ON THE FIRST floor by the door that lead to the street, I ask April what she think Anthony gonna do to me. She say I gotta learn my lesson—the sooner the better. It’ll hurt, she tells me. Worse than anything I ever felt before. “But you earned it. Anyhow, you’ll get used to it.”

I got used to a lot: failing seventh grade, cutting class, bullying people who was scared of me. But I ain’t never gonna get used to the things that happen at The Fount, I tell her.

“That’s what I said.”

I push the door open. “What’s Cricket supposed to get used to? A different mother every two months? Men who—”

“Shut up! You talk too much.”

She step out the building like she leaving one of JuJu’s parties, swinging her hair and everything else. Stopping at the car she say, “Here she is, Daddy,” even though his window is shut tight.

I get in first. Sliding across the back seat, I sit behind the driver. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Anthony don’t look my way or say a word. He on the phone taking care of business. The car start moving, backing up before April’s door is closed. The driver tell us to buckle up—like it matters.

April leans her head against the window, like she’s tired, then closes her eyes. When I pat the seat in between us, she ignore me. Next, I tap my foot on hers. It’s like I ain’t here. So, I take out a pen, writing on my hand what I got to say.

Her purse is on the floor between her legs when she unzips it and takes out pills. She got two in the middle of her hand when she say, “Take them. You’ll feel what he’s doing. But you won’t care as much.”

My palms is sweating. I wipe ’em on my shorts. Wipe sweat off my nose and cheeks too. But I don’t take the pills. I pray under my breath. Not for myself but for Cricket. She only a baby. Too young to run out of good luck or for God to forget about her.

He covers the phone with his hand. Yells for me to shut my big, fat, stinking mouth before he does it for me.

She swallows the pills without water, even though there’s a bottle in the pocket behind Daddy’s seat. When she start crying, his hand reaches back. He grabs her by the hair and bangs her head on his headrest. She don’t make a sound, not a peep. Me neither.

The car turns corners fast. Flies by a restaurant, The Fount, and a park I never seen before. By the time it’s on the highway, we doing eighty.

I see Walmart in a strip mall in the next town over, Barnes & Noble and TJ Maxx two exits past that. I try to memorize that, plus other things about him. He’s tall, maybe six four, I remind myself. He shaved his head last week, so he bald. Always wears a watch on his right hand—Apple today. I lock that picture in my brain. The license plate number too. And hope Solomon do like I said and get JuJu to come for the baby soon as she can.

April picks at a knot at the end of her hair. I try the lock again, the window too. He tells the driver to go back for Cricket once they’re done.

For the first time she look scared. “Daddy, you said it wasn’t true. That it was just something for me to tell Char to get her to come. Please—don’t sell my baby.”

He tell her to shut up. That he’s a full-grown man, and he’ll do what he wants.

We both get quiet. Soon I see April lifting her purse off the floor. Sitting it in her lap. Her fingers move slow as slugs when they go inside it. My eyes get big as the moon after I see it—pink as Pepto-Bismol. Loaded, I hope.