The Abstinence Teacher Read Free

outside Room 23, both of them smiling as if they were happy to see Ruth come clackety-clacking down the long brown corridor, as if the three of them were old friends who made it a point to get together whenever possible.
    “Well, well,” said Dr. Farmer, in the jaunty tone he only trotted out for awkward situations. “If it isn’t the estimable Ms. Ramsey. Right on time.”
    Glancing at Ruth’s outfit with badly concealed disapproval, he thrust out his damp, meaty paw. She shook it, disconcerted as always by the change that came over the Superintendent when she found herself face-to-face with him. From a distance he looked like himself—the handsome, vigorous, middle-aged man Ruth had met fifteen years earlier—but up close he morphed into a bewildered senior citizen with rheumy eyes, liver spots, and unruly tufts of salt-and-pepper ear hair.
    “Punctuality is one of my many virtues,” Ruth said. “Even my ex-husband would agree.”
    Ruth’s former husband—the father of her two children—had taught for a few years in Stonewood Heights before taking a job in nearby Gifford Township. He’d recently been promoted to Curriculum Supervisor for seventh- and eighth-grade Social Studies, and was rumored to be next in line for an Assistant Principalship at the middle school.
    “Frank’s a good man.” The Superintendent spoke gravely, as if defending Frank’s honor. “Very dependable.”
    “Unless you’re married to him,” Ruth said, doing her best to make this sound like a lighthearted quip.
    “How long were you together?” asked the consultant, JoAnn Marlow, addressing Ruth in that disarmingly cordial way she had, as if the two of them were colleagues and not each other’s worst nightmare.
    “Eleven years.” Ruth shook her head, the way she always did when contemplating the folly of her marriage. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    JoAnn laid a cool, consoling hand on Ruth’s arm. As usual, she was done up like a contestant in a beauty pageant—elaborate hairdo, gobs of makeup, everything but the one-piece swimsuit and the sash that said “Miss Morality”—though Ruth didn’t understand why she bothered. If you were determined to live like a nun—and determined to broadcast this fact to the world—why waste all that time making yourself pretty?
    “Must be so awful,” JoAnn whispered, as if Ruth had just lost a close relative under tragic circumstances.
    “Felt like a ton of bricks off my chest, if you want the truth. And Frank and I actually get along much better now that we don’t have to see each other every day.”
    “I meant for the children,” JoAnn explained. “It’s always so hard on the children.”
    “The girls are fine,” Ruth told her, resisting the urge to add, not that it’s any of your business .
    “Cute kids,” said Dr. Farmer. “I remember when the oldest was just a baby.”
    “She’s fourteen now,” said Ruth. “Just as tall as I am.”
    “This is where the fun starts.” He shook his head, speaking from experience. His middle child, Andrea, had been wild, a teenage runawayand drug addict who’d been in and out of rehab numerous times before finally straightening out. “The boys start calling, you have to worry about where they are, who they’re with, what time they’re coming home—”
    The bell rang, signaling the end of first period. Within seconds, the hallways were filled with platoons of sleepy-looking teenagers, nodding and muttering to one another as they passed. Some of them looked like little kids, Ruth thought, others like grown-ups, sixteen-and seventeen-year-old adults. According to surveys, at least a third of them were having sex, though Ruth knew all too well that you couldn’t always guess which ones just from looking at them.
    “Girls have to protect themselves,” JoAnn said. “They’re living in a dangerous world.”
    “Eliza took two years of karate,” Ruth reported. “She made it up to her green belt. Or maybe orange, I