No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Three

As quiet as possible, I open the front door. Before I leave, I turn and peer inside of the tiny house. So far, neither of my parents have woken up and demanded where I'm going. I'm not sure if the years of walking quietly around the house finally paid off or if Dad started taking those sleeping pills he bought some time ago. Either way, I'm not complaining.

The door closes with a soft snik, and I get my ass to the library like Jeremiah told me. It's not too far away from where I live; I get there in under five minutes. According to the freak leaning against the wall, basking in the light from the lone streetlamp, it's not fast enough.

"Man, you took forever to get here," Jeremiah comments with his arms crossed. The skateboard he brings with him to pretty much everywhere -- despite the fact the last time he rode it was a month ago -- is propped up next to him.

"Yeah, well, I had to do some sneaking and then take all of four minutes and something seconds to walk up here for some mysterious reason you couldn't be bothered to tell me on the phone," I retort. "What the fuck do you want?"

Jeremiah puts his finger to his lips. "Dude, everyone's asleep," he tells me in a whisper.

Rolling my eyes, I mock-whisper back, "Everyone lives a block and a half away from where we are. Don't be so paranoid right now."

"Excuse me if I don't want cops patrolling around because of how loud you're being!"

I take a deep breath. "Fine. What did you want to tell me?" I ask.

Instead of continuing whatever the hell we're doing, he looks around, clearly expecting something to come up. It slowly dawns on me on why Jeremiah was delaying.

"Did you invite Ikra, too?" When Jeremiah doesn't answer, I let out a groan. "Dude, you gotta tell me more about the meeting. Who's going to be there. What the main reason of the meeting is. What snacks are being offered. You know, important stuff."

He simply shrugs, yet being 'helpful' once again.

Rubbing my eyes, I lean against the wall and play with the wheels on the skateboard. They're fun to play with, but after two minutes of hearing the dull whirl over and over again I'm getting sick of it. I stop just as I hear the patter of someone's footsteps coming towards us. I have to assume it's Ikra and not some serial killer searching for trophies.

And lo and behold, a figure comes into the light in all sashaying glory. Her grey skinny jeans cling around the thick legs that jiggle with every step. The large pink top is loose all around, and I can see she recently bought a fancy bra, because I'd never seen it before now and it looks pretty and expensive. Her bangs are heavy and the rest of the dark-blue dyed hair is tied up in a high ponytail. She dresses well, but she'd usually say she'd look cooler with the tattoos she's been wanting for years on her olive skin.

So in other words, it's nighttime and Ikra Talbot still doesn't hold back on looking as great and Ikra-esque as possible. One of the many reasons why I fucking love her.

At this point, we're all looking at each other. "What? Don't tell me we came out here for a staring contest," Ikra prompts.

"It might be, since Jerry here didn't even tell me he got you here," I point out.

"Jesus Niamh, would you drop it?" Jeremiah bitches. He slaps at my hand. "And stop playing with the wheels."

I flip him off. He ignores it. "Now that I have both of you here, I can now tell you the great news I got."

As if he's a magician, he pulls out little plastic cards from his jeans pocket, all of them connected with a silver binder ring. Both Ikra and I glance at each other as he shows them. Pictures of people I don't recognize take up a corner of the cards.

"Please tell me you didn't wait all this time to show off your fake IDs," I groan.

"Yes, I did," Jeremiah answers, as a matter of fact. "Cause you know why? These can get us anywhere we want."

"I know how they work," I say, monotone. "Good job. You should be proud. Is the show-and-tell over and I can go home?"

To my surprise, Ikra holds up a hand. "Hang on, he might be onto something," she says.

I gape at her. "Really? You too?"

She nods. "You know me and my interest in alcohol-making," she informs us. "Where's a better place to learn about how they were made than bars and breweries?"

On the Internet, like a normal person?

Jeremiah seems happy to have someone on his side. "I got these from a professional," he says with a smile, still holding up the IDs. "They're kinda pricey, but they're the most legit cards you can find in a two-hundred mile radius."

Since I've already lost Jeremiah, I figure I can put some sense into Ikra. Some. "You're still saving the money for the tattoos. The fakes can be done anytime."

"So can tattoos," Jeremiah counter-argues. "And they last forever while the cards only last a few years."

"Because by then you'd be old enough," I say. "It's really not worth spending hundreds on a jump start to bar-hop."

I will say right here that I'm close getting to Ikra. But then Jeremiah has to jump in again. "Tattoos don't get you in bars to learn how whisky's made, though." To me, he asks, "Come on, Niamh. I'll even pay for the cards so you guys don't have to.  Aren't you curious of what's out there?"

"It doesn't matter if we're all curious, I'm more about us staying out of jail and keeping our money we would have paid for bail."

Jeremiah smiles slowly. "You admit you're curious, though," he says.

"I'm not joining the dark side you ass."

If we were dating, I would have been done with him and find someone else. And I've never been in a relationship, because I have the most deal-breakers in town -- both Jeremiah and Ikra think so at least. Also, I have no idea how dating works without it malfunctioning every two hours.

"I still have other shit to worry about than getting caught by the cops," I say. "Not only do I have to talk to my parents as minimal as possible until I can move out and away from them, I also have to pretend I'm planning to attend college in England."

Both my friends snap their heads to me as I realize how much longer I made this meeting take. 

"Pretend?" Ikra echoes.

"England?" Jeremiah repeats.

With a sigh, Ikra sits down on a bench I don't notice before since it's outside of the light. "Spill everything you got," she instructs. "We got time."

Ah, shit.