Panic by Sharon M. Draper
The music began to play—loud and energizing. The PA speakers were tinny at best, but Mercedes was impressed that Mrs. Gennari had chosen a song they all actually listened to.
“Good thing Mrs. G. has a teenage daughter,” Layla said, beginning to shimmy. “Otherwise we’d be probably listening to oldies from the sixties!”
“You look nice today,” Justin said to Layla. “That yellow makes you, I don’t know, uh, kinda glow.”
“Like a light bulb,” Mercedes joked.
“What I mean to say, Layla,” Justin continued, fixing Mercedes a quit-it glance, “is that color brings out the best in you. You look really nice.”
“Thanks, Justin,” Layla replied. “I guess I’m just happy today.” She spun into a little whirl in the midst of the crowd of kids.
“I’m going to the studio right after school to get in some practice,” Justin told Layla. Mercedes hid a smile as she watched him try to break past Layla’s defenses. “You want to meet me there and go over the duo Miss Ginger suggested we try? I think it will be a great competition piece.”
Mercedes caught Justin’s eye and nodded with approval.
But Layla shut the idea down. “I might not get to class tonight, Justin. I told you, my dad is coming home. I’m waiting for a phone call from my mother, who finally told me about his release. If she gets the final approval from the corrections bureau this morning, she’s taking off work today to go and get him. I want to be there when he walks in the door.”
“I feel ya,” Justin replied with a shrug. “It’s cool.”
A new song came over the loudspeaker, and several of the students began to dance. “This feels like one of those crazy scenes from that movie Fame,” Zizi said. “I didn’t think it could happen in real life. This is awesome.” She grabbed a very surprised freshman, who eventually grinned and danced with her, matching her steps. The gauzy pale purple blouse she was wearing floated around her effortlessly. Mercedes joined them, moving to the beats that emanated from the speakers.
Eventually, Steve and the rest of the kids in the hall began to back away to make room as the dance academy students gravitated to the center and basically took over. Jillian appeared from nowhere; her elegant moves immediately drew attention. Kids clapped as each dancer did her thing. Zizi. Mercedes. Layla. Jillian.
When Chris Brown’s “Kiss Kiss” blared from the speakers, the kids in the crowd cheered and backed away farther as Justin took over the center. He popped. He locked. He flipped. He spun. His classmates went wild, stomping and hooting. Mercedes watched Layla tap her feet as she watched Justin dance.
Another song began. “Just the Way You Are” by Boyce Avenue. It was slower, more sensuous. Breathing hard, Justin extended his hand to Layla. She smiled and reached out her hand to him. They moved together, almost as if they were one person. They twisted and stepped together. He twirled her around, then gently lifted her while the music surged around them. The words to the song were so perfect for Layla—for the two of them, Mercedes thought. “It’s so sad to think she don’t see what I see . . . ”
Layla landed delicately and spun within the circle of Justin’s arms. For a moment, there was only Justin, Layla, and the music that swirled around them. The kids in the crowd were silent, mesmerized by the beauty of the dance. And then—
“What the hell?!” Donovan was pushing his way through the clog of students. He grabbed Layla roughly and jerked her away from Justin.
“Donny? What’s wrong?” Layla asked, trying to twist her wrist out of his grasp.
“You askin’ me what’s wrong? I show up and find my girl showin’ her stuff and rubbin’ up against this dude. In front of everybody! How dare you?”
“Donny, you’re embarrassing me.” Her face flushed, and she said beseechingly, “Let’s talk about this later.”
“No. We deal with this now!”
Mercedes tried to intervene. “All of us were dancing, Donny. It was just something to do until the bell rang.”
“This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, Mercedes. Now back off,” Donny snapped. He continued to squeeze Layla’s wrist while she clawed at his hand with her other hand.
Mercedes glanced toward Steve. Do something, she mouthed.
The music continued to play, but somehow the foyer felt deathly quiet. The students looked uneasy, eyeing each other, no one making a move.
No one, except Justin. Looking like he could take no more, he stormed over to Donovan, grabbed his hand, and peeled his fingers from Layla’s wrist.
Mercedes grasped Layla’s arm and drew her away. Layla peered at her reddened wrist, Donovan’s fingers clearly outlined on her skin.
“Keep your hands off her!” Justin shouted, his nostrils flaring.
“She belongs to me, and you, dance boy, won’t tell me what to do!” Donovan lurched forward and grabbed Layla’s wrist again to prove the point.
Layla jerked her arm away.
Justin glared at him. “She is nobody’s property. Slavery was abolished a long time ago.”
“Layla is my woman. And I can prove it.”
Layla’s eyes went wide. “No. No. No,” she whispered.
“Correction,” Justin said. “Layla is a lady. She should be treated like one.”
Donovan smirked. “You might be wrong about Miss High and Mighty here. She might not be the angel you think she is.”
“Donovan . . . No, baby. . . . Please, no,” Layla begged.
Mercedes couldn’t understand why Layla looked so horrified.
“Layla deserves better than scum like you, Donovan,” Justin spat out.
“Don’t be callin’ me names now. Don’t make me have to tighten you up.”
“I ain’t scared of you,” Justin shot back.
“This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, Justin. I know how to handle my women, and you can’t stop me.”
“I can. And I will.”
“Just try it, you little dance fag.”
Mercedes held her breath.
Justin’s eyes narrowed. He tightened his fist, pulled back his arm, and let Donovan have it, right below his left eye.
The crowd gasped.
Donovan, unbelievably, staggered, then fell to his knees. He looked around in confusion. And anger.
A few kids clapped at Justin’s success, but most backed off as they saw the fury emanating from Donovan.
Justin snatched up his book bag and melted into the crowd.
32
DIAMOND, Wednesday, April 17 9 a.m.
“By and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most
melancholy in the world: the mermaids calling to the moon.”
—from Peter Pan
I want to die, was Diamond’s first thought as she woke up on the fourth morning. Aching from the abuse of the night before, she could barely move. Her arms were now untied, but as she glanced at the rope burns, deep and raw, she knew they probably needed medical attention. She lay there, remembering horrible images, trying to forget. She was glad he’d drugged her, because she didn’t want to know what the men had done to her that made her struggle that hard.
Oh God, please take me from this place, she prayed.
When Thane had brought her dinner the night before, he had told her, “The drugs are in the bottle of water. Less than usual. I want you more conscious. Drink it if you want. But”—and here he leered at her—“you might want to be more awake tonight. You’re a natural, Diamond. I can tell you enjoy it.”
Diamond had screamed with rage. “I hate this! I hate this! I hate you! I want OUT of here!”
“Not yet. You’re still too valuable—you’re making me a boatload of money.”
“How?” She wanted to know. She didn’t want to know. “No, don’t tell me.”
He did anyway. “Men pay me to come here and be with you on camera. Men and women both pay me to watch you online. You’re so much more . . . ah . . . pliable than any of the other girls I’ve worked with. You’re qui
“Other girls?” Diamond’s head was spinning.
“Oh, yes. You are the first from around here, but I’ve filmed dozens of dumb kids like you. In my line of work I have to keep moving, as you might imagine.”
“Where are these other girls now?” Diamond hardly dared to think of the possibilities.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“None of them turned you in?”
“Not a one.”
“Why not?”
Thane raised his eyebrows arrogantly. “What difference does it make?”
Diamond slumped back, fighting the hollowness of despair that was threatening to overwhelm her. She tried to reason with him. “Look, it doesn’t have to be now, it doesn’t have to be today, but tell me you’ll let me go. I’ll be just like those other girls. I won’t say a word. I promise.”
He ignored her, swiping on his phone as it rang. “Yes,” he said, his voice slimy. “She is delicious. She’ll be ready at seven.” He put the phone back into his pocket.
Diamond closed her eyes, trying to think. She needed a way to overpower him, beat him up, make him stop. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
“I like you, Diamond,” he continued. “I’m thinking I might take you with me. I’m thinking of heading to Colorado next. I bet you’ll really like the mountains.”
Diamond’s eyes grew wide with horror. “No. Don’t take me away. You’ve gotta let me go home, Thane. Please. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Sure you can. You’re a keeper, Diamond. And you’re going to do everything I say.”
“No!” She threw her flip-flop across the room at him, but he ducked easily.
“Oh, you will.” He cocked his head as if pondering something. “I drove by your house the other day. How old is your sister—about nine?”
“NO!” Diamond screamed. “You keep your filthy hands off her!”
“I’ve got customers who prefer them young.”
“No! Don’t you dare touch her!”
“Do you know how easy it is to pick up a kid? I’ve got this wonderful dog that is both handsome and charming. Pulling a kid into a van with Bella is, well, child’s play.” He curled his lips into a gruesome smile.
“You couldn’t. You wouldn’t,” Diamond choked out, trying not to break down.
“Oh, I can and I will. Shasta will get her chance to star in movies, just like you. Hah! A sister act—I love it!”
Diamond screamed and screamed and screamed.
Thane waited. “Or . . . you cooperate. Colorado’s gorgeous this time of year.”
“Please don’t touch my baby sister,” Diamond moaned. “I’ll do anything you want.”
“Drugs are in the water. Drink it or not. Your choice. You can be a junkie, or you can be clearheaded and enjoy the experience.” He shut and locked the door.
Diamond stared at the bottle for a long, long time.
33
LAYLA, Wednesday, April 17 10 a.m.
“For the moment she had forgotten his ignorance about kisses.”
—from Peter Pan
Layla sat on the floor in the girls’ bathroom, head in her hands, sobbing. Mercedes tried to comfort her, but Layla only pushed her away.
“You upset because Justin hit Donovan?” Mercedes asked.
Layla shook her head.
“You angry because Donny acted like a caveman?”
Layla shook her head again.
“Then what’s wrong, girl? You know I got your back.”
Layla looked up, her eyes rimmed with running mascara. Mercedes handed her a paper towel from the dispenser.
Layla blew her nose. “It started out as such a great day.”
“It still is, Layla. Look at it this way—you’ve got two dudes fighting over you.”
“I never asked for Justin to fight for me. Now things are totally messed up.”
“I don’t get it. Donovan can’t be all up in your face like that—Justin was like a superhero or something, jumping in right when you needed it.”
“Why couldn’t he just leave us alone?” She kicked at the wastebasket.
“Layla, you’re telling me you’d rather get smacked around in public by Donovan than get defended by a gentleman like Justin?”
“Donny didn’t smack me.”
“He squeezed the hell out of your wrist. Look at the marks!”
Layla glanced down. “That’s nothin’. He didn’t hurt me. He was just jealous because I was dancing with Justin.”
“And that gives him the right to yell at you in public and treat you like his personal property? Justin was right. Slavery’s over, girl.”
“I was so happy this morning,” Layla wailed.
“It’s still early. You’ve got the whole day to get it back. Maybe now Donny will think twice about putting his hands on you.”
Layla shouted, “No!” She pounded the bathroom stall again and again. “You don’t get it. He will not get over this. He’ll try to get even.”
“You think he’ll try to really hurt you?”
Layla gave her a hollow gaze. Mercedes so didn’t get it. “In ways you can’t even imagine.”
“You’re scaring me, girl. What do you mean?”
Layla’s lips quivered. “I can’t tell you.”
Mercedes paused. “I’m here for you—you know that, right?”
“I gotcha.”
“Well, for now, blow your nose again, and let’s get to class. Mr. Baxson is gonna have a hernia.”
Layla stood up and brushed the dust off her skirt. Picking up her book bag, she followed Mercedes down the hall.
She dreaded what the rest of the day would bring. Because she knew Donovan. No way was he going to let this slide. No way.
34
LAYLA, Wednesday, April 17 5 p.m.
“In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls.”
—from Peter Pan
Layla sat in a corner of the studio with her head down, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her biology book sat unopened beside her. She didn’t look up, but anybody within a ten-mile radius could hear Zizi’s cheerful chatter.
Zizi had swooped over to Justin as soon as he walked in. “Hey, hero man. If you want, I’ll run up to the costume closet and see if I can find a cape for you. You are awesome, man. Awesome. I bow down to you.” And then she did.
“Will you get up, you nut? Chill.” Justin tossed his backpack into a corner.
“But it’s all everybody is talking about!” she told him excitedly. “Donovan went home right after you clocked his socks—too embarrassed to show his face, I guess.”
“Stop, Zizi, please.” Justin held up a hand.
“Check your Facebook page, Justin. Plus, I happen to know five girls personally who want to hook up with you. I bet you get offers to star in a movie! I can see it now—you riding in on a white horse. No, in a white Benz.”
“Thanks, Zizi, but it’s not like all that. I got sent home—I’ll probably get suspended tomorrow. My dad is gonna be real disappointed.”
Layla raised her eyebrows, but continued to sit quietly, ignoring them both.
“What! No way! That’s so not fair. I would think they’d give you a reward for putting Donovan Beaudry in his place!”
“Yeah. You’d think.”
“Well, I still think you should check your Facebook page.” She glanced over at the corner. “Unless you’d rather check on Layla.”
“Let me focus on my dancing right now, okay, Zizi?” Justin pleaded.
Layla kept her head down, trying to look like she hadn’t just been listening to them. Justin walked over. “Can I sit down?” he asked.
“You don’t need my permission,” she said, frowning. She wasn’t sure if Justin was good news or just plain trouble.
“I want to apologize for embarrassing you,” he began.
“Not neces
“I could have handled that better,” he said.
“You think?”
“I’m gonna get suspended.”
Layla shifted her legs. “I heard. So is Donovan, even though he never touched you.”
Justin nodded slowly. “Maybe he’s getting suspended for touching you.”
“Maybe.”
Justin shifted his position on the floor. “Layla, look at me.”
She raised her head.
“I’m not sorry for smacking Donovan down. I’d do it again. You are like this . . . this . . . exotic flower, and he treats you like the dirt in the garden. It drives me crazy.”
“Wow. That was pretty poetic.” She looked at Justin thoughtfully—maybe Mercedes was right. Maybe he ran deeper than she’d been willing to admit.
He admitted sheepishly, “I got more!”
She let herself smile. “Spare me, please.”
“Seriously, Layla, I love dancing with you. When we dance together, it’s, like, I don’t know, like, dazzling. I don’t want anything to spoil that.”
Hah. She had plenty to spoil everything. But instead she just said, “Well, you are the best male dancer in our class.”
He cracked up. “I’m the only male dancer in our class.”
She picked up her biology book and stuffed it in her bag. “Look, I really like dancing with you, too, Justin. I feel like I dance better when I dance with you.” She paused. “But I’ve got some serious issues to deal with. I’m not the perfect little daisy you imagine.” She gave him a challenging stare. “Things are gonna happen that will change your opinion of me. I don’t want you to get caught up in my mess.”
“I’m not following,” Justin said, frowning.
“You will. Soon.” Layla hopped up, and joined Mercedes on the other side of the studio, and began to stretch.
“Hey, girl, I thought you weren’t coming to class because your dad was coming home,” Mercedes said.
“Mom called and said it will probably be tomorrow,” Layla said with a sigh. “I got all dressed up for nothing. But I’d rather be here than at home, alone.”
“Gotcha.”
When Miss Ginger started the class, Layla kept her distance from Justin. She did the routines as requested, but nothing more.