Panic (19 page)

“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.

“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.

“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 necessary.”

“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.

When they stopped for a water break, Mercedes dug into her bag for her phone. “Gotta send a text to Steve,” she told Layla with a grin.

“You two are a trip.” Layla sipped her water listlessly and glanced out the window at the darkening skies. She turned her head when she heard Mercedes stifle a scream.

“Oh my God!” Mercedes blurted out. “Oh, no!”

“What's up?” Layla asked. Could there be news about Diamond? But no. Somehow she knew. She just knew.

“I can't!”

“Can't what?

“I can't show you!”

“You're talkin' crazy. Can't show me what? Something from Steve?” Layla hoped against hope.

“Sit down, Layla. This is bad. Really bad.”

“Is it a text?” Layla whispered.

“Yeah.”

“A picture?”

“Yeah.”

“Of me?” He couldn't have, could he? . . . He wouldn't have. . . .

Mercedes nodded miserably. “Three of them. Check your phone, Layla. Now!”

Layla hesitated, then reached into her bag and opened her phone. She screamed as she read the message from Donovan.

this is going out 2 evrybdy u no. u slut. u whore.

Attached to the message were three color photos of Layla—smiling, posing, and bare-breasted.

“He could only stare, horrified.”

—from
Peter Pan

Mercedes watched helplessly as Layla flung her cell phone across the floor and collapsed in ragged, gulping sobs. She tried to put her arms around Layla's heaving shoulders, but Layla shook her off. The rest of the students in the class hovered at a distance, their faces full of questions.

Miss Ginger hurried over, pulled Layla to her feet, and marched her into her office. “Jillian, continue the
class,” she ordered, and firmly shut the office door.

Layla's had one rough day, Mercedes thought. First the fight, then finding out her dad wasn't coming home tonight, then this horrible, horrible thing. She'd be bawling too.

Justin, his face full of concern, asked her, “What's wrong with Layla?”

“You didn't see them yet?”

“See what?”

“Just check your text messages. Now.”

Justin hurried to dig out his phone. He popped it open. “I got three texts from Donny. What's up with that?”

“Just open them,” Mercedes said flatly.

“Oh God, no!” Justin cried out, looking at the photos in disbelief. “Oh, no!”

Mercedes knew what he was seeing—the message with the first picture said,
“layla the slut.”
The second said,
“layla the ho.”
The third one said,
“layla 4 sale.”

“How
could
he?” Justin choked out.

Mercedes, staggered by the horrible possibility of dozens and dozens of other kids getting Donovan's texts, asked shakily, “What can we do?” She slipped to the floor, staring at her cell phone.

“Delete them,” Justin said, his voice icy with anger.

Mercedes, her fingers trembling, hit her delete button. She felt utterly sick. “He probably sent this to everybody at school. Then everyone will forward it to everyone else on their phone lists. It's probably already gone viral.”

Justin's chest heaved like he was working hard to
control himself. “What a heartless bastard!” Then he stopped short. “Oh my God!”

“What?” Mercedes asked.

“Those pictures—they'll be out there forever.
Forever.
” Justin looked angry enough to break something.

Mercedes closed her eyes, then glanced over at Layla in Miss Ginger's office.
Oh, Layla, girlfriend, this sucks so bad.
She knew Layla probably just wanted to die. “How's she gonna get over this?” she asked Justin.

Jillian, who had cued up a song, was trying vainly to get the class back into order, but nobody seemed to want to dance or pay her much attention.

Ignoring Jillian, Justin continued to fume. “I just want to kill him!”

“You'd have to move to Siberia or something if you did,” Mercedes said, trying to calm him down.

Justin would not be sidetracked. “I can't get in that dude's headspace. He says he loves her, and he does
this
? You don't throw this kind of dirt if you really care about someone!”

Hoping against hope he wouldn't say yes, she asked Justin, “Does this, um, change your opinion of Layla?”

Justin looked surprised. “Of course not.” He scratched his head. “That dude, he has this crazy control over her. I don't get how he got her to pose like that—but she sure never thought he'd do
this
.”

“So, what can we do to help?”

“I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna . . . let her know I'm there for her—that everybody makes mistakes. I can't begin to imagine how embarrassed she must be.”

Mercedes looked thoughtful. “She might feel too stressed to deal with dudes for a while. Just sayin'. . . . ”

Justin shrugged. “Yeah, probably. And I wouldn't blame her. But I'll be there when she's ready.”