danielle joseph
To my little rock stars-Marley, Makhi, and Naya
Written by: Adam Spade
Performed by: Blank Stare
hen I found out that "Indigo Blues" hit number one on the Billboard charts this morning, I ran to the bathroom and threw up. Then the toilet lid smacked down on my nose. Now, at the insistence of my mom, I'm zoning with an ice pack on my face.
Eli, my fourteen-year-old brother, was the one that broke the news. He woke me up after reading Chart Watch on the web. Then he parked himself on the couch and claimed the remote. I didn't argue. I'm just glad to be watching The Making of Godzilla, instead of wasting any brain cells trying to figure out how one song rose to the top and is well on its way to ruining my life.
Not even twenty minutes has passed since I received the news, and the phone rings. All will be fine if everyone follows my orders not to answer. Mom's in the shower, Dad's at work, and Eli's glued to the TV. One ring ... two rings ... three rings, and out of nowhere Eli leaps from his docking station and tears the phone from its cradle.
"Don't even think about it!" I scream.
Too late.
"Jackson residence," Eli says, in his plaid boxers and a white undershirt. "Yes, Indigo's here."
I run my hand across my throat in a slicing motion and grit my teeth.
"But she's ... in the bathroom."
I shake my head, so he adds, "She's going to be in there for a long time."
Ugh. I give up and slide down into the couch cushions. Maybe he'll bore the caller to death with his incessant babble and they'll just hang up.
"Yes, she's aware of that. Her favorite color? I dunno. Purple. Food? Pickles and peanut butter." He grins.
I jump up and snatch the phone out of his hand. "Conversation's over." I hit the off button before Eli even has a chance to react. "I told you not to talk to anyone. What part of that don't you understand?"
His mouth hangs open and some of his overgrown hair falls into his eye. "Even Grandma?"
"Huh? Then what were all those questions for?"
"She's coming over on Sunday and wanted to know what would cheer you up."
"Oh, sorry." I open a drawer stuffed with dish towels and shove the phone inside. "But if you're going to spout off facts about me, then you should know red is my favorite color."
He swipes his notepad off the coffee table and jots it down.
You can't win with Eli. He's been taking notes ever since he thought he was a descendant of Sherlock Holmes in the fourth grade. Now, with "Indigo Blues" released, he's been writing down things about me. I told him if he writes a tell-all book, I'll sue.
I need to get out of this house and clear my head. I look down at my clothes-jeans and a tee. No time to run upstairs and get a jacket. Hopefully the sun is shining today.
"Tell Mom I'll be back later." I grab my car keys.
He's still writing in his notepad. "Where are you going?"
"MYOB."
He scribbles it down and laughs. "Menstruation? You?"
The phone makes a muffled ringing sound from its hiding place.
"Bite me." I slam the front door behind me.
It's insta-smile when I see Darnell, my ticket to freedom, waiting for me in our driveway. I climb inside. My red Toyota Corolla received its name in honor of the old security guard that used to work at our school. He was always snapping his Big Red gum, and when I first got the car, he said, "Nice Toy Oat." He had a habit of dropping the ends of words. I couldn't tell you where he was from, but definitely not Massachusetts, because we drop the middle of our words here. So technically, it should be "Toe-ota."
I have no idea where I'm headed, so I let Darnell take charge. I pass Clifford Middle School, Stop & Shop, and Grossman's Hardware before I join the crawl onto Route 9. I've never seen it this backed up at ten on a Thursday morning. There must be an accident. Thank God for teacher workdays, although the way my day is going, I might have been better off in school.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My nose is red. I'm not sure if it's from the toilet lid or the ice pack. Either way, it's not pretty. I open the window, hoping a little sun will sneak in and tan my nose. I wish it was this nice all year round.
Instinctively I turn the radio on, but quickly switch it off. If "Indigo Blues" plays on any of the top-forty stations, I'll self-combust. I still can't believe Adam had the balls to write that song about me. Most of it's not even true. And why the hell did he have to go and put MY name in the title? Surely any name would have done. Brittany Blues, Megan Blues, shit, I don't care as long as he didn't use Indigo. I know for a fact I'm the only Indigo in Caulder. Probably the only Indigo in the whole of Massachusetts, too. Why didn't my parents just name me Ashley?
My cell vibrates in my pocket. I try to pull it out, but my jeans are snug. I normally don't buy clothes this tight, but Cat insisted I buy this pair of dark blue Cool Joes. Her exact words were, "They look slut hot." Yes, my best friend has a way with words. She tries to use the word "slut" in as many ways as possible. Slut hot. Slut nasty. Slut depress ing. Slut, I just let the call go to voicemail as I continue to putter along the highway.
Finally the congestion breaks and I'm able to go the speed limit. I still have no idea where I'm headed, but I have a half a tank of gas, so no worries. My hair's whipping around like crazy. I grab an elastic tie from the drink holder and pull it up at the red light. I really need a hair cut. But everyone likes my hair long, including the cute football player, Tripp, that I've had my eye on since the first day of school. Or at least that's what he supposedly told Cat's next-door neighbor, James. People say that when I flat-iron it, I look like Snow White, all dark hair and blue eyes. Today I feel more like Cruella De Vil. All I need is a streak of white.
I hook up my iPod and blast the tunes. I scroll down until I hit an old hip-hop song-something that would never be mistaken for Blank Stare, Adam's band, the root of all evil. No offense to the other guys in the band, but they all gave birth to "Indigo Blues." Zach, or Tommy, or even Conjunction Jack could've stopped Adam from recording the song that screwed up my life. I just have to keep on reminding myself that I'm a senior and in eight months, I'll be out of here. California, here I come!
And no, my parents didn't name me Indigo because they were obsessed with the color that sits between blue and violet on the color spectrum. My mom was a big fan of the indie '90s band Indigo Girls. They're pretty cool, freespirited and very lyrical. Still, most kids don't know who they are when they ask about the meaning of my name. Eli was named after my grandfather, Dad's father, who died six months before Eli was born. They even look alike-thick dark brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and huge smiles.
Now I feel kind of bad yelling at Eli. I mean, no matter how irritating he is sometimes, he's still my brother. I wiggle my cell loose from my pocket and dial home.
Eli answers. "Jackson residence."
"I thought I told you not to answer the phone."
"But it's you, Indigo."
"Just messing with you." I pass Cat's mom in her new silver Volvo at the Route 16 intersection. I hope she doesn't see me; she works in sales at KISS FM. She knows what's up.
"Great."
"But you can't be too careful. Remember, Caller ID is your friend." Ever since "Indigo Blues" debuted seven weeks ago, random people have been calling me. It started with a reporter, Candi Campbell, from our local news magazine, and now just about everybody and their mother has something to say.
"I'm not the one afraid of the phone."
I eye Starbucks, coming up. Maybe I should stop there. "You have an answer for everything."
"MYOB," he says. I know he's smiling on the other end of this phone.
"That only stands for my-young-original-brother."<
br />
"Funny." Eli's not laughing.
"So did anyone else call?"
"MYOB." He hangs up.
I'm staring at the screen, and glance up just in time to see the car in front of me slow down. Whoa, red light. Forgot about that. Darnell crowds up to its bumper.
I screech to a stop, killing my brakes, but I save my ass.
op of the charts, baby!" Zach screams into the phone, nearly blowing my ear drum.
"`Indigo Blues'? Really?"
"No, `Jingle Bells.' What's up with you, dude?"
I stop typing. I was about to shoot her an email. "I'm just ... shocked. This is great news."
"Like hell it is! Toasted Almond Records took a gamble with us and it totally paid offl"
I tap my fingers on the pile of CDs stacked on my desk. Our single is on top. The CD cover is red. Her favorite color. I wonder if she even noticed. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Okay, I've got to make, like, a hundred more calls. See you at the studio at five." Zach hangs up before I have to say anything else.
I stare at my computer screen. At the half finished sentence blinking at me.
Why haven't you emailed, it's been ...
Twenty-two days. She said she was going to email me after the first week of classes. Her idea, not mine. I usually just text or pick up the phone-so much easier. Now the question seems lame. But I don't see how she can really be mad at me. It was all her fault. She has this way about her. She's like a record promoter-it begins with a phone call, then it's three-course meals with monster desserts, and finally, when you've purchased all they have to offer, they're off to screw the next victim!
I have this sick feeling she's going out with some other dude. Probably some dumb jock that lured her in with his bulging muscles and the promise of a ride in his convertible. But I've got way more to offer than that. I'm twenty, I've got my own pad, and damn, I'm lead vocals on a hit song! It's like Zach said: top of the charts, baby!
I cancel out of my email and refresh the inbox. Nothing. Not even a congratulations on your hit song. Why hasn't she written? Maybe the news hasn't gotten around yet. But someone in her pathetic little town has to know. We grew up in neighboring burbs, and my town is pretty much as lame as her town, but at least we have an old movie theater and a skating rink in Abel. The biggest hangout in Caulder is Grand Mini Mart.
I swivel out of my chair and pace around my storage closet of a studio apartment. Not that I'm complaining. The guys have been dying for me to pitch in with the rent on the one-bedroom apartment that they all share. But as much as I like them, I still need my space. And finding a place like this was not easy. So what if my savings are slowly being sucked up. Sanity first, at least for now.
This is all so surreal. It feels like yesterday we were performing in local Boston pubs, and now we're plastered all over the airwaves. I pull up my blinds and look out my apartment window. Everything in Brooklyn is so huge. So distant.
My phone goes off. It's "The Electric Slide." Zach fucked up my ringtones on Saturday when we all got sloshed after our show at Bar Stall. Now I have no idea who's calling when the phone rings. Since Indigo hasn't called me yet, I don't even know what song he assigned to her.
Eli's name comes up on the screen. Eli Jackson? Why's he calling me? "Hello."
"Hey, Adam?"
Yup.
He hesitates. "Oh, I thought you might have changed your number."
Then how would your sister call me? "What's up?"
"I just wanted to congratulate you on `Indigo Blues' hitting number one. That's so cool!"
"Thanks." I don't really know what else to say. I watch as a cab pulls to the curb three floors below and a lady in a bright pink coat and a platinum-blond beehive steps out. That's the thing about New York. Anything goes.
There's an awkward pause.
I can hear Eli breathing. I thought he hated me. Guilt by association. Not that he's done anything for me to think that. He's called me once or twice before, but that was when I first moved to New York.
"Guess I'm still shocked," I finally add. "Zach called me a little while ago."
"I'm sure by this afternoon everyone around here will know."
Even Indigo? I wonder if she heard. If she's home. If she's wearing her tight black jeans and the vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt that I bought for her. "Does everyone in your family know?"
"Indigo and Mom. And my grandmother."
"Oh." My heart races. I slink back down in the chair, staring at her photo taped up on the wall next to my computer. She has a huge smile. It was taken in March at a welcome home bash for Blank Stare. I didn't know whether she was going to show up for the party at Tommy's parents' house. But she did. And it was awesome to see her. To hold her.
"She's not home right now."
"Oh," I say again. Is she with another guy?
"I don't know where she is," Eli says, like he's reading my mind.
"Wait. Aren't you supposed to be in school? It's Thursday."
"Teacher workday."
"Sure." Maybe Indigo's at work. The candy store must be busy today if everyone has the day off. But I don't want to seem rude, or crazy. "So, anyway, how are you?"
"Good. I'm taking this really cool film class. You're supposed to be at least a sophomore to get in, but Dr. Kemp saw some of my shorts and let me sign up!"
"Great. You're getting an early start. You'd probably like NYU. Hey, if you're ever in town, give me a buzz. I'll show you around." I watch as bubbles burst one by one on my computer screensaver. I tap the mouse and refresh my inbox again. Still nothing.
"Really? That'd be awesome! Maybe I can come over winter break."
"Totally. Listen, I gotta run. Got some calls to make."
"Sure, bro. Nice talking to you."
"Yeah, you too."
What am I thinking? I can't call her the second I get off the phone with her brother. I've got to at least wait until I've supposedly run through all my important calls. I scroll down my Contact List until I hit her name. Indigo. The girl that stole my heart. The girl that made me famous. The girl that I love to hate and hate to love. I've got to call her. Now.
at comes over right after she gets off work at The Crap, our affectionate name for The Gap, where she is well on her way to becoming a professional shirt folder. Seriously, one day, for fun, the girl redid my entire closet. Now that's a true friend! Cat's on a mission to cheer me up: I've logged in eight media calls, three long-lost relatives, and two town busybodies, all calling about "Indigo Blues." And these are the ones I know about, since I told my family NOT to call me when the phone rings. So, like the best friend that she is, Cat brings over a pint of our favorite Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey. And that's totally what I'm going to turn into if this pity party continues much longer. We're sitting on my carpet, scraping the bottom of the
container before we're even done watching one episode of The Office on DVD.
I promised Cat I would make her a necklace for her date with Greg on Saturday night, so I dump a packet of beads onto the sorting tray in front of me. Cat looks good in dark colors. I pick a choker with red glass beads and silver spacers for her.
My cell phone vibrates on the nightstand, but I don't even have to look at the screen. "This is the fourth time he's called me today. Doesn't he get the message that I don't want to talk?" I sigh.
"Just answer, or he'll keep on trying until you pick up," Cat says, sticking her hand in my tray of beads.
"But I'm pissed at him."
"So tell him."
"I guess you're right. It's either that or change my number."
I answer the phone but don't say anything.
"Indigo? Can you hear me?" Adam shouts. I would know his "panicked" voice anywhere, deep and squeaky. It's like the Rock swallowed a rubber duckie-much different than his smooth singing voice.
"Yeah, I'm here," I mumble.
"I can hardly hear you. Can you hear me?"
That's an understatement. "Uh-huh."
Cat elbows me in the stomach. I wince. "Say something about the song," she says.
"Who's that?" Adam asks, all paranoid. If I had to bet, I'm sure he's already pacing the room wherever he is in New York City. I thought when the band exploded and hit the airwaves, I'd never hear from him again. Boy, was I wrong.
I ignore his question. "Why did you write that song?"
He clears his throat. "That's how I feel."
I count out the red beads. "But why did you have to use my real name?"
"Be ... because ... because...," he stutters, "you made me feel that way."
Cat tugs at my sleeve. "What's the jerk saying?"
I pull away from her. "But it's not true! I didn't do any of that stuff to you."
"You can't control how I feel!" Adam shouts.
"I'm not trying to control you. But none of that crap is accurate." I grab the pliers off my jewelry tray and pick at the seam of my Cool Joe jeans.
"What are you trying to say?" His voice is all deep, no squeak.
I don't answer. I need time to think. I'm short a red bead. This throws off the pattern for Cat's necklace.
Without warning, Adam hangs up.
"He hung up on me." I'm still staring at my phone. I start to dial his number.
Cat reaches over, grabs my cell, and hits end.
"What are you doing? Don't call that freak back."
"But he hung up on me." I loosen my grip on the pliers. Ugh, I made a nick in my new jeans.
"Yes, you said that. And you gave him a chance."
"But..." I bite my lip. "I want to know why he said all that junk about me."
"He's not worth your time if he doesn't even want to hear you out." Cat pulls the pliers from my hand. "He blasted your name all over the airwaves. Don't forget that."
"True, but he said those were his feelings." I use imaginary quotes with my fingers.
Cat's light brown eyes bug out. Her red hair is tucked behind her ears. She's on fire. "He's one screwed-up dude."
Indigo Blues Page 1
