No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Thirty-Four

You wanna know what makes me nervous because I can get caught, grilled to the third degree, and thrown in jail if I'm not too careful with whatever I'm doing?

Certainly not helping out with Aspen's fake ID business the Thursday of spring break. Being near the girl who wants to kiss me and vice versa makes me nervous for a different reason.

The phone's still being held hostage -- I had to sneak into my parents' room to text Aspen and let her know I'm coming over -- and the clock on the computer lets me know Mom won't be leaving her job for another three hours. As far as Dad knows, I'm out on a drive to get some peace and fresh air. There's no chance of either one of them catching me not doing what I said I was gonna do. For the time being, I'm as free as a bird.

Ironically, the ID I just put in the laminating machine is for a client going as a twenty-three-year-old Nikita Byrd.

Adjusting her snug football jersey -- showing her admiration for Russell Wilson... or really likes the number three -- Aspen looks over the just-finished products. Her soft hands pick up two cards, and she squints at them, searching for any mistakes or typos. Seeing none, she puts them down and picks up the next two.

"Where do you come up with the names?" I ask as she switches over to editing the next license and printing it, her ponytail swishing at her every movement.

"Sometimes online, mostly guesswork," she answers. Her intense concentration makes her appear colder and distant than she actually is.

Out of respect for her work, I wait until she doesn't need to put all her focus on one important detail. "What do you mean by guesswork?"

"Suppose you see someone walking down the street," Aspen explains, "and you, for any reason, have to guess what their name is. Do they look like a Riley? A Sammy? A Joan?"

I cringe. "The only Joan I know was a complete bitch," I interject. "Acting like she wasn't looking for attention whenever she gave an opinion literally no one asked for. And then got offended when someone called her out."

Nikita's card slides out of the machine, shiny and new. I carefully place the card the next table over and put a heavy dictionary on top of it. Aspen told me this was the best way to cool it and keep it flat at the same time.

"Were you the one who called her out?" she guesses. A fresh sheet of IDs gets printed out, and she sets to cutting them out.

I nod. "Suddenly, I was a racist asshole who thinks I'm so smart because I have a better grasp in English class than she ever could."

She cuts me off before I can relay the entire scenario. "Once the card cools, you'll need the sandpaper," she instructs. "The license shouldn't have any jagged edges, so it's important you sand them off."

It takes me a second to locate the pile of sandpaper in the room, hiding behind the open door. "And that's it?"

"Hm." With a snip, a card drops from the paper and lands on the desk inches below. "Remind me when the license was supposedly issued?"

I check on the screen. "Two years ago. Why?"

"You can't have a license for two years without it still looking brand new. Makes it too suspicious for anyone checking it. Some light sanding on the front and back of the card helps make it authentic."

Before coming here, I thought making IDs would be simpler than it is. It's certainly not a skill you can pick up on your own.

Aspen places both scissors and the paper on the desk. She stretches her arms, lifting the jersey up as she does so. That's how I learn she has another tattoo, a small purple heart just above her hip. That and the ducks have me wondering what the significances are behind them.