"Why? Running into too many Indigos?" He crunches down on a handful of pretzels.
"The opposite. I stick out like a sore thumb." I look over at the TV. The farmer is wearing overalls, tall black rubber boots, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. He's totally in his element, but plop him in the middle of the city and he, too, would be a sore thumb.
"Hey, I saved you. Your mom's first choice was Prudence."
"Eww. Well, I used to like my name until it was blasted all over the place."
"Have you ever told Adam how you felt?"
"Isn't it a little late for that?"
"I meant more for you. To help you deal."
"Oh, I never thought about that." Weird. Not sure if that's like opening Pandora's box. But Dad's trying, I'll give him that.
I lay out three possible stones on the coffee table to put in the center of Mom's necklace. A cobalt blue polished one, an ivory-looking flower, and a smooth pearl drop.
Dad's still looking at me, five o'clock shadow dominates his usually smooth face. He points to the flower. I like it, too. "Well?"
"I'll think about it. I've been trying to distance myself from all things Indigo."
"You can't hide forever." Dad suddenly frowns. "Ohh."
We both turn our heads back to the show. We've missed the actual birth. The calf's not breathing. There's no sound coming from the TV.
I turn up the volume, thinking it might be muted. Still no sound.
"This is so sad. Is he dead?" I ask.
Yes.
"Even The Learning Channel is too depressing for me. Life sucks." I get up from the couch and head to the kitchen.
"In a few years you'll laugh about this," Dad calls after me.
I pull out a jar of peanut butter and a sleeve of Saltines. I tuck them under my arm and grab a water bottle. "Well, I'm not laughing now. I'm going to my room."
After I finish my feast, I pick up my cell. There's a voicemail. If it's from anyone that lives out of state, I'll scream.
"Hey, Indigo, it's Tripp. Just calling to say hi. Call me back."
Just calling to say hi? How cute is that! I didn't know that guys called just to say hi. I feel like a freshman againgetting all psyched that a guy called. But come to think of it, I don't think people ever grow out of that. Plus, Adam used to call so much that sometimes I'd just stick my cell in a drawer.
Tripp called at 9:14 p.m., about the time the dairy farmer announced that the cow was pregnant. A wave of panic flows through me. What if Tripp really called to cancel our date tomorrow night? He's playing it nice on the message and as soon as I call him back he's going to lay it on me: "Sorry, Indigo but it's a no-go. I don't like you anymore. Never did. See ya!"
I stare at his number and prepare myself for the ultimate letdown. Get it together, Indigo.
I flop down on my bed and hit send. He answers on the first ring.
"Hey, Tripp. It's Indigo."
"Hey! Hi!"
"Sorry I missed your call. I was watching a calf being born."
"Huh?"
Great, now he thinks I'm a total freakazoid. I try a different approach. "I didn't have my phone on me."
"No prob. I called because Coach added a practice tomorrow. Doesn't end until five."
"Okay." I pick up the teddy bear, Fred, that I've had since fourth grade and toss him against the wall. "Another time then. Or not."
Pause.
"Actually, I was just going to say, I'll pick you up at six."
I walk over to Fred and pick him up. I mouth "sorry" to his sad little face and pat his fur.
Long pause.
"Indigo?" Too long.
"Of course. That's fine. So, how was the game today?"
He takes a deep breath. "Man, Abingdale rode our asses. It was close. We won 21 to 20. A missed point. My back is killing me right now."
I've never seen Tripp without a shirt, but I imagine him to be ripped. "You totally need a massage." Full body.
"You offering?" His voice is elevated. He sounds excited.
I lie back down on my bed and prop Fred up on the pillow next to me. "Yeah, I could give you a good workup." So what if the only massages I ever give are to my mom while she watches TV.
"Yeah, I could give you a good work-up." I hear my words repeated back to me in the most annoying voice on the planet.
I quickly sit up and turn toward the door. "Eli, ever heard of knocking?"
"The door was open."
"Not the point!" I growl at him. Ohh, Tripp. "Sorry, that was my brother."
"Figured. Anyway, I got to run. Mom made me some grub."
I shoot balls of fire at Eli with my eyes. "Okay, yeah. I'm going to tackle my English paper now."
Homework on Friday night yeah, I'm cool.
"See you tomorrow," Tripp says.
"Totally."
"Totally," Eli repeats. I hang up with Tripp and chuck Fred at Eli. Big mistake. He scoops Fred up and says, "Oh, Tripp, I love you." And makes this God-awful kissing sound. MWAH.
"How do you know I was even talking to Tripp?" I sneer.
"Well, I didn't think you were talking to Grandma. Maybe Cat though." He grins.
"Ha, ha. Don't you have anything else to do but make my life miserable?"
He tilts his head. "Nope. I'm cool with that."
"Get out!" I scream.
"Chill." He takes a few steps backwards, toward the door. "But seriously, how well do you know Tripp?"
"None of your business." I get up and grab Fred from Eli before he's taken hostage. Besides, my answer is pretty pathetic. It's taken me almost a month to get Tripp to ask me out. I hope it doesn't take a month before I get to see his ripped chest. "If you must know, we're going out tomorrow night."
"Does Adam know?"
"Why should he?"
Eli shrugs. "Didn't know if you guys talk about that stuff. "
"More like we don't talk."
"Adam's a nice guy. Thought you might want to give him a second chance."
"Are you on crack? He wrote a song about what a bitch I am. And I should give him a second chance? Puhleese." I know my face is all red. Nothing new these days.
"Don't have a hissy. He was just going through a rough patch."
"A rough patch? Since when did you become a shrink? Why don't you try dating Adam?"
Eli pulls out his little notepad and reads from it. "Okay, but if you could say anything to Adam about this whole experience, what would you say?"
"I'm sick of this crap!" I slam the door in his face before I can wring his neck, which by the way, is getting harder and harder to do these days because we are now the same height and I fear he will surpass me pretty soon.
But seriously, whose side is Eli on?
'm the first one to the studio, with copies of "Sugar Rush" stuffed in my backpack and my guitar in tow. Okay, so that's nothing new, but today I have a renewed sense of purpose. I actually feel good about this. I'm running on four hours of sleep, but the deprivation has not kicked in yet.
Mike, the sound guy, is checking the equipment. He gives me a high five. "Whassup, dude?"
"Not much. Ready to roll."
"Good. I'm almost done in here and Gina's on a breakfast run."
Food does sound good right about now I take the copies of "Sugar Rush" out of my backpack and flop down onto the couch. I read it over to make sure it actually makes sense the day after. I pull out my guitar, too, and fiddle around with a couple of chords. The song needs to end with a bang. Maybe Zach can come up with something. He's good with finales.
"Sounding good, bro." Tommy clomps into the room in a new pair of Timberlands.
"Nice kicks." Money burns a hole in his pocket. If there's anything left over after he pays bills, it goes right into his shoe fund.
"Thanks. Just got them. Is that the new tune?"
"Yeah, I was working out the last few chords."
"Cool." He nods and goes to check out his bass.
The door flings open again. "Who's hungry?" Gi
na asks.
We join everyone in the entrance where she's laid the food out on the table. Zach's already scarfing down a muffin. No food in the studio, so it's now or wait until break time.
"Got song?" Jack asks as he slurps down a chocolate milk. He rubs the tip of the bottle against the top of his mouth so that he has a mustache. That boy's sense of humor is so messed up.
Everyone keeps looking at me like I have the key to the universe in my pocket.
"Right here, man." I pat the papers, rolled up like a scroll and sticking out of the pocket of my cargo pants.
All this anticipation is killing me. It's do or die, baby! I toss the other half of my muffin into the trash. "Okay, let's get going." I head inside the studio before anyone can object. And of course they all follow me because they've been waiting for this moment, too. "Indigo Blues" is hot, but we need to get back in the studio before we end up a one-hit-wonder band.
The guys all pull up folding chairs and circle around me, Tommy still chewing. Jack and Zach play-punch each other. I swear, they never take anything seriously.
I stare at them. No one's even taking notice. Gina's in the back corner talking to Mike.
"Punks, listen up." I wave the papers in the air. "Unless you've got something else in mind to do today?"
Jack elbows Zach in the gut. Zach fakes injury. "Ah, fuck."
I eye him.
"You're not going to flick a booger on me? Are you?" He laughs.
"Thinking about it."
He gets the picture and says, "Drum roll please. Get ready for the amazing Adam Spade, master lyricist."
I hand out the lyrics, then pick up my guitar. I strum a few chords and hum some notes to tune up. When I finally look up, everyone is silent. All eyes are on the pages in front of them. I glance at my watch, pop in a Certs, and they're still reading. The silence is killing me. I have to know what they think. If I can't get this song by these guys, then it's never going to see the light of day.
I grind the Certs down to smithereens. "You can't all be slow readers. What's the verdict?"
Zach is the first to lift his head. "Dude, this is good crap.
"Crap?" My mouth drops.
"You know what I mean."
"Me likee," Conjunction Jack says.
"Mmm." Tommy rubs his stomach.
Some days I wonder how I'm still friends with these guys.
I take a deep breath and Gina scurries over to me. "I think what the wordsmiths over here are trying to say is ... they love it!"
"Seriously, this is great cr ... er ... stuff." Tommy stands up. "I'm still wondering how you came up with this so quick."
"Doesn't feel quick to me. I hardly slept for three days."
"This is totally worthy of a case of beer," Tommy says.
I love how everything gets measured in units of beer.
"Okay, let's give her a listen." I pick up my guitar.
"Sugar Rush, it's like speeding through traffic on a hot summer's day. "
We go back and forth, changing a few chords and working on the melody. After an hour of playing around, the jam session is in full swing. We're all tinkering with our instruments, trying to get the best out of every note. This is why I love these guys-because we make good music together. We all share the passion to musicate people. It's both scary and cool to think that we actually have listeners. That people out there are waiting for our next song.
We work on the chorus first.
Jack's a madman with the drums, trying to find the perfect beat.
"Hold it right there!" Zach screams. "That sounded fresh."
We all stop playing and turn our attention to Jack. He does his thing. Watching him with a pair of drumsticks is mesmerizing. Those are his chopsticks, feeding his soul. We circle around the room and everyone does a little soul feeding-Zach and me on guitar and vocals and Tommy on bass. Gina's in and out, mostly giving us the thumbsup, probably knowing it's best to stay out of our way. Mike chimes in now and again about levels and sound.
Besides occasional bathroom breaks, no one wants to leave the room. Positive energy permeates the studio like cool air on a hot summer's day. I'm back with a vengeance. This song is for everyone who has ever needed a pick-meup.
Finally the studio lights flicker on and off. That's Gina giving us a ten-minute warning. The next band will be here soon for their scheduled recording time. My hair is plastered to my head. Same for Jack. Tommy has a towel around his neck, and for some reason Zach is shirtless.
By the time we're done, I realize that "Sugar Rush" belongs to all of us. Everyone has put a bit of themselves into making the arrangement happen.
We're not even done packing up when Zach says, "So you guys wanna grab a brew?"
"Oh yeah." I beam and the others nod in agreement. And then some...
ripp will be here in less than an hour and the contents of my closet are strewn all over the carpet. I should've gone to the mall to pick something up because suddenly my clothes feel worthy only of a garage sale.
Mom walks by my open bedroom door and backs up. "Whoa. Tornado. Let me guess, nothing to wear."
"Mom, don't even start. I'll clean it when I get home."
She steps over the mounds. "Oh, I know you will. So what's wrong with this?" She picks up the purple sundress that I got at the beginning of the summer.
"It's October now. I need something that shouts fall."
"I didn't know guys were that into seasons."
I crouch down on the floor and shuffle through a pile of shirts. "They're not, but we're going with another couple."
"Ahh," Mom says.
I roll my eyes. "Mom, the girl's a jerk."
"So harsh?" She rummages through another heap and picks up a pink and black flowered skirt.
I shake my head. "Trust me. She's part of the TV crew."
"You've become quite a skeptic. Just don't give her anything to talk about and I'm sure she'll leave you alone. And who knows, you might even actually like her."
I know Mom tries, but she doesn't get it. Some people are out for blood and they won't stop until they get a full pint.
Mom holds up a black dress with spaghetti straps and a green embroidered stretch top. I pick the top and pair it with black pants. Classy but not desperate. It's sad that I'm more worried about what my date's best friend's girlfriend is going to wear. We're nothing alike in every sense of the word. She's short, with dirty-blond hair and dark brown eyes. Her whole looks screams cheerleader, while I scream, not!
After I throw on the outfit, I spin around to show Mom. "Do I look okay?"
She sucks in her breath and purses her lips. "Beautiful. I can't believe my little girl is almost eighteen."
I should've sensed one of these moments coming. I'm about to retort with the standard oh, Mom, but I catch a quick glimpse of myself in the mirror and actually feel the same way. I am getting old. Not old old, like thirty, but I don't look like the geeky sixth grader with too-short bangs and braces, either.
"Don't worry, Mom. You still look young." I give her a quick peck on the cheek.
She smiles. "Yes, you can stay out until midnight."
"I wasn't hinting, really. But thanks."
She leaves the room and I sit down at my desk to apply a little makeup. My summer tan has already faded. I use black eyeliner, blue eye shadow, and shiny pink lip gloss. Hopefully it'll stay on my face long enough for me to make out with Tripp.
The doorbell rings and I jet downstairs. I don't want Eli to get to Tripp before me. Mom opens the door and Tripp steps inside. They shake hands and exchange introductions.
His face is clean-shaven, and his skin looks so smooth that I want to reach out and touch it. His hair is still wet from the shower and he's wearing a bold, orange, longsleeved T-shirt that looks great on him. And-bonus-it's very fall!
We both check each other out. I look down at my top, just to make sure everything is in place. Cat calls this my cleavage shirt. "You look great," he says, smiling.
"Than
ks." I turn to Mom and spot Eli in the hallway upstairs, leaning over the railing. "Bye, I'll see you later."
She opens the door for us. "Midnight, Cinderella."
"Gotcha." I step out. Tripp says good-bye and leads me to his car. It's a lot newer than Darnell but definitely more generic. A black Honda Accord. Most likely a John or a Max.
"So what's up?" Tripp asks.
Just trying to come up with a name for your car. "Nice wheels."
"Thanks. I got it for my birthday last year."
I blow Darnell a kiss good-bye. I don't want him to feel neglected. Tripp holds the door open and I climb into his Accord. What a gentleman.
The first thing Tripp does when he hits the road is turn on the radio. I pray that "Indigo Blues" doesn't get any air play. The DJ comes on and announces the end of the classic rock hour. Crap, now any song is fair game.
"How was practice?" I ask.
"Not as rough as I expected. We ran a few new plays. But mostly just drills."
"Cool." Although, I really have no idea if it's cool or not.
"You should come to the game next Friday. It's home."
"I will." Just to see you in those tight pants again. I've only been to one game so far this year, but I have no problem going to more-yum yum.
The song on the radio ends and segues right into the new Pink tune. I breathe a sigh of relief. But I can't live like this. I have three minutes to relax and then wait to see if the next tune played is the death of me. Maybe I should write my own song-"Death to Adam," kind of like a rebuttal. Indigo, she never let you go. Because we were never together long enough for it to really matter, get that through your thick head. (Insert: heavy banging of drums and crashing symbols.) Sure, we were friends, and that didn't have to end if you didn't go psycho on me.T
"Are you always this quiet?" Tripp asks.
"Ah, sorry. No. Just a little out of it today. Long week."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. How do you think you did on Stead's test?"
Indigo Blues Page 7
