That evening, I sat by the bird's-nest girl again in the packed dining room. Though most people offered apologetic smiles or small waves that morphed into awkward hair patting, no one seemed to want to join us, even though every other spot was taken. I was the social pariah, just as I had been at the church. Or maybe it was the girl's ripe smell.

"Sorry," I said before she'd taken another bite of vegetable stew. "What's your name again?" Though there was no again about it, ...