More Than Good Enough(30)

I was exactly where I needed to be.

I slid for a couple seconds, then bailed. The kids came running up to me, yelling all kinds of nonsense. I only heard bits and pieces. Guess I was still in the nowhere zone, not functioning on a human level yet.

“That was a high-ass ollie. Seriously, man. I can’t believe you did it barefoot. That was sick,” said Mr. Skinny, pounding my shoulder. “What clan are you?”

“Panther,” I said.

This was sort of a lie.

I was clanless.

“You know my Uncle Seth?” I asked.

“Yeah. But I’ve never seen you before. You go to school here?”

I kicked the board to him. “Nah, I’m at Palm Hammock.”

He chewed the end of his gold chain. “Isn’t that, like, in Kendall or something?”

The others stayed quiet. They were trying to size me up. That much was obvious. Did I belong here on the Rez? Or was I better off in the suburbs, like the white kids and the Cubans?

“You’re Trent. That’s your name, right?” said another kid. He kept popping his retainer, sliding it out with his tongue. Man, I’m glad I never got braces. “Your uncle does the gator show ’cause they got rid of Manny.”

Who the hell was Manny? It seemed like everybody knew each other on the Rez, like we were one big family. But I wasn’t from here. I’d come onto the scene too late. Now it felt like I’d never catch up.

“Yeah, that’s Uncle Seth. The Alligator Man,” I said and they laughed. Sometimes it’s too easy, getting kids to laugh. They hopped on their boards and rolled off.

I wanted to trade places with those kids. Seriously. What did they have to worry about? They grew up with PlayStations and cable TV. But they could probably steer an airboat, one-handed, across the Glades. Soon they’d become men with new names.

Yeah. The Miccosukee kids had it good.

It started pouring. Cold, stabbing drops speckled the cement. I leaned back and stuck out my tongue, catching the flavorless rain. No doubt it was laced with chemicals from all the junk people chucked in our lakes. The clouds sucked it up and dumped it on us. That’s the way things worked. If you put something out there, it always swung around to you.

The skaters were doing tricks in the rain—pulling off backside 180s and landing killer pop shove-its. Then they stopped all at once, as if somebody hit pause on a video game. Mr. Skinny and his buds huddled behind me, clutching their boards.

“Oh shit,” he said.

The light bounced around the park, flickering off the ramps and grind rails.

“Which one of you is Trent?” somebody called out. He stood near the trees—a cop waving a flashlight.

All the kids gawked at their feet. Still, they didn’t rat me out. I give them props for that.

“Don’t waste my time,” he told us.

“It’s me,” I blurted, hating the sound of my voice, the way it cracked.

“Thank you,” he said, as if I’d done him a favor. “The rest of you guys need to leave.”

They scattered. No time wasted.

“Okay Trent.” The cop turned to me. “What’s the story?”

“Chilling.”

“Well, you can’t chill here. Come over and sit down a second.”

God, this was so freaking stupid. My dad was the one in trouble. Why was I getting hassled? Sure, I’d messed up. But that didn’t make me a bad person.

I squatted on the sidewalk like a fugitive.

“All right, Trent. Let’s talk, okay? Here’s the deal. Your father says you got into some sort of altercation and ran off. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

How could I shape it into words? My dad got wasted. That’s the way it goes. The man drinks a sixer every night. This time, he got a little out of control. He didn’t mean to hit me. It just happened.

“Me and my dad started fighting,” I told the cop.

“Okay,” he said. It seemed like “okay” was his default answer for everything. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“He got mad.”

“Any idea why?”

“Because I took something.”

“You mean something that wasn’t yours.”

I focused on the dent above his lip. If you stared at one part of somebody’s face, you didn’t have to look them in the eye. That’s a little trick I’ve learned.

“Answer me.” He was totally over it now. “Did you steal your father’s motorcycle?”

“Sort of,” I mumbled.

“Well, is it true or not?”

“Listen. I already told you—” I started to get up, but he pushed me, dropping a hand on my shoulder. I could’ve sued for harassment.

The cop had no off button. He kept blasting away, screaming shit like, “When I talk, you listen.”

Why did I have to listen? It’s not like anybody listened to me. Just because he had a badge and gun didn’t mean the universe put him in charge. Just thinking about guns made my stomach twist. If I got blamed for messing with it, they could charge me with illegal possession of a firearm. Then what would happen? I’d go straight to jail. That’s what.

“Just stay where you’re at. You got yourself a whole world of trouble. Do you want to make it worse?”