Panic (8 page)

from which they fled like affrighted fishes.”

—from
Peter Pan

The spinning hubcaps of Donovan's truck sparkled with raindrops.

“So, why you always gotta be the last one out?” Donovan said as he roared out of the parking lot.

Layla barely had time to buckle her seat belt. Her head bumped back into the padded headrest as the SUV swung into the street.

Layla exploded into tears.

“Dang, girl. What's up with you? Why you cryin'?”

“My mother is stupid, and my friend Diamond is missing,” Layla choked out, gulping down a sob. She chose to leave her issues with
him
out of it.

“Diamond? The fine one?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “Is that how you see her?”

“I'm not blind.” He stopped at a red light, and Layla tried to pull herself together. Donovan nudged her with his shoulder. “Well, you can't fix stupid, and I'm sure Diamond will show up.”

“You're no help,” Layla muttered.

“Okay, okay. Calm down. Explain what you mean by
missing
,” Donovan said.

Layla took a deep breath. “Diamond dipped out on the performance tonight. She said she had a chance to be in a movie, so she left with some dude she didn't even know.”

“Huh. She came across to me as somebody with some sense.”

“I just wanted to talk to her,” Layla said, still sniffing.

“Who? Diamond?”

“No. My mother. She blew me off. She's got a
date.
”

“Get back, Moms. Momma's gonna kick it tonight.”

Layla glared at him. “I hate when she goes out. And she always picks some total lowlife.”

“I guess even mothers have needs.”

“She's got a husband.”

“Who is locked up.”

“But just for two more years!”

“You living in dreamland, girl. Your mom won't want your daddy when he gets out.” He turned the windshield wipers up to a faster speed. They swished back and forth almost frenetically.

Layla sighed. “Maybe not. But it's
possible
they could work things out.”

“Seems like your mother's got a thing for losers.”

“Look, I can talk about my mother, but you can't.”

Donovan held up one hand in apology. “My bad.”

“Sometimes she brings her dates home,” Layla admitted. “I hate that even more. Plus, we never talk anymore, me and my mom.”

“You got me. You wanna talk to me?”

“You're sweet to offer, Donny. But this is complicated.”

“Try me. I'm complicated too!”

Layla laughed, then studied him for a moment. “You won't like some of it,” she warned.

“I promise I'll be cool.”

“Promise?”

“Didn't I just say that? Now, go on, spit it out.” Donovan was starting to sound annoyed, so Layla hurried to tell him what was on her mind.

“Well, okay, so I was a little shaky about going onstage because Diamond wasn't there,” she began. “She's, like, my rock. She makes me feel like I can do anything just because she says so. And she's, like, seriously missing. Nobody has heard from her for hours.”

“Yeah, and?”

“
And
I'm standing in the wings, trying to visualize my dance, and you come backstage and start yelling at me!”

“Don't make
me
the bad guy!”

Layla turned away from him. “I knew I couldn't talk to you about this.”

“I'm cool. I'm cool. Go on.”

She waited a moment, then said, “I needed you on my side tonight. Not hassling me. You've got me, body and soul, and you don't need to growl at me like I'm your dog on a leash.”

“Okay. Okay. I guess I went a little overboard. But you looked so
good
in that costume, and I didn't want to share that with an auditorium full of people.”

“I looked good?”

“Good enough to lick the plate.”

“Then why did you say I was getting fat?”

“Can't you take a joke?”

“It wasn't funny to
me
. I think I messed up my dance because I was worried about you.”

“You messed up?”

“Didn't you see me wipe out?”

“I went outside after your teacher chased me away. All those dances look the same to me anyway. Girls jumpin' all over the stage. I had to get some air.”

“You're kidding, right? You missed my
dance
?” Layla asked incredulously.

“Turns out I didn't miss much, to hear you tell it.”

“I thought you came to see me perform—to support me.”

“I did. But by the time I got back to my seat, you were just leaving the stage. People were clapping, so I figured you did fine. You always do.”

“So not one person I care about saw me dance.” Layla slumped back into the seat.

“Get over yourself. I told you—I sat through most of that boring stuff for you. Anyway, wasn't that you in the back row in the second half of the show?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So cheer up. I did my part. You owe me.”

“Owe you? What?”

“You know.”

“Not tonight, Donny. I gotta get home.”

“Why? Your mom is out. We've got all night.”

“Don't you have to get to work?”

“I'll call in sick.”

“I'm wiped, Donny. I just want to get some sleep.”

“I thought you loved me.”

“You know I love you.”

“Soooooo . . . ”

“Donny, don't be like this.”

“I saw you checkin' out Justin backstage.”

“Huh? What are you talkin' about?”

“You savin' it for him?”

“What? You trippin'! Justin means nothing to me. Why you always gotta go there?”

“I'm just sayin' . . . ”

“Take me home, Donny. Please. Don't make me prove anything tonight. I need to be alone to think and rest. Please.”

He stopped at another red light, reached over, and grabbed her left arm. Hard. His fingernails clawed into her skin.

Layla cried out. “You're hurting me,” she whispered.

“Love hurts,” he said sharply. He released her arm when the light changed. But his face was stone.

“I want to go home,” she pleaded, rubbing her arm.

“Okay, you win,” he said finally. “But remember, you owe me.”

“ . . . he had dreams and they were more painful than the dreams of other boys.”

—from
Peter Pan

“You hungry, Jus?” Justin's dad asked, peeking into his son's room. “You've been moping around since you got home.”

“I had a sandwich earlier. I just feel kinda maxed out.”

“You did great tonight—I got some good stuff to edit down for these college applications.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Justin picked at the blue plaid comforter he'd had on his bed since he was about six.

“Something bothering you?” His dad came in and sank into Justin's desk chair.

“It's just that—well, I was really missing Mom tonight,” Justin admitted. “I remember telling her dudes don't get bouquets of roses . . . ”

“ . . . and she'd bring them every time anyway!” his dad finished with a small laugh. “She really got into your performances.”

“And the practices. And the costumes. And the pictures. I think she had that camera surgically implanted in her hand!” Justin smiled, remembering.

“She's at your shows in spirit,” his dad reminded him.

“Now you sound like those old ladies at church,” Justin groaned. “I feel her spirit, but I'd rather have her here.” He played with his braids. “
And
her flowers!”

“Me too, Justin. Me too.”

The silence between them was accentuated by the relentless rain outside. It was still so hard to talk about her, especially to his dad. It was like if he talked to his father about his mom, he made his
dad
even sadder. It'd been an entire year since that damn phone call, a year since the police had told them there'd been an accident. A stormy night. A drunk driver. And his mom was gone. So completely not fair.

“Can I ask you something, Dad?” Justin asked after a few minutes.

“Sure.”

“Girls are so complicated.”

“That's the question? Sounds like you've got that one figured out already.”

“Nah, I don't understand them at all.”

“Can you give me a for-instance?”

“Well, one of the girls at the studio—you know Diamond, right?”

“Yes, the one with the pretty hair and smile. You've done duets with her a couple of times, haven't you?”

“Yeah, she's fine, but that's not why I mention her. She, like, ran away or got kidnapped or something.”

His father sat up straight. “Oh my God! How did that happen?”

“We're not sure. You know how girls gather in groups and gossip. They were huddling all evening. I stay around the edges and try to keep up.”

His father nodded. “I feel you there.”

“But the bottom line is, Diamond didn't show up for the performance tonight. She sent her friend a text that said she was trying out for a part in some movie, and she went off with some strange guy. Nobody has heard anything from her since.”

“Is this a girl you have feelings for, Justin?”

“No. I mean, I like her all right, but she's not special like that. I just don't get how girls can be so dumb.”

“Ah. Let me go dig out my book called
Why Women Do Stuff
.”

“You need to write it, Dad. Guys my age could use it.”

“The whole thing would be two hundred blank pages, kiddo. The real answer is, nobody knows!”

“Yeah, like Layla . . . ”

“Poor kid, she had a rough night,” his father commented.

“You saw her mess up?”

“She covered it quickly—very professionally, I thought.”

“She's such a good dancer, but she doesn't think so.” Justin sat up and let his long legs hang over the edge of the bed.

“How do you know?” his dad asked.

“No matter what compliment somebody gives her, she always talks down about herself.”

“Confidence problem?”

“It's more than that, Dad. She's, like, really, really beautiful, but I don't think she sees that when she looks in the mirror.”

“What does she see?”

“Somebody overweight and not good enough.”

“Not good enough for what?”

“For dancing. For being. I think she sees herself as ugly.”

“And what do you see?” He straightened a pile of books on Justin's desk.

Justin paused and pulled a sheet of notebook paper from the top drawer of his bedside table. He read slowly, giving each word its due. “She is beauty. She is grace. She moves like fluttering leaves.”

“Wow. A girl who brings out the poetry in you.”

“She
is
poetry to me.”

“So why don't you tell her?”

Justin let the paper drift to the floor. “I can't.”

His dad raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“She's all hooked up with somebody else.”

“So what?”

“It's complicated, Dad.”

“There's a girl you care about and you won't even let her know?”

“You remember Donovan, the kid I used to hang out with in elementary school? We used to be best friends. Not that you could tell now,” Justin added.

Mr. Braddock shifted in his chair. “Yeah, cute little fellow. Smart. Loved cars, if I remember. What happened to you two, by the way?”

“He's not so little anymore. He's into some shady stuff, and he's got, like, these chains around Layla. She looks at him like he's the last player on the planet.”

“That may be, but I've never known you to back away from a challenge.”

Justin sighed. “It's like he controls her, like she's his toy that he winds up, and she does what he wants. She deserves so much better than that.”

His father gave him a sidelong glance. “How do you know she's not happy being his toy?”

“How can anybody feel good about being used like that?”

His dad nodded. “You've got a point there.”

“That's another chapter in your book, I guess.” Justin stood up and scratched his head. “But really, Dad. Why would she stay with a dude like him? What's up with that?”

“Well, I suppose she has to want more for her life; she has to want to escape from a guy like Donovan.”

“So how do I make
that
happen, Dad?”

“Just be yourself. Reach out to her if you can. Read my book.”

Justin laughed. “Yeah, maybe I can add a chapter to it one day.”

“Follow your heart, Justin. She'll figure out how much you care.”

Justin began pacing around the bedroom. “Yeah, right. Easy for you to say.”

“I've been around the block a couple of times.”

“It's weird. Me and Donny used to be friends. But now he treats me like the enemy.”

“My army buddies used to say, ‘All's fair in love and war.' You willing to fight for the young lady?”

“I hope it doesn't come to that. But I sure wish she knew how I felt.”

“She'll never know unless you tell her,” his dad said, picking Justin's poem up off the floor, holding it out.

“Yeah, I know, I know. I'll think about it,” Justin said, taking the paper.

“Good. Now get some sleep. I hope it works out for you.” His father closed the door quietly behind him.

Justin sat on the edge of his bed, trying to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. Finally he turned off his lamp and slid under the covers. But it took a long, long time for him to fall asleep.