Indigo Blue Read Free

just the three of us: me, you, Misti. Wait for me after school, Indie. I’ll fetch you. Wait for me. Only don’t come back here, d’you understand?’
    ‘I understand.’
    For a long, long moment our eyes lock, and although I try not to notice I can’t help but see the blue-black bruises on Mum’s face. The bruises that weren’t there yesterday.

By the time I get to school I’m drenched, and I stand in the porch for ages before Billy arrives and opens up. He lets me in and I arrange my hat and fleece on the big cast-iron radiator, steaming.
    I sit cross-legged with my back against the radiator to dry out, my hair hanging in rat’s tails on my shoulders.
    Billy slips me a snack-sized Mars bar, shaking his head.
    I need a seriously brilliant daydream today, one that can blot out the memory of Mum’s face and Max’s tears, and the sick sense that something weird and scary is going on. I just can’t do it, though, so I hug my legs and press my face into my knees and blank it all out – the drumming of the rain outside, the swish of the door and the giggles and shouts as kids start arriving, the off-tune whistling from down the corridor where Billy is doing something complicated to the broken door latch on Class Six.
    ‘OK, Indie?’
    Jo scuffs a toe against my soggy trainers, grinning.
    I jump up and we link arms, and it’s OK again. All the home stuff fades out and I’m safe and sure and happy. Pretty much.
    We mooch off together to watch out for Shane Taggart, Jo’s latest crush. Just before nine, he skids into the playground on his skateboard and rolls to a halt in front of the doors, flicking his board upright and winking at us. Jo goes pink and pretends to be looking somewhere else completely. I stifle a yawn.
    Sadly, it’s all downhill from there. I get a row from Miss McDougall for forgetting my English book, then I bomb out with a measly 4/20 in the mental maths test after break. Worst of all, Miss McDougall homes right in while we’re getting changed for PE and asks me how I hurt my arm. I tell her some junk about banging it in the playground yesterday, but when I look down I can see that it looks like exactly what it is: a ring of dark bruises where somebody’s held on to me way too hard. Thanks a bunch, Max.
    So Miss McDougall gives me a long, funny look, then puts a hand on my shoulder and says, ‘Indigo, is everything OK at home?’ I go kind of pink and shake off her hand and say everything is fine. As if I’d tell her anything.
    Only now Jo is looking at me sort of weird too, which bugs me loads, because I need today to be normal and ordinary and totally pity-free.
    Sadly, it’s not happening.
    Jo asks if I want to come over to her place for tea, and of course I have to tell her that I can’t.
    ‘Why can’t you?’ she wants to know.
    I don’t go over to hers that often because she has a whole raft of things to do most days – violin lessons and gym and swimming club and stuff – only sometimes her mum loosens up a bit and I get an invite. I always go, because unlike Jo I ’ m never doing anything after school. Mum doesn’t mind as long as I ring and let her know, and as long as Jo’s mum drops me back before seven or so.
    ‘I just can’t,’ I mutter.
    ‘But why?’ Jo pushes. ‘Is something up?’
    ‘No. I’m busy after school, that’s all.’
    Miss McDougall tells us off for talking when we should be practising our handstands, and gives us twenty sit-ups apiece as punishment. Jo is not impressed.
    Coming back from the gym hall, I notice she’s sulking. She manages to keep it up till lunch, then, watching me push cold macaroni cheese around my plate, she finally cracks.
    ‘Why are you so secretive?’ she explodes. ‘You’re meant to be my best mate, only you never tell me anything. I only asked you over cos you looked so down today. I wanted to cheer you up.’
    ‘I’m OK,’ I say helplessly.
    ‘You are not. You’ve been biting your nails all morning. Your eyes are