabernacle. Whatever you call it.”
    “Really? He doesn’t seem the type.”
    “Ask him,” Arlene said. “He’ll be happy to tell you all about it.”
    “Oh, shit.” Ruth laughed, remembering the way the coach had held her hand and stared into her eyes. He hadn’t wanted her body. He’d wanted her soul. “I’m such an idiot.”
    Arlene patted her on the shoulder.
    “We gotta find you a boyfriend.”
    This was no idle offer. It was Arlene who’d set Ruth up with Ray Mattingly, the divorced computer guy with whom she’d had her only serious relationship since Frank had moved out. Not that it was all that serious. They’d had a couple of bad dates, then a couple of good ones, then a lovely weekend together in the Poconos, on the way home fromwhich he informed her that he was moving to the Research Triangle of North Carolina. He said he would’ve mentioned it earlier, but he hadn’t wanted to spoil their trip.
    “Any candidates?” Ruth asked.
    “I’ll give it some thought,” Arlene promised.
    The ball went out of bounds off the Comets, and the Stars called for subs. Maggie was one of three girls who came sprinting onto the field.
    “Thank God,” said Arlene. “Now maybe we can get some offense going. If we win today, we’ll be tied for first place in Division B-3.”
    RUTH DIDN’T think of herself as the kind of person who cared deeply about the outcome of a game played by fifth graders—or the standings in Division B-3, whatever that was—but even she found it impossible not to get swept up in the excitement as the clock wound down, and every play became fraught with danger and possibility. You could see the tension on the faces of the spectators—they’d abandoned their conversations and drifted en masse toward the sideline, creating an irregular human fence around the field—as well as the players, who seemed to have moved beyond fatigue into the realm of pure adrenaline. Watching them, Ruth felt a sharp pang of envy, wishing she could be out there herself—hair pulled back, shin guards tucked under her knee socks, completely alive in her body, in the moment—wishing she’d grown up at a time when sports were a routine part of a girl’s life. She would be a happier person now, she was pretty sure of it.
    The momentum had taken a worrisome turn in the latter part of the second half. Now