Train Track Girls

6 - Stethoscope Boy

Song Chapter: Sober//Nikyee Heaton

The school does random bag inspections every few months. November's been caught for cigarettes, matches, lighters, you name it. Me for a lighter, her cigarettes, more prescription pills than we're allowed to carry.

The last one was in Chemistry.

Three weeks had passed since the party incident and November had learned to stand guys again. Well, more than stand them actually. She was back to all of her old games.

Do you know what November's secret is? It isn't her looks, even though she's more than pretty – she's a face you remember. Her secret is that she's November. And that's it. She is a key that fits nearly everyone. If she wants you, she'll have you, and how lovely it is to be had.

November didn't speak about what happened that night or explain any of the things she'd said. I didn't bring it up either because I was scared of what it'd do to her. I just let her enjoy her control.

I'm scared about a lot of things with her. I have to be.

Milton and I had been partners for a week at that point, but we hadn't spoken much. Not outside of commenting on the experiments and him grinning at our mistakes. Then one day our teacher told us to stop what we were doing and unpack our bags. I remembered the vodka in my water bottle, casually thrown into my bag earlier that morning.

My poker face didn't waver. It rarely does. It is Botox solid. A fortress built to withstand.

I placed my bottle on the desk, then turned my bag upside down, letting books and crumpled notes empty out.

November sent me a text from Maryse's phone: Dennell got my cigarettes again. Does he know expensive this shit is? Of course he does, that's why he's always taking mine.

Our Chemistry teacher hesitated in front of me, searching for something because it was me, and so I had to be in possession of something punishable. His eyes passed over my water bottle before he looked at me. "I want you expelled," he said blatantly. My heart stuttered, only for one beat. Aunt Decca wouldn't like that. Mom wouldn't like that. There's already so much they don't like.

I smirked at Mr. Smith. "Why's that? Am I too distracting?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You think you're invincible, don't –"

Then something cluttered down next to me. I looked to my side to see tiny pills spilling from a white capsule. "Oops," Milton said, his expression apologetic as he rounded them up. He had the attention now, and Mr. Smith said, "Clean that mess up. Riley, this isn't our last little conversation."

Then to Milton: "According to school policy you aren't allowed to carry that many pills." Mr. Smith looked at me, because I would know. "Are these hers?" he asked Milton. "Don't cover for her if they are."

I cupped my chin in my hand and stared between the two of them.

"No," Milton said, "They're mine. I have ADHD."

"You're supposed to leave them with the nurse."

"I sorted it out with the grade head," he explained (it sounded like a lie, but a good enough one) and Mr. Smith, who stood doubtful for a few moments, eventually let it slide and moved onto the next table, but not before shooting me a final glare.

I looked to Milton, unsure of what to say. "Those really for ADHD?"

Even as I asked, I knew they were. Although ours was supposed to be one of the "good" public schools, Esterfield had a serious drug problem. Milton, however, was an infamous spazz. He wasn't the type to pop, shoot, sniff or smoke. I remembered a few girls talking about what a shame it was that he was so annoying because he passed for cute. Apparently, he'd been bullied up until he started high school.