More Than Good Enough by Crissa-Jean Chappell Page A

speed, my T-shirt flapped against my skin. I was freaking out. Not gonna lie. When I gunned the engine, my pulse jumped. No going back now. Pippa wrapped her arms around the space above my jeans and squeezed.
    We were totally in the open. No protection if we wiped out. The bike rumbled under me like it might burst into flames. That would be cool, but not exactly convenient.
    We rode to Everglades National Park and rolled straight through the entrance. Just waved as we passed the ranger station. The guy inside waved back. I kept cruising down this wide, curvy path. There was nobody around except for a lonely backpacker marching into the swamp.
    “This is the perfect place for my zombie movie,” Pippa screamed into the wind.
    “The army used to hide missiles out here,” I told her.
    She wasn’t really listening. That’s when I pulled off the road.
    Pippa squeezed tighter. “We’re stopping?”
    I glanced at the sky. Vultures circled like punctuation marks. I remembered what I’d told Pippa. They defended themselves by vomiting. Nature was so weird.
    “Don’t you want to check it out?” I asked.
    “Check what out?”
    “The abandoned missile base.”
    “Okay.” I could tell she was trying to hold it together. “Are there any snakes around?”
    “Burmese pythons, mostly.”
    She shuddered. “Lots of them?”
    “Trust me. You don’t want to know. Even the park rangers lost count. That’s because stupid people buy them as pets. When the python grows to be, like, twelve feet long, they throw them away. Kind of messed up. I mean, it’s not the snake’s fault … ”
    I swung my leg over the bike. Pippa almost fell, but I helped her down like a true gentleman.
    “Watch out for the tailpipe,” I said, grabbing a backpack from under the seat. “The metal gets so hot, you could torch the skin off your leg. That’s what happened to my dad. Third-degree burns. He’s got a scar and everything.”
    The stripes in the pavement were so faded, I wondered how long ago anybody had driven over them. We walked to a fence snarled with barbed wire. Behind it, a sign said: U.S. ARMY RESTRICTED AREA. USE OF DEADLY FORCE IS AUTHORIZED .
    “This is crazy.” Pippa was talking so fast, it sounded like she was on crack. “Oh my god. I can’t believe we’re doing this. Are you sure we won’t get caught?”
    I was already climbing the fence. I tossed my jacket over the barbed wire so Pippa wouldn’t get cut. She hauled herself over like it was nothing. It took me a couple tries just to dig my sneakers into the links without slipping.
    Once I reached the top, I was super proud of myself. No joke.
    Getting down was another thing.
    “Now what?” I shouted.
    “Just move fast and don’t think.”
    “I’m not very good at that.”
    “Which one? Moving fast? Or thinking?”
    “Both. There’s a certain part of my anatomy that … um …
I don’t want to mess up.” Did I just say that out loud?
    I managed to scramble over the barbed wire. Once I was halfway down the other side, I jumped and hit the ground so hard a jolt of pain blasted through my knees.
    “Nice,” Pippa said. “Are you just going to leave the bike there?”
    “Oh, right. The swamp apes might steal it. Quit your bitching. Nobody’s gonna find it.”
    The road curved toward a building in the distance. The missile base was just a row of cement blocks, like the ones we used to stack in the backyard, pretending we were Storm Troopers defending the Death Star. This thing was for real, though it was all boarded up with plywood and the bolts in the DANGER sign had rusted.
    A burnt-looking tree was the only semi-living thing in sight. Pippa took a composition book out of her bag. She sat down, right there on the grass, and started writing. It was kind of geeky and adorable at the same time.
    “Taking notes?” I asked.
    “For my zombie screenplay. I want to remember what this place looks like. It’s kind of epic.”
    “I used to write stuff down,” I