More Than Good Enough (9 page)

“Why is he yawning?” Pippa asked.

“It’s a she, actually,” said Uncle Seth. “And she’s just cooling off. That’s how they regulate their body temperature.”

I wiped my face on my sleeve. “Wish I could regulate mine.”

Uncle Seth unlocked a gate and disappeared somewhere behind the sand pit. Then it was just me and Pippa and the gator. I was still waiting when a crowd started to press against the fence. A lady asked if I knew where to find the vending machines.

“Hot as balls out here,” she said, lighting up a cigarette. “I could really use a Diet Coke.”

I felt kind of stupid, just standing around with a bunch of tourists. They pointed their cameras at the pool, but the gator didn’t twitch. A pack of teenaged boys took turns rattling the fence.

“It’s not even alive,” one of them muttered. “What a rip-
off.”

If I pushed him over the fence, he would find out if the gator was alive.

A loudspeaker crackled and an announcement boomed like the voice of God:
“The show will be starting soon. If you have small children, please make sure they are seated away from the fence.”

“Are you going in there?” Pippa asked.

“My uncle won’t let me wrestle yet. I just collect the tips at the end.”

She took the camera out of its case. “This is so amazing. I can’t wait to film some action shots. It will so get me an A on this project.”

Most of the girls in the audience were slumped in the back row, playing with their cell phones. Pippa moved right up front. She propped the camera real close to the fence. Then my uncle came out and everybody clapped, although nothing had happened yet.

He took hold of the gator’s tail and dragged her into the middle of the sand pit. The gator was hissing like crazy. You could tell the audience was freaking out. Everybody shoved their cameras against the chain-link. Some girl behind me kept saying, “Oh my god,” every five seconds.

Uncle Seth crouched down in the sand. He stroked and tapped the gator’s nose until her mouth sprang open.

“This is how I keep my nails trim.” Uncle Seth shoved his hand in the narrow space between the gator’s jaws. He jumped back just before her teeth clamped shut, igniting a round of shrieks from the crowd.

His next trick was even more awesome. He snuck up behind the gator and crouched on her back. The gator didn’t seem too happy. She thrashed her tail back and forth, making angel wings in the sand. Slowly, Uncle Seth tilted her massive head toward his throat, then tucked the tip of her snout under his chin. He stayed like that for a minute, lifting both hands as if saying, “I surrender.”

I leaned against the chain-link fence. You could see the gator’s rubbery lips, speckled with something like beard stubble. Uncle Seth brought his hands down and untucked his chin.

“I’ll do it again,” he said, “just in case you missed your photo opportunity.”

This time, he squatted behind the gator’s head. When she cracked her jaws apart, he slid his face in there. Everybody gasped like a fake TV sound effect. Except it wasn’t fake. Neither was my uncle’s stunt. I didn’t even see him let go. He jumped backward, stumbling a little as his feet kicked arcs of sand.

The crowd oohed and ahhed, right on cue. Then Uncle Seth talked about the Miccosukee people, their hands-free style of wrestling, the skill it took to rope a gator and trade its skin for guns. Nobody listened. They were too busy gathering their purses and wheeling away strollers. A lady took out her cell and blabbed at ear-piercing decibels. “I can’t hear you,” she kept shouting. “Can you hear me? What do you mean, ‘Not really’? How about now?”

I tuned the volume down inside my mind so I wouldn’t have to listen. All I heard was my breath, like a hurricane’s pulse, until the only thing left was silence.

seven

“So tell me the truth,” Pippa said. “Your uncle wasn’t faking it, right? I mean, putting his life in danger so a bunch of tourists could have a Kodak moment.”

I’d collected the tips and we were back in the parking lot. The breeze had picked up, carrying a hint of smoke. I always liked that smell, especially when it floated from somewhere far away, the burn you couldn’t see.

“This isn’t a joke,” I said.

The sun was in Pippa’s eyes, making her squint like she was hatching evil plans. “I just meant—”

“It’s part of my culture,” I told her. “Didn’t you hear what he said at the show?”

“For your information, I
was
listening. In fact, I was probably the only one listening.”

“Oh, thanks. That makes me feel better.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? I’m in the middle of freaking nowhere, just for this project.”

“Is that the only reason you came?” I asked.

Pippa reached into her bag and pulled out her sunglasses. The plastic frames were sprinkled with pirate skulls. “Geez, Trent. What do you want me to say?”

“I wouldn’t call this nowhere.”

“Okay. Fine. I guess everywhere is somewhere.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out high-pitched and jumpy. “You’re wrong,” I said, tapping my forehead. “It’s all in the mind.”

Pippa was definitely a weird girl. I wanted to get close to her again, but she kept blocking me out. In the distance, a car honked one long note that stretched and faded. There was nothing on the horizon, which circled us for miles. Just the chickee huts and a cloudless sky so bright it hurt to look at it.

“Where are you going?” Pippa asked.

I told her the truth. “Nowhere.”

“Everybody lives close to their families,” I said as we drove through the Rez. “It’s all divided by clans.”

We passed the burger shack right across from the Rez school, made a couple turns, and pulled up to the Little Blue House.

“So how come you didn’t grow up around here?” Pippa asked.

“Because of my mom,” I said. “She’s not Indian, remember?”

Pippa was quiet for a moment. “Does that mean you’re not part of the tribe?” she asked.

I turned off the radio. “Depends on who you ask.”

Next door at Uncle Seth’s, the elder ladies were having a yard sale. The aunts had set up tables on the grass, each loaded with beaded necklaces, miniature canoes, and paper plates stacked with fry bread. We parked and walked over.

Pippa grabbed the camera and started filming. She was really getting into it, practically kneeling down to get the best angle.

“What’s this thing?” She held up a skinny wooden racket.

“That’s for playing stickball,” I explained. “It’s super old-school. Nobody really does it anymore. It’s kind of like lacrosse.”

“Have you ever played it?”

I put the racket back on the table. “Nobody does. That’s what I just said.”

Maybe I was making her uncomfortable. Actually, I was the one getting weirded out. It wasn’t because people stared (and, of course, they did). Everybody was really nice. The aunts nodded at me, but they didn’t talk to Pippa. Maybe it was a mistake, bringing her here.

“They probably think I’m your girlfriend,” she said.

My face heated up. I looked down and hoped she didn’t notice.

“Are we going to your dad’s house or what?” Pippa asked.

I didn’t want to deal with him. Not after his little freakout this morning. At the same time, I was like, why can’t I bring somebody over? I live here too.

“It’s part of my uncle’s place, actually. Or, my aunt’s, but she passed on. See, this is how it goes. When a guy gets married, he moves into his wife’s house. Basically, women run the show. They even get to pick your names.”

“Names?”

“You get a ‘baby name’ when you’re born. Only your mom knows the real name. When boys grow into men, they have a naming ceremony. It’s supposed to mean you’re an adult or whatever.”

“Girls don’t get a new name?”

I shrugged. “They don’t need it.”

“So when are you getting yours?”

I unlocked the door to the Little Blue House and kicked it open. All around the door frame were metal sculptures: a half-moon and a smiling sun, along with a polka-dotted lizard.

“My what?” I asked.

“Your grown-up name.”

“Oh.” I flicked on the lights. “Most guys my age have theirs already.”

“This is a big deal, right? The ceremony, I mean.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in the tribe, officially. So it won’t be happening. Not for me, anyway.”

“Maybe you can find a way in,” Pippa said.

“Maybe.” I didn’t really feel like talking about it.

“Is there, like, a test? Do you have to study for this naming thing?” she wanted to know.

“You get to decide when you’re ready.”

“That’s cool,” she said.

“When you start asking questions, the elders say you’re good to go. It’s all about learning the songs. We’ve got a whole encyclopedia of them. Like, there’s songs to find herbs. Songs for hiding and protection. Songs to make people happy. You just have to memorize them.”

“That wouldn’t be too hard. Music was always your special talent.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not so special anymore. That’s why I need to pass this class, right? For the win.”

Pippa sank onto the couch and sort of collapsed into me. I’m sure she was just tired, but it felt weirdly familiar, leaning against her. Weird in a good way. I kept glancing at the door, thinking Dad would bust in here, but he was probably getting wasted. The usual Saturday routine.

“Let’s get some B-roll footage.” I took out the camera and aimed it at my open mouth. “I’m documenting my wisdom teeth before they get ripped out.”

“You’re not smart enough to have wisdom teeth.”

“Don’t say mean things to me. I might cry.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be making movies about real life?”

“This is real life.” I lifted my Native Pride T-shirt and pointed the camera at my stomach. “Now I’m documenting my appendix scar.”

“Gross. If I fail, it’s all your fault.”

I dumped the camera back in its case. “This thing is a piece of crap. It won’t even turn on. And the batteries look dead.”

“You can’t tell by looking,” Pippa said. “Did you charge the extra batteries?”

“Was I supposed to?”

Pippa sighed. “We can’t film anything else until it charges.”

Okay. Now we had to charge the stupid batteries. I needed to get Pippa out of the house before Dad got back.

“Come on,” she said. “Pass me the worksheet. We have to make a shot list.”

“A shit list?”

“Oh, you’re so funny I forgot to laugh.” She gave me a push and my skin heated up again. I looked down at my sneakers, the thumbtack wedged in my heel. Maybe if I pried it out, I would fly around the room like a balloon.

“Let’s work in the kitchen,” I told her. At least if Dad pulled up in the driveway, I would spot him through the window.

The kitchen looked like it had been attacked by velociraptors. PlayStation games were scattered all over the table, along with a flattened bag of chips. Neon orange crumbs were smashed deep into a place mat. I flipped it over, finding a half dozen pennies and a wrinkled magazine—
Winds of Change: Your Number One Source for Indigenous News
.

Pippa wanted something to eat, so I wasted fifteen minutes trying to microwave a Hot Pocket.

“I really can’t afford to fail this class,” she said.

“Yo. Chill,” I said, licking the grease off my fingers. “Got it covered. Out of everything I’m taking this semester, it’s like the only class I really care about.”

“That’s sad,” Pippa said.

“Know what’s even sadder? I’m probably going to drop out anyway.”

“You mean, drop out of Filmmaking?”

“Out of everything.”

“I won’t let you,” she said. “That’s not going to happen. Swear?” She held up her fists. “Or I’ll have to track you down and kill you.”

“Okay. I’m freaking out now.” I laughed.

“I didn’t hear you swear.”

“I swear all the time. It’s a bad habit.”

Pippa got all serious. “I mean it. For real. You can’t drop out of school. You’re too smart.”

“Just a second ago, you were saying the opposite.”

“Why are you giving up so easily?”

“I’m not.”

“Well, that’s what it looks like,” she said, frowning. “You always had better grades than me. You didn’t even study. That’s what got me so mad.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe I stopped caring.”

“So what happened? Is there a reason you don’t care anymore? Or is it just easier?”

“What’s easier?” I asked.

“Not caring.”

She didn’t understand. It was a lot harder pretending
to
care.

“School feels like a big waste of time right now,” I told her. “Even when I was trying to work on my music, it all seemed so fake. When you’re a kid, everybody says, ‘You can be anything you want.’ But that’s a total lie.”