Panic

by Sharon M. Draper

  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.”

  “Have I ever assigned a part to anyone out of sympathy? You don’t give yourself the credit you deserve.” Miss Ginger looked downright huffy.

  “It’s just that, well, have you ever looked in the mirror and felt ugly? Fat? I know that must be how I look when I dance.”

  “Actually, when you dance you are at your most beautiful. Seriously.”

  “I’m getting fat.”

  “Who told you that? Not your mirror. You are lithe and lovely—the perfect size for a healthy dancer.”

  Layla groaned. “Healthy is a code word that grown-ups use for fat.”

  “Not true. You know me better than that. You’ve been dancing with me since you were six years old. And you know I’m honest with my assessments.”

  “I was happy when I was six.” Layla hesitated. “My dad was still around then.”

  “You must really miss him.”

  “More than you know.”

  “He sure was one big fan of your dancing!”

  “Yeah. I guess he still is. I send him pictures from all our recitals and shows. He tells me they keep him going.”

  “I’m sure they do. Doesn’t it help when you visit him?” Miss Ginger asked.

  Layla looked down. “He got sent to a place way upstate. Mom goes to see him about once a year. But she always refuses to take me—says it isn’t a proper place for a child.”

  Miss Ginger placed her hand on her heart. “Oh, I had no idea!”

  “Yeah. It sucks. But guess what?”

  “What, hon?”

  “Well, Mom never tells me anything about his release hearings, but I’m pretty sure he’s getting out this week.”

  “This week? Really?”

  “I found a letter in the kitchen drawer. It doesn’t specify exactly what day, but it says this week.”

  “I’d say that’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time,” Miss Ginger said, slapping her leg.

  “Me too.” Layla took a breath. “But I’ve changed a lot since I was ten. What if . . . what if he remembers me one way, and I’m not that way anymore? What if he doesn’t like the way I am now?”

  “Layla, he’s your father. He adores you. You know that.”

  “I guess. But it’s still, I don’t know, strange to think about him being home again after all this time. He’s probably different too.”

  “How has your mom dealt with your dad’s absence?”

  “Working too hard. Playing too hard. She never has two minutes for me.”

  “But she also believes in you, Layla. I know she struggles to make your dance fees, but she’s never missed a payment.”

  Layla sighed. “Yeah, I know. So maybe I should make it easier on her.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Maybe I should quit dancing for a while,” Layla said in a rush. She searched Miss Ginger’s face for her reaction.

  Miss Ginger paused. “You know you always have that option, Layla, but I’d like for you to think it through.”

  “I’ve already thought about it! I just gotta quit!” And at this, Layla burst into tears.

  Miss Ginger let her cry, then handed her a clean dust-cloth. “Wipe your eyes, then spray some Windex on the mirrors for me.”

  Layla sniffed, got herself together, then filled the mirror with the blue spray. She sprayed on so much she could no longer see herself. “What good is this gonna do?” she asked glumly.

  Miss Ginger didn’t answer right away. Finally she asked, “What’s this about for real, Layla? It’s not really your mom, is it? Is this about Diamond?”

  Layla continued to wipe and spray, spray and wipe. “No,” she admitted in a small voice.

  Miss Ginger began to clean the mirror from the other end. For a while there were only the sounds of the spray gushing out of the bottle and the squeak of a cloth on the glass.

  “Have you ever been in love, Miss Ginger?” Layla finally asked.

  Miss Ginger smiled. “Yes, I have. It’s the most glorious, horrible, wonderful, confusing feeling in the world.”

  Layla scrubbed furiously at a fingerprint on the mirror. “So how come I just got the horrible part of it?”
/>
  Miss Ginger set down her spray bottle. “You talking about Donovan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I think so. I love making him happy. His smile gives me the shivers.”

  “You know, Layla, it’s nice to want to give joy to the people you care about. But what does he do to make you feel good about yourself?”

  “He picks me up every day after class. He waits for me without complaining when I’m late—well, most of the time.”

  “I’d do the same for a pet puppy.”

  “He takes me for burgers and pizza. He buys me shoes.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He looks so good, and his car is so nice, and he lets everybody at school know we’re together.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He’s got my name tattooed on his arm,” Layla said proudly.

  “You still haven’t told me how he makes you happy. I don’t see you smiling much these days. You’ve seemed stressed and skittish. And what’s up with the marks on your neck and your arm?”

  Layla quickly tugged up her turtleneck. “I, uh, slipped in the shower.”

  Miss Ginger stared her down. “The truth,” she said after a moment.

  “He just gets a little worked up about things sometimes—but it’s because he loves me so much.”

  “So he hurts you because he loves you?”

  “I’m not hurt. It’s nothing. Just a couple of bruises.”

  “Love doesn’t involve physical injury. This is serious!”

  “I’m fine! Really. You’re just like everyone else—no one understands our relationship.”

  “Oh yes, I do. Layla, you’re not going to want to hear this, but I think you need to separate yourself from anybody who hurts you.”

  “But I hurt him! I was all up in Justin’s face. He was just trying to show me how much that pained him. I shouldn’t have been dancing with Justin like that—I deserved it.”

  “Do you hear yourself, how wrong that sounds? Nobody deserves to be abused, Layla. Ever. You need help.” Miss Ginger paused, then added, “Maybe more than I can offer.”

  “I’m not abused. That’s women who get beat up. Donny would never hit me.”

  “He choked you.”

  “No, he didn’t! He stopped!”

  “Really? Seriously, Layla?”

  Layla sank down on the floor. “It’s just, I’m crazy about him . . . and I’m scared I’m losing him. He wants me to quit dance.”

  “I see. So you’d stop doing the one thing you really love for a guy you think you love.”

  “You make me sound stupid.”

  “I’m just listening and trying to make sense of what you’re saying.”

  “He’s been hanging around with another girl at school—just to make me jealous.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Oh, yeah. The thought of him with her makes me want to puke.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe Donovan is also a little jealous of you?”

  Layla considered this. “Well, I know he hates Justin. He watches through the window, and he hates it when I dance with him.”

  “I know. I’ve seen him. Most folks come inside to watch. He seems to like lurking in the shadows.”

  “Donny is a very private person, and he’s a little shy.”

  “That’s probably not a word I’d use to describe him, but go on.”

  “He told me he wanted me to quit dance—to prove I love him.”

  Miss Ginger nodded slowly, then turned on “Heaven & Earth” by Kelly Rowland and began to move across the floor. Layla sat in front of the now squeaky-clean mirrors and watched. The music spoke: “ ’Cause I know my worth/And oh, oh, I will no longer settle for whatever . . . ”

  Her teacher seemed to melt into the music. The music flowed through her and from her as she leaped across the floor. She was a candle flickering in the wind. Then she was the wind, and as the music slowed, the candle sputtered and disappeared. She fell to the floor in a graceful heap.

  “Wow,” Layla exclaimed.

  Miss Ginger sat up and looked directly at Layla. “I love dance. It is part of my spirit, my essence. It defines who I am. I think the same is true for you. I’ve seen your face when you take the stage. You light up. You glow. Now that’s love.”

  Miss Ginger chose another selection from her iPod, the “Dance of the Swans” from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, and turned the music up loud. “Dance it out, Layla. Dance.”

  Layla breathed in the music—it felt to her like some sort of mystical enchantment as she moved. The music pulsed soft and lovely, so she danced as much with her hands as with her feet. Every gesture was lyrical. Every step, delicate. She felt like she was made of feathers. She was a swan at that moment, searching for beauty.

  When the music finally stopped, Layla’s neck throbbed at the places where Donovan had squeezed. But the rest of her felt alive and tingled with excitement.

  “How do you feel?” Miss Ginger asked.

  “Fantastic. I could almost see the water the swan floated on.”

  “And as you danced I was by the side of that lake with you. You have a gift, Layla.”

  “I don’t think I can live without dancing,” Layla admitted.

  Miss Ginger nodded thoughtfully. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I’m . . . I’m not sure if I’m brave enough to stand up to Donny. Maybe if I apologize to him . . . ”

  “He’s the one who hurt you, remember? It is he who must apologize!”

  “Yeah, but if I smooth things over, maybe we can work this out.”

  “You need to stand up to him. Demand some changes. Let him know you won’t allow him to put his hands on you ever again.”

  Layla nodded. “I’m gonna try.”

  “You have to do more than try, or I’m going to make some phone calls—child protective services, the police, my friend the social worker—I’ve got quite an arsenal. I can’t have my girls being abused. I won’t!”

  “I understand,” Layla said. “I do.” She put on her Uggs and grabbed her bag. “Thanks for letting me talk to you today, Miss Ginger. You gave me lots to think about.”

  “Sometimes we all need a day for R and R. You’ve got to learn to embrace how wonderful you are. Got that? But if I hear about you skipping school again, I’ll kick your butt. And I want you to let me know about how you’re handling those other issues, you hear me? I’m not going to wait before I make those phone calls.” Miss Ginger gave Layla a big hug.

  “Gotcha.”

  “Now go home and get yourself together. I’ll see you at class tonight, right?”

  “Right.” Layla paused at the front door of the studio. “Miss Ginger?”

  “Yes?”

  “You know the girl he’s seeing at school is named Magnificent? Can you believe that? Her full name is Magnificent Significant Jones.”

  “Good Lord. Is she all that?”

  “She’s got the body to match the name.”

  Miss Ginger laughed. “I bet she can’t dance like a feather on a breeze. But you can.”

  29

  JUSTIN, Tuesday, April 16 12 p.m.

  “ ‘The last thing he ever said to me was,

  “Just always be waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.” ’ ”

  —from Peter Pan

  The school lunchroom was hot and crowded, as usual. Justin had to dodge ketchup packets on the floor, book bags in the aisles, and kids tossing French fries as he made his way through the cafeteria.

  He noticed Zac and Ben hovering at a table to his left.

  “So let me hold them fries,” Zac was saying to a skinny, flustered ninth-grader.

  “And I’ll have those chocolate chip cookies,” Ben added, hovering behind Zac as usual.

  The younger boy looked around in desperation.

  Justin pushed past three kids and shouted, “Back off, Zac!”

  Zac spun around, a snarl on his face, but he st
epped back when he saw it was Justin. “You suck,” he spat out.

  “You wanna suck the floor of this nasty cafeteria in front of everybody?” Justin asked, narrowing his eyes.

  Zac didn’t reply. Without warning, he reached over and snatched the kid’s fries. He then bolted out of the lunchroom, with Ben trailing behind like smoke.

  The freshman whispered his thanks to Justin, then hunkered over what was left of his lunch. Justin looked around for Mercedes and Steve.

  They were sitting in the back near the door, sharing a salad.

  Steve looked up. “ ’Sup?” he said.

  Justin slid awkwardly onto the bench that was attached to the cafeteria table. “I hate eating in here. My legs don’t fit under these tables. What did they build them for—fifth-graders?”

  Steve, even taller and broader than Justin, nodded in agreement. “I feel ya.”

  “You heard anything new about Diamond?” Justin asked Mercedes.

  “No. My mom talks to her mom a couple of times a day, but I don’t think there’s anything to report.”

  “No news is good news, right?” Justin took a bite of his burger.

  “No news means we still have no idea where she is. I don’t think that’s good. It’s still on all the news stations. But all they keep showing is that video of her mom and dad, crying, begging for her safe return.”

  Steve looked angry. “Nobody who steals a kid is going to pay attention to crying parents. If he had a heart, he wouldn’t have taken her in the first place.”

  “You’re right. Her mom looks really bad,” Mercedes said sadly.

  Justin thought Mercedes was looking pretty stressed as well—sunken shadows under her eyes, ashen skin, her hair barely combed and falling wildly out of one thin pink scrunchie. She got up and tossed the rest of the salad in the trash.

  When she sat back down she whispered to Justin, “Don’t turn around, but here comes Donovan and his Transformers doll.”

  “What do I care?” Justin said, taking another bite of his sandwich.