Indigo: The Saving Bailey Trilogy #2 by Nikki Roman Read Free Book Online Page B

one of Mom’s pillows. I pick it up and hold it at arm’s length, afraid to open it. “What if it’s bad?”
    “Why don’t you read it and find out?” Mom says over the roar of her hairdryer.
    I slip my finger underneath the edge, sealed with Clad’s spit, popping it open. A little plastic card lands in the folds of Mom’s comforter. I inconspicuously snatch it up and hide it under my thigh.
    I pull a piece of pink and white stationery, folded into a neat little rectangle, out of the envelope. Careful not to tear it, I unfold the letter, and then Clad’s words are staring back at me accented by a border of tiny, pink orchids. In silence, I read the letter to myself.
     
    Dear, Tinker Toy,
    This note could have been written anywhere, could’ve come from anywhere. A note in a bottle, a piece of paper on the sidewalk, a letter taped to the outside of a supermarket. The dainty flowered stationary I’m writing on can easily deceive. But, maybe that is how you think of me - anywhere.
    Anywhere but this smelly, harsh new world of cold beds and feces-smeared toilet seats. Maybe I’m the wrong one to expect you to sympathize with my pain; after all, it isn’t like I understood yours. Didn’t understand your need to bring your mother’s gun to our high school on a sunny, quiet day. Didn’t understand your need to put me in a compromising situation. I’m not blaming you for what I did, that was all me - but I miss you. I thought when I saved you that you would be grateful and love me. Love me over Spencer, and everyone you ever knew. This undying love spun out of pure gratitude for me - your hero.
    Do you remember when I used to pass notes to you in class; I wrote in colored pencil on a sheet of paper ripped out of my notebook, tapped your shoulder, and gave you my words. You used to roll your eyes and toss my notes like they were nothing. Like I was nothing. Like I was disposable.
    I am never going to walk Surf Side’s halls again. I am never going to sit in a desk behind you in Latcher’s class, trying to catch your attention with my stupid notes, written on my stupid paper with the holes ripped down the side, again. I am never going to lie with you on the Janitor’s cot, our noses touching, and your sweet breath against my face, again. I can never go back to that place or time. I took that away from myself. You took that away from yourself.
    Maybe you will read my letter, maybe the flowers and the pink will win your heart over. Or my words that are spilling out of my heart and staining the page with everything I have felt over these past six months. Maybe you will come to see me.
    On the back of the envelope is a list of dates and times that you can visit…it sure would be nice to see your face again. The prison address is on the front of the envelope.
    I have something I want to tell you. Maybe you will come just because of that, just because I have something special to tell you. Lord knows, I’m not reason enough to come. Or maybe this letter is disposable too; it’ll get tossed out like all the others.
    Sincerely,
    Lover Boy.
     
    The paper falls from my hand to the ground, where it folds up again. I suck in big gulps of air trying to calm myself.
    Mom has been getting ready for work, fixing her bangs and applying her many layers of makeup. She comes out of the bathroom and sits on the bed with me. I take a pillow from behind my head and smash my face into it, muting the screams.
    Mom folds up the letter and places it back in the envelope. “Are you crying?”
    I let go of the pillow and pull my face out of it. “No,” I say, “that’d be wrong. It’s all I’ve been doing for six months straight… crying for myself .” I hug my knees to my chest trying to push back the wormy feeling in my stomach.
    “You were scared to see him; he won’t hold it against you,” Mom says.
    I feel the bed rise as she leaves it; hear the door shut and her heels clomping down the sidewalk as she trots to her car.
    I