More Than Good Enough

by Crissa-Jean Chappell

  God knows I had enough of my own.

  Dark energy is this secret force in the universe. Basically, it’s everywhere, pushing stuff deeper into space. Sometimes when Dad was going off and I couldn’t sleep at night, I’d take a walk around the backyard and look up at the sky. I tried to imagine all those galaxies spinning farther away. The Everglades is so thick with stars, it feels like it couldn’t ever run out of light.

  I decided that maybe I should try harder. At least, I owed it to Pippa. She didn’t deserve to fail this stupid class because of me.

  When lunchtime finally rolled around, half the school was in line for the vending machines. Everybody took a long time, trying to decide which artificially flavored soda to waste money on. I couldn’t think about food. I had to talk to Pippa. That’s all I needed.

  A couple minutes later, I spotted her leaving the auditorium. She was trying to balance her camera bag, along with that doodle-crusted notebook she carried like it was part of her and she couldn’t let it go.

  I found a seed pod in the grass and tossed it in her direction. We used to throw them at each other on the playground. The hard, grenade-like shells made good ammunition.

  “What’s up, homeslice?” I said, adjusting the flaps on my trapper hat.

  Pippa flopped next to me on the lawn. “Haven’t seen you all day,” she said. “That’s crazy. I mean, the office is probably freaking out, right? You missed a lot of stuff in class. We learned how to take light readings.”

  “There’s more light out here.”

  She laughed. “Well, I guess we can call off the search party.”

  “Hey, I’m always down for a party.”

  I didn’t say anything about Churchill’s or the fact that she never called back. No use talking about it. We sat in the Hole, listening to the lawn mower rumble past the auditorium. My eyes were burning. I leaned back, like I was going to take a nap.

  “This is so random,” Pippa said. “Last night I was watching a YouTube documentary about vampire bats. They don’t suck blood, by the way. They lick it.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said.

  “I got really into it. Then I couldn’t fall asleep because I was so freaked out. I didn’t notice that somebody had left a message on my cell.”

  Pippa held up her phone. The caller on the screen was listed as TRENTOSCEO. Guess the last few letters got cut off. It reminded me of Mom’s anti-anxiety meds, those bottles with the really long names you can’t pronounce.

  Here’s the saddest part.

  I couldn’t remember what I’d said.

  What if it was really bad? After knocking back a couple beers, there’s no telling what could come out of my mouth.

  “At first, I thought it was people from school. You know. Crank calling me or whatever.” Pippa lowered her head.

  “Does that ever happen?” Sure, I’d made a few crank calls back in junior high. Usually I dialed up this Mexican place and asked for pizza. Yeah, that was totally original.

  “I get crank calls sometimes,” Pippa said.

  “For real? Why would anybody do that to you?”

  She kept scraping the polish on her thumb, chipping away the sparkly black paint. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I wasn’t crank calling your house. I swear.”

  “It’s no big deal. I really don’t feel like talking about it. To be honest, it hasn’t happened in a while.”

  I knew this meant one thing: It was happening. Why would anybody target Pippa? She didn’t go around creating drama (unlike half the girls in this school). She belonged in her own universe, far from their dark energy.

  “Last night I was at Churchill’s,” I told her. “Actually, the parking lot at Churchills. The cops shut it down and I had to leave. Sorry I didn’t call you again later. By the time I got back to the Rez, it was super late.”

  “What’s it like on the reservation?” she asked.

  “It’s not that different from anywhere else. My uncle’s been teaching me about Miccosukee stuff,” I said. “We’re supposed to go camping in the Everglades. No tents. Just a hammock and a chickee hut. You have to sleep high, in case the gators sneak up on you.”

  “Your family sounds amazing,” she said. “How come you never talked about them before?”

  “Do you actually care?” I yanked another handful of grass.

  “Sorry for asking,” she said.

  It felt like everything I said was wrong. I took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s rewind this conversation and start over.”

  “So you’re living with your dad now?” she asked.

  I nodded. “My mom basically dumped me.”

  “Sounds awkward.”

  “You have no idea.” I rubbed my forehead, as if scrolling through the pages in my mind.

  “What about your dad?”

  “My dad? He’s got issues. No joke. My mom was dumb enough to put up with it for years.”

  “You never told me.”

  “That’s because I hadn’t met you yet. One day, Mom told me to grab my shit, whatever I could throw in a duffel bag. All my Legos, my Gundam action figures. God, I even tried to shove the PlayStation in there. Then she’s like, ‘You can’t bring that goddamn thing with you.’ And I started crying and freaking out. Pretty embarrassing, I guess.”

  “That’s the last time you saw him?”

  “Yeah, we stayed with my grandma in Fort Myers for a couple months, but she and Mom kept fighting about stupid stuff. Then my dad got his ass thrown in jail. Mom finally woke up. I was still too little to understand what was really going on. All I knew was, that’s when we got our first real house … the one on our block.”

  Our block.

  “How come you never talked about this?” she asked.

  “Because it’s nobody’s business.”

  “Not even your best friend’s?”

  I winced. “Except you, homeslice. I know you won’t go around spreading my business, right?”

  “Right,” she said softly. And I felt like she meant it. For real.

  “So, I moved in with my dad on the Rez.”

  I was on a roll, venting with the speed of a machine gun. Guess it all came spilling out.

  “You know how people always say, ‘I wish I could go back in time’? Well, I want the opposite. I want a fast-forward button to the future.”

  When I finally stopped talking, the silence hovered around us, louder than anything I’d heard in a while.

  “Do you think that’s scientifically possible?“ she asked.

  “Of course. You just get in a spaceship and fly around a black hole for twenty years. When you get back, everybody you knew on planet Earth is old and you’re basically still young.”

  “Sounds kind of lonely,” she said.

  “What if I go with you?”

  Pippa smiled. “You sure? I mean, that’s a major sacrifice. You’d be giving up a lot.”

  If I stayed forever young with Pippa, I didn’t need anything in this world. Or any others.

  We could make our own.

  For the rest of the week, I skipped a lot of my classes but kept going to Filmmaking. Mr. Bones showed us a bunch of scenes from old movies. It would’ve been cool if he let us keep watching, but he turned off the DVD player and talked the whole time.

  The last movie wasn’t even in English, but it was my favorite. I’d never watched a film in another language. At first, it was kind of weird, trying to read the subtitles. Then I didn’t think about it anymore. It was better than 3-D. No magic glasses required.

  The movie had an emo title, Loves of a Blonde. There’s this girl who’s following a guy around. When she shows up at his house, he acts like she’s not even there. She was invisible, which was something I understood.

  I wanted to make a movie like that. I just didn’t know how
.

  After the screening, Mr. Bones snapped on the lights and told us to write a “response.” I scribbled out some existential B.S. about how the main character’s tool of a boyfriend was cooler in her imagination. It’s real life that lets us down.

  Mr. Bones collected our papers. “Okay, ladies and germs. I want to take a look at your dailies.”

  “Dailies” was film-speak for “raw, unedited footage.”

  I reached inside my bag and found my flash drive. There it was. My raw footage.

  Mr. Bones fired up the computer and cut the lights. “Who wants to go first?”

  Of course, Pippa raised her hand. She was either really brave or really insane. Nobody could’ve thought of all the crazy angles she’d filmed, like a wide shot of the school auditorium bathed in fluorescent light. Then a face popped into the frame. He was looking straight into the camera (a major no-no).

  It was me.

  “The framing is good,” Mr. Bones said. “But it looks stretched out.” He tried to adjust the computer screen, but it froze and we had to wait for him to restart it. “I’m completely failing here with this thing,” he said. “Okay. What’s with all those scratches? Is that dirt on the lens?”

  “I was filming him in the dark,” Pippa said.

  A few people giggled, as if she’d said something X-rated.

  “It’s not just about cutting his head off, okay?” Mr. Bones said, launching another round of giggles. “Feels crooked to me. Next time, level the tripod with a bubble, but also use your eyes.”

  “I always use my eyes,” Pippa said.

  “For a shot like this, you should lock the tripod,” Mr. Bones said. “Now who’s next?”

  I raised my hand.

  The computer whirred to life. Everyone shut up and turned around in their seats.

  At first, it looked like I had shot nothing.

  “Did you forget to take off the lens cap?” Mr. Bones asked.

  God, I hope not.

  After a few seconds of blackness, there was a burst of light. On the screen, a pair of blurry legs marched in extreme close-up.

  Dad.

  I could see him now, walking away from me. For some reason, the farther he moved, the clearer he became. I’d shot the footage the week before, just goofing off with the video camera while Dad posed like the Hulk in the kitchen. On the table behind him, a Miller bottle glinted in the setting sun.

  “Nice beer,” somebody whispered.

  Just kill me now. Please. I’d gladly accept a heart attack, blood clot, snake bite, appendicitis.

  All at the same time.

  After class, Pippa waited in the auditorium. When she spotted me, she bowed like a Harajuku schoolgirl.

  “Greetings, oh master of the cinematic tracking shot.” She smoothed her skirt. Underneath it were her legs, balanced on clunky heels. Or “wedges.” Whatever they’re called. Who cares? I’m into them.

  Girls should wear skirts more often.

  Pippa fiddled with a loose staple on her sleeve. “I really liked your dailies.”

  My face burned. “Yeah? Well, the guy in your footage deserves an Academy Award.”

  “Maybe I should’ve paid him.” She smiled so wide, I couldn’t help smiling too.

  “That’s illegal, you know,” I said. “Filming someone without their permission.”

  We reached the lockers. Pippa’s was on the bottom, almost level with the concrete floor. She spun the lock until it popped open. The door was plastered with stickers so faded they curled at the edges, along with doodles of Jack Skellington, his hollow eyes and zipper grin.

  “So I’m going to jail now?” She dug around in the avalanche of wadded-up papers.

  I busted out a laugh. Where did she come up with this stuff? This girl was so smart. And just a little off. In other words, exactly my style.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t blow your cover,” I told her.

  “Pinkie swear?”

  We linked digits, just like the old days.

  “Good.” She unfolded a crinkled doodle, then rescrunched it. “Because I’m broke and I can’t bail myself out.”

  “Me neither. I’ve been working for my fam on the Rez, but I keep blowing all my tips on Meat Lover’s pizza. If I don’t feed myself, it won’t happen.”

  She punched the locker shut. Behind us, a bunch of sophomore chicks were talking in Spanish. The only word I understood was loco.

  “Was that your dad?” Pippa asked. “I mean, the footage we saw in class.”

  I winced. “He’s kind of unavoidable.”

  “I’d like to meet him.”

  “That’s what you think.” All I needed was for Pippa to swing by the house. Dad would probably talk smack about me. Or worse: creep her out with his amazing mack daddy skills.

  “Actually, we have no choice. You’re my partner. We’re supposed to be filming each other’s ‘family life,’ remember? Unless you want to fail this class.”

  “I can’t afford to fail. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “I should interview your dad,” Pippa said. “Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

  No, actually it wouldn’t. “Aren’t we supposed to avoid ‘talking head’ interviews?” I asked.

  “This could be a voiceover. Bet he’s got a lot of stories.”

  “True,” I said. “But here’s the deal. Nobody wants to hear it.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because we live on a reservation in the middle of the Everglades. On weekends, my dad plays Early Bird bingo in the Game Lodge. How’s that for your documentary? A real life Miccosukee tribesman. Or maybe you prefer something more exciting, like alligator wrestling?”

  “Sounds good,” she said. “But I might need to borrow a zoom lens.”

  The bell clanged and everybody bolted for the stairs. I stood back and watched them stumble over each other. What had I gotten myself into? I couldn’t let Pippa see how pathetic my life had become. It was just too humiliating.

  “Where are you headed now?” God, I sounded like a stalker.

  “Computer Basics,” she said. “Actually, it’s not too basic. This kid, Sean, was supposed to teach me the magic of ‘cascading style sheets’ so I don’t screw up this quiz. I emailed him a million times but he never wrote back.”

  The computer lab was on the other side of auditorium: a long, concrete slab facing the football field. We walked across the grass together. It was nice to get away from the endless rows of doors, all those numbers making you feel small.

  We turned a corner and there was the building, rising up against the scalped-looking bushes. I had to do something. Fast.

  “Let’s just stay here,” I said.

  The Hole was looking worse than usual. I scooted around a shopping cart tipped upside down in the grass. Studied the plastic seat, with its X’d out pictures of smiling stick people: HAZARDS CAN RESULT FROM IMPROPER BEHAVIOR.

  I tugged Pippa behind the cart. “Now we’re invisible.”

  Playing pirates.

  The classrooms went blurry. I rubbed my face on my sleeve and peered through the cart’s metal slats, trying to get a good look at who-knows-what.

  We crouched there, not moving.

  I bent a little closer, as if by gravitational pull, and kissed her, gently, on the lips.

  Then something even more amazing happened.

  Pippa kissed me back.

  It happened so fast, I might’ve hallucinated the whole thing.

  “Wait,” I said as she scrambled away from me. Away from everything. I called her name, but she was already headed to class, her hands stuffed deep in her pockets.

  six

  When I got home from school, I couldn’t stop thinking about Pippa’s kiss. At first, I thought she was into it. Now I wasn’t so sure. And if she really did feel t
hat way, could it destroy the thing we’d found again?

  Here’s a bigger question:

  Could we take that chance?

  My ex was the second girl I’d ever kissed.

  Pippa was the first.

  Afterwards, we never talked about it. We were in fifth grade. It didn’t mean anything. That’s what I kept telling myself.

  The kiss today replayed in my mind. Why did she pull away? We were at school, which made it kind of awkward. But nobody was around. No kissing police or pervy teachers with nothing better to do than hand out detentions. Guess she just wasn’t prepared for it. Or maybe that was a lie I wanted to believe in. As long as I didn’t think too hard, I could almost forget it.

  On Saturday morning, I padded barefoot into the kitchen. When I squinted through the window, Uncle Seth was in the backyard, talking to a Miccosukee woman in a straw hat. He used to be married, but his wife died in a car accident a long time ago. Sometimes I wondered if he had a girlfriend. Not that I was the world’s expert on that subject.

  “You’re up early,” Dad said, drifting behind me.

  “I’m working on a project,” I told him. Code-speak for none of your business.

  “What sort of project?”

  “A film thing.”

  Dad nodded. “Another one of your Hollywood productions?”

  “It’s for school. Remember, they let me borrow that camera?”

  “When is this ‘film thing’ due?” He filled the blender with a scoop of his weight-lifting mix—gritty packets of Muscle Juice that probably caused cancer in lab rats.

  “Soon.”

  That’s all he needed to know.

  When I looked through the window again, Uncle Seth was gone. He’d probably snuck off with his boys to shoot hoops in the gym. Around here, basketball was kind of an obsession. I’d never seen anybody get so worked up over that game as the Rezzy kids. I swear, even the little babies were swagged out in Miami Heat gear before they could walk.

  “Did Uncle Seth take the Ninja?” I asked.