Reverend Samuel Parris has been staring at a dozen naked women for hours.

He studies every curve in each of their different bodies—some muscular, some pear-shaped, some fat—as the women dance, sing, and chant words he can’t understand around a fire in the middle of the Salem, Massachusetts, woods. His hands tremble as, still staring intently, he reaches down into his pants . . .

 . . . to get his notebook. In it he writes, in all caps and underlined, “WOMEN OF ALL SIZES AND SHAPES ARE BEAUTIFUL IN THEIR OWN UNIQUE WAY.”

Parris watches for five more minutes (any longer would make him a perv, and he is a man of God). He goes back home to the cabin he built and never mentions what he witnessed to anyone, ever.

He and Tituba, who has not been driven mad by persecution, start a monthly body-positivity meet-up for teen girls.