More Than Good Enough

by Crissa-Jean Chappell

  I slowed for a red light and grabbed my cell. Out of habit, I started scrolling through my non-deleted emails. I pressed the phone against my ear, soaked up another dose of radiation while it hum-hum-hummed the audio equivalent of a blank stare. I couldn’t stop thinking about rockets and skating barefoot in the rain, the memory of Pippa, the taste of her mouth.

  My finger slid over Pippa’s number as if pulled by a Death Star tractor beam. No hello, no voicemail, no luck. What was the deal with this girl? Yeah, I could’ve texted her or whatever. Forget it. My humiliation had reached full capacity.

  I glanced at my inbox. Enough spamwiches to feed a World War II platoon.

  Subject: Sexy Russian Girls Looking For Please You

  Sender: oksana@bonbon.net

  Delete.

  Subject: Considering an Exciting New

  Career in the Culinary Arts?

  Sender: admissions@LeCroutonAcademy.edu

  Delete.

  Subject: FWD: Send to 6 people in 6 minutes and

  receive 6 good luck blessings. This is scary!

  The phone will ring after you do this!

  Sender: bonsaikitten@aol.com

  Delete.

  Subject: You Suck

  Sender: AlvaroTheGMan@hotmail.com

  …

  That’s all he wrote. Just a row of dot-dot-dots. What kind of message was that? Morse Code?

  I pulled over. Dialed up the G Man. A blast of techno wreaked havoc on my eardrums while I waited for him to pick up.

  “Yo Trent,” he said. “Que lo que? Did you get hit by a car this weekend? Because that’s the only excuse I’m willing to tolerate. I mean, seriously.”

  “Sorry I missed your set. How was it?” I asked.

  “Epic. This crazy girl was dancing on stage, right? And she fell and they had to carry her out on a stretcher.”

  “Sounds pretty epic.”

  “Michelle was there,” he added.

  “She was?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “What’s the status on that?”

  I hesitated for a second. “We’re done.”

  “For real? Man, how could you let that go?”

  There was no point in explaining. Meanwhile, Alvaro was going on about my ex. Or (as he put it), DJ Hotness to the Extreme.

  “Is it okay if I call her?” he wanted to know.

  Wasn’t there an unspoken rule? Thou shalt not date thy friend’s ex.

  “Why? You plan on trading mixtapes? I think she’s already got The Ultimate 80s Pool Party.”

  “So, what are you doing now?” he asked, totally ignoring my sarcasm.

  I could’ve told him the truth: I’m sitting in a parking lot under the I-95 overpass, trying to hide from my dad. And today I learned that I’m an idiot. That’s one of the many life lessons Dad has taught me.

  “I’m driving around, wasting gas,” I said. In other words, stating the obvious.

  “Wanna chill at my house? Unless you’re too busy having a pow-wow. Is that why you’ve been missing in action? Smoking too much peyote?”

  I knew he was just busting my balls. This was Alvaro. Pure ridiculousness. But it pissed me off, hearing him say that. Usually I would’ve laughed. Instead, I hung up. Then I felt stupid. All that stuff about peyote and pow-wows.

  Here’s the part that really sucked.

  I let him get away with it.

  twelve

  Dozens of cars lined the block. It looked like every relevant person from my old school, as well as a ton I didn’t recognize, had showed up at Alvaro’s place. This wasn’t exactly my definition of “chilling.”

  The front window glowed with one of those creepy religious candles. Above the words Pray for Us, a heart floated in a nest of fire. When I looked at it, I couldn’t help thinking about my own heart, thudding under my ribs.

  Music throbbed behind the door. I pushed my way inside. A crowd of intense-looking people were attempting to dance in the living room. They kept bumping into the furniture, the wall, and each other. I scooted around them and headed straight for the kitchen, the safest place. Or so I thought.

  “Hey, Mr. Pow-Wow.”

  Somebody chucked a handful of ice at my face. The stinging cold made me wince. Alvaro was sitting on the counter, swinging his legs in circles. He reached into the sink and scooped up more half-melted chunks.

  “You’re looking a little out of it, tiguere,” he said. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “The zombie apocalypse.”

  “Are you mocking me? Stay still so I can destroy you.” He chucked another ice cube, aiming for my head. I ducked. Chips of ice slid down the wall.

  Alvaro had it good. His parents were always flying back and forth “on business,” whatever that meant. Basically, his grandma was the only living person I ever saw in the house (if “living” means watching Telemundo all day).

  “Care for some hooch?” He jiggled a bottle in my face.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Alvaro ripped into a stack of Dixie cups. “Keeping it classy,” he said, dumping beer until it foamed to the rim. “The finest apricot ale from Canada. Because everything’s cooler up there.”

  I took a gulp and cringed at the fruity sweetness. “Think I’ll pass.”

  “You’re passing on free beer?” He shrugged. “If it involves alcohol, I’m yessing it. Besides,” he said, “I only drink to get drunk. Otherwise, it’s like, what’s the point?”

  Last summer, me and Alvaro used to snatch-and-grab cases of beer from the Bait and Tackle place in Homestead. Then we’d get wasted on the boat docks. It was fun for a while. Why did it seem so stupid now?

  Somebody hugged me from behind. I wrestled myself free and there was Michelle, almost unrecognizable in a plaid dress and furry boots. I imagined her rolling logs or whatever lumberjacks were supposed to do.

  “Hello Trenton,” she said. “Long time no talk.”

  No talk? We’d never really talked at all.

  My beer was tasting a little less odd, the more I drank. “Hmm,” I said, draining what was left of it.

  Michelle clicked her tongue, like she always did in the middle of a conversation. Not that I’d call it a conversation. When she finally looked at me, she beamed another classic stare in my direction. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t say anything. I just made unintelligible noises.”

  “That’s pretty much what I thought. I was just talking to Alvaro,” she said, smiling up at him. “And we’re having a little debate. Here’s the question: If you could have a superpower, what would you pick?”

  Question: Why did I ever go out with you?

  “I’d pick invisibility,” I said, scooting around her.

  “Hold on a second.” She grabbed my wrist. I couldn’t believe she was crossing that line. Actually, I could believe it. “You have to be nice.”

  “I don’t have to be anything.”

  Alvaro slid off the counter. “I’ve got a superpower. Can I show you?”

  “Shut up, Alvaro. You’re confused.” Michelle laughed over the music. “Something’s wrong with you, like, mentally.”

  He shoved an ice cube between his teeth. “Yeah? You didn’t say that last night.”

  “That’s because you were dreaming.” Michelle pulled me toward the sliding glass door, uber-cool as always. The patio was empty except for a guy smoking weed at a table near the pool.

  “You’re still here?” she said to the guy as we passed him. She settled into a wicker chair that reminded me of a throne, slung her bare legs over the arm, then motioned for me to do the same. The cushions were flecked with dog hair, which I ignored, although I was a little grossed out.

  Michelle rolled her eyes at the weedhead. “I know you’re enjoying your little smokefest, but would you mind giving us some privacy?”


  “Nah, I was about to snack it up with some fries.” The guy licked his palm. “Not just any fries. They’ve got sea salt. All natural. Just like my girlfriend.”

  “God, you’re so ignorant.” Michelle turned to me. “That’s my little cousin Juan. He’s a pervert. Sorry, but it’s true.”

  “Hell yes. I heard that,” Juan said.

  “Wow. That’s funny. Can you hear this? How about you vamos? Now.”

  Juan pushed himself away from the table but still didn’t leave.

  “Must … fight … chair gravity.”

  “Do I have to come over there and kick your ass?”

  Juan almost tripped, he moved so fast. He was a lot younger than us. I didn’t notice that before.

  Michelle scrounged inside her purse, took out a lighter and a pack of menthols. “You still don’t smoke, do you, Trenton?”

  If she already knew, why ask?

  Without thinking, I reached for a cigarette.

  “Oh nice. A social smoker,” Michelle said, flicking her lighter. “Your kind gets no love from me. When it comes to bodily corruption, might as well go all the way.” She blew out smoke. “God, why are you not talking? I hope you’re not cutting me off. I mean, we can stay close, right?”

  She waited for my answer.

  This girl cheated on me. It’s totally possible that she cheated the whole time we were together. Now my friend is trying to hook up with her. And she wants to “stay close”? What’s that supposed to mean?

  I pinched the cigarette between my fingers. Even pretending to smoke was too much effort.

  Michelle shifted forward in her chair. “So tell me about your new girlfriend. Why isn’t she here? I’d really like to meet her.”

  I slid my eyes to the pool, all lit up with electric stars scattered across the deep end. Alvaro’s parents were probably millionaires. The palm trees looped with tiny white lights, the carnivorous-looking orchids that dangled around the table … none of it seemed real.

  “I’ve known Pippa forever,” I told her.

  “That’s so cute. You guys went to school together?”

  “We went to childhood together.”

  “So you guys are like childhood sweethearts?”

  Something changed in her tone, which had dropped a hundred degrees south of friendly. All jokes and smiles gone. I was stupid to think she actually wanted to be friends.

  I started doodling on my sneaker, decorating the filthy heel with shooting stars. “Next-door neighbors,” I explained. That was the truth. Or it used to be.

  “And you slept at each other’s houses and everything? That’s majorly adorable,” she said, touching my arm.

  “Every Friday after school. Until her mom shut it down. She didn’t want me over anymore. We were ‘getting too big for slumber parties.’ That’s what she told my mom.”

  I gawked at my jiggling sneaker, all the sloppy constellations that bled into the laces.

  Michelle was obviously getting a thrill out of this information. “And then you guys stopped talking? That’s so wrong.”

  “It wasn’t like we planned it,” I said, stabbing the pen into my shoe. “It just happened.”

  “Did you guys play kissing games and stuff? I bet you got caught. You know. Show me yours, I’ll show you mine … ”

  I glanced at the sliding glass doors, where Alvaro was throwing ice down a girl’s shirt. After all this pointless drama, I thought Michelle would drop the subject.

  I thought wrong.

  Michelle took out a giant hair clip, the sharp-toothed kind that reminds me of bear traps. She clamped it on her head, leaned forward, and said, “Does she know that you’re pretending to be Indian now?”

  “What do you mean, ‘pretending’?”

  She unclipped her hair and tied it back into the same exact shape. “You didn’t grow up on the reservation. Are you even allowed to be there? Or are you just crashing at your dad’s because your mom got tired of you?”

  When she said it, a rush of heat crawled up my neck. “It’s really unfair to judge.”

  “I’m not judging. Honestly. Just trying to help you out.”

  “You don’t really know me, Michelle,” I said. “You have no fucking clue what’s going on with my life.”

  “Oh, your friend told me all about it.”

  “Alvaro told you?” I was starting to feel sick.

  “He said you’ve been missing in action lately. It must be hard for you.”

  “What’s hard?” I asked, falling right into it.

  “Living with your dad. I hear he drinks a lot. But I guess that’s pretty typical. I mean, where you live.”

  I slowly got up from the table. Maybe I should’ve stuck around and defended myself. Or my dad, at least. But it didn’t seem worth the effort. Michelle was too busy shredding my soul.

  “Maybe that’s why this girl stopped talking to you,” she said. “Your family situation is just too … different.”

  When I reached the sliding glass door, I yanked, but it wouldn’t budge. On the other side was Alvaro, laughing his stupid head off. I pounded on the glass until he finally let me inside.

  “Yo. Mr. Pow-Wow.” Alvaro was up in my space, making a big deal about blocking the way out.

  I pushed him. Hard. He stumbled backward, sloshing his beer. Half of it soaked my shirt.

  “Whoa there. No reason to get violent,” he said.

  Everybody was acting like this was ultra hilarious. I was a joke to them. My life was a joke, the punch line to a cartoon. I tugged down my hood. As I walked to the Yeti, I took my out my cell, just so I didn’t have to acknowledge anyone’s existence. I turned it on and scrolled through my old messages. No word from Pippa.

  On the way back, I drove by my mom’s place. The For Sale sign was still on the lawn, along with the drooping balloons. I pulled up next to the sign, rolled down my window, and grabbed a balloon. Then I untied the string and let it drift away.

  The lights were on at Pippa’s house. I thought about how many times I’d walked down that block. I was missing that girl so bad, I tried to send a message to her inside my head. Yeah, I knew this was crazy. But I always felt like she was listening.

  Please let me know if you’re okay.

  This silence is freaking me out.

  I want to tell you so many things. We never got a chance to talk. I mean, really talk, the way we used to … back when we believed in the Wendigo and I taught you the secret language of knots, the way they told stories about rabbits and trees.

  Back then, our parents controlled our lives.

  They didn’t control us now.

  I parked on the side of the road. Got out and took a walk to the canal behind her house. The lights were shining in the water. I studied their reflections—what Mr. Bones called “the rule of thirds.” You lined up everything in the camera until it looked perfect, the way stuff never does in the real world.

  No way could I march up to her front porch and knock. Not after all the drama that went down with my dad. I could only imagine her mom’s reaction when the cop drove Pippa home. It made me sick, the more I thought about it.

  I couldn’t knock on the door. So I did what I used to do in fifth grade. I searched in the grass for the smoothest rock I could find. Then I drew a smiley face on it with my Sharpie and dropped the rock close to shore. That way, Pippa would know I’d been there.

  “You forgot to write a message.”

  She was standing near the water. For once she wasn’t all dressed up, wearing stuff that reminded me of a costume. Just her Jack Skellington hoodie and jeans. Not skinny jeans, like 90 percent of the female population at school. And I couldn’t help thinking that she’d never looked more beautiful.

  Maybe my dad was right. I was an idiot. Because only an idiot would think they had a chance with this amazing gi
rl. I wanted to hold her forever, block out the world and make the bad things go away.

  Pippa stuffed the rock in her back pocket. “Bet you didn’t know. I saved them all. My favorite one said, The stars are already ghosts. Those little messages were so cool, Trent. Almost like song lyrics.”

  “I suck at writing lyrics.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Myself.”

  “You should stop listening to that guy.”

  “Good idea.”

  We walked to the front yard, past the rusty swingset. The Yeti was parked a couple feet away. Yeah, it wasn’t exactly in stealth mode.

  “I saw your headlights,” she said. “It freaked me out be-cause I was watching this old movie about a car that’s, like, possessed or something. Why are you here, anyway?”

  “Does that mean you’re not excited to see me?”

  “No, I’m very excited,” she said. “Oh my god. Sorry. My bad. That sounded really weird.”

  “It’s all good,” I said. “Hey, I can’t believe you saved those stupid rocks. You could make a necklace out of them.”

  “True. But I’m allergic to jewelry. Thanks for coming over to rescue me. That’s why you’re here, right?”

  “Any time, homeslice. You know what this means, right? Now you owe me a ‘life debt.’ That’s the samurai code,” I said, smoothing her hair away from her face. “What color is this exactly?”

  “Ultra violet.”

  “I might want to dye my hair violet someday.”

  “That was some serious random.” Pippa laughed.

  Why couldn’t it be this easy all the time? Standing in her front yard, surrounded by all those perfect lawns, it felt like we’d never stopped talking. When we were together, the conversation always picked up where we left off.

  “I’ve been calling like crazy, trying to reach you,” I said. “Kind of stalkerish, I know.”

  “My phone’s been out of action, thanks to my mom’s insane paranoia. Me and her got into it. It was pretty bad.” She didn’t explain more. There were no words to erase what happened.

  “Let’s chill in the Yeti,” I said, folding her hand around mine. “No reason to broadcast this data.” I walked her to the passenger side. When we reached the door, her shoulder bumped mine. “Ladies first,” I said.