Free The Abstinence Teacher by Tom Perrotta Page B

Lab puppy with a purple bandana around its neck; three others were teaching a dance routine—it combined elements of the Macarena, the Swim, and the Bump—to their coaches, an incongruous pair who seemed genuinely interested in mastering the complicated sequence of moves. After a moment of uncertainty, Ruth recognized the bulkier of the two men as John Roper, Candace’s dad, though he’d lost most of his hair and put on about fifty pounds since she’d first seen him dropping off his daughter at Little Learners seven years ago. She didn’t know the other coach—he was younger, unexpectedly hippie-ish for Stonewood Heights, a small compact man whose dark hair could easily have been gathered into a respectable ponytail.
    Oblivious to the festivities, Maggie sat on the grass nearby, caught up in conversation with her friend, Nadima, a Pakistani-American girl with huge brown eyes and disconcertingly skinny legs. Nadima was scowling thoughtfully, nodding the way you do when you want your friend to know that you understand what she’s saying and sympathize with her position, even if you don’t completely agree with her. Ruth approached cautiously, hoping she might be able to overhear a fewscraps of their conversation—they looked so endearingly serious, like grown women discussing a complicated relationship or a thorny problem at work—but her cover was blown by Hannah Friedman, who glanced up while scratching the puppy’s belly.
    “Hi, Mrs. Maggie’s mother!” she called out, in a loud, stagey voice. Unlike most of the girls on the team—they were eleven and under, after all—Hannah had already begun to develop real breasts and an annoying adolescent personality to go along with them.
    “Hi,” Ruth replied, uncomfortably aware of several faces turning in her direction at once. “You girls are doing great.”
    With a startled cry of delight, Maggie scrambled to her feet and rushed over to her mother, greeting her with a hug several orders of magnitude stronger than usual. Ruth squeezed back, feeling the clamminess of her daughter’s skin through the mesh weave of her jersey.
    “Mommy!” Maggie’s voice sounded as theatrical as Hannah’s, but her eyes were full of honest emotion. “Thanks for coming.”
    “Happy to be here,” Ruth told her. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
    Maggie stepped back from the embrace, tugging at her uniform to get everything back in order. Ruth was unexpectedly moved by the sight of her, as if she were being offered a glimpse of two Maggies at once: the little girl she still was—a dirty-kneed tomboy straight out of Norman Rockwell—and the happy, confident young woman she was already on her way to becoming.
    “Did you see when I scored?” she asked, kicking an imaginary ball. “The goalie dove, but it went right through her hands.”
    Ruth frowned an apology. “I’m sorry, honey, I got here a little late. But I can’t believe how well you’re playing. You’re like the Energizer Bunny out there. I’m so proud of you.”
    “You should be,” said a man’s voice. “She’s our spark plug.”
    Ruth turned and saw the long-haired coach approaching with a friendly expression and a slight bounce in his step, probably a byproduct of the dance lesson.
    “Can I interest you in an apple slice?” he asked, extending a Tupperware container. “The girls barely made a dent.”
    Maggie took one, but Ruth declined.
    “You sure?” The coach looked a bit put out by her refusal. “They’re nice and fresh. I squeeze lemon juice on ’em so they don’t turn brown.”
    “Good thinking,” said Ruth. “Can’t go wrong with lemon juice.”
    Nodding as if she’d uttered a profound truth, the coach shifted the container to his left hand and extended his right.
    “Tim Mason. I’m the fearless leader of this motley crew.”
    They shook. His hand was unusually large and a lot warmer than hers.
    “I’m Ruth. Maggie’s mother.”
    Keeping a firm grip on Ruth’s hand, Tim Mason