Train Track Girls

1 - Consume The Light

Chapter Song: Children of the Revolution//Lana Del Rey

The city lights may look lovely, but they drown out the stars. Electric, but artificial.

We are the light polluted – the starless patch of sky. You'd have to look close to see something that glitters.

We are what they condense into scandalized whispers, what they touch with their sideways glances.

November and Riley – we're not trouble, we're chaos.

...

Same high school, same house, same height, same hair, same room, same clothes, same old CDs, same cell phone. We are mirror-image people.

We tell everyone we're sisters, but biologically, we're cousins. Our moms live together because her parents are divorced and my dad is sorry, this number is no longer in service.

As far as I know, I need only one person in this world. I allow myself November because she's different. We're different.

Like: A few months ago, when I'd cheated on a major test. I was sure I'd fail, and I couldn't afford to, so I'd hidden stolen answers in my coat pocket. I could've just memorized them, just like I could've just studied really hard or I could've made notes in class or I could've done a lot of things up to that point in my life that I hadn't.

This girl, Susan, caught me and decided to snitch. My offenses were weighed up. Suspension: guaranteed. Expulsion: considered. I denied, obviously. My lying is good, but not good enough. I couldn't convince away all of the evidence - not the copied memo in my pocket and the skipped classes that placed me out of favor.

I walked out of the principal's office, nonchalant. They called my mom in, but she didn't pick up. They should have learned she'd never pick up by then. November came home late that day.

The next day, they didn't call me in. There was no talk of suspension. They told me I'd write another test and so the day after that, I did.

Fast forward a week: we all got our tests back. November's desk remained empty.

This is the story that the school got: I borrowed November's coat. She'd forgotten she'd put the memo in the pocket. It was all her fault.

That's what she told them. That's what she told me she told them. That's what they believed, with my convincing denial and her immediate confession. There was no changing their minds or hers.

For the rest of the day, I didn't even know what to say to her. Whether to be mad or very mad or grateful. She's got my back, whether I want her to have it or not.

After school, we took a detour to walk along the train tracks, then went home and took turns choosing which song filled up the silence of our room.

It shouldn't have seemed like a big deal to us. School consequences shouldn't have meant anything. But we couldn't disappoint the Moms even more than we already did.

I've got November's back too. Like: When we were children and she broke the kitchen window. I cut my arms up so that they'd think it was me. The wounds got infected afterward and I was sick for a week.

November and I bought this fake, cracked crystal ball at a vintage store a town over when we'd gone on a rare, incredibly cheap vacation with our moms. It was a big deal when we were ten. We'd consult the ball for nearly everything. It's not often, but sometimes we still dust it off and pretend we can look into the future. I claim to see myself living in Vegas, where I live off gamble-earned millions, having perfected my bluff. November says I'm wrong, says we'll both live in Hollywood in neighboring houses. She'll write scripts, I'll play her lead. We'll get dogs in place of partners because it's obvious who'll love us more.