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CHAPTER ONE
Fromherspotatthe outer corner of the makeshift dance floor, Ladonna Lane watched her husband swagger over to the DJ table and grab the microphone. Marcus Lane was quite fit for his age and would have blended in rather nicely with the teenagers in the room if not for his salt and pepper beard. But they weren’t teenagers anymore, Ladonna and Marcus. They had jobs, kids, and a mortgage on a big house in the suburbs of Woodson, Georgia. They had sacrificed a lot to be where they were at this moment, and it felt nice, being able to celebrate. And yet, Ladonna was uncomfortable. She wanted to go home.
“Gather ‘round, children,” Marcus yelled into the microphone. “Bring your brilliant black selves over here and listen right quick.”
The kids moved toward the dance floor, about 30 in all, give or take, with only seven of them being members of the original Twelve. Nonetheless, they all appeared to know the routine. Mr. Lane always made his little speech before the end-of-the-school-year party started.
Ladonna rolled her eyes at her husband and looked around the room, admiring her handiwork. Although the wood beams and columns were a bit outdated, their HOA dues had kept the neighborhood's clubhouse in pretty good condition. And just as she had for the past nine years, Ladonna had overseen the catering and decorating and transformed the great room into an elegant ballroom.
But she couldn’t fully enjoy the ambiance, because right there, in the center of that room, was her husband, a man who always had to be the center of everyone’s attention. The true hallmark of a person who wasn’t cool when he was younger. It was a pathetic display. He was wearing a tuxedo, for God’s sake. The other dads were in suits.
Marcus grinned at his audience. “Alright, alright. First off, I’m proud of all of y’all. You survived junior year, and now you’re almost at the finish line. It’s right around the corner, y’all. Give yourselves a hand.”
The kids clapped begrudgingly, as if the very act of banging their hands together was insulting and humiliating. But Marcus, as always, was undeterred.
“And to the Twelve. Y’all done came a long way since third grade. That’s almost ten years of black excellence. I could not be more proud.”
Some of the kids smiled and raised their plastic champagne flutes. If Marcus had gotten his way, the kids would be drinking their sparkling cider from Baccarat glasses and eating their appetizers off of Lenox china. Money was no object. Except itwas, and as usual, Ladonna was forced to reign him in.
“We’re all very proud of you,” Marcus continued, gesturing toward the other parents in the room, evidently realizing right at that moment that the night wasn’t all about him.
Almost all of the Twelve parents were in attendance. Dr. Robert Gordon, who had a gig, was the exception. He wasn’t a real doctor, Marcus would always say with a tinge of envy in his voice, but Ladonna was still impressed by his Ph.D. in Music Theory. It was more than the rest of them had.
“When I started this group, my vision was for y’all to be exactly where you are today. At the top. And all I wanna say to you tonight is that the world is yours. I’mma put that on a blimp,” Marcus joked. “It’s not supposed to be, not for kids like you, but your hard work and diligence made it possible for you to do and be anything you wanna be. I’m excited for you and I can’t wait to see y’all all back in this room at graduation. Now raise them damn glasses and let’s toast!”
Everyone sipped their cider. It was a cute little charade, but the parents weren’t stupid; they knew the kids would be drinking liquor the moment they walked out the door. It was a don’t ask, don’t tell type thing. Plausible deniability. Nobody was trying to go to jail for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.
“One more thing,” Marcus said. “If any of you non-Twelve want in on this, get them grades up and we’ll talk.”
The parents laughed raucously, but the kids stared blankly as teenagers do. Thankfully, the DJ came through with the assist, choosing that moment to fire up the system and make the room come alive with the sound of trap music. DJ Free was his name, and he dapped Marcus up before repossessing his microphone. “Listen up. If you’re over 18 then it’s about that time! You ain’t got to go home, but you got to get the hell outta here!”
You don’t have to tell me twice,Ladonna thought. She was already headed toward the door, tired from work and completely uninterested in whatever ignorant teenage mess they were about to get up to. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to go home and take a hot shower before falling into bed.
But not Marcus. He was living for this. He had already set up camp on the dance floor when Ladonna waved him over.
He jogged toward her, the multi-colored strobe lights bouncing off of his bald head. “What do you want?” he asked breathlessly.
“It’s time to go.”
He frowned his disappointment. “I was just gonna dance for a few minutes, Lady.”
She shook her head. “Come on. They don’t want us here, and you know it.”
His face fell, and for a brief moment, she felt guilty, like she had taken away his favorite toy. But then his mask went back on and his chest puffed back out. “Alright, let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the dance floor like it was his idea.
As they headed toward the door, Ladonna said her goodbyes to the other parents and took one last look at the kids.
Bria, her baby, was standing by the bar talking to Bakari, Ladonna’s future son-in-law in her head.Everything is fine,she told herself, but she couldn’t resist glancing up the staircase as they passed it. She had been up there the day before to store some extra linens and toiletries, so she knew it to be a big open space. Harmless. But at that moment, it looked like a large, pitch-black hole, its gaping maw ready to swallow them all. A strange thought, for sure, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something—she didn’t know what—was lurking up there.
It only took her and Marcus two minutes to get home from the clubhouse, and as they sat at the kitchen table eating leftover roast chicken, Ladonna couldn’t stop thinking about the party. Apparently, Marcus couldn’t either.
“All that damn money I spent on catering and I didn’t even get to eat any of it,” he complained as he stabbed his fork into his chicken breast. Ladonna ignored it.
“I hope they’re okay,” she said.
Marcus frowned at her. “Why wouldn’t they be?”
Ladonna shrugged. “I don’t know.” She raised her glass to take a sip of water and realized her hand was shaking. “It’s probably nothing.”
