Panic

by Sharon M. Draper

  “Amen,” the group said.

  “Now, let’s say our group prayer together.”

  They all bowed their heads and, still holding hands tightly, they said in unison, “Lord, bless this stage as we dance tonight, bless the dancer to my left and right. Bless my head down to my toes, and if I mess up, I pray no one knows. Thank You for the music, thank You for the lights, thank You for the gift of DANCE that we will share tonight. Amen.”

  Miss Ginger beamed. “What’s the point?” she asked them. They all knew the chant.

  “Crystal Pointe!”

  “What’s the point?”

  “Crystal Pointe!”

  “What’s the point?”

  “Crystal Pointe! Yay, Crystal Pointe Studio!”

  Feeling newly energized and now less shaky from the police interview, Mercedes joined the others as they moved to their places for the curtains to open.

  She hated that Diamond was missing this—the traditions, the repetitions, the drama of pre-show preparations. She hoped Diamond was having fun.

  10

  DIAMOND, Saturday, April 13 7:30 p.m.

  “If you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless

  pool of lovely pale colours suspended in the darkness.”

  —from Peter Pan

  Diamond awoke to darkness. She felt oddly woozy, and even though she kept blinking, she couldn’t see a thing. When she turned her head even slightly, a pounding headache made her close her eyes once more.

  Where am I? she thought groggily. Then she remembered Thane and the dog named Bella and the daughter she never got to meet. Did I miss the auditions? She tried to remember, but her head felt like clotted cream. She waited a few minutes, then took a deep breath and tried to sit up. But her body seemed to be glued. To what? She couldn’t move!

  Her arms—Oh God, they were tied, stretched above her head. She seemed to be lying on something soft—a bed? And she was freezing. Why was she so cold? Then, with a lurch of horror, she realized that she was wearing only her underwear. Where were her clothes? Oh my God! Oh my God! Where were her clothes?

  Diamond tried to move once more, but her arms were held immobile. Ropes? she wondered, confused, shaky. Ropes? What’s going on?

  She went deadly still. Rain pounded outside a window, thunder rumbled in the distance. A flash of lightning illuminated the room for just a second. She could make out furniture—a chest of drawers, a chair. Two bulky square-shaped objects against a wall. She noticed a door to her left. But where were her clothes?

  She pulled and tugged, but there was no slack in the ropes; she could not pull her arms free. She panicked.

  That’s when she began to scream.

  11

  JUSTIN, Saturday, April 13 7 p.m.

  “He had had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know;

  but he was looking through the window at the one joy from

  which he must be for ever barred.”

  —from Peter Pan

  Justin liked to prepare himself mentally and physically for a performance. He always found a place in the very back of the wings of the stage where he could stretch comfortably and think through his pieces. He had a break-dance solo, as well as a ballet pas de deux with Jillian. His dad was videotaping both pieces—they could be used for college auditions if he did well. He was worried about Diamond, but right now all he could do was focus on the show.

  He figured out long ago that on show days a lot of girls tended to be twittery and nervous, so he’d learned to stay out of their way. But he always positioned himself so he could see and hear everything that was going on, especially when Layla was about to perform—he couldn’t help himself.

  “You ready?” he heard Zizi whisper to Layla as the two stood in the wings behind the first curtain. Zizi, he knew, was probably doing something silly and distracting, like telling jokes to make Layla laugh.

  “Been ready,” Justin heard Layla reply. “I can do these steps in my sleep, girl, ’cause I’m always scared I’ll mess up.”

  “Your piece is complicated,” Zizi continued. “Don’t be trippin’ out there! And I mean it both ways.” She made a silly face, then fell to the floor in a heap, like a rag doll.

  “Girl, you crazy! Get up before you get your costume dirty.” Layla reached down and pulled Zizi to her feet. “Miss Ginger would have a fit if she saw you.” She brushed specks off Zizi’s costume, a pale aquamarine leotard with a thin, silky skirt, studded with sequins that shimmered under stage lights.

  Layla wore an all white, sequin-studded piece of froth that glistened against her copper-colored skin. Zizi looked cute, Justin thought, but Layla was stunning.

  And dudes laugh at me! I’m in heaven! Justin thought with a wry smile.

  Jillian was onstage, finishing her solo. Justin peeked from backstage and nodded approvingly as she did a triple pirouette, her pointe shoes barely making a sound as she spun effortlessly with the music.

  The final strains of the music, as bold and strong as Jillian’s leaps, echoed in the background. The cheers and applause from the audience resounded. Jillian took her bows gracefully, then trotted off the stage in that awkward walk of girls who would prefer to be on pointe, in the air, above the rest of the world, rather than walking flat-footed on solid ground in heavy-toed pointe shoes.

  Her makeup smeared with sweat, Jillian pushed Zizi and Layla out of her way, headed to the nearest garbage can, and threw up. Jillian always vomited after her performances. As Zizi said, she danced like the devil, then she puked.

  Tara and Tina were on next, doing a duet to “Almost There” from the movie The Princess and the Frog. They almost knocked Justin over as they scurried onstage.

  “Hey, good job,” Justin told Jillian as she straightened up from the wastebasket and joined him at the curtain. “You nailed it.”

  Jillian simply nodded and waved her water bottle in acknowledgment. She wouldn’t talk to anyone for the next ten minutes or so. It was just her routine. Still, Zizi rolled her eyes and mouthed lah-dee-dah to Layla.

  “We all got issues,” Layla said with a shrug. She leaned over and touched her toes, then placed the flat of her hands on the floor. Justin was in awe of her flexibility. He’d watched her during rehearsals; even dressed in sweaty practice clothes, she always looked like she was floating, swimming, gliding. . . .

  “What are you doing backstage?” Zizi cried out suddenly. “You’re gonna get us all busted, dude!”

  Justin was so busy thinking about Layla that at first he thought Zizi was talking to him. But when he saw where she was looking, he frowned.

  Layla pulled up from her stretch and gasped. Standing before her was Donovan.

  “Donny, why are you here?” Layla whispered frantically. “I go on next!”

  “I know.” He crossed his arms, his finely chiseled face hard and unsmiling.

  “Why aren’t you in the audience?” Layla asked, her eyes flitting back and forth, probably looking out for Miss Ginger.

  “I just wanted to wish you good luck in person,” Donovan said, taking her arm. But his voice sounded more threatening than encouraging, it seemed to Justin.

  “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.

  12

  JUSTIN, Saturday, April 13 7:45 p.m.

  “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.

  13

  LAYLA, Saturday, April 13 9:30 p.m.

  “ ‘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?”