More Than Good Enough(15)

“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.