Indigo Summer

“It’s a new day, Carter,” Mr. Forbes, the new blond-haired, pale-faced coach, had gripped his clipboard, said and frowned. “The days of you getting what you want because your daddy owns half of this town is over.”

“But Coach, I played quarterback for the community center for five years straight.”

“Well this is not the community center, and I’ve got a quarterback.” He smiled. “His name is Todd Richmond.”

“Todd ain’t half as good as me.”

“Ain’t?” He repeated my bad English. “Ain’t is not the proper word to use in that sentence. I swear to God I don’t know why I took this teaching job over here. Should’ve stayed in the suburbs where the students are both smart and talented. Over here, you people think that just because you can run a football down the field, that you don’t have to know anything else. You go through school with blinders on, thinking that sports will save you from your ignorance.”

I stood there eyeballing him, my blood boiling as he pretty much called me and my entire race stupid to my face. I knew I had to prove him wrong. Knew that I had to prove that not every black kid who was good in sports was dumb in the classroom.

“My grades are good,” I said in my defense.

“You’re in the low Cs, kid. I’m struggling just to keep you on the team.”

“But I’m bringing them up,” I said. “They dropped when my parents got divorced, because I was stressing over that.”

“It’s always an excuse with you youngsters,” he said.

“It’s true,” I told him. “I’m going to bring them back up. And when I graduate, I’m graduating with honors.”

“You see Todd over there?” He pointed toward the redhead who’d stolen my position on the team. “When he leaves high school, he’ll not only have had four good years of football, but with his grade point average, he’s sure to get a scholarship to Yale or Princeton. And that’s a fact.”

“I could get a scholarship to Yale or Princeton if I wanted to.”

“Not likely,” he said, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “But there’s no doubt you could get into either Morehouse or Clark-Atlanta University, one of the historically black colleges here in Atlanta. That is, if you bring that grade point average up, and keep it steady during your high school years. But you have to really be a special kid to get into an Ivy League school like Yale or Princeton, Marcus.”

His words stuck with me, tore me up inside, and even stopped me from sleeping a few nights. I knew what I had to do. I had to come up with a Master Plan. I wanted to go to Yale or Princeton, simply to set a standard; to prove a point. Not that Morehouse or Clark-Atlanta weren’t good schools, because they were. In fact, Morehouse was known for its strong math and science programs. And I was a math scholar, could work problems out with my eyes closed. But I wanted to not only get accepted to a school where statistically blacks weren’t accepted, but I wanted to get a scholarship to one, too.

Football was over for me that day, and I was determined to make straight As, graduate with honors, get a scholarship to Yale or Princeton and look for that Mr. Forbes one day and show him that he was wrong about Marcus Carter. I dreamed of that day.

Coach Robinson had the team running a play over and over again, and when he was sure it was burned into their memory, he ran it again. I pulled my worksheet out of my American History book, looked over the questions. They were simple, so I completed it, the sun beaming down on my fresh haircut as I sat in the bleachers. I scribbled my name across the top, then folded the worksheet back up, stuck it into my book and placed my book into my backpack. Threw my backpack across my shoulder and decided to head over to the gym where the girls were trying out for the dance team. Nothing like watching a bunch of girls shaking it up.

I pulled the heavy door open, peeked inside, Usher’s “Confession,” ringing in my ears as I stepped inside. Took a seat on the bleachers next to some other guys who’d stayed after school just to watch the girls move their hips to hip-hop music. They were picking out which ones they would ask out, and saying how cute Indigo Summer was as she bounced to the music that echoed throughout the gymnasium. Just by looking at her, I couldn’t tell that she could move like that. But she could. She was good, and I was glad that I had caught the end of her performance.

After the last group of three girls started dancing to some song by Ludacris, I decided to make my way outside the gym, and stand near the glass doors. I didn’t want to miss Indigo when she came out. I wanted to speak to her; maybe offer her a ride home. Tell her how good her performance was. My backpack thrown across my shoulder, as girls passed by whispering, smiling and waving, I waited patiently.

“Hey,” one of them said. “You Marcus Carter?”

“Yep,” I said.

“You’re in my fourth period.” The light brown girl smiled a cute little smile, and my eyes found her cleavage that she was showing too much of.

“Oh,” is all I could say as I thought back to all the girls in my fourth period. I didn’t remember her face.

“I sit two seats behind you in class,” she said. “I’m Alicia.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“And I’m Shauna,” her friend said. “You going to the homecoming dance?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

I wondered if Indigo was going, and if so, if she already had a date. Maybe I’d ask her.

“Well, if you decide to go, who you taking?” Alicia asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I don’t have a date,” she smiled.

My eyes found the door of the gym as they swung open and the girls trying out for the dance team rushed out. I searched for Indigo in the crowd, and spotted her walking and talking with another girl. She wore pink shorts and a white top that hugged her small breasts. Her wild hair fell softly onto her shoulders, and her skin was flawless.

“Indigo,” I called her, walking away from Alicia and Shauna, leaving their questions and comments to dissolve into the air.

Indigo’s eyes found mine.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“I been waiting on you. Wanted to tell you how good you were in there.”

“Thanks. Hope I make the team,” she said dryly, as if she doubted her own skills.

“You will,” I said.

“What you doing hanging around in the girls’ gym anyway?” she asked.

“Watching the tryouts.”

“You stayed after school just to watch us dance? Don’t you have anything better to do?” she asked, frowning. “Why aren’t you on the football team or something?”

“Because I don’t play football…anymore,” I said. “But I watched the team practice for a while. Then I decided to come over here and see what was up with the dance team tryouts.”

“Well, good for you,” she said and walked away from me, through the glass doors and to the outside courtyard.

I followed.

“You got a ride home?”

“My father’s picking me up,” she said, searching the lineup of cars that sat at the curb; parents waiting for their children to come out.

“…’cause I was gonna say, I could give you a ride, since you live right next door.”

“That’s alright. He’s already here,” she said, and took off toward her father’s truck.

Didn’t say goodbye. Just left me standing there, unaware that I thought she was the finest girl in the entire school.

Chapter 6

Indigo

Pushing my way through the crowd, I made it up to where the list was plastered on the wall. My heart pounding, my mind drifting back to Miss Martin’s words, “…tomorrow morning, a list of those who made the cut will be posted outside the cafeteria.” Who would’ve thought that a list, a piece of paper taped to the wall, which held the names of fifteen girls who made the first round of dance team tryouts, would cause so much chaos? The fifteen girls whose names appeared on that list had been handpicked by Miss Martin, who had been the dance team coach for at least ten years. She had delivered an impeccable dance team year after year, one that was considered to be the best in the metro Atlanta area. Making that list meant that she thought you were good enough to come back for a second look; good enough to potentially carry on the school’s legacy. Meant that she thought you were better than the fifteen other girls whose names did not appear on the list.

As I reached the list, my French-manicured nail scanned the names until I got about three quarters of the way down the page. There it was in bold black letters against white paper, INDIGO SUMMER. The sight of it made me want to dance through the hallway; made me want to jump and shout. Made me want to pull out my cell phone and call Jade right at the moment and tell her the good news, but I knew better than to use my parents’ daytime minutes for anything other than emergencies. I did that before and ended up getting my phone repossessed for a month. It’s hard being cut off from the rest of the world like that. My cell phone was my lifeline. To cut that off would be like cutting off my air circulation.

I had made the first cut! I closed my eyes for a brief moment and thanked God. He’d obviously heard my prayer the night before and that morning on the bus. He was probably tired of me bugging him. But bugging him paid off, because he came through for me. Again.

The second name from the top of the list was Tameka Brown’s. She’d made the first cut, too. The problem was, her dance partner Michelle Smith’s name was not on the list.

Michelle’s eyes were bloodshot as she leaned up against the wall.

“I don’t see how she picked you and not me,” Michelle was saying to Tameka. “We were a team. Did the same moves and everything. I don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t know either,” Tameka told her, looking for words that would console her friend, but she was at a loss for them.

“It’s not even fair. I can’t stand Miss Martin!” Michelle said and then stormed on down the hall.

Tameka shrugged as she spotted me.

“Congratulations,” I said.

“Same to you,” she said. “I knew you would make it.”

I’m glad she was so sure, because I hadn’t been. I’d tossed and turned the entire night before thinking about it. By the time I had finally drifted off, it was almost time to get up, get showered and dressed for school.

I was more than surprised to see my name on that list. My heart pounded as I thought about the second round. Round two might not be so generous.

“Heard you made the first cut for the dance team.” Quincy found me at my locker, pulling my world geography book out for my next class. Dressed in blue jeans and a Michael Vick jersey, he smelled so good. News sure did travel fast.

“Yeah, the second round is after school today,” I said, slamming my locker shut and pulling my book to my chest. My heart started to flutter and the palms of my hands got all moist at the sight of him.

“I didn’t even know you could dance,” he said with those kissable-looking lips. Jade should see these lips. She would compare them to Usher’s. I found myself wondering what it would be like to kiss them, especially since I hadn’t kissed a boy since I kissed Andre in the seventh grade. And his lips weren’t nearly this kissable looking. “If I didn’t have football practice I would come and check you out.”

I thanked God that football practice and dance team tryouts took place at the same time. His being there would make me nervous and I would probably mess up my entire routine. I was grateful.

“Yeah, it’s too bad you got practice.”

Before I knew it, his lips were against mine, and for at least ten seconds I stopped breathing. I closed my eyes, wanting to savor the moment that Quincy Rawlins kissed Indigo Summer for the first time. I could’ve sworn I saw sparks flying after I opened my eyes. His eyes were opened the whole time, watching me.

“Well, I gotta get to class. I’ll check you later,” he said, walking backwards and then disappearing into a crowd of students.

I wondered if he had felt the same butterflies in his stomach.

The gymnasium was packed with people wanting to see who would make the second round of the dance team cuts. Five girls would be going home tonight, a swarm of emotions interrupting their sleep because they hadn’t made the team. Their egos would be crushed, their feelings hurt. They would have to face the rest of the student body knowing that they weren’t as good as the ten girls who would remain. The ten girls who made the cut would be Carver’s newest, freshest dance team.

My palms began to sweat as I sat on the bleachers next to Tameka, awaiting my destiny. My eyes glanced across the gym and found a pair of light brown ones staring my way. Marcus Carter rested his chin in the palm of his hand. He smiled when he caught me looking. Why was he there? To humiliate me? I rolled my eyes.

As the edited version of 50 Cent’s “Disco Inferno” rang through the gym, I started making moves that I had practiced all summer with Jade. My yellow and gray FILAs hitting the hardwoods at a consistent pace, my hips moving to a similar rhythm. When I danced, I went to another place; another world—all the faces in the gym became nonexistent as I did my thing. For two whole minutes, I allowed the music to consume my entire body. And then, something happened—the most horrible thing that would threaten to ruin my life. I tripped over my shoestring that had come untied with all the movement.

Embarrassment rushed across my face, and I wanted to cry. And as my legs began to stiffen, the music continued to play. I continued to dance, as Miss Martin made notes on her clipboard. Surely she was handing me demerits for my clumsiness. I would be one of the five sleepless girls who’d be cut from the team; my worst nightmare. My mind went to Jade, as 50 Cent’s voice rang through the speakers in the gym. I’d blown it for both of us.

I sat through the rest of the routines, but couldn’t wait until it was over. As soon as the last girl finished performing, and Miss Martin gave her spiel, I threw my backpack across my shoulder and rushed though the glass doors. I couldn’t breathe and needed some air. Couldn’t believe I had screwed up my chance of making the team. Any mistake would be an automatic elimination, considering the talent of all the girls in there. I searched the line of cars for my father’s truck. He was nowhere in sight, and I wondered where he could be at a time like this, when I had a rush of tears that needed to be released. I pulled my cell phone out to call home.

“Where’s Daddy?” I asked my mother.

“Indi, he’s stuck in traffic. He left you a message on your cell phone. Didn’t you get it?”

“No, ma’am,” I said. “I haven’t even checked my messages.”

“He doesn’t know when he’ll get there,” she said. “I would come and get you myself, but you know my car’s in the shop.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” I asked, my voice on the verge of cracking.

“You’ll have to wait for your father,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” she said. “How did tryouts go?”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly.

“Did you dance to Twenty-five Cent’s song?”

“It’s 50 Cent, Mama.”

“Twenty-five Cents, Fifty Cents. Whatever, Indi.”

“Yes, I danced to his song,” I said softly. “Ma, I need to go so I can wait for Daddy. I’ll tell you about tryouts when I get home.”

“Okay, Indi. He should be there shortly.”

I couldn’t wait to hang up as I stood in the courtyard. The leaves on the trees were blowing about, restlessly. Students stood around chatting and waiting for their parents, while the cross-country team passed by, jogging at a slow pace. In the distance, I heard a whistle from the football coach in the field behind the school.