Indigo Blues

by Danielle Joseph

  "Maybe if you talk to her, you'll be able to set everything straight."

  I take out a broken strand of pearls that Mom once gave me. I told her I could do something with them. "I can't trust someone whose teeth are whiter than my dad's bleached undershirts."

  "Okay, that's an image I can do without."

  "Just trying to make a point." I tug at the pearls, but they don't budge.

  "About Candi's teeth?"

  "No, about this whole thing. With Adam."

  Cat lets me whine for a few minutes before she has to go to an aerobics class with her mom.

  I put the pearls back in the jewelry box and sit down at my computer. I know I'm not supposed to care about Adam, but I Google the band anyway. I might as well find out what happened at the end of his interview this morning, even if I'm setting myself up for mega embarrassment.

  This first site I pull up is the band's official website. I click on Adam's profile. Wow, what the ... ? He has a faux hawk and I swear he's wearing eyeliner. I know it's a band Pic, but still. I might have thought he looked cool if I didn't know him. But now he just looks freaky. His light brown eyes are zombie-like and with his hair cut short, his ears stick out a bit. But I would notice those dimples anywhere.

  I guess anyone that becomes famous alters their appear ance in one way or another. I'm sure you get sucked into that world very fast. New haircut, makeup, wardrobe. Heck, I'm sure a lot of people even go under the knife. Perhaps Adam could get a lobotomy and they could take out the obsessive part of his brain. Maybe just move a nerve sensor or two and presto, he's normal.

  I open the next hit. His MySpace page. Dang, he has over a thousand friends. Why oh why is he stuck on me when he could have hundreds of other girls? Surely, one of them will do. Maybe he just enjoys torturing me.

  I try to think of the exact moment when I stopped liking Adam. I mean, I thought he was a cool guy, but I wasn't in love. I enjoyed watching the band play. Adam was always so intense on stage. He really got into the music. The others guys were like that, too, but Adam's passion seemed to reach a deeper level. That's what scares me most about "Indigo Blues"-that he didn't write it on a whim, or on one drunken night. That he really thought about it before he put pen to paper. What if these are his real feelings, like he said? Still, it's so unfair. There were some things about him that seemed over-the-top, like how he kept better track of me than my mother. Maybe I should've noticed the warning signs earlier.

  He was always sticking to me whenever we were somewhere together, like Swedish fish stick to my teeth. Almost like he was afraid I might disappear. I could feel his eyes on me. At first it was flattering, but after a while it was really annoying. He just needs to forget about me and move on.

  I search some more on the web. My last stop is the Wake Up, America site. There's so much happening, like a caffeine-overload. Still, it doesn't take me long to spot the bright red blinking link to the Blank Stare interview. I launch the video. It starts out with a Pepto-Bismol commercial. How did they know I was watching?

  I catch a glimpse of Zach first. He's uber cute as usual. All the guys are dressed really nicely, in bright crisp shirts and dark blue jeans. Adam looks a little nervous, but he still manages to answer all Allie and Harry's questions about "Indigo Blues," about me. The interview isn't as damaging to me as I thought it would be. I can't believe they told Allie the true meaning of Blank Stare, though. It's kind of funny to see her blush on national TV, but still, she keeps her composure and moves right along to the next question. I'm sure she's had more difficult moments, like the time a few years ago when she interviewed a serial killer who had a crush on her.

  Ugh, enough. I click off the computer and scoot my chair away from the desk. Maybe I'm being too harsh on Adam. Maybe he clings to me because he doesn't have enough love in his life. I know he had a hard time growing up and his dad is so stiff. But still, I don't know how I could fill that void.

  I pick up my phone and scroll through my recent text messages. There's one that Adam sent on Thursday night when I was up late beading. I didn't even bother reading it.

  Indigo sorry for hanging up on u.

  He's apologizing. Maybe that's a start. I don't see any harm in texting him back.

  Ok. Been busy. Heard you spilled stuff in the big interview.

  pilled stuff? Is Indigo upset? All I did was say something nice about her in the interview. I said there's always a place for her in my heart. She makes me out to be some kind of monster. I give her space. I haven't tried to contact her in days. Doesn't she realize how hard this all is for me?

  Is this what you get when you open your heart up to someone? To the entire nation? Now I feel like a fool. People all over the country are going to think of me as some sap who keeps drooling over the same girl, year after year. I can't end up a twisted soul.

  I grab at my throat and pull on the necklace that Indigo made for me last year. I wish Mom was still alive. If she hadn't gotten in the car with her dentist, she would still be here. It's already been eight years since her death, but I know I would've been able to talk to her. She had a way of getting me to open up, even if she practically had to pry my jaw open. I used to think all her questions were annoying, but not now.

  My fingers trail down the front of my neck. Did Mom feel her neck snap when the Mercedes hit the tree at eighty miles per hour? Did Dr. Clemens have time to call his wife and apologize before he died two hours later?

  I rub the smooth stones. This is really the only piece of Indigo that I have. I can just picture her sorting the beads and then stringing them one by one. Her fingers so delicate. Her skin so smooth. Some people used to call her Snow White. I always wanted to be her prince, the one to rescue her, but maybe she didn't need rescuing.

  I swing open the door to my closet and catch a glimpse of myself in the long mirror. I hardly look like a prince. Toad, more like it. Crap brown hair and beady eyes the color of the beads on the necklace.

  Indigo said the brown stones stood for courage, and the light wooden beads that separate them stood for peace and simplicity. I wish I stood for courage.

  ey, it's Adam. Where are you?"

  Damn, I should've looked at the Caller ID, but I thought it was just Cat calling me back. Too late to hang up now. I dig my bare foot into the carpet threads. I'm such an idiot. "In my room."

  "Are you by yourself?"

  I look at my open bedroom door and kick it shut with my foot. "Yeah. Why?"

  "I wanted to talk to you. Alone. That's all."

  "Okay." I feel hot. Why am I hot? "How's New York?"

  "Good. Busy. We're out like almost every night."

  "That's great."

  I hear a noise on the other end, like he dropped a pot or something.

  Adam clears his throat. "I miss you, Indigo."

  Ugh, I'm not prepared for that. What do I say? I can't be too harsh. I should tell him about Tripp just to get him off my back. Let him know that I'm moving on and so should he. "Thanks. But you wouldn't want to be here. Nothing's changed in Caulder. It's as boring as ever. And I'm sure Abel is the same. Well, they're almost done building a new Starbucks on Milton Street. " I stretch out on the carpet.

  "But you're there."

  "Yeah, guess I am." But I can't wait to leave, either. Like the cliche goes, I want to go where nobody knows my name. I'd never thought of my town as suffocatingly small until now. Sure, we only have one high school with a thousand students, two Starbucks, and a big public park. But before "Indigo Blues" was released, the town felt big enough to me. I better get into UCLA. I couldn't get any farther away from Caulder, farther away from Adam.

  "I'm wearing the necklace you made me."

  "Oh, that's nice." That's one of my best pieces. Wish I could have it back-especially the tiger eye stones. I pull out my stash of beads. Maybe if I make him a new necklace, he'll send me back that one.

  "And it goes with everything."

  Great, so he's wearing it a lot. "Listen, I got to run. I'm in the
middle of something."

  "I'll call you later."

  I don't answer. Instead, I reach for the black stones. Not the shiny ones that Mom loves. The lackluster ones that came in an assorted grab bag my grandmother once bought me from a church garage sale. I know this is mean, but Adam needs to have a necklace that suits his character. I'm sure he likes the tiger eyes because they symbolize strength. But I don't think that's what he needs right now.

  Plenty of teens want to be famous, but I've never heard of any pining to be infamous. I was content just being me. A semi-popular at Forest Hill High, beadmaker, Rock Candy employee, and older sister to pesky know-it-all brother. I've never thought about adding pseudo-celeb to that list. If I had a more common name the calls wouldn't have come pouring in, but "Indigo Jackson" stands out like a prep at an Ozzy Osbourne concert.

  I've only been at school five minutes and all of a sudden I'm surrounded by a pack of freshman girls. They flap around me like a flock of pigeons. One's pulling at my shirt sleeve and another one steps on my toe. "Ouch!" I can't take all these birds pecking at me.

  This is crazy. Is this what Britney Spears feels like every time she walks into a store? No wonder she went ballistic and shaved her head.

  "Move back. I need some space!" I yell.

  A girl with a long, thick, snakelike braid down her back steps forward. There's something green caught in her braces, but I don't say anything. "Hi, I'm Amberline, President of the Adam Spade fan club."

  "What?"

  "We thought that in honor of the song `Indigo Blues,' we should really band together and raise money to repair Adam's broken heart."

  This has to be a joke. "Ha, ha." I force a laugh.

  Nobody is smiling.

  "Do you take anything seriously?" Amberline crosses her arms against her pancake chest.

  "Excuse me, he's getting friggin' rich off this song. He doesn't need your pocket change."

  "That's not the point, and besides, we've already raised one hundred and sixty-one dollars."

  "Love can't be bought."

  Another girl chimes in. "We're just trying to show our support for his cause."

  "Obsessive-compulsive disorder? You've got about enough to cover one appointment with a shrink."

  A short girl with pigtails whispers to Amberline, "I told you she was mental."

  I stomp my foot. "I'm not the crazy one here!"

  "Uh-huh." She nods. I want to pull her pigtails straight out of her head, but then they'd just get their confirmation that I'm crazy.

  Instead, I try another approach. "Listen, girls, I've got to run because I have a phone interview with the execs over at MTV, but I'll totally drop off some glossy pics of Adam for you tomorrow."

  "Really?" Amberline asks, and the whole group squeals.

  I smile through gritted teeth. "Really."

  A couple of periods later, I find Eli in the computer lab. "I desperately need your help," I whisper.

  He spins around from the computer to face me. "Moi?"

  "Unless there's another Eli hiding under the desk?"

  "What is it? I'm working on something for Mr. Prentice." He points to the monitor. He's designing a sign for the environmental club. Ugh, how can I compete with that?

  "Can you print, like, twenty pictures of Adam? Rip them off the band's website or something."

  "They don't have a color printer for students to use in here."

  "I need it by tomorrow morning or I'll have to face the mob." I throw him a little pouty face. Something I only pull out in extreme emergencies. And I figure that attack of the killer freshmen is one of those moments.

  A smile spreads across his face. "Good idea. We could sell band T-shirts and key chains, too."

  My frown becomes real. "Don't even think about it. I'm just doing this to get some stalkers off my back. I'm not selling anything."

  "How about a few autographs from the guys?"

  "How about I pull the plug on the computer?" I reach for the wires.

  Eli hits save. "Chill. We'd need a license to hawk their merchandise anyway."

  If I ever get real desperate I'm printing out all of Adam's wacky emails and selling those on Ebay. That'll teach him.

  kay, I'm going to do it today-write the next hit song. Thank God this is the last song that I need to write for the album. Last year, Zach and I wrote a couple other songs that still need to be recorded, and Gina gave us the go-ahead for those. But trying to write this next song is ten times worse than writing "Indigo Blues" was, because back then, no one was expecting me to write a number one song. Heck, no one even knew I could write.

  I throw on a non-gray (black) T-shirt freshly plucked off the floor. Then with one swoop of my hand, I clear off my desk and slide into my chair. How do the Greats do it? Grab a cup of coffee? Smoke a cigarette? Take a swig of Jack Daniels? None of which I do. I need to come up with my own ritual. I open my desk drawer. Chew on a paper clip? Don't think so. There's a pack of Nerds in there. Nothing like downing a box of sugar pellets in the morning. I push open the little tab and fill my mouth up with the tiny candies. Lemonade flavor-not bad.

  A minute later, I'm ready to roll. Better get working before the sugar rush dies down and I need a nap. That's it. "Sugar Rush," I type on my keyboard.

  "I don't want no sugar rush... " But what rhymes with sugar rush? Booger brush? Mush? Crush?

  Okay, I feel like I'm back in grade school. I close my eyes and let my fingers type. At least if I get something down, I can say that I'm working on it. All I know is that this song is not going to be about Indigo. It will be the complete and total opposite of Indigo.

  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 u
ntil 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.