Read Indigo Blue for Free Online Page A

Jo demands.
    ‘With great difficulty,’ I grin, tearing open the packet and feeding her a large sliver of cheese and onion.
    ‘Pig,’ she says. ‘I missed you.’
    ‘Missed you too.’
    It’s not warm exactly, but we grin and stretch ourselves out in the watery April sunshine. School’s not so bad, if you don’t count the lessons bit.
    ‘Will we do our toenails too?’
    ‘OK. Silver with crisp-crumb sprinkles?’ Jo suggests.
    We take off our shoes and socks.
    ‘Is it really the flat from hell?’ she asks, and I tell her all about 33 Hartington Drive with its hot and cold running damp, the brown lino with blue Misti-footprints all over it, the grim landlady who looks like she’s about a hundred and three.
    I tell her how we cleaned the whole place from top to bottom, then decorated till every surface was bright and fresh and clean. I tell her about the bookshelf with the multi-coloured stripes, the polka-dotted drawers.
    ‘Sounds cool,’ Jo says. ‘Can I come over? See your new room? I’ll bring my CDs…’
    ‘Probably. I’ll ask my mum.’
    We paint our toenails silver with big purple spots, and when the bell goes we have to limp across the playground barefoot because the varnish is still wet. Miss McDougall marches down the line, sniffs loudly when she sees our feet and confiscates the nail varnish till home time. Then she makes us put our socks and shoes back on, so we both get smudgy toes.
    Later, we’re eating lunch and giggling, when I see Aisha hovering at a distance, looking at us wistfully. You can tell she’d love to come and giggle too, but she’s not sure. Not sure if she’s welcome.
    I flash her a fake, cheesy smile, a told-you-so grin, and she starts smiling back before she twigs I’m not being friendly. Her face falls, and she takes her tray over to a table where Miss McDougall is sitting with a couple of Year Five girls.
    I feel kind of mean, but then Aisha’s not really a friend or anything. She thinks that hanging around grinning a lot and trying to tag along can change that – bet she thought her luck had changed when I was off school. All she had to do was move seats and she had a ready-made mate.
    It’s not like Jo is missing her, though. Not like she missed me.
    Tough luck, Aisha.

At home time, Jo sprints off the minute the bell goes – she’s got swimming class right after school. I dawdle through to the corridor, shrug on my fleece and then mooch back to the classroom for my bag.
    ‘Got no home to go to, Indigo?’ Miss McDougall asks brightly.
    ‘Yes, Miss. Sorry, Miss.’
    ‘Your cold’s all better now, then?’ she presses.
    I nod, sniffing loudly for good measure.
    ‘Well, anyway, I’m sorry I got the wrong idea about your gran being ill. That’ll teach me to listen to Kevin Parker. And by the way, your mum called the office this morning about the change of address. I hope it’ll be a happy home for you, Indigo. I hope things will be better now.’
    I blush to the very roots of my hair. What does she mean? What does she know?
    ‘If there’s ever anything you want to talk about, Indigo…’
    ‘Yes, Miss. No, Miss. I mean, there isn’t. I have to go…’
    Miss McDougall means well, but I think I prefer her when she’s all tweedy and strict, dishing out lines and homework and confiscating nail varnish.
    I slouch across the playground, and though I should be chirpy because Mum promised sausages for tea, I’m not. I hate this walk home. I hate the estate. I hate 33 Hartington Drive. I hate…
    Max .
    It’s Max, over the road from the school, leaning against his van, smoking lazily. My heart thumps and I try to look away, walking faster.
    ‘Hey, Indie!’
    I look round, lost, and he’s walking over, the ciggy chucked to the gutter, his face all smiles, his blue eyes sparkling like there’s nothing wrong in the whole wide world.
    ‘Indie, how’s it going? Good to see you! I had a job just over the road, thought I’d just hang on and say