A Different Blue(54)

me that he wasn't for another three years. There was no record of me, so with the help of the

courts, they got me a birth certificate, a social security number, and I am officially Blue

Echohawk, born on August 2, which is the day Jimmy found me and the day we marked my birthday.

Social services thought I was about ten, which was more or less what Jimmy and I thought. So

they estimated I was born in 1991. So there you go. Nutshell. I am nineteen . . . maybe even

twenty by now, who knows. A little old for a senior in high school, but hey! Maybe that's why

I'm so intelligent and mature,” I smirked.

[page]“Quite,” Wilson said softly. He seemed to be processing my improbable tale, turning it

over in his head, dissecting it. “My birthday is August 11, which makes me three years older

than you, almost to the day.” He glanced over at me. “I guess it is a little silly for me to

call you Miss Echohawk.”

“I don't mind all that much, Darcy,” I smiled innocently, sweetly even. He snorted at my jab.

The truth was, I didn't mind. When he said 'Miss Echohawk' in that snooty way of his, it made me

feel like I had been given an upgrade or a makeover. Miss Echohawk sounded like someone I would

like to become. Someone sophisticated and classy, someone I could aspire to. Someone very

different than me.

My phone vibrated against my hip, and I coaxed it out of my tight pocket. It was Mason. I

considered not answering it but thought about the miles Wilson and I still had to walk.

“Mason?”

“Blue. Baby . . . where are you?” Oh, man. He sounded so drunk. “I came looking for you. Are

you mad at me? We're at your truck but you're not here. You're not here, right?” He suddenly

seemed doubtful, as if I was going to spring out from somewhere.

“My battery is dead. I'm walking home, Mason, along Adams. Who's with you?” Hopefully someone

less plastered.

“She's with Adam,” I heard Mason say to someone, and the phone was dropped. Someone cursed and

the phone was jostled back and forth.

“Who's Adam, Blue? Is that why you left so early, you skank!” Colby's voice blared at me. He

laughed, a high-pitched cackle, and I held the phone away from my ear. I was pretty sure Wilson

could hear the conversation, Colby's voice was so loud.

“I'm on Adams . . . the street, Colby,” I said as clearly as I could.

The connection was lost. Awesome.

“Well. We may be rescued,” I said dourly. “But we may not. And it might be better if we're

not.”

“So I gathered.” Wilson shook his head. “This day has been one for the record books.”

It wasn't long before lights pinned us in their glare, and we turned to face the oncoming

vehicle. I tugged at Wilson's arm. I didn't want to him to be run over by the rescue squad.

It was Mason's truck, and he was driving. Colby hung out the passenger window like a big dog,

his tongue flapping and everything.

“Hey, Adam! Did you get a piece of ass too?” Colby chortled, and I felt disgust curl in my

belly. Disgust for myself, and disgust for the boy who thought he could talk about me like I was

trash.

“Are these your mates?” Wilson said stiffly, hoisting his cello further up on his back.

I nodded once, briefly, too humiliated to look at him.