Panic (6 page)

Mercedes, noting her friend's sad face, slung her arm across her shoulders. “Dance tonight for your daddy,” she whispered.

“Thanks, girl,” Layla told Mercedes. “I got this now. Let's do it.”

“ ‘She thinks we have lost the way' . . . ‘and she is rather frightened.' ”

—from
Peter Pan

Miss Ginger clapped her hands together to get everyone's attention. “Circle up, guys. It's almost time.” She sat down on the floor between Zizi and Jillian. Justin, Mercedes noticed, had positioned himself between Layla and Jillian. Almost twenty-five young dancers between the ages of fourteen and seventeen joined the circle.

“I can't find the sash to my costume, Miss Ginger,” Tara Picassa whined.

Her twin sister, Tina, said, “You're sitting on it, silly.” The fourteen-year-olds were the youngest performers in the spring showcase, and they seemed to wear their nerves on their slender shoulders.

“OMG! What if I forget my dance?” Zizi cried out.

Mercedes shook her head. Who but Zizi would actually talk in text? She wasn't sure if Zizi was exaggerating like she usually did or if the stress was really getting to her.

“You won't, Zizi. Just relax, all of you,” Miss Ginger said in what the girls called her calming voice. “Breathe deeply. Silence. Breathe again.”

“Have you heard anything more about Diamond?” Elizabeth Flemming asked.

“No, Lil Bit. I haven't. But I have faith in my prayers.”

Although she was fifteen, Elizabeth was pixie-tiny and looked like she was eleven or twelve. She couldn't have weighed more than eighty-five pounds. Everybody, including her teachers, called her Lil Bit.

She's perfect for the part of Tinker Bell,
Mercedes thought appraisingly.

“I feel all messed up inside,” Layla admitted to the group. Everyone seemed to nod in agreement.

“Maybe we should cancel the show,” Lil Bit suggested quietly. “It doesn't seem right somehow.”

Miss Ginger looked carefully at the dancers circled around her. “I'm listening. Does anyone feel strongly about not dancing tonight?”

The group was silent for a moment, then Justin spoke up. “We're all sorta nervous, but we really don't know anything bad has happened.”

“Diamond might even show up in a few minutes, making crazy excuses about being late,” Zizi suggested.

“Or maybe she won't,” Layla added ominously.

“Stop that!” Mercedes cried out. “We need to dance because Diamond would expect us to!”

“Are we all agreed?” Miss Ginger asked.

A quiet chorus of yeses responded.

“We're going to include Diamond in our prayer,” Miss Ginger said. “Praying is all I've been doing since I heard about her disappearance.”

“Do you think it will be on the
news
?” Zizi said dramatically. “I've never known anybody from an Amber Alert before. I think it would be cool to have your name used in an official police capacity.”

“Chill, Zizi. The child who had Amber Alert named after her did not survive,” Miss Ginger explained, her tone serious.

“Oh.” Zizi looked stricken. “I didn't know. Sorry.”

“I'm not sure if they will post an Amber Alert. There's so much we just don't know at this point,” Miss Ginger told them.

Mercedes wrapped her arms around her head and squeezed. This was
so
hard!

“This is
not on you
,” Layla whispered. “No blame—got it?”

Mercedes nodded and tried to relax. She could feel the love and concern Miss Ginger's eyes reflected as she looked at them all. She paused before she spoke. “This show is a little different tonight, my young friends, because one of our own is missing, and we're all worried. But for the few minutes each of you are onstage, I want you to
concentrate on your dance, on your skill, on your God-given talent.”

“I'm scared I'll mess up, like I can't find my zone,” Lil Bit admitted.

“You won't. All your hard work and practice comes down to this moment in time, and I don't want any of you to stress tonight. Have
fun
. Diamond is right here with us. And Zizi, you forgot to put on your lipstick.”

Zizi shrieked and slapped her hands to her mouth. “Oops! My bad. I'll be sure to do it before the curtains open. Or I can do my makeup onstage, just to stall for time. The audience might like to see me do a lipstick dance.”

“Enough, Zizi!” Miss Ginger said. “I'm not in the mood for your silliness tonight.”

Zizi tried to explain. “I'm just trying to lighten things up. Everybody is about to crash and cry.”

“She's kinda right,” Layla admitted.

“I'm still worried about the ‘Pixie Dust' preview dance, Miss Ginger,” Mercedes admitted. “It's gonna look funny without Diamond.”

“Look. It's just like if somebody is sick and misses a rehearsal class. Don't we just fill in that space?”

“But if we fill in Diamond's place tonight, won't it seem like we don't care?” Mercedes' voice caught, and the tears came.

Jillian reached over and handed Mercedes a tissue. “Fix your face, girl. Diamond is expecting you to dance like a Broadway star tonight!”

Mercedes sniffed and wiped her eyes carefully. “Thanks, Jillian. And hey . . . ”

“Yeah?

“You're not the icebox I thought you were.”

“Me? Cold?” Jillian shrugged the idea away.

Miss Ginger glanced at her circle of young people and said, “Join hands, dancers. Feel the strength of each other. I'm going to start by squeezing Zizi's hand. Then I want you each to squeeze the hand of the person next to you until I feel that power return to my hand.” She began.

When Mercedes felt a strong, assured squeeze from Tina, she felt a little of the power going around the circle, then she quickly passed it to Layla.

A few moments later, Miss Ginger said, “I'm very proud of each and every one of you,” she said. “You are each unique and so very special to me and to the Crystal Pointe Dance Academy. We are all very blessed.”

“Is this when we do the prayer?” Lil Bit asked in a whisper.

“Yes, Lil Bit, I think it's the perfect time for a little help from above,” Miss Ginger replied. “First, let's say a special word for Diamond. Lord, please be with Diamond tonight, and please let her find her way back home safely.”

“Amen,” the group said.

“Now, let's say our group prayer together.”

They all bowed their heads and, still holding hands tightly, they said in unison, “Lord, bless this stage as we dance tonight, bless the dancer to my left and right. Bless my head down to my toes, and if I mess up, I pray no one knows. Thank You for the music, thank You for the lights, thank You for the gift of DANCE that we will share tonight. Amen.”

Miss Ginger beamed. “What's the point?” she asked them. They all knew the chant.

“Crystal Pointe!”

“What's the point?”

“Crystal Pointe!”

“What's the point?”

“Crystal Pointe! Yay, Crystal Pointe Studio!”

Feeling newly energized and now less shaky from the police interview, Mercedes joined the others as they moved to their places for the curtains to open.

She hated that Diamond was missing this—the traditions, the repetitions, the drama of pre-show preparations. She hoped Diamond was having fun.

“If you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless

pool of lovely pale colours suspended in the darkness.”

—from
Peter Pan

Diamond awoke to darkness. She felt oddly woozy, and even though she kept blinking, she couldn't see a thing. When she turned her head even slightly, a pounding headache made her close her eyes once more.

Where am I?
she thought groggily. Then she remembered Thane and the dog named Bella and the daughter she never got to meet.
Did I miss the auditions?
She
tried to remember, but her head felt like clotted cream. She waited a few minutes, then took a deep breath and tried to sit up. But her body seemed to be glued. To what? She couldn't move!

Her arms—
Oh God,
they were tied, stretched above her head. She seemed to be lying on something soft—a bed? And she was freezing. Why was she so cold? Then, with a lurch of horror, she realized that she was wearing only her underwear. Where were her clothes?
Oh my God! Oh my God!
Where were her clothes?

Diamond tried to move once more, but her arms were held immobile.
Ropes?
she wondered, confused, shaky.
Ropes? What's going on?

She went deadly still. Rain pounded outside a window, thunder rumbled in the distance. A flash of lightning illuminated the room for just a second. She could make out furniture—a chest of drawers, a chair. Two bulky square-shaped objects against a wall. She noticed a door to her left.
But where were her clothes?

She pulled and tugged, but there was no slack in the ropes; she could not pull her arms free. She panicked.

That's when she began to scream.

“He had had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know;

but he was looking through the window at the one joy from

which he must be for ever barred.”

—from
Peter Pan

Justin liked to prepare himself mentally and physically for a performance. He always found a place in the very back of the wings of the stage where he could stretch comfortably and think through his pieces. He had a break-dance solo, as well as a ballet pas de deux with Jillian. His dad was videotaping both pieces—they could be used for college
auditions if he did well. He was worried about Diamond, but right now all he could do was focus on the show.

He figured out long ago that on show days a lot of girls tended to be twittery and nervous, so he'd learned to stay out of their way. But he always positioned himself so he could see and hear everything that was going on, especially when Layla was about to perform—he couldn't help himself.

“You ready?” he heard Zizi whisper to Layla as the two stood in the wings behind the first curtain. Zizi, he knew, was probably doing something silly and distracting, like telling jokes to make Layla laugh.

“Been ready,” Justin heard Layla reply. “I can do these steps in my sleep, girl, 'cause I'm always scared I'll mess up.”

“Your piece is complicated,” Zizi continued. “Don't be trippin' out there! And I mean it both ways.” She made a silly face, then fell to the floor in a heap, like a rag doll.

“Girl, you crazy! Get up before you get your costume dirty.” Layla reached down and pulled Zizi to her feet. “Miss Ginger would have a fit if she saw you.” She brushed specks off Zizi's costume, a pale aquamarine leotard with a thin, silky skirt, studded with sequins that shimmered under stage lights.

Layla wore an all white, sequin-studded piece of froth that glistened against her copper-colored skin. Zizi looked cute, Justin thought, but Layla was stunning.

And dudes laugh at me! I'm in heaven!
Justin thought with a wry smile.

Jillian was onstage, finishing her solo. Justin peeked from backstage and nodded approvingly as she did a
triple pirouette, her pointe shoes barely making a sound as she spun effortlessly with the music.

The final strains of the music, as bold and strong as Jillian's leaps, echoed in the background. The cheers and applause from the audience resounded. Jillian took her bows gracefully, then trotted off the stage in that awkward walk of girls who would prefer to be on pointe, in the air, above the rest of the world, rather than walking flat-footed on solid ground in heavy-toed pointe shoes.

Her makeup smeared with sweat, Jillian pushed Zizi and Layla out of her way, headed to the nearest garbage can, and threw up. Jillian always vomited after her performances. As Zizi said, she danced like the devil, then she puked.

Tara and Tina were on next, doing a duet to “Almost There” from the movie
The Princess and the Frog
. They almost knocked Justin over as they scurried onstage.

“Hey, good job,” Justin told Jillian as she straightened up from the wastebasket and joined him at the curtain. “You nailed it.”

Jillian simply nodded and waved her water bottle in acknowledgment. She wouldn't talk to anyone for the next ten minutes or so. It was just her routine. Still, Zizi rolled her eyes and mouthed
lah-dee-dah
to Layla.

“We all got issues,” Layla said with a shrug. She leaned over and touched her toes, then placed the flat of her hands on the floor. Justin was in awe of her flexibility. He'd watched her during rehearsals; even dressed in sweaty practice clothes, she always looked like she was floating, swimming, gliding. . . .

“What are
you
doing backstage?” Zizi cried out suddenly. “You're gonna get us all busted, dude!”

Justin was so busy thinking about Layla that at first he thought Zizi was talking to
him.
But when he saw where she was looking, he frowned.

Layla pulled up from her stretch and gasped. Standing before her was Donovan.

“Donny, why are you here?” Layla whispered frantically. “I go on next!”

“I know.” He crossed his arms, his finely chiseled face hard and unsmiling.

“Why aren't you in the audience?” Layla asked, her eyes flitting back and forth, probably looking out for Miss Ginger.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck in person,” Donovan said, taking her arm. But his voice sounded more threatening than encouraging, it seemed to Justin.