More Than Good Enough(46)

“Here’s one reason.” I brushed my mouth against her ear.

“Stop.”

“You want another reason?” I kissed her neck, the warm space below her throat. Both of us sank to the steps. The railing was bubbled with rust, like it might collapse at any second. The whole school was falling apart but I didn’t care. We could hold on to each other.

When we finally let go, Pippa said, “I waited for you to call.”

I looked at the trash that had rolled, tumbleweed-style, to the bottom—all the deflated snack bags and crumpled balls of paper. At that moment I felt like tossing myself into the pile.

“Yeah, my ex was at that party. I had no control over that. And you’re right. I should’ve called when I got home, but I was too wasted.” That’s what I told her. The truth.

“That’s no excuse,” she said.

“No, it’s not. But I want you to know I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you got caught?”

“Just … sorry.”

Pippa leaned against my shoulder. I held my breath and stayed still so I wouldn’t break our connection.

“Remember back in sixth grade?” she said. “You used to call my house in the middle of the night and we’d talk on the phone forever and watch movies and stuff.”

Technically, you couldn’t watch movies over the phone, but I remembered.

“You never wanted to hang up first,” she said, laughing. “I’d say goodbye and all I’d get was dead silence.”

“I liked your silence.”

“Me too,” she said. “I mean, I liked yours.”

We sat there, being silent. Then I kissed her forehead. “Don’t hang up on me, okay?”

Pippa hooked her thumb around mine. “Promise I won’t.”

Alone on the stairs, it felt like we were the last humans on earth. That wouldn’t be so bad, as long as we were together.

“Your mom probably hated me calling all the time,” I said. “No wonder she didn’t want me coming over.”

“What’re you talking about? I thought it was your mom.”

We both looked at each other.

There had to be a good reason why our moms broke us up. They probably couldn’t deal with our co-ed slumber parties once me and Pippa hit middle school. Or maybe they thought we hung out too much, we needed more friends. Or friends that weren’t the opposite sex.

Was there a good reason?

I couldn’t think of one.

Pippa was still holding my hand. “Just to let you know …

my mom doesn’t hate you. Everything’s been weird since my parents got divorced. You saw my house. It’s not like I’m oblivious to my mom’s hoarding problem. I just don’t want people to know about it.”

“Because they’ll judge you?”

“Of course,” she said. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s time to stop caring so much. All families are weird.”

“Feels like it sometimes.”

“Well, yeah, trust me. You’re not alone.”

She sighed. “There you go again with that trust thing.”

“Give me a chance. Please. I swear, I’m trying to do better.”

“That’s what you keep saying.” She stood up so fast I almost fell.

As she headed back toward her classroom, I opened my big mouth. Let her know what I’d hidden inside.

“Is this really about your mom? Do you honestly think anybody gives a shit what your house looks like? Or is it more about you, homeslice? And don’t try to front like you have no idea what I’m saying. Because you’re smarter than that.”

Pippa didn’t turn around. She stopped near the busted water fountain, the Florida version of Old Faithful. Only it wasn’t leaking anymore. Maybe we’d finally drained the earth’s natural resources. Not that I’d call the school’s fountain “au naturale.”

The fountain must’ve fixed itself. Pippa bent over for a sip and I couldn’t help checking out her tights (and the things underneath). She wiped her mouth on her sleeve—a dangerous feat with all those staples.

“Let’s finish our stupid film projects,” she said. “I don’t want to get a bad grade on mine because of you.”

I knew what this meant.

It meant filming her mom, the house, and the whole damn mess.

“When can I come over?”

“Tomorrow,” she said.

“I’ll be there,” I promised.

The stairs were still empty. I waited until Pippa had snuck back into class, and then I walked across the campus, all the way to the Hole. It was starting to rain and the trees had brightened, like somebody had turned up the tint in the field. I didn’t have any weed on me. No beer, either. Nothing to dull my head. And that was okay with me.

I wanted to swim through the Everglades with Pippa. Make her believe I wasn’t a liar. Kiss her under the chickee hut that I would make new again. Feed bread to the gator, who had a place like the ants in the sand. Why would I live anywhere else? The city was speed without a pulse—a world of cars and street signs that glowed but never gave any light.





sixteen



The school auditorium was floating underwater. That’s how it felt, the night of the film screening. A mirror ball sprinkled chips of light across the bleachers, where families hunched in rows, taking pictures with their cell phones.