Indigo Summer Page 6

  “I suppose so,” she said. “But you better behave and mind your manners.”

  I knew what that meant and always made sure I didn’t make people think I didn’t have any home training. “Don’t embarrass me” is what Mama’s words meant.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Tameka said, and I followed her up a flight of stairs on the backside of the kitchen and down a long hallway to her bedroom, my tube socks making a squishing noise in the carpet.

  Her room was decorated in pinks and whites, and posters of Bobby Valentino, Pretty Ricky and Omarion were plastered on the walls. Her full-sized canopy bed was neatly made, and her closet was so full of clothes and shoes that the door wouldn’t even shut. She closed her bedroom door behind us and pressed the power button on her CD player.

  “What you wanna hear?” she asked, and fell backwards onto her bed. “I have all the latest CDs…everything!”

  “I like rap,” I said, and started looking through her stacks of CDs.

  “I have everything by Snoop, Kanye West, 50…everybody…” she said. “My dad’s a producer.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep, he’s at the studio right now,” she said. “He works with a lot of local talent, and some famous people, too.”

  “You have Ludacris?”

  She hit a button on the remote that controlled the CD player and Ludacris’s voice rang through the speakers.

  “I like some stuff by Luda,” she said. “But I’m not much into rap.”

  “Who do you like?”

  “Usher, Omarion…Omarion is so cute!” She laughed.

  “He’s alright,” I said. “But what about Nelly?”

  “He’s definitely a hottie,” she said. “But I don’t know very many girls our age who like hard-core rap, Indi. I mean, I like some rap.”

  “Well, I’m not like many girls our age,” I said. “Everybody’s different. That’s what makes us all unique. If everybody liked the same stuff, how boring would that be?”

  “I guess you’re right,” she said. “I don’t like all the cussin’, though.”

  “I don’t either. I just listen to the edited versions,” I told her, and then lay across her bed. “I like dancing to rap mostly.”

  “I guess.” She smiled, and walked over to the window. “Your mom’s leaving.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. I guess it’s official that you get to spend the night,” she said. “You wanna go to the mall now?”

  “Yep.”

  It seemed that everybody from the south side of Atlanta had decided to visit Southlake Mall at the same time on Saturday afternoon. As we sifted through tables filled with underwear at Victoria’s Secret, I suddenly missed Jade. Missed our Saturdays at the mall. From sunup to sundown, we used to shop until we dropped. Window shopped, that is, because most of the time we were broke. The money we did manage to squeeze out of our parents, was used for a bite to eat at the food court, a CD, a shirt, or occasionally, a pair of jeans, and not the designer ones. We didn’t care about having money; it was fun just hanging out together. I missed Jade, but Tameka was just as fun. Even though our music tastes were different, we had lots of other things in common; like clothes, boys and a warped sense of humor.

  We stopped at the nail shop for French manicures and pedicures, grabbed a bite to eat at the food court, and then hung around for a little while just checking out the crowd. We recognized many faces from school, and giggled as somebody’s mama passed by with a head full of pink and green plastic rollers.

  “Somebody forgot to tell her that you don’t come out of the house like that.” Tameka laughed. “And especially come to the mall on a Saturday afternoon.”

  “All she needs now is a pair of house slippers.”

  “And a bathrobe,” Tameka said.

  “Glad it ain’t my mama,” I said.

  “I second that,” Tameka said. “Your mom seems nice, by the way.”

  “She’s okay. She’s really overprotective. And my daddy, too,” I said. “But your mother seems really cool. And she looks really young, too.”

  “She is young,” Tameka said. “She had me when she was sixteen.”

  “That is young,” I said.

  “My dad is only two years older. They got married when they found out my mom was pregnant,” Tameka said. “Mommy had to drop out of school to raise me. And even though she went back for her GED, she never got to go to college. That’s why I have to go…for both of us.”

  “And that’s why you already got your college all picked out.”

  “That’s right.” She smiled. “Spelman won’t know what to do when Tameka Brown walks through those doors.”

  “I hear you. But wouldn’t you rather go away to school? Somewhere like UCLA or FAMU?”

  “No, I need to be near Jeff, and he’s going to Morehouse right here in Atlanta,” Tameka said, and then changed the subject. “Come on, let’s go over to Macy’s and find us some dresses.”

  We shopped the Macy’s clearance rack for dresses that would transform us into supermodels, like Eva, America’s Next Top Model or Tyra Banks. We tried on at least ten dresses each, strutting in front of the mirror as if we were on the runway. Finally settling on the dresses that we wanted, Tameka called her mother to pick us up.

  Mel pulled up in front of Sears, an Alicia Keys CD being pumped up. Tameka hopped in the backseat and I followed. Snapped our seat belts as she drove us to Applebee’s for dinner.

  “Order anything you want on the menu, girls,” Mel said, and then told the waitress to bring her a margarita.

  “Mommy, do you have to have a drink today?” Tameka asked.

  “It’s just a margarita, Tameka,” she said. “I always get a margarita when I come to Applebee’s. You know that.”

  “But we have company today,” Tameka pleaded.

  “I don’t mind,” I said, not wanting to cause any problems.

  “Do your parents drink, Indi?” Mel asked.

  “Sometimes they have wine with dinner,” I said. “And sometimes my daddy has a beer when he’s watching the football game.”

  “See, Tameka, Indi’s parents drink, too.”

  “You’re missing the point, Mommy.”

  “Then what is your point, baby?”

  “Never mind,” Tameka said, standing. “I have to go to the restroom. Can you just order me the chicken fingers basket?”

  She slid from the booth and headed for the ladies’ room. I peeled the wrapping from my straw and stuck the straw into my glass of Coke.

  “Tameka gets so motherly sometimes,” Mel said. “She wants to make a good impression on you, Indi. She likes you a lot, and she doesn’t have that many friends.”

  “I like her, too,” I said. “And my best friend moved away at the beginning of the summer. I don’t really have that many friends either.”

  “Then you two should get along just fine.”

  The waitress placed the margarita in front of Mel. “Here you go, ma’am.”

  “You know what, sweetie? I changed my mind about the margarita,” she said to the waitress. “Can you just bring me whatever this young lady is drinking?”

  “A Coke?” the waitress asked.

  “A Coke sounds good,” she said, and then smiled at me. A cappuccino-colored woman, Mel was very pretty. She wore natural-colored eye shadow, and had relaxed shoulder-length hair. She and Tameka would look like twins, except Tameka’s hair was longer and she had a rounder face.

  I smiled back.

  The waitress disappeared.

  “Now tell me about this boy, Quincy,” she said.

  I was shocked that she even knew about him. Tameka seemed to share everything with her mother.

  “He’s on the football team,” I told her. “Linebacker.”

  “Hmm, linebacker. You like him?”

  “I haven’t spent much time with him. We just started going together last week.”

  “Well, you just make sure he treats you nice, or you drop him like a bad habit,�
�� she said. “You hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You don’t take no crap off of him,” she said. “And he is not to touch your pocketbook until you’re ready.”

  “My pocketbook?”

  Tameka slid into the booth, back from the restroom.

  “Mommy, why are we talking about pocketbooks?”

  “I told Indi that Quincy is not to touch hers until she’s ready.” Mel took a sip of her Coke.

  “What’s a pocketbook?” I asked.

  “You know…your goodies,” Tameka tried to explain, and looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

  I still didn’t get it.

  “You’re not to have sex with him until you’re ready,” Mel said.

  “Ohhh,” I said and then giggled.

  Tameka started giggling, too, but Mel wasn’t laughing.

  With a serious look on her face, she leaned forward and said, “These little nappy-headed boys only want one thing, and you can’t just give it to them because they ask. Just remember that.”

  “Okay,” I said, afraid that if I said anything different, she might pull her belt off and rip it across my behind right there at Applebee’s.

  “Mommy, you’re drinking Coke. What happened to your margarita?”

  “They ran out of margarita mix,” Mel said, and then winked at me.

  I winked back.

  She was nothing like my mother, who would never carry on a conversation about boys and my pocketbook. My mother, Carolyn Summer, avoided conversations like that. But Mel was open and direct, just like my Nana Summer. And I liked her.

  Chapter 10

  Indigo

  “Indi, you sleep?”

  “No, I’m awake.”

  As the moonlight brushed across her face, I could see the whites of Tameka’s eyes staring at me, her head resting in the palm of her hand, as she balanced herself on her elbow.

  “Have you ever done it before?”

  “No,” I answered softly. “You?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet? Which means that you’re considering it?”

  “Everyone’s doing it, Indi. I think we’re the last two teenagers on earth who haven’t.”

  “Really?” This caused me to sit up in the twin bed.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What about what your mom said about our pocketbooks?” I asked her.

  “Jeff said that if two people love each other, then it’s not wrong.” She smiled and I could see her pearly whites in the moonlight.

  “So you love Jeff?”

  “He’s so sweet, Indi,” she said, her eyes all glassy. “I think I do love him. No, I’m pretty sure I do.”

  “Does he love you, too?”

  “Of course, silly.” She fell onto her back, her eyes facing the ceiling. “Why else would he give me a ring?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I guess he does love you.” I fell flat onto my back, and stared at the ceiling, too. Began to wonder if I would ever love someone, or if someone would ever love me enough to give me a ring. Would Quincy ever feel the same way about me that Jeff felt about Tameka? I had never given love much thought until now. But love still seemed so complicated, because it seemed to come with other stuff, like jealousy, hurt and most of all, sex. And sex was not something that thrilled me. I couldn’t understand what all the hype was about. Maybe someday I would, I thought as my eyes became heavy. But right now, I didn’t.

  “Just wait until you and Quincy fall in love.”

  Now that was something I’d never considered. I didn’t foresee that happening, but I didn’t say that to Tameka. Instead, I just allowed my eyes to give in to sleep that I was suddenly fighting.

  “You sleep, Indi?” Tameka asked again. And this time I didn’t answer. The bed had already pulled my body in and soon I was dreaming.

  As I turned over and adjusted myself across the bed, I could’ve sworn I caught the smell of smoked sausage. I opened one eye, and adjusted it to the sunlight as Tameka, dressed in her Victoria-Secret pajamas with PINK written across her behind in huge white letters, opened the blinds. Loud gospel music shook the entire house. They were songs I recognized because our choir at church sang them just about every Sunday.

  “Hey, sleepyhead, it’s about time you woke up.”

  “Is it morning?” It seemed that I’d just shut my eyes for the night.

  “Of course it is.”

  “What time is it?” I asked, opening both eyes.

  “Nine-thirty,” she said, and snatched the covers off of my tired body. “My mama cooked breakfast. She said for us to come downstairs and eat.”

  “Y’all don’t go to church?” I asked, and had packed a dress in my bag for Sunday School, just in case.

  “Naw. My mama just plays the gospel music real loud and we play like we at church.” Tameka laughed.

  “Oh, okay,” I said and didn’t hesitate to jump up, run to the bathroom and wash my face.

  Fat smoked sausages, pancakes and scrambled eggs were on the kitchen table, along with a pitcher of orange juice and two glasses of milk. The kitchen was bright, with plenty of sunlight beaming in through the windows. There seemed to be a million windows in the kitchen, and there was an island in the center of the floor. Not like the traditional kitchen at my house.

  “Well, good morning!” Mel said. “Did you get enough sleep, honey?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Have a seat and dig in.” She grinned, pulling her short, sexy robe tighter as she flipped pancakes on a griddle.

  I took the closest seat at the end of the table, took a sip of milk. Tameka plopped down in the chair next to mine. Sunday’s Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the local newspaper, was scattered about on the table.

  “I want three pancakes, Mommy,” she said, taking a drink of her milk, creating a milk mustache on her upper lip.

  “How many would you like, Indi?” Mel asked.

  “I’ll take two,” I said.

  “Then two it is.” Mel touched my nose with her fingertip. “Your mother said she would be here to pick you up after church, so make sure you get your stuff together after you eat.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, and patiently awaited my hot, golden pancakes.

  It was always more fun at someone else’s house than it was at home, and I soon realized that as I bounced my overnight bag onto the bed in Tameka’s room. I began packing my clothes and got a little depressed about having to go home. It was interesting to learn how other families did things, especially when they did things differently than what you were accustomed to. I sat on the edge of my bed, peered out the window and waited for my mama to pull into the driveway.

  When I got home, I raced to my room and shut the door. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend time with my parents, but conversations with Tameka left me with a lot to think about. Conversations about love and sex and boys. It was all racing through my mind like a freight train. If we were the last two teenagers on earth who hadn’t had sex, then what was wrong with us?

  My blinds were open and I caught a glimpse of Marcus pacing the floor in his room, his headphones covering his ears, a chicken leg in his hand. He caught me watching him and blew me a kiss. I rolled my eyes at him, and snatched my blinds shut. Why did boys have to be so stupid?

  Chapter 11

  Marcus

  I pulled into the driveway, Killer on the passenger seat, his head hanging out the window. As soon as I stopped my Jeep, he started barking uncontrollably.

  “Shut up, dude!” I told him, and he whimpered and sat on his hind legs. Cocked his head to the side and gave me a look as if to say, “what did I do?” German Shepherds had a way of communicating with you. They had their own personalities, and I knew what he was thinking at all times. Sometimes they acted just like little kids.

  I hopped out of my truck, and Killer hopped out behind me. Justin spotted me and started pedaling his bike toward me at full speed.

  “Marcus!” he yelled, but stopped dead in his
tracks at the sight of Killer.

  I recognized the fear in his eyes and said, “He won’t hurt you, little man.”

  Killer ran toward Justin, jumped up on him and knocked him off of his bike. Justin yelled. “Stop!”

  “He just trying to play with you, man.” I laughed. “Killer! Leave him alone.”

  He continued to jump up on Jason.

  “Killer, sit!” I yelled once more, this time in a deep voice that let him know that I wasn’t playing.

  At the sound of my voice, Killer moved away from Justin and innocently rubbed up against my leg. “Stop playing so much, dude.” I rubbed his head and he began to whimper like a child again.

  “I’m scared of him, Marcus. He’s so big.”

  “He won’t hurt you, man. He’s just a puppy.” I continued to rub Killer’s head.

  “A puppy?” Justin’s eyes grew big.

  “Yeah, he’s just big for his age.” I laughed. “He just wants you to play with him. Here, rub his head like this.”

  Justin reached his hand out reluctantly toward Killer’s head. Rubbed the top of it, smoothing his golden mane.

  “Here, rub him under here, too,” I said, telling Justin to rub Killer under his chin, just the way he liked it.

  Slowly, he touched Killer under his chin.

  “See he won’t hurt you, little man. He likes that,” I said. “He wasn’t trying to hurt you, he just wanted to play.”

  Justin began to relax and so did Killer.

  “Why you call him Killer?” he asked.

  “Because if he doesn’t like you, he’s trained to attack.”

  “Has he ever attacked somebody, Marcus?”

  “Just a mailman once.” I laughed. “He likes just about everybody, though.”

  After Justin let his guard down, he and Killer started running around the yard. Justin would run just to see if he would chase him, and of course he did. Then Justin would throw a tennis ball, and Killer would take off after it, bringing it back and dropping it at Justin’s feet. Justin would throw it again, and Killer would fetch. They were okay after that.