Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

High school parties really were all the same. At least, that had been Veronica’s experience in the month-and-a-half since the Heathers claimed her as one of their own. Someone’s parents would be out of town, and the word would spread. Exclusive-but-not. After all, you couldn’t throw a party without letting in just enough normies to be impressed by the popular crowd. 

There was probably something psychological about that. Anthropologists could study it.

Fuck, she needed another drink.

That was the other thing. The alcohol sucked. Not that she was some great connoisseur, mind you. For all the effort these people put into their designer clothes, curated playlists, and endless drama, you’d think someone could afford a little better than Stroh’s beer and floor cleaner vodka. She knew for a fact Ram paid some drunk to get it for them. Did he not have standards at least?

Not in Ohio.

In Ohio, you drank vodka diet cokes like a good little minion and prayed for death.

Apparently she’d been brooding in the kitchen long enough, because Heather McNamara was waving her over to the makeshift dance floor.

“Veronica! Come dance with us!”

Veronica noted that Heather Duke looked AT LEAST as broody as she was, and nobody was calling her out on it or making her dance.

But hell, she liked Mac. As Whitney’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody poured from the speakers, Veronica tried to follow the other girl’s easy, fluid rhythm. It was a lost cause—she probably looked like a lobotomized jellyfish. Yet, under Mac’s spell, none of it mattered. There was something almost hypnotic about the way she coaxed people into forgetting themselves.

The AV kid playing DJ perched next to Ram’s dad’s top-of-the-line stereo system with a shoebox full of cassettes finally settled on a slow song. As the first notes spilled into the room, the atmosphere shifted. Singles retreated to the sidelines while couples - and even a few groups, Veronica noted, amused - took the opportunity to press closer together in the dimmed lights.

The air felt heavy, the room too warm.

“I’m gonna go have a smoke!” Veronica said to Mac, who shrugged and went looking for a more suitable dance partner.

The night was cold, getting deeper into October, and the fluorescent light on the porch buzzed slightly. There were a few other people huddled up outside, smoking or just getting a little air. 

Veronica fumbled in her purse. 

“Want one?” A girl offered her a pack of Newports. Veronica vaguely recognized her from History class. Another perk of being a Heather, you never had to buy your own cigarettes.

“Thanks. Gotta light?”

“Yeah, one sec.”

The girl held up a BIC, and Veronica cupped her hand around the little flame to protect it from the wind.

“Ashley, right? In Coach Kelly’s 2nd period?” 

“Right. I’m dating Jack. He always drags me to these things.”

Veronica didn’t know who Jack was. She nodded anyway.

“I know what you mean. I think I saw Kurt trying to set a new record for how many cans he can crush with his head.”

Ashley laughed. “He’s done that, like, three times tonight. He keeps losing count and getting pissed.” 

When the conversational potential of Kurt Kelly’s drinking exploits ran out, Veronica took a drag from her cigarette and flicked the ash away. They might give her cancer one day, but they were great for filling awkward silences.

“Didn’t think you’d keep coming to these parties. Doesn’t really seem like your scene.”

Veronica had no idea anyone had noticed. Or even that they’d care, if they did. 

“It’s mostly…Heather, I guess. She insists.” Inhale. Burn. Exhale. 

“I’m surprised, after you threw up on her shoes at Homecoming.” 

Veronica groaned. “Why is that all everyone remembers?”

“You threw up on Heather Chandler and lived to tell about it. That’s kind of a big deal. We were pretty sure your body would turn up on the news the next day.”

“Me too.”

“So out of curiosity…” Ashley took a drag of her own cigarette, a sly look in her eyes as she regarded Veronica. “How did you get out of that?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

Veronica didn’t actually know why Heather had forgiven her so easily. It didn’t make sense. Veronica had slipped into her room that night, frustrated, still half-drunk, muttering an apology that was closer to a curse. Heather had just looked at her with those cat-like eyes and said “On Monday, I own your ass.” 

“She told me to get down on my knees and beg.” It was the truth, anyway. “Guess she likes knowing she can boss me around.”

“Kinky.”

It absolutely had been, and Veronica was absolutely not going to think of it like that. Her cigarette was burning down, and she used it to gesture to the party, changing the subject.

“I think she thinks if we don’t show up to every one of these people will forget we exist.”

“‘Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.’” Ashley quoted.

“Shakespeare? Pretty good, for Westerberg”

“I blame AP Lit.” 

“You should. Reading Romeo and Juliet to high school students is just asking for trouble.”

“Two teenagers fall in love and everything ends in murder/suicide? I don’t see any problems there.”

“Yeah, I - “

“VeRONICaaaa!” Uh oh. There was only one person who could make the hair stand up on the back of her neck like that. She grimaced at Ashley apologetically.

“Sorry. Duty calls. Thanks for the smoke.”

“Anytime.”

Veronica flicked the butt out into the night. Maybe it would start a fire and burn the whole place down.

Back inside, it was clear that something was wrong. Heather Chandler had disappeared…shit…over an hour ago. Veronica had purposely not wondered what she was doing or who she was doing it with because Heather made her a little crazy on her best days, and getting dragged to and then abandoned at a party she didn’t want to be at in the first place didn’t help with that.

Even the drunkest Westerbergians had taken one look at Heather and decided they had pressing matters to attend to elsewhere, discretion being the better part of valor. The other Heathers, and Veronica, had no such luck. Especially Veronica, it seemed.

Heather Chandler was never not stunning. She had been stunning earlier in the night, with her sinfully short dress, lips painted a lethal shade of red, and flashing eyes. She was stunning now, her eyes shiny with tears, color high on her cheeks, perfect hair mussed and dress stained. Love her, hate her, you certainly couldn’t ignore her. 

“We’re leaving.” Heather’s voice was flat.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” She rounded on Duke. “Get. The fucking. Car.”

“Shit, okay.” Exit Heather and Heather, stage right. Close up on Veronica, in the crosshairs. 

“Seriously Heather, are you okay?” 

“I broke up with David.”

“Did he, uh…he didn’t try anything, did he?”

“David?” Heather scoffed. “He’s more of a pussy than you are. I simply explained to him how obviously unsuited we are for each other.”

“Uh huh.” Veronica was not drunk enough for this. “What happened to your dress?”

Heather looked down as if she was just now noticing that anything was amiss. “It’s nothing. I must have spilled something.”

Sure, and Ram was going to join MENSA. Her feelings must have shown on her face.

“Shut up, Veronica.”

***

It was radio silence the rest of the weekend. Veronica didn’t know if Heather was talking to the other Heathers, but if she was, she had at least sworn Mac to secrecy. Veronica hadn’t even bothered calling Duke, but Mac was more reasonable. Still, she didn’t seem to know any more than Veronica did. 

“Heather’s like this sometimes. Especially after a breakup. She’ll get over it.”

“But do you just…ignore it?”

“That’s usually best. She gets kind of bitchy if you press her on it. I don’t think she likes talking about her feelings.”

That was the understatement of the century.

“If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, no big deal. It was worse when she broke up with Kurt. I don’t think she liked David that much. Want us to pick you up for school?”

“No thanks. I’m riding with Martha.”

There was a pause over the line. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea.”

“What, why?”

“You know Heather. She doesn’t…really like it when you hang out with them.” Mac’s inflection made it sound more like a question. 

Veronica felt a flash of annoyance. Heather couldn’t just ignore them all weekend then expect everyone to walk on eggshells around her. “She’ll ‘get over it,’ right?”

“Veronica…”

“Relax. Yelling at me always cheers Heather up.”

Mac laughed. “Fine. Your funeral.”

***

Veronica was still annoyed at Heather when she got out of Martha’s Kia on Monday. The weekend had only given her more time to dwell, and it hadn’t done the situation any favors. Even Martha had been shooting her concerned looks on the ride over, although she didn’t ask what happened. 

Heather’s paranoid drama must have been getting to her, because it seemed like everyone was watching her on the way to her locker. Not that people didn’t watch her, now. Public scrutiny was something you had to get used to when you sold your soul to the devil, like drinking cheap vodka and wearing heels to school. Painful, but better than the alternative. 

Still, the school seemed to be waiting. Holding its breath.

It was weird. 

Nothing happened in homeroom.

Not in first, second, or third period.

Lunchtime. Veronica was just starting to relax when all hell broke loose.

She’d just gotten her lunch tray and sat down at the Heathers table. Duke and Mac arrayed in front of her. Chandler to the side. A solid view of her old table just in case she needed to catch Martha’s eye. And, maybe, lunchtime in high school shouldn’t make her feel like a war veteran with PTSD but she was handling it thank you very much. Knowing where the emergency exits were was just good sense.

On a normal day, Heather would be dictating the lunchtime poll while Mac subtly encouraged Duke to eat and Veronica re-evaluated her life choices; grumpy, but knowing that being with the Heathers was infinitely better than being against the Heathers. The devil you knew, et cetera and so forth.

Today, Heather was barely a sentence into her latest flash of genius when a shadow fell over the table. A shadow with a perfectly popped collar and Ralph Lauren sweater.

“Courtney. To what do we owe this…pleasure.” Heather drawled. 

“I’m sorry.” Courtney didn’t sound sorry, she sounded positively delighted. “But someone just had to say something. This isn’t the kind of behavior I would expect from you, Heather. It’s… disappointing.”

“What are you talking about?” Duke tried to butt in, but Courtney was on a roll.

“Veronica was obvious, of course…”

Wait, what?

 “...But Heather, I thought you had standards. Ashley told me all about what happened on Friday. I never thought I’d see you stoop to dating outside your caliber. We may not always agree, but at least you used to keep things... appropriate.”

Veronica was gearing up to interrogate Courtney when she felt sharp nails sink into her thigh.

“Thank you for your concern, Courtney. Ronnie and I are so happy to have your approval. Your opinions always mean so much.”

Heather had never called Veronica ‘Ronnie’ a day in her life.

 Courtney seemed taken aback. Whatever power struggle she was engaging in hadn’t had the expected effect. “Well, just thought someone ought to say it. Wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea about who’s in charge around here.”

Heather leaned back in her chair, her eyes glittering dangerously. “Oh, Courtney. You never have to worry about that.”

Courtney flounced off. Veronica could see her confusion mirrored in the other girls’ eyes. Only Heather seemed unaffected, removing her hand from Veronica’s thigh and eating her lunch as if nothing had ever happened.

What the fuck. It played on a loop in her head but it was really the only expression that seemed descriptive enough. 

“Eat, you imbeciles. Do you want people to think Country Club Courtney can get to you?”

Shaking heads and muttered “No, Heather”s.

“Veronica. Write us a note for fifth period. We need to talk.”

“Yeah, okay. A note for….all of us? Or…?”

“Yes, all of us.”

“Right. Sure Heather.”

What the fuck .

***

They didn’t have the same classes after lunch, so Veronica had to scribble out four different hall passes and make her way to the second floor back bathroom alone. It was the unofficial Heather’s meeting place during school, on account of being the furthest from the main office and the only bathroom with a window.

She was the first there, which didn’t make anything less awkward. Veronica didn’t have the kind of presence the other Heathers did. The other students didn’t scurry away or hide their faces from her. Two freshmen girls who were also loitering in the bathroom simply gave her a curious look and went back to doing their makeup in the least-broken mirror.

Chandler was the next to arrive. 

“Out.” She barked at the freshmen, who hurried to obey. Was it Veronica’s imagination or were they giggling on their way out?

Thankfully, Duke and Mac walked in right after. Veronica wasn’t sure she could handle being alone with Heather yet. Unfortunately, she barely had time to register the bathroom door click shut before Heather closed the distance between them, her heels echoing ominously on the tiles. Heather’s eyes glinted with something dangerous as she backed Veronica against the door. Before Veronica could react, Heather’s fingers curled around her jaw, holding her firmly in place.

“Veronica. Darling, sweet, dipshit Veronica.” Heather’s voice was deceptively light, her nails digging into Veronica’s jaw as she tilted her head. “Why does everyone think I’M DATING YOU?”

Veronica blinked, her pulse spiking. “Hey, I don’t fucking know!” She tried to wriggle away with little success.

“Courtney said Ashley told her.” Mac piped up. Traitor.

“And we both saw you talking to her at the party.” Duke rolled her eyes.

“About AP Lit! How many cans of beer Kurt could crush! Not about whether I’m banging Heather!”

“Like I would ever -”

“So not the point.” Retorted Veronica, who had finally untangled herself from Heather’s grasp and was beginning to feel a bit offended. She was obviously not interested in sleeping with Heather - who probably bit her partner’s heads off like a praying mantis - but she was not totally unfuckable. “Look I’ll talk to Ashley, okay? Get this thing straightened out.” No pun intended. “It’s some misunderstanding and everyone already knows you’re, like, Ms. Perfect Stepford wife. Nobody’s seriously gonna think you’re dating me.”

Heather’s eyes narrowed. “Fine. Talk to her. Try not to tell her we’re having a threesome with Dumptruck while you’re at it.”

“Gee Heather, you’re so sweet. I can’t imagine why people would think we’re dating.”

“Just get it done.”

“As my Queen commands.” Veronica bowed extravagantly, making sure Heather could see her prominently displayed middle finger as she stormed out of the bathroom.

“Why do you let her get away with that?” Duke murmured, once Veronica was out of earshot. They all knew anyone else would have been crucified for it, but Duke was careful not to bring it up too often. Heather was touchy about Veronica. 

“Please.” Heather laughed. “She’s like a little dog. Let her yap all she wants, as long as she stays at heel.”

“Sometimes, you really scare me.”

***

Veronica didn’t run into Ashley until after school, when she was able to corner her at the lockers.

“Ashley, hey, wait!” Ashley slammed her locker door, but Veronica was pretty quick. And motivated.

“I just want to talk for a second.”

“Yeah, I heard about the stunt Courtney pulled at lunch.” Ashley was coolly putting her books in her bag. Veronica wondered what she’d done to piss off yet another person this week. It was getting hard to keep track. “I’m sorry about that; I didn’t put her up to it.”

“She said you told her. Y’know. That there was something going on between me and Heather.”

“Well, I didn’t think it was much of a secret after everything she said.”

“ She said?”

“David told Jack everything.” Ashley finished packing up her bag and swung it over her shoulder. “Look, I don’t care if y’all are dating, but David’s not a bad guy and it was really shitty of her to treat him like that.”

“I don’t think—”

For the first time, Ashley looked slightly uncomfortable. “Look, I am sorry about Courtney. I’ll tell her to lay off. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

***

Heather had scheduled a debriefing call that evening between the four of them. Veronica had half a mind to skip it. It had been a long day already, and she was kind of hoping she’d go to bed only to wake up and find the whole thing had been a strange dream.

But apparently Chandler had said something to start this whole farce, and that was an opportunity for karmic justice that she just couldn’t pass up.

“Well, Veronica.” Started Heather when they were all on, sounding supremely uninterested. “How did it go?”

“Just fine. Turns out Ashley got the whole story from David.” A chorus of surprised noises chirped over the line.

“Yeah. According to her you proclaimed your undying love for me while you were tearfully breaking up with him.”

“That is ridiculous.” Heather’s voice was tight.

“Why don’t you fill in the blanks, because that’s the impression Ashley got. She said she’d get Courtney to lay off, by the way”

“You were awfully upset, Heather…” Mac ventured. 

“No one is that upset.”

“Oh come on. Just tell us what happened so we can bury the guy and move on with our lives.” Heather Duke, the picture of patience. 

“Fine, Jesus, get off my dick.” Heather huffed. “David was being an ass, so I had to put him in his place.”

“And how did you manage that?”

“I…may have suggested that he was less than skilled in the bedroom.”

“Heather!” Mac sounded equal parts disturbed and amused. 

“Fine! I told him that he was shit and I’d rather have sex with a woman than let him touch me one more time. I didn’t think he’d repeat it! And I definitely didn’t say I was dating anyone else!”

“No, just that you’re having sex with me.”

“You should be so lucky.” Heather sniped.

“Wait, you’re not having sex with Veronica, right?” Mac asked. Veronica could feel the ‘shut up, Heather’ vibes even through the plastic phone case, but Heather must have been feeling generous. Or hopefully even slightly guilty about the mess she had gotten them in.

“No, Mac. I’m not having sex with Veronica. I will never be having sex with Veronica. I didn’t say I was having sex with anyone, specifically. Someone else must have come up with that.”

“They just saw Veronica’s gay-ass hair and made assumptions.”

“Duke, I swear to God…”

“Please, Veronica, we all saw the way you dressed before us.”

“Big talk from the girl who looks like a Wizard of Oz cast reject.”

“Bite me, Dorothy.”

“Ladies…” Heather drawled, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth but never happy to be out of the center of attention for long. “I think it’s clear that this has just been some…bizarre misunderstanding.” 

Veronica scoffed but wisely said nothing. Leave it to Heather to take no responsibility whatsoever for the situation.

“I am obviously not dating Veronica, and people will just have to find something else to talk about. I don’t think we need to worry about this any more, do you?”

A chorus of “No, Heather’s.”

“End of the week, latest, and this will all be a disturbing memory.”

The call ended with a conciliatory “Yes, Heather,” as always. But Veronica sat staring at her phone, her stomach knotting. The silence that followed felt heavier than the conversation itself. 

It was too neat, tied up with Heather’s trademark dismissal. A misunderstanding, she’d said. But misunderstandings didn’t stick like this. 

Veronica felt uneasy. The idea of anyone thinking she was dating Heather Chandler should have been laughable—Heather, her best friend. Her worst enemy. But it wasn’t funny. It felt too big, too close, and it made her skin crawl.

Heather Chandler storms didn’t just pass. They left wreckage, and Veronica was right in their path.

Chapter Text

On Tuesday, Veronica once again rode to school with the Heathers. It was a calculated risk. On the one hand, arriving at school in the company of some of the most powerful members of the student body was exhilarating. Five weeks, and it still hadn’t gotten old. Duke’s Jeep would pull into the same, prime shaded spot everyday that no one else dared park in. Crowds would part before them; some people, especially the tiny freshmen, would stop to stare, but most simply bent around them without seeming to notice the way they were pulled from their orbits. 

It was, had always been, an intoxicating feeling.

On the other hand, walking in with the Heathers today meant that people were definitely staring. At her. 

That was…less fun.

She did her best to emulate the Heathers’ signature unbothered air, back straight and face bored. It was a little harder when she noticed that Chandler’s shoulders were just a little too stiff, her face smoothly blank in a way Veronica had only seen on creepy porcelain dolls.

It did not inspire confidence.

Veronica tried her best, she really did. But she wasn’t a Heather. The stares, the whispers...as much as she hated to admit it, they got to her. 

It was like throwing up on Heather all over again. 

Scratch that. This was worse. 

The best thing that could be said about Westerberg - if there was a best thing - was that you usually knew where you stood. Jocks, nerds, stoners, band geeks…everyone had their place. Yeah, your place might suck, but…you had friends, usually. A table at lunch. Consistency.

Veronica had no idea where she stood now. 

Of all the people to be romantically linked to Heather, why Veronica Sawyer? The most impressive thing about her was her ability to vary her handwriting slightly. And maybe the occasional bout of insanity that got her into these situations in the first place.

She did her best not to react to the whispers.

“Did you hear about Veronica and Heather?”

“I can’t believe Heather Chandler is into girls.”

“I saw them together at the party. It was obvious.”

“They said Veronica threatened to punch David.”

“No way, it was Heather, she dumped him in front of everyone.”

“...making out on the dance floor…”

“...Heather and Veronica…”

“...Veronica…”

“..Veronica…”

“Veronica! ”  

Veronica nearly jumped out of her seat when someone shook her arm. 

“Class is over, Veronica.” The teacher was smiling down at her, and the room was empty. How long had she been spaced out? Veronica flushed with embarrassment.

 “Sorry Mrs. Anderson.”

“Are you alright, dear? If you need to talk to anyone-”

No, nope, definitely not.

“Uh, no thanks Miss.” Veronica gave what she hoped was her best, most charming smile and started shoving notebooks into her bag. “Just up late doing…homework. I’ll get to lunch.” 

God was just not on Veronica’s side today. Nearly as soon as she hit the hallway, a large body in black and red smacked into her shoulder. Veronica tensed for a fight. Those finely-tuned reflexes after years of dumped lunch trays were serving her well today. 

But the anticipated attack never came.

“Oh shit, sorry…” The passing jock focused on her. “Sawyer! Is it true you’re dating Heather?” He didn’t bother waiting for a reply. “That’s crazy dude. How did you pull that?”

Veronica blinked, stunned. “I, uh…” She scrambled for words, her mind blanking under his expectant gaze. “I didn’t pull anything. It’s not—”

The jock barreled on, clearly uninterested in her denial. “No, seriously, Heather Chandler? That’s like taming a lion or something. Respect.”

“Yeah, uh…thanks?” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and she immediately regretted it as he walked off. She glanced around, hoping no one else had overheard. Unfortunately, the nearby cluster of sophomores definitely had. Their giggles and side-glances sent heat rushing to her face.

This was spiraling out of control. 

Veronica walked as quickly as she dared out of the side doors to the smoker’s courtyard. She wasn’t looking for a cigarette - she didn’t even have one on her - but it should be fairly empty this time of day. No chance of someone judging her for her theoretical relationship with Heather Chandler. Or worse, congratulating her. 

“ ‘Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly’ ” She heard a low voice drawl from her left.

“JD!” Veronica grinned. “Finally gracing us with your presence?”

“What can I say, I am a river to my people. How’s it going being one half of Westerberg High’s newest celebrity couple?”

“Fantastic. Half the school thinks we’re making out in corners, and the other half thinks I’m being held hostage. Every time I try to tell people I’m not dating Heather, it’s like ‘Night of the Living Idiot.’ No one believes me. ”

“She’s got you tangled in her web, huh? But I gotta admit, you play the part well. Almost too well.” He smiled, that lazy, mocking little grin that he pulled off so well. “Tell me, how much of it is real?” 

Veronica scoffed and flipped her hair to hide her blush. It was… really good to see him. The one person in this school who didn’t give a fuck. Social status meant nothing to him, and he’d been able to back it up. What must it be like, to feel so…free? It was refreshing. And, she could admit privately, not a little attractive.

“Heather says to ignore it until it goes away. And she’s not the kind of person who takes ‘no’ well.”

JD’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “You could, you know. Say no. Burn it all down. Hell, I could help you with that.”

She laughed, the sound unexpectedly light in the cold air. “Tempting, JD. But I’d rather not have my obituary read: Here lies Veronica Sawyer, reduced to ashes because she pissed off Heather Chandler. ”

JD leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re more fireproof than you think. Maybe you just need a spark.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, JD’s smirk softened into something almost genuine. Veronica felt her pulse quicken despite herself.

“Veronica!” Heather’s voice cut through the tension, although it added a new dimension as Veronica winced. “I didn’t realize we were taking charity cases today.”

“Chandler.” JD nodded to her mockingly. “Eaten any babies lately?”

Heather looked him up and down, slowly, unashamed. Her gaze was calculating. “How droll.”

“Heather.” Veronica intervened in the pissing match pointedly. “Did you want something?” 

“We’re late for lunch, Ronnie. Come along.”

“I was just talking to JD...”

“And now you’re done talking.”

JD chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “Careful, Veronica. She’ll be fitting you for a collar next.”

Heather’s jaw tightened, but her smile was razor-sharp. “And yet, she still comes when I call. Guess that tells you everything, doesn’t it?”

“Oh my god, you two are worse than infants.” Veronica rolled her eyes at the pair. “I’ll be there in a minute, Heather. Calm down.”

Heather scowled. With strength she wouldn’t have expected from the blonde, Veronica found herself whipped around by her sleeve, Heather’s voice hot in her ear. 

“You can’t be seen talking to him.” 

Veronica ripped her arm away. “You don’t get to tell me who to talk to.”

“You’re one of us now. I put up with your little friendship with Martha, but if people think you’re involved with him…we’re untouchable, Veronica; that’s what you wanted when you asked to sit with us. Don’t forget that.” Heather’s eyes were intensely blue. “And how bad do you think those rumors are going to get if the wrong person sees you throwing yourself at ‘I-was-a-teenage-slasher’ here?”

Veronica tensed, but she knew Heather was right. Run from it, rage against it, the high school rumor mill was vicious. ‘If people think you tolerate me, they’ll leave me alone.’ Her own words rang in her ears. Heather saw right through her, and she hated her for it. Only slightly more than she hated herself. 

“Sorry JD, I’d better go. See you around?”

“You know where to find me.” Disappointment flashed across his face, but it smoothed away quickly. “Heather, always a pleasure.”

Heather glared at him. “Let’s go , Veronica.”

“Jesus, fine.” 

JD watched them go, pulling a loose cigarette from one of his many pockets, and a lighter from another. “Hey, ’Ronnie ,” He called after them. “Let me know when you’re ready to slip that leash.”

In the cafeteria, Duke and Mac looked tired. Oh, not in any way that would show to the unwashed masses. It was the slight tightness around Heather Duke’s eyes, the way McNamara’s hair seemed to droop a bit. Heather’s hand never left Veronica’s arm as she deposited her on one uncomfortable plastic seat and claimed another imperiously.

“So, for the poll today, I think -”

“You’re still going to do a poll?!” So Veronica’s voice might have cracked a bit in panic. No one could blame her, and she would be entertaining no criticism

Heather treated her to a withering look. “We have to act like it’s just another day.”

“But, Heather…” 

“We cannot let them think they are getting to us!”

“I’m not saying we start crying in the middle of the cafeteria, just, maybe not a poll today?”

“I agree with Veronica.” Duke chimed in, looking like she would have rather eaten one of the greasy school pizzas than admit it. “I’m exhausted, and it’s only Tuesday.”

“ Et tu, Heather?”

“I had to listen to four guys in homeroom speculate, loudly, which one of you is the top. And then I had to eviscerate them for making me hear that first thing in the morning. Or at any time of the day. Ew.”

Heather grinned. “I mean, obviously it would be me.”

“I hate you. Why would you tell me that.”

“Well, if you’re going to make it that easy…”

“Heather, please.” Mac looked about as pitiful as a puppy left out in the snow. “People have been asking me all day if you two are together. I don’t know what to tell them!”

“Tell them ‘no.’”

“They don’t believe me!”

“You’re a Heather ! Make them believe you!” Her good mood - if that word could be applied to Heather - disappeared in an instant. Heather’s hands tightened against the grain of the table, muscles tensing and fingertips pressed white. “You think I want people talking about me like this? Like I’m desperate enough to…to date Veronica?”

Veronica’s head jerked up, her cheeks flushing. “Excuse me?”

Mac, ever the peacemaker, fiddled with her salad fork, eyes darting between Heather and Veronica. “Let’s just chill, okay? I’m sorry I brought it up. This whole thing sucks for all of us.”

Heather’s eyes flicked to Mac for only a fraction of a second before narrowing at Veronica in her usual glare. “You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did,” Veronica shot back, leaning forward slightly. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, but she wasn’t going to back down now. She didn’t want Heather’s words to hurt so much. She barely even liked Heather! She was…a necessary evil in Veronica’s path to high school survival. 

But the insinuation stung. Desperate enough to date Veronica . She could practically hear the other students jeering, laughing, mocking her like…like before...

 “And you know what, Heather? None of us would have to deal with this if you weren’t such a bitch! God, why couldn’t you just break up with David like a normal person? No, you had to insult his masculinity on top of it! You started this! The rest of the school is just shocked that you might care about something other than yourself for once.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Veronica regretted them. Not that she didn’t think Heather deserved it, or even that she didn’t need to hear it. This wasn’t who she wanted to be, someone who cut people down.

Someone like, well, Heather.

Heather froze. For a moment, the mask slipped. Her perfectly arched brows knit together, and something flickered across her face—something raw and unguarded. Hurt.

It was gone in an instant, replaced by a strained smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “ Quelle surprise, Veronica.”

“Heather, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Heather interrupted, standing abruptly. Her tray clattered against the table.  “I’m done here.” She turned to Mac and Duke. “If anyone asks, tell them whatever you want. Just make it convincing.”

Heather turned and stalked away from the table, staring straight ahead. The entire cafeteria watched her go.

Like everyone else, Veronica stared after her, chest tight with something she couldn’t name. She hadn’t expected Heather to react like that—not really. Heather was…well, nothing got to her, right? Solid Teflon? A cutting remark, a quick jab, nothing raw, nothing real.

But Veronica had wounded her, and the guilt stuck in her throat.

Duke broke the silence first, her voice casual but with an edge of something Veronica couldn’t quite place. “Well, that was…dramatic.”

Mac shifted uncomfortably in her seat, poking at her salad again. “You shouldn’t have said that, Veronica.”

Veronica’s brows furrowed. “What, you think she deserves a free pass for everything she says?” She shot a glance at Duke, who just shrugged, leaning back in her chair. 

The silence stretched between them until Mac cleared her throat, her voice almost a whisper. “Look, Heather can be... a lot. But she's still Heather. And we’re supposed to stick by her.”

“You know she was just being a bitch to me for no reason. That’s not loyalty. That’s cowardice.”

Duke finally spoke up, her voice unusually serious. “Yeah, but she’s not exactly the easiest person to deal with. You’ve gotta admit, Veronica—sometimes she’s right. People push her, and she pushes back.”

Mac looked at Veronica, eyes pleading “I’m not saying she’s right this time, okay? She just…” She looked at Duke for confirmation, and Duke gave a slight nod, but her eyes were distant.

Veronica couldn’t help but feel a small win. She hadn’t expected Mac and Duke to actually consider her side.

“Yeah, yeah. She’s a hell of a lot more complicated than we all let on.” Duke paused, meeting Veronica’s eyes pointedly. “But don’t think you’re gonna win this one by calling her out in front of everyone.”

Mac let out a frustrated breath. “Heather's gonna be awful for the rest of the day. This sucks.”

Veronica looked between them both. 

“I’m not asking you to pick sides between me and Heather. But sometimes, it’s okay to stand up for what’s right.”

Duke smirked, though there was a bitterness to it. “You’re adorable.”

Chapter Text

On Wednesday, Kurt and Ram gave them their blessing.

The Heathers’ had picked her up for school in Duke’s Jeep like it was any other day. Veronica had at least tried to apologize, but Heather dismissed it without so much as a glance, gesturing her to the back seat with a curt. “It’s whatever. I’m over it.” Veronica felt like she was ten again, being relegated to the kid’s table so the adults could talk. Mac scooted to the middle of the back bench, foregoing a seatbelt so she could lean forward and talk to Heather and Heather in the front. It left Veronica all alone, mind wandering. 

Duke was driving, of course, because no matter how much she usually bent to Chandler’s whims, nobody got to touch her ‘baby’ but herself. Chandler perched delicately in the passenger seat, flipping between radio stations. She’d kicked her heels off for the drive, and her signature red blazer was folded in her lap to prevent wrinkles. It left her looking oddly vulnerable in her white blouse. Her hair shone golden in the sun.

Heather laughed, and Veronica stared. 

The boys were waiting for them to arrive.

“I heard you and Veronica were, uh, dating?” Kurt’s voice cracked slightly at the ending, as if it wasn’t quite what he meant to say but he couldn’t find the right words. 

Heather didn’t deny it outright, which was…odd. There weren’t too many other people around. Even before school, people gave the Heathers and the jocks a pretty wide berth. But Veronica tensed. The other girl seemed to be waiting for something, lazily examining her nails.

“Don’t you boys have some balls to go play with?”

“Aw, don’t be like that Heather. We’ve known each other since, like, diapers! And you know my sister’s gay, too. I called her up at Dartmouth and she said to tell you…” Holy shit, was he actually reading off of a notecard? “...congratulations on breaking out of your com…comp…comp-en-sa-tory heter-o-sexu-ality.” He tucked the note - presumably dictated by said sister - back into his pants pocket. “And if you have any questions or just want to talk, you should call.”

“Feel free to tell Michelle that in the unlikely event I ever need her dating advice, I’ll give her a ring.”

Kurt seemed satisfied with that. He was long used to Heather Chandler’s unique way of communicating, and he rarely took it personally anymore. It was just like…reading a defense. Sometimes they tried to trick you, blitz, drop back; but if you kept your eyes downfield, you could ignore the rest. 

Like everything else, it all came back to football.

Ram chose that moment to add his one cent.

“I think it’s totally banging! Veronica and Heather, two smoking babes. You know, if you ever get bored and wanna -”

“Finish that sentence, Ram, and I’ll break your nose.”

Veronica found Martha just after sixth period.

“Oh my god. Martha.” Veronica tugged her friend to a semi-secluded corner and gently banged her head against a fuzzy pink shoulder. “I am so glad to see you.”

Marth laughed. “Good to see you too, Ronnie. Long day?”

Veronica just groaned.

“So…” Martha started, but trailed off. How do you ask your best friend if she’s dating the girl who tormented you for years?

“No, Martha. Before you ask. I am not dating Heather. It’s just some stupid rumor that’s gotten way out of hand.”

Martha let out a relieved breath. “Thank god. I thought I was going to have to start checking for pod people.”

“If I ask really nicely, do you think they’d replace me anyway? Just til the end of the week?”

“Aw, poor Veronica.”

“I’m serious. I’ve felt like a zoo animal all week. Even a teacher asked if I was okay.” Veronica raised her head for a moment. “But I think a lacrosse player made me their king.”

Martha giggled. “You nerd. Why would anyone think Heather would be dating you anyway?”

“A stupid misunderstanding at the party. I just have to power through it until people get bored, I guess.” It helped, a bit, talking to Martha. Thank god someone else seemed to understand how insane this school could get. 

“Something terrible happens at a party. Yeah, no one else could relate to that…” Martha gave Veronica as pointed a look as she had. Veronica had apologized over and over for her involvement in the prank at Ram’s homecoming party, and Martha had forgiven her. Mostly. She still reserved the right to remind Veronica when the girl was getting too self-involved.

“I’m so sorry, Martha.” Veronica gestured helplessly. “It’s just…if I hear one more whisper about Heather and me, I might actually scream.”

“Yeah, well, the entire school thinking you’re dating Heather Chandler is, um… a plot twist.”

“A bad plot twist,” Veronica corrected. “I mean, come on. Me? With Heather Chandler? It’s like pairing a shark with… I don’t know, a guppy. Or a hamster. Something small and helpless. Point is, we do not mix.”

Martha raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think you’re a hamster in this scenario?”

“I definitely don’t have shark energy. Look, it’s not even the idea of dating Heather that bugs me—although, seriously, she’d eat me alive—it’s…” Veronica paused, running a hand through her hair. “It’s like no matter what I do, I’m stuck in the middle of everyone else’s bullshit.”

“Like between Heather and your old friends?” Martha’s voice softened.

“Exactly! I mean you actually know me, but now I’ve got half the school looking at me like I’ve transformed into this… this mini-Chandler or something.” Veronica sighed. “And the other half? They’re just waiting for me to trip up and fall on my face.”

Martha gave her a sympathetic look. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You have no idea, ” Veronica muttered. “And then there’s Heather—”

Martha’s expression darkened. “What did she do now?”

“Oh, nothing major. Just existing dramatically and making everything harder than it needs to be. Business as usual.” Veronica shook her head. “I know all this is bothering her too, but she’s, like, bipolar about it. She walked with me to my locker this morning and didn’t say a single word. And it’s like she’s always watching me to see if I’m going to slip up. It’s driving me insane.”

“Have you told her that?” Martha asked carefully.

“God, no. Are you kidding? Heather Chandler doesn’t do constructive criticism. She does verbal eviscerations.”

Martha hesitated, then gently nudged Veronica’s arm. “I’m just saying, maybe you should talk to her. Even if it doesn’t go well, at least you’ll have said your piece.”

Veronica let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, because that’s exactly what I need: more quality time with Heather. Maybe we can braid each other’s hair too.”

“I’m serious, Ronnie.” Martha stopped walking, giving her a searching look. “You’re good at keeping everyone happy— too good, sometimes—but you shouldn’t have to deal with all this alone. If it’s bothering you, tell her.”

Veronica bit her lip, torn. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll see.” She glanced at her watch and winced. “But right now, I’ve got to motor. Wish me luck?”

Martha grinned. “Always. And hey, if it gets too bad, you can come find me later. I’ll have the cookies ready.”

“You’re the best.” Veronica gave her a quick hug before hurrying off, bracing herself for whatever fresh chaos awaited her.

Friday. Fucking FINALLY. The whispers following her around had dropped to a dull roar. She’d reached a zen-like acceptance of Heather Chandler’s mood swings heretofore known only by motorcycle maintenance and Tibetan monks. Jocks looked at her with awed jealousy.

No parties, no people. Make it through one day, and Veronica could hang out with Martha and she wouldn’t even complain about the Princess Bride (although that movie had been soured a bit after Ram’s). 

The clocks had never moved slower. 

She hated to admit it, but Heather might have had a point. Without something to feed them, the rumors about them did seem to be dying down. Someone had set off a stink bomb in the boy’s restroom yesterday, and that had entertained the masses all afternoon. This whole thing really might blow over by Monday. 

Veronica strode into the cafeteria for lunch. Even the shitty school food couldn’t get her down. Just a few more hours, and she’d be free.

“Hey Veronica.” Mac smiled at her. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? It’s Friday!” Veronica smiled right back, stealing a tomato from Mac’s salad. “Want some chips? I brought your favorite.”

“Gag me with a spoon.” Chimed in Duke, delicately picking at an orange. 

Veronica graciously chose to ignore her. “Where’s Heather?”

“Had to stay after with Fleming. Bitch gave her a zero on the last essay. Said she’d copied it.”

“But she did copy it…”

“No, she told Ken to write it for her. It’s not Heather’s fault he didn’t write a different one for himself.”

Speak of the devil; Heather Chandler strode into the cafeteria like she owned the place—which, in many ways, she did. Her blazer was perfectly pressed, as cold and unyielding as a suit of armor, and her heels clicked against the linoleum with deliberate precision. The Heathers' table fell quiet as she approached, carrying an air of simmering irritation.

“Ken is dead to me.” Heather growled as she slid into her seat. She tossed her bag onto the chair beside her, not bothering with lunch. 

“Poor Ken,” Duke replied, not sounding remotely sympathetic.

Heather ignored her, turning her attention to Veronica. "And why are you grinning like an idiot?"

Veronica shrugged, popping a chip into her mouth. “It’s Friday. Light at the end of the tunnel.”

Heather smirked, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Spoken like a girl who’s never been trapped in that tunnel with a train heading straight for her.”

“Wow, cheerful,” Veronica said dryly, though she didn’t let Heather’s mood dampen her own. “What’s next, Chandler? A motivational seminar?”

Before Heather could respond with her signature grace and good will, the sound of sharp laughter interrupted the conversation. Veronica didn’t need to look to know who it belonged to.

"Well, well," Courtney drawled, striding over to their table with her entourage trailing behind her like a flock of sycophantic birds. "If it isn’t the happy couple."

Veronica stiffened. Across the table, Mac froze mid-bite, and Duke raised an eyebrow, watching the unfolding drama with lazy interest. 

"What do you want, Courtney?" Heather asked, her tone cool and disinterested, though her eyes glinted with a dangerous light.

Courtney smirked, clearly enjoying the attention. "Oh, nothing. Just wanted to apologize for Monday. I didn’t realize you actually were playing house with her . It’s quite fascinating. And I’m sure it will do wonders for her… status . Hanging around you really does have its perks, doesn’t it?"

Heather’s smile didn’t waver, but it was tight. "Careful, Courtney. You don’t want to embarrass yourself."

"Embarrass myself?" Courtney tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Please. I’m just saying, not everyone would be so generous. Some of us can spot a social climber from a mile away. And, well, Veronica Sawyer ? She’s been moving up in the world quite quickly, hasn’t she?"

Veronica’s face burned, her hands clenching under the table. "Hey, screw you, Courtney," she snapped. "You don’t know anything about me."

Courtney turned her attention to Veronica, her expression dripping with faux pity. "Oh, sweetie. I don’t blame you. You’re just…doing what you have to do. Surviving. I mean, let’s be honest—without Heather, who would even notice you?"

"That's enough," Heather snapped.

Courtney leaned in slightly, hair falling across her eyes, her voice dropping just enough to sound conspiratorial. "Face it, Heather. You’re losing control. Adopting the greasy little nobody. Letting the new kid get away with beating up your guard dogs. But hey, if you want everyone to think you’re slumming it with her just to prove a point, who am I to stop you?"

Heather finally rose from her seat, and her smile glittered like the edge of a knife. "You? You’ve been obsessed with me since the fifth grade, Courtney. It’s almost flattering, really. Is that it? Veronica gets to sit at the table and all you get are scraps?"

"Why are you defending her?" Courtney hissed, her composure cracking. “She’s not one of us. She’s not like us . You think she’ll fit in at the club? On your daddy’s Benetti? Dinner with the family? She’s nothing , and the sooner you realize that—”

Her face flushed with anger, Heather interrupted the tirade, voice startlingly loud in the presence of a hundred silent teenagers.

"Do you think tearing Veronica down is going to make anyone take you seriously? Because it won’t. She was worth ten of you when she was still wearing her grandma’s scarves. And she’s with me. "

"Wait, what?" Veronica’s voice came out in a strangled whisper, hardly audible over the renewed murmurs spreading through the cafeteria like wildfire. She stared at Heather, wide-eyed, her face burning.

Courtney blinked, her jaw dropping for a split second before she recovered, expression twisting into a smug smirk. "Well, well," she purred, her voice dripping with condescension. "So, it’s true. Guess I hit a nerve, didn’t I?"

Heather didn’t flinch. If anything, her tone grew more dangerous. "Think whatever you want, Courtney. But the only thing you’ve proven today is that you’re desperate. Now, run along before you embarrass yourself further."

Courtney glared at her with blind hatred, but Heather kept her smile. Courtney couldn’t do anything, and they both knew it. With a huff, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

As the cafeteria erupted into frantic whispers, Heather turned back to the table and sat down with deliberate calm, her every move radiating control.

Veronica, meanwhile, sat frozen, her brain scrambling to process what had just occurred. Finally, she found her voice, leaning toward Heather and hissing under her breath, "What the hell was that?"

Heather didn’t look up. "That was me shutting Courtney up. You’re welcome."

"You—" Veronica gestured wildly, her voice rising before she forced it back down to a whisper. "You told everyone we’re together!"

"Obviously." Heather replied, her tone maddeningly nonchalant. "It was the easiest way to handle it."

"The easiest way? Heather, that’s insane! You can’t just… make something like that up!"

Heather finally met her gaze, her blue eyes cool but with a flicker of something deeper—something sharper. "Would you rather I let Courtney walk all over you? Let her keep dragging your name - and mine - through the mud? Because, trust me, Veronica, that would be worse."

"I’d rather you not turn my life into some kind of sick soap opera!" Veronica shot back. Her hands were clenched so tightly her knuckles ached.

"You wanted to sit with us, Veronica. You wanted to matter. Well, this is what it takes.”

“And if I change my mind?”

Heather jerked back slightly, as if Veronica had slapped her. For some reason, her blue eyes found JD, leaning against the wall near the vending machines to watch the proceedings.

“Too late for that, babe .”

Across the table, Duke watched the exchange with an amused smirk, while Mac gave her a sympathetic look.

“Today, after school. Come over. We’ll plan.”

Veronica saw Martha wave to her from across the room, eyes wide. “You ok?” She mouthed.

Veronica honestly didn’t know.

Like most things about her, Heather Chandler's room was shockingly red. And like most things Heather, it gave Veronica a headache. She rounded on the other girl as soon as the door closed, full of righteous anger. 

“Fine, Heather. We’re all here. Now could you please explain what the fuck you were thinking?”

“I was thinking you might not want Courtney to keep talking shit about you, but fuck me, right? Next time I’ll let you fight your own battles.”

“I don’t need you to fight for me!”

“Well you sure as hell weren’t stepping up to do it for yourself!”

A loud whistle cut the tension. “AND TIME!” Duke said. “Both fighters, to your corners.” 

Heather bristled, but said nothing. Mac backed up the other girl.

“We’ve been talking, and Heather, we think that was kind of a mean thing to do to Veronica.”

“Yeah; it’s whatever if you want to have your little gay awakening...” Duke said, while both Heather and Veronica sputtered. Mac gave Duke a long-suffering glare.

“BUT, we all have to deal with this.” Duke continued. “It’s not just going away now. So what’s the plan, Your Highness?”

“I was getting to that,” Heather said. “God, I’m not a complete idiot like some people around here.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Muttered Veronica darkly.

“I have a proposal for Veronica.”

“No.”

“Ah ah ah.” Heather wagged a finger mockingly. “You haven’t even heard what it is.”

“The answer is still no.”

“Just get on with it, Heather. I’m going to die of old age watching you two flirt.” Duke said. Heather glared at her.

“You have no sense of dramatic tension. Fine. Veronica and I pretend to date for the rest of the semester. We stage a mutual breakup over Christmas. Of course, Veronica will have to go back to sitting with her loser friends or whatever, but no one will bother you. Everyone gets what they wanted.”

“Wait.” Mac raised her hand like she was still in class. “Can we still hang out with Veronica? She’s our friend now too.”

Heather thought it over. “Within reason.” It wouldn’t hurt to let them socialize a bit, as long as it didn’t interfere with Heathers duty. And as long as it was very clear that Veronica wasn’t ‘with them’ anymore. She could be generous.

“And why should I agree to anything?” Veronica shot back. “You got us into this. Why do we always have to clean up your messes?”

“Look at it this way.” Heather was feeling much more in control of the situation. “You can play along, you get to be seen dating the hottest girl in school, people worship you, we amicably break up, and you float through the rest of high school on a cloud of residual popularity. Or, you refuse, and people assume you’re a rebound who got rejected and you go back to being a laughing stock.”

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“I wouldn’t have to do anything. You could tell people we weren’t together until you were blue in the face, but they’d never believe you.”

“You bitch.”

“Stop being so dramatic, Veronica. It’s less than two months, and you get everything you ever dreamed of. Deal?”

Two months. Two months of pretending to be in love with Heather Chandler. Two months of torture. Or… two months of protection. Two months of whispered rumors fading into admiration, of being untouchable, of no one daring to laugh at her in the halls. Veronica shook herself. By the end of it, would she be able to tell where she ended and the Veronica Heather was creating began?

“Not like I have a choice.” Veronica spat out, grabbing her coat. “Deal. I’m going to Martha’s. I don’t want to see any of you until Monday.”

“We’ll pick you up for school. Don’t be late, sweetie.” Heather called after her mockingly. 

Veronica stormed toward the door, slamming it behind her, the sound reverberating in the quiet house. Her chest was tight, her thoughts a whirlwind of frustration. The moment the door clicked shut, she felt the weight of her own words sink in: I don’t have a choice.

She wanted to scream. Heather had played her—again. But the last thing she needed was to give Heather that satisfaction.

Her footsteps were heavy as she made her way to Martha’s. But as the cold night air hit her, Veronica could feel the first bite of reality: What had she gotten herself into? The answer didn’t come—just the empty echo of Heather’s voice calling after her. And Veronica realized, as she walked down the street alone, she was in deeper than she’d ever planned on.

Chapter Text

On second thought, maybe dramatically storming out of Heather’s house wasn’t the best idea Veronica had ever had. It was cold, and dark, and her simmering anger only kept her warm for about fifteen minutes. Sure, it was fun to curse Heather’s name. Devise complex torture methods that would have the other girl begging for mercy. Think about what it would be like to see Heather on her knees in front of her this time, makeup wet on her cheeks, that damn red blazer…

Anyway, it kept her occupied for a bit.

Reality set in, eventually. 

Martha lived roughly a mile from Heather, in a not-fashionable but perfectly respectable neighborhood. It was still far enough away that Veronica was shaking with something other than rage when Martha answered the door with a cautious smile, her eyes flickering over Veronica like she was checking for cracks.

“You’re early. I thought you weren’t coming over until seven?”

“If I had to spend one more minute with Heather I was gonna choke her with her own corn nuts.” Veronica threw herself onto the couch.

“So…” Martha said carefully, sitting beside her. “At lunch?”

“Ugghhh.” Veronica replied, eloquently. “She…” it was still hard for Veronica to process, “she told Courtney we were dating to shut her up.”

“Veronica…”

“I mean, where the fuck does she get off? And then she acted like I should be fucking grateful to her, like she had done me this huge favor getting Courtney off my back, when she’s the reason it’s happening in the first place!”

“Are you going to tell Courtney the truth?”

Veronica blinked. In all of her rage at Heather, the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. To go against Heather’s back, call her out in front of the school…obvious social suicide, of course. But she hadn’t considered it. Had accepted Heather's word as law. Hadn’t even looked for alternatives. It disturbed her. How had the “Yes, Heather” so quickly become a part of her. And did Heather know she was conducting some sort of Jedi mind trick on her friends?

“No way, Heather would murder me.”

“You keep saying that,” Martha said gently. “But she hasn’t yet.”

Veronica hesitated. “She offered me a deal. I pretend to date her until Christmas. Then I’m out of the Heathers. I sit with you guys again, and nobody bothers us for the rest of the year.”

“What?” Martha’s eyes were very round. “That’s crazy. Why would she do that?”

“I—“ that was a good question. What was Heather getting out of this? “I don’t know. I guess she just didn’t want to look weak in front of Courtney?”

There was a sound at the window and the girls jumped. All alone in a room, at night, in October, was still a little spooky. Even if there were adults nearby. Who knew what could be lurking out there in the bushes, watching, waiting…

“Hey!” A muffled voice, and then a face. “Open up!” 

It was JD. 

Martha hurried over to unlatch the window for him. “What are you doing out there?”

“It's so important to make a dramatic entrance, don’t you think?”

“I think you should have used the door!” 

“Ah, but I bring libations.” 

Through some magic of boy pockets, JD produced three slurpees, only slightly worse for the journey. Martha rushed to let her mom know that JD was there…avoiding exactly how he had arrived. 

“What are you doing here?” Veronica asked.

“Martha said movie night. I said yes.” He grinned. “Gotta admit, I was hoping to find out what went down after lunch today. Chandler did everything but pee on your leg.”

“Don’t be gross.” Martha said, reentering the room with popcorn.

“Artistic license.”

“Hey,” Veronica cut in. “Traumatized teen here. Comfort me.”

JD settled next to Veronica on the couch, all sprawling arms and legs. She curled towards him. He felt strong. Safe. She enjoyed the spicy boy-smell of him, tinged with the cigarette he probably had on the way here. It was a nice reprieve from, well, everything.

“Please tell me you ripped Heather apart and she’s crying in a bathroom stall somewhere. Don’t spare the gory details. After that shit she pulled today, she deserves it.”

Veronica winced. 

“No,” Martha said helpfully, “Veronica was just explaining how Heather talked her into a fake relationship for the next two months.” 

Ok, maybe Martha was a bit less supportive than she could have been. And Veronica got it, she really did. She just kept getting pulled into Heather’s orbit. Being with the Heathers was like existing on another planet, a world of intrigue and power known only to high school. Soon enough, they would graduate into the real world, whether there were such things as consequences and responsibility. The Heathers didn’t, couldn’t , exist in that world. But for 6 more months, Heather Chandler reigned supreme, and Veronica found herself drawn to it as much as she knew she should run away.

She felt JD tense beside her. 

“What the fuck, Veronica? You actually went crawling back to that bitch after the way she treated you today? What is it going to take to make you realize they’re using you!” He’d turned toward her during the tirade, voice growing louder and rougher. There was something wild in his eyes. 

She was shaken, but she tried not to let it show. She’d had plenty of practice dealing with this sort of thing—from Heather, if not from JD. Taking a deep breath, Veronica crossed her arms and squared her shoulders.

“Yeah, JD, they’re using me. And I’m using them. That’s how it works. Welcome to Westerberg.”

JD scoffed, his laugh bitter and humorless. “That’s not an excuse, Ronnie. You’re better than this. Or at least, I thought you were.”

That’s the problem, Veronica thought. I’m not.

 “What do you want me to do, JD? Fight back? ‘Burn it all down’? And what then? We’ll rise from the ashes and everyone will start holding hands and singing kumbayah?” Her throat tightened. She didn’t want this conversation—not here, not now, not ever. “This isn’t some fantasy! If playing Heather’s stupid game means I get through the next six months without becoming another Westerberg casualty, then fine. I’ll play.”

“You think this is survival?” JD stood abruptly. “This isn’t survival, Veronica. This is surrender. You’re letting her win.”

Veronica shot to her feet, her own frustration boiling over to match his. “Not everyone can live on the outside, JD! Not everyone can just coast through high school without giving a damn about what people think! I don’t have that luxury!”

JD’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He stared at her, his expression torn between anger and something softer, something more vulnerable.

“This is the easiest way out,” Veronica said, her voice quieter now but no less resolute. “I don’t expect you to understand, and I don’t need you to approve. I’m doing the best I can.”

“Okay.” Whatever monster had raged inside JD was gone now. “Maybe you’re right. I mean, you’ve been going to school with them since forever. What the hell do I know about that.”

“I think JD has a point, actually.” Chimed in Martha. Veronica had forgotten for a moment she was there at all, but now they both stared at her in surprise.

“I don’t mean I think you should go bonkers and destroy your life.” Martha continued, offering a small, apologetic smile. “But you’ve kinda been letting her walk all over you. I know the whole school talking about it sucked, but we’ve gotten through that before, right?”

“So, what? You two want me to go back and tell Heather I’ve changed my mind?” In that moment, Veronica was ready to do it. In Martha’s living room—its familiar yellowed walls lined with pictures of family, friends, and even herself—the idea didn’t seem so impossible. This house had always been a fortress, a sanctuary that no rumor or Heather could breach. They’d been laughed at before, but what were a few more months in the grand scheme of things?? When you had two good friends? A boy who even the jocks were afraid of?

“I just...I've seen how you get around her. And I don't think you like who you have to be to survive it."

“I might have an idea.” JD said slowly, staring out the window. The girls looked at him warily. His last great idea had been to bring a gun to school, after all. 

“Gonna share with the class, Dean?” Veronica said after a moment. 

“You said…you’re using each other. But what if you used her for more than just a couple of months of not getting your lunch tray smacked?”

“JD…” Martha started, warningly.

“Wait, look. You have to pretend to be in love with her or whatever, right? Well, so does she .”

Veronica was starting to catch on. To have any chance of working, this fake relationship had to go both ways. Heather couldn’t just walk all over her, at least not in public.

“So you play the perfect girlfriend, right? The smiles, the hand-holding, whatever. But you’re not playing her game. She’s playing yours.”

“JD, you brilliant psycho.”

He laughed,  “You’re too kind.”

“No, I get it.” She thought back to the way Heather had looked earlier, the tension in her shoulders, the thinly veiled anger in her voice when she’d declared they were “together.” Heather was desperate to control the narrative, to maintain her power. 

Oh, she’d hid it well. Veronica probably wouldn’t have noticed if JD hadn’t pointed it out. 

Veronica would help her with that. 

For a price.

“I don’t need to just play along and hope she decides to show mercy for the rest of the year. I’m going to make sure she can’t get back at us. And maybe…” she smiled at Martha “I can even do some good along the way. Make things at school a little better for everyone.”

“Let the record show I think this is a terrible idea.” Martha said. "Someone is going to get hurt."

“I’m done being a pawn in her little game. If she wants me on board, she’s going to have to treat me like a queen.”

JD let out a low whistle, his grin proud, and threw an arm around her. “There’s my girl.” 

Veronica blushed.

“Okay Queen,” Martha teased, resigned. She knew better than to argue against the two of them together. Like Heather, JD had a way of bringing out Veronica's worst inclinations. “Why don’t you pick out a movie? I think I prefer my drama on-screen.”

***

Later that night, Veronica watched the shadows shift on the walls in Martha’s bedroom. After a couple of movies, JD had been banished by Martha’s mother, and the girls had wandered upstairs for bed. But Veronica was still too wired to sleep. Just what was she getting herself into? Was she insane, thinking that she could manipulate Heather the same way Heather manipulated everyone else? 

Maybe so, but…she smiled. She was going to give it her best shot. If for nothing else than the rush she’d felt when she’d finally given Heather a taste of her own medicine. And this time, Heather had played herself. This time, for two months, Veronica would be untouchable. She planned to make good use of it.

Martha shifted under the covers. Apparently she couldn’t sleep either.

“Veronica? You awake?”

“Yeah.”

Silence for a moment. Then.

“I still think this is a mistake.”

Veronica turned and groaned into her pillow. Martha had been making it clear for a solid hour after they’d gotten to her bedroom just how objectionable she found their plan.

“I just…do they even know you’re bi?”

It was a good question, actually. “I don’t think so. Duke may have guessed, but…” Veronica shuffled onto her back. “It’s not exactly required, is it?”

“I guess not. What about Heather?”

“I don’t think she knows. She’d never let me forget it, if she did.”

“No I mean…do you think Heather’s gay?.”

Veronica blinked up at the ceiling. 

A very good question.

***

Veronica awoke Monday morning to the sound of a garbage truck and the creeping memory that she’d made a deal with the devil. Again.

The ceiling above her looked the same as it had yesterday. The posters on her walls hadn’t rearranged themselves into messages of warning. Her room still smelled like lavender dryer sheets and the faint chemical tang of nail polish remover. All signs pointed to the world continuing as usual. All signs could fuck off.

She was still Veronica Sawyer. Only now, she was Veronica Sawyer, Heather Chandler’s girlfriend—if you asked half of Westerberg.

She lay in bed for a full five minutes, arm flung dramatically across her face, running through increasingly implausible ways to get out of going to school. Faked illness? Weak. Doctor’s note? Too traceable. Fire alarm? Overdone. She could already hear Heather’s voice in her head: “If you’re going to be a coward, at least make it entertaining.”

Eventually, with a doomed-heroine sigh that only a teenager could fully articulate, she got up.

The mirror was unkind, as it always was on Mondays. One side of her face was creased from the pillow; her mascara had migrated south in the night, giving her a haunted, vaguely criminal look. She turned the faucet on, splashed cold water on her face, and stared at herself until the raccoon eyes receded and the girl underneath started to look human again.

The girl in the mirror wasn’t ready. She didn’t feel ready. But she looked... like she might survive.

That would have to do.

She opened her closet and stood there for a moment, considering. There was the Heather-approved section—color-coded and calculated, a study in curated cool. And then there was everything else. She reached past the blue, the white, the preppy neutrals, and pulled out a black tank top and a dark plaid skirt. Something she might have worn, before, if before-Veronica had tailored clothes and understood matching patterns.

It wasn’t the kind of outfit Heather would have picked for her.

That was, of course, the point.

A flash of red caught her eye from the corner of the closet, and Veronica grinned. An old flannel shirt, something she’d worn while working in the yard with her dad. All red had been banished from her wardrobe as a matter of course, but now…

She slipped the shirt on, rolling the sleeves. Veronica Sawyer had made a deal with the devil. She might as well dress for the part.

***

Heather Chandler did not do mornings.

Not in the casual, caffeine-addicted, “I need my beauty sleep” sort of way. No—Heather didn’t do mornings because the world simply didn’t deserve her before nine o’clock. Anything earlier was an insult to good taste and proper lighting.

But today was different.

She woke before her alarm, sharp and clear and already calculating. The sunlight cut across her ceiling in pale gold lines, and for a moment, she let herself lie still, letting the weight of the coming performance settle into her bones.

Veronica Sawyer—snarky, reckless, barely salvageable Veronica—was her girlfriend now. Publicly. Officially. Strategically.

It had been a whim, at first. Something to throw in Courtney’s bitchy face, of course, but also to show that two-bit Jesse James wanna-be that she did not share her toys. That the school was still firmly under her red ankle strap Candies' stilettos. 

But then Veronica said yes.

More than yes—Heather had seen something behind it, a glint of teeth. Not submission. Not gratitude. Something else.

A challenge.

Heather didn’t like to be surprised. But she did respect it.

She rolled out of bed and stretched, deliberate and catlike. The room smelled faintly of Chanel No. 5 and power. Her clothes for the day were already laid out—crimson blazer, pleated skirt, heels that said stay afraid . Every inch of her image was a weapon. She wore it like armor.

Still, as she slipped on her jacket and headed downstairs, she caught herself wondering—just for a moment—what Veronica would do. Veronica liked to pretend that she was so…removed from them. From the situation. Not actually one of the Heathers, but a fellow traveler. Just an ordinary girl who had stumbled into an extraordinary situation, ha ha, Veronica Sawyer - filmed in front of a live television audience…

It made something hot and mean burn inside of Heather. She wanted to pull Veronica down, shake her, claw at that perfectly symmetrical face, rub her nose in the dirty reality of Westerberg High and say “See? See, you’re just like me.”

It was unsettling. 

Heather frowned at the thought. Shook it off.

The Jeep was already idling by the time Heather slid into the passenger’s seat. McNamara was chewing gum like it owed her money, and Duke was pretending not to be sulking behind her sunglasses. Heather ignored them. Whatever petty issues the other girls had gotten into already this morning, they knew better than to bring them up around Heather.

“Veronica better not make us late,” Duke muttered, revving the engine and backing out of the driveway, narrowly missing a mailbox and not caring in the slightest. 

“She won’t,” Heather said, too fast.

Duke raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Heather didn’t respond. Instead, she adjusted the mirror. 

Veronica had a tendency to surprise people. It was one of her more irritating qualities.

When they pulled up in front of Veronica’s house, Duke didn’t lean on the horn. She didn’t have to. The door opened almost immediately—Veronica, punctual as promised.

Heather narrowed her eyes. That uppity bitch . 

Veronica was wearing black. Not just any black—strategic black. A fitted tank. A dark plaid skirt. Her hair was brushed to a soft gleam, her lipstick was subtle but effective, and her walk—oh, her walk—was calculated. Calm. Dangerous.

And over her shoulders, a red flannel shirt.

Saying that the flannel shirt was to Heather what a toreador's cape is to a bull may be perhaps too on the nose, but there it was. 

Veronica climbed into the backseat like she owned it.

“Morning,” she said, with just enough brightness to sound innocent and just enough edge to sound like a threat.

“Well, well,” Duke drawled, adjusting her sunglasses. “Someone’s feeling brave. Or suicidal.”

Heather didn’t say anything. Her nails dug into the leather of her seat.

The flannel was red. Her red. Not just the color—it was the same style Heather had worn last fall, casually draped over a miniskirt the night she’d gotten three phone numbers without trying.

Her eyes caught on the collar, on the way it sharply cut against Veronica’s pale skin, on the knot tied just above the waist so the fabric gapped and then pulled tight against her chest.

It didn’t belong on Veronica.

Wait,” Mac said, tilting her head. “Is that... Chandler’s shirt?”

Veronica turned to her, smile cool and unreadable. “Nope. Just a flannel I had lying around.”

“Oh,” Mac said, still squinting. “It just... looks like one you wore last fall, Heather. Remember? The Halloween party?”

Heather said nothing.

Veronica kept smiling.

Heather finally calmed down enough to throw an appropriately scathing look Veronica’s way. It took longer than she would have preferred. “New look?”

Veronica’s voice was light, almost airy. “Thought I’d try red on for size. We’re trying to sell a relationship, right? Didn’t think you’d want to lend me one of your blazers.”

It was a totally understandable, even intelligent, reason. Anyone who hadn’t heard or doubted that they were in a relationship would immediately know what the score was. Really, it was something that Heather herself might have come up with. 

But it still made her pulse spike.

Duke pulled away from Veronica’s house, and the silence stretched on for just a beat too long. “Careful, Heather. Next she’ll be stealing your mirror and your fan club.”

Heather smiled. She had to. 

“Oh, I’d never dream,” Veronica said, folding her hands in her lap like a nun at confession. “I’m just here to follow your lead.”

There was something in her voice—something Heather couldn’t pin down. Mockery, maybe. Or something closer to understanding.

It made Heather’s stomach twist. She told herself it was annoyance. It always had been.

The school came into view.

“Everyone ready?” she asked lightly, like nothing had happened.

“Locked and loaded,” said Duke, now smirking.

The parking lot quieted before the Jeep even came to a full stop.

Heather slid her sunglasses into place as she stepped out. She didn’t glance around. She didn’t have to. She could feel the eyes. They always watched when she walked. That was the point.

She straightened her blazer, tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, and waited exactly two seconds. Mac climbed out of the back, her long limbs practically vibrating with secondhand tension. Duke took her time, flipping her hair and looking supremely bored. It was a good look on her, and Duke knew it.

Then– Veronica.

 Heather heard the door click shut but refused to turn around. Veronica should know by now that if she wanted to make a statement this morning, Heather would die rather than get beaten at her own game. Darling little Veronica was going to have to follow her , not the other way around. 

As they crossed the lot, the whispers started in waves—little ripples of gossip tumbling ahead of them. She didn’t have to hear the words to know the tone. Shock. Confusion. A little fear.

Good.

Veronica kept pace beside her. Not behind. Not dragged along. Not acting like she was lucky to be there. They were a pair now, after all. A couple . That’s what people were supposed to see.

Heather felt the weight of it settling across her shoulders—like a crown, or a loaded weapon. And then, just when the silence started to press too tightly between them, Veronica leaned in a fraction and murmured, just loud enough for Heather to hear:

““So... are we holding hands at lunch or saving that for sweeps week?”

Heather blinked, and against her will, the corner of her mouth twitched. “We’re not even in the building yet and you’re already panicking?”

“Not panicking,” Veronica said lightly. ““I’m fine with PDA. Just don’t make me gaze into your eyes like we’re in a shampoo commercial.”

Heather snorted, quietly. She didn’t mean to. It just happened.

It wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t comfort. But for a brief, fleeting moment, it was alignment —like two actors in on the same inside joke. The kind that could wreck a room if they wanted it badly enough.

And when they reached the doors, it was Heather who leaned in, voice smooth and amused.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll go easy on you.”

Veronica arched an eyebrow. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

Then the doors opened, and they stepped inside, side by side.

Chapter Text

Dear Diary,

You know those dreams where you get up in front of the class to give a presentation, but it turns out you’re naked. Yeah. That feeling sucks almost as much in real life.

Of course Heather would go out of her way to be the most dramatic person in the universe. I swear, she made me stand in the doorway for five fucking minutes while every voyeuristic asshole in the school stared at us. You’d think Madonna herself had descended in a red blazer and started stripping. 

If I ever, EVER, get any brilliant ideas about being popular again, just shoot me.

The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, nobody noticed. In a detached way, Veronica should have found it fascinating. It spread in ripples, a head turned here and there, then whispers and smacked elbows as the circles widened, until finally the entire room was looking at them. 

Just. Looking.

Heather, damn her, slipped an arm around Veronica’s waist and escorted her forward just enough for Mac and Duke to slip in behind them, looking as cool as…as…

Veronica didn’t know what. Something that was very fucking cool. This was not the time for witty similes.

“Smile,” Heather murmured through her teeth. “You’re dating the most important person in school. Act like it.”

Veronica forced her lips into a smile. Not too wide, not too sarcastic. Just enough to say, This is fine. Totally fine. Heather Chandler’s arm is around my waist and the whole school is staring at me and I. Am. Fine.

It was a lot to expect out of a single facial expression. 

They passed the senior lockers. A group of basketball players actually stopped mid-conversation, jaws slack. One of them whistled—low and confused, like the sight of Veronica Sawyer wrapped in Heather Chandler’s arm had short-circuited his brain.

Veronica could relate. She kept walking. She didn’t look at anyone. She didn’t flinch.

She could feel Heather’s satisfaction radiating off her. Probably because Veronica hadn’t dared to say anything yet. 

Well. Veronica could change that. Never let it be said that she passed up a chance to put her foot in her mouth.

“You know,” Veronica said, aiming for casual and only slightly overshooting into defiant, “if I’d known this many people would be staring, I would’ve worn something with sequins.”

Heather didn’t turn her head, but Veronica saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Not a smile. A warning .

“You’re lucky I let you wear flannel,” Heather murmured sweetly. “Keep pushing it and I’ll have you in a matching blazer by Friday.”

Veronica snorted. “You don’t think it’s a little too soon to be wearing each other’s clothes?”

Heather’s fingers dug in slightly at Veronica’s waist. “Oh, sweetheart.” She cooed in a way that really unnerved Veronica. “This isn’t sharing. This is branding.”

They approached the main stairwell, where the real traffic jam was forming. Whispers were flying now, not just stunned silence—actual commentary. A girl near the lockers gasped and whispered, “They’re, like… dating?”

Heather didn’t even flinch. She kept her posture easy and poised, like she’d been parading fake girlfriends through the halls of Westerburg her whole life.

Veronica, on the other hand, felt like her skin was humming. This is fine , she told herself yet again. Completely normal. Just your average walk of shame, except you haven’t even done anything yet.

Another voice—Courtney, of course—somewhere near the water fountain: “It’s a stunt. Has to be. Heather Chandler doesn’t do girlfriends.”

Heather’s fingers flexed, just slightly, at Veronica’s hip. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to say: Don’t respond. I’ve got this.

But Veronica didn’t want to be handled. Not today.

“Think they’ll make out in the cafeteria?” a boy muttered, just loud enough to hear.

Veronica lifted her eyes heavenward. “God, I love high school,” she said under her breath.

Heather gave a soft laugh. “Same. Where else can you ruin someone’s life before second period?”

It should have been horrifying, and it kind of was. But it was also so very Heather that Veronica felt her lips quirk in a real smile. 

***

Heather Duke trailed a few steps behind them, pretending not to watch.

Let them have the spotlight. Chandler and Sawyer could play the power couple all they wanted—Duke knew the real show was always behind the curtain.

She adjusted her sunglasses, not because the hallway lighting called for them, but because watching people gawk was more fun when they didn’t know you were looking. Across the floor, two juniors practically tripped over each other trying to clear a path. Someone whispered lesbians like it was a slur and a spell all in one.

Duke smirked.

Idiots. It’s not about love. It’s about leverage.

Heather Chandler’s hand hadn’t left Veronica’s waist since they walked in. That wasn’t affection. That was possession. A statement. An underline. And Veronica? She was playing along with more bite than anyone expected.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

They reached the lockers and paused just long enough for a sophomore from the yearbook club to snap a photo. Chandler didn’t stop it. She turned slightly into the frame, tossed her hair, let the light catch her just right.

Just like they’d practiced, when it had been just the three of them freshman year, and they were hanging out in Chandler’s room with starry-eyed dreams.

And for the first time since Chandler announced the fake dating scheme Heather Duke wondered if maybe, just maybe, Veronica Sawyer wasn’t the pawn in this story.

Maybe she was the twist ending.

***

…and was that all? Curiosity satisfied, the unwashed masses went back to their books? 

Ha. Ha.

I swear, students here don’t know their own teacher’s name half the time, but they DAMN SURE made it to class with me today. Which probably says something about the state of our education, and there will definitely be a 60 minute special on the downfall of society one day.

Heather had math, so she swept away and took the others with her. I expected the crowds to follow her, but oh no, my magnetic personality must have arrested them. 

Grudgingly, I will admit it makes sense. If it had been another nerd suddenly dating one of the Heathers, I would have wanted a front row seat to that trainwreck too. I guess I can’t blame them for being curious. But would it kill them to be less creepy about it?

Of course, I have first period with JD. 

Veronica slid into her seat near the back, the same desk she always sat in, same scratched initials, same loose leg that wobbled if she leaned too far. Everything was exactly the way she’d left it on Friday. Which made it worse, because she wasn’t

The hallway had been…exhausting. She understood why celebrities cracked sometimes and started throwing cameras or whacking people. People were staring like she'd grown a second head—and Heather Chandler was clinging to her side, steering the scene with surgical precision. It had felt suffocating at the time, but now Veronica actually missed her steady presence. At least with Heather around, the attention wasn’t totally focused on her.

No stage. No script. Just a rattling light and the tick of the wall clock.

She sat back and tried to breathe normally.

It wasn’t 9 am, and already it felt like she’d stepped into a different version of her life.

A chair ‘screeked’ beside her. JD slouched in his usual spot, one boot resting on the metal bar of the desk in front of him and a battered copy of Slaughterhouse-Five in his hand.

“Nice shirt.”

Veronica didn’t turn her head. “You should see the matching leash.”

JD chuckled, dry and low. “Can’t imagine her highness was pleased about that. She strikes me as the territorial type.”

Veronica kept her eyes on the blackboard. “She didn’t say anything.”

JD raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say anything, or didn’t say anything in front of people ?”

Veronica tilted her head, conceding the point.

Behind her, two girls in matching cheer skirts had gone quiet mid-sentence. One nudged the other, wide-eyed, and both stared openly at Veronica.

At the back of the room, a guy dropped his pen. It rolled under Veronica’s desk, and he didn’t even bother to reach for it—just gawked, mouth slightly open.

JD followed her gaze, smirking. “It’s almost disappointing. I thought there’d be more fainting. Maybe a slow clap.”

Veronica spared a side-eyed glare for JD. “She gave me a look.”

“Oh?” JD flipped his book closed and leaned in slightly, voice low. “Describe it to me like it’s foreplay.”

She rolled her eyes, but the edge of a smile lingered. “She looked like she wanted to set me on fire. Politely. With her eyes.”

“Sounds like progress.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Any passive-aggressive threats? Disapproving hair flips? Subtle attempts to reassert dominance in the form of a heavily choreographed hallway strut?”

“She complimented my lip gloss and told me I looked ‘almost like a real person.’”

JD whistled under his breath. “That’s practically a marriage proposal.”

There was a momentary lull as Ms. Brooks approached the board, her stack of transparencies clutched against her chest. She scanned the room, her eyes snagging on Veronica’s shirt. For a moment, even she stared—then she shook her head and moved to the projector like nothing had happened.

“So,” he said. “You planning to wear red every day now, or was this just the opening shot?”

Veronica shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”

JD grinned. “Well, keep it up. You’re screwing with her head, and it’s beautiful.”

“You know, it’s nice to see someone so genuinely happy for me.”

“What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.”

Veronica snorted. “Yeah, right.” 

Ms. Brooks glared at them, and Veronica hastily started taking notes. Teenage drama was no reason for her grades to start slipping. She NEEDED this. She was going to get out of this town, to run away and never come back. Otherwise, what was the point?

JD shuffled over beside her as well. Of course he wasn’t paying attention to the lesson, but he did mercifully shut up for a few minutes and open his book again.

When class was over, Veronica stood, shouldering her bag. “Once more into the breach?”

JD smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t let it get to you. That’s how she wins. If you can’t pull this off, she’ll destroy you.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I’m not that delicate.”

“Good.” He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering. “Because you’ve got her off balance, and once someone’s off balance, you don’t let them catch themselves. That’s how you win a fight.”

JD watched her carefully, tapping his fingers once, then twice, on the edge of her desk. “She’s not doing this for fun, remember. This is war.”

The bell rang. Around them, chairs scraped and laughter bubbled up, but JD didn’t move. Just smiled again, that same too-casual grin.

“Okay, weirdo.” Veronica smiled back at him. JD always had a habit of taking things too seriously. It wasn’t that he was wrong. It was just the way he said it – like people were weapons, or tools. Veronica thought it must have something to do with his dad, and the way they always moved around, although she had never tried to pry. But he was a good friend, and he was on her side. They’d just gotten each other, since the first day. It was nice to have that kind of backup.

…and it continued. Class after class. I was the star attraction at the Westerberg High Circus. Come one, come all, see the Amazing Girl Wonder! Her feats of illusion will leave your head spinning! Watch as she balances on a tightrope fifty feet in the air while juggling! No net here folks, no, this is the real deal. Aren’t you entertained?

I’m not proud of it Diary, but I hid in the library during lunch. I just needed a break. It was like my first day as a Heather all over again, only worse, because this time I’m supposed to be good at it.

Good thing nobody in this school reads.

The hum of hallway noise faded behind the heavy door as Veronica stepped inside.

The bathroom was already crowded — girls at the mirror reapplying lip gloss, whispering in cliques. A couple of underclassmen looked up and then did a synchronized double-take when they saw her.

One of them — braces, bangs, a truly disturbing amount of Aquanet — leaned toward her friend and whispered, “That’s her.”

Veronica paused at the sink, pretending not to hear, though she felt the heat of their stares like stage lights. Another girl gave her an almost reverent smile.

“Is it true?” she asked. “You and Heather?”

Veronica dried her hands slowly. “What do you think?”

The girl giggled and didn’t answer. Her friend elbowed her, and they both scurried out.

Before Veronica could exhale, the door creaked again.

Heather Chandler entered with a gust of perfume and expensive contempt, Mac and Duke just behind her. Her eyes skimmed the room — the mirror crowd, the gawkers, and then Veronica.

There was a flicker of something sharp and quiet in her gaze, but her voice was syrupy-smooth. “There you are.”

Veronica arched a brow. “Were you looking for me?”

Heather crossed the tile in a few elegant strides. “Of course I was.” She leaned in and brushed her fingers against Veronica’s cheek — light, practiced, calculated. The pass of soft fingertips, the light scratch of blood-red nails, and then back again. It threw Veronica off-balance, which was probably Heather’s whole plan; she wouldn’t have been happy that Veronica had missed lunch. 

A sophomore gasped. One of the mirror girls murmured, “God, they’re so cute.”

Heather’s arm slipped through Veronica’s, guiding her casually toward the mirror like this was a daily ritual.

“I didn’t see you at lunch,” she said, keeping her tone light enough for public consumption.

“I had some work to do in the library, remember?” Veronica gave Heather her very best smitten smile. 

Heather’s eyes were deep and intense, and Veronica couldn’t meet them. She looked at their reflections in the mirror instead. In that silvery echo, they looked almost convincing. Heather’s arm looped loosely through hers, their bodies turned toward each other, her face the picture of soft concern. It was a lie, obviously. But it was a convincing one - Veronica caught herself leaning into the contact, just slightly. 

She hadn’t meant to. She’d dealt with a panicking, rising unease all day, and Heather’s presence at her side…it wasn’t warm, exactly, or even comforting, but it felt safe.

This was the dangerous seduction Heather held over all of them. Not her beauty, not her wealth. Heather was, in all things, the eye of the storm. She moved through life totally untouched by the chaos around her. Chaos often caused by her. 

Veronica knew better than to be impressed. That’s what she told herself, anyway. She could see the way Heather manipulated a room, the way people bent themselves into shapes just to stay in her good graces. It was theater on both sides. Calculated, flawless theater. And yet—

Heather shifted. Not closer–away. Barely a breath of space between them, but noticeable, and in that space Veronica felt like she could breathe. Heather’s fingers slipped from Veronica’s elbow and moved instead to the strap of her purse, adjusting it like it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.

“Right, of course,” Heather said, pulling out a tube of lipstick and dabbing at her mouth, although there had been nothing in need of fixing. Her voice was casual, almost playful. “You should’ve reminded me. I would’ve brought you something.”

Veronica tilted her head, smiling just enough to make it look effortless. “Next time.”

Heather’s gaze flicked up, and her smile softened. She reached up and tucked a strand of Veronica’s hair behind her ear, a tender gesture so natural it drew a hush from the mirror crowd. For a moment, they could have been anyone—two girls wrapped in their own quiet world.

“I’m just looking out for you, Ronnie.” Her voice was light, affectionate, practiced to perfection.

A few girls by the sinks exchanged wide-eyed glances. One of them mouthed oh my god at another.

Veronica leaned into the moment. Mild reflection-induced panic attack aside, it was a lot of fun to be on the right side of Heather’s doting girlfriend performance. “Well. I do like being spoiled.”

Before Heather could reply, Duke’s voice cut in from behind them. “Okay, Chandler, ease up before the freshmen faint.”

Mac rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Ignore her. You two are, like, stupid cute.”

Heather let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and didn’t let go of Veronica’s arm. “They’re just mad they don’t get to be the main characters this week.”

Duke scoffed. “I am the main character.”

Mac nudged her toward the door. “Then come be late with the rest of us.”

Heather turned back toward the mirror one last time, adjusting a curl that didn’t need adjusting. “Let’s go, babe.”

Veronica smiled automatically, letting herself be guided. The crowd of girls behind them was still watching — eyes wide, half in awe, half in hunger.

She could feel it again: that weightless, dizzy feeling, like the tightrope had vanished beneath her feet. But Heather’s hand on her arm was steady and certain.

Veronica knew it wasn’t real.

But it was enough to hold on to.

They swept out together—Heather, Veronica, Mac, and Duke—a formation sharp enough to part the hallway crowd.

***

Heather let the front door swing shut behind her and dropped her keys into the porcelain dish by the entryway. The house was quiet. Her father was in Phoenix for the week, and her mother was…well, who knows? An event at the club, or at the spa. Or both. 

She didn’t feel lonely. After school, the cool, dark, quiet of her home was very welcome. 

She locked the door behind her and headed upstairs, blazer slung over one arm, heels dangling from the other hand. Her room greeted her in perfect silence — cream and red striped walls, gilded molding, a mirrored closet with brass trim that reflected just enough light to flatter. The vanity dominated one wall — sleek white laminate with gold trim, crowned by a row of round, Hollywood-style bulbs. The matching stool beneath it was blush rose velvet, imported, custom reupholstered the summer before junior year.

She hung up her blazer with care on its padded hanger. The earrings went next. Then the necklace: a narrow Tiffany chain in gold, from her grandmother on her fifteenth birthday. She placed it in its velvet box and centered the box on its tray.

Then she sat. The vanity lights clicked on with a soft hum. She took the container of Noxzema from its drawer and began removing her makeup. The first swipe took off the gloss. The second dulled the edges of her carefully drawn mouth. 

She unpinned her hair. Brushed it out with the boar-bristle Mason Pearson her mother had insisted she use. One hundred strokes, as always. 

The girl in the mirror was still beautiful. Still dangerous. But bare-faced under the harsh incandescent bulbs she looked younger. Less certain, even a little tired.

She clicked off the lights.

Next to her bed, inside the bottom drawer of her nightstand, was a lacquered white box. Heather pulled it out with practiced care and set it on the vanity counter. It wasn’t locked. It didn’t need to be. No one ever came in here.

Heather didn’t have a diary. Writing down your every thought was just ridiculous, a sad and strange childish addiction for losers who thought their pathetic lives mattered. As if anyone cared. But she did have this…collection. A napkin with a lipstick kiss and a phone number she’d never called. A charm from a bracelet she never wore anymore. A note from Mac, folded into a perfect triangle, its paper gone soft at the creases, tucked in beside a curling photo booth strip of her and Duke flipping off the camera.

She added the Polaroid.

It had been taken that morning by one of the overachievers from Yearbook Club, clicking away for the school’s monthly bulletin board. Spotlight on Student Life. She and Veronica had been standing by the lockers, and Heather had turned herself just right, in the way that she knew would show off her best side. 

She looked perfect, of course. Posed. Polished. Exactly as intended.

Veronica didn’t.

She looked… happy. Bright-eyed, flushed, in that ridiculous red shirt, like she’d just said something clever and was still half-laughing about it. Her body leaned toward Heather, just slightly. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a performative way. Just — natural.

Heather stared at it for a moment. When was the last time someone had been genuinely happy in her presence? (Mac didn’t count, of course. She even thought Heather Duke was fun to be around).

It was a good picture.

She traced her thumb lightly along the edge of it — not across Veronica’s face or anything sappy like that. Just a touch. She turned it over and slid it into the box, facedown.

“Get a grip, Chandler. It’s just a photo,” she muttered. 

She closed the box and replaced it in the nightstand, closing the drawer with perhaps more force than necessary. Then she stood and went to find something to have for dinner.

Chapter Text

As the week went on, Veronica got used to her new position. As long as she didn’t think about it too hard, she could make it into an out-of-body experiment. Like part of her brain was just…watching her body go through the motions. Unaffected and taking notes for her future best-selling novel.

It helped that Heather was a scarily good fake girlfriend. It seemed like every time Veronica turned around, Heather would be there, taking her bags, picking up her books, fixing her makeup. Sure, it was usually accompanied by a remark about her tragic helplessness, but Veronica could shrug those off. She had practice.

Even though Heather was only doing it to make sure Veronica didn’t fuck up, it was nice.

People didn’t just look at her. They watched . It was one thing to be just part of the group, a Veronica among Heathers. It was quite another thing to be at the head of the table, to glide through the hallways and watch the crowds part. It could even be fun to watch freshmen scurry away from her.

On Thursday, Veronica set her lunch tray down with practiced ease, ignoring the heads that turned when she did. Duke gave her a brief nod. Mac looked up from her notebook with the glazed focus of a girl on the brink of a scheduling breakdown. And Heather…Heather, true to form, didn’t look at her. Instead, she reached over with delicate ease, adjusting the collar of Veronica’s jacket like it was second nature.

“There,” she murmured, loud enough for the table - and anyone else nearby - to hear. “You were starting to look like your old self again. Tragic.”

Veronica didn’t miss a beat. She smiled just a little too brightly and murmured back, “Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got you, huh?”

Heather’s hand rested briefly over Veronica’s — a light, public gesture, perfectly rehearsed.

The performance was still hanging in the air when Mac finally looked up from her planner with the weary intensity of someone held together by tape, coffee, and sheer willpower.

“So,” she said, eyeing them like she was about to assign chores to a particularly surly group of raccoons, “you’re all helping with the pep rally this week.”

Heather raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Mm, yeah.” Mac stabbed her pen down onto a page. “Fleming wants the gym done up like it’s the damn Rose Parade, and I’m not hot-gluing three hundred tissue paper flowers by myself.”

Duke groaned. “I have yearbook layout this week. You think the photos edit themselves?”

“Great,” Mac said, too sweet. “You can document the fun while we work.”

Heather looked personally offended. “Are you suggesting I participate in pep rally construction? What exactly do you think I do ?”

“Boss people around, mostly,” Mac shot back. “Which is why I’m asking you to get the balloons filled, not blow them up. Relax.”

She turned to Veronica, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re in too, Veronica. I need warm bodies and legible handwriting. You qualify.” Mac said. “You don’t get to sit this one out.”

Veronica opened her mouth to protest, but Mac cut her off. “It’s only a couple of hours after school. You can paint the banners.”

Heather shot her a look like this whole thing had been Veronica’s idea. “Try not to get paint on anything important. Like me.”

“I thought we weren’t fighting in public,” Veronica murmured back.

“I’m not fighting,” Heather said sweetly. “I’m strategizing.”

“Great,” Mac snapped her planner shut. “Strategize yourselves into the gym after school.”

Duke looked up at the ceiling like she was begging for divine intervention. “If I die in there, tell my story.”

“No one’s gonna die,” Mac said cheerfully. “Unless someone spills the glitter. Then I make no promises.”

Heather glanced sideways at Veronica, just long enough for her lips to twitch. “If I’m going down,” she said, “I’m taking you with me.”

Veronica popped a chip in her mouth and shrugged. “I’ve always wanted a matching headstone.”

***

The gym smelled like old sweat. Not fresh sweat, mind you - not the kind that implies hard work or noble struggle - but the kind of ancient, fermented perspiration that suggested a freshman had died somewhere under the bleachers during volleyball season and nobody had bothered to remove the body.

It was a smell that had seeped into the very structure of the walls. If you were to raze the gym to its foundations, salt the earth, and build a yoga studio on top, the smell would still be there,  politely wafting up during downward dog to remind everyone that this was, at heart, a high school gym.

Mac was already there when Veronica arrived, ordering lesser cheerleaders around with a clipboard and a stress-induced eye twitch. Cardboard cutouts leaned against the bleachers. A box of tangled streamers had exploded in the corner. The air practically crackled with glitter and passive aggression.

“Oh thank God, Veronica.” Mac sounded like she might cry. “Grab a paintbrush and try to make sure Heather doesn’t kill anyone.”

Yes, of course, because Veronica had the power to stop Heather from doing anything. 

Duke had taken over the banner table, sketching aggressive bubble letters while humming something that sounded suspiciously like Metallica. Heather, naturally, hadn’t lifted a finger yet; she stood near the bleachers, critically eyeing the decorations like a war general inspecting enemy fortifications.

“Where should I start?” Veronica asked, dropping her bag by the stage steps.

Heather turned. “Over there. The ‘Go Rottweilers’ sign looks like it was painted by a concussed toddler.”

Veronica strolled over, inspecting the sign. “Wow. I thought ‘art’ was subjective.”

“It is,” Heather said, picking up a brush and offering it to Veronica. “But taste isn’t.”

Veronica took the brush, their fingers touching lightly. Heather had never been a tactile person. It might have been a consequence of their personalities - Duke was prickly on the best days, and Mac didn’t exactly give people a choice. When she wanted to hug you, she just went ahead and did it. But Heather rarely sought out contact with either of them, and certainly not with Veronica. Until they started ‘dating.’ 

Apparently Heather was much more touchy-feely with people she was dating. Her hand would inevitably fall to Veronica’s waist while they walked to class, or to her elbow. Frankly, it was weirding Veronica out a bit. Not because of the touches themselves – which were perfectly, respectably platonic - but just because…it was Heather fucking Chandler, okay? And it was weird.

But Veronica must be adapting through exposure, because she didn’t recoil at the sharp zing of hyper-awareness that inevitably followed the light touch.

They worked in silence. For a while, there was only the soft slap of paint on paper and the occasional squeak of sneakers on the gym floor. Other students filtered in and out – a few cheerleaders, a couple of underclassmen from student council – but none came too close. The Heather Chandler/Veronica Sawyer gravitational field had a wide radius.

Veronica glanced over, just long enough to catch Heather’s profile, all sharp lines and controlled cool. Her hair was pulled tight into a high ponytail, not a strand out of place. The red blazer was gone, revealing a crisp white blouse, sleeves rolled just past the elbow, her forearms bare and unexpectedly human. A smudge of red paint clung to the skin just above her wrist. Veronica had the absurd urge to reach over and wipe it away with her thumb.

Instead, she said, “You know, I think this is the most effort I’ve ever seen you put into school spirit. It’s kind of cute.”

Heather didn’t look up. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here because Mac swore she’d cry if I didn’t show up, and Duke threatened to edit me into a pep rally spread anyway.”

Veronica grinned. “So basically, blackmail.”

“Friendship,” Heather corrected, dipping her brush again and seriously studying a paw print. “Is just mutual extortion.” 

They kept painting. Heather’s hand moved with practiced ease - no hesitation, no wasted motion. Veronica watched the way her brow furrowed when she leaned in to fix a crooked line, the way her bottom lip caught between her teeth without her noticing. It was unfair, how pretty she looked when she wasn’t trying to be.

The silence shifted, becoming something fragile. Veronica felt like she needed to break it.

“This isn’t terrible.” She said softly.

Heather looked over. Her face was very close. “Are the fumes finally getting to you?”

“I meant this. Hanging out. Not pretending.”

Heather’s brush paused.

“Don’t kid yourself Veronica. We’re always pretending,” she said lightly. But she didn’t look away.

Veronica sighed, letting her head fall back slightly to stare up at the gym ceiling. “Jesus, Heather. Not every high school interaction has some hidden meaning.” 

Heather raised an eyebrow. It was really unfair how well she could do that. Was it just in her nature? Did she practice? Veronica had tried a few times in the mirror, but she didn’t have whatever effortless touch Heather had. “All this time, and you still don’t get it? Everyone either wants to be us or fuck us.”

“ I didn’t–” Veronica started,

“Oh I’m sorry,” Heather interrupted her. “I must have hallucinated you forging hall passes just to beg to sit with us at lunch for a day.”

“Okay fine,” Veronica conceded. “But I wouldn’t do it now .”

Heather did the eyebrow thing again. Damn it. Veronica angrily reached across the bleacher for more paint. Heather was so exhausting . Why was she totally incapable of having a normal conversation?

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the wet edge of the brush until it streaked across her hand.

“Ugh, seriously?”

Heather caught her wrist before she could smear it further. Her grip was firm, precise. Her fingers were warm.

“Stop.” She said, “You’ll ruin the sign.”

Her voice was low and calm, and it landed somewhere around Veronica’s chest. 

Heather dipped a paper towel into the water cup and dabbed at Veronica’s palm delicately.

She worked in small, exacting motions, dabbing the paint away with the kind of focus that made Veronica go still. Heather’s brow was drawn, her lips slightly parted.

Veronica stared. She didn’t mean to, but…

Heather glanced up and their eyes met. 

Everything stilled. 

Here was the moment, Veronica knew, when she would say something profoundly stupid. Heather was acting like a human for possibly the first time in their entire friendship, and she could feel the idiocy welling up inside her. The sudden, ridiculous urge to say anything , just to break the tension.

“There,” Heather said, and dropped Veronica’s hand. “Try not to be such a disaster.”

Veronica exhaled. “No promises.”

***

The sun was starting to dip behind the trees, painting the school’s front lawn in long, slanted shadows. Veronica tugged at the sleeves of her blazer as she stepped onto the sidewalk, her pulse still buzzing faintly from the gym.

She spotted Martha waiting by the bike racks - pink jacket, too-big backpack, familiar slump of shoulders that made Veronica’s chest ache a little. Martha looked up when she approached, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey,” Veronica said, trying to sound casual. “What are you still doing here?”

“Tutoring after school on Thursdays, remember? Plus, I thought I’d hang around for a little bit.” Martha shifted her weight. “We haven’t really talked this week.”

Veronica sighed. “I know, I’m sorry. Mac roped us into pep rally duty.”

“Us?”

“You know. The Heathers.” Veronica winced as the words left her mouth.

Martha nodded slowly. “Right.”

They walked in silence for a moment, gravel crunching under their shoes. Veronica tried to think of something light to say, but the words got stuck in her throat. Nothing seemed right, or easy.

Martha beat her to it. “You promised me you wouldn’t let her do this to you again.”

Veronica stopped. “I’m not—Martha, it’s not like that.”

“No?” Martha turned, arms folded. “You haven’t talked to me all week. And you’re dating Heather, this is kind of a big deal Veronica. Something you should talk about with your best friend. ”

“It’s fake.” Veronica’s voice was quiet. “The whole thing, the dating thing, it’s fake. You know that.”

“I know,” Martha snapped. “I was there when you and JD came up with this…insane, doomed plan, and even though I think you’re being incredibly stupid, I’ll back you up! Because I’m your friend! But you get sucked into these things and it’s just like…the second Heather snaps her fingers, you forget everything else.”  

Veronica didn’t know how to respond, and she was still struggling for words as Martha took a few calming breaths.

“I forgave you after the Homecoming party. I told myself it was just a mistake, that you were stuck, that it wouldn’t happen again. What is it about Heather Chandler that makes you lose your mind?”

“I’m not!” Veronica pleaded. “Martha, I swear, this isn’t like before. I don’t even like her.” 

“You’re with her every day,” she said finally. “You say it’s fake, but you’re still choosing it. And I’m scared, Veronica. I don’t care what Heather thinks of me, but…I’m scared you’re going to start looking the other way again.”

Martha shouldered her bag and stepped out onto the parking lot. “I’m your friend, always, okay? Just…remember who she is.”

Before she could go, Veronica pulled her friend into a quick, fierce hug. 

“You’re my best friend.” She whispered. “Nothing will ever change that.”

Martha squeezed her back. “Don’t you forget it.”

***

Heather Chandler stood at the edge of the gym bleachers, arms crossed and jaw tight, watching Mac execute a perfect high kick in the center of the basketball court. The other Heathers looked so at home here. Duke was stalking between rows, barking instructions at yearbook club kids with a deadly precision only matched by professional machine gun fire. She paused briefly when Courtney sauntered over, lips pursed in that way she always did before saying something she thought was clever.

Heather couldn’t hear their conversation, but Duke’s reaction said enough. An arched brow. A smirk. A shrug. Then she turned away mid-sentence and called out to a freshman with a camera. Classic Duke.

Courtney lingered for a beat, scanning the crowd with sharp eyes until they landed on Heather.

She smiled. Heather did not return it.

At least the gym looked good. Under her expert decorating direction, they’d managed to make a passable pep rally. Crimson and white streamers curled from the rafters, and the banner over the senior section glittered with the words Crush the Cougars in bold, bubble letters—Duke’s lettering, but Heather’s edits. She’d repositioned the paws, doubled the glitter, and insisted they repaint the Rottweiler’s teeth. Twice.

Balloons bounced lazily over the gym floor, collecting in herds around the edges of the bleachers and every so often popping up to float over the students, propelled by hands now and again into the air.

A flicker of pride stirred somewhere under the layers of practiced boredom. It would never show, of course. But still, she’d done well, and there was no shame in enjoying a job well done.

“Wow,” said a voice by her shoulder “You went all out.”

Heather didn’t startle, but her posture did relax slightly. Veronica stood at her side, arms tight against her chest like she was bracing for a storm, eyes on the glittering banners above the court. She was smiling, but it seemed forced.

“You sound surprised,” Heather said, schooling her tone into cool detachment.

“I’m not.” Veronica replied. “It looks good.”

Heather glanced sidelong at her. She didn’t usually pay attention to what others were feeling, but it didn’t take a genius to see there was something wrong with Veronica. She was missing that annoyingly upbeat attitude. Not that Heather cared, unless it was something that would affect their plan. 

“You’re late,” she said, a little softer.

“Yeah, well.” Veronica shrugged. “Didn’t want to upstage Mac’s entrance. She’s earned this too.”

It was a deflection, but Heather didn’t press. Let Veronica keep her secrets. Pep rallies sucked, but at least she wouldn’t have to endure it alone. “You missed Duke threatening to kill a freshman.”

“I love it when she’s in her element.” 

They stood there, a bubble of stillness amid the noise. Veronica’s arms were still crossed, her shoulders tense. Heather’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, then drifted back to the court. “I guess it turned out okay.”

That earned her a flicker of a smile. “It turned out perfect.”

“Perfect is a stretch. The balloon arch is lopsided and I hate the lettering on the sophomore sign.”

“You approved the sign.”

“I approved it under duress.”

Veronica snorted. “You know, most people would just say thank you.”

“I’m not most people,” Heather replied crisply. “And I didn’t ask to design a pep rally.”

“No,” Veronica agreed, “but you definitely made it yours.”

Heather’s mouth twitched. She was self-aware enough to know that she was susceptible to flattery…but that didn’t mean it didn’t work. 

“I couldn’t let it be hideous.”

“Of course not. That would be tragic. Think of the yearbook photos.”

It was a perfectly Veronica line, but it wasn’t delivered with her usual good-humored snark. Instead, she sounded bitter; Veronica was being catty, and it didn’t suit her. That was Heather’s bit. 

Really, this whole attitude of Veronica’s was getting on her nerves. Heather had very politely not mentioned it with the hope that Veronica would get over this moody, performative cry for attention, but clearly that was going to be too much to ask for. 

It wasn’t like Heather cared, obviously.

But there were rules to this little game they were playing. Especially when it came to Veronica. Veronica, who looked fine. Who said she was fine. Who was playing the part perfectly - standing beside her, complimenting her work, bantering with her - but something underneath it had shifted.

Heather couldn’t place it, and that made her restless.

Before she could decide what to do about it, a shrill whistle cut through the gym, followed by Fleming’s nasally bark echoing through the megaphone.

“All non-performers off the court! If you’re not on the schedule, you’re scenery!”

Veronica winced. “That’s our cue.”

The crowd surged. Students shuffled toward the bleachers. The fight song kicked up, screeching hellishly over the ancient speakers, and Heather felt the weight of the gym shift.

And then, without warning, a freshman was shoved too hard by someone behind him. He careened into Veronica, sending her off balance. 

She stumbled. 

Heather caught her. 

It wasn’t graceful. She didn’t really have time to think about it. If she had, she very well might have let Veronica fall. As it was, her hands went automatically to Veronica’s arms, steadying her with more force than finesse. Their bodies collided, close enough that Heather felt the contact like a shock; heat, weight, the faint pressure of breath too near her collarbone.

Veronica’s eyes were wide and much too close.

Veronica tensed. So did Heather - but not for the same reason. Her brain scrambled to name it. Disgust? No. Embarrassment? Please.

Rage.

Yes. That would do.

Her grip tightened slightly. Her pulse spiked. 

She turned, eyes locking on the freshman who had caused the collision

“Hey! Are you actually brain dead ?”

The boy blinked. He resembled nothing so much as a rabbit paralysed in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

“I—I didn’t see—” he stammered.

“No. You didn’t see,” Heather cut in, her tone icy. “Because if you had, you’d still be six feet away, where your sad little shoes belong. But instead, you’ve interrupted my afternoon and officially earned yourself a reputation as Westerberg’s Most Useless Life Form. So congratulations.”

The kid’s face was turning a painful shade of pink. His eyes were glassy, and he looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Heather gave him one last, withering once-over. “Run along, puppy. Before I decide the Rottweilers need a new chew toy.”

He fled.

Heather didn’t turn immediately. She watched him disappear into the crowd, her chest still clenched with anger. She wanted to destroy something. She wanted to destroy him. The need to lash out pounded along with her pulse and drowned out almost everything. Almost, of course, was the watchword for Heather Chandler. There were some things she could never get away from.

Slowly, as from a great distance, she felt her surroundings become sharper. The crowd had quieted, those on the outer edges unaware of what had happened, but closer in a circle had formed around them, staring. Waiting. Heather realized she was still clutching Veronica in her arms.

Then, Veronica moved. 

Not away, like Heather expected. She closed the space between them, pressing herself fully against Heather’s body. Veronica’s eyes didn’t quite meet Heather’s as her hand lifted, unhurried, and brushed Heather’s shoulder, fingertips grazing the fabric like she had every right to touch her.

“What would I do without you?” she said, not loudly, but clearly enough that the students closest to them heard her. One of the girls giggled, sharp and surprised, and Heather felt her entire spine go stiff.

Veronica’s expression didn’t change, but there was something new behind it…something almost smug, though she wore it well. She met Heather’s gaze for just a moment, then turned away, letting her hand fall and thankfully putting some space between them. A faint flush on Veronica’s cheeks also helped Heather regain some control. At least she wasn’t the only one still feeling off-balance.

In this public space, Heather could hardly demand that Veronica tell her what the hell she was thinking. And as she calmed down, she reflected that that might actually be a good thing. Nothing Veronica had done had been wrong, exactly. People were staring, and she had given them a show. Of course she would have thanked her loving girlfriend for defending her honor. It was the perfectly logical reaction, and Heather decided that she was…proud of Veronica. Clearly Veronica had been paying attention and had picked up a few social skills from Heather’s excellent example. It was flattering, really. Not at all a challenge to Heather’s control of the situation.

After far, far too long, the rally ended in a burst of canned applause and scattered cheers. The crowd started moving again, students pouring into the hallways like released pressure, all chatter and sneaker-squeaks and the occasional whoop of leftover school spirit.

“Finally,” Duke muttered, as they rejoined the others near the trophy case. “I think I lost a year of my life to those remixes.”

“The confetti was a bit much,” Mac admitted, swatting a flake from her hair. “But we made it.”

“Barely,” Heather muttered. She was already mentally calculating what came next. There was a party, she thought, at someone’s house. Should they put in an appearance, or save the mystique for the Halloween party next week? If not, then maybe to the mall for a late movie, some stores would still be open long enough for them to eat and then…

That was when they heard it.

Raised voices - two boys, older, in red and white varsity jackets, shoving someone up against the lockers hard enough for the clang to echo down the hall.

“God, again?” Duke sighed. “Can’t they at least wait until Monday?”

“It’s just the hockey guys,” Mac added quietly, clearly uncomfortable. “They’re real jerks.”

“So let them work out their head trauma on someone disposable,” Heather said with a dismissive wave. “It’s not our problem.”

But Veronica had stopped walking.

She was staring down the hallway, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched.

“Veronica,” Heather said warningly, already sensing where this was going. “Don’t.”

“It’s fine,” Veronica replied, voice clipped. “You guys go ahead.”

“Veronica,” Mac repeated, this time unsure. “Seriously. You don’t have to…”

But she was already moving. Not striding, not marching…just walking, fast and deliberate, cutting through the crowd like she’d been doing it her whole life.

Veronica didn’t charge in like a hero. She wasn’t trying to start something, and she knew she couldn’t compete physically with two muscle-bound high school boys. Still, the sight of it turned her stomach. A wiry sophomore with bad skin getting shoved against the lockers, his backpack ripped, books and papers spilling out on the floor.

The bigger one had his hand balled in the kid’s shirt. The other was laughing, clutching what looked like the kid’s Walkman.

“C’mon, you deaf? I said you can get it back when you learn to say thank you.”

“I didn’t even –” the sophomore started.

“Say thank you,” the other one interrupted, grinning.

Veronica stepped forward.

“Hey.”

The boys didn’t look at her right away. Why would they? She didn’t exist to them. Just another body in the hall. Until she didn’t stop. Until she walked right up and planted herself between them and the lockers.

“I said hey.”

Now they looked.

And blinked.

And laughed.

“Oh, sorry, you want a turn?” one of them said, giving her an exaggerated once-over. “Didn’t realize Heather Chandler was loaning out her girlfriend.”

Veronica’s face didn’t twitch. “Let him go.”

The taller one leaned in. “Look, babe, don’t worry about it. We’re just having a little fun with our friend here, and when we’re done, we promise to put him right back where we found him.”

Somehow, that thought didn’t comfort Veronica. She was about to reply, but found herself interrupted. 

“She said let him go, ” Heather snapped.

The words landed like a whip crack.

All heads turned. Heather Chandler was suddenly there, standing beside Veronica like she'd been summoned by the sound of disrespect. Her heels clicked loudly against the as she took a step closer, her posture ice-cold and immaculate.

“Unless you want to spend your senior year finding out how fast I can turn the entire school against you,” she continued, voice low and lethal. “I suggest you do what she says.”

The taller boy blinked. The smirk faded. His hand loosened.

The sophomore slipped out and scrambled away, clutching his bag in a death grip.

Veronica stared straight ahead, heart pounding. Heather didn’t look at her.

The boy’s face turned red, and his friend muttered something under his breath. They both slunk off into the crowd.

Veronica let out a slow breath.

Mac and Duke were a few feet away, frozen mid-step.

“Jesus,” Duke said finally. “Who knew Veronica had it in her.”

“I didn’t do it for fun,” Veronica muttered, brushing her hair from her face. “I could stand there and watch them torture some poor kid.”

Heather turned to her now, gaze unreadable. “You didn’t have to do it at all.”

Veronica met her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

Heather held her gaze for one more second. She shouldn’t have said anything. She didn’t need to; Veronica could hold her own. But the second that guy had laughed at her with that oh-so-subtle insinuation…like she was nothing, like she was weak…

Heather’s jaw clenched. It seemed like some people needed to learn a lesson. Veronica wouldn’t be shoved around. Not when she was with her.

“Come on,” she said, already walking. “Before we start inspiring the rest of the peasantry.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, just pivoted toward the doors with practiced precision. She knew the others would follow, and they did. Duke muttered something under her breath about needing earplugs. Mac trailed a step behind with, still in her cheer uniform, her hair glitter-dusted.

Outside, the parking lot buzzed with the usual after-school chaos — doors slamming, engines revving, someone blaring Bon Jovi from a half-busted stereo. Duke waved toward the side exit.

“I parked by the band hall. Move it or lose it.”

Veronica fell into step beside Heather. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to; Heather could feel the question radiating off her like heat. Why had she stepped in? Why had she said anything at all?

Heather kept walking.

When they reached the Jeep, Duke popped the door lock quickly, climbing inside to find the perfect driving music. Normally, this was the part where Heather would take her place in front, crossing her legs like a magazine ad and dictating the route home while ignoring ninety percent of whatever Duke said. 

Today, she hesitated.

Her skin still pricked from the hallway…from the collision, earlier. Today, she decided, was time for something different.

“Mac, you take shotgun.”

Mac blinked, halfway to the back door already. “Wait, seriously?”

“Did I stutter? Move.”  

“Yes, Heather!” Mac veered toward the passenger side.

Heather slid into the backseat.

Veronica was already there, leaning against the far door with her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. She glanced sideways as Heather settled beside her; a flicker of surprise, quickly masked.

Heather didn’t explain. She didn’t even look at her.

She just crossed her legs, tugged her skirt into place, and said, “Well? Let’s go.”

The Jeep rumbled to life with its usual series of dramatic wheezes. Duke muttered something about oil changes and conspiracy, and Mac cranked the window down halfway, fiddling with the vent like it might suddenly produce cold air.

Heather still didn’t say anything to Veronica. She kept her gaze out the window, sunglasses on. Not tense. Just... composed.

She could feel Veronica next to her. They weren’t touching, but it wouldn’t take much. A bump in the road. A sharp turn. A fraction of a shift.

Normally she would’ve claimed the front. She liked the front. You got the breeze without the hair tangle, you could control the music, and most importantly, everyone saw you first when you arrived. It set the proper tone.

But the idea of sitting up there today made her stomach knot, so she’d changed the seating chart. Big deal.

Not that anyone had the guts to say anything. Mac had looked confused, sure, but she didn’t question it. And Duke…well, Duke could raise her eyebrows all she wanted. Heather Chandler didn’t explain herself.

She’d backed Veronica up. In public. In front of half the school.

So what? It had been the right move. They needed to present a united front, and Veronica couldn’t be seen as weak. It would reflect badly on Heather. That was it. 

It wasn’t about anything else, not the way Veronica had looked at her afterward, or the way her skin still buzzed from the accidental bump in the gym, or from the echo of Veronica’s breath too close to her neck. And the part of her brain that kept replaying those things could just shut the hell up. 

Just…optics. That was all. 

She shifted slightly in her seat, smoothing her skirt again. It felt too warm in the back. The air was stale. The Jeep was stupid.

She wasn’t going to think about Veronica.

Unfortunately for Heather, but fortunately for our story, Heather Duke was a terrible driver. The Jeep jostled and bounced as Duke rolled over a curb on the way out of the parking lot, and Heather’s shoulder bumped against Veronica’s. Not hard, just a nudge…but she didn’t move away.

Neither did Veronica.

Of course, neither of them could acknowledge it. That would be healthy communication and, frankly, boring. Instead they steadfastly ignored that anything had happened at all. Heather kept her sunglasses on. Veronica kept her eyes forward.

Finally, Veronica spoke, her voice pitched low so it wouldn’t carry over Mac’s cheerful debrief of the pep rally.

“Everything okay, Heather?”

Heather turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at her. “What makes you think it’s not?”

Veronica shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re sitting back here with the commoners.”

“You can’t blame me for not wanting to deal with Duke’s sunny personality today. Don’t get used to it.”

“Right.” Veronica looked out the window. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Another pause. Another bump in the road. Their knees brushed again.

Heather adjusted her sunglasses. The action held the faintest hint of nervous energy.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Heather said suddenly, sharper than she meant to. She even had the unpleasant urge to apologize.

Veronica looked at her. “Do what? Not let those guys smash a kid into the lockers?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, Heather,” she said, dry. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’ve done so many outrageous things today.”

Heather huffed and looked away. “You made a scene.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I damage your brand?”

Heather’s jaw clenched. “That’s not…”

But she didn’t finish. Because it wasn’t about that, and she knew it; she just didn’t have a better excuse.

“I wasn’t going to stand there and do nothing,” Veronica said, quieter now.

Heather didn’t answer.

Veronica sighed. “I suppose I should say thank you. You didn’t have to jump in.”

Heather turned to glare at her, but Veronica wasn’t even looking. She was staring out the window like it didn’t matter, and that was even worse.

“Those guys are idiots anyways. If anyone’s going to throw you into a locker, it’s going to be me.”

“Wow. Romantic.”

“Shut up.”

Soon enough, the Jeep crunched to a halt outside Veronica’s house. For a moment, no one moved, then Heather spoke, her voice too casual.

“We’re going to the mall tomorrow. You’re coming.”

“Can’t. I have plans with Martha.”

Something flickered across Heather’s face, too quickly for Veronica to read. “Oh,” she said, her voice flat. “Of course. God forbid you disappoint your emotional support animal.”

Veronica froze halfway through opening the door. “Seriously?”

Heather shrugged, leaning back against the seat. “I mean, I get it. You wouldn’t want to miss your weekly guilt trip. Does Jesse James rate an invite?”

Veronica turned to look at her fully now, brow furrowed. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

“I’m not being a bitch,” Heather said, smiling without warmth. “I’m being realistic. You don’t want to spend too much time around the big bad Heathers. Might get confused about who your real friends are.”

The silence that followed was sharp and sudden.

Veronica blinked, and her jaw tightened.

“I said I couldn’t go Saturday ,” she said quietly. “I didn’t say no.”

Heather’s smile faltered.

“We can go Sunday,” Veronica continued. “If you’re not too busy sharpening your claws.”

Heather looked away, then back. Her voice, when it came, was with practiced lightness.

“Fine. I’ll pick you up at noon.”

Veronica nodded once and stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind her without slamming it. The sound was still louder than it needed to be.

Mac twisted around in the front seat, watching her go. “You okay?”

Heather didn’t answer right away. Just stared out the window at Veronica’s retreating figure; at the shape of her, lit briefly by the porch light, then gone.

“ Very.”

Chapter Text

By late Saturday afternoon, Veronica, JD, and Martha had extinguished the entertainment capabilities of Jenga, Battleship, and Martha’s Ouija board, which had mostly told them to eat more snacks and stop asking about dead celebrities. The Sawyer living room had been suitably trashed, with a collection of snacks and drinks on the coffee table, and some pillows in a rather precarious arrangement on the floor. Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer had wisely made themselves scarce, but JD had met them courteously - for him - and all seemed well. The friends had had a great afternoon, and Heather Chandler had not even been mentioned once.

Which meant, of course, that someone needed to break Veronica’s winning streak, and by custom and personal bent, that someone would always be JD.

JD lounged on the rug with the deliberate carelessness of a person who did not know what the rug in question cost, but very much wanted people to know that he didn’t care. His long legs were crossed in front of him, and he was smiling.

“Sooo…” He drawled. “I think we gotta give it up for our very own Princess Diana here. You got Chandler to do something nice. I hope her head exploded.” His grin widened. “I hope someone got it on camera.”

Veronica sat perched on the couch, elbow deep in the wreckage of Halloween costume ideas. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”

Martha, curled on the opposite side, tossed an M&M into her mouth and raised an eyebrow. “Nick’s a nice guy; he’s in my homeroom. You stopped him from getting smooshed, and for that, we salute you.”

“Yup, Veronica Sawyer, avenging angel. Torch in one hand, middle finger to the world!”

“I wasn’t trying to make a scene…just…how could I walk away?” Veronica caught Martha’s eye and they shared a small smile..

“Yeah, but Chandler had to follow your lead. That’s the part that gets me. Heather fucking Chandler, playing second violin in the symphony of your moral backbone.”

Martha hesitated, fidgeting with a feather boa. “Do you think she meant to help, though? Or just didn’t want to look bad?”

Veronica shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“It does.” Martha pressed. “It matters if she’s using you again.”

JD nudged a plastic spider across the floor with his boot. “It’s not like Chandler’s in love with her.”

Veronica choked on her water. “Excuse me?”

“Not yet ,” he added, grinning. “But you are playing the long con. What’s the plan? Poison her hair spray? Cut her brake lines?”

“JD—” Martha warned, but Veronica waved her off.

“No, let him have his fun,” she said dryly. “It’s probably the only thing keeping him from writing manifestos in the margins of his algebra homework.”

JD raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I am the manifesto.”

They all laughed; real, easy laughter that echoed against the living room walls.

Outside, the light was beginning to slant in that golden, autumnal way that made everything feel cinematic. Inside, they sprawled like victorious conquerors: battle-worn and sugar-high, surrounded by feathers and glitter and candy wrappers, kings and queens of nothing in particular.

Veronica felt... good. Not just good. Light . Like something inside her had shifted into alignment. She wasn’t chasing Heather’s approval. She wasn’t ducking Duke’s cutting remarks. She wasn’t even clinging to her old life like a safety blanket. She’d stopped a bully in front of the whole school, she was in control of her destiny, and she wasn’t alone.

“So,” Martha said, propping her chin on a striped pillow. “Costumes. Spill.”

Veronica leaned back against the couch with a smug little smile. “Mine’s a surprise.”

JD gave an exaggerated groan and flopped dramatically onto his back. “You’re killing me. Just a clue. One word. One syllable. Please.”

“Nope. You’ll have to wait like everyone else.”

“I hate you,” JD muttered.

“You’ll live.”

Martha eyed her. “It’s not anything scandalous, right?”

“Define scandalous.”

“Veronica.”

Veronica grinned. “I promise almost all of my entire body will be covered.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel so much better.”

JD sat up, propping himself on one elbow, that grin of his back in place, but softer this time. “Well, whatever it is, make it count. These assholes have only so much to look forward to in their sad little Ohio lives.”

Veronica looked at him. Just for a second….there had been something in his voice. Something teasing - this was still JD - but something off.

And then he shrugged, eyes dancing. “Unless you want to wear a ‘Property of Heather Chandler’ tee and call it good.”

“Mm. Tempting.”

An M&M bounced off JD’s chest, and he turned to glare at Martha. “We should get a blue one.” She said innocently. “‘Property of Veronica Sawyer.’ Think you can get Heather to wear it?”

“Great, now Martha’s trying to get me killed. I have the worst friends.”

“You love us.”

“Unfortunately.”

Martha giggled and stretched out across the floor, a queen on her candy-wrapper throne. “She’s just mad we’ve seen her soft underbelly.”

JD snorted. “Veronica doesn’t have a soft underbelly. She has spikes hidden under layers of existential sarcasm.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her mouth wouldn’t quite go away. She let herself sink back into the cushions, arms behind her head, the ceiling fan spinning slow and lazy above them.

For the first time in weeks, she felt something settle in her chest; not peace, exactly, but something close enough to breathe around.

JD’s voice broke the silence. “Just promise me something.”

Veronica turned her head toward him.

“When the revolution comes,” he said, smile curling like smoke, “save me a seat.”

***

The Jeep swung into the parking lot like it owned the place, which - given its occupants - it might as well have.

Heather Chandler rode shotgun once again, sunglasses enormous and immovable. She didn’t even blink as Duke coasted into a red-zone space clearly marked No Parking , because laws, like manners, were for people without good taste.

Veronica sat in the back, poised and casual in a way that took a frankly exhausting amount of calculation. Her blue jacket was perfectly pressed, her lip gloss recently reapplied at a red light. She was ready. Mostly.

Duke threw the car into park, killed the engine with dramatic flair, and flung her sunglasses up into her hair.

“Alright bitches,” Heather said. “Let’s go shopping.”

She climbed out with the practiced ease of someone born into the spotlight. Duke followed, stretching with feline boredom, and Mac hopped up with all of her athletic grace. Veronica stepped out last, blinking against the October sun, the wind tossing her hair just enough to make it artful, she hoped.

“Veronica. Are you coming, or should we send a rescue team?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Lead the way, oh Queen of Retail.”

Duke gave a low whistle. “Careful, Heather. She’s starting to sound like one of us.”

Heather’s lips quirked. “God help us all.”

The mall doors whooshed open in front of them; cool air, food court smells, and the distant thump of pinball machines at the arcade. The crowd parted for the Heathers, as always. Even people who didn’t know them reacted instinctively to their particular brand of curated menace. 

“Right, accessories first, then…” Heather began laying out the plan for the day’s activities, but Veronica quickly tuned out. It didn’t really matter, since she was just along for the ride and would follow wherever Heather led, but the other girls took it as seriously as a battle plan. Which in a way, Veronica supposed, it was. 

Veronica did come to regret not paying attention, however, when she let herself be led into the first store and almost died from the first lungful of peach scented perfumed air. It was cheap, alcoholic, and everywhere. It was a wonder the store got any customers, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. Light glinted off every surface - rows of acrylic bangles, sequin-studded barrettes, and heart-shaped earrings dangling dizzyingly from spinning racks.

It was a sparkling explosion of high femininity, and Heather Chandler looked entirely in her element.

 “Mac,” Heather said, without turning around, “go find something gold. Chunky but tasteful. Not like that thing you wore at Homecoming.”

Mac blinked, glanced down at her necklace, and shuffled off toward the earrings.

“Duke - black only. I’m trying to elevate you.”

“Yes Heather.” Duke muttered, looking longingly at some emerald pendants.

Heather didn’t stop her. She had better prey in mind.

Veronica hovered by a carousel of rhinestone bracelets, running her fingers along the rows like they might bite her. She looked totally helpless, and Heather took a moment to enjoy it. Veronica might have shown signs of small delusions of grandeur, but the mall was Heather’s territory, and she would show Veronica who was in control here.

“You. With me.”

“Wow,” Veronica said, arching a brow. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

Heather didn’t dignify that with a reply, walking away slowly. Veronica waited a moment before following her to prove her point, but not too long; she still had some self-preservation.

They ended up at a narrow mirror-lined case, full of charm necklaces and layered strands in clashing metals.

Heather picked up a thin chain and held it up to Veronica’s collarbone, inspecting it seriously. “Too delicate,” she muttered, then set it aside. “You need something bigger; you have the body to show it off.”

Veronica laughed. “I thought we were keeping this subtle.”

“Subtle’s for people who aren’t worth looking at.”

Veronica considered that for a moment, letting her eyes scan over the options before them. She reached for a silver chain, and held it up for Heather’s approval. A simple, gleaming ‘H’ hung from the center.

“What do you think?”

Heather’s eyes flicked to it and her nose wrinkled . “Touch that again and I’ll revoke your lunch privileges.”

Veronica turned toward the mirror, holding the necklace up to her throat. “What?” she said innocently. “I thought you didn’t want to be subtle.”

Heather didn’t respond right away. Her gaze lingered on the charm pressed against the hollow of Veronica’s neck. Veronica could see her expression reflected in the mirror, but she couldn’t read it, and Veronica worried that she might have pushed too far already. Heather’s eyes were dark, intense, and she looked…angry.

“That’s not subtle,” Heather said finally, her voice cool and tight. “That’s pathetic.” But her gaze didn’t move from Veronica.

Veronica let the chain drop back to the rack. “Okay, okay, Jesus. It was just a joke.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Heather muttered.

“What are you worried about?” Veronica asked, half-turning.

Heather looked at her like she was an idiot. Not an unfamiliar expression, really.

“Come on. We’re not done shopping.”

Veronica might have been right to be concerned about pushing Heather. Reveling in her new-found power to challenge the other girl, Veronica had forgotten just how little Heather enjoyed being challenged, and how unpleasant she could be when she was. Just because publicly Heather had to act like a perfect girlfriend, didn’t mean she wasn’t an expert at finding small ways to remind Veronica of her place.

Heather kept Veronica near her like a dog at heel, guiding her through racks and racks of clothing so quickly that Veronica’s head was spinning. And then there were the comments, of course, the constant sniping that Heather didn’t even seem to notice. 

“I guess not everyone can pull off a beret.”

“Not that belt, you don’t have the hips for it.”

“No one needs to see you in tweed, for fucks’ sake.”

One time, when Veronica had unthinkingly grabbed a patterned shirt and a plaid skirt, Heather hadn’t even said anything before ripping the offending items out of Veronica’s hands and throwing them at the nearest store attendant.

Veronica was tired and grumpy by the time they got to the last store and Heather turned her full attention to Veronica.

“You,” she said, “need structure.”

“In my wardrobe or in my life?”

“Both,” Heather said flatly, already tugging a hanger free. “Try this.”

She shoved a cropped white jacket into Veronica’s arms—something with gold buttons and an aggressively high shoulder. Very Nancy Reagan at a rave.

“And this,” she added, grabbing a navy pencil skirt. “It’ll make your legs look less tragic.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

Heather didn’t smile, and there was something too sharp in her eyes. She plucked one more item off the rack - a soft black top with a scooped neckline - and held it up between them. “This too.”

Veronica looked at it. Looked at her. “I don’t suppose it matters what I think?”

“You decided to become my girlfriend,” Heather replied, turning with a swish of her hair. “Fake or not, appearances matter.”

Veronica followed her into the fitting room alcove. Heather claimed the corner stall and tossed the clothes inside, holding the curtain open with two fingers.

“Go on,” she said.

Veronica stepped in, closed the curtain behind her, and stared at the clothes for a moment. They were all wrong. Which, in Heather’s mind, probably meant they were exactly right.

With the sixth-sense she seemed to have where Veronica was concerned, Heather’s voice drifted in. “Just put them on, pillowcase.”

She did.

The top clung in ways she hadn’t expected; soft and close, showing just enough to suggest more. The skirt hugged tight. The jacket was similar to the blue one Heather had already given her, but the contrast of white on black drew attention to the low cut of the top. She opened the curtain halfway and leaned against the frame.

“Well?”

Heather looked up from her perch on the bench. Veronica didn’t want to admit it, but she was nervous. Fashion wasn’t her domain, but it was definitely Heather’s. The nerdy girl who had looked up to Heather at the beginning of the year, had dreamed of looking just like her, was not that very far removed.

As before, Heather’s expression revealed nothing. She circled Veronica, and Veronica held her breath. Having Heather Chandler’s attention in general was…a lot. Having her eyes sweeping over Veronica’s body, picking out every flaw and imperfection, was something else entirely. Her gaze traveled from Veronica’s shoulders down to her hips and back again.

“The skirt needs to be hemmed,” she said, considering the length against Veronica’s pale thighs. She reached without asking and adjusted the neckline of the top, pulling it lower, her knuckles barely skimming the swell of Veronica’s breast. Veronica shivered, flushed with anxiety.

“You’d wear this,” Heather murmured, “if you had any sense of occasion.”

“And here I thought we were keeping things casual.” Veronica was proud of herself for the comeback, all things considered.

Heather’s hand lingered. Her thumb brushed the edge of Veronica’s collarbone.

Then, just as suddenly, she stepped back.

“It’s fine,” she said coolly. “Next one.”

From outside, Duke called, “Hope you guys are decent, because we found shoes. Also, I may have threatened a mannequin.”

Veronica shut the curtain, needing the privacy to regroup. She pressed a hand to her chest - her heart was racing, and she was glad the other two girls were back to dispel the odd tension that had been suffocating the small room.

Heather, outside, was already sitting again; legs crossed, eyes fixed forward.

“Next outfit,” she said.

***

Veronica was forced to change and parade around for the Heathers’ amusement several more times before Heather was satisfied. It had been incredibly embarrassing to have her body stared at and critiqued by a mostly-sympathetic Mac and a totally-unsympathetic Duke, and Veronica was not just physically but mentally exhausted by the end of it. Heather, of course, had issued proclamations from the changing room bench like it was a throne, seeming to have no problem commenting on Veronica’s boobs, ass, hips, stomach, and any and all other body parts she found wanting. 

At least she hadn’t deigned to touch Veronica after that first outfit.

As they approached the mall’s central fountain, Veronica seriously considered just throwing herself in. It would probably soothe her frayed and buzzing nerves, and at this point she was about ready to give up on all fake-dating or popularity related causes. 

The four of them gathered around the low brick walls, where the water gurgled obligingly over faux marble and discarded pennies.

“So,” Heather said, folding her arms. “Costumes. We should finalize everything before next weekend; I already have mine.”

Duke didn’t look up. “Shock us.”

“Madonna,” Heather replied, smug. “Obviously.”

It was, as Duke had alluded, not a great shock. Heather had been some version of Madonna for the last three years.

“Mac?”

“Oh, I’ve got a really good witch costume.”

“She’s a sexy witch,” Duke added, sensing Heather’s follow-up question. “And I was thinking Miss America.”

“Any excuse for a tiara?”

“You know it.”

“Good,” Heather said. “That leaves you.” Her gaze fixed on Veronica. “We still haven’t heard your plans.”

Perhaps Veronica was tired of being ordered around. Perhaps she was just tired. Either way, she barely raised her eyes from the splashing water to proclaim “It’s a surprise.”

“What do you mean it’s a surprise?”

“I mean, you’ll find out next week.”

Mac was looking at Veronica like she’d suddenly grown two heads, but Veronica couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

Heather glanced around. A few students were seated nearby, and they were openly watching in a way that she couldn’t ignore.

“Veronica,” Heather said in a way that implied that she’d rather be calling her girlfriend something far worse. “Don’t you think it would be better if we coordinated? Aesthetically, I mean. We’re going as a couple.”

Veronica pushed herself off of the fountain and took a few steps towards Heather, just enough to be uncomfortably in her space. Then she winked.

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I don’t like surprises.” Heather clarified, as if Veronica was a particularly slow child.

Veronica just smiled. “You like control. Not the same thing.”

Heather’s eyes darkened dangerously, and she leaned into Veronica, entwining their fingers to make sure Veronica couldn’t escape. To anyone else, it looked like a private conversation between lovers. Of course, Veronica knew better.

“You’re walking into a party on my arm, as my girlfriend, for the first time.” Heather hissed. “People will be watching. One wrong move and it’s my name they’ll be laughing about.”

Veronica tilted her head, eyes narrowed, smile fixed. “And that’s why you think you should pick my costume?”

“I think I should guide your choices,” Heather said smoothly. “I know what fits the moment. What fits you.”

“I know what fits me.”

Heather leaned closer; her breath brushed Veronica’s ear.

“Do you?” she whispered.

Veronica’s smile didn’t waver, but she felt her pulse spike at the challenge. Worse, she could feel it against Heather’s palm…and she knew Heather would too.

“I’m not your dress-up doll, Heather,” she said softly. “You don’t get to choose how I show up.”

“I don’t have to choose,” she murmured. “I just have to decide whether anyone looks at you when I’m not standing next to you.”

Veronica went still.

Heather’s voice was velvet now, low and honey-thick. “You think that a blazer makes you dangerous. You’re only dangerous if you’re mine.”

Veronica’s stomach coiled - tight, hot, humiliated. But her expression didn’t change; she wouldn’t give Heather that, at least. 

Heather smiled. “Wear what you want,” she said, releasing her hand at last. Then, raising her voice for the benefit of onlookers. “I know you’ll look great, baby. You have nothing to worry about.”

Veronica held her gaze. She didn’t make any attempt to match Heather’s performance. But she didn’t speak, either.

And that, Heather knew, was enough.

She turned first - smooth, practiced, radiant in retreat, secure in the knowledge that Veronica would fall into line.

***

If Veronica thought that a few hours at the mall with Heather was exhausting, it was nothing compared to the next week at school.

Oh, Heather was a perfect girlfriend, of course. Cloyingly sweet, endlessly supportive, giving Veronica absolutely no room to breath. The fragile camaraderie of Friday was long gone. In public, Heather was there with neon lights. In private, they’d said maybe two words to each other all week. Veronica knew it was her punishment for daring to challenge Heather, made worse by her staunch refusal to tell Heather about her Halloween costume. It was a small rebellion, but Veronica was determined to stick to it.

Still, there were a few things that needed to be clarified.

Veronica tracked down Heather between classes. The crowded hallway gave her confidence; she’d need the protection for what she had planned.

“Hey baby,” She smiled her sweetest smile at Heather, pressing herself into the other girl’s side. “I just wanted to thank you for letting me ride with Martha and JD to the party. It’s so sweet of you to invite them.”

Heather very nearly stumbled, something she hadn’t done since she began practicing her walk in the seventh grade. She had had less than no intention of allowing either of those two losers to attend, and had, in fact, planned to pick Veronica up in her Porsche - just in case her ‘surprise’ costume turned out to be something she’d have to deal with in private first. And of course, Veronica knew this.

Still, Heather couldn’t make a scene in the hallway, and Veronica knew that, too.  

“Of course, babe.” There was only the slightest hint of a growl beneath the words. “I’m so… happy you want to help them out.”

Veronica leaned in slightly, lips close to Heather's ear. It was a deliberate reversal of the scene they’d played out on Sunday. “You’re such a good girlfriend.”

Heather felt something sharp catch like a knife between her ribs.

Veronica pressed a quick kiss to Heather’s cheek and turned to disappear into the crowd just as the bell rang. It was a tactical retreat, and she smiled to herself. Heather would come up with some suitable punishment for her later, no doubt, but it was worth it.

***

The party was already in full swing when the Heathers arrived. Pounding bass could be heard from the curb, a low, guttural thump that rattled the windows of Ram Sweeney’s house. Several teenagers had spilled out onto the lawn, whether enjoying a cigarette or just some cool reprieve from the pressing bodies inside. 

Heather put on her most winning smile as she ascended from the passenger seat. After Veronica’s little stunt at school, she’d decided against driving herself. It was better this way; she could drink as much as she wanted and still have one of the other girls drive. 

Besides, she planned on making an entrance. 

She had decided on an early 80s look for this year’s costume. The classic Madonna, with white fingerless lace gloves, carefully layered jewelry, and a short mesh top that would show off her toned stomach. A departure from her usual preppy chic, and a carefully planned one.

Inside, the party was already heat and chaos, but it was not so late that everyone was already drunk. Heather had planned for that, of course, to arrive at the exact moment that people would start getting bored and looking around for something new. She was not disappointed. The Heathers posed for a moment in the door, letting the crowd admire them, then strode down the entryway like a runway. 

Heather didn’t look for Veronica, but she knew instinctively the other girl wasn’t here yet, and a flash of irritation marred the otherwise perfect entrance. She should have been here already. Hell, she should have arrived with them, should have let Heather choose her costume, should have followed the plan.

Heather grabbed a red Solo cup from the kitchen and downed half of it without bothering to ask what was in it.

“She’ll show up,” Duke said lazily, adjusting her tiara. “Probably just waiting for her moment.”

“How nice for her.”

With no more comments forthcoming, Duke shrugged and dragged Mac onto the dance floor. Let Heather stew. She wouldn’t be alone for long.

Unfortunately for Heather, the next person who appeared was one of the last she was hoping to see. 

“All alone, Heather? Shame. I gave Veronica more credit than that.”

“Courtney, darling. I didn’t realize they were letting in community theater extras tonight.”

Courtney smiled, unfazed. “That’s no way to treat one of your oldest friends. Besides, I’ve only had your best interests at heart.”

Even Heather couldn’t contain her incredulous expression at that statement, and Courtney put on a very unconvincing, dramatic pout. Closer, Heather noticed her eyes were already slightly glazed with alcohol. Dammit, did the entire world hate her tonight?

“I like the costume, Heather. It’s verrrry.”  Courtney slurred slightly, her hand sliding toward Heather's exposed midriff. Heather stepped back, spine stiffening.

“Courtney, you are clearly drunk. Go find someone else who might appreciate your dubious attentions.”

Courtney blinked, then laughed like it was all a joke. Heather just rolled her eyes. Cursed. She was cursed. 

She left Courtney in the kitchen in search of better options. Besides, Veronica should be here soon. If she knew what was good for her. 

Heather at least knew where Ram hid the good liquor, and found a convenient spot in the living room with a view of the door from which to drink and look menacing.

By the time the beat dropped into a remix of “Thriller,” Heather had worked herself up into something between disappointment and rage and was rehearsing what she would say when Veronica showed up. How dare she keep Heather waiting like this? It was absolutely ridiculous, and it just showed what happened when people didn’t listen like they should…

And then the front door opened, and everything slowed.

When Veronica paused in the doorway, it was not a calculated move, but it had the same effect. Even the music seemed to drown out as heads turned in unison and a low, shimmery whisper slipped through the crowd.

When Veronica told Martha that her costume would cover her body, she wasn’t lying, but she’d omitted just how tight it would be. Leather adjacent pants hugged her curves from beaten black boots to a tight, zippered leather jacket, the collar popped and the front dipping dangerously down. Her hair was wild, teased to rockstar volume, and her lips were painted a deep, rebellious red. Just above her breasts a silver ‘H’ glittered in the low light.

Veronica was hot.

Heather had known that, objectively. She had seen Veronica in stages of undress, and she knew that Veronica had a good body. She fit in with the group; they were all hot. Mac was hot. Duke was hot. It didn’t mean anything.

This was different, somehow.

And then Veronica’s eyes found hers, and she smiled. 

It broke whatever fugue state Heather had been under at Veronica’s sudden appearance, because the smile was so incongruous to the rest of Veronica’s made-up persona. Oh, there was a hint of a challenge, because Veronica knew she looked good, but underneath…

Subsumed in the challenge was a question. Did I do good? Do you like it? With the entire house staring at her, Veronica only looked to Heather for approval. 

That was quite an intoxicating lot of power, and it propelled Heather forward. 

“Nice costume.”

“Thanks, I’m –”

“Joan Jett.” Heather’s eyes dropped briefly to the zipper, to the necklace, to the place where red lipstick met pale skin. She forced her gaze back up. “You’re late.”

“I thought the dramatic entrance would cover it.” 

Heather opened her mouth - something biting, maybe - but JD’s voice sliced in first.

“Hey lovebirds,” he called, leaning casually against the archway, “some of us would like to get a drink while there’s still free alcohol.”

Veronica turned, startled. She’d forgotten JD and Martha were still standing there. Martha shrugged in response to JD’s vulgar statement, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and alarm.

“Be nice.” Veronica put a placating hand on JD’s arm, and Heather’s jaw tightened. “You know you’re still my favorite delinquent.”

JD grinned. “This delinquent is going to the bar. You coming?”

Heather smiled coolly and placed a hand on Veronica’s waist. I don’t think so, asshole. 

“She’s not going anywhere,” Heather’s voice was light. “Are you, babe?”

Veronica stiffened; not from the touch, but from the assumption. “Actually, I was thinking of getting a drink first.”

Heather’s fingers flexed slightly. “We have drinks.”

“I’ll catch up in a second,” Veronica said, gently prying Heather’s hand away. “I want a drink, and I need to make sure Martha doesn’t get dragged into a beer pong tournament.”

JD snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause she’d hustle it.” Martha smacked him lightly in response.

Heather’s expression didn’t change, but the air around her seemed to drop ten degrees.

“One minute,” she said sweetly. “Then you come find me.”

Veronica nodded and turned toward Martha, but she felt Heather’s eyes burning between her shoulder blades the whole way.

To her credit, Heather managed to wait five whole minutes before deciding the whole thing was ridiculous. There was no way that she was going to get stood up, at a party, while her girlfriend laughed and drank with losers who wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her.

She grabbed a passing boy dressed as a cowboy. She thought he was a junior. “Hey Josh?”

“Uh,” He stammered, “It’s Jack, actually.”

“Whatever.” She smiled violently at him. “Do you see Martha Dumptr…Dunnstock over there? I need you to go flirt with her.”

“Why?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And also, I’m gay.”

“Perfect! Then it won’t be awkward. Go.”

He did not go.

“Look, Josh, you can go over there and practice playing straight for your inevitably sad and short acting career, or you can stand here like an idiot while I come up with increasingly unpleasant ways to ruin your life.”

He went.

See? Everything was fine when people just listened to her.

Heather gave Josh another minute to do his thing, then casually walked into the kitchen.

Martha was laughing nervously at something Josh said, but at least the boy seemed to be doing a half-way decent job of flirting. Of course, it probably wouldn't take much with a girl like Martha. JD was blessedly absent, probably off getting high or whatever serial killers did for fun when they weren’t chopping people into tiny bits. Veronica stood just beside Martha, arms crossed, body angled protectively. Her eyes narrowed the moment she saw Heather. 

Perfect. 

“Ronnie,” Heather purred, tone light, almost singsong. “Come dance with me.”

Veronica blinked. “Seriously?”

Heather’s smile sharpened. “It’s a party. I assumed you knew what people did at those.”

“I’m talking to Martha.”

“Martha is just fine.” She gestured to a mildly panicked looking Josh. “Come dance.”

Martha smiled at them. “It’s fine, Veronica. I don’t need you to babysit me.” She looked flattered at the attention. 

“See?”

Veronica sighed and set down her drink. “Fine. One dance.”

Heather leaned in just before they turned away. “Try to look like you’re happy about it.”

Then she led her onto the makeshift living room dance floor, a low fog machine hissing somewhere in the background, the lights dimmed to neon smears. It was crowded, but that was fine. People always moved for Heather, and she wanted an audience. They had been out of the spotlight too long; it was time to remind people who the hottest couple at Westerberg was.

Of course, that would have been easier if Veronica actually knew how to dance.

“God, you’re hopeless. How have you learned nothing?” 

“What?” Veronica had the gall to look insulted, as if she wasn’t just bouncing around like a crazed kangaroo.

“You’re terrible. Look, follow me.” Heather turned Veronica until she was facing away from her and put her hands on the other girl's hips. The black leather was cool and slick.

“Now move when I do. Not like you’re being electrocuted, Sawyer. Like you’ve seen another human before.”

“I have seen humans,” Veronica muttered, “they just don’t usually grab my hips without warning.”

“You’re welcome.”

Heather guided her in time with the music, the pressure of her hand on one thigh, then the other. Veronica resisted for a moment, stiff, but then gave in; her body loosened into the rhythm, letting Heather lead. This close, her back brushed against Heather’s chest. Barely, then again. 

“Better.” Heather said into her neck.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“I enjoy proving I’m better at everything.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Say that again when you stop stepping on my foot.”

Veronica laughed and turned in Heather’s arms; the silver ‘H’ sparkled from her throat. 

“You should take off the jacket.” What the fuck? The words had slipped without approval from whatever dumb bitch part of her brain was still very much aware of Veronica’s costume.

“Yeah,” Veronica agreed, which surprised Heather enough that she snapped her eyes back to Veronica’s. In the dark, they reflected everything, but gave away nothing. “Yeah, you’re right, it’s hot in here.”

She leaned back just enough to ruck the jacket off, throwing it vaguely toward a couch; it left her in a tight black tank top. 

Horrifyingly, she looped her arms around Heather’s neck when she was done, her nails scratching slightly over Heather’s shoulders. What the hell did Ram put in the drinks? I swear, if those idiots spiked them again… It was, in Heather’s opinion, a fair question. She felt like she was floating outside of herself, her body responding only barely to her brain's commands. Oh, but she was hyper-aware of Veronica’s. They moved together, slower…if you could call it dancing. Heather wasn’t sure what this was anymore. Her hand slipped low on Veronica’s back, fingers splayed across bare skin where the tank top had ridden up.

Veronica shifted with the music, her hips aligning with Heather’s in lazy figure eights. Every movement created friction, heat, the whisper of leather brushing against skin. Her thighs pressed just slightly into Heather’s as they turned, jerking inexpertly. It was maddening.

Then Veronica looked up.

Her gaze met Heather’s, dark eyes reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors from the cheap disco lights. Her expression wasn’t coy, or flirty, just...still. Open.

Heather’s breath caught. Because for one terrifying second, she thought Veronica was waiting for something. For permission , maybe. Or instruction. 

The thought made Heather’s pulse spike—and not in the good way. It was too much, too much to feel around the tightness in her chest and the pounding in her ears. She didn’t know what to do with her hands anymore. She wanted to let go. She wanted to hold on tighter. She wanted…

“Woooo!” someone hollered. Loudly.

Heather’s head snapped up.

Ram.

Of course it was Ram.

He was drunk, sweat-slicked, and grinning like an idiot from the couch, a beer can raised in salute. “Look at you two! Damn! Should we be taking bets on when you’re gonna make out?”

Like a group of hyenas, other voices took up Rams' lewd suggestion. There were laughs, whistles. A few idiots even started chanting. 

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

She could feel everyone staring - Mac, Duke, even JD from the edge of the room. Courtney probably somewhere nearby, soaking it up like gasoline, the bitch. But her limbs felt wrong; her thoughts were tangled. Veronica’s body was still pressed against hers, and it made her sluggish, confused.

Veronica made the decision for her.

The first brush of Veronica’s lips against hers was light, just a question. Heather could have pulled back anytime she wanted to. Only…she didn’t want to. Arousal ripped through her body like lightning, centered on the moments where Veronica’s lips, slightly waxy with lipstick, met her own. She didn’t know what else to do, not with the weight of Veronica’s hand at the back of her neck, not with the burn of every watching eye drilling into her spine. Her grip at Veronica’s waist tightened, fingers digging into leather, like grounding herself in the moment might make it make sense.

When Heather pulled back - just barely - it was only because she had to breathe.

Their foreheads bumped lightly, her lips still tingling, and for one dizzying second she wanted to kiss her again.

Instead, she laughed.

“Show’s over,” she said to the room. Heather didn’t look at Veronica; she couldn’t.

She stepped back, adjusting one of her gloves like nothing had happened, like she hadn’t just lost track of the room, her thoughts, her own damn mouth.

“Well,” she said brightly, flashing a razor-edged smile to the crowd. “Hope you enjoyed the free entertainment.”

A few people laughed. One of the jocks started chanting “Encore,” which she ignored with professional grace.

“Get the fuck away from me.” She whispered sweetly, lovingly, into Veronica’s ear for the benefit of the crowd. She trembled with rage at the thought. Like they hadn’t benefitted enough at her expense tonight. “Find your loser friends and get out.”

Then she pulled back, letting her smile turn cool and hollow. Walk to the door, Heather. Not too fast, not too slow. In control.

She didn’t stop until the hallway swallowed her, until the bathroom door clicked shut, and the lock slid into place.

The bathroom was dim and too pink -Ram’s older sister’s design, maybe - but it was blessedly empty. Heather gripped the edges of the sink with both hands and leaned in, forcing herself to breathe.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

Like Mac’s therapist had taught her that one time.

Her mind rebelled against the events of just a moment ago but she forced it, forced herself back to the living room, where Veronica Sawyer had been grinding against her just before…just before she’d kissed her.

God. She rested her face in her hand wearily. Why her? Why this? What could she possibly have done in a past life to deserve this…indignity?

She was attracted to Veronica. She wanted Veronica. There was a not-insignificant part of her that still wanted to grab Veronica by that stupid necklace and lead her to one of the convenient guest rooms Ram pretended were off-limits.

And that part of her needed to be killed. Immediately. With fire.

Heather dragged both hands down her face and looked at herself in the mirror again. The worst part - the absolute worst part - was that she still looked like herself. No visible scarlet letter of shame, no flashing neon signs. Just Heather Chandler: perfect hair, perfect makeup (mostly), perfect posture.

A queen.

A queen who had just kissed her fake girlfriend in front of half the school and liked it.

She clenched the edge of the counter, knuckles white.

Chapter Text

Dear Diary: 

I am never going to another party for the rest of my life.

When Heather stepped away, Veronica had the insane urge to laugh. 

Oh. Heather had already done that. 

But where Heather had been calm and collected even after kissing the hell out of Veronica, Veronica could feel maniacal laughter bubbling up inside of her. True, side-splitting, unattractive snorting that would have made the Joker proud. 

Because she would like to return to her mantra of several weeks ago: What the fuck?!

Hey, idiot, people are staring at you.

Great, Heather’s voice was inside her mind now, too. Wonderful. She could add that to the collection of mental disorders she was clearly manifesting.

Veronica did her best to walk off confidently, like she had somewhere very important and natural to be. Of course Heather - that bitch - would just up and leave as if she hadn’t just kissed the ever living fuck out of Veronica.

Only…it hadn’t been Heather, had it?

Veronica had kissed her.

She’d leaned in - she had - because the crowd had chanted and Heather had been staring at her with those awful, icy, impossible eyes, and there had been this terrible beat of silence where no one moved and it had seemed easier, safer, better somehow to just do it. So she had.

Veronica found herself on Ram’s back patio. The same back patio where this madness had started only a few short weeks ago, when Veronica was young and innocent, when the most she had to worry about was not puking up vodka diet cokes, when she didn’t know what it was like to have Heather Chandler’s tongue in her mouth. 

Veronica considered going back inside for another drink; she was far too sober for this to be a productive avenue of thought. However, the patio did have a few points in its favor: One, there was no one else out here, and two…well…

That was really the only point, but it was a good one.

She flopped down on one of the rickety patio chairs and curled forward with a groan, like she could physically escape her own thoughts. Unfortunately, the thoughts followed. 

What the fuck.

It hadn’t been a bad kiss.

Actually, it had been…great. Like, confusingly, horrifyingly great. Her lips still tingled. Her heart hadn’t stopped hammering since. She could still feel the heat of Heather’s hand on her waist - firm, possessive. The way she’d pulled her closer. The way her lips had parted just enough…

She slapped her hands over her face and let out a muffled scream.

Because she wasn’t into Heather Chandler. She wasn’t. 

Okay, yes, Heather was objectively attractive. But Heather was also objectively evil. She humiliated and used people just for fun, she had humiliated and used Veronica just for fun, and…would it be too much to ask to be able to get through high school without discovering that about herself?

This was a stress response. That was all. She was having a normal psychological reaction to abnormal levels of social tension, combined with residual hormonal confusion from dancing on a girl, and kissing her, and enjoying it. That didn’t mean anything.

Right?

She was not attracted to Heather Chandler.

A red Solo cup appeared in her field of vision. Veronica took it without question, grateful for the distraction. She didn’t even care what was in it; it burned going down, and that was good.

“Looked like you needed something to wash the taste of brimstone out of your mouth.” 

It was JD, leaning up against the side of the house. He lit a cigarette and offered it to her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence settling between them.

“So…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay. Do you want to know what I saw, though?”

“No.”

“I saw Heather running away like you told her primary colors were passé. She practically pissed herself.”

Somehow, that idea did not make her feel better. She’d only kissed a couple of people, but it stung to think she might have been bad at it. 

“So people flee in horror when I kiss them. Good to know.”

JD huffed out a little laugh. “Only the weak ones.”

“Heather’s not weak.”

“Hm. No one’s that fucked up unless they have something equally fucked up to hide.” He smiled bitterly. “I should know.”

Veronica didn’t know what to say to that. 

“Anyway, couldn’t happen to a nicer person, right? You really fucked with her head.” But he watched Veronica closely, clearly wondering just how much was going on in her own mind. 

That was one thing Veronica was definitely not going to let slip, if she could help it. “Good. Fuck her. She’s a controlling bitch, anyway.”

He smiled approvingly. “Now you’re speaking my language. Chaos, darling. Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs.”

Veronica shivered. What she really wanted was to go home and forget this night - or the last two weeks, for that matter - had ever happened. and realised she’d left her jacket inside. Which led to remembering why she’d taken it off in the first place, which she was steadfastly trying not to do.

“Here, can’t have you freezing to death. What would the neighbors say?” JD shook himself out of his coat. He was only in a t-shirt himself, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

He lay the coat around Veronica’s shoulders. It smelled like the harsh, filter-less cigarettes he liked, but it was warm, and Veronica clutched it around herself. 

“I’ll go find Martha, and we’ll jet, okay? Go find some real fun.”

Veronica nodded dumbly. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving her feeling oddly…vacant. The feelings, thoughts, they were all still there, of course. But they fuzzed at the edges, anger- blurring into exhaustion. ‘Leave.’ Heather had said. ‘Get out.’ Yes. She could do that.

She sat and stared into the darkness, taking the occasional drag of her cigarette while JD rounded up Martha and ushered them back to the car. Martha must have picked up on her mood, or JD had said something, because she didn’t ask Veronica any questions. Just reached over with an understanding smile and squeezed Veronica’s hand.

The ride back was quiet, punctuated only by the rhythmic flash of streetlights and the occasional click of the turn signal. None of the teens wanted to break the fragile silence, all three adrift in their own thoughts. It’s like someone died, Veronica thought bitterly.

Martha pulled up to Veronica’s house first, headlights cutting across the drive. The front porch light was on, a beacon to welcome her home, and Veronica looked at it and sighed. As tense as the ride home had been, she was not looking forward to being truly alone.

“Vero-” Martha started, but JD cut her off.

“I got it. Let’s go, Joan.” He hopped out, opening Veronica’s door and ushering her out with such a theatrical flourish that she couldn’t help but smile. 

“So.” he said, walking her up the drive. “Hell of a night.”

Veronica gave a short laugh. “You could say that.”

“You okay?”

She turned to look at him fully, bathed in the soft, romantic glow of the porch light. She remembered the fight, his first day. How time had seemed to slow while he beat down both Ram and Kurt and then got suspended for the rest of the week. She’d thought he was so cool.

Before she could think better of it, she leaned over and kissed him. His lips were warm and eager, and he kissed her like he thought he might break. 

“Wow.” He grinned. “No comparison, huh?”

Veronica’s mouth twitched. “Not even close.”

***

Veronica thought a lot about Heather that weekend. 

Okay, so she often thought about Heather. It was perfectly reasonable and not at all unhealthy. Heather had a tendency to take up all of the air in the room, to make you feel like you were drowning in her. It helped to be able to sort through all the bullshit on her own. 

This time, she was trying to figure out what to expect on Monday. 

She’d narrowed it down to two options. 

Option A: Heather would totally ignore the kiss and go back to being the bitchier version of herself. This was the most plausible option, Veronica thought. Heather, control freak that she was, did not react well to uncomfortable situations and preferred to pretend they just…didn’t exist. Since she was Heather, this usually worked out for her.

Option B: Kissing Veronica did not affect Heather at all, except insomuch that she had been unable to control the when and how. Veronica could expect a few pointed barbs about her lack of skills in the area, and life would move on as normal, relatively speaking.

As it turned out, Veronica was only half right. 

Oh, Heather was absolutely committed to ignoring the kiss, the party, and possibly the entire concept of Halloween. Veronica’s few abortive attempts to bring it up had been shut down almost before she’d gotten out the reflexive “Sorry, Heather.”

But Heather was being…nice. Well, for Heather.

She hadn’t insulted Veronica’s outfit once. She hadn’t laughed when Veronica fumbled her bag and almost dumped her history notes on the floor. She’d even smiled when Veronica ranted about her government teacher like it was cute instead of completely unhinged. 

It was disturbing, like the calm before a storm.

Then again, Veronica figured it was better than the alternatives. Whatever reason there was for Heather’s personality transplant, she could deal with it later, during the inevitable implosion. In the meantime, she would just enjoy it.

At lunchtime, Heather slid smoothly onto the seat next to her. That wasn’t unusual. Feeling a soft, warm hand placed high on her thigh was a bit out of the ordinary, but right, they were pretending to be a couple. “Hi, baby, I missed you.” Heather smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Yeah, right. 

“Oh, yeah, hi. Me too.” Veronica responded after a moment, and Heather’s lips widened into a smirk at Veronica’s stammered reply. Damn her. 

Veronica had to remind herself of her new determination not to be affected by Heather Chandler, and then hold onto it like a lifeline when Heather pressed closer to her to pick a tater tot from her tray.

There is really something wrong with me, Veronica thought, fascinated by the sight of Heather licking salt and grease off of her fingers. I should not be jealous of a potato.

Unfortunately, Heather noticed where Veronica’s gaze was fixed. “You’re cute when you're flustered.”

And that was not helping.

“Heather, Heather, any poll suggestions? Or should we let our favorite charity case pick today?”

Veronica never thought she’d be so happy to be insulted. It was infinitely less creepy.

Mac blinked. “Um…most likely to fake their death and move to Paris?”

 “No one but us has the fashion sense. Ronnie?”

 “What about ‘most likely to start a cult’?”

Heather laughed—an actual, surprised laugh. “God, that’s perfect. These people would drink battery acid if we told them to.”

“Come on, Veronica.” Heather was already tugging Veronica to her feet, fingers lacing almost absentmindedly. “We’re doing field research.”

“For what?”

“To see and be seen, baby. We’re the hottest bitches in here. Gotta give the people what they want.” Then she raised their entwined hands to her mouth and pressed a kiss to Veronica’s fingers, eyes dancing. 

Veronica, suspicious, let herself be dragged along by the force that was Heather Chandler.

They stopped at the jock table first. Kurt and Ram looked up, instantly wary. They’d been the subject of more than a few of Heather’s ‘lunchtime polls.’

“Which one of you do you think is most likely to start a cult?”

Ram blinked. “Like…a sex cult?”

Veronica elbowed him. “Try again, prophet boy.”

Kurt flexed. “I mean, I could totally get people to follow me. I bench, like, three-eighty.”

“Bench and SAT score.” Veronica said under her breath; a quick, snorting laugh from her side let her know that Heather had heard it, too. 

Next table: The band geeks. They collectively froze, as if approached by a lioness. Easy marks.

Heather tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You know, we could change it up a little…My gorgeous girlfriend here is starting a cult. Would you join?”

“Like…an actual cult?”

“You know what? Sure.” One of the girls shrugged and looked at Veronica. “You seem cool.”

“Thanks?”

“That’s one yes,” Heather said, “You?” she pointed to a red-faced boy.

“Uh….yeah? Probably.”

“Two. See, Veronica?” Heather winked. “You have fans.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” 

Heather just pulled her along with an easy smile that said Who, me? 

They circled the cafeteria like that - table after table, Heather asking the question, Veronica caught helplessly in her orbit. She’d received more compliments from more people than she’d ever had in her life, and each one sent a pleased little zing through here. 

It was terrible, and it was probably a sign of deep psychological damage how much she was enjoying it.

They’d hit nearly every table in the cafeteria, and Veronica was buzzing with adrenaline. She was suddenly very glad she hadn’t gotten to eat anything; puking on the floor in the middle of the cafeteria wouldn’t have done anything good for her reputation.

Heather, apparently not satisfied with the havoc they’d already wrought, turned with an expression that promised trouble. “One more,” she said.

Veronica followed her gaze and felt her stomach twist. 

JD and Martha.

It was like a cold bucket of water had been thrown over her, and her heels immediately planted themselves on the floor. 

“Heather. Don’t.”

For a moment, she thought Heather might actually argue. Might do it anyway, just because she could. But something in Veronica’s face must have registered in whatever shriveled organ Heather called a heart, because she paused, considering. 

“Fine. We’ll skip the reject table.” 

It must have been unconscious, the way Heather’s thumb drew calming circles over her skin, but Veronica appreciated it, anyway. 

Back at the table, Heather dropped into her seat like a queen returning from a triumph. She probably considered their tour of the cafeteria to be a great success. It had served her purpose, which was, as always, to remind the other students how far above them she was - this time, including Veronica.

Veronica sat more carefully. Her tray was lukewarm now, untouched. Her pulse was still buzzing beneath her skin like static. Heather was talking to MacNamara about…Veronica couldn’t concentrate. 

God. What was wrong with her?

She stood abruptly.

“Bathroom,” she said, not looking at anyone.

The hallway outside the cafeteria was mercifully empty. She slipped into the nearest girls’ bathroom and braced her hands against the cool porcelain sink, breathing hard.

What the fuck was she doing.

Oh, she’d been so fucking smart, thinking she could predict, much less handle, how Heather would lash out when she was challenged. Heather would do anything to remind those around her of their place in the high school hierarchy. Hadn’t she said as much to Veronica, warned her that she wasn’t special just because she was Heather’s fake girlfriend? 

She should have known better than to try to one up the demon queen of Westerberg. She’d just gotten paraded around the cafeteria to remind everyone of her place. 

Veronica felt like her feelings were on a giant ‘Wheel of Fortune’ wheel, and someone just kept spinning it. Right now, it was landing on ‘Angry,’ which was certainly the least confusing of the emotions swirling around inside of her.

“Veronica?” It was Heather. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Veronica tried to laugh, or at least look less insane. “Don’t worry…I’m not copying Heather. I just needed a minute.”

Heather MacNamara frowned. “Hey, she’s getting better.” 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Veronica immediately felt guilty. “It’s not you, I just…” She cut herself off before she could say something truly dumb, like I hate being paraded around like a trophy or Except that I think I liked it, and that’s worse or Heather put her hand on my bare thigh and I almost swallowed my tongue.

“I get it.” Mac said, leaning against the wall nearby. “Heather likes to show off sometimes. It can be a lot if you’re still not used to it.”

“Yeah, I guess part of me is still expecting her to shove me in a locker.”

Mac laughed. “Okay, she’s not gonna do that.” Veronica looked at her skeptically. “I’m serious! She’s not a monster. She’s just not used to you yet either.” 

“What does that mean?”

Mac shrugged. “She’s trying too hard. You know how she gets when she feels cornered.”

Veronica considered that. “You think she’s scared?”

“I think she’s human.” Mac smiled faintly. “Even if she’d die before admitting it. Here.” She pushed off the wall, searching through Veronica’s purse before she found a tube of lipstick. “Heather says the right shade can solve almost all your problems.”

At the moment, Veronica would have preferred to tell Heather just exactly what she could do with the lipstick tube, but she allowed MacNamara to take her face and apply the color carefully. “You’re good for her, you know.” 

Veronica hoped she made an appropriate noise in return.

“Seriously.” Mac held Veronica’s face in her hand, preventing Veronica from turning away from her suddenly intense stare. “Don’t fuck it up, okay?”

Veronica quickly re-evaluated everything she’d ever thought about MacNamara’s Heather status. The girl could be terrifying when she wanted to.

And just as suddenly, Mac was her usual, sunny self. “Okay! You look great. Ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

Outside, the other Heathers were waiting. Lunch period was nearly over - not that any of them gave much thought to 5th period attendance. But Veronica, who still had plans to escape this hellscape of a town via GPA and a decent college essay, did actually want to show up on time.

By now, she wasn’t even phased when Heather placed her hand on her arm, the picture of practiced concern. 

“Are you okay, Veronica? I was worried when you ran off so quickly.”

Oh yeah, now you’re worried. But the hallway was crowded, and Veronica could play her part just as well as Heather could.. 

“Yeah, it was nothing.”

Heather smiled - soft, almost sweet. “You didn’t get to eat lunch, so…” She held up a ziplock bag containing two homemade cookies. They didn’t seem likely to be poisoned.

“Where did you get those?”

“They were…a donation.” Heather’s voice was breezy, but her gaze was careful. “Do you want them or not?”

Veronica took the bag. Warmth prickled somewhere beneath her ribcage.

Heather absolutely stole them, probably from some poor underclassman. Still, in her own weird, vaguely criminal way, Heather was trying to be nice.

“Is this part of your cult recruitment strategy?”

Heather rolled her eyes, ushering them towards Veronica’s class, but Veronica swore she saw a ghost of a smile on her lips.

The warning bell had already rung when they arrived at the classroom door, but Heather paused.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, loud enough to draw Duke and MacNamara’s attention. “I’ll be picking Veronica up in the morning.”

Mac blinked. “Wait—what? We always ride together.”

“And now we don’t.”

“But Heather - “ Duke started.

“Shut up, Heather.” Heather snapped.

Veronica stared at her. What the hell was Heather doing? Or, more suspiciously, what was Heather planning that would require them to be alone in a car each day?

Whatever it was, it had her heart doing something deeply inconvenient.

“Do I get a say?”

Heather smiled. “No.”

***

So Heather became her ride to and from school. 

Veronica was still a little apprehensive  -  after all, Heather could just be trying to get her alone to kill her and dump the body - but for the most part Heather stuck to commentary on clothes, music, and how terrible everyone else’s taste was in both. Gradually, Veronica relaxed.

Her parents also noticed the change in pattern, which was…weird in its own way.

“I thought the green one usually picked you up?” her dad asked, peering through the blinds.

“Yeah, uhm…that’s Heather Duke. Heather Chandler is closer, so she’s picking me up instead.”

“Ah.” He considered the red Porche 911 idling in his driveway and sipped his coffee. “Do we like the red one?”

“No.” Veronica’s mother replied, at the same time as Veronica said “Yes.”

The consequence of this was that her days were pretty much monopolized by Heather. Heather picked her up in the morning. Heather walked her to class. Heather sat next to her at lunch. Heather took her home in the afternoon. Heather, Heather, Heather.

“It’s totally claustrophobic.” She complained to Martha one night on the phone. “I’m starting to think this is her version of psychological warfare.”

“Being nice?”

“This is Heather. She’s only nice when she wants something.”

Martha hummed, the kind of noncommittal sound that meant she wasn’t buying it yet. “I mean, she is pretending to date you. It’d look kind of suspicious if she were insulting you all the time.”

“Yeah, but…” Veronica twined her fingers in the phone cord anxiously. How could she explain to Martha the difference between Heather’s actions in those first few weeks of ‘dating’ and Heather’s behavior now? God, and when had she become such an expert on Heather Chandler that she could even tell? 

“It’s just suspicious.”

Martha laughed quietly. “Maybe you’re a good influence. She’s even stopped glaring at me.”

“She acts like you don’t exist.”

“Yeah, it’s very.”

Veronica groaned, and Martha laughed at her again. “Seriously, I think it’s great that you’re getting along. Besides,” Martha dropped her voice slyly. “Should you really be worrying about her when you could be thinking about JD?”

“Yeah,” Veronica said, slowly. ”You’re right.”

Because Heather had been so constantly there, Veronica hadn’t had a chance to talk to JD all week.

Not that she was trying very hard. 

She had no idea what she was going to tell him.

Hey, I know you like me and all, but I only kissed you because I’m afraid I might be attracted to a girl who has made my life a living hell since middle school. Think we can still be friends?

The decision was taken out of her hands just a few days later. 

She was trying (and failing) to study for a math test when a menacing thump sounded just outside her open window.

“A little help here?”

Holy shit. 

Veronica rushed to the window, helping JD pull himself up and over the windowsill.

“What is it with you and windows?”

He smiled, crooked and boyish, “Didn’t think your parents would appreciate a caller this late. Never know what kind of creeps could be lurking around.”

She sat up in bed, tugging her sweatshirt sleeves down over her hands. “Great. Breaking and entering always adds a certain something to the evening.”

He moved closer, uninvited, like he belonged here. Like this was something they did .

“I missed you.”

Veronica swallowed. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s been a weird week.”

JD nodded, studying her. “I figured. You’ve been busy with Queen Heather.”

There was no bite in his voice, just a simmering smugness, like he’d solved a puzzle and was waiting for her to catch up. “Well don’t worry - you won’t have to fake it much longer.”

Veronica felt her stomach catch. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not the only one that’s been hard at work this week, babe.” He smiled. “Let’s just say I’ve been doing a little digging while Her Majesty has been distracted.”

“And…?”

“Some things here and there. A lot of people really hate her, y’know?” 

She knew. “Tell me you didn’t break any laws.” Veronica started, a warning in her voice, and JD held up his hands. 

“Don’t worry. Just a little payback. Nothing that could even get me suspended.” He stepped closer, his hand closing around her wrist, drawing her into him. Veronica felt his fingers slide down to lace with hers; gentle, but insistent.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said. “Not like with her. See, I knew, I knew you were special. I knew you’d get it. ” 

He leaned in slightly, voice lower now, intense. “This school…the whole world…it’s sick. People like Heather? They feed on it. They’re a cancer, just, rotting away. Everyone’s so scared of the big, bad Heather Chandler, and they don’t even realize...”

Veronica’s skin felt too tight. He sounded like he’d…thought about this a lot.

“JD…”

“I’m serious.” He held her gaze. “I’m not saying we try to fix the whole world, but we can fix this. Just imagine it.”

She didn’t. She couldn’t

Veronica stared at him. How do you respond when one of your best friends, the last guy you kissed, starts going batshit insane?

“Okay,” she said, “I’m gonna need you to dial it back about ten thousand notches.”

JD blinked, thrown. “What?”

“This isn’t a war or a crusade, it’s high school. Fuck, I’m just trying to get through senior year, okay? First Heather, now you…I just need someone to act fucking normal for like five seconds!”

There was a pause - tight and uncertain - and then JD barked a laugh. “Okay, okay, fair.” He stepped back, smiling, the danger stripped from his voice “Too much?”

“A bit.” Veronica smiled, too, although it was a little strained.

He was just talking. 

Sure, maybe he had some revenge fantasy planned out, but he’d promised it would be more ‘senior prank,’ than ‘apocalypse.’ Nothing serious. Nothing dangerous.

And besides, even if she was starting to warm to Heather, she could admit the other girl kind of had it coming.

“Noted.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Guess I got carried away.” He paused, looking around her room, thinking. 

“Hey, how about a real date? We could go bowling? Catch a movie? I mean, even if it’s bad, we can sit in the back and throw popcorn. Just you and me; it’ll be like the Heathers never existed.”

“Sure, that sounds good.”

“Good, good.” He said it almost to himself. He was backing away, finally, headed out the same way he’d come. Veronica followed.

“Hey Rapunzel.” He grinned, body half out the window. “I climbed all this way…how about something, y’know, for the handsome prince?”

Veronica hesitated, just for a moment.

Then she leaned in and kissed him.

It was quick, closed-mouth, but he didn’t seem to notice anything was off. He beamed like he’d just won the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes.

***

It was the next week before Heather brought up anything Halloween-party-related, and in classic Heather fashion.

“Uh, Heather? That was my street.”

“We’re going over to mine. I picked up your jacket, and if that pleather atrocity sits in my closet any longer I’m going to have to set it on fire.”

She said it like it was a perfect obvious sequence of events, and honestly, Veronica didn’t have the energy to argue. Why didn’t Heather bring her the jacket at school? Why didn’t she say anything until now? Why did she make it sound like Veronica’s fault that she had it in the first place? Only Heather knew, and Veronica was happy to keep it that way.

“Shit. What’s she doing here?”

Veronica, startled, looked up. They were pulling into the drive of Heather’s enormous house. Parked outside was an unfamiliar sedan, as silver and sleek as a scalpel.

“Who?” Veronica asked.

“My mom. Come on.”

“Wait, Heather - shit.” Veronica hesitated, then left her bag in the car. Maybe for a quick getaway? Damn Heather.

She followed Heather up the carefully manicured walk and into the foyer. The house was dark and mostly quiet. A television was on somewhere, a low background murmur, and Veronica shifted, uncomfortable.

“Heather, honey, is that you?” The airy voice floated, disembodied, from a nearby room.

“Should we…say hello to your mom?”

“No.” The word came out in a rush, and Heather took a short breath, as if she could force it back in. “Stay here. I’ll just...tell her we’re going up to my room.”

Heather disappeared into the other room. Carefully, Veronica edged into the shadow of a doorway. She’d never met Heather’s mother. Heather talked about her parents like they were movie stars - always ‘at the club,’ or ‘on the boat’ - and never, it seemed, at home. She was curious. Wouldn’t you be?

From her vantage point, she could see the edge of a couch, and a carefully manicured hand clutching a cigarette. The couch was clearly expensive; Veronica was surprised to see several small round holes in the upholstery. 

In the blue flickering light of the TV, everything seemed as glamorous and soft as an old movie. 

Heather bent down to whisper something to her mother, carefully removing the cigarette from her still hand and moving it to an ashtray on the side table. She straightened, pausing a moment, and Veronica hurried away.

She was closely examining some modern object d’arte when Heather stepped back into the foyer.

“Everything alright?”

“Of course. Mom won’t bother us. Valium and wine and she’ll be asleep by seven thirty.” Heather grabbed Veronica’s hand. It wasn’t harsh - she didn’t pull - just warm and steady as Veronica followed her up the stairs, the soft pad of their shoes swallowed by the thick carpet.

Veronica had been in Heather’s room several times, although always with the other girls there. It seemed smaller, somehow, with just the two of them. 

Heather shut the door firmly and crossed to the closet. Veronica almost had a heart attack when the other girl quickly unbuttoned her shirt and flung it on the bed. 

“Relax, Veronica. It’s not like you haven’t seen a girl in a bra before.”

That was technically true. She’d just never seen Heather in a bra. While they were alone in her room. While privately -  and very inconveniently - starting to admit she might, maybe, kind of be into her.

Veronica stared very hard at the collection of ELLE magazines on the coffee table, her face suddenly hot. Was short hair in now, or…?

“Unless you have something to tell me?”

Veronica made a noise that might have been a laugh. “You’re not nearly as irresistible as you think.”

Heather tilted her head, a smile still in place as she selected a black silk top. 

“Aren’t I?”

Veronica…honestly wasn’t sure whether ‘No’ or ‘Yes’ was the right answer there. Knowing Heather, there was no right answer.

She gestured toward something else she’d noticed on the coffee table. “Didn’t take you for a Sylvia Plath type.”

Heather glanced down, as if she’d forgotten the book was there. The Bell Jar sat among the fashion magazines, spine cracked, a couple of pages marked.

She smirked. “What, because I own a mirror?”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “Because you seem like someone who’d throw a copy at Ms. Fleming and call it a day.”

Heather considered that, then crossed the room to her bed, slipping into the silk top as she spoke.

“It’s bullshit,” she said, fingers quick on the buttons. “Esther was pathetic. She’s, like, nineteen, and she wants to kill herself because she doesn’t get into a writing class and some guy tries to fuck her? If that’s all it took, I would have walked into traffic by the time I was fourteen.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Veronica said quietly. “That people are like that. That the world can crush you even if you look fine from the outside.”

Heather glanced at her sideways, eyes narrowing, but didn’t speak.

“Esther wasn’t pathetic. She was trapped. Stuck between who she was supposed to be and what she actually wanted. And no one cared enough to help her figure it out.”

“Oh my god.” Heather rolled her eyes. “Fucking everyone tried to help her. Her mom, her friends, even that one lady paid for her whole hospital stay. I know she got, like, tortured or whatever but–”

 She pitched her voice higher, mocking, “It was the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I was sad so I stuck my head in an oven.”

She stared at the door to her room as if she were seeing something far beyond it.

“I’d never end up like that.”

Veronica watched her in silence, something shifting uneasily in her chest. She’d never really thought of Heather as someone with feelings… real ones, anyway. Heather was a system, a force of nature. Who cared what a tornado thought? Just get the hell out of the way.

It was...weird.

And then, maybe because it was easier, Veronica asked the first thing that came to mind.

“What are you going to do after graduation?” 

The thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to Veronica before now. She couldn’t imagine Heather without Heather and Heather, couldn’t imagine her bullying some poor student in the middle of a college quad, but… “Are you going to Remington?”

“God, no. You think I want to stay in this hell-hole any longer than I have to?”

Veronica shrugged. “You basically run the place.”

Heather just looked at her, that same, inscrutable look. Like the answer was obvious, and Veronica was an idiot who didn’t get it.

“So where, then?”

“Ohio State, probably. I’m a legacy, and my dad still knows one of the deans.” She lay back on the headboard of her bed, posture carefully relaxed. “Pre-law. Maybe political science.” 

“President Chandler, hm?”

Heather smiled faintly. “Better than staying here and turning into my mother.”

Veronica went quiet.

Heather turned away from the mirror and looked at her directly. “What about you?”

“Oh.” Veronica felt a blush spreading across her cheeks, but that made no sense. It wasn’t like she had been hiding how hard she was working to get into college. “Uh, well I was hoping…I’m applying to Harvard, Duke, and Brown.”

“Nerd.”

Veronica laughed under her breath, trying to ignore the way her face still felt warm. “Yeah, well. Some of us can’t coast into Ohio State on family connections.”

Heather didn’t bristle. If anything, she seemed…pleased.

“Okay, but be honest,” she said. “You’d be so annoying at Harvard.”

“Annoying how?”

“Constantly raising your hand in lecture. Quoting obscure novels. Making your poor freshman-year roommate cry because all the boys want you instead of her.”

Veronica smiled, a challenge. “And the girls?”

Heather grinned. “Exactly. You’d destroy her.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now too. “What would you do if you got into Harvard?”

Heather didn’t answer right away. She leaned back again, gaze drifting toward the ceiling.

“Leave,” she said simply. “For good.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Veronica didn’t know how to break it, but she couldn’t just leave it. She needed to fix it. She needed Heather to be Heather. 

“So.” She started slowly, holding up the other paperback she’d found on the coffee table. “Wanna tell me why you were reading Jackie Collins?”

Chapter Text

“So what else do you like? We had to read Gatsby last year, did you? The writing was great, don’t get me wrong, but everyone in that story sucked. Oh, I bet it’s something like Bonfire of the Vanities or…” 

Veronica had been peppering Heather with literature questions, rapid-fire, for the entire car ride to school.

“You really think I’m a walking stereotype, don’t you?” Heather rolled her eyes. 

Finding out that Heather was not just intelligent but actually, like, read books was a little like finding out your dog could walk on its hind legs. Or seeing a lion outside of its enclosure. Ever since, Veronica found she could not get enough. What else did Heather like? What else was she doing, hidden from the rest of the school? It was like her own secret puzzle, something only she was privileged enough to know. 

“Ronnie, I don’t think you’ve told me what your favorite books are.”

Heather flashed that dangerously sexy grin again, the one that made Veronica’s brain misfire. She was too busy dealing with that - and it took a lot of dealing with - to realize she was being set up.

“Let me guess… Jane Eyre.” Heather put a finger to her lips, pretending to think, but it only served to draw Veronica’s breathless attention to her mouth. “You can overlook that Mr. Rochester locked his wife in the attic because he was sad. You think ‘Reader, I married him’ is, like, the height of romance.”

Veronica did like Jane Eyre, but she wasn’t going to be needled about it by Heather, no matter how attractive she looked doing it. “Right now, it’s Rebecca. Obviously, I’m doomed to be haunted by a perfect woman I’ll never measure up to.”

Heather smiled, cat-like, at her. “I’m glad we can agree on something.”

Veronica tilted her head. “I don’t know. The second Mrs. de Winter won, didn’t she?”

“Please. She didn’t even get her own name. And her husband was a murderer.” Heather scoffed.

“Just saying,” Veronica added, all faux-innocence. “When we graduate, should they shut up the west wing for you?”

Heather leaned in, eyes glittering. “Does that mean you’ll be dreaming of me?”

Veronica’s gaze dropped. For a moment, she didn’t answer, the air between them pulling taut and empty.

“You’re terrible.”

“You like it.”

Veronica bit back a smile, which only made Heather’s smirk widen. It was a problem, one of many. Things between them had settled into a rhythm. Heather was still as omnipresent, as constantly there, but Veronica felt like she could breathe now. Well, except for the uncomfortably present attraction simmering every time Heather brushed up against her, or smiled at her, or threatened someone for her…but she could deal with that. It was the first heady realization that Heather might be somewhat human, and it would fade. 

More important was the fact that she was kind of…having fun with Heather. If you accepted that bitchiness was practically Heather’s love language, she wasn’t such a bad person to hang out with. Veronica found herself enjoying the walks to class, the car rides to and from school. 

It probably helped that for whatever reason, Heather seemed to be enjoying them too. She was being remarkably patient - for Heather - with Veronica’s constant questions, and from time to time Veronica even caught her…smiling. A smile that for once wasn’t at someone else’s expense.

They were heading to Veronica’s next class - AP Government, which Veronica found incredibly boring but seemed like another of those things that Heather had a knack for, even if she wasn’t in the advanced class. Or maybe Veronica shouldn’t be surprised, based on the way Heather ruled the school. The skills transferred.

“I can’t believe you have an A in government when you skip half the time.” Veronica complained, pouting only a little 

“I’m just that good, baby.”

“You mean Coach Smith is still scared of you.”

“Exactly why I deserve an A.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, but the twist of nerves in her stomach didn’t go away. “Well, I have a quiz today.”

Heather squeezed her hand comfortingly. “Are you nervous?”

“No.” Veronica said quickly. “Just…mostly no.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“I always know.” Heather tossed her hair dramatically. 

Veronica let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “If I fail, I’m blaming you.”

“Go ahead. But I’m still right.”

They reached the classroom door, and Heather slowed, just a little. Veronica noticed it - noticed herself noticing it - and looked away. They’d done this probably a hundred times before, but now…she felt suddenly, incredibly awkward. What..should she…what would a real girlfriend do? 

Usually she just said ‘bye’ and took her seat, but that didn’t seem enough.

Oh god, and they were standing in the middle of the doorway, and she was making it weird, and Heather was just kind of looking at her, and –

There was a guy standing behind her, trying to get into class. He opened his mouth to say something - brave man - when Heather took the decision out of Veronica’s hands. 

She leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to Veronica’s cheek. “See you later?” 

Veronica barely got out an “uh-huh” before Heather was gone.

So that was a thing they did now.

Not always, of course, but…sometimes. Veronica would pause, or Heather would, and Heather would brush her lips over Veronica’s cheek. Never the other way around.

They didn’t talk about it.

*** 

Veronica still didn’t know what to do about JD. 

She knew it was her own fault. She had kissed him - impulsively, stupidly - the same way that she had kissed Heather. Since then, JD had been everything she used to think she wanted: dark, devoted, dangerous in that too-cool-for-school way. Climbing into her bedroom window, like something out of a movie. Turns out that kind of thing was a lot more romantic in theory than in practice.

Especially when you weren’t sure he was the one you wanted in your bedroom.

So, she’d been avoiding him. 

It hadn’t been hard. It had been his idea, after all, for her to lean into this fake relationship with Heather. He understood that they wouldn’t see each other too much in school, and he approved…so long as he thought the end game was to get close enough to Heather that Veronica could destroy her. 

Veronica was content to let him think that, for now. Until she could figure a way out of it.

Because he was watching her.

Oh, he’d always done that. It used to make her feel so special, but now it was…unnerving. There were more than a few things she didn’t want him to see. And she very much did not want him to be watching Heather, with the way he’d been talking about her. 

Today, she saw him just outside the cafeteria. His eyes softened when he saw her, and he smiled slightly, just the lightest quirk of his lips.

Somehow that was worse.

“Ugh, I know he’s your ‘friend’ or whatever,” came a familiar voice behind her, “but he’s such a creep.”

Heather’s fingers curled over her shoulder, and Veronica stiffened. Usually, she would have been happy to see the other girl, but sometimes the blonde had terrible timing.

Okay, Heather often had terrible timing. She’d developed it into an art form. She seemed to enjoy appearing when it would cause maximum discomfort.

JD’s eyes sharpened - he wasn’t looking at Veronica anymore. All of his attention was focused on the girl behind her. 

“Seriously, what is his damage?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. At Heather, at JD, at herself, maybe. 

“He’s just looking out for me.” 

She so didn’t need Heather to get into a pissing match with JD right now, but neither could she tell Heather what was really going on. Not that they were actually dating, but…

Heather gave a sharp laugh. “Oh, that’s comforting.” But she was watching JD more carefully now. JD stared back, just as cool and calculating, not moving. Barely even blinking. It seemed to unnerve even Heather, who pressed closer to Veronica.

“He’s like a less charming Norman Bates.” Heather said, lowly, and Veronica laughed despite herself. “Promise me you won’t go into any cellars with him.”

Heather’s voice was emotionless, but this close Veronica could sense the coiled tenseness in her body.

“He’s not dangerous.”

Heather’s fingers curled around Veronica’s arm, and JD’s eyes flicked down at the movement.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I can handle him.” Veronica insisted. She hoped it wasn’t a lie.

The next morning, Veronica went to her dresser and opened the top drawer.

The necklace was still where she’d stuffed it, drunk and angry after the Halloween party and not interested in anything else that would remind her of Heather.

She picked it up, hesitated, then slipped it over her head. It rested lightly against her collarbone when she tucked it beneath her shirt.

Heather didn’t need to know.

Not everything had to be part of their performance. Some things could just… be.

But when Veronica caught JD watching her the next day - just for a second, just long enough to register his presence - she found herself reaching for the charm through the fabric of her blouse. Fingertips against silver, hidden, and suddenly steadier than she’d been a moment before.

Heather didn’t need to know.

***

Sometimes after school, Heather would come up to Veronica’s room rather than just dropping her off.

They never talked about that, either.

On one of those nights, Veronica was working on homework while Heather lay on her bed, flipping through a magazine. Every so often, she’d make a biting comment about one of the articles, but for the most part they coexisted in peaceful silence.

Veronica was so focused on her work she didn’t notice Heather put down her magazine and start snooping around her room. Until it was too late, of course. 

“Veronica, what is this?” Heather’s voice dripped with contempt. She was holding several sheets of lined paper, covered in crossed-out sentences, scribbled notes in the margin, and whole paragraphs Veronica had given up on.

Shit.

Veronica made a half-hearted grab for the paper, but Heather held it firmly out of reach. 

“It’s my college essay, Heather, give it back. I still need to type it up.”

Heather ignored her, eyes still scanning the pages. Veronica sighed and sat back, resigned to wait for the inevitable.

Finally, Heather set the pages back down on the table. 

“Ronnie, this sucks.”

Veronica flinched. It was the first truly critical thing Heather had said to her in a while, and it hit harder than she expected . How easy it was to forget Heather’s essential nature. 

It hurt, and Veronica curled into herself defensively. She hated to admit it, but she cared very much what Heather thought, and to hear her hard work dismissed so casually…

“It’s just a rough draft. I’m not done yet.”

“It’s not going to get you into Harvard.”

“What the fuck do you know?”

“Don’t be a baby.” Heather’s tone shifted into that maddening ‘you’re better than this’ voice.

Veronica did not want to be better than this. 

“It’s boring.” Heather continued. “Boring people don’t go to Harvard. You have to force them to notice you.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t terrible advice, but Veronica wasn't ready to agree with Heather yet.

Heather didn’t wait for Veronica to respond. She picked the papers back up, flipping through them dismissively. She read one section aloud, voice low and teasing. “'Volunteering has taught me the power of community'…Ronnie, you sound like Air Supply.’”

Veronica reached for it, face hot. “Heather—”

Heather held it away, but her voice softened. “You’re so much more interesting than this. Why are you hiding?”

“You’re supposed to write about that. It shows that you’re committed, and you care about stuff.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Please, you care about feeding the homeless or whatever just as much as every other asshole writing the same thing. No one gives a fuck.”

Veronica opened her mouth to say that possibly the homeless people cared, but then closed it. It wasn’t the point, anyway.

“What do you suggest, Your Majesty?”

“You have to convince them that you’re special. That they can’t afford to let you go to any other school.”

Veronica huffed, still petulant. “But what if I’m not special.”

She’d meant it to be a rebuttal, a snide automatic reversal of whatever Heather said. But it came out plaintive - her insecurities, too raw and real, hung awful and heavy in the air.

Heather watched her, unblinking, for a moment. 

Then she scoffed. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

Veronica looked away. “Forget it.”

“No. You don’t get to sulk like a child after all the shit you’ve pulled this year.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You lied to a teacher and forged a note just so you could ask if you could sit with us once. That takes guts. Then you were willing to give it all up just because you knew your…friend wouldn’t be able to take a joke. You even think you can stop bullying at Westerberg.” Heather smiled sardonically. “You’re wrong, of course, but you try.”

Again, that was not exactly how it had happened, but since Heather seemed to be trying to compliment her, Veronica would let it go. 

“That girl’s going to get into any school she wants. Write about her.”

Oh. That was actually…sweet. Veronica was afraid to ask if Heather really thought that about her. Afraid of how much she might care about the answer.

“I’ll uhm…I’ll think about it.” 

She couldn’t look at Heather. Wildly, she hoped the blonde wouldn’t press the issue any further. Her emotions were too close, too on display. College was supposed to be post-Heather. She was supposed to be able to leave high school and never look back. The possibility that something - someone - might follow her was…terrifying.

But Heather didn’t push. She paused for a moment, then began to gather her things.

“Wait!”

For Veronica, who a moment earlier had been freaking out about how close Heather was, it suddenly seemed imperative that she not leave. Her chest felt tight, the walls of her bedroom closing in slightly, but the idea of Heather just walking out…

She wanted more, that was the problem. More time, more of her bitchy, intelligent, searching comments, more Heather, even if it left her feeling cracked and raw.

Heather froze mid-step, her bag slung loosely over one shoulder. She turned slowly, brows raised. “Yeah?”

Veronica’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“Because usually when someone yells ‘wait,’ there’s, like…a reason,” Heather prompted, folding her arms. Her tone was amused, but her eyes were searching.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Veronica blurted. “We’re having pasta. If you want. You don’t have to.”

“So this is what, my reward for improving your terrible essay?”

“No, you asshole, I just thought it might be…nice?”

“Nice.” Heather repeated, as if the word were foreign to her.

She seemed skeptical, and Veronica couldn’t blame her. Solidly three-fourths of this conversation felt like it had bypassed her brain entirely, words falling from her mouth without consideration or consent. Maybe she could pretend she’d been possessed by the ghost of a pushy ‘50s housewife?

“Fine.” Heather said finally, setting down her purse.

Fine?

What did she mean, fine?  

Fine as in, she was going along with this temporary insanity? Fine as in Veronica would now have to break the news to her mother, who regarded Heather as barely more than a step above the drug dealers who sold crack to little kids on Sixty Minutes? 

That was decidedly not ‘fine.’

And then Heather smirked, slowly, like she could read every panicked thought flying across Veronica’s face.

“You know, most of my dates ask me to dinner before I’ve been in their bed.”

Veronica knew exactly what Heather was trying to do. For that reason, she found it deeply unfair that it was working.

Her brain short-circuited, trying to summon a comeback, a glare, anything other than the rush of heat that immediately hit her cheeks. All she managed was a strangled, “Shut up.”

Heather grinned wider, clearly delighted.

“You’re blushing.”

“You’re unbearable. ”

“And you’re too easy.”

Jesus Christ. Veronica needed air. Or a priest.

“I’m going to tell my mom,” she announced, turning so fast she nearly clipped the doorframe with her shoulder.

But even that attempt at escape was unsuccessful, as Heather’s voice followed her, low and gleeful. “Should I stay up here and wait, or go downstairs and say hi to my future in-laws?”

“ Shut up! ”

Veronica practically fled down the hallway, resisting the urge to sprint. Her brain felt like it had been tossed in a blender. Why had she invited her? Why had she spoken ? 

For weeks, Heather had been insinuating her way into Veronica’s carefully compartmentalized life. And, Heather-like, she had never asked for Veronica’s permission or opinion. The Queen spoke; the subjects obeyed. If Heather said she’d pick Veronica up for school, or if she invited herself inside Veronica’s home, well, then that was what happened.

And stupidly, maddeningly, Veronica liked it this way. It meant she never had to choose. The more of her time Heather commandeered the easier it was to pretend she had no say in the matter. Poor Veronica. What else could she do? No one said no to Heather Chandler.

It was all so very convenient.  

So what the hell was she thinking, inviting Heather to stay even longer? She might as well be inviting a vampire to dinner.

All she knew was that they had been getting along. Heather had actually complimented her, like she thought Veronica was special, and when she turned to go Veronica hadn’t wanted to lose that feeling.

And then…

And then.

She paused just outside the kitchen door, took a deep breath, and schooled her face into something resembling neutrality.

“Hey, Mom?”

Her voice cracked.

Mrs. Sawyer looked up from the stove with the heavy-lidded weariness of a woman who knew her daughter far too well.

“What did she do?”

“Nothing!” Veronica was quick to defend her friend. “I just – would it be okay if Heather stayed for dinner?”

Her mom blinked. “Heather Chandler?”

“Yes.”

“Do I want to know why?”

Veronica shrugged, hoping it passed for casual. “Her parents aren’t around much. I think she might be…lonely?”

“Hmm.” Her mom considered, stirring the sauce. “Fine. But if I see a croquet ball, she can eat outside.”

“Thanks!” Veronica gave her mom a quick hug.

Veronica set the table with fiendish speed, and by the time Heather came downstairs, she was as jumpy as a cat on hot coals. Her parents hadn’t exactly had the best introduction to Heather – and that had been Heather’s own fault. But she was different now. Maybe.

Perhaps if dinner went well, then –

Then what , exactly?

Heather would start coming over for family meals? Joke with her father about his beloved spy novels while helping with the dishes?

Unrealistic.

And yet.

Dinner was nice, in its own way. Veronica was practically vibrating out of her chair with nerves, until Heather laid a warning hand on her thigh. 

If not exactly calming, it was sufficiently distracting. 

And Heather was trying. She complimented the food, and the house. She made polite enquiries about Mr. Sawyer’s job, and laughed indulgently at his terrible jokes. But her attention kept drifting back to Veronica, her eyes glittering, voice dipping lower whenever she spoke to her, soft and coaxing. 

When Veronica’s father ventured a few personal questions - how were her classes, what were her future plans - Heather redirected deftly, slipping in comments about how smart Veronica was, what a good friend she’d been.

Her palm was warm and damp against Veronica’s skin.

Eventually, dinner ended, plates scraped clean and conversation trailing off into the clink of silverware. Veronica’s mom insisted she didn’t need help with the dishes – whether out of kindness or mistrust, Veronica wasn’t sure - and so the two girls slipped quietly toward the front door, the house hushed behind them.

The porch light was on. A few moths flitted lazily around it as it buzzed, the sound harsh in the cold November night.

“So,” Heather said, her voice lighter now, the performance falling away by degrees. “We survived.”

“You did better than I expected,” Veronica admitted. “I don’t think my mom wants to kill you anymore.”

Heather smirked. “What can I say? I’m charming.”

She was. God help her.

There was a beat of silence. Veronica looked at Heather, really looked at her, perfect hair slightly mussed, the faintest pink still on her cheeks from the heat of the kitchen. The glow in her eyes hadn’t faded.

She was still watching her.

“I should go,” she said, too casually.

“Right,” Veronica murmured.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

And there, with the cold biting close and the smell of a wood fire slipping acridly from a nearby chimney, Heather leaned in and pressed a kiss - light, thoughtless - against Veronica’s cheek.

Both girls froze.

It was not intention but instinct, not performance but the shadow of one, an encore of idle habits made warm and familiar by repetition.

Heather pulled back half a second too late, her startled eyes catching on Veronica’s.

“I—uh—anyway,” she said, and the words rang brittle and too bright. “Tell your mom…thanks. For dinner”

Veronica blinked. “Okay.”

Heather nodded once, quick and stiff. She turned, or started to, then faltered - fingers tightening on the straps of her purse, mouth twitching like she was searching for something else to say and couldn’t find the shape of it.

“I’ll…see you tomorrow,” she repeated finally, the words coming out quieter than before. There was almost a question to it, a slight lilting breathiness. 

She didn’t wait for a reply.

Chapter Text

The list of things Veronica was not talking to people about was getting rather long.

She’d finally stopped avoiding JD; the guilt had started to gnaw at her. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong, after all. He liked her. He cared about her. He wanted to protect her. It wasn’t his fault that it wasn’t enough.

So she’d called him, finally. Passed a few notes in class, even met up at 7-11 for a slushie. It was nice. He’d backed off Heather, seemed to get that Veronica didn’t want to talk about it, so their conversations had been mostly about school and family bullshit.

They still hadn’t gone on that date. He’d asked about it a couple of times, in that backhanded way he used for things he didn’t want to admit mattered to him. She’d told him she was too busy; it was the truth, of course, if not the entire truth.

She just…didn’t want to. 

She couldn’t shake what she’d seen in his eyes the night he’d climbed up to her room, and the idea of holding his hand in a darkened theater didn’t make her stomach twist the way it used to. Or at least, not in a way she liked.

Besides, she barely saw anyone outside of school other than Heather these days. Sometimes Heather and Heather would be there as well, at the mall or just hanging out, but increasingly it was just the two of them. 

On the few non-Heather days, she made sure to see Martha. 

But Martha thought she and JD were a done deal, and Martha was deeply suspicious of Heather. 

So she couldn’t talk to Martha.

And talking to Heather…well, she did talk to Heather. A lot, actually. They were together before, during, and after school most days. But Heather hadn’t stayed for dinner again. And Heather hadn’t invited Veronica over to her house again. And Veronica had the very strong feeling that if she brought up anything regarding kisses, platonic or otherwise, Heather might actually murder her.

Her mom’s voice floated up the stairs. “Veronica? Heather’s here!”

Of course she was.

Veronica rubbed at her face, as if the press of her fingers could smooth the tension out of her heart as well as her head. Heather had probably come to drag her out of the house again, and she’d probably let her. It was easier than arguing.

“Hey.” 

Heather was waiting for her, looking almost human in a soft red sweater. It fell loose over her shoulders but was tucked into her jeans, accentuating her waist and long legs. Her eyes were still covered by her sunglasses, which made Veronica unaccountably nervous. “Ready to go?”

“Actually,” Veronica said, in a voice too steady to be strictly natural. “I was thinking we could do something different?”

Heather paused, already halfway out the door. The mall on a Saturday was practically a sacred ritual to her, Veronica knew. But today, just the thought of it seemed overwhelming. 

“Different how?”

An idea had been slowly crystallizing in Veronica’s mind. She wasn’t sure where she’d heard of it first - a flyer in a shop window, an ad on the radio. But two months of constant social pressure was catching up with her. She wasn’t made for it like Heather was. She didn’t want to be seen today. She just wanted to feel.

Had Heather ever just wanted to run away from it all?

“There’s a fair in Ridgeville this weekend. Looked like it might be fun.” Veronica grabbed her coat, not quite looking at Heather. “You know. Games and food and stuff.”

“We’re not twelve, Veronica.”

Veronica laughed. “We’re seniors; shouldn’t we do stupid wholesome stuff now before we have to pretend to be adults forever?”

“These are Jordache.” Heather gestured to her jeans. “You want me to go to a pumpkin patch in Hicksville with you wearing Jordache?”

Veronica knew they were Jordache. She liked Jordache. They were very…tight.

“It’s not a pumpkin patch. And yeah, I kinda do. Live a little, Heather.”

Heather was scowling, but Veronica knew she was wavering. She hadn’t rejected the idea totally. Veronica went in for the kill, taking Heather’s hand pulling herself closer.

“Nobody we know will be there.” Veronica said softly. “Can’t we just…get out of here for a while?

Heather hesitated. “Fine, whatever. You are such a dork.”

“Heather.” Mrs. Sawyer’s voice interrupted them from the living room. Her opinion of Heather had inched up slightly since Heather had begun spending more time at her house…and since Heather had made a determined effort to get on her good side. But she was never far away from the two girls, just in case. “Why don’t you call your mother and let her know where you’re going? You can use the phone in the kitchen.”

Heather looked like the idea of telling her mother where she was going had never occurred to her, and also vaguely affronted that anyone would expect her to. Veronica almost expected her to refuse out of habit. 

But Heather had been trying. So she fixed her face to something more vaguely polite as she agreed with Veronica’s mom that “Yes, that was a great idea, thanks so much Mrs. Sawyer.”

She disappeared into the kitchen to make the call. Veronica stayed in the foyer, fiddling with the zipper of her coat. She could still feel the shape of Heather’s hand in hers. 

Her mother appeared beside her. “Where exactly is this fair?”

“Ridgeville. It’s like thirty minutes away. We’re not—” Veronica caught herself, her voice light. “We’re not doing anything illegal, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Her mom nodded, but her eyes were searching. That look all mothers had, the one that said I know you’re lying, I just haven’t figured out about what yet.

“Will you be meeting the other girls there?” 

Veronica’s shoulders stiffened. “No, it’s just us.” 

She tried to keep the hesitation out of her voice. Two girls could go anywhere as friends. It didn’t mean anything. How many times had she gone off with Martha? And she’d never gotten the third degree about it before. 

“Alright, well, promise me you two will be safe. And I want you home by ten - I don’t care if it is the weekend.”

“Okay,” Veronica said. But the word hung strangely in her mouth. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt she was being safe.

***

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?”

Heather was driving, which put Veronica in charge of navigating. Veronica pulled the glove compartment open and began unfolding the map, which promptly tried to refold itself into chaos. Heather grinned as she watched her struggle.

“You’re really going for the whole ‘small-town girlfriend experience’ thing, aren’t you? What’s next, holding hands on a hayride?”

Veronica didn’t laugh. The words landed sharper than they should have. It was tame by Heather standards - practically conversational. But the image was forced uncomfortably into her mind and she thought: Yes. Yes, I want that.

“Kidding,” Heather added quickly. “Christ. Relax.”

Veronica didn’t respond right away. She yanked the map flat, folding it with clipped, angry motions that came dangerously close to ripping the paper.

“Is there any part of you that knows how to be serious?”

“I said yes, didn’t I?”

 “That doesn’t mean anything if you’re just going to mock me the whole way there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Heather snapped. “Did I miss the part where this turned into your very special Hallmark moment?”

Veronica glared at her. “You can be such a bitch sometimes.”

She wanted to be angry. She hated that she was lashing out. Hated more that Heather was the only thing she could think about, the only one she wanted to understand.

“I asked you to do something with me,” Veronica said, voice rising. “Something I actually wanted to do. And you’re already making fun of it.”

Heather opened her mouth to fire back, then stopped, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

“Okay,” she said instead. Too sharp. She took a breath. “Okay. I wasn’t trying to make fun of it. Or you.”

Veronica didn’t speak, but she didn’t lash out either.

Heather kept her eyes on the road. “If you want me to pull over and let you out, just say the word.”

“I don’t,” Veronica said quietly.

They found the fairgrounds easily. Ridgeville wasn’t large, and a several-story-tall Ferris wheel is hard to miss. 

But Veronica was hesitant to leave the Porsche. Now that they were here, the whole thing felt like a mistake - no, not one mistake, but a series of them, lined up like dominoes.

She hadn’t had a clear reason for suggesting the fair. Some vague sense of nostalgia, maybe. A childish longing for something simpler, easier.

She should have known better. That wasn’t how the world worked.

This was ridiculous. 

A Porsche parked in the middle of a grassy field was ridiculous.

Heather Chandler in designer clothes surrounded by mud and hay and probably animal shit was ridiculous.

And Veronica, who had orchestrated the whole thing, who had wanted this in some tender, humiliating way, felt utterly absurd.

Heather was uncharacteristically patient, waiting for Veronica to move. Finally, Veronica gathered her courage. She couldn’t back out now; that would be admitting that she was having second thoughts, and the only thing worse about being wrong would be admitting it to Heather. 

So she forced a rather aggressive smile and hauled herself into the sunlight, facing down the multicolored streamers and unnerving cartoon characters that marked the entrance to the fair.

“Lead the way, Sawyer.”

Heather matched her pace, but Veronica could read nothing in the flat tone of her voice. Well, at least it wasn’t mocking.

They passed beneath the crooked banner reading Autumn Jubilee - hand-painted letters ringed with gourds - and into the soft crush of noise and color. A line of toddlers screamed in unison at the sight of a man in a clown costume. Some boys, teenagers they didn’t know, smacked into Veronica’s shoulder at the sound.

Veronica winced. “This was a mistake.”

Heather looked around, taking in the hay bales, the petting zoo, the rows and rows of folding tents and card tables and the sharp, heavy smell of fried food.

“It certainly has a…rustic charm.”

“That’s being generous.”

“Well, it’s not the Plaza, but I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon. Ms. Fleming’s always telling us to ‘broaden our horizons,’ or some shit.”

That earned the faintest twitch of a smile from Veronica.

“I just thought it might be different,” she said after a moment. “Something normal, for once.”

Heather didn’t reply immediately.  A gust of wind kicked up a swirl of hay across their path. Somewhere nearby, a chainsaw buzzed to life with a mechanical snarl, then faded again into the carnival murmur.

“You shouldn’t need an excuse to want something good,” she said finally, voice low.

Veronica started, caught off guard by the softness of it.

“Is that your way of saying you’re not completely miserable?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Don’t get carried away. It’s just not totally lame.” She started walking. “Come on. Let’s find something terrible to eat. If I’m going to be emotionally supportive, I want something fried in return.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, but this time she didn’t hesitate before following.

They followed the scent of oil and sugar to a battered food stand that sold the usual assortment of fried foods; funnel cakes, turkey legs, crispy ribboned potatoes. The line was long, curling past a table stacked with wreaths for the upcoming holidays.

Veronica tucked her hands into her coat sleeves. “Do you actually eat this stuff?”

Heather gave her a look. “Do I look like someone who eats this stuff?”

“Not remotely.”

“I will let you buy me a funnel cake, though.”

Veronica ordered one to share - a warm, collapsing spiral of dough, glistening with oil and painted in thick, white powdered sugar. They wandered a little as they ate, tearing off pieces that oozed and stained the paper plate below. Veronica never thought she would see Heather Chandler smirking at her while she licked the sticky sweetness from her fingers - or how badly she’d want to.

The crowd thickened around them, a flowing tide. Children darted through it, flitting birds impervious to their parents’ demands and entreaties alike. And yet the scene had a sleepy, sepia quality, a feeling of time slowing down and stretching out in odd, pulling patterns that moved the people in and around the multicolored stalls, all dissimilar and all alike.

Heather paused in front of a stall hung with handmade scarves and mittens. She pressed the tips of her fingers to her mouth, sucking slightly to remove any last trace of sugar, then wiped them unceremoniously on her jeans. 

Veronica followed the unusual movement carefully. Something about the casualness of it, the way Heather moved, felt almost private.

Heather reached out, fingers skimming the woven cloth. “You’d look good in this,” she said suddenly, holding up a deep blue scarf with a fine silver thread woven through.

Veronica hesitated, unsure how to respond. It was an unexpected reminder of the beginning - there in the bathroom, the first day of school. And how very far away that day, that girl, seemed.

“I don’t think it’s me,” she said finally.

Heather didn’t respond. She paused for a moment, her eyes clear in the bright sunlight, her face very still. In the past few weeks, Veronica had started to think she knew most of Heather’s expressions, but sometimes…

Heather stepped forward and, with the sort of deliberate confidence that always made Veronica feel clumsy and slow, wrapped the scarf around her neck. It was soft, and slightly cool, and Heather’s fingers brushed gently at the hollow beneath her jaw. They touched the silver chain that she wore every day now, and her breath caught.

“There,” Heather murmured. “Beautiful.”

Veronica swallowed. Her cheeks were warm, but it wasn’t the cold or the compliment. It was the closeness. The way Heather’s breath stirred the air between them. Feelings floated at the edge of Veronica’s awareness; delicate, shimmering things that dissolved before she could catch hold of them.

“Oh, you two make such a lovely couple.”

The voice was warm, amused. It came from behind the counter, where a woman sat with a ball of yarn in her lap and a satisfied glint in her eye. Her hair was silver, her face soft and lined, and she wore a wholly ridiculous pink and orange knit sweater - the kind that could only be worn with total confidence or total obliviousness. She looked like someone’s great aunt. Possibly everyone’s. 

“I can always tell,” she added, fingers looping yarn with a steady grace. “It’s the way you look at each other.”

Veronica expected Heather to protest. Hell, she was opening her own mouth to correct the assumption when Heather smiled - not the sharp kind, but something small and warm. As if it were nothing at all, Heather reached out and tucked a piece of Veronica’s hair gently behind her ear.

“She brings out the best in me.”

The woman hummed in approval, “Oh you are a sweet-talker. Just like my Charlie.” She gave Veronica a conspiratorial wink. “Do you like that scarf, dear? I think we can take a few dollars off for such nice girls.”

“It’s lovely, but…” Veronica started.

But Heather had already opened her purse.

“We’ll take it,” she said, sliding the bills onto the table. She slid the scarf from Veronica’s neck - Veronica still couldn’t look her in the eyes, God - and handed it to the woman, who folded it carefully into a paper bag.

“You girls enjoy the fair now.” She said with a pleased little coo, clearly delighted with herself. “And don’t let her boss you around too much, sweetheart,” she directed to Veronica, handing her the bag.

Veronica managed a smile of her own, juggling what was left of the slowly congealing funnel cake to accept the gift. Her mind was starting to catch up…not that she was any less confused by the interaction, but she was more prepared to go along with it. 

Yes, she had no problem playing Heather’s girlfriend now.

“Ready?” Heather asked, her voice light, and they slipped back into the current of the crowd. Heather’s hand brushed hers once, fleeting and unintentional - or so Veronica told herself - and neither of them spoke for a long moment.

Around them, the world resumed. But Veronica felt like she was walking through something else entirely. Not this fair, not this present, but the soft outline of a world that might have existed parallel to this one, where things were easy and sweet and simple. A world where Heather Chandler bought her presents and brushed the hair from her face and looked at her like that .

She turned, pushing the thought away with a determined effort. She was not in that world, and dwelling on it…well, she wouldn’t, that was all. 

They had moved further into the fairgrounds, and Veronica’s eye was caught by a ring toss booth a few stalls down. Crooked and chipped glass bottles winked at her, neon rings glinting in their plastic tub. Perfect.

“Ooh–” she said, breaking from Heather without warning. “I used to love these.”

Heather looked up, vaguely amused. “That explains so much.”

Veronica ignored her. She was already fishing crumpled bills from her pocket and handing them to the teenager behind the booth. “I wasn’t good at them,” she admitted, “but I was very determined . ”

She picked up a ring, adjusted her stance, and threw – wide. The second bounced. The third skimmed the top of a bottle and spun off.

“Okay,” she muttered. “They’ve gotten sneakier since the ‘70s.”

Heather leaned against the side of the stall, watching with that infuriating half-smile. “So this is your big romantic gesture?”

Veronica shot her a look and thrust another dollar forward for a second round.

“You...” She said, lining up her shot carefully. “...should be so lucky.”

The first ring missed again. The second clipped a bottle and bounced, just like before.

The third ring caught.

It hit just right - a perfect arc, a soft clink - and settled into place gently.

Veronica hadn’t really expected it to work.

The teenager behind the booth grunted. “Pick one.”

She scanned the top row, frowning in concentration, then pointed to a squat, vaguely rabbit-shaped thing in electric purple, its ears flopped at uneven angles.

“That one.”

Heather looked horrified. “Why?”

“Don’t you think he has a certain je nais se quoi? ” Veronica said, plucking it from the hook and turning to face her. “No?” She turned back to the…well, probably-a-bunny. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

She held it out with both hands, tilting its felted face upward so that the shiny beaded eyes were on a level with Heather’s own.

Heather stared at it right back.

“I’m giving you a gift,” Veronica said, more softly. “Accept it, Chandler.”

Heather took it.

“You’re the worst,” she said, but she was still holding it, still looking at it.

Veronica grinned, knowing she’d won when Heather sighed heavily and tucked the stuffed animal into her purse. She didn’t even mind when Heather carefully checked that it was totally out of sight and hidden.

They wandered deeper into the fairgrounds, no real destination in mind, washed along with the crowd. Veronica tried to convince Heather to get her face painted - “Just a little star, right here? - but Heather refused with dramatic and determined horror.

Still, she smiled.

Later, at the petting zoo, a small goat managed to sneak up behind Veronica and nose at her hair. Heather laughed so hard tears came to her eyes, and even Veronica couldn’t be too mad about it.

But the sun sets quickly in those brittle months. Golden light gives way, as it must, into the clear cutting cold of night. Electric bulbs blink on in defiance, strung across stalls and overhangs, but they cannot hold the warmth. 

Still, people try. For a while, there’s laughter, movement, the illusion of heat. But inevitably the crowd, once a buoyant, humming thing, begins to thin. They peel off in shivering pairs and loose, hunching groups, eyes glassy and hands cupped close to their mouths.

It was time to go.

They wound their way slowly past the last stragglers, the efficient precision of tents and tables being stowed for the night.  Veronica found herself wishing they’d move slower, that the spell would stretch just a little longer before it broke. 

They were almost past it - the Ferris wheel, its great iron body blinking sleepily against the purpled sky - when Heather slowed.

“Let’s go up,” she said.

Veronica stopped. “What?”

Heather shrugged. “I thought you wanted the full experience?”

Veronica thought she understood. It had been a good day, such a fun day. She didn’t want it to end, either.

They climbed aboard the hard metal bench, its hinges squeaking as they swayed slightly and settled. It was narrow, and bent oddly, so that Veronica had to shift awkwardly and press close to one side. Heather settled in next to her, looking a little like she was re-evaluating the structural integrity of the ride. It lurched once, then began its soft ascent.

They rose.

Below them, the fair unraveled - rows of tents collapsing into shadow, strings of lights blurring into liquid color. Beyond the fairground’s glow lay the velvet dark of farmland, soft and absolute. And farther still, against the horizon, the hard grid of city lights blinked in geometric indifference.

When she could no longer bear the not-looking, Veronica let her gaze slip sideways. 

Heather’s profile: all sharp edges softened by the dusk and the occasional sweep of light, highlighting her jaw, her cheekbone, the dark curve of her lashes. 

Heather had been the one to suggest the ride, but now that they were here, the silence sat oddly between them. She stared fixedly outward, beyond the edge of the darkness, her arms folded tightly across her chest and ignoring Veronica with a focus that felt deliberate. 

Veronica watched her, quiet and aching.

Suddenly, a flicker. A pop.

Fireworks.

Toward the far edge of the fairgrounds, a cluster of them burst upward, scattering brilliant color across the sky in petals of light and low, crackling whispers of sound.

Veronica tensed. So did Heather.

And then Heather laughed, soft and surprised. Her eyes lifted, mouth open, startled into childlike wonder.

The colored light caught her face in flickers: red, then gold, then violet, then white. A kaleidoscope of her - every version of Heather Chandler shifting through the dark.

I love you, Veronica thought, and wanted to cry. 

***

The ride back was quiet. Neither girl spoke over the low murmur of music, both lost in thought. 

The darkness pooled thickly outside the car. The paper bag containing the scarf Heather had bought crinkled gently beneath Veronica’s wrist. They passed the marker for the Sherwood city limits and Veronica watched as Heather hummed along to the radio and tapped her bright red fingernails against the steering wheel, keeping time.

And Veronica watched, still, as the color began to fade…washed out across the miles.

She felt numb. Not in a cold or empty way, but the delicate snow-globe of her emotions had been shaken violently, and was still trying to settle.

She wondered if Heather could feel it too. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she could say anything without giving too much away.

So she stared out the window, her breath fogging faintly on the glass, and let the hum of the car fill the space where words might have gone.

Heather pulled up in front of Veronica’s house. The car idled. The porch light was on.

“Thanks for today,” Veronica said, already reaching for the door handle.

Heather shrugged. “Yeah. It was fun.”

Veronica stepped out. She turned back, just once, before heading up the steps. Heather gave a little wave, already shifting into reverse.

And then she was gone.

Veronica stood on the porch a moment longer, keys in hand, the bag pressed to her chest. The house looked the same as it always did.

Everything did.