Panic (7 page)

“Uh, thanks, but I need to focus right now.” She tried to ease away from him.

“Sure you do.” He grinned coldly. “On me.” He pushed his body closer to hers. Layla stepped back, bumping into the wall.

“Leave her alone!” Justin finally said.

“This ain't got nothin' to do with you, man,” Donovan snarled. “Back off.”

Justin crossed his arms; his biceps went taut. “No.
You
back off. Layla has to dance next, and she needs to concentrate. Now LEAVE HER ALONE!”

Donovan swung around to face Justin, fire in his eyes.

Layla stepped between them. “I got this, Justin.” She
was paler than Justin had ever seen her. She took Donovan by the arm, moved him one step away from Justin, then stroked his face. She said calmly, “First the dance. Then you.”

Donovan looked her up and down. “What's that you wearin'?”

“It's my costume!” she answered, frustration in her voice. But Justin noticed she pulled the edge of her leotard farther down over her butt cheeks. “You shouldn't be backstage, Donny. You'll get me in trouble.”

“I don't like it,” he snarled. “All I can see is your boobs and your butt.”

“I'm a dancer,” she replied angrily. “It's what we wear. Now go sit down in the audience!”

“That's my beef,” he continued, still in her space. “You
show
too much. And you look to me like you're gaining weight!”

Layla paused. “I do?” She looked down at her thighs.

“Who you showin' off for?” Donny hissed.

“Please,” she said, lowering her voice. “Let's talk about this after the performance.”

“Change your clothes!” he demanded.

“You're crazy! I'm up next.” She reached out to him, pleading.

He grabbed both her wrists, hard. “No girl of mine is gonna dance like a stripper!”

In tears now, Layla pushed him away. “It's
ballet
!”

Justin's hands curled into fists. It took all his control not to lash out.

The music from the twins' dance trumpeted cheerfully.
Justin was vaguely aware of cheers from the audience. The twins were probably doing the acrobatic part of their routine.

Donovan grabbed Layla's arm and squeezed. “I'm always first. Remember that.”

Justin unfisted and refisted his hands. He'd noticed bruises on Layla's wrists a few times, and sometimes her face looked oddly swollen. But girls wore makeup, and he couldn't be sure what he was seeing. He'd never said anything before, but man, he was about bust on that punk. He was just
standing
there, letting Donovan manhandle Layla. He should have clocked him! He wanted to comfort Layla—someone had to tell her she didn't have to put up with that kind of stuff.

“Always, Donny,” Layla was saying.

Donovan then pulled her face close to his, kissed her roughly, and exited just as Miss Ginger hurried toward them, glaring.

“No boyfriends backstage, Layla! You know that! Shoo, you!” she said to Donovan.

“I'm sorry, Miss Ginger. I had no idea he'd show up like that,” Layla was saying shakily. “It won't happen again.” She rubbed her arm and hurriedly wiped the tears from her face.

Justin hovered, taut and tense.

Donovan eased away like oil.

“Oh, the cleverness of me!”

—from
Peter Pan

The stage was black. Justin was dressed all in white—his shoes, loose pants, and unbuttoned, long-sleeved, silky shirt would almost glow in the spotlight. He wore a white baseball cap, brim turned to the back, that fit snugly over his braids. He liked to keep his hair long so it could move with him.

He blinked when the focused beam of the spotlight shone directly on him, making it impossible for him to
see beyond the edge of the stage. It didn't matter anyway, because he was about to be fused with the beat. He was about to be movement and rhythm. He was about to be sound in motion.

The audience waited. He could feel their anticipation. He was on it. Putting everything else—Layla, Donovan, anger—behind him, he inhaled, drawing air all the way down to his stomach. A brief nod cued his music—“Boom Boom Pow” by The Black Eyed Peas. He began.

He started with a toprock, gentle pops of his arms and upper body while his feet became the snare of the drum. Slowly gaining momentum and speed, but exercising absolute control, he transitioned to a floor rock, twisting his lower body and moving his feet so swiftly they seemed to be liquid. His entire body became his instrument.

Even though he'd practiced this piece dozens of times, he never danced it the same way twice. Each time he let his imagination guide him. He transitioned to a helicopter, his feet swinging around in a continuous motion. He bounced up. He rolled over. His limbs moved so fast, it seemed they would tangle.

He performed a series of freezes where he suspended himself off the ground using only the strength of his upper body. After several backflips, he moved to a flare, his hands on the floor now, his body twirling above him as his hands became his feet. The audience roared with approval.

In a swift kinetic transition, he moved to a windmill, a swipe, then smoothly to a hurricane, a head spin done with both arms around his head.

As the music pounded—
boom boom pow
—Justin's whole being kept up with it. He bounced back up and ended with a difficult power move in which he spun around in a circular motion, almost like a skater on ice, but he had only the swiftness of his feet to propel him. As the music throbbed to its conclusion, Justin doffed his hat to the audience and took a deep bow to cheers and yells and hoots of appreciation.

He stayed a moment longer than he probably should have, but the enthusiasm of the crowd felt
so
good. He owned that stage.

“ ‘Why can't you fly now, mother?'

“ ‘Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way.' ”

—from
Peter Pan

“We're not goin' out to eat, are we?” Zizi asked Layla, who had changed into sweats like most of the other dancers had after the recital. Several of the girls had gathered in the lobby. Layla peeked outside the huge metal doors of the school auditorium. It was still pouring out. Donovan's Escalade stood waiting, idling right in front, probably with the music blasting.

Audience members milled around the lobby as well, waiting for their dancers to come from backstage. Parents snapped photos, and most girls posed with bouquets of flowers—the traditional gift for after a show. But Layla had a headache and just wanted to get out of there.

“No, girl. Not after I messed up like I did,” Layla told Zizi. “I just want to go home and sleep.” She still couldn't believe what a disaster her performance had been: She had missed a turn, slipped, and fallen. Even though she'd recovered quickly and continued the dance perfectly, she knew she had disappointed Miss Ginger. She'd sure disappointed herself. She'd never fallen during a performance before! She glanced out the door again to where Donovan waited in his car. She knew he wanted her to hurry.

“How can you guys even think about food?” Mercedes asked, coming up behind them with Steve. “Aren't you worried about Diamond?”

“No word?” Jillian asked. “I figured she was home with her mom by now.”

“No. Her cell phone's gotta be out of juice. Otherwise she woulda texted me by now, telling me all about what was going on. You don't hang out with movie stars and not text it and tweet it to everybody you know!”

“True that,” Layla said. “Hey! Don't they have surveillance video of the doors to malls? Wouldn't they have this guy on tape?”

“Yeah, the cops are looking, but I don't think it's like on TV, where they get those tapes before the first commercial,” Mercedes explained. “It takes a long time for
stuff to happen in the real world. But they're check—” She was interrupted by the loud, long honk of a car horn.

Layla almost jumped. “Donovan,” she said with a sigh. “Time to go. He's gotta go to work after he takes me home.”

“Girl, that dude sure has got you on a tight chain,” Jillian remarked.

“You don't know what you're talking about. Donovan is the best thing that ever happened to me,” Layla shot back.

“You bombed your dance because of him,” Jillian said, exasperated. “He made you lose your concentration, showing up backstage.”

“That was
not
Donny's bad,” Layla replied hotly. “I was the only one on that stage. I just messed up.”

Jillian touched Layla's arm. “Whatever! I gotta go. See you at the studio next week.” She waved at her mother, who was pointing to the red roses she always brought for her. The two of them left together, arm in arm.

Zizi's parents walked up next. “Great job tonight, ladies,” Zizi's dad told them. Zizi did an elaborate jeté, bowed deeply, and kissed her parents on both cheeks. “
Merci,
my
maman et papa
,” she said in a fake French accent.

Her parents shook their heads, laughing. With a grand sweep of her arms, Zizi's mom said to the cluster of dancers, “Superb as always.”

“Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Cho,” Layla replied for them all. She tried not to think about the way Zizi's dad looked at Zizi like she was on the red carpet for the Academy Awards, even when she acted like a nutcase. She wondered what her own dad was doing at this moment.

“Did you hear about Diamond Landers, Dad?” Zizi asked, her voice an exaggerated whisper.

“No, what happened?”

“We're not sure. But she might have been kidnapped by someone from the mall. Maybe a gang!”

Layla frowned. “We don't
know
that yet, Zizi, and it was probably just one person.”

Zizi's mom, with shock in her voice, asked, “But how could that happen? Didn't anybody try to stop him? I don't understand!”

Zizi grasped her parents' hands. “From what we know, she went with this dude willingly.”

“She what?” Zizi's father looked at his wife, then back to Zizi. “You wouldn't do anything like that, would you?” her dad asked.

“Not if I thought about it first, Daddy. But you know me—duh!” Zizi shrugged. Then she added, “Whoever it was must have been awfully convincing. Or really cute.” She paused, and then said with absolute seriousness, “It's really scary, Dad.” And she turned from her friends to bury her face against her father's chest.

“Her parents must be crazy with worry!” Mrs. Cho exclaimed.

“We all are,” Mercedes replied, glancing over to Steve. Layla noticed Steve speaking quietly to Mercedes' mom, who actually hugged him. She couldn't imagine Donny and her mother even shaking hands.

“I'll call or text you later,” Zizi said to Layla. “Let me know the minute you hear anything about Diamond, okay?”

“Gotcha.”

Just then Layla saw her own mom hurrying over. She carried no bouquet. She looked tired and smelled of fried chicken. But Layla was happy to be drawn into her embrace. “Glad you came, Mom.”

“I'm sorry, honey,” she said. “Cook wouldn't let me go—we had a busload of teenagers stop in.”

Layla made a face. “Oh, that's the worst!”

“Loud, rude, and hungry—fifty of them!”

“I'm sorry you had put up with that, Mom. But you didn't miss anything.”

“But I did! Your solo! I felt so bad.”

“I didn't do so good tonight anyway,” Layla admitted.

“Nonsense. You're always amazing, even when you think you mess up.”

“I
fell
, Mom.”

Her mother's eyes grew wide. “Oh, no! Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, just my pride. I made an ass of myself. And I
knew
that dance, inside and out.” Layla sighed. “Mom, can we maybe talk about some stuff tonight? I'll send Donny on his way, and I can ride with you.”

“Tonight? Oh, sweetie, can we talk about it in the morning? You'll see things differently then anyway.” Layla's mother dug in her purse and pulled out her cell phone.

Layla's heart sank. “Are you going out?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

“I've got a date,” her mom said, a distracted smile lighting her face as she scrolled through her text messages.

A too-familiar pressure tightened in Layla's chest. She lowered her voice and said angrily, “You and Daddy are
not
divorced! He's coming
back
!” She and her mother had had this conversation far too many times.

“Layla, I'm not going to marry the guy—we've been over this! I just deserve a little fun in my life,” her mother replied in exasperation.

“Well, I hope you take a shower before you go out,” Layla lashed back. “You stink of chicken grease!”

“And I bothered to hurry over and see you!” Mrs. Ridgewood fumed. “Tell Donovan to have you home at a decent hour.”

Her eyes stinging with tears, Layla looked around and hoped no one had heard their conversation. The lobby was almost empty. Justin was leaning against a table, waiting for his dad, but he wasn't looking her way.

Layla's mother hurried out without saying good-bye.
How did that go downhill so fast?
Layla wondered dejectedly. As she headed toward Donovan's car, Layla thought about Diamond and the devastation her parents must be feeling. Would her own mother worry and fret all night if
she
were missing?

“His iron claw made a circle of dead water round him,