Beverly walked out of Mr. C’s and saw a dark-blue pickup truck parked at a rude angle in the parking lot.

Jerome, she thought.

The driver’s-side window was down. Beverly put her head inside the truck. It smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap cologne.

Yep. Jerome.

There was a gold graduation tassel hanging from the rearview mirror.

“Ha,” said Beverly. “Right. I bet.”

She opened the door of the truck, took the tassel off the mirror, and put it in the pocket of her jeans. She got out of the truck and slammed the door.

“Some people take a wrong turn and never right themselves,” she said out loud.

The words cheered her up.

She walked across the parking lot of Mr. C’s, and then turned down A1A going north, in the opposite direction from the Seahorse Court. Her arms hurt and her feet hurt. She smelled like fish and ketchup. She had a wad of cash and a graduation tassel in her pocket.

She decided that she wanted to buy something, but she didn’t know what.

Up ahead, there was a sign for a convenience store called Zoom City. The word Zoom had wheels under it, and it was tilted to one side so that it looked like the letters were going somewhere in a hurry.

Out in front of Zoom City, there was a metal horse, the kind that you put a dime in to take a ride to nowhere.

Beverly had loved those horses when she was really little. And then she’d realized that she wasn’t going anywhere — that the horse was always going to stay in the same place, no matter how much money you fed it.

She’d been three or four years old, standing out in front of the Tag and Bag with her mother, when she’d finally figured it out.

Her father was there, too.

“Get on the horse, Bevvie,” said her mother.

“No,” said Beverly.

“Get on the horse!” shouted her mother.

“The kid doesn’t want to do it, Rhonda. Leave her alone.”

“She loves these horses. Don’t you love these horses, Bevvie? Every kid wants to get on a horse. That’s what kids do. Get on the horse, baby.”

“No,” said Beverly.

“Get on the horse and have some fun!” shouted her mother.

But Beverly hadn’t.

She wouldn’t.

She didn’t want to ride a horse to nowhere; she wasn’t going to let herself get fooled.

“See how she is?” her mother said to her father. “Hard as a rock.”

Beverly stared at the Zoom City horse. His mouth was open so that you could see his teeth. He looked terrified. But underneath the terror, there was sadness, too.

Beverly felt bad for him. It must stink sitting out in front of Zoom City, offering kids rides to nowhere.

Beverly patted the horse on his metal flank.

The door to Zoom City opened, and a woman came out dragging a screaming toddler.

“Stop it, Vera!” shouted the woman. “You can scream all you want, but you ain’t riding the horse.”

The kid didn’t have on shoes or a shirt — just a diaper.

“Want to get on the horsie,” wailed Vera.

“No,” said her mother.

“Horsie! Horsie!” screamed Vera.

“Shut up,” said the mother.

The door to Zoom City opened again. A boy came out. His face was red. He was wearing a name tag that said Zoom! Elmer.

“Here,” he said to the mother. He handed her a dime. “Give the kid a ride.”

He went back into the store.

“Horsie?” said Vera. She stopped crying.

“Get on the horse!” shouted Vera’s mother. “The nice man gave you a dime, and now you need to get on the horse!”

Vera blinked. She opened her arms so that she could be picked up.

“Go ahead,” said the mother. “You want it so much, get on there your own self.”

“Stop it,” said Beverly to the mother. “Can’t you just stop it?”

She knelt. “Come here,” she said to Vera. She held out her arms.

Vera stumbled over to her, and Beverly picked her up. The kid smelled like pee and talcum powder. She was as solid as a sun-warmed brick in Beverly’s arms.

“I wonder what you think you’re doing,” said the mother.

“I’m putting the kid on the horse,” said Beverly. “Duh.”

“Horsie,” said Vera.

“Right,” said Beverly. “Okay. There you go. Do you know how to hold on?”

Vera nodded. “Yes,” she said. Her face was streaked with snot and tears. She grabbed hold of the reins.

“Okay, then,” said Beverly. She turned to the mother. “Put the dime in, would you?”

“Who do you think you are?” said the woman.

But she dropped the dime in the box, and the horse started to move. Vera held on to the reins and looked up at Beverly.

“Horsie go,” she said in a wonder-filled voice.

“Sure,” said Beverly. “Horsie goes. Right.”

She turned away. She opened the door to the store.