Dead Med

by Freida McFadden

It takes me several beats to realize there’s a gun pointed at my face.

When he speaks, his voice is flat and toneless: “Do exactly as I say if you don’t want to die.”

“In every class,” she says, “ten people flunk and need to repeat the year. Five drop out, never to return. And, of course, in the last few years, there’s always one who…”

“My name is Dr. Patrice Winters,” she says. “But you can call me Patrice. I’ve been acting as the school’s wellness counselor for the last four years.”

Drug use is apparently rampant at our school and at the nearby college. Nobody entirely knows the source, but three years ago, a student at DeWitt overdosed and died. Then it happened again each of the next two years.

“And one day, you can come back with a shotgun and blow the brains out of all the other students.”

“Who needs drugs when you’ve got extreme-caffeine coffee?” “Exactly,” he says. But he doesn’t smile back.

Although I can see in his eyes that he truly doesn’t care. And that is just super weird, folks.

Patrice is the contact at the school who is sending students to the clinic.

water is the only molecule where the solid form has a lower density than the liquid form. That’s why ice floats on water. I always found that fascinating.

I know all about you and Dr. Conlon. Put the answers to the final exam under the door of Locker 282 or else everyone will find out the truth.