Panic (17 page)

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.

“Because he's not with Layla, that's why.”

“She's not here today. I checked first thing this morning.”

“Of course you did.”

“Something wrong with that?”

Mercedes shook her head. “The only thing that's wrong is you won't tell Layla how you feel about her.”

“She's with Donny. She seems to be locked into that dude.”

“Not today. He seems more than a little bit unlocked today. OMG! He's kissing Mag's neck!”

Justin gave her a look. “He's doing it on purpose. He knows you're going to text her and tell.”

“I already did. Sent her a couple of messages this morning to let her know what he was doing. But I gotta text this—maybe it will help her shake that dude.”

Steve and Justin simply shook their heads.

“You realize you're doing exactly what Donny wants you to do. He's trying to make Layla jealous,” Justin told her. “Plus, isn't it a little mean to send her this stuff?”

“Layla thinks Donovan loves her,” Mercedes tried to explain. “The girl's got issues. Instead of getting jealous of Donny and his ‘Magnificent Significant Mama,' she needs to dump him!”

Steve rubbed her arm gently. “Mercedes, I get what you're doing, but just leave it alone and let her figure it out herself,” he advised.

“It might help if
someone
ever made a move,” Mercedes said, glaring at Justin.

Justin shrugged. “I tried. I called her.”

“Seriously? What happened?”

“She talked to me like I was the computer repairman. Polite, but distant.”

“Well, it's a start at least,” Mercedes said. “You gotta call her again.”

Justin held up both his hands. “I don't know. She blew me off and hung up so she could call Donovan and tell him her good news.”

“What news?”

“She was really excited. It seems her dad is being
released—he's coming home real soon—maybe this week.”

“Hey, that's awesome! I gotta call her and get all the details.”

Justin thrummed his fingers on the lunchroom table, stealing looks at Donovan and Magnificent. “Layla deserves so much better than that guy.”

“Like you, maybe?” Mercedes teased.

“Like me, for sure.”

“Then
tell
her.”

“I will.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Hold still.” The flash on her cell cam blazed on and off. “I'm texting her your picture also.”

“What are you going to say with the pic?”

She made a mischievous face. “How about ‘Justin wants to dance with you'?”

Steve groaned. He picked up his book bag and Mercedes' as well.

Justin made a face. “You're a mess. I feel like I'm back in elementary school, with little girls giggling and passing notes about me.”

When the bell rang, the cafeteria emptied quickly. As Donovan strolled toward the doors with Magnificent, he turned and waved at their table, making sure the three of them saw the tat on his arm—the one that said “Layla” in elaborate blue script.

“Oh, the lonely!”

—from
Peter Pan

Layla twirled her green umbrella and hummed one of the melodies from
Swan Lake
as she walked from the bus stop to her house. But the humming and walking stopped abruptly. Donovan was sitting on the steps in front of her house. He was soaking wet.

“Where you been all day?” he asked.

“Out. Thinking. I stopped and did a little shopping.”

“You skipped school.”

“It's none of your business.”

“You
are
my business.”

“Maybe not anymore.”

“Aw, don't say that.” Rain dripped down his forehead. His shirt stuck to his chest.

“How long have you been sitting out here?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Why didn't you just wait in your car?”

“ 'Cause I wanted to show you how sorry I was about last night.” His eyes were red-rimmed, pleading.

“By getting soaked?”

“Yeah.” He sneezed. “I'm so, so sorry, Layla. I promise it will never happen again.”

“So sorry you had to spend all day drooling all over Magnificent?”

“You know she don't mean nothin' to me. It's just, I was so angry at you.”

“Angry at
me
? You trippin'!
I'm
the one who should be upset. And I am.”

“I know. I know. But you gotta forgive me.”

“You tried to choke me.” She yanked down the turtle-neck. “You gave me
bruises
!
And
you tried to make me look like a fool while you slobbered all over Mag.”

“I told you, I don't care nothin' about Magnificent.”

“Then why?”

“I figured if you can dance with Justin, I should be able to dance with Magnificent.”

“She can't dance.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I do not.”

“I wanted to hurt your feelings. Make you jealous.” He sneezed again.

“Do I
look
jealous?” She stood with arms crossed, fierce in her anger.

“Not really. Anyway, she laughs like a hyena, and her underarms smell like onions!”

Layla had to stifle a laugh. “Serves you right.” She looked at him, at the water dripping from his hair, his eyebrows, and sighed. “Come on inside and warm up.”

“Your mom at home?” he asked as she unlocked the front door.

“No, she's got another double shift.”

“Good, that gives us more time alone.”

“We need to talk, and that is
all
,” Layla said tersely.

“Okay,” he said. “You're right.”

Surprised at how agreeable he was being, she asked, “You hungry?”

“For you.” He flopped down on the sofa.

Her eyes shot daggers. “Don't even go there.”

“I'm cool. I'm straight. It's all about you right now.” He pulled a hoodie from his gym bag and ripped off his wet T-shirt.

Layla inhaled sharply—he was
so
gorgeous—it turned her to pudding. When his sweatshirt was on, she asked him if he wanted some spaghetti.

“Yeah, nuke me a bowl. You got cheese to melt on that?”

“Extra cheese, coming right up.” Layla relaxed a bit and headed for the kitchen.

“This sure beats Mickey D's,” he hollered to her.

She came back out with two cold colas and handed
him one. “My health teacher says fast food rots your bones and your brain.”

“Probably true.”

“Maybe that's why they make it taste so good.”

They sat on the sofa in silence for a moment, sipping the sodas. The microwave beeped. Layla jumped up, but Donny placed his hand gently on her arm. “Uh, hey, Layla.”

“Yeah.”

“I really am sorry about last night.”

“You already apologized.”

“I just want to make sure we're straight and you're not mad at me. How can I show you how sorry I am?” He reached out.

She backed away a couple of inches. “You've got to make some promises to me, Donny.”

“Like what?”

“No more putting your hands on me. Ever. I mean it.”

“I promise. Promise. Promise.”

“And I'm a dancer. I dance. It is what I do. It is what I am.”

“I know. I get it.”

“And I am
not
going to quit. You have to live with that.” She stood up and crossed her arms.

He looked up at her and grinned slyly. “Do I have to come to recitals?

She narrowed her eyes. “You have to sit in the front row and bring me flowers—every show.”

“Seriously?” The alarm on his face made her crack up.

“Kidding. But I'd like to have you there, even if you sit in the back.”

He exhaled loudly. “Whew!” He patted the sofa for her to sit down again.

“You're such a mess.” But even as she said that, she felt so much better—strong, finally in control.

Donny played with the rip in her jeans. “Do I have to watch you dance with Justin?”

Layla did not remove his hand. But she said firmly, “He is just a guy in dance class. He is nobody to me—you're all I care about. Don't you know that by now?”

“So I don't have to stomp him?”

“You better not!”

“Why? 'Cause you like him?”

“No, because you'd look awful in jail clothes!”

“Like your dad?”

“Don't go there,” she hissed.

“Sorry. My bad. I keep messin' up, and all I want to do is be good to you.” He eased closer to her. He pulled down the edge of the turtleneck and gently kissed the bruises on her neck.

“I'm so sorry,” he murmured. “I swear, I will never hurt you again.”

“Promise?”

“I swear on my life.” He kissed her once more.

“The spaghetti is getting cold,” she whispered.

“I don't care. Seems like I remember you owing me. . . . ”

She drew back. “No, Donny. No.” But Donny pulled her closer and kissed her ear.

“C'mon, Layla. Prove you're not mad at me anymore. Prove you love me.”

Layla went icy cold. She thought about all she and
Miss Ginger had talked about. It was time she stood her ground. She pushed him away. “How about if you show
me
how much you love me instead?”

“That's what I'm trying to do!” He looked more confused than angry.

“I just want some hugs and cuddles tonight. Nothing more. I mean it.”

“Seriously?”

“I'm just trying to show you how to make
me
happy for a change.”

“By just hugging? You been reading
Teen Vogue
again?”

“Didn't you just ask me how you could show me how sorry you were for almost choking the life outta me?”

“It wasn't that bad.”

“Yeah, it was. You scared me. And it hurt.”

He ran his fingers through her hair. “You are so right, Layla. I was wrong. Totally wrong. Can you forgive me—for everything?”

Layla looked at him as if he were another person. “You're blowing my mind.”

“I'm tryin' here. Can we start over?”

Layla gave him a long look, took in his pleading eyes, and finally said, “We can try, if you'll look at things from my point of view.”

“Fair enough. I'm willin'.”

Layla felt a happiness she hadn't felt for days, and scooted closer to him. “This really means a lot to me,” she told him.

“Wait a sec—you look so
good
sitting there on the
sofa.” He took out his cell phone. “Let me take your picture. Smile!”

She smiled. He snapped.

“One more,” he said. “Man, you are so fine!” He snapped two more as she grinned happily. He leaned in to kiss her. Slowly. Gently. “I love you, Layla.”

Layla's breath caught. He loved her! “That's the first time you've ever said that,” she murmured.

“Let me make up for lost time. I love you.” He kissed her right ear. “I love you.” He kissed her left ear. “I love you.” He kissed her nose. “I love you.” He kissed her lips again and again.

She kissed him back, feeling like she was pure air, floating.

“I couldn't bear to lose you,” he said. “You're the only good thing in my life.” He kissed her lips again, then each eyelid. She pressed closer to him.

He tugged up the bottom of her turtleneck, and when she raised her arms, he deftly slipped it over her head.

“This is what I see when you're onstage. Costume tops not much bigger than a bra. I can't help it if I want all this beauty to myself.” Once more, he kissed the bruises on her neck. “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful Layla,” he kept repeating between each kiss.

“You think I'm beautiful?”

“Drop-dead gorgeous.” And as he said it, that's how she felt—gorgeous. And as he took more pictures, she felt more beautiful still.

“I love you, Donny.” He'd never been so gentle, so
genuine. She pressed against him, and he slid his hands up her sides.

“Take off your bra,” he whispered.

She didn't try to stop him as he reached behind her and quickly unhooked it.

“So lovely,” he whispered. “My lovely Layla.”

He touched her almost reverently. He took three more photos. Four. Maybe five. She lay languidly on the sofa pillows, smiling and posing for each shot.

Finally, he closed the phone and slipped it in his back pocket. Then he pulled her shirt from the floor and carefully slipped it over her head. He kissed her once more, then said, “See? I can control myself. I'm trying to show you I'm sorry and how much I love you. Now let's finish off that spaghetti. I don't want you to be late for class tonight.”

Layla sprinkled lots of extra cheese in his bowl.

“ ‘Pan, who and what art thou?' he cried huskily.

“ ‘I'm youth, I'm joy,' Peter answered at a venture,

“ ‘I'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg.' ”

—from
Peter Pan

“How's Diamond's family doing?” Layla asked Mercedes the next day as they huddled in the front hall, waiting for the bell to ring for first period. Layla, dressed mostly in yellow, from the rings on her fingers to her funky bejeweled flip-flops, seemed to be bubbling. Mercedes wondered what was up with that.

“Falling apart. Shasta's been wetting her bed. My mom says Mrs. Landers has stopped eating. Mr. Landers has this faraway look on his face—like he's looking right through you—it's a little creepy. He leaves at the crack of dawn every morning to look for Diamond.”