FOR THE THIRD TIME since the plane landed Sejal fished the curling photograph out of her backpack and studied it. She walked as she looked at her host family, posed and smiling before a softly blotchy blue backdrop. Everyone wore a different kind of sweater. The father was tall with large-framed glasses and a tawny sweater vest the color of chinaberries. The mother’s wide frame was seated below him, pink skinned and in a pink-on-pink cardigan and sweater ensemble — so round and bright that Sejal’s father had taken to calling her "gum ball woman" when Sejal’s mother needed cheering. The photo family’s oldest daughter, who was now away at college, wore a lavender sweater. Sejal panicked briefly as she realized she could not remember the girl’s name. She went to a college out of state, and wasn’t expected to be around much during Sejal’s stay, so her name hadn’t been important enough to stick. At least she remembered Catherine’s — the other daughter, the daughter who was Sejal’s own age, wore a black-and-white striped sweater two sizes too large for her. The tips of her fingers looked like tiny pink tongues, barely emerging from the gaping mouth of her sleeve to taste the cotton candy fuzz of her mother’s shoulder. Her face was pale, no makeup. Her dark blond hair was long in front and shaved on the sides in a style Sejal had never seen before.