INDIGO

PART SEVEN

The sleepover lasted three days, before I knew it'd be suspicious to have him stay any longer. He devoured all three dinners and enjoyed sleeping on the couch, even when my mom offered to let him stay in the guest room when she wasn't working. I personally denied him my room since it was honestly too messy for myself to sleep in, and I didn't take him home to put him in the same garbage alley conditions!

I ended up throwing out his old shorts and letting him take my clothes back; I wouldn't miss them knowing they were on him. On the ride downtown, I finally convinced him to get on the back of the bike, though he squeezed onto me for dear life the whole time.

Give or take a month of him coming over maybe twice a week for a sleepover, until it was finally time for me to start school again. In the past, we only ever spent evenings together if it wasn't the weekend, but since summer, we'd hung out all day, everyday. I was honestly scared for school to start, dreading the fact that it meant I probably wouldn't get sleepovers with him anymore. School had a way of taking over your free time, too.

When there was just a week left before my first day of the fifth grade, I decided I'd try and convince my mom to let him stay with us... forever. Well, I had planned to. But I couldn't do it. I didn't have any excuses, or the courage to lie even more, nor the courage to tell the truth and reveal I was lying before. School started, and I'd go see him on weekends whenever I could, trying my best to explain the concept of school to Indigo.

Another year would pass of teaching the boy how to be a human, and even some school subjects like math, which he surprisingly liked a lot and was pretty good at. He stayed over a few nights, mostly during the breaks. But with another year passing, came a year of maturing for me, and I was nearing the point of angsty preteen. Indigo and I had grown inseparable, we explored the city together and played video games whenever he came over, I told him how much I hated science and he'd try to help me, we'd compete in who could stay up the longest and I'd always lose... Sure, we fought a few times like any other boys our age, but we shared a bond you couldn't pass off as "any other friendship." About the time between elementary and middle school was when I realized this, and when I would finally convince myself it was now or never to follow through with my year-old plan.

"Can Indie come over tonight?" I stood at a kitchen counter, pouring cereal into a white, porcelain bowl. "Sure, but tell him we aren't making macaroni again!" my dad chuckled from the table, sipping his coffee and clacking away at his laptop. "I'm pretty sure his blood is cheese at this point," my mom added from beside him. "Actually, how'd you guys feel if he stayed over for, um, this whole week?" I spoke low, opening the refrigerator to grab the milk gallon, but also using the door to hide behind. "Easton... the summer just started and you're already trying to party, eh?" my mom joked, "Well, I guess I don't mind since he's really helpful around the house, but don't expect to be doing this all the time."

"Right. Thanks," I grimaced from behind the door. These were already bad signs for what I was going to propose that day. I poured the milk, and sat at the table by my mom to eat. I finished quickly since I still had to rush to my bus stop on my bike. As my school day went on, I progressively got more and more nervous. It was the kind of impending doom you feel before a test you didn't study for, or before riding a roller coaster that didn't have seatbelts, you knew it was gonna end badly.

I got off the bus and unchained my bike from a fence, getting on and riding off into the same direction I'd ridden what must have been hundreds of times by then. I got to the alleyway, and leaned my bike on the freshly painted wall, calling out for my friend. "Indigooo!!" I said loud enough for it to echo. I stood at the entrance, waiting for him to respond, but nothing came back. I stepped backwards, planning to go looking for him thinking he must have wandered off, when two pale hands grabbed my shoulders. "GAH-" I let out, flinching hard.

"Eheheh, gotcha~," he lulled, leaning his head over my shoulder. "You psycho! What if I hit you?!" My face was red in embarrassment, usually I was the one scaring him. "I'd hit you back!" He smiled big, before pushing away and going to grab my bike. "Here to pick me up?" he inquired, looking for me to say yes. I nodded, pulling my bike from him, "You're not riding it, I refuse to risk you breaking my bones again like the last time you tried." "Aw, come on, you didn't break a bone! Plus, it's the bike's fault, it's so oooold," he tugged at the back tire, whining. I slid on the seat and waited for him to get on the back. When he eventually stopped complaining, he did, and I took us back just as fast as I could by myself. I was getting good at biking.

We did our usual routine of sneakily coming inside and getting him to change into some of my old clothes, then going downstairs to eat. 'We didn't really have to this time though' I thought to myself. "Somebody's getting tall," my dad put a fist out to the boy. "Here's to hoping East won't catch up!" Indigo bumped it with his own. "Where'd you learn to say that?" I said, a bit of annoyance in my voice, though with a laugh. We got plates and served ourselves the pasta my mom made, gathering at the table, eager to eat. Indigo was always the first to finish, getting seconds and sometimes thirds, but today he just picked at his food. He was nervous too. I swallowed the bite of food I had taken, clearing my throat with an "ahem," before deciding it was time.

"Mom... and dad, there's- there's something I need to tell you," I glanced at Indigo, who just chewed nervously and stared down at his plate. His now shoulder-length hair covered the expression on his face. "What's that, honey?" my mom responded sweetly. "Indigo... isn''t Indie's real name," I started. That was about the level of confession I needed to prepare myself with first. "Oh, I thought so. Why's that coming up now?" I heard a bit of relief in her voice, like she was thinking 'that's it?'. "Because... he doesn't have a real name, mom," I crossed my arms on the table. Indigo stopped chewing. "What do you mean?" she turned to Indigo, who didn't move. "-And he doesn't speak any other languages," I felt my heart start to race.

"I found Indigo in an alley. He doesn't have parents, or a house, and- and he, um, never went to school, and-" my voice started shaking, before I was interrupted by my father, "The hell are you talking about, Easton? Are you kidding?" It sure didn't sound like he thought I was kidding. "No. I've..." I started to tremble, I was so scared. Suddenly, I heard shaky breathing come from across the table, where Indigo sat. He started crying, tears falling into his bowl and whimpers coming out involuntarily. His shoulders shook, and he tried to wipe his eyes, but they didn't stop flooding. My mom stood up abruptly, rushing to Indigo's side and wrapping her arms around him. She rubbed his shoulder, while he didn't look up and kept sniffling.

"I can't believe you, Easton," my mom said with such repressed anger, that I almost felt like I might start crying myself. What was I expecting? "I'm so sorry, I know I shouldn't have lied- and- and, I get it if you don't want him over anymore, but-" "What?! Easton! He is NOT going back to that alley. I'm not mad about your sleepovers, I'm pissed that you've been letting this little boy live on a goddamn street all this time!" her voice rose to a level of rage I'd never heard before, and yet my fear had vanished by what she said. "You mean... he can stay?"

"He's going to stay!" my mom shouted back, still holding the sobbing Indigo in an attempt to comfort him. "Th... thank you so much...," he said between cries, his voice so shaken, you could barely tell he was even talking. My dad sat with his hands together at his face, trying to process everything. "Have you been... teaching him to talk... and giving him your clothes?" my dad asked in a stern, but composed voice. "Yeah..." I uttered back, staring at Indigo and waiting for him to say something. My dad reached out to me, and held my arm. "We might be disappointed that you didn't tell us this sooner, but... I'm so proud of you for caring for him," his face was serious, but you could see an undertone of compassion on it.

Eventually Indigo would calm down, along with my mom, and we would sit at the table for hours talking about it all. It took a while to get him to speak up, but Indigo, with his newfound ability to communicate, told about everything he'd been through from nearly starving to death to being kicked around by people. He's a happy boy inherently, but it was hard for him to talk about his life. It probably brought him back to that pain, which nobody would like to relive. His homeless days were finally over, but that didn't mean there weren't any more problems we'd have to deal with come his latest residency.