Page 80 of The Broposal

“Yeah, we’re cool,” Kenny said, but it didn’t sound like we were cool.

“You sure?”

Kenny didn’t answer, just gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands.

“Look, man, we were drunk last night. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.” It killed me to say it, but I would much rather erase the night before than lose the relationship I already had with Kenny.

He still didn’t say anything. His hands were gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles were losing their color, and the car was going way faster than the speed limit.

“Kenny, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Fuck!” Kenny shouted. At me? Kenny yelling at me was the last thing I would have expected. I shut my mouth and looked out the window, waiting for him to say whatever was on his mind. He finally let out a sigh. “After your shift, okay?”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you everything when you get home tonight.”

Before I could answer, I saw red and blue lights flashing in the side mirror out the window. We were being pulled over.

“Shit…” Kenny said. I couldn’t breathe. I clutched my chest, feeling it rising and falling much faster than it should.

“Just be cool. It’s all right, I’ll probably just get a ticket. You’ll be fine,” Kenny said, his voice a lot softer than it was before. But there was fear in Kenny’s eyes. That wasn’t fear of getting a speeding ticket. The fact that Kenny was worried made me worry even more. I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. In. Out. If I was hyperventilating, I would look suspicious. In. Out.

The officer walked up to the driver’s-side window, and Kenny lowered it. I put my hands on the dashboard where the cop could see them and stared forward.

“Morning, sir,” Kenny said. I kept my eyes forward. I didn’t want to make eye contact with the cop or I might cry.

“Do you have any idea why I pulled you over?” the officer asked.

“No, sir,” Kenny said, sounding way too innocent. Kenny told me you’re supposed to say no when a cop asks if you know why you’re being pulled over. Anything else would be an admission of guilt they could use against you.

“You were going twenty miles over the speed limit.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” Kenny said. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I’m going to need your registration and both of your licenses,” the officer said.

“But he wasn’t driving,” Kenny snapped, a little too harshly.

The cop raised an eyebrow. “Is there a reason you can’t show me your license?” he asked directly to me.

“I don’t have a driver’s license, sir,” I said.

“Why do you need his identification?” Kenny asked. “He wasn’t driving. Here, take mine. I’m getting my registration from the glove compartment, that all right?” Kenny waited for the officer to nod before moving. He reached across and pulled out his registration, then took his license from his wallet and handed it over. He slyly reached for his phone while he got his license and started recording.

“I’m still going to need ID on both of you,” the officer said.

“Why do you need ID from someone who wasn’t driving?” Kenny asked, and the cop sighed. I knew exactly why. Good ol’ racial profiling.

“ID, or out of the vehicle.”

I felt my heart banging against my chest. I had a fake ID I could use, but I’d never tested out its validity with a cop before. If he realized it was fake, I’d definitely be arrested. The cars on the highway were already slowing down to get a good look.

Great. I would have an eager audience when it happened.

“I’m sorry, sir. I have my ID. I’ll give it to you,” I said, hoping to God the fake ID would be passable.

“All right, hand it over.”

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