The next morning, when I slid the folder back into the drawer, my fingers brushed the temporary ID, and I paused anyway.
I looked stiff in the photo, but that wasn’t what held my attention. What came back to me was Nathan’s lowered voice at the DMV counter, and the quick way his arm had moved in front of me in the parking lot before he pulled it back again.
They were small things. So small that if I didn’t think about them, they could have meant nothing at all.
But I remembered them too clearly.
I closed the folder and was about to push the drawer shut when I still ended up pulling out a form Cindy had tucked inside yesterday. It was a confirmation page the school might need later. There were a few sections I could mostly understand, except the layout was confusing.
I stood there for
