Panic (15 page)

“Perhaps mother is in half mourning by this time.”

—from
Peter Pan

Thane unlocked the door and entered with Diamond's breakfast and a change of clothes. He set the food on the bed. “I hope you slept well,” he said cheerfully. “The last few nights have been simply glorious. It never occurred to me how much more . . . ah, flexible . . . dancers could be.”

Diamond was not going to give him the satisfaction of a response. She covered her head with her arms.

“Shower up, sweetie. I've got a surprise for you today.”

“What? More drugs? You drugged me again,” she accused him as he led her into the bathroom.

“I find it makes things easier for everyone involved,” he explained.

“When are you going to let me go home?”

“Soon. I promise. Soon.” He turned on the shower, placed her fresh clothes on the toilet, and left.

Diamond let the hot water pound at her battered body. She didn't want to look at the places where the bruises were. She didn't want to give up, but her hopes were dimming.

She left the bathroom and got dressed. He always brought her really nice clothes—things she would have chosen, and brand-new every day. What was up with that? Once again, he had changed the sheets. Today they were soft pink. Sitting gingerly in the chair, she forced herself to choke down the breakfast of juice and a couple of doughnuts. She flung the stupid rose into the corner.

She looked, just as she looked a dozen times a day, up at the inaccessible window. She wondered if there was any way she could jump on the bed hard enough to bounce up there, and then thought to herself she was definitely losing it—it was fifteen feet up! She could barely make out bullet-gray skies and steady rain.

For some reason this time, snippets of songs she'd danced to wove their way through her mind. “Bluebird” by Sara Bareilles, who sang of wings torn and rusted, and of flying away. “Beautiful Flower” by India.Arie, which she'd always liked because the song was about power and
fire and diamonds. But even though she knew she had no chance to fly away just yet, Diamond decided to focus on that power. To keep herself sane, she decided to concentrate on a way to escape.

She found energy in thinking about the studio, which always felt comfortable, like a favorite sweatshirt. The smell of popcorn from the microwave in the café, the swirling strains of thousands of songs, the glaring reality of the mirrors that covered each wall. Miss Ginger's voice, demanding and gentle at the same time. The sound of fifteen pairs of tap shoes on the wooden floor. Sweat—honest, exhilarating sweat after a great class.

She thought about her friends all the time. To fill the silence of the long hours of the day, she made up little conversations with them in her head.

To Mercedes: “Girl, I have landed in the hotel of Hell. I'd give anything to spend a day with you in Eden Park, down by the river, just talkin' trash and sendin' texts.”

To Justin: “I hope you've told Layla how you feel, you big doofus. You know where they get the word
lovely
? From love. Real love. Not the ugly stuff. I'd kill for some lovely right about now. You've got it at your fingertips.”

To Layla: “I'm glad you got the part of Wendy in
Peter Pan.
Dance like the star you are, girlfriend. Dance away from that turd you're hooked up with.”

To her parents: “Mommy? Daddy? Remember when I used to call you that? Can I be your little girl again? I'm gettin' out of this place somehow, and I'm comin' home.”

Hours went by, then Thane unlocked the door. He
was smiling as usual, this time carrying a small box in his hand. Bella the dog trotted beside him. “I want to keep you as happy as possible,” he said, holding out one hand.

She glared at him. “Then let me go home.”

“Unfortunately, that's not possible right yet, but I did bring you something to help pass the time.” He handed her the box.

Diamond looked at it suspiciously. “I don't want anything from you.”

“I think you'll be pleased. Open it.” Thane's cheerfulness made her skin crawl.

Grudgingly, Diamond opened the purple foil-wrapped package. Inside was a brand-new iPod—the latest model, with tiny earbuds to go with it.

“Why?” she asked him dully.

“Just call it a reward for good behavior.”

“I don't want it.” She threw it on the floor.

“Now, now. I took the time to download every possible song that teenagers might like, plus all the songs you had on your cell phone.”

Diamond looked up sharply. “You have my cell phone?”

“Of course. I plugged it in and charged it. You've had
lots
of calls lately. I wonder what
that's
all about.” He gave a humorless smirk.

“Can't the police trace my location through my cell phone?” she asked hopefully.

“You've been watching too many crime shows,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “That only happens on TV. Now, you can leave the player on the floor, or you can fill your day with music. It's up to you.”

He left the room, locking the door with a solid
click
.

Diamond sat stunned for a moment. People had been calling her, looking for her! But what were they thinking? Did they think she'd run away? Oh God, she couldn't stand it. She paced the room and nearly stepped on the music player on the floor. She stared at it with hatred, but she couldn't stand the dense, enveloping silence of the room that held her prisoner.

She picked it up, turned it on, and pressed the play arrow. She could barely stand that Thane was right. But when she found her dance pieces, she felt her body relax as she listened.

She cued up “Black Butterfly” by Deniece Williams. The song was about faith and survival, about struggling and never giving up, about being proud and beautiful. Diamond looked around at the despised room, thinking ruefully that she felt neither the pride nor the beauty that the song celebrated. But she played the song over and over and over, until a pebble of determination began to take shape. Somehow, some way, someday she was going to get out of here. She was
not
going to let Thane crush her.

Diamond closed her eyes and let herself be swept away on a cushion of music. She dozed. She dreamed of dancing.

“
Black butterfly/Set the skies on fire/Rise up even higher so the wind can catch your wings
 . . . ”

“Steadily the waters rose till they were nibbling at his feet.”

—from
Peter Pan

Layla decided to skip school on Tuesday. She didn't call or text Donny or any of her friends. She knew if there'd been news about Diamond, one of the girls would have told her.

“You're gonna be late, Layla,” her mother said, tapping on her bedroom door.

“I've got a cold, Mom. I'm gonna sleep in, all right?” Layla hoped her mother wouldn't check her temperature.

“Okay, sweetie. I've got to do a double shift today. Think you'll make it to dance class?”

“Yeah. I hope so, if I feel better.”

“Feel better, honey. See you tonight.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Layla frowned. Her mom still hadn't said anything about her dad being released, and Layla still hadn't told her that she knew. She guessed they'd play this game until he walked through the door. But the truth was, she was itching with excitement.

The nonstop rain made everything feel so damp and chilly. So she made herself get up, take a hot shower, and finally look at herself in the mirror. She stepped backward in shock—her neck was darkened and bluish. She touched the bruises gently and winced. How could Donny have done this to her? She tried to remember how great it was when they'd first started going out, and when it all started to unravel. It had been so gradual—the love, the anger, and the fear all mixed up like a really bad abstract painting.

The girl looking back at her in the mirror looked pretty unhappy. Layla made a face at herself. She wished she knew how to figure out this love stuff. He loved her, right? He had to—otherwise he wouldn't have gotten so upset. But still . . . She shook her head in confusion.

She dug down in her bottom dresser drawer until she found a turtleneck. Yanking it on, she checked the mirror. Good. The red shirt covered up most of the bruises. She found some jeans, pulled on her favorite fuzzy slippers, and curled up on the sofa. The house smelled vaguely of the cookies her mother had baked last night for her latest
gentleman friend, who'd come over to watch a movie after their date.

Layla didn't turn the TV on. She didn't cry. She just sat there, thinking, feeling crazy scared of losing Donny, of giving up dance—dance was the one thing that made her completely happy. She tried to imagine herself in Donny's place—she
did
spend a lot of time at the studio, much more time than with him. No wonder it ticked him off. And she sure got jealous when
she
thought about Magnificent Jones sliding around
him
—she'd be furious if she knew he was touching Mag. And yet he had to watch Justin have his hands on her every day.

So she got it: he was jealous. That was why he'd acted like such a jerk last night. It made sense in a weird sort of way.

She rocked back and forth, thinking. Maybe she could just stop dance for a few weeks until he cooled down. But her mother worked double shifts to pay for the lessons—she'd be really pissed if she quit. And then there was the lead in
Peter Pan.
Man, this was hard! But to lose Donny? She tried so hard to make him happy—she was a good girlfriend. She didn't know how she'd make it without him. She couldn't lose him—she just couldn't. Her thoughts spun with confusion.

When her phone beeped, she grabbed it with relief. It was Mercedes.

where r u?

hme. Sick.

u shld b here

y

donny

wym

he w mag. like i tld u.

su! mag? why? i dnt gt it.

cause mag is hot.

im not?

not like tht. u 2 hve a fight?

not xactly.

well, hes all up in hr face 2day.

wat shld i do?

let her have him.

i cant!

y

u can't c wat i c.

i c him w mag 2day.

i no wat 2 do. got this.

g2g. bell abt 2 ring. l8tr.

Layla felt sick to her stomach. He was with Mag. For real—she knew it. Mercedes wouldn't have texted otherwise. How could he
do
this to her? The thought of Donny with Mag made her want to throw up. She imagined him touching her, kissing her, whispering in her ear. Mag would laugh that deep and throaty laugh of hers and would never say no to anything Donny asked for.

She fired off several texts to him, but he did not respond.

So she threw on a jacket and her Uggs, locked the front door, and hurried out into the damp morning.
Waiting impatiently for the bus, she tried to keep visions of Donovan and Magnificent out of her head.
Why is he doing this?
she asked herself again and again as she scrunched herself into a seat next to a very large woman.

But she knew the answer. And she knew what Donny wanted her to do. She got off the bus in front of the dance studio. Miss Ginger's VW Beetle sat in the parking lot. Layla sighed with relief as she knocked on the studio door.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Miss Ginger said, unlocking the door. “You came to help me empty trash and clean bathrooms?”

“Not exactly,” Layla replied.

“I'm not going to even ask why you're not in school. I guess you have a really good reason.”

“I skipped.”

“Tell me something I don't know.”

“I need to talk to somebody.”

“You know I'm always here for you kids. What's up? You worried about Diamond? I sure am.”

“What I don't understand is why she'd do something we've all been warned about since we were kids! Never talk to strangers. Even her little sister knows that.” Layla paced the freshly cleaned dance floor.

“You want to take those boots off?” Miss Ginger said, nodding toward the mop.

“Oh, my bad,” Layla said, pulling them off. She grabbed the mop and cleared the wet tracks she'd made.

“So, is this day off from school because Diamond is missing?” Miss Ginger asked carefully.

Layla sank down in one of the many beanbag chairs that lined the walls of the dance room. “This is gonna sound weird: I'm not missing like Diamond is, but it's like sometimes I feel like I'm not really here, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. I'm just really down today.” Layla glanced out the window. “Why won't it stop raining?”

Miss Ginger waited.

“You got anything to eat here?” Layla blurted out.

Miss Ginger put her hands on her hips. “I know you didn't skip school to feast on granola bars from the vending machine. What's really on your mind, Layla? You know I'm strict on grades and such. I can't have one of my best dancers running the streets on a school day.”

Layla hesitated. “Do you really think I'm a good dancer?”

“Absolutely. As I said, one of the best I have. You're still learning, but I've seen so much growth in you this year.”

“Really?”

“I wouldn't lie to you. Why do you think you got the part of Wendy?”

Layla dipped her head. “I thought maybe you just felt sorry for me.”