William was a puker. His expulsions—the color consistency, and volume of a baby after every sentence he spoke. This unfortunate fact of life began, innocently enough, during his infant coos and babbles, but by the time he was barfing onto his coloring books, the doctors were stumped. He had to carry a paper cup throughout middle school. By high school he didn’t have to worry about direct ridicule, because he had no friends. And then everyone in his peer group graduated and left town, and he was blessedly, blissfully alone.