Indigo Blues (2 page)

Written by: Adam Spade

Performed by: Blank Stare

hen I found out that "Indigo Blues" hit number one
on the Billboard charts this morning, I ran to the
bathroom and threw up. Then the toilet lid smacked down
on my nose. Now, at the insistence of my mom, I'm zoning
with an ice pack on my face.

Eli, my fourteen-year-old brother, was the one that broke
the news. He woke me up after reading Chart Watch on the
web. Then he parked himself on the couch and claimed
the remote. I didn't argue. I'm just glad to be watching The
Making of Godzilla, instead of wasting any brain cells trying
to figure out how one song rose to the top and is well on its
way to ruining my life.

Not even twenty minutes has passed since I received
the news, and the phone rings. All will be fine if everyone
follows my orders not to answer. Mom's in the shower, Dad's at work, and Eli's glued to the TV. One ring ... two
rings ... three rings, and out of nowhere Eli leaps from his
docking station and tears the phone from its cradle.

"Don't even think about it!" I scream.

Too late.

"Jackson residence," Eli says, in his plaid boxers and a
white undershirt. "Yes, Indigo's here."

I run my hand across my throat in a slicing motion
and grit my teeth.

"But she's ... in the bathroom."

I shake my head, so he adds, "She's going to be in there
for a long time."

Ugh. I give up and slide down into the couch cushions. Maybe he'll bore the caller to death with his incessant
babble and they'll just hang up.

"Yes, she's aware of that. Her favorite color? I dunno.
Purple. Food? Pickles and peanut butter." He grins.

I jump up and snatch the phone out of his hand. "Conversation's over." I hit the off button before Eli even has a
chance to react. "I told you not to talk to anyone. What part
of that don't you understand?"

His mouth hangs open and some of his overgrown hair
falls into his eye. "Even Grandma?"

"Huh? Then what were all those questions for?"

"She's coming over on Sunday and wanted to know
what would cheer you up."

"Oh, sorry." I open a drawer stuffed with dish towels
and shove the phone inside. "But if you're going to spout off facts about me, then you should know red is my favorite color."

He swipes his notepad off the coffee table and jots it
down.

You can't win with Eli. He's been taking notes ever
since he thought he was a descendant of Sherlock Holmes
in the fourth grade. Now, with "Indigo Blues" released, he's
been writing down things about me. I told him if he writes
a tell-all book, I'll sue.

I need to get out of this house and clear my head. I
look down at my clothes-jeans and a tee. No time to run
upstairs and get a jacket. Hopefully the sun is shining today.

"Tell Mom I'll be back later." I grab my car keys.

He's still writing in his notepad. "Where are you going?"

"MYOB."

He scribbles it down and laughs. "Menstruation? You?"

The phone makes a muffled ringing sound from its
hiding place.

"Bite me." I slam the front door behind me.

It's insta-smile when I see Darnell, my ticket to freedom, waiting for me in our driveway. I climb inside. My red
Toyota Corolla received its name in honor of the old security guard that used to work at our school. He was always
snapping his Big Red gum, and when I first got the car, he
said, "Nice Toy Oat." He had a habit of dropping the ends
of words. I couldn't tell you where he was from, but definitely not Massachusetts, because we drop the middle of
our words here. So technically, it should be "Toe-ota."

I have no idea where I'm headed, so I let Darnell take
charge. I pass Clifford Middle School, Stop & Shop, and
Grossman's Hardware before I join the crawl onto Route 9.
I've never seen it this backed up at ten on a Thursday morning. There must be an accident. Thank God for teacher
workdays, although the way my day is going, I might have
been better off in school.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My nose is
red. I'm not sure if it's from the toilet lid or the ice pack.
Either way, it's not pretty. I open the window, hoping a
little sun will sneak in and tan my nose. I wish it was this
nice all year round.

Instinctively I turn the radio on, but quickly switch it
off. If "Indigo Blues" plays on any of the top-forty stations,
I'll self-combust. I still can't believe Adam had the balls to
write that song about me. Most of it's not even true. And
why the hell did he have to go and put MY name in the title?
Surely any name would have done. Brittany Blues, Megan
Blues, shit, I don't care as long as he didn't use Indigo. I
know for a fact I'm the only Indigo in Caulder. Probably the
only Indigo in the whole of Massachusetts, too. Why didn't
my parents just name me Ashley?

My cell vibrates in my pocket. I try to pull it out, but
my jeans are snug. I normally don't buy clothes this tight,
but Cat insisted I buy this pair of dark blue Cool Joes. Her
exact words were, "They look slut hot." Yes, my best friend
has a way with words. She tries to use the word "slut" in as
many ways as possible. Slut hot. Slut nasty. Slut depress ing. Slut, I just let the call go to voicemail as I continue to
putter along the highway.

Finally the congestion breaks and I'm able to go the
speed limit. I still have no idea where I'm headed, but I
have a half a tank of gas, so no worries. My hair's whipping around like crazy. I grab an elastic tie from the drink
holder and pull it up at the red light. I really need a hair
cut. But everyone likes my hair long, including the cute
football player, Tripp, that I've had my eye on since the
first day of school. Or at least that's what he supposedly
told Cat's next-door neighbor, James. People say that when
I flat-iron it, I look like Snow White, all dark hair and blue
eyes. Today I feel more like Cruella De Vil. All I need is a
streak of white.

I hook up my iPod and blast the tunes. I scroll down
until I hit an old hip-hop song-something that would
never be mistaken for Blank Stare, Adam's band, the root of
all evil. No offense to the other guys in the band, but they
all gave birth to "Indigo Blues." Zach, or Tommy, or even
Conjunction Jack could've stopped Adam from recording
the song that screwed up my life. I just have to keep on
reminding myself that I'm a senior and in eight months,
I'll be out of here. California, here I come!

And no, my parents didn't name me Indigo because
they were obsessed with the color that sits between blue
and violet on the color spectrum. My mom was a big fan of
the indie '90s band Indigo Girls. They're pretty cool, freespirited and very lyrical. Still, most kids don't know who they are when they ask about the meaning of my name. Eli
was named after my grandfather, Dad's father, who died six
months before Eli was born. They even look alike-thick
dark brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and huge smiles.

Now I feel kind of bad yelling at Eli. I mean, no matter how irritating he is sometimes, he's still my brother. I
wiggle my cell loose from my pocket and dial home.

Eli answers. "Jackson residence."

"I thought I told you not to answer the phone."

"But it's you, Indigo."

"Just messing with you." I pass Cat's mom in her new silver Volvo at the Route 16 intersection. I hope she doesn't see
me; she works in sales at KISS FM. She knows what's up.

"Great."

"But you can't be too careful. Remember, Caller ID is
your friend." Ever since "Indigo Blues" debuted seven weeks
ago, random people have been calling me. It started with a
reporter, Candi Campbell, from our local news magazine,
and now just about everybody and their mother has something to say.

"I'm not the one afraid of the phone."

I eye Starbucks, coming up. Maybe I should stop there.
"You have an answer for everything."

"MYOB," he says. I know he's smiling on the other
end of this phone.

"That only stands for my-young-original-brother."

"Funny." Eli's not laughing.

"So did anyone else call?"

"MYOB." He hangs up.

I'm staring at the screen, and glance up just in time to
see the car in front of me slow down. Whoa, red light. Forgot about that. Darnell crowds up to its bumper.

I screech to a stop, killing my brakes, but I save my ass.

op of the charts, baby!" Zach screams into the phone,
nearly blowing my ear drum.