Indigo Blues

by Danielle Joseph

  "Give it to me," I say. He hands the card over and I toss it out the window. "Sorry, Fish man, not going to happen."

  "Yeah, why would you want to give your first interview to a lame station like that?" Eli laughs.

  No need to explain to Eli that there will be NO interview. Period.

  Due to my ban on the radio and the fact that I left my iPod at home, we ride to school in silence. Well, silence for the first minute, followed by Eli babble for the next five.

  I pull into reserved spot 143 just before the bell rings. I used to think my parking spot was the coolest ever. I requested this space at the end of sophomore year, even before I had my license. Since 143 is the text code for love, I thought it'd be so cool if I parked my car in the love spot every day. I couldn't believe it when the school actually granted my request. They asked me to keep it on the down-low because they've never had a request before and didn't want to make a habit out of it. But when Shannon Murphy graduated, I got her spot. My biggest mistake was telling Adam about it. Now spot 143 is famous, too: the girl that drives into spot 143 every day, so eagerly. It wouldn't be bad if that sentence stood alone, but it's followed by, She screeches on her brakes, but it's too late, she's already run over my heart. I cringe just thinking about that line.

  I slam my car door shut, say good-bye to Eli, and sprint to class. One thing Adam's not going to do is make me late for first-period English.

  "I've got the Indigo Blues," Jason Brine whispers as I slide into the seat next to him.

  I roll my eyes.

  "Now to repair my soul, I've written this song about how you just let me go."

  "Shut up. I mean it."

  I think he gets the picture, because he gets up to sharpen his pencil.

  Luckily, we have an essay test and for the next fifty minutes the class is consumed with picking apart Romeo and Juliet. Why does everything have to be about love?

  I just have to get through the next couple of days, until another song hits number one and everyone can focus on it instead. Hopefully it'll be something catchy that can be hummed throughout the hallways to drown out "Indigo Blues."

  At lunch I pick the shortest line. Unfortunately, I don't have any classes with Tripp this year so I have to wait until now to see him. He usually sits with his football buddies and whoever any of them are dating at the time. Tripp's been single since June, when Abby Ryan dumped him. She used the classic "I'm going off to college" speech and "I need to spread my wings."

  An unconfirmed rumor has it that Tripp was devastated for, like, a week until he went on a Caribbean cruise with his family and supposedly screwed some Greek beautypageant winner. That's about as much information as I need to know. I'm not into digging up peoples' pasts. I'm all about moving on-something Adam apparently has no idea how to do.

  I pay for my turkey sandwich and sit down next to Lindsay Parks, a girl I've known since fourth-grade Girl Scouts. Ever since freshman year, we've sat at the same lunch table. Her mom was the troop leader and Lindsay had the most badges. Over the years she moved on from accumulating badges to accumulating gymnastics trophies. The whole bookshelf in her bedroom is filled with her accomplishments. Whenever my mom used to pick me up from her house, Eli would charge up to Lindsay's room to count her trophies. "There were thirty-seven, now there are thirtynine!" Eli never lost count. I haven't been to her house since last spring. I wonder if she's up past forty by now.

  "How does it feel?" Lindsay asks.

  "How does what feel?" I scrunch my nose before I can stop myself.

  "Yeah?" Cat slumps down in the seat across from her, looking as perturbed as I am.

  Lindsay dips a carrot stick into a tiny Tupperware of dressing and shakes it off. "Ripping someone's heart out."

  My mouth drops. Why did she have to put it like that? I stare at Cat with my I can't believe it face.

  "That's harsh," Cat says.

  "That's what DJ Ripper said on 97.3 last night." Lindsay pulls another carrot out of her Ziploc.

  Remind me to boycott that radio station forever.

  "It's not what it seems." I unwrap my sandwich, but don't continue to defend myself. Lindsay knows me, and she should know I'd never hurt someone intentionally.

  "So, did you study for Herman's killer exam?" Cat changes the subject.

  Lindsay and Cat go back and forth about the test while more people join us at the table. No one else heard Lindsay's comment, but I can't get the image out of my head. Me ripping Adam's heart out. How dare he make people think I'm a villain when I was nothing but nice to him?

  Cat breaks off her conversation with Anne Morris and turns to me. "Now's your chance. He's heading to the trash can.

  Tripp's wearing a short-sleeved navy blue Polo shirt and jeans. His sandy blond hair slightly covers his left eye. He balances his tray with one hand, pushes the hair out of his eye, and smiles. That's one thing I like about him-he's always smiling.

  I get up and leave the lunch table. Forget playing coyI'm just going to ask him out today. I hope he doesn't believe everything about the song. That I rip guys' hearts out.

  I dump my garbage in the trash and step toward him. Wait, he's talking to himself. I take a step back. Okay, he's not talking, he's humming. My stomach drops. Oh, my God. He's humming "Indigo Blues." Ugh, I can't take this! I rush right past him and out the cafeteria's back door, which leads to the parking lot. I just need to get away.

  never know what to wear to interviews. It's hard to keep track of what I've worn before. I don't want people to think, oh, that poor loser always sports the same crap. I doubt the other guys are tossing in their beds worrying about what outfit would look best on national TV this morning.

  I stare at my clock: 5:55. We have to be at the TV studio at eight a.m. for hair and makeup. Gina, our manager, tries not to schedule anything too early or she'll have to personally wake Zach up. Hopefully, whatever lucky lady followed him home last night has to be at work somewhere and wakes him up before she leaves.

  But if it wasn't for Zach, we may have never met Gina. She had been working with the band Seaweed as an assistant manager when Zach convinced her to come hear us play at a local club. We had only been in New York for four months and were in desperate need of some guidance. She loved what she heard and agreed to take us on. And let me tell you, she's no-nonsense. She took us from dive bars to signing with Toasted Almond Records to a number one hit. Plus, she's got the hook-up-her brother owns a small studio in Brooklyn and lets us practice there whenever we want.

  After another ten minutes of tossing and turning, I finally get out of bed. I glance at my phone. Zero new messages. Indigo's probably still sleeping, anyway. Man, if I had more time, I'd drive to Caulder myself and pay her a visit. Maybe seeing me in person would change her mind. Or maybe it'd freak her out even more and she'd get a restraining order against me. If I can hold out until Thanksgiving break, I can legitimately run into her at the Abel-Caulder football game. Or maybe there's a slim chance that if I sent her a ticket to our Boston gig, she'd show up.

  I hop in the shower and try not to think about how I'll be baring my soul to half of America in a few hours. I think about Hannah and her non-skier bod and how she danced up against me. Even though she was fine, I didn't feel a connection. Who knows, maybe I'm too picky.

  I dry off, then call Zach. He answers on the second ring, sounding all chirpy.

  "Dude, I totally thought you'd be knocked out," I say.

  "Who can sleep when there's a hot chick getting dressed two feet from you?" he says. I hear a high-pitched giggle.

  "Who's that?"

  "Erica. From the other night. You could've had Hannah, you know. She was digging you."

  I pull the tag off a pair of Levis that I bought last week. "Yeah, thanks."

  "Your loss, bro." Sucking noises dominate the phone lines.

  "Are you making out? Hello?"

  Something drops. I think it's me. Well, the phone. "Hurry up," I yell, hoping he hears me. Usually such disregard f
or time would make me nervous, but Zach has a habit of showing up when he's supposed to. He always got up at the last minute for school, but somehow was able to slip into class just as the tardy bell rang.

  I hope that Allie and Harry, the Wake Up, America hosts, don't bombard us with too many questions. Gina said it's only a five-minute segment, enough time for a few questions, and then we perform "Indigo Blues." The whole thing will be live.

  I still have about twenty minutes before I need to catch a cab, so I grab a Dannon from my fridge and turn on the TV. Allie and Harry are cooking it up with Master Chef Byron LaRue. I stare at my plain vanilla yogurt. I wonder if they'll have any of the breakfast smorgasbord left when we arrive. From the looks of it, Byron whips up a mean omelette.

  "And coming up in the nine o'clock hour, we have author Lewis Sinclair with his latest book, Of Love Lost, and then the newest boy band sensation, Blank Stare, with their number one hit, `Indigo Blues."'

  I shut off the TV. I can't believe that in just over an hour, millions of viewers across the country will see us play live. But I know one person who won't be watching. Indigo.

  Why does she have to be so stubborn? I want her to see me for who I am. A decent guy. Is that too much to ask?

  Two deep breaths, a quick look in the mirror, and three squirts of cologne and I'm out the door. I grab a cab right outside my place.

  "Where to, buddy?" the cabby leans over to ask me.

  "Thirty Rockefeller Center. To the Wake Up, America set.

  "You someone famous?" The cabby laughs.

  "Something like that," I mumble.

  My phone rings. It's Gina. "What's your ETA?"

  "I'll be there in fifteen," I tell her.

  "Good, we'll start with you then. Jack and Tommy are just leaving their place now and Zach swears he'll be at the studio in less than twenty."

  "Uh-huh."

  "And Adam..." She pauses.

  "Yeah."

  "They'll most likely ask you about Indigo. So my advice is to give them a short, direct answer and they'll move on."

  I drum my fingers on the metal of my seat belt. I don't answer.

  "You okay?" Gina asks.

  "Fine. I can handle it." I hope. Well, really I have no choice. If I don't answer, then I screw the whole band. We'll look like a bunch of dopes. If I lie and say Indigo was a figment of my imagination, then we seem like freaks. I'll take the advice Dad gave me after Mom died. Give them just enough to whet their appetites and then move on. Moving on, now that's a joke.

  As soon as I get to the studio, Sandy, a wiry production assistant with short black hair, whisks me upstairs and into the dressing room. We pass Gina on the phone in the hallway. She throws me a quick wave. I swear she's superwoman. Never a bead of sweat on her forehead.

  Sandy pulls a roll of Certs from her pocket, offers me one, and then pops two into her own mouth. I still have to get used to all these people fussing over me. This place is so much bigger than when we were interviewed back home on the Boston Today show in May. There was only one person in the dressing room to help us, and many fewer clipboarded assistants.

  This dressing room has a wall of mirrors, swivel chairs, and a full shelf of goop products. Lena, the stylist, rubs some gel into my hair. In a way I'm a little sad that it's growing back. At first I was mortified by the way Zach's hairdresser cut it-faux hawk and all-but a lot of people commented on the band's MySpace page that I looked cool. I think it gives me an edge.

  While Lena's massaging my scalp, Sandy and one of the producers pop into the room. "Where's the rest of the band? They're late," Sandy pants.

  I turn in the direction of Gina and stifle a laugh. "This is nothing for them," I say. Zach strode in a cool minute before our first radio interview. After that, Gina really tightened the reins on him.

  She whips out her phone. "They should be here any minute, but I'll call Tommy." After a short convo, she ends the call. "Nothing to worry about, they'll be here in five minutes." Which both of us know translates to ten.

  Lena manages to do something halfway decent with my hair and then the next person shuffles over to me.

  "I'm Archie, your makeup artist." He sets a big bag onto the counter in front of me.

  His cheeks are red and his eyelashes are super-long fakes. He's really tall and thin and has a mole on his face like Mr. Bean's. No offense, but I'm not going for the same look.

  "Do you have to?"

  "Don't worry, your family will still recognize you." He pulls out a big brown makeup brush. "I just need to even out your complexion so you don't look washed out on TV."

  The door flies open and Tommy, Zach, and Conjunction Jack take the remaining seats in the room. I look at my watch. Yup, they took the whole ten. Right behind the guys are Sandy and the producer. They both look worn out. I can't believe they have to go through this every day.

  "It's about time you guys showed up. I was going to have to go on solo," I say.

  "There was a lot of traffic." Zach winks.

  "In his bedroom," Jack adds.

  We all laugh, even Archie.

  "Don't give up my secret." Zach swipes a cologne bottle shaped like a hawk off the counter and smells it. "Lady Killer," he says, and sprays it on his neck.

  Tommy gives me a double take. "Dude, are you wearing makeup?"

  I look at myself in the mirror. Archie better not be going overboard. "Just wait your turn."

  "You're next," Archie says to Tommy.

  Zach has now slipped off his sneakers and is spraying his feet.

  "Easy, tiger." Lena rushes over to him. "Save some for the rest of the pack."

  Zach sprays in my direction. "I've got my own scent," I cough.

  "I noticed." Conjunction Jack holds his nose.

  I pick up a brush and toss it at him.

  "Relax, boys. Too early for all this testosterone." Archie holds up his hand.

  Gina pops her head into the room. "Five-minute warning until sound check."

  A third stylist enters the room and helps to get the rest of the guys ready. Gina hands me a bottle of water. I take a sip, then close my eyes and try to clear my mind. I don't want to come across as a weirdo. Gina's always reminding us about image, but I'm more worried about Indigo watching. If she does watch, what'll she be thinking? I hope she realizes what she's missing.

  Another production assistant zips into the room. "Ready, boys? It's going to be a quick sound check."

  I have to give it to these guys. In less than five, they were totally able to clean Tommy, Zach, and Jack up. I won't point out to Zach that they made his cheeks look rosy, especially since he looks even more like Gerber boy now.

  I sneak a quick glance at the mirror and file out the door behind Zach, our fearless leader when it comes to public speaking.

  Conjunction puts a hand on my shoulder. "Ready?"

  "As I'll ever be."

  We wait by the studio door. The on-air light is illuminated. I peek inside the glass door and see Allie and Harry sitting with a big dude with wire-rimmed glasses and a ponytail. I figure that must be Lewis Sinclair. He looks like I imagine a successful writer to be, like a character in a book-intellectual and fashion-challenged. Although I should give him props, since he's wearing a button-down checkered shirt, not a blazer with corduroy elbow patches like a lot of novelists in those old movies.

  They're all sitting in big chairs that resemble marshmallows. Allie is lost in the seat, all ninety pounds of her. Harry and Lewis Sinclair are about the same height and stature, but you'd notice Harry's bright red hair anywhere.

  "This way." Sandy points to the studio next door where our stage is set up. There's a big B on the door. We all take our places and speak into the mikes, to make sure the equipment is functioning properly.

  "Okay, everyone happy?" Sandy asks, crunching down on more Certs.

  "Yodel-lay-hee-hoo," Zach sings into his mike while the rest of us fiddle around with our instruments. I'm so glad our road crew set everything up for us this mornin
g, because getting here at eight a.m. was early enough.

  "Ready?" Sandy claps her hands together. "They're about to wrap up next door. Then we go to commercial break and you guys will be on for your interview. You'll have five minutes with Allie and Harry, then we'll whisk you back to this room for the performance. Any questions?" She herds us out the door. When no one says anything, she adds, "Relax and have fun."

  Huh? Isn't this the lady who was running in and out of the green room crushing breath mints?

  We wait outside Studio A. I see a producer behind Allie and Harry holding up one finger, and another one holding a card that says Wrap Up.

  The door swings open and Gina guides us to our seatsfour black bar stools on the other side of the set. Allie and Harry rush over and introduce themselves, while someone escorts Lewis out the door.

  Zach offers his hand. "Thanks for having us on the show."

  "Hey, I've got two teenage girls at home that begged me to get you guys on." Harry makes the rounds and shakes all of our hands.

  "We won't disappoint." Zach smiles.

  Easy for him to say-he loves the camera almost as much as he loves hot girls.

  I call to Gina. "Toss me a mirror, please." I need to make sure there's no last-minute mystery crap on my face.

  "You all look great," she says to the group, but she's looking straight at me. I give her a quick nod.

  "Okay, places everyone," someone yells, and then continues with a countdown.

  Three fingers go up, then two, then one, and the studio light is aglow.

  Let the five minutes begin.

  Allie takes the lead. "We're honored to have the fabulous members of boy band Blank Stare on the show today."

  She introduces us by name. The camera closes in on us one by one, and we each offer a small smile.

  Don't ask me about Indigo. I grit my teeth. I know it's inevitable, but I hope they run out of time.

  "So first off..." Harry leans in. "How did you all meet?"