The Eliot Girls by Krista Bridge

replied Elaine Sykes, a young chemistry teacher who was sitting on Chandra’s other side, patting Chandra’s knee.
    â€œI only got three hours of sleep last night,” Chandra said.
    â€œInsomnia?”
    â€œWouldn’t that be a luxury! No, if it wasn’t Sienna wanting to eat, it was India. Just one of those nights.”
    Elaine stuck out her bottom lip. “What if Gus gave them a bottle of milk so you could sleep longer?”
    Chandra fixed her with an appalled stare. “Would you feed kangaroo milk to a baby elephant?”
    â€œWell,” said Elaine, looking confused. “No.”
    â€œIt’s all worth it, though. Isn’t breastfeeding the greatest thing in the world, Ruth?”
    Ruth had barely been listening to the conversation, so busy was she worrying that Audrey would refuse more tutoring, but she snapped to attention at the sound of her name.
    â€œOh. Yeah!” Ruth paused. “Actually, I only breastfed for a few months.”
    â€œOhh,” said Chandra, her voice falling. “Breastfeeding can be really hard for some people. You have to really keep at it.”
    Elaine nodded in agreement.
    â€œI know this mom who had so much trouble breastfeeding her first child that she just gave up, and of course she was devastated. And then her second came along a year later, and nothing could have been easier. So the older kid, who’s no fool, says, ‘Hey, I want some.’ And Sue said it was just like a light bulb went off for her. She said, ‘What the hell,’ latched her toddler back on, and breastfed both kids for another two years. I thought that was such an inspirational story.”
    â€œDid you know that breastfed children have higher IQ s?” said Elaine. “Isn’t that something?”
    Ruth let out a clumsy, honking laugh. “Well, then, I suppose I have only myself to blame that Audrey’s doing so poorly in math!”
    There was an awkward silence, and Chandra and Elaine looked uncomfortably at each other. Ruth turned to Chuck Marostica and sheepishly muttered, “A tutor is a really good idea, Chuck. Thanks.” Some minutes later, Ruth was thankful to hear Larissa’s approach. She stalked into the room, flicked the lights on and off, and promptly announced, “The flasher is back.”
    The response Larissa was hoping for—a collective gasp, the stirrings of shock and concern—was diluted by the way the teachers were spread out across the room. Several guiltily muffled snickers issued from various corners. Larissa’s habit—a consequence of what Ruth thought of as the theatricality of the severe—was to follow such major announcements with silence, in which she basked until someone asked for more information. She finally got the response she wanted from Michael Curtis, who raised her hand and asked in a stricken voice whether the police had been alerted.
    â€œOf course,” said Larissa. “As soon as I heard of the incident from a parent this morning.”
    â€œWhen I think of my own wee ones…” Michael said, staring despondently into the middle distance.
    â€œThe police,” Larissa said, “are taking this very seriously.”
    Few others, however, seemed to be. No one was genuinely afraid of the flasher, except Larissa, who carried pepper spray in her purse. (Ruth said to Audrey and Richard later, at dinner, “Of course she’s petrified. She’s never laid eyes on a penis. Which, of course, she can only bring herself to refer to as a ‘member.’” “As in, an upstanding member of the community?” Richard responded, making them groan.) The flasher was said to be in his mid-forties, grey haired and balding, pudgy. He wore a tan trench coat (with a poppy, apparently, around Remembrance Day), and he kept a respectful distance, so that in the end no one had ever gotten a good view of what he was so compelled to show off. Ruth