Monica McKayhan - Indigo Summer

“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.

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.