Indigo Blues (10 page)

There's a knock on the door. Weird. There are no noise
violations coming from my broom-closet apartment and I
really don't know any of my neighbors. Foul odor? Hopefully I would detect that before it left my place and took
over the common areas.

After the second knock, I glance through my peephole.
It's Zach.

I open up. "What's up, dude? How'd you get in?"

Zach steps into the apartment. He's wearing our newest Blank Stare tee-black with silver writing and buggedout eyeballs. "Somebody left the front door open a crack."

"So much for security. Just trying to get some work
done on the song."

Zach's face lights up. "Cool, let me see." He walks over
to the computer.

I close the door. "No, I was fooling around. Getting
warmed up." Too late.

He reads aloud, "Sugar rush, you get me all hyped up and
then you let me down. Take out your booger brush and spin it
all around." Zach cracks up.

I push him to the side. "Okay, get lost."

He leans back over the screen and sings in a really high
voice, "I'm turning to mush over this messed up crush."

This time I elbow him in the gut and shut down the
document without saving it.

Zach pretends to pick his nose. "`I'll Flick a Booger on
You,' the number one hit song by Blank Stare. Or better
yet, we should change our name to the Snot Bags."

"Okay, ha, ha." I lean back against my desk, shielding
the computer. "I told you I was only warming up."

"This isn't the last inning of a never-ending ball game.
We have a deadline here. We need to get back into the studio with something fresh."

"I know. I'll have something by tomorrow. I swear."

He pats me on the shoulder. "Great, because you know I
suck at writing. But after I've seen your crap, maybe I should
give it another try."

"Adios." I fling open my door.

Zach steps out and pops his head back in. "I like the
title. `Sugar Rush' has a good ring to it."

"Right." I shut the door.

I slump back down in my chair. The fuel from the
Nerds has since run out. So sugar is definitely not my vice.
I open a new document and retype `Sugar Rush.' I pick up
my guitar and search for a decent beat.

"Sugar rush is what you get when you first lay eyes on her.
But soon after, that ain't enough. You need more of that sugar
rush. "

I strum and type and strum and type until I come up
with a solid first stanza. It's noon, my ass is numb, and I'm
starving. Maybe if I walk around the city, I'll feel inspired.
First stop, Spike's Pizza Joint, four blocks east. The place
I was at last spring when Indigo called to tell me that
maybe we should take a break from talking. That I was too
"intense" for her and needed to "step back."

I'd checked the phone, gotten all psyched that it was her
calling, and in less than a minute all the blood had drained
from my head. It was the anti-sugar rush. Story of my life.

o, Indigo." Tripp dashes toward my locker. He's so
cute when he runs. "I was looking for you. Didn't
see you at lunch."

He was? Insta-smile. "I was tired of the mob scene," I
say. "Needed some fresh air."

He scans me up and down. "You look nice today."

"Thanks." I blush. I'm wearing my pink Blow Pop tee
and Cool Joe jeans.

He slides his hands into his pockets. "Wanna hang out
Saturday night? Go to dinner?"

Is he really asking me out on a date? So cool, and the
week isn't even up yet.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Sam and Krista are going, too."

Oh, not so great. An "ooo" escapes my mouth before I
can stop it. I slam my locker to hopefully mask the sounds
of disappointment.

"Is that okay?" he asks.

I don't think it worked. Now I feel like an a-hole. Sam's
his best friend and Krista, well, she's a bitch. "No, that's
fine." I force a smile back onto my face.

"Cool. Pick you up around five thirty."

Two girls run by us. One narrowly misses my foot.
"Ouch. Damn." The bell rings. The mob resumes business
and more people rush by us. Tripp and I exchange "see yas"
and head in opposite directions. I should be jumping up
and down because he actually asked me out, but I'm not too
sure about this double date combo. It could be a recipe for
disaster.

I track Cat down in the science wing before physics.
She has a whole stack of books in her arms. I peer at her
collection. "Anything on surviving a double date?"

"Who? You?"

I take half her stack and walk toward her class. "Yeah,
with Sam and Krista."

"Ooo, the TV gossip queen."

"See, I knew I should've said no."

"No, you so need this date."

"Thanks. Am I that desperate?" I hand her the books
back.

"I don't mean it like that. You'll be fine. You working
today?"

"Yeah. Two-thirty."

"Okay, call me tonight."

I shuffle over to physics. All I want to do is get lost in
the drone of Mr. Reed's voice.

He has something written on the board in big black letters. It looks like bullies, but really says pulleys. If he needs
me to, I could name a bully-Krista. I know that technically, she never did anything really bad to me. It's just her
whole aura. One run-in with her last year was enough.

Out of the blue, she accused me of trying to steal her
boyfriend, Eric Stone, because we were studying together
in the school library for a chemistry test. It was the weirdest thing. All of a sudden I felt someone literally breathing
down my neck and I jumped. When I turned around, she
was huffing and had her arms crossed. Eric was so oblivious that he kept on rattling off different formulas. I finally
asked her what she wanted and she said, "Funny, I was just
about to ask you the same thing." When I told her I had
no idea what she was talking about, she threw a fit. The
librarian had to come over and tell us to quiet down. I
took that as my cue to exit and after that avoided both Eric
and Krista. I was surprised that their relationship actually
lasted another two months. And now lucky Sam has been
dating her for four months.

Mr. Reed explains that pulleys change the direction of
the tension force in the cords that are attached to them.
Maybe I could strap one to Krista and, if she says anything
bitchy, I could put more force on the pulley, giving her a
small shock.

On the whiteboard is a free body diagram-two arrows
forming a cross. Mr. Reed finishes writing and turns to face
us. His shirt is half tucked in at the bottom and one sleeve
is rolled up. "Assume that this table top is frictionless."

I write frictionless on my paper, followed by, Date conversation with Tripp and Company should be frictionless.

Frictionless Conversation Topics:

Pets

Football

Senior Trip (I'm sure Krista has some grand event
planned with her girls)

College

Friction Conversation Topics to Avoid:

Music/Bands

Media

Candi Campbell

Krista's job in the TV Studio on Raiders' Pride

Anything to do with me

Crap, she better not bring up the Wake Up, America
show. I add TV to the list of nos.

I try to focus on the pulleys for the rest of class. On
Monday we're going to make our own. Too late for my double date.

The bell rings and it's candy time. I rush out of the
building and don't stop for anyone. I'm about to jump into
Darnell when I see a note tucked under one of my wipers.

I unfold it and read, Indigo, I'd love to get a picture of you and your car in this parking spot for an article that I'm
writing. Call me. Patrick Wendell, The Caulder Townsman.

Even my local paper had to hunt me down. Don't know
why I'm surprised-the last big thing to happen in this
town was when they had to find new homes for Herman
Hendricks and his thirty-five cats. Poor lonely old guy.

I ball the note up and climb into Darnell. We peel out
of the school parking lot. I'm glad I have somewhere to go,
somewhere to forget about my life for a few hours and just
dish out candy.

The light turns green on Washington Street, but before
I can accelerate, a black car cuts in front of me. I freeze. Is
that Adam? Wait, wasn't he just on national TV in New York
City? Does he still have that old Honda? The car behind me
beeps as my heart beats faster than a bongo drummer. This
is so not my day.

I pull into Rock Candy's parking lot, but don't get out.
A short chubby blond guy emerges from the Honda, carrying his dry cleaning. I'm such a loser. How could I think
that was Adam stopping by? Paranoid much? I desperately
need a handful of M&Ms. I'm so relieved when I get out
of the car that I wave to the short guy, my secret way of
saying thanks for not being Adam. He waves back.

No time for a chocolate fix when I get inside because
there's a Brownie troop already waiting in line. Tony has
his shirt sleeves rolled up and is dipping pretzel rods like
he's going for the title of Fastest Chocolate Dipper in The
Guinness Book of World Records. "Indigo, good to see you."

"Looks like you can use some assistance." I grab an apron, then wash up. Armed with a pair of plastic gloves, I
help the next Brownie in line. "What can I get for you?"

"Can I try the mini white Oreos?"

"Sure." I lean over the counter and pull a cookie covered in white chocolate from the jar.

Miley Cyrus' voice floats through the air on Tony's
iPod. All the girls squeal like they haven't heard this song a
million times, like their rooms are not decorated in Hannah Montana garb.

"I love her," the apple-faced girl in front of me
announces.

"Do you like the cookie?" I ask her.

"Yeah. Can I have a small bag of them?"

I fill up a mini cellophane bag for her and move on to
the next girl. I can handle this gig. I might even miss this
place when I go off to college next year. Let's face it, candy
makes people happy. And when they complain about all the
calories, it's only after they've scarfed down a whole bag.
Okay, so I've been guilty of a sugar overload once or twice.

The next two girls get chocolate-covered pretzels with
rainbow sprinkles. I take the last girl's order while Tony rings
the whole troop up.

"What can I get you?"

"A jumbo cookie monster." She grins, tight pigtails
flopping from side to side.

The leader turns away from Tony and reminds the girl
that it's either a small bag of candy or one item from the
case.

So the girl just stands in front of me with a frowny face. She's staring at two huge chocolate chip cookies, with
white and green icing, that are made to look like a "cookie
monster." They're our specialty, but they are pretty bigperfect for sharing or taking home.

Miley Cyrus is done and the next song from Tony's iPod
is like an electric shock. `Indigo, how could you let me go... "

Traitor. He spent money on that song?

"How could you?" I slam my gloved hand down onto
the glass counter top.

"I'm sorry," the little girl blubbers. I stare at the tears
forming in her eyes.

Oh, my God, she thinks I'm talking to her.

"Now that the laughs have faded away and you ve left me
all alone... "

"Sorry, honey." I lean over the counter. "I wasn't talking to you."

The leader stops counting the envelope of Brownie
money and glares at me.

"I was talking to the music," I try to clarify.

Subject change, pronto.

"One cookie monster coming right up!"

The little girl smiles and wipes her nose with the sleeve
of her uniform. Blank Stare blares on. My ears burn. I smush
the dessert down to fit into the clear plastic container. Green
icing oozes from the sides. I snap the lid shut and throw the
sugar overload into a bag.

The little girl still has her cloudy blue eyes on me. "Are
you Indigo from that song?"

I look down at my name tag and cover the letters with
my hand. "Different Indigo. Popular name, I guess."