Free More Than Good Enough by Crissa-Jean Chappell Page B

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.”
    When I heard Pippa say that, I felt really bad. “Don’t let that noise get into your head. You just have to go for it.”
    “Really?” she said.
    “I believe in you,” I said. And that was the truth.
    Pippa covered her face with her hands. “Now you’re making me feel all awkward,” she said, peeking between her fingers.
    Could this girl be any cuter?
    “Okay, Mr. Rock Star,” she said. “We need to get back to work.”
    “Didn’t we shoot enough today?” I asked.
    “We haven’t interviewed your dad yet.”
    “Trust me. He’s not worth interviewing.” On the kitchen counter, Dad had left a boom box. I scanned past a bunch of Spanish stations and settled on Power 96. “‘Big Pimpin’.’ Yeah, that’s how I roll. This song describes my life.”
    “Seriously. I don’t think this is a difficult a concept to grasp.”
    “My pimp hand? I keep it strong, player.”
    “Let’s wait until your dad gets back. You can hold the camera while I ask questions. I’ll edit it with the footage from the gator show. Like a montage or something.”
    “Mr. Bones said no ‘talking head’ stuff.”
    “It won’t be talking head. I could do a voiceover.”
    “Methinks thou art cheating, fair maiden,” I said in a fake British accent. I opened the fridge, took out a can of Reddi-wip, and sprayed it into my mouth. “Nice. This thing’s down to fumes.”
    “Is it weird living with your dad?” Pippa asked. “I mean, does it feel weird because you didn’t grow up on the reservation?”
    “What is this? You’re interviewing me now?”
    “Off the record,” she said.
    “Yeah, it feels weird. I don’t even know my dad really well. Mom always talked shit about him. I guess in my mind, I had this idea he’d be different. That living here would be different. Actually, the Rez is pretty chill. Nobody acts like I’m a freak because I’m not in the tribe.”
    “And you want to be in it?” she asked quietly.
    “Let me check on those