No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Thirty-One

The recording app passes the eight-minute mark when I hear Josh say to a scrawny junior, "All you have to do is swipe his USB drive, replace it with the one in my hand, and drop it off at the location. Shadler's not gonna find out about it; don't worry too much."

Josh and the junior exchange some more words before going separate ways to their last classes.

With a smile, I stop the recording. As small as it is, Josh's statement is evident enough for an investigation. 

This week is looking up to be a good one. 

After Sunday, in between flirty texts between us, Aspen's been letting me know with her business and if the work was overbearing for one person to do in a short time. She texted that she might need me in a couple days, but not now. I'm keeping my phone glued to me so I don't miss her call for help.

Yesterday and today's good, too. Jeremiah and I got good scores on the latest tests. Ikra got a small raise at her job. We have plans for spring break next week, and some of my plans involve me time. I get butterflies just thinking about the shit I'm gonna do.

The clock ticks on my dashboard while I turn a page of my book, the Broken Bones cemetery ready for when I feel like looking at the scenery. Little flowers are starting to grow all over the section and around the headstones. Squirrels and birds are back to roaming around, doing what they do.

The one word that'd pop into your head to describe Broken Bones in spring? 'Peaceful'.

Eventually, the clock marks the minute the last bell rings, and I can go home.

I park the car on the driveway a little later, but the song on the radio isn't over. If the song's not over, then neither's my singing. And after the song ends, I walk to an imaginary beat as I let myself in the house.

Mom's at the table, facing the door so she's the first I see. Her legs and arms are crossed. Her scowl is deeper than usual.

Ignoring her, I take off my shoes and attempt to walk past her. I just got to the good part in my book, and I want to read it in my room.

She grabs me by the arm. "Niamh, sit down," she says. "We need to talk."

Obediently, I sit down, scooting the chair back several inches away from her when she got too close.

Without a word, Mom holds up a manila envelope, the top already opened. It's addressed to me, and this is the first time I'm aware of its existence. The happy feeling I've had the past couple days drops as I process this.

"Explain yourself," Mom orders.

"Explain what? You know opening someone else's mail is a federal crime," I answer. What else did Mom mean I have to explain? Unlike her, I haven't done anything criminal. Today.

Having no comeback, she pulls out the contents from the envelope and smacks them into my hands. She gestures for me to read the front page. 

Confused, I hold it up to my face. A logo at the top is a drawing of a grey-colored leaf, held at the bottom by a grey hand. The letter's dated last Friday.

Dear Niamh Kirton,

We are pleased to inform you of your admission to Silver Leaf University in the fall of 20--

I don't get the chance to read the rest of it when Mom opens her mouth.

"When in the hell were you going to tell me?" she demands. "All this time of giving me vague answers of where you want to go, and you had the audacity to sneak behind my back and apply outside this country!"