Read Online The Fortunes of Indigo Skye by Deb Caletti - Free Book Online

as lab partners in junior high science, I doubt if
we'd have matched us up either. I'm not sure why we even stuck, except that we
each probably find the other to be entertaining and low maintenance the way
someone very different from you can be. When one person is fast food and the
other is a gourmet meal, there's no use trying to be something you're not. Might
as well relax and be who you are, and this is possible as long as each really
doesn't want what the other has. We didn't compete with each other, is what I'm
saying, I guess, and that makes friendship easy, clear of all those weird
psychodynamics that can
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    sometimes happen. Besides, I felt like it was a
personal mission of mine to broaden Melanie's world, though I think she felt the
same of me.
    I have to take off my sandals at the door.
There's a whole row of shoes by Melanie's door, all different styles, though
she's an only child. Her mom and I must wear about the same size (Melanie has
huge feet), because there are my-size leather slip-ons and a pair of white boots
that remind me of Trina, and a set of heels and jogging shoes. Mini-shoe store
minus the boxes and the creepy foot fetish sales guy. I put my sandals with the
others, so they can play too.
    We pass the kitchen (Jenn-Air appliances,
espresso machine, glassed-in closet wine "cellar"), head upstairs. The library
door is open, and Melanie's mom sits at the desk. All the spines of the books
look the same, so I guess the books aren't for reading. Melanie's mom is at the
computer, and she turns when she hears us.
    "Hi, Lisa," I say. I can see her cringe, as if
someone has just cranked her backbone tighter. Melanie's supposed to call
everyone Mrs. This and Mr. That. I'm usually a very polite person, and I work
with the public, but there's something about Melanie's parents that makes me
want to act out, which is also part of why Melanie keeps me around, I know.
Vicarious rebellion. Lisa Gregory is the modern equivalent of the fifties mom,
which means she drives a minivan and cares about window coverings and has enough
candles in her house to burn down the West Coast. The semi-hysterical order in
all this just makes me want to stir my little spoon of chaos.
    "Hello, Indigo," Lisa says. She turns back to
her computer, where she's buying stuff off of the Web. The Internet just
extends
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    store hours for some people. Twenty-four-hour
mall, minus the Orange Julius, which is the best part of a mall, if you ask me.
"We'll be in my room," Melanie says.
    "Have fun," Lisa says, but she says it like a
warning. Have fu-un, which actually translates to I'll be able to
smell any alcohol on your breath. Lisa was sure I drank and drugged because
I played around with my hair color and didn't dress in a conventional fashion,
and because my parents were divorced. Divorced is okay, of course, if
your parents have rejoined the respectable adult community and have remarried.
Single parents, though--they're sure to mean C averages and sex, booze, and
drugs in an empty Mom's-at-work house. Or, more accurately, "single parent"
means "poor," and "poor" means C averages and sex and drugs. "Poor" supposedly
means kids who are out of control because they're not babysat every minute by
Mom, who's working ten-hour days. Which is all pretty ridiculous, given that at
my school, it's the kids who drive their own Land Rovers and are babysat by
every entertainment device possible so Mom doesn't have to that are the biggest
partiers and sex addicts. Go figure.
    "Let's hit the liquor cabinet," I say, too
loud. Melanie socks me. In her room, Melanie hooks up her iPod, which is thinner
and smaller than a chocolate bar. I'm not really up on the latest toys, but
Melanie tip, tip, tips on her computer, and in a second, music starts
playing.
    "I'd know that guitar anywhere," I
say.
    "The CD isn't even out yet," Melanie says. It's
Hunter Eden. A new release. Melanie gets this stuff because her dad's