Through Indigo's Eyes

by Tara Taylor

  High school had been a disappointment for me—not a place I enjoyed. If only I could go to the land of the Jim Henson’s Labyrinth and be a warrior. Labyrinth was my favorite movie, and I loved how the heroine in the movie fought her way through the labyrinth to save her baby brother. There were days when I wished I could do something heroic, like use my sword to fight through all the knights at the Parliament buildings and rescue the poor people who were chained in cages and tormented by ghosts. I knew all too well what it was like to be tormented by ghosts.

  I jumped when I heard a harsh voice behind me. “Indigo Russell, stop daydreaming. You’ll be late for class, just like your brother.”

  I turned to see the vice principal of the school. Under my breath, I cursed Brian. Why did I have to be labeled because of him? His reputation had followed me for my full high school experience. I moved quickly into the school.

  “Hey, Indie,” said Lacey, when I approached my locker. She had her locker open and was looking in her little mirror, putting on lipstick, unaware that she too was late for class. “Did you get your math homework done?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded but didn’t make eye contact. “But you know I’m not great at math.” I unlocked my locker and opened the door. At times like this, I wished I had a mirror in my locker, too, but I didn’t, so I pretended to pull out books.

  She smacked her lips together, then looked at me, and I had to glance at her and smile at least a little. As usual, her dark, brown eyes danced and glimmered. She was happy to be here. When you were popular, high school was fun.

  She had thick, curly, shiny, chocolate-colored hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. I had iron-straight, white-blonde hair and blue eyes. Plus, she was tall and willowy, and I had inherited my dad’s short legs. She was a school athlete, and I was just a wannabe rocker who was in a band but had allowed it to die off just because.

  “I don’t care. Can I copy? Please. I just need to show I did it.” She moaned. “I had volleyball practice last night, then …” She raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows up and down. “I went out with Burke.” She leaned toward me and whispered, “We almost had sex. I swear it will be next time.”

  Breathe, Indie, breathe. Sex with Burke would have been wrong for Lacey, especially if he was cheating with Amber.

  “Sure,” I replied. “To the homework, that is.”

  “You are the best friend ever.” She paused to flick her hair that moved like undulating waves around her shoulders.

  “Yeah, right,” I said.

  She looked at me and laughed. “What’s up with you?” She played with the best friend silver necklace I had given her for her birthday last year. Then her eyes widened, and she said, “Hey, there’s a big party happening this Friday. You should go. I can’t ‘cause I have a tournament, but you should go for sure.” She leaned toward me and whispered, “I heard John might be there.”

  And just like that, my throat closed up, making it hard for me to breathe. Sweat dripped on my neck and chest and pooled under my arms, and my cheeks scorched with heat.

  I chortled loudly, probably too loudly, to mask my awkwardness. “Yeah, okay,” I said. “And what do I do, just show up by myself?”

  “You could go with Burke. Just for your entrance. Then you can, uh, y’know, put the moves on John.” Lacey did a little shake with her shoulders.

  “I don’t have any moves,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t look now, but here he comes,” she whispered.

  My face flushed, and my nerve endings fizzed.

  “Hey, John,” said Lacey.

  “Hey,” he replied, his voice thick, smooth, like maple syrup. Then he slowly added, “Hi, Indie.”

  I glanced at him through lowered eyelids and tried to smile. “Hi.”

  He gazed at me, longer than he did at Lacey, and his look penetrated my skin right to my bones. I couldn’t avert my gaze and instead was mesmerized by his hazel eyes. There was this denseness to his pupils that I couldn’t see through. I liked that feeling of not knowing. It made me feel normal.

  But then, just like a light being switched off, he walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway like an idiot.

  A big wad of something slid from my stomach to my throat, and I had to cough to catch my breath. My heart ticked, and I could feel it beating through my chest. My body trembled as I watched him walk down the hall, captivated by the sound of his crazy flip-flops smacking the floor, of his too-long jeans sweeping the dirty gray tiles, making swishing sounds. He didn’t strut like Burke, but he had a distinct movement, like a James Dean lope, his long legs striding forward, his arms hanging loose by his sides, his sharp shoulders squared and uniform. And he wore those crazy flip-flops almost all year long. Who did that? John. John did that. He did everything that was different, and that was why I was breathing as if I’d just run a cross-country race. He pulled a book from the pouch of his sweatshirt and started to read as he walked. I wondered what he was reading.

  Poetry?

  Something philosophical?

  Something profound and riveting?

  “Did you see him look at you?” Lacey whispered. “You have got to go to that party, Indie.”

  I stood stock-still for a brief moment, unable to speak. I had to let my heart rate lower before I even attempted any words. No one wore plain sweatshirts with no logos to school but John. Logos were status. He didn’t care about status. He had the confidence to be himself. He kept his head bowed as he read but didn’t bump into a single person.

  I turned and faced Lacey. “You’re right,” I said. “I have to go. Will Burke want to go with me, though?” Enough was enough; I had to make my move. If I didn’t, high school would be over and … I shook my head. I couldn’t think like that.

  Then a thought hit me. Perhaps if I went with Burke, I could also stop him from cheating on Lacey. I would have another reason to be at the party, instead of just to see John.

  I needed purpose to give me courage.

  “Why not? He likes you. Thinks you’re funny,” said Lacey.

  I laughed to appear normal. “You’re kidding, right? I’m never funny.”

  Lacey laughed. “Yeah, you are. You’re funny because you think you’re not. Who else can lip-synch and play air guitar like you?” She held out her hand. “You let me copy, and I’ll get Burke to take you to the party.”

  Chapter Three

  As Lacey had promised, Burke picked me up on Saturday night. Normally, this is something that I would have tried to avoid, but since I didn’t know where the party was, and Lacey had already set it up, I had no choice. I would suck it up and try to make conversation with Burke.

  He knocked on the door, and I stepped outside and shivered. In the summer, the heat of the day carried into the night, but not in the fall. In the day, it could be beautiful and hot, T-shirt weather, but at night, a jacket was necessary. I did up the snaps on my jean jacket. Burke, of course, wore his Ottawa 67’s logoed black hockey jacket, complete with name and position emblazoned on the sleeve, team logo on the front, and team name in letters on the back.

  Once in the car, I did up my seat belt and asked, “How’s your hockey team doing?” I knew enough about hockey to ask a few, hopefully correct, questions. To live in Ottawa and not be a fan of the Ottawa Senators NHL team was almost a crime, according to my dad and Brian and, well, the rest of the people in Ottawa. When Dad and Brian droned on about the Senators, Mom and I would roll our eyes, smile, and start our own conversation.

  “Great,” replied Burke as he backed out of my driveway. “We’re six and oh.”

  “Meaning?” Okay, so I didn’t know that much.

  Burke glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “We’ve won six games and lost none.”

  I nodded. Why would he think I would know something like that?

  We drove down my street and turned onto Bank. I glanced out the window, and we drove by a community arena, which resembled a big old barn. In our town, indoor hockey arenas sat on every corner, and onc
e the temperature dipped below zero, the outdoor community hockey rinks were as common as the golden McDonald’s arches. In the winter, kids played outside on frozen ice rinks until they couldn’t feel their toes in their skates because it was such a Canadian thing to do. Believe me, I was never one of those kids. And the hockey player boys at school did nothing for me. Like Burke. Sure, I liked him and thought he was good-looking, but I preferred a guy who wore flip-flops instead of skates. A guy like John. He was puzzling and intelligent and always deep in thought and had long, thin legs instead of huge, muscular thighs like the hockey boys had. My body tingled, hoping he would be at the party. What would I say to him? Would he talk to me?

  We were on our way to the Glebe, my favorite neighborhood in Ottawa because it was so funky. Both of us remained silent. Bank Street ran through some neighborhoods, then a business area, then more neighborhoods, right into downtown. The Glebe was one of the last neighborhoods before the downtown core.

  “So,” I said after we’d driven a little way, “what are your plans for next year?”

  “It’s my draft year,” said Burke. “I’m hoping to go pretty high, then I can get to a rookie camp and hopefully a main NHL camp. I might have to play in the OHL again next year, but my big goal is to play NHL. So next year is hockey. What about you?”

  I fiddled with the snaps on my jean jacket. Good question, Burke, I thought. I had no idea what my plans were. “Work for a year, maybe.”

  “You seriously have no idea what you want to do?”

  I shrugged and slouched in my seat. “Maybe I’ll travel. Who knows? I definitely don’t want to go to school. Me and school don’t mix.”

  I wished I could answer those questions. I turned my head and stared out the window again. Just because he knew exactly what he was going to do didn’t mean that I did. A sudden flash of hot air surged through me, and I felt as if I were burning up. Thankfully, we were almost in the Glebe; I could get out of the car soon. I undid the top snap of my jean jacket and loosened my scarf as I continued to stare out the window, telling myself to breathe. I wanted to fan myself. What was I reacting to? His questions? My inability to answer anything about my future? Or his assuredness?

  “Who do you play next?” I had to keep talking so he didn’t notice that something was wrong with me.

  “The Kitchener Rangers.”

  Then he proceeded to tell me all their stats and that they were a good team, blah, blah, blah. In a way, I was thankful for his rambling because then I didn’t have to talk. As Burke chatted on, we drove into the Glebe, and I kept staring out the window as we passed upscale shops, specialty shops, bohemian shops, cafés, and tons of great restaurants: Thai, Vietnamese, vegetarian, and even trendy burger joints. My temperature began to return to normal, and I relaxed a little bit. The Glebe was a mix of old and new. Yes, there were beautiful old heritage buildings made of the classic red brick, but there were also newer condo complexes with large windows and modern features.

  One day I wanted to have my own apartment in the Glebe.

  Could that happen next year? Was that what I was going to do? Get a job and live in the Glebe?

  “Maybe I’ll get an apartment in the Glebe,” I said, my words coming out of nowhere.

  I snuck a glance at Burke. And then it happened. My mind went blank. I gripped the door handle of the car. No. Not now. Please.

  But it was over so fast I didn’t have time to blink. I saw a black and gold hockey jersey—then it was gone. Sometimes I got snapshots, still images instead of scenes. I breathed, thankful for the quick picture but totally bugged that I would see a stupid hockey jersey, as if I didn’t get enough hockey just living in Ottawa.

  “The Glebe would be a cool place to live. Expensive though, eh?” he said.

  “Yeah, that’s for sure.” I paused. I didn’t want the conversation to veer to me; I hated talking about myself. Plus, I wanted to find out more about what I had just seen. “What team do you want to pick you?”

  “What do you mean, pick me?”

  “Whatever you said before. It’s some big year for you.”

  “You mean draft me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pittsburgh Penguins.”

  “What color are their uniforms?”

  He laughed. “You mean jerseys?”

  “Oh, right,” I said. “Jerseys.”

  “Black and gold.”

  I knew that.

  I glanced out the window again. Why did I always know everything about everyone else but nothing about myself? Was I going to live in the Glebe next year? Was that what I was feeling? Some days I had 20 visions, then other days, it seemed like hundreds of snapshots clicked through my brain, and then on my busy, distracted days, I had zero come to me. And none were about me! Sometimes they were powerful and gave me headaches, like the one about Burke and Amber, and other times I just heard words or saw a quick snapshot, like the jersey. It was all so confusing.

  After a few seconds, I turned back to Burke and glanced at his profile. I wanted to tell him not to get involved with Amber; it would not be the right thing to do. And I also wanted to let him know he was going to get drafted by the Pittsburgh Penguins, that’d I’d seen the jersey. But a big glob of something got stuck in my throat, and I couldn’t speak. And I felt funny. My body started to shake, my palms started to sweat, and my throat felt dry. I placed my hands on my lap, holding them tightly to stop the shaking, hoping Burke wouldn’t notice my white knuckles. What the hell was wrong with me?

  Why couldn’t I talk?

  Why couldn’t I help my best friend by telling her boyfriend not to mess around? And I had just seen a black and gold jersey. Why couldn’t I just tell him that the team he wanted was going to draft him?

  Was I supposed to just butt out and not use these stupid visions? The jersey was good news. Wasn’t it? Was I missing something?

  He’ll think you’re crazy.

  Of course, that was it. I had to keep my mouth shut. We turned onto a residential street with nice big trees, including oaks and willows. The houses in the Glebe were different than in my neighborhood because they were much older, and most were the classic style: tall two-story red-brick buildings. Some of the houses here might have even been built in the late 1800s and early 1900s. When Burke drove up to the curb in front of a stately brick house, I exhaled. Finally, I could get out of the car and get some air.

  We walked toward the house. Burke lifted the latch on the black iron gate and, like a perfect gentleman, ushered me through first. I walked down the narrow concrete walkway and climbed the four steps to the old-fashioned front porch that wrapped around the house. Outdoor wicker furniture sat empty on the deck, although I did notice the overflowing ashtray on the small table between the two cushioned chairs. Someone had been sitting in them recently. The noise from the party was emanating from the two front windows. My body started to vibrate, and my head ached. My body didn’t respond to parties like Lacey’s did. When she heard the music and loud noise, she would smile and dance and talk with animated gestures. For me, the walls seemed to move in and out and warp, and the only way I could stand it was to find a corner of the room and stay there all night.

  I lifted my hand to knock on the door, but Burke laughed and just pushed it open. “I don’t think anyone will hear you knock,” he said. “This is going to be shaker.”

  I swallowed, trying to wet my dry throat. It had taken me an hour to decide what to wear, and in the end, I had on nondescript jeans and a plain V-neck. I had added a silver necklace and hoop earrings for dramatic effect. And I had tried to curl my hair—unsuccessfully, I might add—and put on eye shadow (borrowed from Lacey), mascara, and some lip gloss.

  We walked through the front door, and I immediately saw the carved newel post and wooden staircase leading to an upstairs. Kids were looming over the staircase, looking me up and down. Then I looked down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. The house was packed, bodies milling over every square inch. Burke pulled a bottle of so
mething out of his shirt, ignoring me. The guy obviously didn’t want to babysit his girlfriend’s friend anymore. I mean, we were past the front door, right?

  What was I going to do now? Who would I talk to?

  Was John here?

  I glanced at the crowd, but all the faces and bodies melted together, like a buzzing blur of bees. The drone became louder and louder, and I stood in the middle of the room, my feet feeling as if they were glued to the floor. Why had I come? What was I trying to prove? I wished I were home in my room watching television or reading or … I took a few deep breaths to slow down my racing insecurities. I closed my eyes to escape for just a minute. Crowds made me crazy. It was like my blood absorbed everything that everyone was feeling, so I could feel their joy or sorrow, and it washed over me, making me either super hyper or totally depressed.

  After a few good phys-ed-worthy inhalations, I opened my eyes and willed my body to calm down. I came to help out my best friend.

  And to see John.

  I jostled my way through the crowd and headed to the kitchen. Burke was ahead of me, weaving his way down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen at the back of the house. I walked a few steps behind him, so he wouldn’t know I was following. I glanced around as soon as I walked in the kitchen.

  Then I saw him.

  He was alone, leaning against the counter, holding a red cup. He looked so out of place, exactly how I felt. He wore his usual: jeans, flip-flops, and the same plain hooded sweatshirt, no logos. From the pouch of his sweatshirt, a tattered paperback peeked out. From where I stood I couldn’t read the title. I stopped moving, lowered my head, and stared at my feet. Had he seen me looking at him?

  Someone pushed by me, and I stumbled a bit, which made me have to lift my chin and face the party. Immediately, I saw him staring at me—his hazel eyes pierced me, seared my skin. I thought about what Lacey would do in this situation, so I smiled. He raised his hand and coolly gave me a finger salute. The small movement made his thick dark hair randomly shift and move across his forehead in one small sweep. As if on autopilot, my feet started moving forward, step by step, until I stood in front of him.