The sun sat low and heavy over the ocean as the Low Carb Kid sauntered down the boardwalk. He pulled his trusty memo pad from his sweatshirt and scanned over some of the recipes he’d picked up in his latest venture to the bookstore.

A pair of shadows crossed his path and his blood went icy cold. He glanced up from the recipe for crumb-free eggplant parmesan to find himself face to face with Linguini and Farfalle, the Pasta Twins. “What do you want?” he asked, jamming the recipes into his pocket.

Farfalle wriggled forward, her ruffly red dress too tight over her hourglass shape. “We simply want you.” She crooned, her Italian accent warm and reminiscent of marinara. She pulled a long, yellowish rope from behind her back and advanced.

“Come, Low-Carb Boy!” Linguini hissed, his cream suit too large for his thin frame, “Just a sample of fettucinni alfredo will change your world…”

“It’s Kid, buddy.” the Low-Carb Kid muttered, pulling an oversized fork from his sleeve, “And I don’t take samples.”