Freshman year, there was a girl who lived down the hall from me, who—for whatever reason—was explaining how to prepare and eat fried crickets. “The best way to kill them,” she said, “is to put them in the freezer.” I chuckled and asked if you could hear them screaming, the way lobsters cry out when you boil them. She looked at me and did not smile. At first I thought she was offended by my insensitivity, but then I realized she wasn’t staring at me like I was cruel and unfeeling. She was staring at me like I was an idiot. “No, Katie,” she said. “You can’t hear them. They’re in the freezer.”