More Than Good Enough by Crissa-Jean Chappell Page B

told her. “Song lyrics, mostly. But my mom tossed all my old notebooks.”
    “That’s so evil.”
    I shrugged. “Evil is too kind a word.”
    “You should keep writing.”
    “True. I’ve been working on new lyrics. Nothing major. Just getting some random ideas. Music is my ultimate release. It’s like a VIP screening in my brain.”
    “A song is like a movie, too.”
    “How so?”
    “It’s there. You’re in the moment. Then it’s gone.”
    Nobody had ever talked about stuff like that with me. I wanted to keep talking to Pippa … tell her about the music and the words that kept me awake at night.
    “Sometimes I think I’ve found the perfect melody,” I explained, “and after playing it for a while, it doesn’t feel right anymore. Or it maybe sounded better in my head. Or I’m just not good enough to play it.”
    “I know what you mean,” Pippa said. “When I listen to an awesome song on the radio, it feels like the band is singing with me.”
    “My ex-girlfriend, Michelle, always made fun of my songs. Actually, she thought they were all about her.”
    What the hell was I saying? This was the perfect time to shut up. Any rational person would’ve stopped talking. Did I?
    Of course not.
    “Can I tell you something personal?” I asked.
    “Sure,” Pippa said, staring up at the trees.
    “Michelle was my first. I mean, you’ll always remember your first, right?”
    “Yeah. I guess.” She shoved the notebook in her bag. “Unless you were unconscious or something.”
    I stared.
    “Sorry. I was trying to be funny,” she said.
    “Thanks. That really helps.”
    “I mean, I know what you’re going through.”
    “You do?”
    She hugged me. When she started to pull away, I didn’t let go. Pippa was looking at me so intensely I forgot to breathe. We kissed right there on the abandoned road, a place where men had built missiles and planned wars, and now, hardly anybody remembered. She was breathing into me, daring me to feel something.
    Still, I held back.
    She must’ve noticed. Yeah, I’m sure she did. God. Why couldn’t I be normal for once? I was overanalyzing the situation as usual, thinking about something my crazy cousin, Marco, had told me in back sixth grade: kissing seals the deal. Of course, I hadn’t made out with anybody then. Not unless you count Pippa, who’d tried to “practice” on me during a marathon of Ninja Turtles.
    Now we were kissing for real.
    Shit.
    I had officially lost it. Why was I thinking about anything at a time like this? I needed to focus. Here I was, alone with this girl who had somehow changed into this mega hottie, and I couldn’t even kiss it away.
    Pippa tilted her chin down, closing me off. She must’ve sensed that I was someplace else.
    “What’s wrong?” I whispered.
    “Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”
    I stroked the small of her back, tracing circles there. “Do I make you nervous?”
    “Only when you do that.”
    “I’ll stop, if you want.”
    “Don’t. I mean … I don’t want you to stop.”
    My hands slid inside her shirt. I kept mumbling stuff like, “You’re so damn pretty.” She told me to keep going. It seemed like the right thing to say. I wanted to feel good, too; but all I felt was confused. And to make things more confusing, I didn’t know why.
    On the side of the building, somebody had painted a rocket with the words U.S. ARMY printed in capital letters. Under it floated some modern day graffiti. YUCK , it said, beside a frowny face with a mouthful of fangs.
    Pippa pushed my hands off her. Shoved me, actually. “Do you always kiss with your eyes open?”
    “Huh?” I was still looking at the rocket.
    “Just be real. Seriously. I can take a hint. If this is too weird—”
    “It’s not like that. I mean, shit. I’m sorry.”
    What was I sorry for? It seemed like I was always apologizing.
    Pippa smoothed her hair into place, tucking a few strands behind her ears. “Let’s just go, okay?”
    “Wait. I want to show