Easter

Jenny—I think was her name—told me to come over, and when I got there, she, all dressed up, told me to sit down and wait on her bed, after which she brought out a shoebox from another room, took off the lid, and showed me the baby chick inside, saying, “You can look but can’t touch,” then she started, with hands already like those of a woman’s, to slap me hard across the face, again and again, until, upon hearing her mom call for her, she left the room with the door open, which I shut with my foot, so she wouldn’t see me put my hands in the box and squeeze until I heard a pop.