The space alien thing doesn’t seem too weird when I’m with Agate, out between the emu meadow and the giant telescope. But here and now, it is weird. “I want to hear the duck thing,” Kevin says. “Were you heading to Slaughter?” I ask Agate, inter-rupting on purpose because I know the duck thing is going to be weirder than Kevin is counting on, and I want my friends to be friends. Also: “Heading to Slaughter” sounds wrong. It’s so ridiculous that we live in such a teeny town that we’re not allowed to change the extremely inappropriate name of our funeral home because people are used to it. On
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