“Why, of course! In fact”—Miss Ginger looked to each of her students—“anyone who feels like it, this is your chance.”
As the whole class moved to the mirror-covered wall and sat down, Justin was bummed to see that Layla had chosen to sit as far away from him as possible. Yep, he’d totally blown it.
Mercedes went first. She chose “Everybody Hurts” by Avril Lavigne and let it play for a few bars before she began. She untied her hair and let it swing and fling as her arms and legs matched the wildness of it. Justin could feel her fear and frustration more palpably than anything she could have put into words. The song embraced them all as she danced.
She leaped and pranced and swept across the floor. Justin imagined Avril’s words echoed everyone’s thoughts. “So many questions/So much on my mind/So many answers I can’t find . . . ” When Mercedes finished her dance, she was sweating and weeping.
No one clapped. Respectful silence was all that was needed.
Miss Ginger ran to her and hugged her tightly. “And it will be okay. I just know it will.”
“Thanks,” Mercedes said breathlessly. “That felt great!”
Miss Ginger escorted Mercedes back to her place at the wall. “Good. You needed that.”
Tara and Tina raised their hands next. “Can we dance together, Miss G.?”
“Don’t you always?” Miss Ginger said with a grin.
The twins grinned back and chose “Mirror” by Monica for their piece. As the group listened to the words, “When I look at myself in the mirror . . . I’ll never have to search again . . .,” the twins danced as if each were looking at a mirror image of herself. Their movements were poised, precise, and identical. They lowered their heads and lifted their left arms upward at exactly the same time and touched palms. Then they extended their right arms, touched palms again, and twisted in unison to the rhythm of the piece. They sprung into the air, legs leaping and landing at the exact same time. They continued the dance, bouncing and twirling across the floor, each one’s movements mirroring the other’s from start to finish. Justin was amazed—he’d never seen them dance like that before.
The class clapped wildly when the twins finished. They bowed together and sat down.
“I wish Diamond could see this,” Zizi said. “She’d feel so good knowing what we were doing.”
“Can I go next?” Jillian asked.
“Are you going to do your solo from The Nutcracker?” Miss Ginger asked. Jillian’s snow queen solo was legendary. Graceful and glorious, it was her signature piece. She always won high golds doing it at competitions, gliding regally across the stage.
“No, not today. I just want Diamond to know we care about her and that she’s got friends. Would you put on Cris Williamson’s ‘Sister,’ please?”
Miss Ginger nodded and cued up the song on the iPod. Moving smoothly to the easy rhythms, Jillian’s dance was a series of glissades and piqué turns and abstract contemporary moves that required balance and extreme flexibility. As the melody floated from the speakers, the singer’s clear, plaintive voice echoed with the clarity of a crystal bell. Jillian made the words come alive. “And you can count on me to share the load . . . Lean on me, I am your sister/Believe on me, I am your friend . . . ”
She ended with a deep bow. Everyone exploded in applause.
Each student who chose to dance picked a piece that fit their personality and showed their fear or worry or Diamond’s desperation. Justin had to admit the whole experience was powerfully moving.
When almost everyone else had danced, Justin raised his hand. “Miss Ginger, can I do a pas de deux, please?”
“Sure. Who would you like to partner with?”
Justin’s heart thudded. But he managed to say her name without stuttering or acting like a seventh-grader. “Layla. If she agrees, of course.”
Layla looked at him with steely eyes, but she rose without complaint and took his outstretched hand. He asked Miss Ginger to start the song—Katy Perry’s “Firework.” They had performed to this music for a competition a year ago, and although he was sure Layla had forgotten all about it, he remembered every second.
He hoped she was paying attention to the lyrics—the song seemed to be just what she needed to hear. “’Cause there’s a spark in you . . . You don’t have to feel like a waste of space . . . ”
He led her gently through the lifts and turns as the music flowed over both of them, and he could feel her begin to relax as the song progressed. He knew that even though she might not like him much, she loved this music, and she loved the movement of this dance.
The song ended with a gentle glide and a small turn, which left them facing each other. He smiled at her and, amazingly, she allowed him a small smile in return. He held her hand while they took their bows, hating the moment when he had to release her and return to his seat on the floor.
“That was simply lovely,” Miss Ginger said. “I’m so glad you started this, Zizi. We couldn’t have paid for a better therapy session. That’s a wrap for this evening. I want you all to go home and get a good night’s sleep and say a prayer for Diamond before you drift off.”
As they left the studio, Miss Ginger caught Justin’s arm. “That pas de deux was some of the best dancing you and Layla have ever done. It was almost magical.”
Justin felt his face go hot. “Thanks. We were really in sync for a minute.”
“Perhaps I should pair the two of you for a recital piece. Maybe even for summer competitions, if you’d like to do that.”
“It’s cool with me. Ask Layla.” It took all Justin’s composure to stop himself from leaping across the floor. Miss Ginger winked at him, and Justin could tell she completely understood.
By the time he got his gear together, he saw Layla just leaving the studio. She was walking out to the parking lot, heading, he knew, toward Donovan’s Escalade.
26
LAYLA, Monday, April 15 8:30 p.m.
“Are all the children chained, so that they cannot fly away?”
—from Peter Pan
“I saw you dancing with him. I watched through the window.”
“I don’t even get a ‘Hey, what’s up? How’ve you been?’ before you start jumping all up in my business?”
“You are my business. And I watched every minute of that dance. He had his freakin’ hands all over you and you were liking it!”
Not again! Layla sighed. “What I like is dancing. I don’t care who my partner is.”
“But I do. I saw him tryin’ to feel you up.”
“He was not! He has to hold on to me to lift me and to make sure I don’t fall.”
“You’re done dancing with him. Done! I mean it.”
“Donny, he’s the only guy in our class. The other male dancers are just kids—eleven and twelve. So Justin has to dance with every girl in our class, including me. There’s no way around it!” How could he not get this, she wondered in frustration.
Donovan jerked the car to the side of the road and slammed on the brake. The fury on his face made Layla draw back against the door. He ever so gently put a hand up to her neck and just as gently began to squeeze. Layla froze. Donovan smiled, a smile that in any other circumstance would be described as sweet, and said, “Then maybe it’s time you quit dancing.”
“Quit?” She tried to jerk away from him. “You trippin’!”
He squeezed harder.
“Donny! You’re hurting me!” she said, trying to squirm from his grip.
“I think you need to spend more time with me,” he hissed.
She caught his hands in her own and tried to release the pressure. She had to calm him down. “But we’re together every day at school and every day after dance class. What more could you want?”
“More! You go to those stupid classes every freakin’ day. For hours. I’m sick of it!” He squeezed harder still.
“But I can’t quit dancing,” she wheezed out, clawing at his hand.
“I thought you loved me.” He increased the
pressure.
Layla’s mind reeled—he was going to kill her if he didn’t stop. She could barely speak. “Please. You. Are. Hurting. Me. Stop! Stop!”
He squeezed even harder. “Then you got some decisions to make.”
She felt dizzy. Her words gurgled. “You. Know. I. Love. You. Please. Let. Go.” She could tell she was about to black out.
He released his hand. Layla slumped in relief against the door, inhaling and exhaling sharply. She rolled down the window, gulping the damp air.
A few moments later, as if nothing had happened, he said, “You want to stop and get a burger?”
Still drawing in huge gulps of air, Layla nodded mutely as Donovan put the car in drive and roared into the rain-drenched night.
27
DIAMOND, Tuesday, April 16 9 a.m.
“Perhaps mother is in half mourning by this time.”
—from Peter Pan
Thane unlocked the door and entered with Diamond’s breakfast and a change of clothes. He set the food on the bed. “I hope you slept well,” he said cheerfully. “The last few nights have been simply glorious. It never occurred to me how much more . . . ah, flexible . . . dancers could be.”
Diamond was not going to give him the satisfaction of a response. She covered her head with her arms.
“Shower up, sweetie. I’ve got a surprise for you today.”
“What? More drugs? You drugged me again,” she accused him as he led her into the bathroom.
“I find it makes things easier for everyone involved,” he explained.
“When are you going to let me go home?”
“Soon. I promise. Soon.” He turned on the shower, placed her fresh clothes on the toilet, and left.
Diamond let the hot water pound at her battered body. She didn’t want to look at the places where the bruises were. She didn’t want to give up, but her hopes were dimming.
She left the bathroom and got dressed. He always brought her really nice clothes—things she would have chosen, and brand-new every day. What was up with that? Once again, he had changed the sheets. Today they were soft pink. Sitting gingerly in the chair, she forced herself to choke down the breakfast of juice and a couple of doughnuts. She flung the stupid rose into the corner.
She looked, just as she looked a dozen times a day, up at the inaccessible window. She wondered if there was any way she could jump on the bed hard enough to bounce up there, and then thought to herself she was definitely losing it—it was fifteen feet up! She could barely make out bullet-gray skies and steady rain.
For some reason this time, snippets of songs she’d danced to wove their way through her mind. “Bluebird” by Sara Bareilles, who sang of wings torn and rusted, and of flying away. “Beautiful Flower” by India.Arie, which she’d always liked because the song was about power and fire and diamonds. But even though she knew she had no chance to fly away just yet, Diamond decided to focus on that power. To keep herself sane, she decided to concentrate on a way to escape.
She found energy in thinking about the studio, which always felt comfortable, like a favorite sweatshirt. The smell of popcorn from the microwave in the café, the swirling strains of thousands of songs, the glaring reality of the mirrors that covered each wall. Miss Ginger’s voice, demanding and gentle at the same time. The sound of fifteen pairs of tap shoes on the wooden floor. Sweat—honest, exhilarating sweat after a great class.
She thought about her friends all the time. To fill the silence of the long hours of the day, she made up little conversations with them in her head.
To Mercedes: “Girl, I have landed in the hotel of Hell. I’d give anything to spend a day with you in Eden Park, down by the river, just talkin’ trash and sendin’ texts.”
To Justin: “I hope you’ve told Layla how you feel, you big doofus. You know where they get the word lovely? From love. Real love. Not the ugly stuff. I’d kill for some lovely right about now. You’ve got it at your fingertips.”
To Layla: “I’m glad you got the part of Wendy in Peter Pan. Dance like the star you are, girlfriend. Dance away from that turd you’re hooked up with.”
To her parents: “Mommy? Daddy? Remember when I used to call you that? Can I be your little girl again? I’m gettin’ out of this place somehow, and I’m comin’ home.”
Hours went by, then Thane unlocked the door. He was smiling as usual, this time carrying a small box in his hand. Bella the dog trotted beside him. “I want to keep you as happy as possible,” he said, holding out one hand.
She glared at him. “Then let me go home.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not possible right yet, but I did bring you something to help pass the time.” He handed her the box.
Diamond looked at it suspiciously. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“I think you’ll be pleased. Open it.” Thane’s cheerfulness made her skin crawl.
Grudgingly, Diamond opened the purple foil-wrapped package. Inside was a brand-new iPod—the latest model, with tiny earbuds to go with it.
“Why?” she asked him dully.
“Just call it a reward for good behavior.”
“I don’t want it.” She threw it on the floor.
“Now, now. I took the time to download every possible song that teenagers might like, plus all the songs you had on your cell phone.”
Diamond looked up sharply. “You have my cell phone?”
“Of course. I plugged it in and charged it. You’ve had lots of calls lately. I wonder what that’s all about.” He gave a humorless smirk.
“Can’t the police trace my location through my cell phone?” she asked hopefully.
“You’ve been watching too many crime shows,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “That only happens on TV. Now, you can leave the player on the floor, or you can fill your day with music. It’s up to you.”
He left the room, locking the door with a solid click.
Diamond sat stunned for a moment. People had been calling her, looking for her! But what were they thinking? Did they think she’d run away? Oh God, she couldn’t stand it. She paced the room and nearly stepped on the music player on the floor. She stared at it with hatred, but she couldn’t stand the dense, enveloping silence of the room that held her prisoner.
She picked it up, turned it on, and pressed the play arrow. She could barely stand that Thane was right. But when she found her dance pieces, she felt her body relax as she listened.
She cued up “Black Butterfly” by Deniece Williams. The song was about faith and survival, about struggling and never giving up, about being proud and beautiful. Diamond looked around at the despised room, thinking ruefully that she felt neither the pride nor the beauty that the song celebrated. But she played the song over and over and over, until a pebble of determination began to take shape. Somehow, some way, someday she was going to get out of here. She was not going to let Thane crush her.
Diamond closed her eyes and let herself be swept away on a cushion of music. She dozed. She dreamed of dancing.
“Black butterfly/Set the skies on fire/Rise up even higher so the wind can catch your wings . . . ”
28
LAYLA, Tuesday, April 16 9–11 a.m.
“Steadily the waters rose till they were nibbling at his feet.”
—from Peter Pan
Layla decided to skip school on Tuesday. She didn’t call or text Donny or any of her friends. She knew if there’d been news about Diamond, one of the girls would have told her.
“You’re gonna be late, Layla,” her mother said, tapping on her bedroom door.
“I’ve got a cold, Mom. I’m gonna sleep in, all right?” Layla hoped her mother wouldn’t check her temperature.
“Okay, sweetie. I’ve got to do a double shift today. Think you’ll make it to dance class?”
“Yeah. I hope so, if I feel better.”
“Feel better, honey. See you tonight.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Layla frowned. Her mom still hadn’t said anything about her dad being
released, and Layla still hadn’t told her that she knew. She guessed they’d play this game until he walked through the door. But the truth was, she was itching with excitement.
The nonstop rain made everything feel so damp and chilly. So she made herself get up, take a hot shower, and finally look at herself in the mirror. She stepped backward in shock—her neck was darkened and bluish. She touched the bruises gently and winced. How could Donny have done this to her? She tried to remember how great it was when they’d first started going out, and when it all started to unravel. It had been so gradual—the love, the anger, and the fear all mixed up like a really bad abstract painting.
The girl looking back at her in the mirror looked pretty unhappy. Layla made a face at herself. She wished she knew how to figure out this love stuff. He loved her, right? He had to—otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten so upset. But still . . . She shook her head in confusion.
She dug down in her bottom dresser drawer until she found a turtleneck. Yanking it on, she checked the mirror. Good. The red shirt covered up most of the bruises. She found some jeans, pulled on her favorite fuzzy slippers, and curled up on the sofa. The house smelled vaguely of the cookies her mother had baked last night for her latest gentleman friend, who’d come over to watch a movie after their date.
Layla didn’t turn the TV on. She didn’t cry. She just sat there, thinking, feeling crazy scared of losing Donny, of giving up dance—dance was the one thing that made her completely happy. She tried to imagine herself in Donny’s place—she did spend a lot of time at the studio, much more time than with him. No wonder it ticked him off. And she sure got jealous when she thought about Magnificent Jones sliding around him—she’d be furious if she knew he was touching Mag. And yet he had to watch Justin have his hands on her every day.
So she got it: he was jealous. That was why he’d acted like such a jerk last night. It made sense in a weird sort of way.
She rocked back and forth, thinking. Maybe she could just stop dance for a few weeks until he cooled down. But her mother worked double shifts to pay for the lessons—she’d be really pissed if she quit. And then there was the lead in Peter Pan. Man, this was hard! But to lose Donny? She tried so hard to make him happy—she was a good girlfriend. She didn’t know how she’d make it without him. She couldn’t lose him—she just couldn’t. Her thoughts spun with confusion.