Indigo (2 page)

Their eyes seem to be on me every step of the way.

“Poor thing,” a girl whispers as I pass, and I flinch, physically recoiling from her pity. Choosing a seat in the very back where I can keep my eye on the door, I slip quietly into the desk and place my bag beside me, pulling out a fresh notebook.

“Now then, welcome to Independent Study,” the Professor booms, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “But as you read in your course outline, if you are here in MY independent study, that means you have a keen interest in the arts, not sitting around idly pretending to have your nose in a book. We’ve seen everything in this class from music, dancing, drawing, painting…or even miming,” he jokes, making a few people chuckle. “I look forward to learning each of your individual poisons and I want this to be an environment for your passion to grow and prosper, a place where you learn to take and give criticism.” A pointed look follows this statement, and he walks behind his desk to grab an attendance sheet before perching himself on the front end of it.

Listening to his impassioned speech, my heart lightens, the embarrassment from earlier fizzing out. This is why I’m here at Fairbanks. To get back the part of myself that I love the most, and to do something that just makes me feel good. Makes me
feel
a little bit like I used to.

“First things first,” he says, making a small note on his page. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time creatively together, so I want everyone to introduce themselves, their art of choice, along with one thing that they love, and one thing that they hate.”

I deflate a little at his words, dreading having to speak out loud and introduce myself. Especially because everyone in this room most likely already knows who I am through what they’ve read about me or seen on TV. But I remind myself of my determination to start a new chapter in life, move forward, and to put the past to rest. I sit up a little straighter and do my best to tamp down my anxiety.

“I’ll start,” the Professor continues, “My name is Dr. Robert Klaegar, and I play the guitar, piano, flute, violin, and have recently been learning the drums. It’s not just banging away at random as I first thought.” He smiles at his own joke. “I have a PHD in Music composition, and I love learning new instruments. With that said, I hate technology, especially my iPhone.”

He pulls the offending item from the front pocket of his shirt and frowns at it as the class laughs. “My old fingers are too big for these small buttons!” He adds grinning.

We make our way down the list and I listen as everyone eagerly tries to think of fun answers to the questions, but describe themselves at the same time. So far there are 3 painters, and 4 musicians, one person who hates rap music and another who loves magic tricks. The class is a mix of all grade levels, but I’m surprised to note there are mostly upperclassman. I can’t help but wonder if I’m the only freshman.

There is one girl who introduces herself as a transfer student starting her second year; a light skinned girl named Sabrina. She has big brown curly hair and is wearing a long colorful bohemian type dress. She makes me laugh when she admits to the class that above all, she hates men. I can tell she’s a girl who says the first thing that pops into her head, and doesn’t think twice about it. I envy her confidence.

“I’m Kennedy Keats.”

A deep and abnormally rough voice grabs my attention, and without thinking, my eyes follow the sound. The owner is sitting two rows over by the window, his body relaxed in his seat, forearms resting comfortably on top of his desk.

“I draw,” he continues, and I immediately have a hard time picturing a pencil in his large hands. As I give him a once over, I can’t help but notice that everything about him seems abnormally large. The widths of his shoulders are near twice the size of the back of the desk, and I can tell in an instant that he must be well over six feet tall. The gray t-shirt he’s wearing fits snugly against his thick arm muscles, and I swear I can count the cords of tendon I see on his neck. He doesn’t look like a meathead or any of the juiced up guys I’ve seen around here, though. His body is lean, as if he came by it from sheer hard work. 

This guy is FIT. It’s clear to me he takes impeccable care of his body and it’s also clear to me my eyes have been lingering on him a bit too long.

As if he heard my errant thought, he smiles and I see a small dimple appear on the side of his lip. Smiling almost shyly, he runs a hand through his dark brown hair. “I’ve been working mostly on scenery my past two years here, but I want to work on drawing people this semester.”

He shifts, facing his body outward toward the aisle and my eyes drink in the different view. Narrow waist, strong thighs, and a boyish smile that I blink twice at. “I love taking things a part and putting them back together, like car engines or computers, and I hate waiting, for anything. I’m an impatient person.”

A few comments are made while I fleetingly consider the contradiction, wondering how he can take the time to methodically figure out how things work, but always be in a rush. His voice trails off, but the tone of it seems to linger in the air. I realize I’m still staring at him when his eyes flick over to mine and our gazes touch. Immediately I turn to the front of the room, cheeks heavily flushed.

I barely have a moment to gather my thoughts when I realize Professor Klaeger is looking at me expectantly. Everyone shifts noisily around in their seats, as if they had been waiting for an excuse to do so. Really? The obvious gawking bothers me, but I sit up straight and put my hands in my lap, quietly clearing my throat. You can do this!

“I’m Indigo Olsen.” I smile stiffly. “I dance…mostly ballet, but I enjoy all types. I love the Christmas season, everything about it. The songs, the music, the atmosphere. And I hate….”

My eyes fall to a girl in front, who is intensely staring at me, her eyes wide as if she’s hanging on my every word. What does she think I’m going to say that I hate? Torture? Guns? Kidnappers? An absurd urge to laugh at her penetrating expression almost overcomes me, but my nerves only allow a small smile to flitter briefly across my face. What would they do if I told them the truth? My eyes float to Kennedy’s again before I can think better of it. His fingertips are clasped together in front of his lips, but his eyes are gleaming at me, as if he too, sees the humor in the tense situation and is laughing with me.

“I hate…sitting in chairs where I can’t reach the floor.” I swing my legs in the air, feeling incredibly lame as the words spill out of my mouth.

I know I took the easy way out, a slight dig at my height, but at least a few people grin politely in reaction. Sabrina lets out a squawk of laughter and slaps her desk, surprising me. Kennedy’s gaze is on me, but I refuse to look over at him again, pushing him out of my mind and concentrating on what Klaeger is saying.

After the final three introductions are made, he outlines the rest of the semester. The time here will be used to concentrate on our majors, without much interference, even from him. A free play to work on what we’re good at by ourselves. I’m also the only dancer out of the 12 students, and thinking of all the time I’ll get to spend alone, just me and the music, makes me feel better than I have in a long time. The only downside is at the end of the semester, we’ll have to present for a grade what we’d been working on the past few months with the rest of the class. The announcement worries me, but there will be enough time to stress about that later, however, and I push it to the back of my mind. I spend the rest of the class daydreaming about being back on stage. I’m so ready to get re-acquainted with the music; a huge part of my life that I refuse to believe is gone.

An hour later, my stomach rumbles as I start packing up my things. After running around all afternoon, I didn’t have time to eat and now that I’m thinking about it, the hunger pains hit me hard.

Someone moves in front of my desk, casting a shadow over the glossy surface, as I contemplate heading over to the cafeteria.

Sabrina grins down at me. “So what kind of name is Indigo?” She asks bluntly.

I hesitate for a moment, my brain trying to catch up to the slightly rude question. “You’d have to ask my mom,” I finally tell her.

Her lips are painted pink, which looks fantastic against her caramel colored skin. She’s actually wearing a lot of makeup, but somehow it doesn’t look overdone. She almost reminds me of Beyoncé, but without the heart-stopping hips. Sabrina is slim, model thin, and probably has about six inches on me. Needless to say, she’s stunning.

“What kind of nickname can you get from that?” She asks, unfazed by my answer.

“A few people used to call me Indy.”

Her face scrunches up as if the nickname tastes bad in her mouth. “Indigo it is. Are you hungry? I was just about to hit the cafeteria.”

My first instinct is to decline, because a big part of me just wants to be alone after my long day. Making small talk doesn’t appeal to me, and I’m really not any good at it since the only person I’ve basically interacted with in the past two years is my mom. But she’s looking at me with such an expectant expression, and I am hungry, so I smile and nod. New chapter! “Okay. I was just thinking about going down there and checking it out.”

“It’s edible. I was there this morning.” She comments, as we walk towards the front of the room. “Better than my last school in the city. But more importantly, it’s the perfect place to scope out the guys.”

“I thought you hate men,” I ask, remembering her comment from earlier.

She grins like the Cheshire cat and sends me a saucy wink. “Oh I do. But there is nothing in this world that I love to hate more.”

KENNEDY

“I’m going to swing by the cafe, you in?”

I rip my gaze away from the back of the room to focus on my cousin Shawn. “What?”

“Food. Eat.” he says with a knowing smirk, adjusting the brim of his hat. “Are you hungry?”

I nod and shoulder my backpack, then annoy the hell out of myself when my eyes dart back in her direction. I can’t freaking look away, and I don’t until some girl steps in front of her and blocks my view. Sighing loudly, I move to follow Shawn out of the room.

“That scar is insane,” he comments when we’re in the safety of the hallway. The shit eating grin is still on his face, as if he knows I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Indigo Olsen and it’s bothering me.

I look behind us to make sure she’s not in earshot, just in case. “I know.”

“But my god, scar or not, that girl is smokin’ hot. And that little dancer’s body,” he whistles and then looks at me from the corner of his eye.

The backwards compliment raises the hair on the back of my neck, and I feel guilty for agreeing but it’s the truth. Indigo Olsen is easily the hottest thing I have ever seen in my life. When she walked through the door, all my air acutely blew from my lungs, seeming to deflate my entire body. All I could think about was getting her image down on paper. And that scar…intense.

“She’s so tiny,” is all I say in response. I definitely don’t want to tell Shawn about all the other things I’m thinking. I’d never hear the end of it if I admit to him how vulnerable I thought she looked.

“I felt bad when she walked in though,” Shawn continues, opening a door so we can step out into the courtyard. “They should have given us a warning or something.”

I scoff loudly. “Yeah well not all of us reacted like an asshole.” I remember hearing Shawn curse beside me when she lifted her face. It made me want to punch him in the jaw. “And maybe I should send out a warning to all the unsuspecting freshman girls on this campus that haven’t met you yet.”

Shawn laughs, and when we reach the cafeteria I cup my hands around my mouth as if to yell it out, and Shawn throws his arm around my neck in a mock headlock. Of course my words are a joke, but not really. Shawn has somewhat of a reputation at this campus, and as his roommate, most of it is warranted. I shove him off laughing as we make our way toward the buffet style line. I pile my plate with food as usual, and we go sit down with a couple other guys that live in our dorm. 

“You talk to your mom?” Shawn asks, taking a large bite of his burger.

“The Dean of Students? On a weekday? C’mon, you know better than to ask that.”

My mom was one of the people who founded Fairbanks College about 15 years ago, so needless to say she’s a busy woman, and needless to say, that’s how I ended up here getting my undergrad. It wasn’t my first choice, but neither was it an argument I had any chance of winning. There aren’t many arguments I can win when it comes to going one on one with my mother, if I’m to be honest with myself. And now here I am, in my junior year at a small college I would have never chosen on my own, my major undeclared. The one perk is an incredible art program, and classes that let me concentrate on my drawing.

Shawn winces, and I know I don’t have to explain. He knows the deal with my mom. How she barely has a second for me except to give her two cents about how I should live my life. Since I’m her son, I get it the worst, but I know it is how he ended up here too, but I’ve never asked him outright how he felt about it.

“Did you see how pale she got when I drove up in Betty?” he laughs, referring to his motorcycle he bought this past summer. “I thought she was going to fall over.”

I grin. “It was hilarious. She seriously couldn’t forbid me fast enough not to ride it.”

“So that’s your bike out front?” John interrupts, leaning to talk to us from down the table. John’s obnoxious, and not my favorite person, but he’s one of the first guys we met here, and I guess after two years he’s grown on me.