More Than Good Enough (20 page)

“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.

No sign of Mom. I must’ve been insane to invite her to this thing.

Her response?

“I’ll see if I can swing by.”

And as I could see, Mom wasn’t there.

She used to follow me around with her video camera. She was always trying to capture a moment, as if nothing was real unless we recorded it. Once in a while, her voice would boom over the jittery footage of my birthday parties.

“Give us a smile, love,” she’d say. “Come on. I know you can.”

That’s the weird thing about home movies. They only show one side. I wondered about the parts that get erased. Or the scenes left out, just minutes after it fades to black.

Mr. Bones gathered the entire class on stage. He was standing in the same spot where Pippa had shared her zombie storyboards with me. It was only a few months ago, but it seemed like forever. That’s why I liked remembering things inside my head more than watching Mom’s old videos. The pictures belonged only to me.

“Listen up, guys. I need a copy of your shot list.” Mr. Bones had the whole blazer-and-jeans thing going on, as if this were the Oscars and we might stroll down the red carpet. When nobody listened, he said, “Your final grade depends on it.”

Pippa was supposed to be here, but she hadn’t showed up yet. I was starting to panic. I glanced at the audience, a blur of nameless faces. You could tell which families belonged together by the way they smiled.

Near the top of the bleachers, Cookie sat by herself. Every strand of her silvery hair was braided. She wore sneakers under her patchwork skirt, but I thought she looked exactly like a queen. While everybody else talked and laughed, she stared straight ahead, not saying a word.

Finally, Pippa came gliding down the aisle. She never ran anywhere. She always took her time, as if the world were spinning fast enough.

“Did you finish the shot list?” I asked.

“It’s good to go.” She handed the paper to me. At the top, she’d doodled a wreath of stars in magic marker:
Trent + Pippa = Team Awesome!

“I’m so freaked out right now. You have no idea,” she said. “There’re so many people here.”

“Just imagine them in their underwear,” I said, hoisting myself onto the stage.

“I’d rather not.”

“Check out the bald dude in the second row. What do you think? Boxers or briefs?”

“Maybe he’s got Underoos.”

“Hey. There’s your mom.” I flung out my arm and pointed, as if we’d floated out to sea like a couple of pirates.

Pippa grabbed my arm and squeezed. “What if we totally humiliate ourselves?”

“That’s okay. It’s one thing if you’re humiliated alone. But if you’re together, it’s not so humiliating.”

“Nice logic,” she said. “I think I see your grandma. She’s sitting way in the back, right? The patchwork lady?”

I laughed. “Man, I can’t wait for you guys to meet. Cookie’s got so many amazing stories.”

I couldn’t wait. But in a way, I could. We had time to keep learning about each other. Drive around the neighborhood late at night and sing with the radio. Tell secrets in the dark, like we used to do back when we believed in monsters. There was time for everything, the old and new, along with all we hadn’t done.

The screening lasted as long as a Hollywood movie. Two hours of Life Portraits. There was the usual “talking head” stuff, even though Mr. Bones had said it was off-limits. Most of the class just put an old person in a chair and filmed them, straight on. They asked the same boring questions:

What’s your name?

Where were you born?

When did you get married?

Blah, blah, blah.

After a while, it all blended together. It felt like our existence was only a checklist. Or a series of things to do before you’re dead.

When the Everglades swelled across the screen, a woman behind me sighed,
ahhh
. It startled me so bad, I didn’t recognize Pippa’s “establishing shot” of the gift shop on the Rez.

Some people believe the Glades is just a swamp. They don’t understand that it has its own beauty, the kind that finds you instead of the other way around. The cypress trees and the vultures told this story. The missile base, the unpaved road where we’d walked, the fence where tourists hide from sunburns and sleeping gators. Pippa had also filmed a bunch of faces from the Rez: the kids playing basketball, the ladies stringing beads. It was all there, the old and new.

I gave her a hug. “Good job, homeslice.”

When I glanced behind us and searched for Cookie, perched at the top of the bleachers, she flashed the biggest grin. I wondered what she thought of the film. Did she recognize our world inside the frame? Mr. Bones said that everybody sees a different film in their minds. It’s all about the way our memories get mixed up with the truth. I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but it made a lot of sense to me.

The soundtrack played over the credits. My bass guitar chords floated through the auditorium like smoke, reminding me that music captures time like a film. For a moment, it’s there with you. Then it’s gone.

I nudged Pippa. “Where’d you get the music?”

“The tape was in your car. Remember?”

“Yeah, but I forgot that song was on there. I’m still working on it, you know? It’s not ready for public consumption.”

“Too late now.”

As the credits hovered over the screen, everybody burst into applause. I clapped, too. I didn’t stop until my palms tingled.

“You’re next,” Pippa whispered.

“So you’ve got psychic powers now?”

“Not really,” she said, “but I can recite the alphabet.
O
comes after
M
.”

This was it. The entire school was about to see her mom’s house. When I’d gone over to shoot the project, I’d told Pippa to wait outside. She had no clue what I filmed. It had taken the rest of the semester to edit it.

While Pippa sat on the front porch, I’d been in the living room, talking to her mom. I filmed her in extreme close-up. You couldn’t see the Glad bags behind the couch. Or all the piles of magazines about
Better Homes
.

“My daughter thinks it’s Halloween year-round,” said her mom-on-screen.

Pippa sank down in her chair.

“She wears the strangest things. But even with all the Goth makeup … is that what you call it? Goth? Or is that not hip anymore?”

Behind us, a girl snorted.

“Whatever,” said Mrs. McCormick. “I still think she’s the prettiest girl in the world.”

Pippa turned and looked at her mom. A real mom.

My film cut to a series of shots, a bunch of stills from Pippa’s family albums. They dissolved from elementary school pictures all the way up to the present, fast-forwarding through time.

“You know, Pippa was beautiful as a baby,” her mom’s voiceover told us. “And she’s even more beautiful now. I don’t say it often enough, but I’m so proud of her. Sometimes I forget that she’s not little anymore. I just wish that I could hold onto her forever.”

In the auditorium, Pippa’s mom was wiping her face. It was hard to see, but I could tell that she was crying.

“My daughter has grown into her own person,” the voiceover went on. “That’s because she takes after me.”

The auditorium exploded with giggles. Pippa’s mom was actually funny. Who knew?

“You can stop filming now.” She blocked the lens with her hand. “Is that thing still recording? Where’s the off button?”

“It doesn’t have one,” my voice mumbled off camera.

After an awkward moment of silence, the film was back in focus. Pippa’s mom was still talking in the background, but she wasn’t on screen anymore. All you could see in the frame was their parrot, Holmes, his lizardy feet and prehistoric stare.

“I’m trying to teach him a few words … ”
My voice boomed across the auditorium. It was always strange, listening to myself outside my head. Did I really sound that lame?

Holmes melted away, replaced by a montage of Pippa’s room and everything in it. Her collection of vintage cameras. All her Tim Burton movie posters, curled like treasure maps on the floor. I even filmed the Crayola scribble on her bedpost, the letters that spelled her name.

My film was edited like a mixtape, sampling DJ-style and pasting moments in time. When I thought about it, this was an awesome way to make a “portrait.” Not one point of view, but many. It was all about telling the truth.

Maybe there was more than one.

After the screening, the whole class got together in the art room. Mr. Bones passed around a star-shaped balloon and told us to sign it. He said we should practice our autographs just in case we became famous. Usually I’d laugh at that sort of BS. Did he really think we would graduate and morph into Hollywood directors?

Mr. Bones was high-fiving a bunch of seniors, telling them “Good job, guys” and all that crap. When he came to me, I expected him to say the same pre-recorded lines.

“Real nice editing, Trent,” he said. “Did you use any ND filters?”

“No. Was I supposed to?”

He smiled. My mom would’ve gone off about the silver in his molars and how the metal leaks into your bloodstream. “Are you going to keep making films outside of class?” he asked.

“Well, Pippa started this zombie screenplay,” I told him. “But now we’re thinking of doing a music video.”

“Something a little less violent?”

“Oh, there’s going to be violence,” I said, and he smiled again. “Maybe even ultra-violence.”

“Viddy well then,” he said, like Alex DeLarge in
A Clockwork Orange
.

Pippa grabbed a tray of paint and started mixing the colors. It was nothing but ultra violet for that girl.

“What is this? Finger-painting?” I stole a couple of her brushes and did a little drum solo on the table.

“I’m going to sign it with your blood.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said, squeezing a tube of Hooker Green. (What was Hooker Green, anyway?)

She passed the balloon to me. It was soaked with signatures in all different shades. There was hardly any room left. I found a spot near the top and signed my initials like we used to do in elementary school, back when we sculpted ashtrays out of clay.

“Your film was pretty awesome,” she told me.

“For real?” I kept tapping my paintbrush on the table.

“It was more than awesome. Seriously. You made my house look normal.”

“Your house is normal.”

“Actually, you made it look beautiful.”

“I filmed it like I see it.”

We started talking about music videos, our epic plans for the summer. Pippa was going to shoot it on Super-8 and I would edit the whole thing. I really wanted to film my new songs so we could post them online.