Sasha had shouted right back at the man in Arabic. The man simply ignored him, turning his attention to the book as he grabbed and opened it. Sasha was too angry to notice and Chichi was too busy trying to pull him away. However, Sunny saw the inside of this book. It wasn’t really a book at all. Its inside looked more like the touch screen of a tablet.

Then she was helping Chichi shove Sasha away from the man. After looking at other books, Sasha settled on a book that was the size of his hand. It was sticky with old honey and had print so small that even a child with 20/20 vision would need a magnifying glass to read it. It also had several pages torn out of it. “But it’s a book of practical joke jujus written by an Abatwa!” Sasha said. He purchased it for a whole bronze chittim, managing to haggle a discount due to the missing pages. He refused to talk about The Great Book.

They skipped the wrestling match and from what they heard it was again a bloody match, though neither of the champions was killed like last year. Nevertheless, Sunny found herself watching the sky and the constant milling festival crowd around her, looking for the fallen champion turned guardian angel Miknikstic. She even snuck to the spot where she’d first met him last year in front of the soccer field. Sasha and Chichi were at the table where they’d all just eaten lunch. They were debating the recent election of the governor of some state, and their discussion was so heated that they hadn’t even noticed her slip away.

Now she stood in the very spot looking at the field. It was here where Sunny had felt so out of place, so overwhelmed . . . by everything. Not this time. The festival now felt almost underwhelming, even with the intriguing and fascinating parts like the book and art fairs, even the wrestling match.

She turned around and looked at the Leopard People going about their business. They laughed, talked, explored, did their juju. They were so comfortable. Like her parents and all the Lambs she knew. When did she wind up on the outside again? She’d met Miknikstic here, as well, a man who less than an hour later would transform into so much more. She crossed her arms over her chest, squeezing the muscles of her strong ropy biceps with her hands. With her right foot she sketched a series of loops and swirls into the dirt—the Nsibidi symbol for “I am here.” She paused for a moment, looking for any sign of movement in the symbols. As if she were good enough at it yet. She chuckled and returned to her friends.

An hour later, she stood center on the field holding the soccer ball. The field had been cleared of the stacks and cases and shelves of books. Now there was nothing but uneven grass and the white lines of the field, bold and perfect. She felt good in her white uniform, and this time she wore brand-new soccer cleats that she’d bought with some of her chittim in Leopard Knocks, months ago. Sasha was behind her to her left.