More Than Good Enough(21)

“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.”

“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.”