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fancy cursive handwriting. Dominique had torn open the envelope, read its contents, and gone running out to search for her child.
    That was hours ago, and here she sat in front of the Port Authority Bus Terminal near Times Square praying that Octavia hadn’t left town. She had scoured the terminal with pictures of Octavia and had enlisted the help of the Port Authority police to help in the search. They had no way of knowing whether or not she had jumped on a bus before Dominique got there. But they promised to be on the lookout for her throughout the night. They told Dominique that it was too soon to file a missing person’s report since her daughter was a teenager and had admittedly run away. They advised her to go back home and wait for Octavia to come back and to hope for the best.
    But Dominique couldn’t just go home and give up. She could tell from the tone of the note that Octavia wasn’t coming home that night. She seemed to be hiding something, running from something. Dominique picked up the note for the umpteenth time and reread it.
    Ma,
    I got myself in some trouble. I’m not really who you think I am and I don’t want to let you down anymore. It’s time for me to grow up sooner than I thought I would and to take responsibility. I love you and I’ll be in touch soon. Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. You just have to accept that I’m not your baby girl anymore. In time you’ll understand.
    Octavia
    Dominique was confused. She felt like she was reading some kind of puzzle that she was supposed to decipher. She had racked her brain for hours in an attempt to figure out what kind of trouble Dominique was in. Her grades in school were good. Dominique always kept on top of that. It had to be something deeper, something personal, and Dominique felt like a terrible mother for not having noticed that something was clearly wrong with her child.
    Her cell phone rang and for a brief, fleeting moment, she got excited thinking that it was Octavia calling. But one glance at the caller ID dashed those hopes. Toya’s name and number flashed across the screen and Dominique let out a disappointed sigh.
    â€œHello?” she answered.
    â€œI expected you to be asleep,” Toya said, speaking into her earpiece as she drove along the BQE.
    â€œNo such luck,” Dominique answered, closing her eyes as the beginnings of a headache crept up on her. “Octavia is missing and—”
    â€œMissing?” Toya swerved the car a little. “What the fuck is going on tonight?”
    â€œI came home and she was gone. She left a note behind and I’ve been looking for her ever since.” A thought occurred to Dominique. “Have you heard from her? It just dawned on me that she might go to your house since you two hit it off so well the night of my father’s accident.”
    Toya hated to disappoint her. “No, girl. She hasn’t called me and she didn’t come by.” Toya shuddered as she recalled the hours-long conversation she’d had with her father that evening. “I can’t believe this crazy fuckin’ night!”
    Dominique frowned. She had been so caught up in her worries for Octavia that she hadn’t asked what prompted Toya’s late-night call. “What else happened?” she asked, wondering what her friend was alluding to.
    â€œCamille just called me. I’m heading to her house right now. She said Misa shot Frankie’s brother.”
    â€œWhat?” Dominique couldn’t believe her ears. “Shot him?”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I said. She told me she’ll explain when I get there. Frankie’s supposedly on his way over there and Camille is scared. Misa was being questioned by the cops when I spoke to her.”
    Dominique started her car and put it in drive. “Oh my God. I’ll meet you there.”
    â€œAre you sure?” Toya asked. “You got a lot going on right now