Indigo and Ida

By Heather Murphy Capps

When eighth grader and aspiring journalist Indigo breaks an important story, exposing an unfair school policy, she's suddenly popular for the first time.

The friends who've recently drifted away from her want to hang out again. Then Indigo notices that the school's disciplinary policies seem to be enforced especially harshly with students of color, like her. She wants to keep investigating, but her friends insist she's imagining things.

Meanwhile, Indigo stumbles upon a book by Black journalist and activist Ida B. Wells—with private letters written by Ida tucked inside. As she reads about Ida's lifelong battle against racism, Indigo realizes she must choose between keeping quiet and fighting for justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lerner Publishing
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781728479422

Heather Murphy Capps

Heather Murphy Capps grew up in a small Minnesota town where the motto is "Cows, Colleges, and Contentment." She spent fifteen years as a television news journalist before deciding to focus on her favorite kind of writing: books for kids involving history, social justice, science, mystery, and a touch of magic. A mixed-race author committed to diversity in publishing, she lives in Northern Virginia with her husband, two kids, two cats, and yes, even some cows, colleges, and contentment.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Graffiti

For her first-ever act of vandalism, Indigo chose a deep blue paint, studded with glitter, like stars flung across the galaxy—the color of breaking rules and uncovering the truth. For sure, two offenses in one week would land her on a list labeled Troublemaker. She smiled as she assessed the blank stretch of concrete in front of her.

Indigo had decided to work on the cafeteria side of the building: treeless, shade-less brown grass stretching to the far end of the Loon Lake Middle School grounds. She glanced at her phone, yet another act of disobedience. Five minutes left before every eighth grader at lunch—including Abbie, Manning, and the Tictacs—would come in to eat and see her through the huge window. Her stomach snarled, a reminder that she’d skipped breakfast.

Ignoring the sun scalding the back of her neck, she paced the bright sidewalk, shaking the paint can, the mixing ball rattling inside the metal canister. The first time she’d tried to get busted, by using her cell phone during school hours, her mother had managed to smooth things over. Since desperate times called for desperate measures, here she was, doing something exactly no one would’ve ever predicted.

Dragging in a deep breath, she pressed the plastic nozzle, and a thin stream of indigo-blue paint leapt out onto the sidewalk, hissing and spitting, its fumes immediately making her cough.

Tra-la-la

The nozzle bucked under her finger, and the letters came out fatter and loopier than she’d intended. She looked toward the cafeteria exit, heart pounding, every cell in her body braced.

Except nothing happened.

This wasn’t going to work if she didn’t get caught.

Indigo slid a scrunchie off her wrist, harnessing the wild curls blotting her view. That massive haircut she’d insisted on last month definitely made her look different, but now it was hard to keep the corkscrews out of her eyes. She started again.

Tra-la-la

Rum-tum-tiddle-

She paused again. The afternoon hovered: motionless, hot, silent. Usually by now in Minnesota, the days were warm but no longer steaming. This was not normal. But then again, nothing had been normal this year so far.

Indigo brushed an arm across her sweaty forehead and looked into the cafeteria window, just in time to catch Abbie bouncing through the doors behind the Tictacs: Trinity, Camila, and Lily.

All four wore black leggings, long sweatshirts, and lip gloss. They laughed with each other as they entered, and as usual, the other popular kids gravitated their way, forming a protective circle around them.

If Indigo were in there right now, she’d be eating alone at the back corner table in the cafeteria, gulping down her sandwich so she could escape to the library. But today was the first day of October: a new month, a new start. Maybe after today, she’d be at the same table as Abbie and Manning—no longer invisible. They would be Epos Forever again.

The cafeteria doors burst open.

What is this? Assistant Principal Mackenzie’s normally smooth voice skittered into a register Indigo had never heard before.

Finally.

Indigo snatched another glance toward the cafeteria window and smothered a smile. They were watching. All of them. Abbie, Trinity, Camila, and Lily—mouths open, lunch trays poised above the table. Indigo shook the can again and pressed the nozzle.

-um-tum.

Give me that! Mrs. Mackenzie huffed, lunging at Indigo. What are you doing?

Indigo backed up and lifted her chin, shaking the can one more time. Expressing myself.

Minutes later, she was in the main office, arms wrapped around her waist, knee jiggling. Mom wouldn’t be able to come in—she was in the middle of her shift in the emergency room. Dad had worked late last night; he’d be frustrated because he was supposed to be sleeping.

Dad strode into the main office, mouth pressed in a thin line, offering curt greetings to the principal’s assistant, Mrs. Dahlquist. As he signed in, flicking a hard-to-read glance at Indigo, Mr. Belkin appeared. His scuffed black loafers creaked as he lurched toward them.

Mrs. Dahlquist, I’m looking for Indigo Fitzgerald’s parents? Mr. Belkin nodded at Dad, then looked over Dad’s shoulder.

I’m Indigo’s father. Nice to meet you, Mr. Belkin. The pulse on the side of her father’s neck beat faster.

Oh! Ah, I mean . . . Belkin cleared his throat. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Fitzgerald. I guess because Indigo is usually so well behaved, and the other time with the, ah, cell phone incident, it was Mrs. Fitzgerald, of course, so we haven’t ever had the pleasure, I mean, probably since Back to School Night, although I meet so many people in that one night, it can be hard to remember.

Dr. Fitzgerald, said Dad, his deep voice punching the d. Both Indigo’s mother and I are Doctor Fitzgerald. The oak-brown color of his face made it difficult to see whether emotion heated his cheeks, but he clipped each of his words tightly. Mr. Belkin was not making a good impression.

Oh! Two parents as doctors, aren’t you the lucky one, Indigo?

Dad inclined his head. I do need to be at work in a few hours.

They followed Mr. Belkin down the hall to the privacy of the back office.

Once they were seated at the round table, which was supposed to make them all seem like equals, Mr. Belkin shifted in his seat, coughing behind a faded red handkerchief before finally filling Dad in. . . . And in addition to the fact that property defacement is a serious offense, I’m concerned because Indigo’s actions today are entirely out of character.

Dad sat listening with his hands folded in his lap. They were the smooth hands of a man who wore medical gloves most hours of the day. They were also deep brown, which meant that when he wasn’t in scrubs—although he was triple-board-certified in emergency medicine, pediatrics, and immunology and was a senior attending physician at the Jamesville hospital—sometimes strangers thought he was a janitor. And why is it you believe Indigo was the one with the paint can? he asked.

Mr. Belkin’s eyebrows hitched way up, but the rest of his fish-belly-white face didn’t move. Because Mrs. Mackenzie caught her doing it.

Dad turned a neutral face toward her. What were you writing?

Winnie the Pooh. The hum he sang when he walked through the forest.

Dad’s lips twitched. Why Winnie the Pooh?

Indigo shrugged. He’s funny.

Originally, she’d planned to quote a song she’d always loved about a sixteenth-century astronomer named Galileo who got thrown in jail for telling the truth about how the planets revolved around the sun instead of the other way around. But Pooh’s silly quote was less complicated to write with spray paint.

Mr. Belkin folded his arms. Until recently, Indigo has been a great role model for the other students here at Loon Lake—her, ah, reporting notwithstanding.

Are you saying there was something wrong with my story on school uniforms? She lifted her chin. That video had gotten tons of likes and new subscribers for her page. Abbie and Manning had stopped avoiding her in the hallways, but they had yet to invite her to eat with them and the Tictacs and the jocks.

Mr. Belkin’s face reddened. I’m saying you’ve been an exemplary student your whole life—I’ve seen your elementary school transcripts. There’s no need to tarnish a spotless record. I can help you get back on track.

Indigo widened her eyes like she saw her father do when someone was being less than straightforward. You mean if I stop reporting stories you don’t like, you’ll keep me out of detention?

Indigo. Dad shot her a warning look.

You’re the one who says disruption is the key to change, Dad.

Her father cleared his throat. I most certainly didn’t tell you to vandalize school property.

Indigo swallowed. She’d probably lose some of her screen time for talking back to the principal, but this was worth it. She turned back to Mr. Belkin. I have a constitutional right to express myself, even if it makes you uncomfortable.

Mr. Belkin stood abruptly. "And I have a right to enforce rules that protect school property. Indigo, report to detention after school today. Doctor Fitzgerald, you may pick her up at 4:40 p.m."

Score.

Chapter 2

Detention

Indigo walked to detention with her head held high, eyes focused straight ahead, ignoring the shouting herds of bus riders pushing and shoving toward the door and the clumps of stragglers chatting at lockers as they stuffed their backpacks.

"Indigo? Seriously, you?" The breathless, giggled question came from Trinity, leader of the Tictacs.

Indigo threw a quick thumbs-up.

Behind Trinity, Camila and Lily shout-whispered and held up their glitter-pink phones, snapping photos that were headed straight for social media. Excellent.

Abbie laughed. Rock on!

Anyone who didn’t know Abbie would believe she couldn’t care less. But Indigo, Abbie, and Manning used to be able to have a whole conversation with just eyes and hands. The tic above Abbie’s left eye and her pale knuckles clenched tightly around her backpack straps were the opposite of rock on.

Indigo bit the inside of her lip so it wouldn’t tremble. Just when she thought Abbie had totally forgotten her, there was this. Signs of the girl who cried as hard as she did when Indigo’s cat, Fuzzy Lu Who, died last year.

But when Indigo smiled—a searching, halting hello—Abbie only nodded and turned away, eyes on the ground. It had been like that since the fourth day of school when Indigo accidentally tucked her shirt into her underpants after she went to the bathroom. Trinity had pointed it out with a sneering, Oh. My. God, Indigo. Check yourself. Probably still wearing princess panties from the toddler section too, am I right, Abbie?

Indigo had smirked at Abbie, ready to bust out laughing. Last year, that’s the way it would have gone: they would have laughed off the silly accident and Trinity’s snide remark. This year, Abbie had blushed, muttered something unintelligible, and averted her eyes.

Indigo turned to walk into the detention classroom, pretending as always that Abbie’s coldness wasn’t peeling away yet another layer of tender skin from the inside of her heart.

At the classroom doorway, Mr. Pulmonelli (everyone called him Salmonella) ushered everyone along. During the day, Salmonella taught health, so his room was plastered with illustrated posters about the importance of using the portion plate nutrition method, the benefits of exercise, and the dangers of vaping. Also this month, right next to the feel-good messages about positive body image, there were neon green flyers advertising the upcoming student elections.

A row of desk-level pop-out windows opened to the weird October heat wave, scooping the scent of bus fumes and body odor into their afternoon prison. Shouts and laughter from the non-offenders filtered into the quiet, stale space where no one was smiling or talking. They were six in all, four boys and two girls.

Nia, Evan, Will, and Arjun were always here. Indigo had seen them doing the walk of shame regularly since school had started at the end of August, along with Weldon Montgomery. Weldon was a mystery. As far as she could tell—and she had English with him—he wasn’t a rule breaker. But he’d been sent to Salmonella prison every other day for two weeks in a row, including today.

Weldon was new to Jamesville this year. He’d told them on the first day of school that his family had moved from Miami. Indigo felt sorry for him. He’d gone from a cool big city to their little town, from a lifetime of wearing shorts year-round to heavy coats six months a year. Maybe his getting detention a lot made sense after all.

Let’s get started! Salmonella clapped his pale, hairy hands.

Indigo jumped and turned his way, but when no one else acknowledged him, she dropped her eyes.

You know the drill. No talking. No eating. Grab a book from the shelf here. Read for the first forty-five minutes. Write for the last twenty-five. He motioned to the blue metal rolling cart by his desk and sat down, focusing on his laptop.

The last thing in the world Indigo wanted to do was raise her hand and ask a question because—ugh. Instead, she reached up for her necklace, the one that spelled out I-N-D-I-G-O, playing with the silver letters, trying to keep her hands busy. But her mouth charged ahead even as her mind was saying Just keep quiet. Um, Mr. S-Pulmonelli?

Yes, Indigo? If looks could freeze, she’d be a popsicle right now.

What are we supposed to write?

Salmonella scratched his chin. I guess that’s a fair question. You’ve never had the pleasure of sitting in my after-school sessions.

Seriously? He was calling them sessions? Indigo chewed the inside of her cheek.

Your assignment is to research an influencer and then write a one-page essay about that person.

Wait, what? We’re getting graded for detention? She had hoped to be able to focus on gathering notes for her investigation. Now she had actual work to do?

No, there’s no grade, and it doesn’t affect your GPA. You know what influencers are, right?

It took everything she had not to snort out loud. Given that he wore an ancient brown cardigan and worn-out brown corduroys nearly every day, it was clear Salmonella wasn’t paying attention to any of the current fashion influencers. Like the social media posters who write about trendy clothes and makeup?

Salmonella’s eyebrows lifted. Mmm-hmm. Well, I wouldn’t call their content actual writing. But yes, their job is to make you think you have to buy the things they talk about. However, I’m hoping to get you to think about influencers whose promotions have a little more gravitas.

Indigo stared. She’d never heard the word gravitas, but she liked it.

Essays are due a week from today, Salmonella added.

What if I never have detention again after today?

I hope you won’t. Even so, I still expect you to turn in a finished essay.

Indigo knew better than to say what she was thinking: Unbelievable. This was about as bad as the old-time days when kids who got in trouble had to copy down the same sentence a hundred times, stuff like I will not talk back to the teacher. Leave it to Salmonella to be as unimaginative as his brown cardigan when it came to punishments.

Trailing behind the others as they lined up to pick their books, she ended up standing behind Weldon. He glanced back at her, flashing a quick smile that lit up his dark eyes. It caught Indigo off guard, since they didn’t really know each other. She smiled back but didn’t dare say anything to him.

Salmonella ignored the students as they chose books, which gave her a minute to tap the record button on her phone and then hide it again so only the top end poked out from the front pocket of her hoodie. Maybe the angle wouldn’t be perfect, but she’d still be able to record some video and audio, and that was all that mattered.

Ahead of her, Weldon took the book she’d been eyeing—something about the poet Nikki Grimes. She sighed. Salmonella’s selection was terrible. With the exception of the books about Grimes, Serena Williams, and President Barack Obama, everything was dry textbooks on nineteenth-century American presidents. Basically, dead white men.

Ms. Fitzgerald, do you plan to sit down this afternoon? Salmonella peered over the rims of his tortoiseshell glasses.

Her cheeks scorched with that on-the-spot, everyone’s-looking heat. I had planned to. Yes.

He scratched his nose and returned to his laptop screen. Then choose a book already and have a seat.

Indigo pressed her lips together to stop the tremble. Usually, someone else was getting harshed on by a teacher, not her. Never her. She clawed back the instinct to apologize, reminding herself to stay edgy.

Then she saw it. A hardback book sitting right in front of Salmonella’s laptop, not on the blue cart. It was bound in deep red, without plastic protectors like books that came from the school library, and the pages had gilded, deckled edges. It seemed like it belonged in an author’s study, where bookshelves lined

Reviews for Indigo and Ida

[oldandnewbooksmell · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Trigger Warnings: Racism, bullying, white privilege, transphobia, references to lynching

After eighth grader Indigo intentionally gets herself detention trying to expose an unfair school policy, she gets an assignment that causes her to stumble across a book by journalist and activist Ida B. Wells - with private letters by Ida tucked inside. While reading the letter, Indigo gets inspired to investigate more into her school’s policies - and she notices that the school’s disciplinary policies seem to be enforced harsher on students of color.

When Indigo reports on this issue, her friends tell her she’s overreacting and her classmates tell her she’s too aggressive, loud, and annoying.

By continuing to read Ida’s letters, Indigo realizes she’ll have to choose between keeping quiet and taking the easy way out or possibly standing alone to fight for justice.

An inspiring middle grade novel about a young journalist being inspired by Ida B. Wells as she finds her voice to stand against the injustice taking place at her school. So much happens in this book that I sometimes found it hard to believe it all took place in one week! But this covers a few heavy topics and the author does so in a way that makes it easier for middle grade readers to understand - segregation, lynching, racism, protests, white privilege, transphobia (just to name a few).

I believe young readers will enjoy this book as it addresses many issues they see today and is written in a way they can understand and relate to. Indigo is also an amazing example of a young person standing up for what they know is wrong - even if they’re standing alone.

*Thank you Carolrhoda Books and LibraryThing for an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review