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.
"Thanks." 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?"
"Pretty good until the essay question. She really stuck
it to us."
Tripp pulls into the parking lot of Catalina Cantina.
All the spaces up front are taken, so he drives around back.
"Yeah, I mean, who even reads the prologue of a book?"
"Right! And how are we supposed to remember that
far back?"
Tripp turns the car off and rushes around to my side
to open the door for me. He has earned another gentleman
point. (Mom would be proud!)
We walk up to the front door of the restaurant, where
Sam and Krista are waiting for us. Oh, my God, I so called
it. She's wearing a little black dress. Man, I wish I was that
good at predicting things that really mattered. Like when
Adam was going to get off my back and when Tripp was
going to kiss me.
I will give Krista a chance. Maybe Mom is right. Under
that shallow wanna-be-a-celeb mask is a decent human
being. I give the lovely couple a small wave. "Hey, guys."
"Whassup?" Sam says. "We put our name down. A
table should be ready in a few minutes."
"Cool." Tripp nods.
"I hope they hurry. I'm starving," Krista whines. "All I
ate today was a bowl of cereal and an apple."
Ugh, please spare me the starving-girl routine. "I love
the food here," I say.
"Me, too, but it's so fattening." Krista spots an empty
seat on the bench and plops down.
"Yeah, I can't wait to fatten up." Sam pats his stomach.
At least he has a good sense of humor.
A voice comes over the loudspeaker. "Hubert, party of
four."
Krista jumps out of her seat and we all file inside. The
host leads us to a table in the center of the dining room.
Krista sits down first, right under the track lighting. It's
like she sought out the spotlight.
I reluctantly take the seat next to her.
She stares down at my bracelet. "That's pretty. From
Nordstrom, right?"
"No, I made it."
"You?"
"Yeah. I make a lot of jewelry."
"That's cool," she says.
Okay, so maybe Krista is not such a bitch after all. I
mean, she did give me a compliment.
Tripp wraps his arm around me. "You've got to make
me something."
The hairs on my arms stand up. I hope he doesn't feel
them prickling into his soft skin. He smells good, too. Like
that Irish Spring soap. "Sure. Definitely."
"Yes, a good pair of earrings to go with his skirt." Sam
laughs.
"I make necklaces for guys, too," I say.
The waiter places a basket of chips and salsa in front
of us. She takes our drink orders and moves on to the next
new customers. I look over at the table on my right. The
woman looks familiar. I think she's in my mom's book club.
Ugh, how convenient. Hopefully she doesn't notice me.
The guys order burritos and I follow Krista's lead and
get a chicken fajita salad. I'm usually not such a poser, but
I don't feel like chowing down on a first date, either.
The conversation is pretty mellow. We talk about
school for a bit and then the guys launch into a side discussion about football. So I turn to Krista and ask how she
likes working on the Raiders' Pride show.
"It's great. I've always wanted to be on TV." Really, I
could never tell. "I'm good at it, too. I think I was born to
be in the limelight."
I shove a chip into my mouth. I have to or I might
burst into laughter. She rambles on about how everyone
loves her. I shove more chips into my mouth.
"And my next piece is going to be on you. About your
website and blog rant. I just found out about it today."
My blog? I spit up a piece of chip. My website? More
flying chip particles. I spray the table with my residue. I
quickly wipe my face with my napkin.
"Disgusting," Krista winces.
Her squeal is enough for the guys to abruptly stop
talking. They stare straight at me.
"Indigo has a blog?" Sam asks.
Even Krista drops her table manners for gossip. She
answers with a mouth full of lettuce, "Oh my God, yeah. I
couldn't believe some of the stuff she has on there. I've got
to give it to her, she has balls."
Hello, I'm right here. And, eww, I'm on a first date and
the last thing Tripp needs to hear is that I have balls.
Tripp turns to me. "Whoa, am I on there?"
"On where? What are you talking about?" I ask.
All eyes roll over to Krista. I wipe my face again. I
know I can't wipe my embarrassment off, but still, I try.
"Your pic is on there. And it's basically your story and
the history behind the song, `Indigo Blues."'
"Is this a joke? Seriously, I have no idea what you're
talking about."
I look over to the table next to us to make sure my
mom's friend isn't listening to our conversation. She's getting up to leave. Our eyes meet. Oh, crap. "Hi, Indigo,"
she says.
I force a smile onto my face. "Hi."
"Say hello to your mom for me."
"I will." I breathe a sigh of relief as she pushes her chair
back in and leaves. I return my attention to our group.
"So you're a blogger?" Sam asks.
"Not me. That's probably Blank Stare's home page or
something," I say.
Krista lets out a gust of air. "No, this is definitely your
side of the story." Then she turns away from me and addresses
the guys like they have front-row seating at a political debate. "The first thing Indigo says is, In sick of this crap. Im not the
girl from the song. I'm Indigo Jackson ... and then some blabby
stuff about her life that I really don't remember."
In my head I'm screaming, Eli, I'm gonna kill you. But I
force the only words out of my mouth that make me sound
sane: "I swear I never set up a site." (Insert: me with daggers,
stabbing Eli.) "It sounds like something my brother put
together. He was asking me stupid questions yesterday."
"Oh," Tripp says.
"Oh," I say back.
I can barely eat. I'm sure Eli wouldn't put something
really damaging on the site. Would he? I haven't done anything to piss him off lately, or anything more than usual
anyway.
The table has fallen silent. There's a lot of crunching
and chewing. I scan everyone's eyes, trying to read what
they think of me.
"This is so embarrassing," I finally say. "I hope no one
else saw it."
"Yeah, you better hope not!" Krista scoffs.
"`I won't look," Sam says.
"Me neither." Tripp agrees.
"Mum's the word." Krista makes a popping sound with
her lips.
The TV gossip queen is going to keep her mouth shut?
Isn't that against her religion?
"I appreciate it, guys." I feel slightly better, but I'm
totally freaked about the reality of what the site might say about me. Eli and his damn reporter's notebook. I should
rip that thing to shreds!
"I think it's cool that you're in a song." Tripp smiles.
"Thanks. I'm still trying to get used to it."
So maybe he doesn't hate me.
I peer down at my food. I've totally lost my appetite,
so I duck out to the bathroom while everyone's still eating.
I close the stall door and call Eli. If I get him to take the
site down now, the less damage there will be. Damn, the
phone goes straight to voicemail. What's he doing that's so
important that he had to turn off his phone?
Luckily, when I get back to the table, they're talking
about some cheerleader that got expelled for selling E during a game, not me and my pathetic web crucifixion. Even
though I want to strangle Krista for even bringing the topic
up, I manage to stay composed the rest of dinner and cross
my fingers that I get to the computer before Tripp does.
And, I hate to say it, before Adam or the rest of the school
does. Or even worse, Candi Campbell, Krista's idol. Candi
would have a fun-filled day with this. I can just see the
headline now: Ungrateful Girl Spotlighted in Song-Even
More Ungrateful Than We Previously Imagined.
I'll just have to prove them all wrong. How, I don't
know. It's not like I can start rescuing endangered animals
and then be hailed an instant hero overnight. So then how
can a song be an overnight success? So unfair.
The guys pay for the meal. I try to give them some
money but Tripp waves it away. Krista doesn't even attempt
to take out her wallet. Not sure if she owns one. Maybe that's the approach I should take-don't even try to be
nice. Somehow, acting like Krista would probably only
backfire on me.
I consider tripping Krista on the way out, perhaps giving her a black eye just so she can't go on TV on Monday, but I'm sure that would only give her more ammo for
blasting me on the morning school news. I don't need to
collect any more enemies.
The four of us stroll up and down Central Street a few
times before ending up at Starbucks. Tripp takes my hand
and guides me inside. His hands are large and firm. The
kind that Dad would say belonged to someone with a solid
handshake. I lean against him in line. His body heats me
up, leaving me all tingly inside. I feel secure next to him.
Tripp is a good six inches taller than me and I just about
die when he starts playing with my hair. We're next in line,
so I know it's going to end. How is it that we were walking
around downtown for thirty minutes and now is when the
romance happens? At Starbucks. Figures.