I never really had any issues with stealing. I knew how to plan it out, how fast to enter, how much time I had inside, and how much time I had to get out. It was a subject I obsessed about to avoid failing an getting caught/arrested. But unlike swiping a hot dog from a vendor, or breaking into someones apartment to find something to sell to a pawn shop, this was much more simple. And by default, it made me way more nervous. By far, walking into Arnold's bathroom and raiding his medicine cabinet was the hardest thing I'd ever done. Now for the easy part.

Gavin Thompson or Beth Howard…

I had Acting 1 with Beth, and she seemed to be the typical social butterfly. Unfortunately for her, being a social butterfly in high school meant at the very least dabbling in narcotics. Maybe in a few years she'd realize that with high school ending, drugs didn't guarantee you friends, and she'd get her life together. Or maybe she'd desperately cling to them, unable to adapt to real life, and end up on the streets. Let some guy pop her so she could pop pills.

The other choice was Gavin Thompson. I didn't know him, but I had seen him around. Just from seeing the people he hung out with, I knew he wasn't like Beth. He wasn't a 'social dealer' he was trying to make it his job. He likely had more of what the public called 'hard core' drugs, and what I called 'not even once' drugs. His friends weren't the popular crowd, they were the guys who had already taken so many 'not even once' drugs that they barely had half a brain left. They had one foot in the grave already, and the other foot was looking shaky.

While the thought of sending Trevor Smalls into a coma with meth or LSD sounded pretty damn good whenever I felt a wave of pain from the gash on my forehead, it wasn't what my rational mind wanted. I didn't want him dead, or addicted, I just want his reputation at school ruined. I don't ever want him to walk down the halls thinking he owned this school ever again. Once I was through with him, he would be lucky to walk down the halls with his head down, minding his own business and not get heckled.

So, it came down to who had what I wanted, who likely dealt to the football team, and who would be easier to manipulate.

"Hey, Beth!" I channeled what charm I had learned from Tripp to present what I hoped was a cocky grin. Seemed to be the kind of guys she was into.

She was studying a script from Cinderella; I think her next performance in class was supposed to be a monologue from the evil stepsister. I hadn't seen it yet. Her face was clenched up in disgust, maybe from trying to get in character, maybe from a shitty plot. She looked up from it when I called her, and her face relaxed into ignorant happiness. "Hi, your Andy, right?"

I nodded, "Yeah. I just transferred in from Star City, and I was wondering if you could help me out with a little problem."

She nodded, moving over on the stage prop she had been using as a bench. It was cheap plywood and rags, sewn and painted expertly to look like a Victorian couch. I sat down next to her, praying the wood wouldn't break. "What's wrong?"

"I'm trying out for the hockey team tomorrow, and I've never played competitively. It's just… this is a new school, and I don't really know anybody." I lowered my gaze to the floor, trying to look like an insecure teenager. Didn't take much work. "I just want a way to fit in… and my parents really want me to make the team, and I want them to be proud of me, and I know it's not fair if I cheat like this every time but… but I think I could be really good, I just need to get on the team first."

By the time I'd finished my sentence, I could tell she was already hooked on my sob story. "Oh, Andy! Playing Hockey really means that much to you?"

I nodded, sighing. "All of my brothers play. My parents expect me to play too. I don't know what I'll do if I don't make the team."

She glanced around, probably checking to see if there was anyone listening in, and then leaned in close to my ear. "I've got something that can help you out. Just meet me after class in the boys bathroom."

"Boys?" I questioned.

"Of course, girls get way to chatty about shit they see."

So, I suffered my way through reading script after script to see if I could find one to perform without grimacing, and finally settled on Tom Wingfield yelling at his mother from The Glass Menagerie. I could probably portray a guy in his twenties, in a dead end job, in a crowded city, trying to live a life he hates.

I went to turn in my choice to the teacher, and she squinted at the page, then looked up at me, "Dear, I specifically said to choose a monologue from a character of your own gender."

Oh fuck me. "I did."

She took off her glasses, looking at me in that disapproving way that only old people could. Old people that have been through shit. The depression, some big war, things like that. "Listen, Anya-" No. No no no. Not this again, please. "This costume you've got going on is fine when your with your friends and family, but in the professional world, it won't be tolerated. My job as a teacher is to prepare you for the professional world. When you do work here in class, it needs to be signed with your real name, and you need to read female monologues."

"My name is Andy. I am a boy."

"Well, on your birth certificate-"

"It also says six pounds three ounces, but a lot of things have changed." I snapped. "I'm not asking you to understand this, in your generation, things like this didn't happen. Well, they did, but they were just either kept secret, for fear of being murdered by intolerant people like you. What I'm expecting is for you to treat me with respect. Intentionally calling me by a name a gender I do not identify as, you are disrespecting me. You can get over that, or I can spend the rest of my time in this class calling you Sir, and Mr. It's entirely up to you."

She was silent for a moment, before reaching for my script and signing off on it. "You need to have it memorized by next Friday."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Beth met me in the boys bathroom, as arranged, after class. "Dude! I cannot believe you put Mrs. Shelley in her place! Do you know how many times she's dissed me for being gay?"

Well, that was news. "Uh, we'll totally diss her later, but, do you have the… stuff?"

"Oh, yeah! Here." She reached into her pink and black cheetah print duffle bag, pulling out a small white bottle. "You take three a day, once every meal. Make sure to drink a lot of water though, these will kill your kidneys."

I smirked, pulling my phone out form behind my back and making sure the camera got a good shot of her face. "Perfect, thanks Beth."

She froze, "Wh-what?"

"I've got it all on video. You, trying to give me steroids. But don't worry, I won't give it to anyone, as long as you do me a favor."

She didn't seem quite over her shock yet to ask what that favor was, so I continued. "These pills, you supply the football team? Varsity? Trevor Smalls in particular?"

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, I do." She mumbled.

"You're going to replace all their steroids with these." I pulled a clear orange pill bottle out of my pocket. "These are called statin. They're designed for people with high cholesterol, and the side effects are going to make sure Trevor and his goons lose every game they have until they stop taking them."

She looked even more frightened, so I tried to clear it up, "No worries, death isn't one of them. Loss of sleep, extreme muscle soreness, abdominal cramps, headaches, dizziness, vomiting, enough to throw him off his game."

"Where did you even get these?" She whispered.

I raided Arnold's medicine cabinet this morning, officially betraying the only people who have ever cared about me. "Not your concern. Now that the facts are all on the table, do we have a deal?"

She shakily reached out for the bottle, nodding slowly. "Please don't tell on me."

"I won't. Now, for your own safety, you might wanna stop this drug dealer thing before it goes too far. After you give these to Trevor, of course."

She nodded, "Are we done here?"

"You're free to go."

She took off, and I headed to the gym to put on Mikey's old Hockey gear for tryouts.

"That's where it ends." I told myself. "Straight and narrow. Straight and narrow."