"Dear Anxiety...
You don't get to win.
I'm choosing to start again.
I don't have to please anyone
My nervousness is not gone,
But I choose to ignore it and to move on.
you've lost your hold on me."
"INDIGO!"
I huff when I hear my mother yell my name from downstairs. Her tone reminds me that school is starting soon - and that if I want a ride I need to hurry.
I quickly close my composition book, promising to finish my poetry later.
"Hurry up Indie, honey!"
I smile. That is more like it- being called Indigo is just too... formal.
I look around my small bedroom, run to my bed, grab my school bag, and return to tromp down the hallway stairs of my small house.
When I arrive in my kitchen, my mother greets me with a warm smile. Her greying hair is pulled back into a bun. The tension makes the usual crinkles by her eyes less noticeable.
"Where's Bryn?" I ask her impatiently.
Bryn is my 13 year old sister. She takes more pride in her appearance at 13 than I do at 18.
My mom smiles. "She's getting ready. You know- makeup and all."
I chew my lip. "Isn't an eighth grader too young for that sort of thing?"
An eighth grader is definitely too young for that sort of thing...
Mom laughs. "She'll be a freshman next year! Anyways Indie, not everyone can be so comfortable in their own skin." She looks at me- makeup free, brown hair flowing around my shoulders, clad in a hoodie and jeans.
I grin awkwardly. "I wouldn't say I'm comfortable- just... accepting of who I am."
Mom chuckles and gazes past me at my little sister, who has just tiptoed down the stairs.
"Morning" Bryn grins at the two of us.
Mom smiles before grabbing her keys. "Ready?"
Bryn and I nod and make our way through the living room and out the front door. Like always, Mom's 2004 Ford Escape is waiting patiently in our driveway. I call shotgun. Ignoring an indignant huff from Bryn, I smile in satisfaction at my victory.
In my opinion, it's only fair that the licensed one at least get to ride up front, while their mother is saving money to buy her a car.
Though... it's not fair that she should have to work so hard to save the money.
I begin thinking about my family's financial status. My good- for-nothing father isn't sending us money like he should. My mom is working her ass off to provide for Bryn and me.
I work too, of course. After school everyday, I have a job at the town bookstore. My bookstore is more than just a job. It is a preservation of my heart. Some days only the sight and smell of books keeps me going.
I smile out of the window as my mom pulls up to my highschool. It is a large building. A concrete block sitting on a concrete slab. No.. it isn't that ugly.
Still, as I watch the students milling around on the lawn, I feel my anxiety kick in. Ignoring the nausea I've become accustomed to, I open up the passenger-side door and step out. I give my mom and Bryn a wave goodbye.
With the Ford Escape no longer behind me, I'm alone. I put my hood up and stuff my hands into my pockets before slipping through the crowded groups of students.
When I make it indoors, I trudge to the cafeteria. I get free breakfast every morning, because yes I'm poor... but, I would get it even if I was rich.
Free is free, and food is food.
I go up to the line and get my biscuits and then find a small, unsteady booth located in the caf corner.
A place where no human will disturb me.
I shake up my chocolate milk and sit my bag beside of me. My backpack sits where a human otherwise would. I let my fingers fumble for the zipper, before I pull it open and take out my composition book.
Maybe I can get some writing done.
In no time, I'm writing. Thoughts I have become married to the paper I'm scribbling them on. My ink pen scruffs against the paper, I'm filling pages upon pages with my thoughts.
I take a bite of biscuit and continue until I hear the morning bell ring. I quickly pile my things back into either my bag or the nearest trash can. I follow the students exiting the cafeteria. When I get to class, I take a seat in the back.
My teacher, Mr. Hawkins, smiles at me.
I return it.
Mr. Hawkins is one of those few teachers that make a draining school day worthwhile. He's thoughtful, helpful, and encouraging. My anxiety is always at bay when he is teaching.
I get out my composition book, excited to show him my most recent work, when he stands and utters the words I'd never thought I'd hear.
"Indie Jasper, come here, bring your things. You're being transferred."
My mouth drops and I grasp at my things before obediently going to stand at his desk.
"This is your lucky day!" He smiles.
I frown.
No no no. I do not do "lucky" or "transferred" .
"I've had the guidance counselors change your schedule." He beams at me expectantly. I briefly wonder if he assumes I will thank him.
Thanks is the last thing on my mind.
"Why?" I croak. This class, senior English, is my way of expression. Expression without recognition and social suicide, for that matter.
"Indie, you're a fabulous student. It's only early September and I'm already fascinated by your writing. As much as I'd love to, I can't selfishly keep you in my basic English class. I've had you moved to honors."
My mouth drops. Honors?
Everyone knows that honors is a mix of popular jocks that don't belong there but somehow always get advanced placements, nerds that are also full-time dual enrollment students, and artsy kids that are far better at expressing themselves than me.
I shake my head. "I don't- I don't understand."
Mr. Hawkins smiles. "I'm going to miss you." He hands me a slip of paper (an excuse for arriving late to my new class) and my new and improved schedule. Surprise surprise... no class is in the same spot.
I bite my tongue and try to calm myself with the newfound pain.
"Thanks." I manage to say to my favorite teacher.
"Have a great day." He calls.
Doubt that.
I sigh and pull my favorite dark blue hoodie over my head. I look at the room number on my paper and slip down the hallway quietly.
I'm so nervous, my body goes numb and I can't even feel queasy anymore.
When I spot the room in the distance, I take a deep breath and slow my pace. Not wanting to look like I've been in a rush, I casually stroll up to the wooden door and knock.
The new teacher, Ms. Graves, opens it in surprise. "May I help you?"
I nod, handing her the note without a word.
"Oh yes- the class transfer." She murmurs. "Come on in."
I silently follow her inside, my heart does somersaults as I observe a blank sea full of faces. Seniors, like me.
My eyes accidentally lock with bright blue ones. I quickly look to my new teacher again.
"Indigo Jasper." She looks at my paper before handing it back to me with a class syllabus. "Lucky for you, we have one open seat."
My heartbeat thuds behind my throat and I try to listen to her instructions. "You'll find your assigned seat located in the back." She points. "Next to Anson Fischart."
My heart drops to my navel.
Anson is the highschool pretty-boy. He's the quarterback, of course he's popular for that. He has tousled dirty blonde hair, which is thick and lustrous. His face is strong and defined, as if his features have been molded from granite.
His eyes are a mesmerising deep ocean blue.
Side note: I heard some girls once say that you can see flecks of silvery light shining throughout them. I always wondered if it were true.
All of his handsomeness- and I have to sit beside of him?!
I shake the thoughts from my head.
"Thanks." I inaudibly mumble.
"Miss Indigo," Ms. Graves adds.
I turn.
"Take your hood off."
My hood?
Oh!
I hear snickers and my face flushes hot with embarrassment. I reach up and tug at my hood, it falls to my shoulders and I tiptoe back to sit beside of Anson.
I notice that in front of him is Bryce Brown, the runningback, and his best friend. Both of them are overrated if you ask me.
When Ms. Graves turns and begins writing on the board, I feel Anson looking at me. I make sure to not return the favor.
Why oh why must I be stuck back here with the jocks?!
I tug at a silver bracelet around my wrist. Calm down, Indie. I sigh and focus on Ms. Graves.
In a second, I wish I had not. She begins to excitedly discuss a "group project". Looking around, it becomes blatantly obvious that it doesn't matter if we pick partners or not. I'm alone here.
"I'm going to pair you up and then explain the assignment!" Ms Graves says with enthusiasm.
I feel somewhat relieved that everyone else is in the same boat as me- forced interaction. Ms. Graves begins pairing and people begin moving. My heart thuds steadily in my chest, when she arrives in front of my new desk, she instantly points at Anson. "Partners."
Is this lady obsessed with me being near Anson?!
He must be thinking the same thing as me. His jaw tightens as he looks at examines me with gritted teeth. "You're kidding, right?" He looks at Ms Graves.
Heat rushes to my face.
"Fischart, I won't tolerate arguing." She warns and walks away.
I internally die with humiliation.
If I was in Mr. Hawkins' class- I wouldn't be expected to do this sort of thing.
Anson turns his desk to face mine without a word, and Ms. Graves begins explaining the task. "A paradox." She says. "Anyone know what it is?"
I nod to myself, noticing Anson staring at me. I decide to glare at him, receiving a smirk as he turns and whispers something at Bryce, who laughs.
My face flushes and I roll my eyes.
"A paradox is a seemingly absurd or self-contradictory statement or proposition that when investigated or explained may prove to be well founded or true." Ms. Graves smiles. "Your task today is to work with a partner and try to list some paradoxes in life. I'll pick the best one at the end."
A paradox? This isn't philosophy class!
I look up at Anson, who is smirking at Bryce.
Bryce looks at me. "Does it talk?"
Anson shrugs. "I don't know. It glares."
Holy shit, Anson Fischart also sounds like movie star. His voice is deep and smooth. Even when making ignorant comments, apparently.
I cover my surprise with annoyance."I do talk, thank you."
Anson smirks, happy with himself that I took his bait. "Go back to the no-talking thing." He commands. "Girls like you are probably much better that way."
His words shock me. What a pig!
I deadpan. "I'm glad you can admit that girls are smart to ignore you."
Anson's eyes widen and beside him, Bryce looks at me in confusion. "Good luck with that." He whispers to Anson before giving his bicep a jab.
He lowers his voice to a whisper that I still hear, " Is this know-it-all bitch really part of our class now? I'm hoping not, for your sake, Anson. "
Bryce catches me staring at him and winks at me; then he chuckles and turns back to his partner.
I look at Anson, disregarding the insolence uttered from his idiot friend . "I work better alone. So just shut your mouth and I'll win this thing." I tap my pen to my mouth.
My anxiety is long gone, now fueled by a desire to show these jocks a new side to Indie Jasper.
"What if I want to participate?" Anson's voice is a low rumble. The masculinity that it gives off causes me to instinctively look up at him.
I shrug. "Okay. Then tell me what have you got so far?"
His blue eyes look up at the ceiling. "I'm not sure."
I roll my eyes. "Good input."
He's not smart, he's a jock.
I watch as he runs his hand through just soft, sandy-blonde hair. Suddenly, his face lights up.
"Jumbo shrimp."
I frown. "What?"
"That's my answer. Jumbo shrimp. Two words that completely contradict each other." A smile etches its way across his face as he challenges me. "Beat that."
Amateur. I narrow my eyes.
"The smartie-pants bitch isn't so smart after all." Bryce snorts and high fives Anson. "Hoodie head." He points at me.
My cheeks flush red with annoyance.
"Hoodie head." Anson smirks at me, his blue eyes humored. "I might just have to call you that from now on."
"You better not." I growl. "After this you have no reason to speak to me ever again."
Anson leans in to my face; I can smell faint traces of his cologne. It smells like fresh cut wood, mint, musk, and some kind of rich scent that I can't describe.
"Hello?" Anson's large hand waves in front of my face.
Where were we?
Oh yes..
"Don't call me hoodie head." I warn.
It's seriously not even clever.
Bryce snickers. "Oh, Are you embarrassed that your friends will make fun of you for it?" He makes a mock pouty face. "Oh wait! You don't have any friends. Maybe you'll think twice about being a know-it-all next time."
His words sting me and I feel disappointed when those around start to chuckle at Bryce's comment.
"Actually I do have friends." I argue, "And by the way Anson ... Jumbo shrimp is an oxymoron, not a paradox."
His blue eyes snap over to meet mine.
"While Paradox is a statement or a group of statements," I explain with a snarl, "an oxymoron is a combination of two contradictory terms. A paradox is a true statement that leads to a situation that defies intuition."
Anson's expression suddenly looks uncertain. "Is that all?"
"no. An oxymoron, on the other hand, comes with only two words that contradicts itself." I sharply inhale and continue, "So you've failed the assignment."
Both of their mouths drop in unison as I feel a wave of accomplishment wash over me.
"Well.. you're an oxymoron!" Bryce whispers with emphasis on moron.
I notice that Anson is quiet as he blinks at me in confusion. He seems to be wondering who I am, exactly. I ignore his gaze.
The timer rings and Ms. Graves stands and raises her voice. "Let's start!" she looks over at my group. " Anson and Indigo. What did you two get?"
I look at Anson who starts to shrug. I stand up, hiding my face behind my paper as I read what I've jotted down. When I finish, the entire class is silent. I see Anson smirking from my periphery.
Does he think I'm stupid?
Ms. Graves smiles proudly. "Welcome to English honors, Indigo. That was fabulous."
My lips turn up into a proud smile at her praise.
"Anson," she unexpectedly looks at my partner, "next time you should help who you're with to come to the final answer instead of chatting to Bryce. Don't think I haven't been watching." Her voice is stern.
I look at him, and notice that he wears a look of anger on his face.
"Its only fair that I give you a fifty for your efforts today. Next time, you will get a 0 on the assignment if you don't participate!"
I bite my lip as Anson's face immediately twists in annoyance at me.
"Well played, Hoodie head." He growls. " how the hell did you come up with that?"
Uhhh...
"Maybe if you guys learned to think with your brains and not your dicks, you'd find impressive content to share, too."
His sharp jaw hardens at my jab. In his eyes flashes a look of determination.
Their bright blue hue burns an image into my mind that I remember even after class is dismissed.
Hello lovelies! Hope this first chapter has been good. Thank you for giving this book a look. I hope that this journey will be a good one, and that you'll stick through with it.
Here's a little question: What are your thoughts on Indie?
I am super into the boho names and names you can shorten with a nickname. I always have a blast naming characters. Anyways, if you enjoyed chapter 1, please vote and comment and add this to your reading lists.
If you aren't feeling it yet, please read the next chapter or two. Hopefully I can change your mind!?!
Love you all!
-Malibu Gardner