“Keep Diamond and all missing children in your hearts and prayers tonight,” Mrs. Gennari said as the vigil ended. “Blow out your candles and leave them in the boxes provided. Go home with your families and treasure each other.” With that, she dismissed them all.
But as the flickering lights sputtered out in tiny puffs of smoke, Justin felt a cold chill. It was too much like a hundred small deaths happening all at once.
23
MERCEDES, Sunday, April 14 10 p.m.
“The night was peppered with stars.”
—from Peter Pan
Mercedes and Steve huddled together in Steve’s unheated Buick. They’d parked the car in front of the house, and Mercedes had noticed her mother peek out of her bedroom window at least twice in the last fifteen minutes.
The car had once been a sleek, metallic green, but years of sun and snow, of dents and dings, had dulled it to a heap of metal the color of cabbage. The back bumper was held on with duct tape, and a long, wobbling crack snaked across the front windshield.
“Your car, is, without a doubt, the ugliest vehicle in the universe,” she said, scooting closer to Steve.
“Yep, that it is,” he replied, putting his arm around her. “But you know you love it.”
“Only because you do.”
“I paid for it all by myself,” he said proudly.
“Couldn’t have been hard to come up with ten dollars and thirty-nine cents,” she teased.
“It’s got personality!” he said.
“My dad’s car starts with a push of a button. He doesn’t even need a key.”
“Well, my car starts with a push too—especially in the middle of winter.”
They both laughed.
“Can you believe that somebody once pulled out of a car dealership and drove it home, all proud?” Mercedes said as she rubbed a finger over the worn leather seats.
“It was shiny and gleaming.”
“Both headlights and both taillights worked.”
“The horn honked.”
“The blinkers blinked.”
“All four windows rolled down.”
“The finest piece of automotive excellence that 1989 had to offer.”
“My mother taught me to respect senior citizens,” she said with a laugh, “so I’m being nice to Miss Ethyl.”
“If my honey car thinks you don’t love her, she’ll spit oil on your new jeans and ooze rust on your best jacket,” Steve warned.
“I think she’s already done that,” Mercedes said. “She was trying to let me know she was boss.”
“Ethyl may be an eyesore, but she gets me over here to see you, and that’s all that counts,” he whispered into Mercedes’ ear.
Mercedes snuggled into Steve’s embrace. “The vigil tonight was nice, in a weird way. Do you think it did any good?”
“I don’t know—I guess it helped,” Steve replied, “because we needed to come together and worry about her all in one place at the same time. And it had to have helped her parents—to know so many people cared.”
“Do you think Diamond knows? How many people care, I mean?” Mercedes asked, hope in her voice.
“She’s gotta know people are worried about her and searching for her,” Steve assured her.
“I sure hope so,” Mercedes said with a sigh.
“Look, it gave all of us a feeling of togetherness. Sometimes that’s all you can do when you’re feeling sad and messed up.”
“When did you get so wise?” Mercedes teased. “Anyway, I know you always make me feel better.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
“Hey, I’m just as confused and scared as everybody else,” Steve admitted. “What if it was you who was missing? I’d be going crazy round ’bout now.”
“Really?”
“You even have to ask?” He hugged her close.
“Uh, Steve,” Mercedes said in a tiny voice.
“What’s up?”
“It’s still raining, and Miss Ethyl’s hole-spattered roof is leaking all over my head.” Mercedes moved Steve’s hand to the soaked top of her hoodie.
“Hey, you found the one disadvantage of my one-of-a-kind air-conditioning system!” Steve said. “Look at it this way—I have a built-in sprinkler!” They both laughed. “But I better get you inside. I don’t want my car to be the reason you catch pneumonia.”
He kissed her gently, pulled open the squeaky door, and they both scrambled to her front porch. At her front door, he kissed her once more, then he trotted back to the raggedy car.
It started up with a cough and a sputter, but the motor finally turned over. Steve roared down the street, waving his arm until he turned the corner and Mercedes could no longer see him.
24
DIAMOND, Sunday, April 14 10 p.m.
“The goals are at each end of the rainbow.”
—from Peter Pan
Diamond startled awake and nearly fell from the chair when she heard the door being unlocked. She braced herself, then, just as Thane walked in, she bolted across the floor to the opening. He caught her easily with one hand.
“Don’t make me tie you up again,” he hissed. He pushed her onto the bed.
Diamond scrambled back up. “Please let me go home. I promise I won’t tell anybody anything. I’ll . . . I’ll tell people I ran away because I had a fight with my mother. No one will ever know what happened. I swear! Just let me go. Please.”
“Not a chance. You were a big hit on the Internet last night.” He nodded up and down with a smug smile. “A big hit.”
“Internet?” Diamond whispered, stepping backward.
“Of course. People pay big money to watch you strut your stuff.”
Diamond gagged. “No—no. Oh God, no. People watched? Oh, God. Oh, God.” She looked up at him through welling eyes. “How can you do this? You have to know this is wrong.”
“Feels right to me!” Thane replied cheerfully. He pulled a Big Mac from one jacket pocket and a bottle of water from another. “Here, I brought you dinner. Eat well. You’ll need your strength tonight.” He threw them on the bed and left.
As soon as he’d locked the door behind him, Diamond burst into tears once more. She cried until her breath came in ragged hiccups. The inside of her mouth felt dry and parched.
People were watching? Watching? What was she going to do? What was she going to do? She peered up at the unreachable window. She tried the door again, banging on it with her fists, scratching at the edges until her fingers bled. Nothing.
She lay back down at the bottom of the bed and curled in a ball, wanting to die. But she was so thirsty. And hungry, she realized. She hated herself for eating, but she gobbled the cold, soggy sandwich and drank the water anyway.
The dizziness and fogginess came back almost immediately. Oh, no! Stoopid. Stoopid. I shoulda known. Shoulda, shoulda . . . But she could no longer think clearly. The drugs were clogging her brain once more.
Diamond was only vaguely aware of Thane when he returned. She blinked at the bright studio lights. She winced as he tied her arms to the bed, but she couldn’t get command of her muscles to fight back. She tried to struggle, but she was too weak. She was aware of deep bass laughter. A male voice she did not recognize. The cloying, overpowering cologne of a tall, thin stranger who hovered near the bed. Her last clear image was of his face. He was leering at her. He was licking his lips.
After that, everything was a painful blur.
25
JUSTIN, Monday, April 15 5 p.m.
“Such a deliciously creepy song it was . . . ”
—from Peter Pan
The mood at the studio on Monday evening was grim. Students whispered nervously in small groups. No one watched television in the café. No one bought snacks. No one danced.
Freakin’ eerie, Justin thought. Everyone at school had talked of nothing else all day, except where was Diamond Landers? What could have happened to her?
And still the rain poured down. Justin couldn’t remember the last time
he’d seen sunlight.
He forced himself to begin warm-ups in his favorite corner of the largest dance room. Two girls whispered frantically in the opposite corner. Another girl did a series of deep knee bends over and over and over. Two others sat with heads bowed, not speaking to anyone. He felt the same uncertainty.
After dismissing the five- and six-year-olds from their class, Miss Ginger hurried into the room. “Let’s circle up, guys,” she said warmly. “We need to talk.”
Justin managed to position himself between Layla and Mercedes. Layla didn’t seem to notice. Or care, for that matter.
“Have you heard anything, Miss Ginger?” Zizi asked, her eyes bright. “Have the police given you any updates?”
“You watch too much TV,” Mercedes told her.
“You can learn a lot from reruns of Law and Order,” Zizi said, glaring at her.
“Doubt it,” Layla retorted, rolling her eyes.
“Well, I have personally passed out five hundred of the flyers from the vigil and nailed at least a hundred to telephone poles,” Zizi asserted.
“Hey, that’s great,” Layla said, her face softening. “That’s really great.”
Zizi nodded, then turned to Miss Ginger and, checking out her teacher’s outfit—a sleek black leotard and top, a red warm-up, and soft red dance boots—she nodded approvingly and said, “If there’s ever a contest for best-dressed dance teacher, Miss Ginger would win it for sure!”
“This isn’t about me,” Miss Ginger said with a smile. “We need to talk about Diamond.”
“Is there any news?” Justin asked.
“Just a little.”
The room went instantly quiet.
“I spoke to Diamond’s mother, and the police were able to get some good footage from the mall security tapes.”
Everyone asked the same question at once. “What did they see?”
“Her mom told me it shows Diamond talking to a man about forty years old, tall and good-looking. It shows her texting something—her message to you, Mercedes, they assume. And then they see her walking out with the man. She is smiling. So is the man. The footage stops when she gets into his car—a dark sedan.”
“Did they get the license plates?” Justin asked.
“No. I think she said the perpetrator had covered them up somehow. But his picture is being blasted all over the news media, along with Diamond’s yearbook photo.”
“She hates that picture,” Mercedes said, shaking her head.
“If it’s the picture that finds her, it’s the best one ever taken. Someone will surely call. Somebody has to know this monster!” Miss Ginger was inhaling and exhaling slowly—Justin could tell she was trying to calm herself down.
His stomach began to contract into a knot. If the man covered his license plates, there was no way he was taking Diamond to a movie audition. No way. Justin stood up and began pacing. This was bad. Really bad.
“Do you think she’s scared?” Tara asked, scooting closer to her twin.
“I’m sure she is,” Miss Ginger replied. “But she’s very brave and awfully smart, and I’m sure she’s looking out for herself.”
“Miss Ginger?” Tina asked in a small voice.
“Yes, Tina?”
Tina picked at a thread on her ballet slippers. “You don’t think she’s, uh, she’s, uh, hurt or something, do you?”
“I’ll be honest with you—I really don’t know. But I’m praying with all my being that she is safe and will find her way home, and back to us as well.”
Jillian shook her head. “This kind of stuff is supposed to happen to strangers, not somebody we know.”
“Do you think anyone will call?” Tina asked.
“The mall is a big place, and lots of people were there when the incident occurred,” Miss Ginger replied. “So there’s a chance, right?”
Justin pulled up from a stretch. “Folks sometimes don’t like to get involved,” he said.
Jillian pulled the scrunchie off her ponytail, shook her hair, then put the scrunchie back. She did that several times, pacing the floor. Finally she said, “What I can’t believe is that she got in a car with a total stranger! That’s just plain dumb!”
Zizi threw her arms up. “I woulda done it. Gone with the dude. Fastened his seat belt. Bought him lunch. Helped him drive. I admit it. I’m the dumbest bunny in the garden.”
That caused a small ripple of smiles.
“I think I mighta gone with the man if I thought I could be in a movie,” Tara admitted.
“Me too,” said her twin, “but only if my sister could go with me.”
“So I’d be making two flyers instead of one!” Zizi groaned.
“I didn’t think about that,” said Tina.
“This is crazy!” Jillian continued. “An offer to be in a movie is just too good to be true! Dumb! Dumb! Dumb!” She pounded her fist on the floor.
“Don’t you dare call Diamond dumb!” Mercedes lashed out. “You’ve never done anything you wished you hadn’t, Miss Perfect?”
Jillian looked surprised, then changed her tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Sure, I’ve done lots of stupid stuff. I’m just so freaked!”
“I feel you,” Justin admitted.
Lil Bit tore at a hole in her tights. “The thing is, there’s just no way Diamond would have run away. No freakin’ way. And why would she want to? It makes no sense.”
“I know!” Layla chimed in. “She’s got parents like out of a storybook. Her mom is a teacher; her dad is lawyer. They go to places like Disney World every summer. She’s crazy about her folks and her little sister. Who’d run away from that?”
Jillian flexed her toes back and forth, then said carefully, “Sometimes what you see on the outside is not the real deal.”
Layla shook her head vehemently. “No. It is—at least for Diamond.” She paused, then, after a moment, added, “I wouldn’t have gone with him.”
“Why not?” Justin asked.
“Donny would hate me being a movie star,” she admitted.
“So your decision wouldn’t be based on danger, but on Donovan?” Justin asked. He couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but what does it matter? I’d be safe either way.” She scooted away from Justin and crossed her arms across her chest.
Shoot! Now he’d blown it! “I’m not judgin’,” he said quickly, trying to calm her down. “We’re just having a conversation here.”
“Guys! Guys!” Miss Ginger said gently. “The anxiety in this room feels like a rubber band about to snap. Let’s do some stretches, then you can say or ask anything that’s in your heart.”
“Anything?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes wide. “There’s some stuff I’m scared to ask out loud.”
“Anything. We’re family here,” Miss Ginger assured her.
She chose the song “Tender Shepherd” from the original, Mary Martin version of Peter Pan. She turned it up just a bit, then said in a soft, soothing voice, “Now, each of you, bend forward, reach past your toes on your right leg. Good. Now stretch. Slowly. Once again. Good. Now the left leg. Once again. Good. Now, both arms up. Stretch. Reach for the ceiling. Right arm. Reach. Circle it. Again. Left arm. Reach. Circle it. Again.”
The song, a delicate lullaby of intertwined children’s voices, pipes, and violas, trilled with tones of hope and safety and comfort.
As the dancers rolled on their backs, stretched their hips, their legs and arms, and their torsos, they all started relaxing. Miss Ginger switched the song to Whitney Houston’s “Where Do Broken Hearts Go?” as she pumped up the intensity of the workout.
The words made Justin’s breath catch in his throat as he moved to the music. “Where do broken hearts go/Can they find their way home . . .”
When the workout was over, Miss Ginger turned the music down low again and let everyone catch their breaths.
“I know this is not what we usually do in class, but I’m not in the mood for leaping and cavo
rting right now, and I know you aren’t either.”
“Thanks for the stretches, Miss G.,” Jillian said. “We needed that and didn’t even know it.”
“I feel a little better,” Mercedes admitted. “I haven’t slept much the last couple of nights.”
“Me neither,” Layla said.
“Are we still gonna do Peter Pan, Miss Ginger?” Zizi asked.
“Yes, we certainly are,” Miss Ginger replied.
“I’m really excited about being the crocodile and Nana the dog,” Zizi said, giving a convincing growl.
“Why?” asked Justin, glad Zizi had changed the subject to a lighter tone.
“Well, duh! It’s character acting! Anybody can do a stupid lyrical solo, but it takes skills to convince people you’ve got a tick-tocking clock in your belly. Can you cue up the second song, Miss Ginger?” Zizi asked, passing her iPod to her teacher. “I’ve been working on my piece already!”
Miss Ginger nodded, scrolled through the iPod, and pushed PLAY. The song “Tick Tock” from the movie Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows exploded from the speakers. The music was mysterious and dramatic, with the slightest ticking rhythm pattering in syncopation in the background. Zizi seemed to exult in the deep bass notes, the minor key, twisting her body across the floor in time with the power of the music. She crawled on her belly. She stretched her arms and legs as if she really were a swimming crocodile, a beast on the hunt. Justin was impressed.
When the song ended, with drums, cellos, and that subtle ticking, the whole class gave Zizi a round of applause.
“What a great piece of improv work!” Miss Ginger exclaimed. “We’ll have to work that into the show.”
Zizi stood up and bowed deeply. “Choreography by ZZC! That’s my stage name,” she explained, grinning. But then she grew serious. “I’m . . . ” Her voice broke. She tried again. “It’s not right that Diamond’s not here. So I’m . . . I’m dedicating my dance to Diamond.” She sat down, flushed and wobbly.
Mercedes raised her hand. “May I, too, Miss Ginger?” she asked softly. “Sometimes that’s the only way I can get my feelings out—I gotta dance!”
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