More Than Good Enough(44)

Mr. Velcro gawked at the screen. “Is this a speech for the debate club?”

“You’re probably thinking, ‘How am I going to carry all my stuff in case I need to run?’ Well, it’s all about recycling,” Pippa said. “You could always make a purse out of your Capri Sun pouches. Don’t forget. Plastic lasts forever.”

Everybody in the front office was glued to the morning announcements. The freshmen girls did that Transformers-style move of joining forces around the TV, as if they shared electrical circuits as well as brainwaves. Even better, they were clapping, although Pippa couldn’t hear them.

I wouldn’t call it a speech.

More like a manifesto.

It was lunchtime when I finally got out of there, so I headed straight to the cafeteria, which belonged to its own special category of hell. Along with the usual social drama, there was nowhere to sit and have a real conversation. Not when you’re lined up like zoo animals.

Last year, my class at Southwinds took a trip to Busch Gardens. We walked inside a fake cave and stared through a window at this gorilla named King. It was supposed to look normal and jungle-like in there, but he wasn’t falling for it. He rocked back and forth, throwing whatever he could grab. Basically, he trashed the place. When I moved closer, he lifted his food dish and cracked it against the glass.

As I circled the lunch tables, I knew what that gorilla must’ve thought. I wanted to blow shit up. Tell everybody to stop chugging their artificially flavored milk while I smashed their goddamn cell phones.

Pippa sat way in the back, surrounded by a wall of band people. God, she looked amazing. I tried saluting her, like a complete idiot. She kept talking to those nameless flute girls as if I didn’t exist.

I was so confused, I almost jumped when my stupid watch started beeping. For some reason, I imagined the beeps were inside my head, like the government was spying on my thoughts. Yes, I know this makes no sense. It’s just how my brain operates.

The smell of burnt grease made my stomach twist. Usually, when I’d been drinking, I’d kidnap the nearest hamburger and hold it for ransom. But I hadn’t touched a beer in days. Guess I was suffering from some serious withdrawal.

Enough of this garbage. I needed to talk to Pippa and congratulate her on that badass zombie survival guide. I’d been trapped for way too long in the front office—what a load of bullshit. I would’ve rather hung out on the Rez and help Cookie with her epic sewing projects.

Only one thing was in the way: Me and Uncle Seth had a deal.

Call me a walking disaster, but I sure as hell wasn’t a deal-breaker.

I snuck up behind Pippa and stole a french fry. The last time we talked was in the driveway at her house. Just thinking about it made me sweat. I slid next to her and tried to harness my dark energy back to the present dimension.

“You know, plastic doesn’t really last forever,” I said, digging through the soggy pile of the fries until I found half an onion ring. I love when that happens. “Of course, the same is true for zombies, even though they’re already dead.”

She didn’t laugh at my stupid joke. Any sane person would’ve taken the hint. But no. I kept spitting out random information like I’d morphed into a human version of Google.

“Plastic lasts about a thousand years. Of course, this all depends on what kind … ”

While I blabbed on like an idiot, Pippa’s backup crew glared. I’m talking major death rays. They got up from the table and finally left us alone. Good. I’m sure they had better things to do, like clean the spit out of their flutes.

Pippa still wasn’t smiling. “So what happened to the shout-out?”

I wiped my fingers on my jeans. “What shout-out?”

“The one you promised.”

Damn.

“Listen, homeslice. A lot of shit went down. I mean, after I left that night. My dad basically went crazy. I’m staying with my uncle now. He’s real cool. And there’s a lot I want to show you. There’s this gator that Cookie feeds. She makes toast for him and leaves it on the dock.”

“Cookie?”

“You haven’t met her yet. She’s kind of like my grandmother, but we’re not actually related. Oh. And I just found out. I’m part of the tribe. It’s probably the only smart thing my dad’s ever done.”

“Wow. That’s nice, Trent. And you still had time to go around talking behind my back?”

This wasn’t going the way I’d expected.

Pippa crumpled the empty fry packet—the only thing on the table. She didn’t even have a tray. Maybe she was on some kind of carbohydrate diet? In one quick swoop, she beamed it into the trash can.

“Nice shot,” I said, but she was hustling away, sort of half-tripping in her Frankenstein boots. I was right behind her.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

She was beyond pissed. Why? I couldn’t tell you.

“Find out what, homeslice? I’m not a mind reader. Just tell me what’s going on. Can I beat him up for you?”

“Not unless you beat up yourself.”

“Me? What the hell did I do?”

“You were at a party with Michelle. That’s what people are saying.”

“What people?” I already had a guess. Kenzie and the female mafia strike again. “Listen. I didn’t invite her to Alvaro’s house. She was just … there.”