Indigo Blues by Danielle Joseph

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