Panic (16 page)

“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.”

“ ‘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 stepped 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.