More Than Good Enough (10 page)

“I know what you mean,” she said. “My mom is always going on about my GPA, like, if I just work hard enough, I’ll be set for life. But there’s so many amazing things I want to do. Like, I have this master plan. I’m going to direct music videos, right? And make horror movies and stuff. But let’s be real. Most of that will probably never happen.”

When I heard Pippa say that, I felt really bad. “Don’t let that noise get into your head. You just have to go for it.”

“Really?” she said.

“I believe in you,” I said. And that was the truth.

Pippa covered her face with her hands. “Now you’re making me feel all awkward,” she said, peeking between her fingers.

Could this girl be any cuter?

“Okay, Mr. Rock Star,” she said. “We need to get back to work.”

“Didn’t we shoot enough today?” I asked.

“We haven’t interviewed your dad yet.”

“Trust me. He’s not worth interviewing.” On the kitchen counter, Dad had left a boom box. I scanned past a bunch of Spanish stations and settled on Power 96. “‘Big Pimpin’.’ Yeah, that’s how I roll. This song describes my life.”

“Seriously. I don’t think this is a difficult a concept to grasp.”

“My pimp hand? I keep it strong, player.”

“Let’s wait until your dad gets back. You can hold the camera while I ask questions. I’ll edit it with the footage from the gator show. Like a montage or something.”

“Mr. Bones said no ‘talking head’ stuff.”

“It won’t be talking head. I could do a voiceover.”

“Methinks thou art cheating, fair maiden,” I said in a fake British accent. I opened the fridge, took out a can of Reddi-wip, and sprayed it into my mouth. “Nice. This thing’s down to fumes.”

“Is it weird living with your dad?” Pippa asked. “I mean, does it feel weird because you didn’t grow up on the reservation?”

“What is this? You’re interviewing me now?”

“Off the record,” she said.

“Yeah, it feels weird. I don’t even know my dad really well. Mom always talked shit about him. I guess in my mind, I had this idea he’d be different. That living here would be different. Actually, the Rez is pretty chill. Nobody acts like I’m a freak because I’m not in the tribe.”

“And you want to be in it?” she asked quietly.

“Let me check on those zombie batteries. See if they’ve risen from the dead,” I muttered, ducking out of the kitchen. Why was it so hard to answer her questions? I didn’t have answers. At least, none that Pippa needed to hear.

The tribe had its own rules. That’s the way it had to be.

My mom told me that Dad couldn’t wait to leave the Rez. As soon as he got out of school, he moved into his own place with some bandmates. He probably thought he was going to be famous. Guess he never planned on me showing up. He didn’t plan on a lot of things.

The camera batteries were plugged into the wall behind the dining room table. I had to squeeze behind it to pull them out and that’s when I saw the gun—smaller and more compact than my air rifle. I picked up the .357 Mag and felt its weight in my hands.

Dad liked to go to Trail Glades on the weekend and fire off rounds at paper targets. He was always telling me that we’d go shooting together. Of course, that never happened. Now the gun was sitting next to a stack of bills. The safety was locked. I found the carrying case—a soft, padded bag that looked like a fanny pack—unzipped on a chair.

I figured Dad had gone shooting earlier and left it on the table. Pretty typical. I fit the Mag back in its case. Now what? I felt kind of weird about it being out in the open. Meanwhile, Pippa was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear her. Without thinking, I shoved the gun in my backpack and zipped it.

“What’s going on with the batteries?” she asked.

“All charged up.” I grabbed a set of keys off the table. Then I had a brilliant idea. “Ever been on a motorcycle?”

“Lots of times,” she said. “Okay. I lied.”

“My dad’s got this Kawasaki. The engine runs kind of chunky. I think it needs the plugs changed, but he’s too lazy to deal with it.”

“Is that your half-assed version of an invite?”

“You might say that.” I spun the keys. “Besides. You could shoot a ton of amazing road footage.”

“Oh, I get it. You mean, like, those old movies where people are driving, right? And the road is, like, projected behind their heads?”

“Pretty much,” I said, throwing on my jacket.

She jabbed her thumb at my Scout badge:
ON MY HONOR. TIMELESS VALUES.
“Is that supposed to be ironic?”

“There should be a zombie survival badge,” I said.

“Oh my god. That would be awesome. ‘Hey, I’ve been working on this zombie movie with my friend Trent. We do all our own stunts and everything—’”

“A zombie wouldn’t have a chance around a crocodile,” I cut in. “Crocs have a thing for dead meat, you know? Nice and soft. If it’s too tough to eat now, they’ll store it for later. See, they’re different from gators. They’re kind of like the vultures of the swamp.”

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” Pippa said.

“Did you know that vultures defend themselves by projectile vomiting? Can you imagine sneaking up on one and he’s all freaked out and just lets loose on you, like, take that!”

Pippa followed me into the garage. It was so packed with junk, you almost missed the lime-green motorcycle tipped against the wall.

“The kickstand’s busted,” I said. “It’s a sweet bike, though. My dad treats it like garbage.”

“And he doesn’t care if you steal it?”

“Steal? It’s called borrowing.” I lifted the seat and took out a helmet, which was like something an astronaut would wear. “It’s all good. Mucho good, in fact,” I said, passing it to her. “This will keep your zombie brains from splattering all over the concrete.”

“Thanks.” Pippa slid the helmet on. It was way too big for her, but she looked totally badass. Not to mention, super cute.

I grinned. “You ready?”

eight

The pavement flew beneath us. We were going faster than the cars, zipping in and out of lanes. It was just me and Pippa and the bike. All the pines on the side of the road smushed together like backgrounds in cartoons.

As we picked up speed, my T-shirt flapped against my skin. I was freaking out. Not gonna lie. When I gunned the engine, my pulse jumped. No going back now. Pippa wrapped her arms around the space above my jeans and squeezed.

We were totally in the open. No protection if we wiped out. The bike rumbled under me like it might burst into flames. That would be cool, but not exactly convenient.

We rode to Everglades National Park and rolled straight through the entrance. Just waved as we passed the ranger station. The guy inside waved back. I kept cruising down this wide, curvy path. There was nobody around except for a lonely backpacker marching into the swamp.

“This is the perfect place for my zombie movie,” Pippa screamed into the wind.

“The army used to hide missiles out here,” I told her.

She wasn’t really listening. That’s when I pulled off the road.

Pippa squeezed tighter. “We’re stopping?”

I glanced at the sky. Vultures circled like punctuation marks. I remembered what I’d told Pippa. They defended themselves by vomiting. Nature was so weird.

“Don’t you want to check it out?” I asked.

“Check what out?”

“The abandoned missile base.”

“Okay.” I could tell she was trying to hold it together. “Are there any snakes around?”

“Burmese pythons, mostly.”

She shuddered. “Lots of them?”

“Trust me. You don’t want to know. Even the park rangers lost count. That’s because stupid people buy them as pets. When the python grows to be, like, twelve feet long, they throw them away. Kind of messed up. I mean, it’s not the snake’s fault … ”

I swung my leg over the bike. Pippa almost fell, but I helped her down like a true gentleman.

“Watch out for the tailpipe,” I said, grabbing a backpack from under the seat. “The metal gets so hot, you could torch the skin off your leg. That’s what happened to my dad. Third-degree burns. He’s got a scar and everything.”

The stripes in the pavement were so faded, I wondered how long ago anybody had driven over them. We walked to a fence snarled with barbed wire. Behind it, a sign said:
U.S. ARMY RESTRICTED AREA. USE OF DEADLY FORCE IS AUTHORIZED
.

“This is crazy.” Pippa was talking so fast, it sounded like she was on crack. “Oh my god. I can’t believe we’re doing this. Are you sure we won’t get caught?”

I was already climbing the fence. I tossed my jacket over the barbed wire so Pippa wouldn’t get cut. She hauled herself over like it was nothing. It took me a couple tries just to dig my sneakers into the links without slipping.

Once I reached the top, I was super proud of myself. No joke.

Getting down was another thing.

“Now what?” I shouted.

“Just move fast and don’t think.”

“I’m not very good at that.”

“Which one? Moving fast? Or thinking?”

“Both. There’s a certain part of my anatomy that … um …
I don’t want to mess up.” Did I just say that out loud?

I managed to scramble over the barbed wire. Once I was halfway down the other side, I jumped and hit the ground so hard a jolt of pain blasted through my knees.

“Nice,” Pippa said. “Are you just going to leave the bike there?”

“Oh, right. The swamp apes might steal it. Quit your bitching. Nobody’s gonna find it.”

The road curved toward a building in the distance. The missile base was just a row of cement blocks, like the ones we used to stack in the backyard, pretending we were Storm Troopers defending the Death Star. This thing was for real, though it was all boarded up with plywood and the bolts in the
DANGER
sign had rusted.

A burnt-looking tree was the only semi-living thing in sight. Pippa took a composition book out of her bag. She sat down, right there on the grass, and started writing. It was kind of geeky and adorable at the same time.

“Taking notes?” I asked.

“For my zombie screenplay. I want to remember what this place looks like. It’s kind of epic.”

“I used to write stuff down,” I told her. “Song lyrics, mostly. But my mom tossed all my old notebooks.”

“That’s so evil.”

I shrugged. “Evil is too kind a word.”

“You should keep writing.”

“True. I’ve been working on new lyrics. Nothing major. Just getting some random ideas. Music is my ultimate release. It’s like a VIP screening in my brain.”

“A song is like a movie, too.”

“How so?”

“It’s there. You’re in the moment. Then it’s gone.”

Nobody had ever talked about stuff like that with me. I wanted to keep talking to Pippa … tell her about the music and the words that kept me awake at night.

“Sometimes I think I’ve found the perfect melody,” I explained, “and after playing it for a while, it doesn’t feel right anymore. Or it maybe sounded better in my head. Or I’m just not good enough to play it.”

“I know what you mean,” Pippa said. “When I listen to an awesome song on the radio, it feels like the band is singing with me.”

“My ex-girlfriend, Michelle, always made fun of my songs. Actually, she thought they were all about her.”

What the hell was I saying? This was the perfect time to shut up. Any rational person would’ve stopped talking. Did I?

Of course not.

“Can I tell you something personal?” I asked.

“Sure,” Pippa said, staring up at the trees.

“Michelle was my first. I mean, you’ll always remember your first, right?”

“Yeah. I guess.” She shoved the notebook in her bag. “Unless you were unconscious or something.”

I stared.

“Sorry. I was trying to be funny,” she said.

“Thanks. That really helps.”

“I mean, I know what you’re going through.”

“You do?”

She hugged me. When she started to pull away, I didn’t let go. Pippa was looking at me so intensely I forgot to breathe. We kissed right there on the abandoned road, a place where men had built missiles and planned wars, and now, hardly anybody remembered. She was breathing into me, daring me to feel something.

Still, I held back.

She must’ve noticed. Yeah, I’m sure she did. God. Why couldn’t I be normal for once? I was overanalyzing the situation as usual, thinking about something my crazy cousin, Marco, had told me in back sixth grade: kissing seals the deal. Of course, I hadn’t made out with anybody then. Not unless you count Pippa, who’d tried to “practice” on me during a marathon of Ninja Turtles.

Now we were kissing for real.

Shit.

I had officially lost it. Why was I thinking about anything at a time like this? I needed to focus. Here I was, alone with this girl who had somehow changed into this mega hottie, and I couldn’t even kiss it away.