Indigo Summer

The neighborhood was all a kid like me had. That and Kim Porter, the girl who broke up with me the same day she found out that I was moving to the south side.

“It’s too hard trying to go out with somebody at another school, Marcus,” she’d said.

Then she said those four words that pierced my heart.

“Let’s just be friends.”

The words still rang in my head, long after they had lingered in the air. Let’s just be friends.

My life as I knew it was over.

Chapter 3

Indigo

My breasts had grown a little bit over the summer, even though I was still in the same A-sized cup, I could tell they were just a little bit bigger than they were at the beginning of the summer. I wore my pink low-cut top that I’d picked up at the mall on Saturday just to show them off a little, my low-cut Mudd jeans and pink, black and white FILAs.

The first day of school was not the same without Jade. We’d made so many plans before she moved away. Times had gotten too hard for her mother and she decided that they should move in with Jade’s grandmother in New Jersey. Jade hated living there, too, because her grandmother was nothing like Nana. She was mean and stuffy, Jade told me, and she made them go to church three nights a week and on Sunday, too. She hoped it wouldn’t be long before her mama found them an apartment or something. She’d have to find a job first, and that was the hard part. Thank God for free nights and weekends, because I was able to call Jade every night after nine o’clock from my cell phone. And we talked all day on Saturdays and Sundays. That helped, although it still wasn’t the same as having her next door.

On the first day of school, I was forced to walk to the bus stop with Angie Cummings, who was literally “a nobody” on the face of the earth. She was a smart kid who made straight As and wore what looked like her Grandma Esther’s clothes to school. I was more of a B student, and sometimes C when I didn’t apply myself as much. I wanted to make good grades, but sometimes I just got caught up in other stuff and didn’t pay as much attention in class. For people like Angie, who didn’t have a life, straight As came much easier for them.

Even though I’d known Angie since kindergarten, and we attended the same church, she wasn’t someone I hung out with. She was kind of weird and wore bifocals. But since she was going to the bus stop, and I was going at the same time, there was no harm in walking together, although she was the type of person that would ruin your reputation for life. And I’d worked too hard for my popularity. Outside of the cheerleaders, Jade and I were the most popular two girls at our middle school because we could dance so well.

It was hard being popular, too, because people were always trying to be friends with me. And boys were always trying to talk to me, telling me how cute I am, and making comments about my body. Now that’s what really got on my nerves, the comments about my body. My body was the one thing that made me uncomfortable, because it was always changing. I knew how smart I was, knew I could dance, and I could beat everybody, even Nana, in a game of Monopoly. But when it came to my body, now that was a whole different story. My breasts were always changing, and I wasn’t built like a light pole anymore. There were bumps growing in some places, lumps in others, and my hips were filling out a little. Even my booty was coming full circle, and was more round than I remembered it being in the fifth grade. Now that was weird, but the weirdest thing of all came three years ago, sixth grade, right after recess was over one day on the playground. I remember it just like it happened yesterday.

Miss Brown had blown her whistle to let us know that it was time to come inside. It was after lunch, and it was on a Friday. I remember because I was so excited that Nana Summer was coming for a visit that weekend, and I knew she’d be at my house by the time I got home from school. My stomach had been cramping for about three days, and when I told my mother about it, she gave me some Midol and asked, “You started your period, Indi?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, if you’re having cramps, it probably means that it’s coming soon.”

“What’s it for, Mama?” I asked her, “I mean, why do women have periods?”

“All women do, Indi. It’s just a part of life.” That was all my mother said, before she took me to the CVS drugstore and bought me sanitary products and told me how to use them. I could tell that she was just as uncomfortable talking about it as I was.

So I left it alone, until that day on the playground when I felt a warm gush in my underpants and I took off running at full speed to the restroom. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life, and on the bus all the way home, my jean jacket tied around my waist, I felt like a freak or something. Thought all of my classmates were staring at me. As if they’d all known.

I was so happy to see Nana standing in our kitchen when I got home. I grabbed her around the waist, and hugged her so tightly from behind.

“Can we talk?” I whispered in her ear, as she stirred something on the stove. It smelled like spaghetti. “In my room?”

“Sure, baby,” she said, turned the fire down underneath the pot and followed me to my bedroom. “What is it?”

“Do I look different today?”

“Different how?” she asked.

“Do I look more grown-up than I did the last time you saw me.”

“A little taller maybe. But I was just here at Christmastime, Indi. What’s this about?”

“It came today,” I whispered. I didn’t want the rest of the world hearing, and certainly not my daddy if he was anywhere in the house. Surely she knew, just as everyone else probably did. Even Jade had seemed standoffish that day.

“What came today?” Nana asked.

“You know,” I said. “I started it.”

“Indi, what on earth are you talking about?” Nana asked, feeling my forehead with her back hand. “Are you feeling okay, you look a little flush.”

“I got my period today, Nana,” I whispered.

“Oh, that’s what this is all about.” She laughed a little, as if this was funny. How could she laugh, when my insides were in turmoil? “Perfectly natural thing for a girl your age, Indi. We’ve all traveled this road before.”

“What’s it all mean, Nana?”

“Well, it means that you’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a young lady now. And you have to conduct yourself as such.”

“It means I can’t play with my Barbies anymore?” I asked, already torn by the decision to continue to play with them or to pack them away in a cardboard box. Twelve was such an awkward age. You don’t know whether to play or act grown-up.

“You can play with your Barbies as long as you want,” she said. “But you should also start thinking about other things, like helping your mama out around this house, cleaning up behind yourself a little more, making better grades in school. You need to be more responsible.”

“Why do we have to have menstrual cycles, Nana? Does it have something to do with boys?”

“Well, it means that now you can become pregnant,” Nana said, taking a seat on the edge of my bed and inviting me to sit down next to her. “Every month your body produces an egg which travels through what’s called your fallopian tubes, and on down to your uterus.” Nana drew a line with her fingertips to show me where my fallopian tubes began and where my uterus began. “In order to prepare for this egg, your uterus creates this thick lining to make a nice cushion for it.”

“What’s the egg for?” I frowned.

“The egg comes to connect with the sperm of a man in order to make a baby.” Nana wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “That’s why it’s even more important now that you don’t fool around with boys.”

“I hate boys anyway.”

“You won’t always hate boys. In fact, you’ll grow to like them very much. And you’ll find yourself in situations where your hormones will get the best of you.”

“What are hormones?”

“That’s a whole other discussion. We’ll talk about that another time,” Nana said. “Now as I was saying, the purpose of the egg coming is to connect with the sperm. But the two should never connect until you’re married to the man of your dreams and you have both talked about starting a family. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“And until that time, every month, your body will still produce that old egg, and in anticipation for it, your uterus—” she drew a line with her fingertips again “—will always make this nice cushion for it. Think of it as a pincushion, like the one I use when I’m hemming your dresses.”

“A pincushion?” I almost fell out laughing.

“Yes, a pincushion.” Nana smiled. “And after a little while, when the uterus sees that it no longer needs the extra blood and tissue, that old pincushion will begin to dissolve itself.”

“And that’s when my period comes?”

“That’s right,” she said. “Every month like clockwork. At least until you get to be my age.”

“Your body doesn’t make pincushions anymore, Nana?”

“It’s a whole lotta things my body don’t do anymore.” She laughed. “You just keep on living, child. You’ll see.”

“I love you, Nana.”

“I love you, too, baby.” She took my breath away when she hugged me. “Now come on in here and help me with dinner. But first I want you to get this room cleaned. And do it without your mama having to ask you to sometimes. Okay?”

“Okay, Nana.”

That day my Barbies had been packed into a cardboard box, never to surface again.

“I heard Jade moved to New Jersey,” Angie said as we made our way to the bus stop.

“Yep.” I tried to keep the conversation at a minimum just in case someone was watching.

“You talked to her?”

“Every day.”

“Does she like it there?”

“No. She hates it,” I said. “Never wanted to move there in the first place.”

“I know,” Angie said. “It’s a shame how they got put out like that.”

“Put out?” I asked. “They didn’t get put out.”

“Well, my mom works with the owner of the property’s wife, and I heard my mom talking to someone on the phone who said that Jade’s mama didn’t pay her rent on time and they got evicted.”

“Well, that person your mom was talking to on the phone didn’t know what she was talking about,” I said. “Jade’s mama wanted to move to New Jersey.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Well, you should get your facts straight before you go spreading rumors.”

“Okay,” Angie said, not wanting to get into confrontation. “You going to the Homecoming Dance?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I don’t know. If somebody asks me, I might.”

“That’s nice. I’ll probably be at home studying.” She snickered, as we approached the others at the bus stop.

Angie just sort of vanished into a nonexistent state, and Bo Peterson started working on my nerves the minute I laid eyes on him.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Indigo Summer,” he said. “Where’s your sidekick?”

“Why are you talking to me, Bo?”

“Gonna be kinda lonely for you without Jade around,” he said. “Got you hanging out with the likes of Angie Cummings. Angie your new best friend?”

“We’re not hanging out,” I said, my eyes glancing over at Angie, and then looking away. I wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings. “Shut up, Bo!”

“You gon’ start dressing like her Grandma Esther, too?” he asked.

All of his boys started laughing, and I just rolled my eyes. This was exactly why I told Nana that boys were stupid.

I glanced back down the block, at the house next door to mine. I don’t know why, but I wondered where Marcus was—if he’d overslept. I wondered if he would be riding the bus, or if he got dropped at school. Suddenly, he appeared on his front porch wearing baggy black jeans and a white tee, a backpack thrown across his shoulder. Excitement rushed through me as I waited for him to step off the porch and head toward the bus stop. Instead, he stepped off of his porch and headed toward the old white Jeep that was parked in front of his house. He hopped into the driver’s seat and started it up. Pulled off. A sophomore with his own car. Imagine that.

Guess my idea of offering him the seat next to me on the bus was not an option.

Chapter 4

Indigo

The hallway was crowded as I pushed my way through hordes of students gathered at lockers, talking, laughing and catching up on old times. Several students just sort of wandered through the hallway, most of which were freshmen—and lost, like me. I took another glance at my schedule and tried my best to find Room 17A, Miss Petersburg’s home room class. But the numbers seemed to be getting larger, as I made it to the end of the hall and stood in front of Room 25C.

“You lost?”

Standing before me was the most beautiful pair of brown eyes that I’d seen in all of my fifteen years.

“Looking for 17A,” I told him.

“Oh, you got Miss Petersburg for home room.” The beautiful creature was dressed in an orange-and-black football jersey—the school’s colors—number 84 plastered across the front. He took my schedule from my hand, gave it a look over. “You’re on the wrong floor, girl. Room 17A is on the first floor.”

“Oh.”

“You a freshman, huh?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Quincy,” he said, “you want me to walk you to your class or what?”

If I could’ve stopped my heart from beating so fast, I would’ve answered his question. But when I opened my mouth to say something, nothing leapt out.

He just started walking beside me, as the bell shook the walls in the hallway.

“Is that the tardy bell?” I asked, not wanting to be late on my first day.

“Naw, it was just the warning bell,” he explained. “It means you got three minutes to get to class. But they give you extra time to find your classes on the first day of school.”

“Oh.”

“What’s your name?”

“Indigo,” I managed to say. “Indigo Summer.”

“That’s a different name,” he said. At least he didn’t say it was stupid. “Were you named after somebody?”

“No.”

“That’s a weird name.” His smile seemed to give light to the entire school. “But it’s cute, though.”

“Thank you,” I said, hoping that was the proper response, and that I didn’t sound too stupid.

“You going to homecoming?”

Everyone seemed to be asking that question.

“When is it?” I asked. There were so many activities going on the first few weeks of school, I was just overwhelmed by all of it.

“The game is Friday night. I’ll be starting. Linebacker.” He smiled, obviously proud of his position on the football team. “The dance is on Saturday.”

We stopped in front of my classroom. He handed my schedule back to me.

“Here we are. This is 17A,” he said. “You wanna go with me on Saturday night or what?”

“Well, I…I hadn’t…um…” I wasn’t prepared for a question like that. “Okay.”

“Cool,” he said. “I’ll meet you here after class and you can give me your phone number. You do have a phone, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll see you later then.”

I watched as Quincy trotted down the hallway, his jeans sagging just a little in the back, bold black letters on the back of his orange jersey, RAWLINS…84.

He vanished, but the smell of his Michael Jordan cologne lingered.

The sign on the wall outside the gym read: DANCE TEAM TRYOUTS TODAY, 4:00 PM.

So many girls on the bleachers, chattering about which classes were hard, and which ones you could get an easy A in, which boys were cute, and which ones looked like toads, and which teachers got on their ever-lovin’ nerves. At my old middle school, I knew just about everybody, but at this new school, as I looked around the huge gymnasium, I realized I was just another face in the crowd, and I didn’t know anyone. And my confidence about making the dance team was now shaken after seeing some of these girls, with much rounder hips, and much better moves, shake what their mamas gave them. Some of them were really good, making my routine, the one that Jade and I had worked on for months, seem just ordinary.

I took a seat on the bleachers, as a woman blew a whistle to get our attention. The chatter ceased.

“Ladies, let’s get started,” she said. “I’m Miss Martin, and I’m over the dance team here at George Washington Carver. Keisha here will be assisting me today with the music. If you’re trying out, you should have your own CD or tape with your music on it. Make sure that it’s the edited version of whatever song it is. This is the first round. Fifteen of you will be lucky enough to come back tomorrow for round two.”

“How will we know who made it to round two?” A dark, round girl at the other end of the bleachers asked.

“Tomorrow morning, a list of those who made the cut will be posted outside the cafeteria,” she said. “Good luck to you all. Now, let’s get started. First on my list are Tameka Brown and Michelle Smith.”

Tameka and Michelle both stepped down from the bleachers, Tameka handed Keisha a CD, told her which track to play, and stood in the middle of the shiny floor waiting for the music to begin.

My heart pounded as Nelly’s “Shake Ya Tail-feather” echoed through the gym, and their bodies began to gyrate to the sound of it. Wearing matching black T-shirts and black shorts, their moves were calculated as they bounced to a rhythm similar to each other’s. Nothing original, just a mixture of the Harlem Shake, the Tick and another dance that I didn’t recognize. I sat there with my chin resting in my hands, my insides in turmoil for the entire four minutes and nine seconds that their song lasted, awaiting my turn. When it was over, they took their seats on the bleachers.

Miss Martin wrote some notes on the pages attached to her clipboard.

“Indigo Summer.” She said my name in her own southern version of it. I hadn’t expected my turn to come so soon. “You’re up next.”

As I leaped from the bleachers, my pink, black and white FILAs hitting the shiny wooden hardwood floor, I handed Keisha Thomas my CD to put in.

“Track three,” I told her, as music from Usher’s new CD took me to a world of my own. A place where Jade was, with laughter and the hard work that we’d put into our routine, spending hours studying Usher’s video, and trying to emulate his moves. And we had them down to an art. Usher, our artist of choice. Well, Jade’s artist of choice. She thought he was the most beautiful person who ever walked the face of the earth, with his smooth chocolate skin and kissable-looking lips, as she put it. She had every CD he ever made and dreamed of bumping into him at Publix grocery store or Wal-Mart someday.

“You know he lives in Atlanta, right?” She reminded me of that fact every chance she got.

“I doubt that you’ll see him at Publix or Wal-Mart, Jade.”

“He gotta buy groceries, girl.”

“I’m sure he has someone who shops for him,” I said. “And I doubt if he shops at Wal-Mart anyway.”

“Well if I ever see him, I’m rushing him. Just want you to know that.”

“And I’ll act like I don’t know you.”

“I hope I don’t say anything stupid.”

“You will,” I assured her.

Then her eyes would get all glossy, like she was fantasizing about him or something.

“Yep, I probably will.”

We’d spent hours working on our routine, a routine made for two people, but here I was forced to perform it alone.

“You can do it,” Jade had told me on the phone the night before. “You don’t need me there. You know the moves better than me.”

I prayed she was right as the music resonated through my body, and I mimicked Usher’s moves that we’d practiced for months. I was a little stiff at first, but as the music came to life inside of me, I loosened up a little. I pretended I was on Jade’s front porch again, in control, the bass from the music shaking the wooden boards. And the girls who stared at me from the bleachers were faceless and nameless fans, wishing they were me. Wishing they could move like me. I was lost in the rhythm.

As Usher sang, “I’m so caught up…” my legs took on a life of their own. Thought about the video that we’d played over and over again. I took a bow as the last few lyrics resonated through the gym.

“Thank you, Miss Summer.” Miss Martin’s southern twang brought me back to the present time. She jotted down a few notes on her clipboard. I took my CD from Keisha and plopped down on the bleachers, sweat resting on my top lip.

“You were good,” Tameka whispered.

“Thanks. So were you,” I whispered back.

“Hope I was good enough to make the team,” she said.

“Hope I was, too.”

I used the sleeve of my shirt to wipe sweat from my face.

Chapter 5

Marcus

Coach Robinson’s whistle sounded across the field.

“Let’s run that play one more time,” he said, his voice loud for a man his size. Coach Robinson was about five-foot-seven, dark, a short dude with a receding hairline. He was buff though, obviously from pumping iron each day.

I wasn’t much of a football player anymore, had played when I was little, but never really had a desire to play sports. I was too busy studying and volunteering my time to worthy causes, and tutoring people who sucked in math.

But Coach Robinson, who was my American History teacher at this new school in College Park, had immediately taken a liking to me. He called on me more times on the first day of school than anyone else in the class; to answer questions and to help pass out worksheets. When the bell sounded for me to head to my next class, he called my name.

“Mr. Carter.” He looked up from his desk, and motioned for me to come back.

I walked slowly back to his desk. “Yes, sir?”

“How come you’re not on my football team?”

“I don’t really have time for sports, Coach. Got a lot on my plate with my schoolwork,” I explained. “Plus I’m working toward getting a scholarship, and I wanna get it based on my grades, not my ability to run a football down the field. I got a part-time job, too.”

I was able to transfer to a different Wendy’s on the other side of town. I was grateful for that, because I definitely needed my own money.

“You’re Rufus Carter’s boy, aren’t you?” he said.

My pop was a pillar in the community; people from miles around knew him and respected him. For years, he and my grandfather had sponsored sports teams, donating money for equipment and uniforms. The name of his company, Carter’s Affordable Homes, was plastered on the back of T-shirts and on plaques all over town.

“I remember when you played for the community center over there in Stone Mountain. You were pretty doggone good,” he said. “I used to coach at the community center here in College Park. I remember you.”

“I played quarterback.”

“And you were good, too,” he said. “You took that team to victory every single year. Why don’t you play anymore?”

“Lost interest.”

“You sure you don’t wanna give this team a try?” he asked. “Quincy Rawlins is my starting linebacker, but I’d like to try you as a wide receiver or cornerback.”

“I don’t know. It’s been a while since I played.”

“Well if you change your mind, you always got a spot on the team.”

“Thanks, Coach.” I folded the worksheet which was my homework assignment and placed it inside my book. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Curiosity had brought me there, as I sat on the bleachers on the football field and watched them practice. My mind went back to the days when football was my first love; my everything and then some. Nothing was more important to me back then. But it had soon become a long forgotten dream, and I remember the person who had shattered it: Mr. Forbes.

I worked my behind off that year to make the team, had pumped weights all summer just trying to build up my muscle mass, had gone to football camp and everything, but the coach at my middle school didn’t think I had what it took to play quarterback anymore.