Amidst the carnival streamers and hot dog smells stood Freda and her two sisters. While her sisters were quite normal-looking — average size up and sideways with black curls and waves — Freda could be seen a mile away.

There came a man in a foreign place. His skin was milky and his eyes were blue. The foreign place was wide and dry.

There was a woman who lived in a village by the swamp. She never had any company, except that of her daughter.

There were five wives. The first wife, the oldest, would keep the money for the man. She’d count it on her hand and she never missed a dime. The man trusted her with every penny he made. And every penny that he didn’t.

The woman would stay up every night and look out the window. Underneath her feet were at least a hundred thousand sunflower seed shells. She’d grown so accustomed, she didn’t even notice them anymore. They barely bothered her, and when they poked her calloused toes, they felt like marshmallows — covered in spit and split in half.

“Are we in trouble?” Butter asked for the third time in about five minutes. Biscuit eyed her from the side, halfway tired and halfway nervous. “No, Butter.” “But every time Ball goes to the guidance counselor, she’s in trouble.”