Panic by Sharon M. Draper Page A

me . . . ” She paused and pointed to the box. “My mom, uh, sent food.”
    Mrs. Landers’ shoulders sank. “Please thank her. I appreciate all of this, I really do, but this stuff is what you send for a funeral! And she’s not dead! My Diamond is not dead!” She leaned against a counter and started sobbing anew.
    Shasta ran into the room, plucked a Kleenex from the box, and handed it to her mom. “Daddy needs you upstairs in Diamond’s room,” she told her. “The police want to check Diamond’s computer.”
    Mrs. Landers mumbled something incoherent and hurried out of the room.
    Mercedes turned to Shasta, who was looking at her with big, hopeful eyes. “So, how you holdin’ up, Miss Shasta?” Mercedes asked.
    â€œNot so good,” the little girl admitted.
    â€œCan we go hide in your room?” Mercedes asked.
    â€œOkay. I think that’s the only place in the house the police haven’t turned upside down—yet.”
    As they headed for the stairs, Mercedes counted three policemen in the living room and two more in the den. Phones rang. Strange wires had been stretched across the floor. A bulky piece of electronic equipment sat on the dining room table next to a set of telephones.
    â€œThat stuff is for in case the kidnappers call for ransom—so they can trace the call,” Shasta whispered.
    â€œHow do you know all this?”
    â€œI listen at the top of the stairs.”
    When they reached Shasta’s room, Shasta closed the door and locked it. Mercedes looked around. She’d never actually been in it—she’d only ever given it a quick glance on her way to Diamond’s room. It was done in little-girl pink, with ponies and Barbie dolls and sparkly decorations on the walls. All the walls except for one. Black crayon and marker had been scribbled all over that one, at least the bottom four and a half feet of it that Shasta had been able to reach. Deep black streaks of black Magic Marker. Jagged circles and swirls. Thick, angry lines of black crayon.
    Shasta plopped down on a pale pink beanbag chair. Her bed was unmade, the sheets in a pile on the floor.
    Mercedes sat in the desk chair. “Interesting decorating style,” she said, nodding toward the wall.
    â€œI got mad.”
    â€œI see. Did it help?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œDid your mom see this yet?”
    â€œShe wouldn’t notice. Mama’s living in crazy land. Daddy too.”
    â€œIt’s pretty bad, huh?”
    â€œMama keeps throwing up. And crying. Daddy breaks things.”
    â€œThat must be a little frightening,” Mercedes ventured.
    Shasta shook her head. “You know what’s a really scary thing to see?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMy daddy crying.”
    Mercedes reached over and gently touched Shasta’s cheek. “What about you?”
    Shasta started to cry. “I did something bad.” She hiccupped.
    Mercedes moved over and squatted beside her, alarmed.
    â€œWhat did you do, Shasta?”
    â€œMama and Daddy are gonna be so mad.” She cried harder.
    â€œWhat? You can tell me,” Mercedes said gently.
    Shasta looked through teary eyes at her, then over at the pile of sheets on the floor.
    â€œI wet the bed last night.”
    Mercedes felt relief surge through her. “Oh, sweetiegirl, that’s okay. Really.”
    â€œI haven’t done that since I was, like, two years old!” Shasta admitted, covering her face with her fingers.
    â€œShhh. Shhh. Shhh. We’ll just put some clean sheets on your bed. No big deal.”
    â€œWhat if I mess up again tonight?”
    â€œThen I’ll come over and help you again tomorrow.”
    Shasta stopped crying and gave her a baleful look. “You won’t tell my mama?”
    â€œPinky promise. Plus, she’s got enough on her mind.”
    Mercedes found some bright yellow sheets in a hall closet and