Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: New Faces, Old Ghosts
Alice POV

It was just another first day at yet another new high school.

Alice Dean had lost count of how many. At this point, it was a wonder they’d passed any grades at all, considering how often they moved.

She surveyed the cafeteria from their table near the back wall with the cool detachment of someone who already knew how the story ended. Her brother JD sat beside her, a book open in front of him that he hadn’t actually turned a page of in ten minutes.

From here, they had a perfect view of the chaos—tray clatter, laughter, the hum of adolescent hierarchy. It didn’t take long to spot the queen of the jungle.

Heather Chandler, platinum and poison, held court like a shark in a sea of minnows. Beside her, Veronica Sawyer stood out in a way that made Alice pause—shoulders too tense, expression too guarded to be comfortable. Heather handed her a yellow notepad and gestured toward the lunch line.

Alice frowned.

“Do you see what I see?” she muttered.

JD followed her gaze. “Yeah, the start of trouble no doubt. She doesn’t look happy about it.”

“She’s still the one writing it,” Alice noted, shaking her head.

“I like her,” JD said.

“Are you going to talk to her?”

“Probably not,” he said. “But she seems interesting.”

“Car crashes are interesting. Doesn’t mean you should stare at one.”

Across the room, Martha Dunnstock stood at the lunch counter, tray trembling slightly in her hands. Heather McNamara approached like a mission agent, slipping a folded note onto Martha’s tray with practiced ease.

Alice winced. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“She deserves better than this school,” JD replied. “So do we.”

Alice didn’t respond—not because she disagreed, but because JD sounded sincere. That always worried her more than his sarcasm.

As they watched, Veronica made her way across the cafeteria, clipboard in hand, moving with stiff casualness—like she didn’t want to look too interested in where she was headed.

She stopped at their table.

“Hello, Jason Dean,” she said.

JD didn’t look up from his book. He had picked it up again in an attempt to hide the fact that he had been staring earlier. “Greetings and salutations. Are you a Heather?” Looking up at Veronica as he finished asking the question.

Alice, dry as dust, added, “Oh, it’s a whole thing.”

Veronica tilted her head. “No. A Veronica. Sawyer. This may seem like a stupid question…”

“There are no stupid questions,” JD said smoothly.

Veronica ignored Alice’s groan and asked, “You inherit five million dollars the same day aliens declare the world ends in two days. What do you do?”

JD raised an eyebrow. “That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.”

Alice leaned over, mock-whispering, “Play nice.”

JD smirked. “Alright. I’d row out to the middle of a lake. Bring some tequila. Maybe a saxophone. See what Bach sounds like while the world ends.”

Veronica blinked, impressed. “How very.”

Then she turned to Alice. “And you are?”

“Alice,” she replied. “The sibling with impulse control.”

Veronica offered a crooked smile to JD. “I’ll catch you later?”

JD nodded. “Definitely.”

As Veronica walked away, JD watched her like someone trying to memorize a fire. Alice didn’t.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yeah, really.”

Before Alice could add anything, Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney stomped past like a parade of testosterone and bad cologne.

“What did your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Sherwood, Ohio?” Kurt sneered.

“Answer him, dick!” Ram added.

Kurt elbowed JD’s tray. “Doesn’t this cafeteria have a No Fags Allowed rule?”

Alice stood. “Back off.”

JD’s voice was ice. “Seems to have an open-door policy for assholes though, doesn’t it?”

“What did you say, dickweed?” Kurt growled.

JD stood. “I’ll repeat myself.”

Ram shoved JD. Alice’s eyes narrowed. JD gave her a look, almost amused.

“No guns,” he said. “But I never made promises about fists.”

Then he swung.

Chaos erupted—trays clattered, someone shouted. Alice hesitated for a heartbeat—step in or stay back?—before the faculty swarmed in and dragged JD out.

As the cafeteria settled into uneasy silence and whispers, Alice scanned the room for Veronica but found her gone.

Instead, her eyes caught on Heather McNamara, who was standing near the lunch line with her tray, a bright yellow hair clip pinned back strands of blonde hair.

For a moment, Heather lifted her gaze and met Alice’s across the chaos.

It wasn’t a glare like Heather Duke’s. It wasn’t pity or fake sweetness.

It was soft.

Uncertain, maybe. A little scared, but clear. Like she saw something in Alice that made her shoulders drop, just a little, like it was safe to breathe for a moment.

Alice froze, blinking.

Heather gave a small, almost shy nod before turning to help a freshman who had dropped his lunch tray, kneeling to pick up scattered fries.

Alice crossed her arms, turning away, the back of her neck warm.

She didn’t know what that look meant.

And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

Finally, the last bell of the day rang. Students spilled into the hallways in a rush of backpacks, gossip, and relief. Most were already thinking about the weekend. Alice Dean stayed back, watching the crowd—not the way a student might, but like someone trying to map a battlefield.

She spotted Veronica Sawyer near the water fountain; journal tucked under her arm. The girl drifted toward her locker and paused there, like she was waiting for someone—or like she was bracing for something. Her stance was off. Too tense. Too practiced.

Alice didn’t trust easily. Not after what happened to their mother. She’d learned early that sometimes the people you love disappear when you’re not looking close enough. And ever since, she’d been looking—too closely, sometimes. Watching for warning signs no one else seemed to catch. Waiting for cracks.

It made her good at protecting JD.

It also made her ruthless about anyone who got too close to him.

She hung back, letting a few more kids pass before moving closer. She noted the fatigue in Veronica’s shoulders, the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes whenever someone walked by. It was a mask. Not a very good one.

Veronica noticed her. Gave a dry, smile and a small wave.

“Are you planning to talk to me,” she asked, “or just stalk me through the halls?”

Alice raised an eyebrow but kept her tone light. “So, are you actually interested in my brother—or are you just using him as part of another stunt you and the Heathers will eventually pull?”

Veronica’s smirk faded. “That note wasn’t my idea.”

“But you wrote it.”

Veronica leaned back against the lockers with a tired shrug. “You don’t understand. At Westerburg, if Heather Chandler tells you to do something, you do it. That’s survival. Maybe I don’t like it, but it’s what it is.”

Alice didn’t look impressed. “Still doesn’t answer the question. What do you want from JD?”

Veronica hesitated. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

“Wrong answer.”

Veronica crossed her arms. “He can make his own decisions, can’t he? It’s not like he’s dangerous.”

Alice scoffed softly. “No. JD just lights matches and watches to see who blinks before the fire catches. And you? You’re the gasoline.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Alice’s voice lowered, still edged but quieter now. “I don’t care what you are to him—crush, distraction, something else. But if you’re going to be close to my brother, you need to understand what kind of fuse you’re holding.”

Veronica looked away, then back. “He listens to you.”

“No,” Alice said. “He trusts me. That’s not the same.”

Alice shifted, spine straightening like a steel rod down her back.

She’d failed to protect one person already.

She wouldn’t fail again.

“If you want to help him, be honest—with him, and with yourself. Because if you don’t know what you want, you’ll end up being the reason he breaks.”

Veronica’s voice barely carried above the clamor down the hall. “Do you really think it’s that bad?”

Alice didn’t blink.

“I think we’re one mistake away from finding out.”

Then she turned and walked away, her steps even and certain, leaving Veronica alone in the long, fluorescent-lit hallway—quiet now, and full of questions.

Chapter Text

Heather McNamara balanced her tray, the cafeteria noise washing over her in waves of laughter and shouting she tried not to flinch at. Her head ached. She hadn’t slept well. She hadn’t slept well in months, but that wasn’t something you could say out loud at Westerburg.

She caught Martha Dunnstock’s eyes, trembling at the lunch line, and slipped the folded note onto her tray the way Heather Chandler had taught her. The way she was expected to. The way she hated.

“Just do it,” Heather Chandler had hissed earlier, her breath sharp with Diet Coke and mint. “Don’t think.”

Heather McNamara didn’t want to think.

She glanced up, looking for a quiet place to sit where Duke wouldn’t find her immediately, when her eyes caught on the new girl.

Alice Dean, she’d heard someone say. JD’s sister. New, quiet, sharp. Watching everything with a calm she didn’t trust.

Their eyes met across the cafeteria.

And for a moment—just a moment—it felt like everything around her stopped humming. Heather’s shoulders dropped. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the way Alice wasn’t glaring. Maybe it was the way Alice seemed tired, too, in a way Heather recognized.

Heather gave her a small, tentative nod, the corners of her mouth pulling upward just slightly, before she looked away to kneel and help a freshman who had dropped his tray.

She felt the weight of Alice’s eyes on her as she did, and for the first time that day, the tension in Heather’s chest loosened, just a fraction.

She didn’t know what that meant. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

Chapter Text

Veronica flinched as JD’s fist connected with Kurt’s jaw, the crack sharp enough to cut through the cafeteria noise. For a moment, everything stilled—like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Then chaos swallowed it whole.

Trays clattered. Someone screamed. A teacher yelled for them to stop.

Veronica watched, notebook pressed to her chest, as JD was dragged out by two staff members, his expression infuriatingly calm, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth even as blood trickled from the split on his lip. There was something in the way he held himself, shoulders loose, eyes steady, like he wasn’t sorry at all. Like he was alive in a way no one else in that cafeteria could understand.

Heather Chandler’s voice cut through the din, sharp and mocking. “Oh, how very dramatic.”

Veronica didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself to.

Instead, she backed away, slipping out of the cafeteria while everyone else was still buzzing over the fight.

She needed somewhere quiet.

She needed to think.

Veronica found an empty stairwell two floors up, the kind that always smelled like dusty tile and cheap bleach, where the air was cooler and the light came in slantwise through narrow windows. She sank down on the top step, pulling her journal from her bag with hands that still felt shaky. She flipped past pages of neat lines and doodles, past lists of homework she’d probably finish before the end of class, past half-written letters she knew she’d never send.

She pressed the pen to the page.

Jason Dean. New. Dangerous and beautiful in the way gasoline is beautiful when it catches light. Why did he swing first? Why did I want him to?

She paused, tapping the pen against the margin.

Heather thinks violence is tacky. She would call him trash. Maybe he is. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about him. The way he looked at me when I asked that question in the cafeteria—like it mattered. Like I mattered. Even though it was a stupid question, he looked at me like I wasn’t.

She swallowed, pressing the pen harder against the paper.

I can’t stop seeing that smirk. The way he didn’t flinch when they dragged him away. The way he looked right at me, like it was a secret we shared. Like he already knew me, and I wanted him to.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her heart trip over itself.

Sometimes I think about leaving. About getting on a bus to anywhere else. About becoming someone else. But I’m still here, writing notes for Heather, keeping my head down, pretending I’m okay with it. I don’t know who I am without her. I don’t know who I am with her, either.

But he looked at me like I could be something more.

She clicked the pen shut, pressing the journal to her chest.

Somewhere down the hallway, a bell rang, but Veronica didn’t move. She let herself breathe, just for a moment, in the quiet.

She thought of JD’s smirk, the blood on his lip, the way his eyes had found hers even as they dragged him away. The way her breath had caught in her throat. The way she wanted to kiss him, right then, right there, with the whole world watching.

She closed her eyes.

And for just a second, she let herself imagine what it would feel like to set the whole damn world on fire—and walk away with him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Home Life and String Cheese

Alice – POV

The Dean household had a particular silence.

Not the peaceful kind, but the strained, hollow kind that hung around like mold. It settled heavier when their dad hadn’t come home, which was often. New house, same pattern. Absence wasn’t new—just wearing a different zip code.

Alice stood in the kitchen with the fridge door open, staring inside like it might magically grow something edible if she glared hard enough. It didn’t. One of them was going to have to go to the grocery store soon, but she didn’t want to be the first to admit it.

“Great, Dad,” she muttered. “You can find someone to help us move, but not someone to buy groceries?”

She shut the door harder than necessary, just to hear something break the quiet.

“Guess who’s eating string cheese and mustard again,” she called over her shoulder.

JD was sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling like he was waiting for it to blink first. His foot tapped against the floor, the only sign he was even awake.

“No one if I set the fridge on fire,” he muttered back.

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, letting her eyes rest on him. JD could ignore a lot of things—teachers, curfews, expectations—but he rarely ignored her. Today, though, he was trying.

“So… one-week suspension. Worth it?” she asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“You gonna tell me what it felt like to punch a varsity linebacker?”

“I didn’t punch him.”

“Yeah, you did.”

JD finally looked at her, eyes dry, voice flat. “No, I punched the quarterback. I only head-butted the linebacker.”

Alice tossed a dish towel at him. “You’re a dumbass.”

He caught it lazily and let it drop to the floor without comment, eyes drifting back toward the ceiling.

“They’re only giving you a week because you nearly bruised the school’s future NFL MVPs,” she said, pushing.

“Tragic,” JD said, dripping sarcasm. “Hope the scouts don’t dock him for emotional trauma.”

“You were showing off,” Alice shot back. “For Veronica.”

JD’s lips twitched, but he didn’t look at her. “Who?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stretched, arms behind his head. “She’s the one you made moon-eyes at before verbally castrating Kurt Kelly.”

“That was for me,” JD said, finally meeting her gaze, a spark of defiance in his eyes. “I like a little chaos with my lunch.”

Alice didn’t laugh. She let the words hang between them, heavy and familiar. “You like her. What happened to not getting involved with anyone? Didn’t you once say it’s a waste of time because by the time the relationship goes anywhere, it’s already time to leave?”

JD’s eyes shuttered, and he didn’t answer.

The silence between them grew thick, pressing against Alice’s ribs. She held his gaze, waiting for something he wouldn’t give.

Without a word, JD stood abruptly, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair.

“We’re out of food,” he said, not quite looking at her. “Dad’s off the radar again. Want to hit 7-Eleven?”

Alice grabbed her jacket, pulling it tight around her shoulders. “Only if I get first pick of Slurpee flavor.”

“You always pick cherry and then say it tastes like regret,” JD muttered as he opened the door.
“That’s because it does.”

Outside, dusk had fallen.
The air was dry and crisp, threading itself into her sleeves and clinging there. Streetlights flickered on with a mechanical hum, casting halos on the cracked pavement.

Alice stepped off the porch, JD trailing beside her, walking his motorcycle instead of riding it. He looked straight ahead, like he was pretending not to think. She didn’t push him.

They walked in silence, boots crunching on stray gravel, the low buzz of streetlights filling in the empty spaces between them. A dog barked somewhere down the street.

“You really gonna try to talk me into the bike again?” Alice asked, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

JD gave her a sidelong glance, his mouth twitching. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You love that death trap.”

“I love the way it doesn’t talk back.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “That’s because it’s a machine. Doesn’t mean it’s safe.”

He smirked but didn’t argue.

They crossed into the next block, where the streetlights seemed to buzz louder, like they knew something was coming.

“Just admit it,” she said suddenly, “you were showing off. In the cafeteria.”

They walked a few more steps before he answered.

“And if I was?”

Alice didn’t stop walking, but her shoulders stiffened. “That’s what you said last time.”

She saw him flinch in the corner of her eye, like she’d slapped him. She didn’t take it back.

They walked the rest of the block in silence.

Alice looked up, watching the sky bleed from blue to black. Somewhere, kids were getting ready for dances and parties, college applications and dates—anything but this.

JD stopped walking, swinging his leg over the motorcycle.

“I’m gonna ride ahead,” he muttered, his voice low. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay,” she said, letting him go.

She watched the taillight disappear around the corner, the rumble of the engine fading into the cold.

Alice still remembered what happened last time.

They’d been younger, in another town, when a girl down the street took an interest in JD. Too pretty, too polished, too good at pretending to care. JD had trusted her completely, believed her smiles and promises.

It turned out she was playing a game. A cruel prank meant to humiliate him, building him up just to tear him back down.

Alice hadn’t seen the signs. She’d let that girl get too close. Let her hurt JD in a way that was worse than their mother’s death.

She wouldn’t let that happen again.

Not to JD.

Not if she could stop it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Title: Cherry and Regret

JD – POV

The fluorescent lights of the 7-Eleven buzzed overhead like they were annoyed to be alive. JD leaned against the Slurpee machine, arms crossed, pretending to study the flavor options when, in truth, he didn’t feel like drinking anything. He was only here because he’d agreed with Alice on the lack of food at home. And because sitting alone, staring at the living room ceiling, felt like waiting for a storm that wouldn’t come.

He’d take noise over silence. Neon over darkness.

And if he was being honest—a glance, a smile, a brush of her hand in the air—he’d take Veronica Sawyer over any of it.

The bell over the door jingled.

JD glanced up—and froze.

Veronica Sawyer walked in like she didn’t belong here, which, in a way, she didn’t. Not in this half-lit limbo of stale nacho cheese and crushed candy wrappers. Her hair was perfect. Her mouth looked like she was holding back either a sigh or a smirk.

JD straightened, but not enough to look eager. Couldn’t look eager.

She spotted him. Hesitated just a fraction. Then walked over like it was nothing.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, her tone halfway between curious and amused.

JD tilted his head, casual. “That makes two of us.”

Her smile was subtle, but it curled at the edge like it might catch fire if it lingered. “So, you’re suspended?”

“Apparently threatening a football player’s ego is against the Geneva Convention,” he said.

She laughed. It hit him harder than he’d admit. Like warmth and warning all at once. He found himself leaning in, just a fraction, to catch it again.

“Nice,” she said, reaching for a bag of Corn Nuts. “Heather sent me in for these. She’s in the car. According to her, it’s not a party without them.”

“Brutal,” JD muttered.

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Remington party.”

“That sounds like a nightmare.”

“It’s… tradition,” she said with a shrug, her expression showing she didn’t disagree before her eyes drifted, lost in her own thoughts.

JD watched her fingers tighten around the snack bag, the way her eyes flickered away like she was somewhere else for a moment. “You could skip it.”

She didn’t respond right away.

“I mean, unless you enjoy fake smiles, flat beer, and the opportunity to fend off drunk college guys in pastel polos.”

Veronica hesitated just long enough for him to notice before she spoke. “I promised I’d go. She’ll kill me if I back out now.”

He nodded like he understood. Like he hadn’t just felt the floor begin to open beneath him.

“You don’t have to keep proving yourself to people who’ll never care.”

That one landed. He could see it in the way her mouth twitched, unsure whether to frown or smile. She didn’t answer. She just turned and walked toward the counter to pay for Heather’s snacks.

JD watched her go, something sour rising in his throat.

“Hey,” he called before she was too far away.

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“If you ever want to ditch a party in favor of Slurpees and the slow decline of Western civilization… you know where to find me.”

Her expression softened. Just a little.

“I might take you up on that,” she said, giving him a quick wave.

Then she was gone. Bell jingling in her wake. The echo of her perfume lingered a beat too long in the air, sticking to the inside of his ribs.

JD turned back to the Slurpee machine, filled a cup with cherry, and took a sip.

It was too sweet. Too red.

It did taste like regret.

Or maybe it tasted like wanting something he wasn’t supposed to want.

Chapter Text

Chapter Title: bad lighting and nachos
Alice – POV
The 7-Eleven buzzed with bad lighting and worse music.

Alice spotted JD’s motorcycle flopped against the curb like a sulking dog. Then she saw the convertible—sleek, red, and ostentatious in a way only Heather Chandler could be.

Of course.

She ducked inside just in time to hear Heather shouting through the car window, “God, Veronica, go get the Corn Nuts or I swear I’m going to bleed out from a lack of salt!”

Inside, the air reeked of nacho cheese and lost hope.

Alice caught sight of JD and Veronica by the coolers. She ducked behind a rack of jerky, her stomach tensing.

JD leaned in a little too close, his posture relaxed in that way it only got when he felt understood.

“So, you’re suspended,” Veronica said with a smirk.

“Apparently threatening a football player’s ego is against the Geneva Convention,” JD replied.

Alice rolled her eyes but couldn’t unclench her jaw.

JD had that look—like he’d found something worth setting fire to the rest of the world for.

It wasn’t the first time.

She’d been seven when she realized something was wrong with their mom. Seven when the wrong silence filled the air, and JD had looked too young to understand what he’d lost. Their mother had told Alice to be strong. To protect him. That was one promise Alice hadn’t broken. Wouldn’t break.

And now?

Alice had scared off more than one girl with a look. It wasn’t possessiveness—it was precaution. Their mom hadn’t trusted the world to protect JD. So Alice did.

When Veronica turned to leave, JD called after her:

“If you ever want to ditch a party in favor of Slurpees and the slow decline of Western civilization… you know where to find me.”

If Veronica answered, Alice didn’t hear it.

She watched Veronica leave, waited a beat, then stepped into view.

“She’s still going?” she asked, voice dry.

JD didn’t turn around. He just handed Alice the Slurpee blindly.

Alice took a quick sip before handing it back. “Let’s go home.”

After they finished their purchases, they walked in silence, the cold sugar drink sweating between her fingers. The sky was starting to tint violet—one of those in-between hours where nothing looked right, and the world felt like it could tip sideways if you breathed wrong.

At the porch, JD unlocked the front door, but Alice lingered, watching him.

She looked at him—really looked—and decided.

“Actually,” she muttered, brushing past him and heading for the drawer with the phone book. “I think I’m going to go crash a party.”

JD raised an eyebrow, halfway through taking off his helmet. “Really?”

She nodded. “I have a feeling it’s going to be interesting.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Smoke and Mirrors

Alice – POV

After a not-so-quick scan of the phone book and a local map—one perk of the never-ending relocation loop was lots of practice navigating new towns—Alice found herself driving down a road lined with frat houses. Fortunately, not all of them were throwing parties tonight. It didn’t take long to spot Heather Chandler’s car.

She pulled over, cut the engine, and took a breath.

Just a party, she told herself. Find out what you need about the girl, then leave. Ten-minute recon. What’s the worst that could happen?

Alice adjusted her jacket and stepped out, eyes sharp, shoulders squared.

The house was already throbbing with bass and bad decisions.

A cluster of college guys lounged on the porch, chain-smoking Marlboros and drinking cheap beer out of glass mugs. The air stank of cigarettes, sweat, and testosterone. The cologne and Aqua Net weren’t winning the fight.

Alice climbed the steps like she belonged—even though she was the only girl not poured into acid-washed shorts or a skin-tight stretch dress.

Inside, it was wall-to-wall noise. Music roared from upstairs. Girls squealed. Guys shouted over them. The air smelled like bravado and regret.

She slipped past a group of frat boys arguing over a Polaroid and ducked into the hazy kitchen.

That’s when she saw her.

Veronica.

Near the fridge, beer mug in hand, mascara slightly smudged. She looked like she was trying not to be noticed—but also like she was waiting to be.

Veronica put her drink down and idly flicked a match. Then another. Alice’s eyes narrowed as she watched the girl burn her finger and drop the match into a nearby drink… which promptly ignited. Veronica dumped it in the sink like it was nothing.

No one else noticed.

But Alice did.

She hovered in the doorway, half-hidden behind a curling David Lee Roth poster taped to the pantry door.

She wasn’t here to make a scene—just to see. To find out if this girl her brother was slowly circling like a lit fuse was going to explode on her own… or take JD with her.

She smiled when people passed, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

You’re scared, Alice realized. You’re scared, and you’re trying to look like you’re not.

Then Heather Chandler stormed through the kitchen in expensive shoes, leaning in close to Veronica. Her voice was low but sharp enough for Alice to catch pieces of it over the music:

“Brad’s been looking for you, Veronica,” Heather hissed. “Don’t make him think you’re playing hard to get.”

Veronica’s shoulders stiffened, her hand tightening around her drink.

Heather’s lip curled into a cold, sugary smile. “Don’t be ungrateful.”

And just like that, Heather swept back out of the kitchen..

That’s when he slid in.

Tall. Dark polo. Grin like a wolf.

He boxed Veronica in with one arm braced on the counter, leaning a little too close. She didn’t move away.

Not yet.

Alice inched closer, trying to catch their conversation, her gut twisting. JD’s face flashed in her mind—softening for this girl, trusting her.

Alice had scared off more than one girl before and would do it again if she had to. If she didn’t protect her brother, who would? But was she protecting JD from the world—or the world from JD? Was there even a difference?

And now, JD had another girl in his orbit, and Alice wasn’t ready to lose him again.

The guy leaned in.

“I have a little prepared speech I give when my suitor wants more than I’d like to give him…” Veronica began. “Gee, Blank, I had a nice—”

“Save the speeches for Malcolm X,” he cut in. “I just wanna get laid.”

A beat. Veronica didn’t even blink. “You don’t deserve my fucking speech.” She slapped him across the face.

The slap cracked through the kitchen, silencing the noise around them. All eyes turned toward Veronica and the guy.

His face went red as he reeled back, growling before storming off.

Alice’s fists clenched in her pockets, but she didn’t move. Not yet.

Heather reappeared in the chaos.

“What’s your damage? Brad says you’re being a real cooze.”

Veronica’s voice trembled. “Heather, I feel awful. Like I’m going to throw up. Can we jam, please?”

Heather snorted. “No. Hell no.”

Veronica straightened—and then vomited.

Right in front of Heather Chandler.

Gasps. A few stifled laughs. Then chaos.

Veronica ran.

Alice followed, keeping her distance, steps silent but fast.

She got to the alley just in time to hear the voices go nuclear.

“You stupid cunt!” Heather screamed.

“You goddamn bitch!” Veronica shouted back.

“You were nothing before me!” Heather hissed. “You were playing Barbies with Betty Finn! A Girl Scout cookie! I got you into Remington! And you thank me with puke?!”

Veronica didn’t flinch. “Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.”

Heather’s voice dropped to ice. “Monday morning, you’re history.”

She disappeared into the dark.

Veronica stood alone, trembling—but upright.

Alice didn’t follow immediately.

She watched as Veronica turned, kicking off her shoes to avoid stumbling, arms wrapped tight around her as she walked away like she had nowhere to go but refused to stop.

JD’s girl, Alice thought.

But something inside her shifted.

This girl had fire.

And Alice wasn’t sure if that made her more dangerous—or exactly what JD needed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4.1: Walk of the Uninvited
Veronica – POV

Heather’s voice dropped, venomous and final.

“Monday morning, you’re history. I’ll tell everyone. Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerburg’s going to let you play their reindeer games.”

The words landed like stones. Veronica didn’t flinch—but not because she was brave. Because she couldn’t move.

Heather turned without waiting for a response and disappeared into the alley shadows like some nightmare from a picture book. The kind of monster they never warned you would wear lip gloss and laugh like that.

Veronica stood there, alone now. Glass-eyed. Shaking.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream.

She just took off her heels and started walking.

Each step felt like it could crack the earth open beneath her, but she didn’t stop. Her bare feet slapped against the cold pavement, shoes dangling from her fingers like useless ornaments. She probably should have worn a jacket or something. She had survived worse. Her breath fogged in the air. She didn’t notice. Or maybe she wanted to feel something sharp.

She was already half a block away when the door slammed behind her.

She didn’t hear the car door open, didn’t see the headlights. But she heard the voice.

“You know,” it said dryly, “this isn’t the safest walk.”

Veronica didn’t even look. “Don’t care.”

The car crept beside her.

“Just let me give you a ride,” the voice said.

Veronica kept walking. Gravel dug into her heel. She stumbled into a lamppost and muttered a curse.

“Where do you live?” the voice asked again.

Veronica waved her heels vaguely. “Somewhere. Over there. Or maybe not there. The sky looks different than I remember.” She turned to look at the driver and struggled to put the face with a name.

The driver’s sigh cut through the dark. “Alright. You’re coming with me.”

Veronica paused. “Where?”

“My place.”

“Why?”

They didn’t answer right away, just drove slowly to match Veronica’s staggering pace.

“Because you can’t even pronounce Remington right now,” she said finally. “And if you throw up on another queen bee tonight, you might end up on an actual hit list.”

Veronica squinted, finally remembering the face to match the name.

“You’re JD’s sister, aren’t you?”

Alice nodded.

“You don’t like me.”

Another nod.

“So… why help me?”

Alice hesitated. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Then she shrugged. “Because I’m not Heather Chandler. So just get in the car and try not to puke in it.”

Veronica didn’t argue. Her legs were shaking.

She climbed into the passenger seat and let the exhaustion take over. The hum of the engine blurred into the buzz in her ears.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep. She awoke to Alice lightly nudging her shoulder.

“You can crash on the couch. Don’t touch the stereo. And if you puke on anything, I’m making you clean it up tomorrow.” Alice’s tone was firm but not unkind.

Veronica peeled her eyes open and managed a crooked, slurred smile. “You’re nicer than you pretend to be.”

Alice just raised an eyebrow. “And you’re a lot more lost than you act.”

Veronica didn’t argue.

She curled up on the couch, shoes still in hand. Everything felt muffled, like the world had been turned down to low volume.

In a quiet house, two broken people fell asleep under the same roof, neither knowing what morning would bring—or what it would take from them next.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Nightwatch (JD-POV)

JD was awake.

He usually found it hard to sleep in new places—too many creaks, unfamiliar shadows. But this house still smelled like cardboard and wood dust, and tonight felt heavier than most, like the air hadn’t decided what it wanted to be yet.

His run-in with Veronica had left something buzzing under his skin. She didn’t like her friends—he could see that clear as day—but she hadn’t left them. Not yet. Not for him. And with his suspension, he probably wasn’t going to see her anytime soon, unless fate felt generous. Or cruel.

Once again, staring at the ceiling wasn’t giving him answers, so he got up. Maybe the fridge still held its majestic offerings of string cheese and mustard.

The hallway creaked under his bare feet, the quiet kind of deep that made you feel like you were sneaking through a memory. He passed the coat rack, rounded the corner—

And froze.

There she was.

Veronica Sawyer. Curled up on the couch.

Her knees tucked in, one arm flung over her face like even in sleep she was trying to hide. Her shoes dropped on the floor beside her like they were in her hands before she had fallen asleep.

JD stood there, caught in some kind of stillness. The kind that sneaks up behind your ribs.

He stepped closer. Crouched down.

“Veronica,” he whispered, looking at her like she would disappear if he closed his eyes.

She stirred, barely. “Mmm?”

“It’s just me. JD.”

She blinked. “Am I dead?”

He gave a quiet snort. “Not unless the afterlife’s full of unpacked boxes and lukewarm Slurpees.”

She smiled. Barely. Then winced and shifted.

On the side table sat a glass of water, two Tylenol, and a sticky note with Alice’s scrawl:

Try not to barf on anything.

JD shook his head.

Of course Alice had done that. Of course she’d taken Veronica in, despite her suspicions.

“She really did all this?” Veronica asked, voice scratchy.

“She’s got a mean streak and a conscience. It’s deeply inconvenient for everyone involved.”

Veronica sighed. “The party was a disaster.”

He studied her, unsure if he wanted the full story or just the space between the words.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Let’s just say I’m done with Heather.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a big thing to say in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not just the night talking.”

“You’re sure?”

“I threw up on Heather Chandler’s shoes and made her look bad.”

He blinked. “That’s a strong opening argument.”

She closed her eyes again, groaning softly. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of being useful to someone cruel.”

JD nodded but said nothing.

He sat on the floor beside her, legs stretched out in front of him, the glow from the streetlight cutting lines across the living room floor. He didn’t try to fix it. Just stayed.

And after a while, her breathing slowed.

He tilted his head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. The drywall up there didn’t have answers either, but it gave him room to think.

There’d been another girl. Back in Illinois.

She’d smiled a lot. Always said hi when others didn’t. She’d laughed at his jokes—even the ones that weren’t funny.

JD had let himself believe it was real. That maybe, just maybe, someone liked him without Alice screening them first.

She’d asked him to a bonfire.

Turned out it was a setup. Some sick prank with beer, bets, and whispered dares. He’d been the punchline.

Alice had found out. That girl never looked him in the eye again—not after whatever Alice said to her behind the gym.

JD never asked. He didn’t want to know.

But ever since, Alice had been… vigilant.

Scaring girls off with one glance. Screening every smile like it might explode.

She wasn’t possessive—she was prepared. Their mom had asked her to watch out for him Apparently; And even after everything, Alice still took that job seriously.

JD didn’t always think he needed protecting.

But sometimes… sometimes, he was wrong.

And now, here was Veronica. Not smiling out of pity. Not looking at him like he was a broken toy or a warning sign.

Just… looking.

He glanced at her again, curled on the couch like she didn’t quite know how to rest. The late September chill was creeping in through the windows, and she looked cold. Stubborn girl. Should have worn a jacket.

He thought about the way she’d laughed in the 7-Eleven, about the heat in her voice when she said she was done with Heather.

She wasn’t like the girl who hurt him.

She didn’t seem like the type to be cruel for sport. But that didn’t make her safe.

Not to him.

Not yet.

Still, she was here.

And he wasn’t trying to make her leave.

“You’re falling for her,” that annoying voice in his head whispered again.

He didn’t argue.

JD glanced around the room, catching sight of his trench coat draped over the arm of the chair where he’d tossed it earlier that evening.

She looked cold. Stubborn girl. Should have worn a jacket.

Without leaving her side, he reached over and picked up the coat, shaking it out once before carefully draping it over Veronica’s sleeping form. The fabric settled around her shoulders, swallowing her small frame in dark wool.

She shifted, a quiet sigh escaping her lips, but didn’t wake. Instead, she curled a little tighter beneath the coat, as if she could feel the warmth even in sleep.

JD sat back down on the floor beside the couch, close enough to hear her breathing, close enough to feel like he was guarding something fragile and maybe worth believing in.

Morning would come too soon.

But for now?

He wasn’t in a rush to set the world on fire.

Not if she was in it.

Chapter Text

Chapter Title: What Comes After
POV: Alice

Alice was already awake.

She’d been up for an hour, pacing the kitchen, rerunning the night like a tape she could rewind and re-edit if she just tried hard enough. But every time she circled back, the conclusion stayed the same:

Veronica Sawyer. On her couch.

JD, looking at her like she was the answer to some question Alice didn’t know he’d been asking.

That alone was enough to make her uneasy. But it wasn’t just the look.
It was the silence.
The softness.

JD didn’t get soft—not unless it was real.
And if it was real, it would bleed.

She leaned against the counter, coffee mug cooling in her hands, staring toward the living room like it might explode.

She shouldn’t have offered her the ride. Should’ve let Veronica wander off into the night and learn her lesson on a stranger’s floor. But she hadn’t.
And now?

Now the fallout was hers.

Veronica had taken up space like she belonged—shoes off, curled up under JD’s trench coat.

He must’ve covered her himself. And then fallen asleep on the floor beside her. Not just near. Right next to her. Like he was keeping watch. Or maybe afraid she’d disappear before morning.

He’d gone still in that way that meant something inside him had shifted.
And Alice wasn’t sure she’d be able to shift it back.

She finished her coffee and took a long, too-hot shower, scrubbing harder than necessary. Tried to feel normal again in jeans and a threadbare favorite tee. But when she came back downstairs, towel still around her shoulders, the house was too quiet.

The living room was empty.

The empty glass of water and her note were still there.
But Veronica was gone.
And so was JD.

Alice’s gut tightened.

She stepped forward slowly, like the air might break if she moved too fast. That’s when she saw it—folded neatly on the counter near the coffee maker.

She didn’t need to pick it up to know who it was from.
But she did anyway.

The handwriting was JD’s: slanted, careful, trying too hard to look like it didn’t care.

Went out with your charity case. Don’t worry—no one’s been murdered yet. –J

Alice stared at it. Then set it down like it might catch fire.

The silence around her wasn’t peaceful anymore.
It was hollow.
Buzzing with all the things she hadn’t said, all the warnings she didn’t want to give voice to.

No plan.
No message.
Just that note.

Wherever JD and Veronica had gone, they’d gone together.

And Alice had the sick, sinking feeling that whatever came next…
It wasn’t something she could stop.

She picked up her mug again.
Cold. Bitter.

She took a sip anyway and muttered under her breath:

“Of course it’s a girl.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 Big Blue (POV JD and Veronica)

POV: Veronica

Morning sun filtered through the early haze, casting long shadows across the streets of Sherwood. The ride to Heather Chandler’s house felt longer than it should have.

Veronica had taken this route before—on foot, in Heather’s gleaming convertible, once even alone in the rain. But never like this. Never with her arms wrapped tightly around JD’s chest, his coat rough against her cheek, clinging to the back of a motorcycle as the wind howled around them.

There wasn’t much talking. Only the occasional pull to the shoulder so she could shout a street name near his ear. The rest was movement—fast, exposed, untethered.

What surprised her wasn’t the fear. It was the comfort.

Riding like this meant closeness. Physical and immediate. She could feel the steady rhythm of JD’s breathing, the faint shift of his muscles each time they turned. And there was the scent—familiar and strange all at once. Some mix of smoke, tobacco, and something cleaner—maybe cologne, maybe deodorant. Whatever it was, it clung to his coat, and with every breath, it pulled her deeper into a quiet calm she didn’t expect to find.

By the time they turned onto Heather’s street, her chest was tight in a way she couldn’t blame on anxiety alone.

JD cut the engine outside the Chandler house. The silence that followed made her ears ring.

Heather’s BMW sat in the driveway like a chrome sneer dressed in red.

Veronica slid off the bike, the motion jarring her back to the moment. She looked at JD. He didn’t say anything—just met her gaze with quiet focus.

She nodded.

They walked to the front door together. Veronica knocked.

No answer.

She tried the handle. Unlocked. Of course.

The air inside was cold. Still. The house looked like a set—perfect, polished, empty. Like Heather had taken all the real with her when she left last night and never bothered to come back.

In the kitchen, Veronica eyed the fridge. “I should give her something that’ll make her puke. Orange juice and milk?”

JD smirked faintly and lifted a bottle of industrial-strength drain cleaner off the windowsill—label faded, cap crusted.

“Big fan of Big Blue, myself.”

She shot him a dry look. “Not funny.”

“She’d never drink something that looked like that,” Veronica said, laughing—nervously.

JD calmly poured it into a ceramic mug identical to the one Veronica was using.

“Then we’ll use a mug.”

He held it out. She didn’t take it. They were standing too close. JD looked at her and placed the mug down.

Then he kissed her.

And to his quiet surprise, Veronica kissed him back.

When they parted, her face was flushed—but she didn’t move away.

Without saying anything, she picked up a mug.

And walked toward Heather’s room.

POV: JD

JD stood in the kitchen, still half-dazed from the kiss. He hadn’t expected her to kiss him back—not really. He had done it on impulse and meant it as just a quick kiss. But not only had she kissed him back but had deepened it as well. Now, something buzzed under his skin. A warmth. A warning.
He turned to the counter expecting to see two mugs. But only seeing one. He did remember her picking one up. He took a look at the remaining mug expecting to see the blue liquid he had poured. But only seeing one containing a yellowish white substance.

“Veronica!” he barked, already running.

The thud was heavier than the scream.

By the time JD reached the bedroom, Heather Chandler lay sprawled on the floor.

The mug was empty.

Veronica was frozen.

POV: Veronica

Veronica stared at Heather’s body, unmoving. The mug slipped from her fingers and rolled toward the dresser.

“She—she just—” she gasped.

JD stepped forward. “Veronica.”

“She drank it, JD. I didn’t mean—”

“Veronica. Look at me.”

His voice was low. Steady. He turned her face toward him—firm, not rough.

“She’s gone,” he said. “We can’t change that.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.”

A beat passed. The air felt frozen.

“But what we do next? That’s still up to us.”

Veronica blinked. “We didn’t plan this.”

“I know. But no one else does.”

He crouched, wiped the mug’s handle clean, and placed it back on the tray.

“Go to the bathroom. Wet your face. When you come back, we’ll write the note.”

She hesitated. Then nodded.

She returned damp-faced, red-eyed. Not crying. Just… hollowed out.

JD went to Heather’s desk. A variety of stationery was already laid out, like she’d started drafting something—maybe a letter, maybe a goodbye—and hadn’t finished. He flipped through the options like he was choosing wine, his fingers pausing briefly on the red with gold trim.

“Red with gold trim,” he said. “Very queen bee.”

“You know her handwriting, right?” he asked.

Veronica nodded, took the seat, and began to write.

She mimicked Heather’s scrawl with practiced ease. Even added a fake draft.

“Help me get her in position,” she said when she finished.

They adjusted Heather’s body—made it look like she collapsed trying to sit down. JD placed the note on the bed.

Veronica stared at it. “I didn’t mean to kill her.”

JD turned toward her.

“But we did.”

Then, more gently: “And now we write the ending.”

Chapter Text

POV: Alice

Alice didn’t want to go to the store.

But the fridge had officially entered its final, tragic stage: string cheese, random mustard packets, and a box of baking soda that had probably lost its freshness during the Nixon administration.

So yeah. Grocery run. Or escape. Either worked.

She grabbed the house key, shoved a shopping list into her back pocket, and left without saying anything. If JD and Veronica managed to set the place on fire while she was gone, she’d accept that as divine intervention.

The store was too bright. Too clean. The kind of place where nothing bad ever happened and people still asked about coupons.

Alice pushed her cart through the aisles on autopilot. Milk. Cereal. Bread. Pasta. Something vaguely green so she wouldn’t hate herself later. Just because JD was okay with surviving on food from 7-Eleven didn’t mean she was. She was still trying to figure out how he hadn’t gotten scurvy yet.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice how fast she was going until she turned into the soda aisle and nearly slammed into someone else.

“Alice?”

She froze.

Heather McNamara stood in front of her, holding a basket of frozen dinners and a roll of paper towels. Her voice was cautious but not unkind—like she wasn’t sure if they were supposed to know each other or not.

Alice blinked. “Hey.”

Heather gave a small smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, like… sneak up on you.”

“You didn’t,” Alice said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

There was a pause.

They weren’t friends. Barely acquaintances. Just two people who’d occupied the same high school orbit—Alice at the fringe, Heather somewhere near the glittering center. They’d made eye contact in hallways. Shared awkward glances in gym. That was about it.

“I didn’t know you shopped here,” Heather said, like she was trying to say anything.

Alice shrugged. “Fridge is empty. Someone had to fix that.”

“Let me guess. Ketchup and baking soda?”

That almost got a smile. Almost.

“Close. We still have string cheese,” Alice muttered. “Not exactly a balanced breakfast.”

Heather hesitated, then added gently, “You doing okay?”

Alice paused, brow furrowing. The question caught her off guard.

“I just meant,” Heather continued quickly, “first week at a new school sucks.”

“Oh.” Alice nodded once, slowly. “Yeah. You’re not wrong.”

Heather tilted her head. “Your brother’s JD, right? The guy from the cafeteria? The one who got into it with Kurt and Ram?”

Alice nodded again. “That’s the one.”

Heather raised her eyebrows, but didn’t press.

“I spend a lot of time trying to keep him out of trouble,” Alice said, softer now. “Doesn’t always work.”

Heather’s expression shifted—something between curiosity and sympathy. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Alice said simply.

There was a pause, then she added, “I should finish shopping.”

Heather nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

Another beat.

Then Heather said, quieter, handing her a folded note, “If you ever want to, like… talk or whatever… here’s my number.”

Alice took it and slipped it into her pocket.

They didn’t say goodbye.

But Alice’s cart felt a little lighter as she pushed it down the next aisle.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7.2 – Tab and Receipts
POV: Heather McNamara

The porch light buzzed overhead as Heather shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She rang the doorbell again. Still no answer.

Heather Duke had told her to meet up around six, but the house was dark. No note. No call. Just silence. Again.

Heather McNamara stepped back and glanced up at the second-story windows—nothing. She waited another minute, then gave up.

Figures.

She made her way home, trying not to think too hard—about the messages she’d left, about how Duke hadn’t returned them. About how Veronica had said she’d call today—and hadn’t. She’d tried phoning Veronica’s house. Her mom said she was still over at Heather Chandler’s.

But she wasn’t answering there either.

Heather flopped onto the couch, dropped her purse at her feet, and stared blankly at the TV without turning it on.

She couldn’t shake the feeling—like everyone had suddenly decided not to include her, and just hadn’t bothered to let her know. Like she’d missed a memo.

It wasn’t a new feeling. But it hit different tonight.

After a while, she stood up and pulled her coat off the hook near the door. Maybe she’d go out. Maybe just to the gas station for gum or one of those strawberry milk cartons. Maybe a slice of pizza. She didn’t want to sit still.

As she slipped her hand into her coat pocket, her fingers brushed something crumpled.

A receipt.

She pulled it out and smoothed it flat against her thigh.
Tab. Diet Coke. Party pizza. Aqua Net. Lip Smackers. Big Red gum.

From earlier. From the store. From aisle seven.

From Alice.

Her expression shifted—softening before she even realized it. She hadn’t meant to say much at the time. Just a quiet “Are you okay?” in the soda aisle. But the way Alice had blinked at her—like no one had asked her that in months—had stuck.
Had anyone asked her, either?

Heather Duke rolled her eyes every time Heather McNamara spoke up. Chandler only listened when it was convenient. Veronica… well, Veronica was new. A wildcard. And half the time, she seemed more interested in arguing than connecting. Even Duke had been acting off lately.

Now, staring at the receipt, Heather realized something: she hadn’t gotten Alice’s number.

She’d handed over hers like it was nothing, scribbled on the back of a homework pass. But Alice hadn’t offered hers back. Hadn’t said she’d call.

Maybe she wouldn’t.

Heather crumpled the receipt again and shoved it back in her pocket. She reached for her purse, hesitating.

She didn’t know what kind of person Alice was yet. Just that when they’d run into each other, it had felt… real. Easier than most things in her life lately. Maybe even the first honest interaction she’d had in days.

She stepped outside and let the door fall shut behind her.

There was still time to go to the pizza place.
Maybe Alice would call.
Maybe she’d leave a message on the machine.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Is This What We Are Now?
POV – Veronica

The ride back to JD’s house was quiet—too quiet, considering what had just happened.

No sirens. No helicopters. No screaming neighbors. Just morning birds and the occasional barking dog. Ordinary sounds, wrapped around something unthinkable.

The world had no idea Heather Chandler was lying lifeless in her bedroom.

And Veronica?
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Her arms were still wrapped tightly around JD, her cheek pressed to the back of his coat. There was comfort in the closeness. The guilt rising in her chest didn’t dull the tightness building inside her.

There was tightness, yes—but not panic.
Something quieter.
Relief, curling low in her lungs like smoke.

She felt bad.
Just… not as bad as she thought she should.

And that scared her.

She hated how clear-headed she was. Like Heather’s death had severed some invisible cord that had been wrapped around her spine for years.

JD hadn’t said much. He didn’t need directions, and talking over the engine would’ve been useless anyway. He seemed calm—unnervingly so. Like he was playing the part of someone unaffected.

But every now and then, she thought she felt his pulse spike.
Or maybe it was hers.

Instead of thinking too hard, her mind wandered—to last night. Alice’s quiet car. The sting of gravel. The taste of vodka and cheap beer. The words she’d muttered—hadn’t she?

I want Heather Chandler to disappear.

Had she actually said I want her dead?

She’d felt it. That hot, vengeful wish. She’d planned to write it out—just vent it on paper. Rage in ink.
But had she spoken it aloud?

She didn’t know.
And the not-knowing clung to her like static.

What if JD had heard?
What if he’d taken it as permission?

What if—

The engine cut.

Veronica blinked and realized she was still clinging to him like a life raft.

“You okay?” JD asked, glancing over his shoulder.

She released him slowly. “Yeah,” she lied, dismounting.

POV – JD

The ride home had stretched longer than it should have.

JD had taken the shortest route he knew. He was still relatively new to the area, but he’d done enough aimless riding to memorize the streets.

He had messed up.

Not in theory. Not in some detached, philosophical way he could twist into a metaphor.

This was real.
Heather Chandler was dead.
And he had handed Veronica the mug.

He hadn’t meant for that. Had he?

Destroying himself? That had always been a matter of when, not if.
But Veronica?

Would she ever forgive him?

And he’d kissed her.
God.

What kind of person kisses a girl, hands her a murder weapon, and lets her walk away smiling?

Apparently… him.

She was still holding on, though. Arms tight around his ribs. Breathing steady. Not running. Not screaming.

And somehow, that made everything worse.
Because it meant she still trusted him.

Or maybe didn’t know how not to.

POV – Veronica

The front door clicked shut behind them.

The silence inside the house wrapped around her like fog—thick and still.

It smelled like stale coffee and detergent. Moving boxes still lined the walls like half-finished thoughts.

She slipped off her shoes and curled her toes into the worn carpet.

No sirens. No questions.
No Heather.

And the world hadn’t ended.

The sky hadn’t cracked open.
Her chest hadn’t caved in.

Instead, a strange, awful lightness bloomed—half relief, half guilt.
A hollow space where fear had been.

From the kitchen: “Coffee?” JD called.

She heard the clink of mugs. A cupboard creak. His voice, soft. Too soft.

She folded her arms across her chest.

Does he know?
Did he know what I wanted?

He’d kissed her.
And she’d kissed him back.

Then Heather drank drain cleaner.

Was she afraid of JD now?
Or afraid of herself?

He came back into the room with two mugs. Held one out. She took it without thinking—her fingers brushing his.

A spark. Familiar. Electric. Wrong.

“You look frozen,” he said gently. “Drink.”

She lifted it to her mouth. But the smell turned her stomach.

She set it on the side table and covered her eyes with both hands.

She should’ve been screaming. Calling someone.
Instead, she was sipping coffee in a house where nothing had changed—except everything.

The only witness to her guilt was the boy who might’ve helped her make it real.
And still, she didn’t want him to leave.

POV – JD

She sat at the far end of the couch; fingers wrapped around her mug. But she didn’t drink.

JD watched her for a long moment. He wanted to say something—anything to pull them out of this frozen place.

But every word in his head sounded fake.

So he said the only real thing he had.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

POV – Veronica

She looked up.

Not calculating.
Not angry.

Just human.

What was he sorry for?

Before she could think it through, before she could talk herself out of it—
She kissed him.

And he kissed her back.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: And One More Makes Three
POV – JD

He had finally said the only thing he could: I’m sorry.
And even that felt too small to matter.

A look passed between them—a silent question. Then, suddenly, Veronica reached for him.

The kiss was adrenaline and comfort and panic. Hands tangled in hair. Breath hitched. It was all need and not enough and maybe—just maybe—this one small piece of connection could distract them from the disaster they were becoming.

It deepened fast.
Too fast.

It wasn’t just want—it was need. The kind that made everything else fade. Fingers tugging at fabric. Breath catching. Veronica’s hands slid beneath JD’s shirt. His touch skimmed her collarbone. Every barrier between them felt like it was unraveling by instinct.

And they were seconds—seconds—from crossing a line neither of them would be able to walk back from.

Then the front door opened.

A sharp crash—grocery bags on the floor—and the cold slam of reality.

“Hey!” Alice’s voice rang out, sharp as a slap. “You two knock it off! Other people live here, you know!”

Veronica pulled away so fast she nearly fell off the couch. JD flinched like he’d been burned, his pulse thudding in his throat. Their clothes were still askew. Their lips still wet. Her shirt was half unbuttoned. His belt was loose.

They’d barely stopped in time.

Alice stood in the doorway, eyes wide. Not angry—stunned. Then narrowing. Calculating.

“Seriously?” she said, arms crossing. “You leave a cryptic-ass note, disappear, and I come home to this?”

She didn’t wait for a response.

Her eyes flicked to Veronica, then back to JD.

“JD. What. Did. You. Do?”

Her gaze swept over the rumpled clothes, the leftover tension in the room. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she’d almost walked in on.

“I’m going to put these away,” she said flatly, grabbing the bags. “When I’m done, you’d better be dressed and ready to talk.”

She vanished into the kitchen.

And just like that, the moment shattered.

JD sat up, dragging his hands through his hair, trying to steady his breathing.

Veronica was frozen, cheeks flushed, shirt wrinkled.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

For a long beat, they just… sat there. Not touching. Not even looking at each other.

What they’d almost done wasn’t just about attraction. It was a reaction—to everything. To fear. To guilt. To death.

And now, with Alice in the next room, the truth pressed in like a weight on both their chests.

“We have to tell her,” Veronica whispered, her voice cracking.

JD nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He didn’t want to.
God, he didn’t.

But Alice was smart. Stubborn. Already suspicious.

“If she starts digging on her own…” he began.

“It’ll be worse,” Veronica finished.

Neither of them moved. The room felt colder now.

JD looked at her, more serious than he’d been all morning. “Do you think she’ll believe us?”

Veronica met his eyes, then looked toward the kitchen.

“I think she already knows it’s something bad. We just have to decide how honest we’re going to be.”

And somewhere deep in her chest, panic was starting to settle into something sharper.

They stayed like that for a while—hands linked on the cushion, her head resting against his shoulder.
It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t forgiveness.
But it was something.

POV – Alice

When Alice returned, she froze in the doorway.

They weren’t kissing now, but the intimacy between them was unmistakable. The hush. The way Veronica leaned against JD. The way their fingers were still intertwined, like they hadn’t even noticed.

Whatever had happened hadn’t been good—but somehow, it had forged a bond between the two of them.

Alice let out a breath.

“You disappear all morning, come back looking like ghosts, and now you’re just… sitting here like that’s normal?”

JD looked to Veronica. She gave a small nod.

He took a breath. “Veronica wanted to talk to Heather. Try to get ahead of things before school.”

Veronica added, “I didn’t want to go alone. He came with me.”

Alice didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Veronica shifted slightly, her voice quieter now. “I was going to give her a mug of milk and orange juice. Call it a hangover cure. Stupid joke.”

“I joked about drain cleaner,” JD said. “I poured some into a mug, but I didn’t think she’d ever touch it.”

He looked down.

“Then I distracted Veronica. She picked up the wrong mug.”

“And I gave it to Heather,” Veronica finished.

A long beat passed.

Alice’s voice, when it came, was brittle. “Is she…?”

“Dead,” JD said. “Yeah.”

Veronica didn’t flinch. “We faked a note. Made it look like suicide. Then we left.”

Alice didn’t say anything.
But the silence said everything.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

And if they weren’t careful, it would be the beginning of something much worse.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10 Holding Pattern and Rules

POV: JD

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

No footsteps. No door slam. No shouting. Not even the low muttering Alice sometimes did when she was trying to hold back the words she really wanted to say.

Just silence.

JD sat on the couch like a defendant waiting for a verdict.

They hadn’t let go of each other.
Not yet.

He kept staring at the front door, half-expecting someone to burst through it screaming. The cops. Heather’s ghost. His father. Take your pick.

But nothing happened.

Only the ache in his stomach. That gnawing, sharp tension just below the ribs—like his insides were waiting to collapse.

Veronica shifted beside him but didn’t say anything.

He could still feel the echo of her mouth on his. The heat of her hands. Her breath catching just before Alice had opened the door.

God.

They had been so close to doing something neither of them were probably ready for.

And now?

He was sitting here in the aftermath of everything, staring at the wall, trying to pretend the cushions weren’t still warm from where her body had leaned into his.

Alice was in her room.

Thinking.

And that was so much worse than if she’d yelled. If she’d thrown things. Even if she’d called the police.

Alice thinking was dangerous.

Because Alice thinking meant Alice feeling. And JD knew better than anyone what happened when she actually let herself sit in it.

She didn’t let go. Not of people. Not of truth. Not of consequences.

He was her twin, sure. Her blood.

But that didn’t mean he was safe.

He rubbed his hands over his face. Leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

Veronica’s fingers brushed his knuckles, tentative. Like she wasn’t sure if she should still be touching him.

He didn’t know either. But wrapped his hand around hers anyway.

How the hell had this gone so far?

A joke.

A distraction.

An accident.

But they didn’t feel like accidents when they ended in someone not breathing anymore.

He tried to think about Heather’s face, but it was already fuzzy around the edges. Blurred by adrenaline and denial and guilt he didn’t quite know how to name.

What was clear—far too clear—was Veronica’s face when she’d looked at him after. Not angry. Not horrified. Just… lost.

And still, she kissed him.

That scared him more than anything.

The bedroom door creaked.

JD sat up straighter. He listened to his sister come down the hall and then down the stairs.

Alice walked into the living room, arms crossed over her chest, face unreadable. She looked older than she had just that morning.

Not angry.

Not crying.

Just cold.

She stood at the edge of the room and looked at them both.

Her eyes flicked to their joined hands. She didn’t comment.

Then, simply, she said:

“Neither of you are leaving this house. Not until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do about this.”

And then she turned and walked into the kitchen.

No threat. No plan. Just control.

JD exhaled, but it didn’t feel like relief.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t sure if Alice was going to protect him.

POV: Veronica

Veronica had never felt more like a kid in time-out.

She and JD sat on the same couch, hands still together, barely breathing too loudly—like noise itself might trigger something worse.

Alice had been gone maybe fifteen minutes.

But it felt like an hour.

Veronica had stared at the same spot on the carpet so long, she knew every thread in the pattern. She could still feel JD’s warmth next to her, but the connection that had burned between them earlier felt frayed. Fragile.

And maybe it should be.

She wasn’t sure what scared her more: how easily Heather had died, or how quickly she’d kissed the boy who helped make it happen.

Alice stepped out of the kitchen. She looked calm in that dangerous way people do when they’ve locked their emotions somewhere you can’t see.

Veronica braced herself.

Alice stood in front of them, spine straight, jaw tight.

“I’ve made some decisions,” she said.

JD didn’t move. Veronica nodded, barely.

“First,” Alice began, “no one leaves this house. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not until we’ve figured out how to get to Monday without someone getting arrested.”

JD opened his mouth, but Alice raised a hand.

“I’m not finished.”

He closed it again.

“Second,” she said, turning to Veronica, “when do your parents currently expect you back home?”

Veronica blinked. “Not until Sunday night.”

Alice shrugged. “Good, because you’re not going anywhere until then.”

Veronica swallowed. “Okay.” Shame crawled over her skin like static cling.

Alice turned to JD. “And you. Don’t even think about sneaking out. Not for a walk, not for smokes, not for anything. You are grounded in the most literal sense of the word.”

JD gave a quiet, bitter sort of laugh. “Understood.”

“I’m going to be in my room,” Alice said. “I’ll come out for food. A shower. Until then, you two stay out of my way. If you’re going to make out, at least try to do it where I don’t have to see it.”

She paused, then added with the faintest trace of sadness, “And no pretending like this didn’t happen.”

Then she was gone up to her bedroom again. The door clicked shut behind her, final and firm.

The quiet returned.

JD let out a breath beside her, slow and rough.

Veronica didn’t speak right away. She just leaned back into the cushions, heart still racing.

She was staying here.

All weekend.

With him.

She turned her head toward him but didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

There were still things to talk about. Too many, maybe.

But right now, all she needed was a shower.
And maybe sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Girl in his shirt
POV – Veronica

Veronica sat on the edge of JD’s bed, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of drawstring pajama pants that hung just a little too loose on her hips. The room smelled faintly of deodorant and old books—comforting in a way she didn’t want to examine too closely. She still felt wrung out, and even though she wasn’t shivering anymore, she couldn’t seem to get warm.

The adrenaline from earlier had worn off, and the edges of her hangover were creeping back in. It was only 2 PM, but exhaustion had settled behind her eyes like a fog.

She stared at nothing for a long time, until the door creaked and JD stepped inside.

“Are you sure,” she said, not looking at him, “that after everything that’s happened today, us sharing a room won’t just piss Alice off even more?”

JD shrugged like it didn’t matter—but his voice gave him away.
“She’s the one who said we can’t leave until she’s processed everything and ‘finished talking to us.’ So I guess this is… neutral ground.”

Veronica finally looked at him.
“Are you sure your dad won’t care?”

“He usually doesn’t show up until a week after we move somewhere new. So he’s not due to appear until at least Wednesday.”

He leaned against the doorframe for a second, then added, “I know you’re not expected home until Sunday. But where do your parents think you are?”

“They think I’m with Heather.” Her voice faltered slightly. “They might not remember which one, though.”

She didn’t cry. But the ache was there, humming beneath every word.
“Hopefully they forget it was Chandler when they hear she’s dead.”

JD stepped closer, pausing at the side of the bed.
“Are you okay being here? With me?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, dryly:
“We already killed someone and covered it up. I don’t think sleeping in the same room really ranks.”

JD gave a humorless chuckle and sat beside her. They didn’t speak again as they lay back on the mattress.

Eventually, his arm curled around her shoulders—tentative but steady. Protective.

She didn’t pull away.

The quiet stretched long into the afternoon, heavy with what had been done—and what still might come.

The room was still. JD’s arm rested around her shoulders, loose but grounding. Veronica hadn’t moved in minutes. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest beside her—calm, but not relaxed.

“You’re not asleep, are you?” she murmured.

JD shifted just enough to answer.
“Didn’t think you were either.”

Veronica exhaled slowly.
“I keep thinking I’m supposed to be falling apart. That I should be sobbing or hysterical or… something.”

“You’re in shock,” JD said, voice low. “It’ll come when it wants to. Or maybe not at all.”

“I don’t know what scares me more—that I feel guilty… or that I don’t feel guilty enough.”

“I know what you mean,” JD said quietly.

She turned her head toward him, studying his profile.
“You’re not like other people. You don’t flinch. You don’t regret things the way I do.”

JD let out a soft laugh, more bitter than amused.
“I regret plenty. I’ve just gotten good at hiding it. Sometimes I bury it so deep I forget it’s there.”

They lay in silence again. But it wasn’t heavy this time—just careful.

“Do you trust me?” she asked suddenly.

JD blinked.
“What?”

“I mean it. Do you trust me? Or am I just someone you think you can fix or keep?”

His jaw tensed.
“You’re not a project, Veronica.”

“That’s not a yes.”

He propped himself up on one elbow.
“I trust you more than anyone. Maybe that’s stupid. Maybe I’m setting myself up. But I do.”

Veronica held his gaze.
“I trust you too,” she said. “Which scares the hell out of me. Because if you’re the only person I trust now… and you turn on me…”

“I won’t.”

“You say that now.”

“I mean it.” His voice cracked a little. “I don’t want to betray you. I don’t want to make you regret choosing me.”

Veronica nodded slowly.
“If we’re in this—whatever this is—we have to be honest. About everything.”

JD’s eyes softened.
“No more pretending. No more power games.”

“No more secrets,” she added.

They didn’t kiss.
They didn’t promise forever.
But in that moment—still tangled in grief, fear, and something that almost looked like hope—they made something quieter. Stronger.

A pact.

Not perfect. Not clean. But real.

JD settled back down, and Veronica tucked herself in closer, her hand resting lightly over his chest.

She didn’t fall asleep easily—but she stayed where she was, surrounded by warmth and quiet, and that was enough for now.

For the first time in what felt like a long time, they were not alone in the dark.

Chapter Text

POV – Alice

The fading light from the setting sun crept through the kitchen blinds, striping the tile floor in gold and gray. The house was unnaturally quiet—no music, no TV, not even the dull hum of the fridge. Alice sipped burnt coffee from a chipped mug and waited.

Then he appeared.

Shirt wrinkled. Eyes dark. That guarded look he wore when he knew he’d messed up and couldn’t charm his way out of it.

Alice didn’t say much. She just handed him the second mug she’d poured—out of habit more than kindness. He took it, wrapping both hands around it like it might anchor him.

She didn’t offer food. She’d done the grocery shopping—if he wanted something for dinner, he could figure it out himself.

They drank in silence for a moment. Not an empty silence—a coiled one.

Then she asked:

“How exactly did Veronica end up giving Heather the wrong mug?”

JD’s eyes flicked to hers. “I told you that already.”

“You said you distracted her. That’s not the same as explaining how.”

He looked down at the table. The wood was scratched, scarred. JD traced a groove with his thumb.

“I think I was still holding the mug,” he said finally. “The one with the drain cleaner.”

Alice’s stomach sank, but she didn’t interrupt.

“She was making that hangover thing—milk and orange juice. I poured the cleaner into the other mug. As a joke.”

Alice’s eyebrows lifted, but she stayed quiet.

“She laughed. Thought I was kidding.” His laugh was short and bitter. “I kissed her.”

That stopped her cold.

“You what?”

“I kissed her,” he repeated, softer. “It wasn’t planned. It just happened. And when she kissed me back, I put the mug down. I think I set it closer to the other one than I meant to.”

Alice set her coffee down slowly. “So then she picked it up.”

JD flinched. “Not on purpose.”

Alice stared at him, searching for the line between accident and subconscious intent. “You kissed her. With poison in your other hand. Then put it down right next to the safe one.”

JD didn’t answer.

“Do you even understand how that sounds?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.”

“But you didn’t stop it either.”

Silence.

Alice crossed her arms. “Do you think you would’ve stopped her if she hadn’t picked the wrong mug?”

JD looked up. His expression flickered—guilt, fear, something close to desperation.

“I don’t know.”

She expected more. Excuses. Dodges. Some glib half-truth. But he just looked back down at the table.

Then—quiet, like the words had weight—he added:

“We’ve told each other everything.”

Alice blinked. “What does that mean?”

JD lifted his eyes again. For once, they weren’t deflecting. Just tired. Just raw.

“It means we’re not lying to each other anymore. Whatever else this is… it’s honest.”

Alice didn’t answer right away.

She wasn’t sure if she was hearing clarity or delusion.

“That’s not the same as safe, you know,” she said. “Honesty doesn’t make this okay.”

JD nodded slowly. “I know. But it’s all we’ve got right now.”

Chapter Text

POV – Alice

Veronica was still in JD’s room when Alice knocked—twice, sharp and clipped—before letting herself in.

The door creaked open to reveal Veronica curled on the far side of the bed. She looked cold, despite being cocooned under extra blankets and JD’s coat. She didn’t look up.

Alice stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Quietly. Intentionally.

Veronica didn’t move, but her voice came steady. “He didn’t give it to me.”

Alice didn’t answer. She crossed the room and leaned against the dresser, arms folded. She’d expected a conversation. This felt more like a confession.

“I picked it up,” Veronica said. “We were laughing. I was trying to think of what I could give Heather to make her puke—settled on milk and orange juice. He joked about using drain cleaner instead. I thought it was dark humor. Nothing serious.”

Alice waited.

Veronica kept her eyes on the ceiling. “He poured it. I didn’t see him do it. I thought he was still joking.”

Her fingers twisted in the sleeve of JD’s trench coat. She looked smaller than she had earlier—like she’d been shrinking ever since Heather died.

“We kissed,” she said. Her voice didn’t tremble. “It just happened. We weren’t thinking. We were standing so close… it just felt natural. I didn’t notice until later that he must’ve set the mug down.”

She looked up at Alice, eyes wide and red-rimmed, like she needed a week’s worth of sleep instead of the few hours she’d managed that afternoon.

“I didn’t realize it at the time. But looking back… his hands were empty when I pulled away. He wasn’t holding anything.”

Alice’s brow furrowed. “So you picked it up.”

Veronica nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t think. It looked like the mug I’d used earlier. I just… I thought it was mine. I didn’t even look inside.”

“And JD?” Alice asked. “What did he do?”

“He yelled,” Veronica said. “As soon as he realized what had happened, he shouted my name. But by the time he got to me, it was already too late. I’d handed it to her. She drank it all in one gulp. Then she was on the ground.”

Alice was quiet a moment. “He left that part out.”

Veronica gave a bitter shrug. “Of course he did.”

Silence settled between them like dust.

“You’re sure he didn’t mean for her to drink it?” Alice asked.

Veronica’s voice softened. “I don’t think he meant for her to drink it. Not really. Not then. He was reckless. He was spiraling. But when he ran into Heather’s room… he looked terrified. That wasn’t fake.”

Alice looked away, her arms tightening across her chest. “So it was an accident. But it wasn’t harmless.”

“No,” Veronica said. “It wasn’t harmless.”

Alice studied her for a long time. “You’re not scared of him?”

“I’m scared of what we could bring out in each other,” Veronica answered honestly. “But of him? No. I’m not scared of him.”

Alice nodded once, slowly. She didn’t know if that made things better or worse.

“I need some air,” she said.

Veronica didn’t stop her.

Alice walked to the door, pausing just before she opened it. “Thank you. For telling me.”

Veronica only nodded.

And Alice left.

She didn’t slam the door. She didn’t cry.

But as she moved down the stairs, the quiet clung to her like smoke. She grabbed her jacket, muttered something about needing air, and told JD not to go anywhere—even though it was clear she was the one leaving.

He was still in the kitchen.
The coffee was still cold.
And Alice still didn’t know where she was going.

Chapter Text

POV – Alice

The cold hit harder than expected.

Alice tugged her coat tighter and shoved her hands into the pockets as she headed down the street. She didn’t know where she was going—just that she couldn’t stay in that house. Not with the smell of burnt coffee and fresh guilt still clinging to the walls.

She wasn’t sure what felt worse: helping cover up a crime, or walking in on her brother and his new girlfriend mid-makeout, half-naked. That was an eyeful she could’ve lived without.

She thought about heading toward the 7-Eleven. There was a pizza place nearby. Even if the pizza sucked, at least there would be noise. Noise was better than silence. Noise meant not having to think.

Halfway down the block, she slowed. Her boots scraped against the pavement. She glanced at the payphone outside the store. Heather McNamara had given her the number earlier that day. She could call.

But what would she even say?

“Hey Heather, just needed a break from harboring a possible accomplice to murder—wanna grab a soda?”

Yeah. No. That would probably not go over very well.

She kept walking.

And then—just around the corner—someone nearly collided with her.

“Whoa! Sorry—” the girl started.

Alice blinked. “Heather?”

Heather McNamara straightened, brushing hair from her face. “Alice?”

They stared at each other for a beat too long.

Then Heather’s expression softened. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Alice let out a sharp breath—half laugh, half something else. “Something like that.”

Heather glanced over her shoulder, then back. “You okay?”

Alice shrugged.

“I was headed to the pizza place. The one near the 7-Eleven. Wanna come?”

Another pause.

“Yeah,” Alice said. “Okay. I was kind of headed there. I needed to get out of the house.”

They walked in silence for a few blocks—not awkward, just quiet.

“You’re new here, right?” Heather asked eventually. “How do you like Sherwood?”

“It’s okay. My dad moves us around a lot. Westerburg’s our tenth high school.”

“Ten?” Heather whistled. “I’ve never even left Sherwood. My dad runs a jewelry store and thinks vacations are a waste of time, so we don’t really go anywhere.”

“After a while, they all look the same,” Alice said. “My dad finds a new town, has one of his assistants do the paperwork, hires movers. Once me and JD are settled, he shows up around a week later. It’s like me and my brother just get moved in along with the furniture.”

Heather hesitated. “What about your mom?”

“She died a long time ago. We still moved then—just not as often.”

Heather’s voice softened. “No wonder you and your brother are so close.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think we’re close?”

Heather shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

⸻

INT. PIZZA PLACE – EARLY EVENING

The booths were sticky. The air smelled like oregano and fryer grease. A neon sign buzzed faintly above them. Somewhere in the back, a dusty arcade machine blinked.

Alice and Heather sat across from each other. A half-eaten pizza sat ignored between them. Their sodas sweated on the Formica table.

“I don’t really know how to act when I’m not with them,” Heather said, breaking the silence.

Alice tilted her head. “Like… socially unsupervised?”

Heather smiled faintly. “Pretty much. It’s like if I’m not part of the trio, I don’t know who I am. Though I guess with Veronica, we’re technically a quartet now.”

Alice waited.

“Chandler added her,” Heather continued. “Mostly because Veronica’s good at forging handwriting—notes, excuses, signatures. Useful, I guess.”

“She sounds like a practical hire,” Alice said dryly.

Heather rolled her eyes. “Heather Duke ditched me today. No call, nothing. And I know Chandler took Veronica to Remington last night. I figured I’d at least hear how it went. Veronica didn’t seem thrilled about the setup.”

“Why not?”

“Honestly, she seemed more interested in your brother,” Heather said. “Chandler accused her of drooling over him. They argued about the lunchtime poll. Chandler usually sticks to the same few people, but I think Veronica used it as an excuse to go talk to him.”

“She’s not exactly subtle,” Alice muttered.

“Chandler said JD was bad for Veronica’s image.”

Alice snorted. “Heather Chandler seems to have opinions about everyone’s image.”

Heather leaned in. “So… are they a thing?”

Alice hesitated. “You promise not to tell?”

“Cross my heart. I tell you something embarrassing about me as a trade.”

Alice exhaled. “Okay. So… I walked in on them.”

Heather’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“Yes. On the couch. Very much mid-situation.” Alice tried to shake the image from her mind.

“Oh my god. Were they—?”

“Not quite. I think I caught them right as clothes started flying.”

Heather clapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. “That’s… wow. Did you say anything?”

“I yelled. Reminded JD he’s not the only person who lives in the house. He looked like he swallowed a car battery.”

Heather wheezed. “That’s… that’s awkward even by Westerburg standards.”

Alice shook her head. “I didn’t need that level of insight into their dynamic.”

They both sipped their sodas.

“Okay,” Heather said. “My turn.”

Alice raised a brow.

“I still sleep with a nightlight,” Heather admitted. “Shaped like a strawberry. Had it since second grade.”

Alice grinned. “That’s tragically wholesome. You’re braver than I am.”

Heather smiled back. “I won’t tell what you told me if you don’t tell what I told you.”

“Deal.”

They tapped their cups together.

“I’m glad I ran into you,” Heather said.

“Me too,” Alice replied.

The jukebox shifted to a new song. Outside, the streetlights flickered to life.

The storm was coming.

But not yet.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15.1: Monday’s Going to Be a Shit Show
POV – Heather McNamara

The house was quiet when Heather got home. Too quiet.

Her parents were at some fundraiser or dinner party. She wasn’t sure which—just that they were somewhere with other adults to impress and canapés.

She kicked off her shoes by the door and tossed her purse onto the kitchen table. The fluorescent light above her hummed. She didn’t bother turning on the radio.

Alice’s laugh still echoed somewhere in her head. Not mean. Not forced. Just… easy. Like it didn’t matter who Heather was trying to be.
She couldn’t remember the last time someone talked to her like they wanted to—not because of who she was friends with.

She was halfway up the stairs when the phone rang.

Heather froze.

It was too late for polite calls. Too early for emergencies. She thought about letting it ring out.
But something in her gut told her to answer.

Click.

She didn’t even get a word in before Heather Duke’s voice crashed through the line—jagged, rapid, like she’d been holding it in too long.

McNamara stood in the kitchen doorway, silent, gripping the phone like it might shatter. Her eyes locked on the tile floor.
The longer Duke talked, the colder she felt. Her stomach turned. Her mouth went dry.

She didn’t ask questions.
Didn’t interrupt.
She just listened.

When the call ended, she set the phone down gently—like it might explode if she wasn’t careful.

She didn’t cry. Not yet.

She sat at the foot of the stairs, staring at the front door like something might come through it. Her hands trembled.
The silence around her felt different now. Heavier.

Heather Chandler was dead.

That much was clear.

But what haunted her more was the rest—the parts Duke had almost said. The pieces she couldn’t take back.
Heather couldn’t tell what was worse: what Duke had said… or what she hadn’t.

She pressed her hands to her face. And this time, when she breathed out, it shook.

It was still Saturday night.
But she already knew: Monday was going to be a shit show.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16 – What Now
POV – Alice

Sunday morning, the house was quieter now—but not in a comforting way. More like the silence after a storm, when you step outside and realize everything is still standing… but it shouldn’t be.

It had been late when she got back from her walk the night before. It seemed like JD had actually listened to her and stayed put. But with Veronica still clearly in a state of shock, he wasn’t going anywhere without her.
And she was in no shape to go anywhere yet.

The house was too quiet again. But Alice had already checked—both JD and Veronica were still upstairs in his room, asleep.
Clinging to each other like they’d disappear if they loosened their grip even a little.

She’d paced the living room for almost an hour—same few steps over worn carpet, a glass of untouched water sweating on the coffee table.
Every time she thought she was calm enough to think clearly, the silence pulled her under again.

She kept hoping the new day would give her some clarity on what to do next.

Alice had always known her brother had dark corners.
She just hadn’t realized how far they reached—or how quickly someone else could follow him into them.

Eventually, she sat down. The still-unpacked moving boxes made the room feel smaller.

She didn’t go wake JD or Veronica. She’d let them sleep. For now.

Instead, she stood by the front window, one hand resting on the frame, eyes fixed on the street.
Not because she expected anyone.
She just needed something still to look at.

She hadn’t told JD or Veronica, but she’d run into Heather McNamara twice yesterday—once at the grocery store, and again later that night. Of all the surreal moments in this hellish weekend, those two quiet run-ins stood out as oddly grounding. Normal, even. The first had been brief, awkward. The second, unexpected. They hadn’t said much—just shared space, a nod, a look—but it had felt like a truce. Maybe even a flicker of connection. And now, Alice kept thinking about it. About how McNamara was still in the dark. Still laughing politely in the frozen food aisle, still wandering the neighborhood alone. Still unaware that her best friend was never coming back.
Alice hated that she knew. Hated that she couldn’t be the one to say anything. And hated even more that someone else—someone colder—probably would.

She’d gotten to hear both of their versions of what happened. She’d needed to see Veronica—just to hear it from her, line it up against JD’s like puzzle pieces she hadn’t wanted to fit.

And now?

Now she couldn’t tell if what she was feeling was clarity or nausea.

Veronica’s story hadn’t been radically different from JD’s.
Same general beats: the joke, the kiss, the wrong mug, the scream.
But Veronica had added one moment JD hadn’t—he’d shouted her name. The second he realized what she was holding.

That mattered.

Not because it made what happened okay.
But because it made it human.

JD hadn’t told Alice that.
He’d focused on the logistics—the mug, the joke, the distraction.
He’d told the truth, yes. Just not all of it.
Not the part that might’ve helped.

Which told her everything.

JD was still trying to take the bullet. Still shielding Veronica. Still believing that if he kept all the darkness to himself, the rest of them might walk out of this with only smoke on their clothes.

But Veronica hadn’t let him.

She hadn’t tried to offload guilt. She hadn’t begged. She hadn’t cried.

She’d looked Alice in the eye and told her what happened.
Without flourish. Without excuses.

And somehow, that shook Alice more than anything.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from Veronica Sawyer—some teary-eyed, manipulative performance? A plea for sympathy?

Instead, she’d found someone wrecked and steady.
Afraid, yes. But also, honest.

More honest, Alice realized bitterly, than JD had been with himself in years.

She rubbed at her temple and finally stepped away from the window, crossing to the table where JD’s coffee still sat, half-drunk.

She picked up the abandoned mug. Not to sip—just to feel the weight.
It had gone cold hours ago. Still real.

Kind of like JD, she supposed.

Heavy. Still here. Still his.

She wasn’t ready to forgive him.
She wasn’t even sure what forgiveness looked like in a world where girls died from jokes and kisses.

But she was ready to stop pretending she could ignore it all.

Veronica might have trusted JD with the truth.
But Alice was the one who had to live with him.
And if she didn’t say something—if she didn’t do something—then what came next would be on her, too.

She set the mug down with a dull clink.

Today, she would corner JD again.
Not to scold. Not to trap.

But to remind him that the truth wasn’t a one-time gift.
It was a promise you had to keep showing up for.

And Alice Dean had every intention of showing up.

Chapter Text

JD – POV

JD stood near the door, keys in hand, trying not to fidget but looking like he was about to bolt.
Alice leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her face unreadable.

“She should go home,” he said.

Alice didn’t answer.

“She needs something solid to land on.”

“You mean she needs to be away from you,” Alice said, voice calm and sharp.

JD flinched. “You don’t know what she said to me last night.”

“I know she stayed.”

“She told me she trusted me.” His voice cracked, too raw. “She still chose me.”

“And what—you want to try doing the noble thing?” Alice’s tone flattened. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?”

“I’m trying not to ruin what’s left of her life.”

Alice didn’t reply. She just looked at him like she was weighing something heavy and ugly in her hands.
JD looked away.
He wasn’t sure if this was growth or cowardice.
Maybe both.

Veronica – POV

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.
She’d only stepped out of JD’s room to grab the small duffel bag Alice had left on the stairs. Not hers—borrowed. Packed sometime after midnight with her dress from the party and the rest of what she’d been wearing when everything went wrong.

She sat on the step to put on her heels—not because she was going anywhere, but because doing something normal felt easier than standing still. She was still adjusting the strap when she heard her name.

JD’s voice. Low. Frayed.

“She doesn’t need me to be her shadow right now… or her shield… or whatever the hell I am to her.”

Veronica froze, fingers still on the strap of her shoe.

“I don’t want to be the reason she falls apart.”

There was no anger in his voice. Just something stripped down. Raw.
Honest in a way that made her stomach twist—like even he wasn’t used to it.

And it hurt. Not because he was wrong.

But because he thought the answer was sending her away.
Like distance could protect her from something already inside both of them.

She sank down on the step, one hand curled loosely around the banister.

She wasn’t supposed to hear this. She knew that.
But every word stuck like splinters under her skin.

Even after everything. Even now.

She still wanted to run down the stairs and tell him he was wrong.
That she didn’t want saving. That she wanted him.
That whatever mess they’d made, she wasn’t walking away from it—or from him.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt.
She just sat there. Listening.

And feeling the ache of being loved in the one way she couldn’t bear—
From a distance.

The voices drifted toward the kitchen.

She heard JD say softly, “She’ll probably listen to you.”

And Veronica knew then—whatever his reasons, whatever his guilt—he wasn’t going to stop her from going.
He was going to let her go.

When the voices stopped, she waited a moment—then quietly stepped into the room.

Alice – POV

Alice leaned against the hallway wall, listening as JD’s voice drifted from the living room.
He was talking to Veronica—gently, carefully—like she might break if he used the wrong tone.

He told her Alice would drive her home.

Veronica didn’t seem thrilled, but she wasn’t arguing either.
It was quiet consent—the kind that sounded more like surrender.

JD was trying to give her normal again.
As if a ride home could undo everything that had happened.

Alice wanted to believe it was for Veronica’s sake.
But part of her wondered if it wasn’t also for his.
A way to feel like he could still do something good.
Like he could draw a line between himself and the worst version of the boy he might become.

And yet… she’d seen how he looked at Veronica.
With guilt. With fear.
But also—with something like hope.

It was the hope that scared Alice more than anything.

She stepped into the room and watched them from the threshold.
JD stood too stiff. Veronica sat curled on the couch, her hands clenched around the hem of a borrowed flannel shirt.

They looked like kids pretending they weren’t broken.

When JD asked quietly, “Will you help me get her home?”—
Alice didn’t answer right away.
But they both already knew what she’d say.

Because she wasn’t just thinking about the drive.
She was thinking about what Veronica would walk into.
And what JD might walk away from.
And the line she was standing on—somewhere between protector and accomplice.

Later – In the Car

The car was too quiet.
Not the kind of awkward silence where someone was waiting for an apology—just the kind that filled every inch of air with things neither of them had the nerve to say.

Alice kept her eyes on the road. The afternoon sun filtered through the windshield in low gold strips, too soft for the weight sitting in her gut. Her hands were steady, but her thoughts ricocheted.

Veronica sat curled toward the door. Not talking. Not crying. Just folded in on herself, picking at the hem of JD’s oversized flannel. It made her look younger. Smaller. Like she didn’t belong in the world she’d woken up in.

Alice almost asked if she wanted music, but couldn’t bring herself to offer something that hollow.

They passed the town square. A pep rally banner flapped in the breeze like it hadn’t gotten the memo that someone was dead.

Veronica broke the silence first. “You don’t have to walk me in.”

“I know,” Alice said.

“But you’re going to, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I am.”

The rest of the drive passed in silence until they pulled up in front of the Sawyer house—white trim, rosebushes, and everything Alice had never lived in.

“You really want to go back in there?”

Veronica shrugged. “It’s still my house.”

Alice followed her up the path. Veronica rang the bell.
Her mom opened the door with a distracted smile and a casual, “Oh, there you are.”

They didn’t ask anything.

And Alice—despite the body, the note, the guilt still clinging to her clothes—smiled, shook hands, and followed Veronica inside.

Chapter Text

POV – JD

The house felt hollow with Veronica gone.

Not quieter—just emptier. Like something had been carved out of the air and left behind a shape he didn’t know how to fill.

JD sat on the bottom stair, elbows resting on his knees, staring into nothing.

He kept trying to picture her walking through her front door. How her parents would greet her. If they even knew Heather Chandler was dead.

Would they say, “You’re home early?”
Or worse—“Wasn’t Heather dropping you off after dinner?”

His gut twisted.

Had they already heard? Did they know about the note?

He wasn’t sure what would be worse—if they knew and said nothing, or if they hadn’t even noticed yet.

Heather’s parents had to know by now. The police had probably already been to the house. JD had double-checked every detail in Heather’s room and in the kitchen—windows locked, door pulled shut, note perfectly placed—but still. That kind of news traveled fast in towns like this.

Would the Sawyers get a call? A visit?

Would they care that their daughter had been staying with a girl who was now dead?

Would they even ask?

JD leaned his head back against the banister and closed his eyes.

He wanted to believe they’d show some concern—some curiosity. But deep down, he doubted it.

From what Veronica had told him, her family didn’t seem like the type to ask real questions. More like the kind of people who’d look at a burning house and say, “Must be the season.”

Still, part of him hoped they’d notice.

Not because he wanted her in trouble. God, no.

But because if they didn’t ask—

That meant she really was alone.

And he couldn’t protect her from that.

He scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a sharp breath through his nose.

Then he heard it—the sound of a key turning in the lock.

JD jolted upright.

Not Alice. She’d left maybe ten minutes ago. It was much too early for her to be back.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

His father.

Looking like he’d been poured out of an ashtray and left in the sun. Same cigarette-stained jacket. Same haunted scowl. JD hadn’t expected him until Wednesday at the earliest—maybe longer. That was the pattern: move them in, vanish until the fridge was stocked and the mood felt safe. Bud ran the business side of construction—contracts, crews, deals over steak dinners. He wasn’t out pouring concrete or swinging a hammer. But he always came home smelling like drywall and disappointment anyway.

So why now?

Something was off. And not in a good way.

His father stepped inside, dragging a duffel behind him, six-pack in hand. JD didn’t move.

“Where’s your sister?” the man asked gruffly, already scanning the room.

JD blinked. “Out. With a new friend from school.”

It came out too smooth. JD hated how easily the lie slid off his tongue.

His father grunted and kicked the door shut. “Huh. Thought you two were joined at the hip.”

JD shrugged, feigning boredom. “Guess we’re growing up.”

That felt like a line he’d practiced in the mirror. Too clean, too empty.

His dad didn’t press. Just dropped his bag by the couch and walked into the kitchen like he owned the silence.

JD stayed rooted to the spot, listening: cabinet open, fridge hum, the scratch of a match.

The smell of smoke drifted in, sharp and familiar.

And just like that, the air changed again.

Veronica was gone.
His father was home.
And JD had never felt more trapped in his own skin.

He disappeared into his room after that.

Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t stomp. Just ghosted.

The kind of quiet his dad liked best.

The room still smelled faintly like Veronica. Not her shampoo—she hadn’t left anything behind—but just… her. Some trace in the air he couldn’t shake. As much as he hated the timing, part of him was glad she wasn’t here to see this.

He lay on the bed with one arm over his eyes, the other stretched out across the space she’d filled just that morning. He tried not to think about how different the house felt in the last hour. From pressure cooker to prison.

He thought about the way Veronica looked when she left. Folded inward like something bracing for impact.

And he thought about her parents.

Did they hug her? Ask if she was okay?
Did they notice the girl who left with Heather Chandler wasn’t the same one walking back in?

He was still staring at the ceiling when the TV clicked on downstairs.

That was new.

His dad didn’t usually turn it on unless he was drunk. Or lonely. Or both.

The volume rose.

“…tragic loss for the community. Heather Chandler, seventeen, was found this morning by her parents…”

JD sat bolt upright.

His heart thudded once—hard and high in his throat.

“…note suggests suicide. Authorities are not investigating foul play at this time…”

He stood. Quietly. Carefully.

The newscaster’s voice was flat. Like he was reading the weather.

“…a memorial will be held next week…”

JD stepped back to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a legal pad.

He didn’t know what he was going to write—just that he had to say something to Alice. Something to explain why he couldn’t stay. Why the air in the house was pressing down on his ribs and wouldn’t stop.

After a few false starts, he settled on the truth.

Alice—
Heard the news. Couldn’t sit here and watch him breathe smoke over it.
I’ll be careful.
I just need air.
—JD

He folded the note and left it on her pillow.

Then stepped back into the hallway.

His father sat in the living room, half-lit by the television glow, beer already cracked.

JD didn’t look at him.

“Going out,” he said.

His dad grunted, didn’t even turn his head.

And just like that, JD slipped through the door and closed it behind him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19 – The Wrong Kind of Quiet

POV – Alice / Veronica

POV – Alice

The Sawyer house was too clean.
Not sterile or cold—just… curated. Every framed photo on the wall looked like it had been chosen with care. Every coaster had a matching pair. Even the smell was composed—fresh lemon and linen, like someone had actually cared what their home smelled like when guests arrived.

Alice stood awkwardly in the foyer, her fingers twitching at the hem of her flannel jacket.

Veronica’s mother smiled warmly as she took Alice’s coat—Alice had to stop herself from flinching. Her dad, accountant-looking and polite to the point of invisible, shook her hand and asked nothing about the drive, the night, or why their daughter had come home looking like she’d walked through a wind tunnel.

They were nice.
Terrifyingly, obliviously nice.

As the three of them exchanged harmless pleasantries, Alice felt something tighten in her chest.

She didn’t belong here.
Not in this house.
Not in this version of reality.
Not in a world where people still said things like, “Junior year’s the hardest,” and meant it.

These were the kind of people who had dinner together. Who sent out holiday cards. Who hadn’t the faintest idea their daughter had spent the night wrapped in trauma beside a boy with blood on his hands.

Alice nodded along to conversation she didn’t hear. Every word felt like a rubber stamp.

Her brain was already miles away, back in the Dean living room, where JD was probably still staring at cold coffee and unfinished thoughts.

This family—Veronica’s family—had no idea what was coming.
And Alice had never felt less prepared to help hold the walls up.

Veronica had disappeared upstairs with her mother—something about needing to shower and change before dinner.

Alice was invited to stay. Mrs. Sawyer had said it like it was a favor, a kindness. Said she was making Veronica’s favorite “spaghetti with lots of oregano.” She smiled, like that solved something.

Alice didn’t argue. She just nodded and took the cup of tea offered to her.

The tea was too hot and steeped too long, and the cup itself felt too delicate in her hands. She sat on the pristine white couch, still holding it, like it might anchor her in the illusion that everything was fine.

Mr. Sawyer turned on the television.

Alice didn’t even realize he had changed the channel until she heard the phrase:

“Tragedy at Westerburg High…”

Her body locked up.

She turned her head slowly—just in time to see a yearbook photo of Heather Chandler fill the screen.

“Seventeen-year-old Heather Chandler was found this morning in her home by her parents. A note was recovered at the scene. Police are treating the incident as a suicide.”

Alice’s teacup didn’t shatter—but it almost did. Her fingers had gone cold around the porcelain.

Veronica’s father sipped his own drink, frowning. “That was one of her friends, wasn’t it?”

Her mother sighed. “Heather? I thought so.”

They didn’t panic.
They didn’t even stand up.
Just sat there, letting the news wash over them like they were watching the weather.

Alice could barely breathe.

“Students at Westerburg High can expect a memorial assembly Monday morning. Grief counselors will be on-site, and funeral service announcements are expected later this week.”

The newscaster’s voice blurred into static.

Alice glanced up toward the stairs. The shower was still running.

Did Veronica know? Had she seen this already?

Or worse—would she come downstairs and find her parents sipping tea to the sound of her friend’s obituary?

She couldn’t stay. Not in this house. Not like this.
Not with the smell of oregano wafting in from the kitchen while the world burned down behind someone else’s smile.

Veronica was caught between two lives.
And Alice had driven her to the border.

POV – Veronica

The first thing she noticed was the smell of oregano.

It hit her as soon as she stepped off the last stair—the sharp, familiar scent of her mother’s spaghetti. Normally it meant comfort. Familiarity.

Tonight it just made her stomach turn.

Then she heard the TV.

“—believed to have been suicide. Authorities confirm that a note was left at the scene…”

Her feet stopped moving.

Veronica blinked once. Twice.

Heather’s yearbook photo filled the screen. That perfect smile. That red scrunchie. Frozen.

She didn’t realize she was gripping the banister until the wood creaked under her hand.

Across the room, Alice sat stiffly on the edge of the white couch, still clutching a teacup like it was the only thing tethering her to the moment. Her eyes met Veronica’s, just for a second.

It was all there in her face—This is too much. I don’t belong here. I want to leave.

Veronica forced her body to keep walking.

She stepped into the living room just as the news anchor moved on to another story, something about the local fire department.

Her father looked up absently. “That was one of your friends, wasn’t it, sweetheart? Heather Chandler?”

Veronica nodded, carefully blank. “Yeah. It was.”

Her mother’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready. I hope you’re hungry.”

Veronica sat next to Alice, not too close. Just enough to feel like an ally.

She leaned in and murmured, “You don’t have to stay. You probably want to be home with your brother anyway… you just moved in, right?”

Alice gave a small, grateful nod. She looked pale under the soft lighting—more out of place than ever, like someone had painted her into the wrong family photo.

Before she could say anything, Veronica’s mother reappeared in the doorway with two steaming plates.

“Alice, sweetheart, you have to take some food with you. You can’t just drop Veronica off and starve.”

Alice blinked, caught between politeness and desperation.

Veronica smiled faintly, doing her best to play the role. “You’ll like it. She puts a ridiculous amount of oregano in it.”

Her mother laughed. “Somebody appreciates it!”

Alice stood slowly. “Thank you, Mrs. Sawyer. That’s really kind of you.”

“No trouble at all,” her mom said, already packing food into Tupperware for Alice to take home to her brother and herself, like this was a routine thing. “You girls are so sweet to each other.”

Alice met Veronica’s eyes again. This time her look said: I’ll call you.

Veronica nodded.

A few minutes later, Alice was out the door—spaghetti in hand, thank-you’s trailing behind her like exhaust.

And Veronica?

She sat at the kitchen table across from her parents, picking at her food in silence. The room smelled like oregano, lemon cleaner, and false reassurance.

She was still wearing JD’s jacket.
It was too big on her. A little worn. Soft in places from use.

Somehow, that made it worse—because it reminded her of everything she couldn’t bring herself to say.

Chapter Text

The Man Who Misses the Beginning

The kitchen lights were on.
That was the first sign.

The second was the smell—cigarettes, with faint hints of aftershave and paper. Bud’s particular signature. Not drywall or gasoline or sweat, but crisp cologne and new invoices. Clipboard cologne, Alice used to call it.

Her father didn’t swing hammers. He signed contracts. Oversaw the tearing down of buildings from behind glass office doors and neatly typed demolition schedules.

He was home.

“Hey, kiddo,” he called as she stepped through the door, like he hadn’t been gone since the moving truck pulled away.

Alice dropped her bag by the door. “Back early.”

Bud looked up from a stack of folders at the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened. A half-empty legal pad sat beside his coffee, an empty beer can not far away. Phone messages scribbled in the margins.

“Had to close out a site two towns over,” he said casually. “Took longer than I thought. Clients are jumpy these days—nobody wants to be the guy who signs off on something unsafe.”

Alice nodded. She didn’t sit.

Bud raised an eyebrow. “You’re quiet.”

“You’re not usually around for the first few days.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “You know how it is—moving chaos. I figure it’s easier for you two to settle without me in the way.”

Alice didn’t respond. Because no, she didn’t know how that was. She only knew that JD noticed. And so did she.

Bud poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, all ease and shallow warmth. The television in the corner of the kitchen was on low—local news replaying the same headline: Tragedy at Westerburg High. Heather Chandler’s yearbook photo still hung on the screen like a ghost.

“How’s school? You and your brother getting your bearings?”

“We’re surviving,” she said.

“That’s the spirit.”

A pause. Then Bud glanced lazily toward the TV.

“Caught something about a local girl…?” he added, like it had just occurred to him.

Alice followed his gaze. Heather’s face was still there. The red scrunchie. The caption: Seventeen-Year-Old Found Dead in Her Home.

“Heather Chandler,” she said. “She died.”

He blinked. “Christ. Suicide?”

Alice nodded.

Bud let out a slow breath. “That’s a hell of a thing.”

His gaze lingered on the screen for just a second too long—performative, Alice thought—and then he turned back to his coffee.

“You two know her?”

“She went to school with us.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded again. “That’s rough. But you’re okay?”

That was it. One question. No follow-up.

Alice folded her arms. “I’m fine.”

He smiled like that settled it. “Good. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders.”

She didn’t answer. He moved on.

As Bud rinsed out his mug, he gave her a quick once-over and frowned slightly.

“Your roots are starting to show,” he said offhand. “Might want to take care of that sooner rather than later.”

Alice stiffened, instinctively brushing a hand through her hair.

It had been weeks since she’d last touched up the dye. Under the drugstore black, the natural red was starting to come back through. Her mother’s color.

The one Bud had insisted she stop wearing.
Too upsetting for JD, he’d said.
Too much like her.

Alice said nothing.

She nodded toward the paper bag sitting on the counter. “Mrs. Sawyer sent food.”

“Oh yeah?”

She didn’t elaborate. Just started unpacking the containers—spaghetti, salad, bread wrapped in foil—methodical, like normalcy was something you could build out of leftovers.

Once everything was sealed and labeled, she rinsed her hands and headed upstairs.

The hallway light flickered faintly—one of those little things she kept meaning to fix but never got around to.

She pushed open her bedroom door and immediately froze.

The blankets were pulled up with that performative precision JD used when he wanted things to look under control. Her desk was cleared. The window cracked just an inch.

And sitting on her pillow—not his—was the note.

Folded once. Edges careful. JD’s handwriting—steady, but heavy.

⸻

Alice—
Heard the news. Couldn’t sit here and watch him breathe smoke over it.
I’ll be careful.
I just need air.
—JD

⸻

Alice stood there a long time, the note trembling slightly in her hand.

She hated when he did this. Disappeared like he was walking into a story instead of real life. Like he could explain everything away with a journal entry or a metaphor.

But what scared her more was the line: I just need air.

Not a storm. Not a fire. Just air.
As if the house itself was suffocating him.
As if Bud had changed the oxygen in the walls.

Alice stared out the window, into the dark stretch of neighborhood beyond.

Even though he didn’t put it in the note, it was pretty obvious where he’d gone.
It didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

She crumpled the note slightly in her fist.

He said he’d be back.

But Alice knew better than most—
JD always came back changed.
And not always for the better.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: What We Almost Did
POV – Veronica

She kept thinking about the sofa.

Not what it looked like—not the black leather, creased and cold, or the way it might stick to bare skin in summer. But the feel of it. The sharp chill of the couch against her back, slowly giving way to warmth as JD pressed into her. The heat of his hand slipping beneath her shirt. The breath at her jaw—uneven, almost reverent.

And then—

Alice’s voice.

Sharp. Furious. Shattering.

The moment cracked like glass under a hammer, and nothing had felt solid since.

Veronica curled tighter in the corner of her bed, journal open in her lap, pen trembling between her fingers. The room was dim, quiet except for the low hum of the hallway light and the occasional clink of the downstairs dishwasher.

Her parents had no idea.

They’d welcomed her back like it was a regular night. Asked nothing. Noticed nothing. And maybe that was the worst part—how easy it was to pretend nothing had happened when everyone was willing to look away.

She stared at the blank page.

Then began to write.

I feel bad that Heather’s gone.
But not as bad as I think I should.

It’s like someone cut the power to the worst part of my life, and instead of grieving, I’m just… waiting for the lights to flicker back on.

She was one of my best friends.
But as friends go, she was pretty shitty.
Still a person. Still a voice in the hallway. Still someone who made space for herself by stepping on everyone else—including me.

And now she’s gone, and I don’t feel free.
I just feel… heavy.

The next lines came faster.

JD makes it lighter.
He shouldn’t. But he does.

Even after everything.
Even with the way we almost used each other to forget it.

Veronica stopped writing.

She didn’t need to describe the moment Alice had walked in. It haunted her either way. The truth was, she hadn’t wanted to stop—not because sex would’ve fixed anything, but because it would’ve made something real. Something they could hold onto.

There had been other quiet chances over the weekend to pick things up where they’d left off, but Alice had always been close. Watching. Guarding. And somehow… it hadn’t felt right.

She was sure JD felt the same.

Maybe that was the scariest part.

The knock at the window startled her.

She snapped the journal shut and sat up, heart pounding—until she saw the familiar figure just outside the glass.

Of course.

He climbed through the window like something out of a fever dream. Wind-tousled. Hollow-eyed. Real.

“You’re seriously climbing through my window?” she asked, disbelief and relief tangled in her voice.

JD gave her a crooked smile. “Didn’t want to ring the bell. Your parents kind of freak me out.”

She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him.

“What are you doing here? Does Alice know you went out again?”

“I left her a note,” he said with a shrug. “I saw the news. I had to check on you.”

She let go and returned to the bed, one hand resting on her journal but not opening it.

JD hovered near the desk, unsure. “How are you holding up?”

Veronica gave a tired half-smile. “Same as before everyone else found out. Numb.”

A pause.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about the other day,” he said. “About us. What Alice walked in on.”

Veronica nodded. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it either.”

“We were thinking like people who needed something to hold onto.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

Still JD. Still someone she wanted to choose—even if she wasn’t sure he’d always choose her back. Even after he sent her home like it was the safest option for everyone. Even when it still stung.

“I keep wondering,” she said softly, stepping closer to him, “if we would’ve done it. If she hadn’t stopped us.”

JD stepped closer. “I think we would’ve.”

“I think we wanted to.”

“I’m not sure it would’ve been a good idea.”

“You’re probably right,” she said—and then she kissed him.

She reached for his hand, held it, and pulled him down beside her onto the bed.

JD lay next to her, one hand at her waist, his voice low between kisses. “I didn’t come here to finish what we started… unless you want to,” he whispered, hopeful.

Veronica let out a soft laugh as she pulled him closer. “I want to.”

“I shouldn’t have come… but I had to see you,” he spoke into her neck.

Because even now—
Even with the shame, the fear, the weight of everything they’d done—
She still wanted to choose him.

And that meant something.

It was very early when Veronica woke.
Gray light crept across the ceiling. Her clothes were tangled at the foot of the bed. JD was curled behind her, one arm slung across her waist like even in sleep, he was afraid she’d vanish.

Neither of them had meant to fall asleep.
Both knew what they did—and what they were still doing—was a terrible idea. But the closeness was something she craved. And judging by the look in JD’s eyes when she’d told him, she was sure he felt the same.

They hadn’t been able to let go.
They still didn’t want to.
And now the air between them was changed—quiet, raw, real.

JD stirred beside her and sat up slowly.
“I should go,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head and trailing down her neck.

Veronica nodded, blinking back sleep. “I know. Be careful.” She kissed him back, reluctant to let him go.

After he dressed, he leaned down and kissed her—soft, unsure, lingering—and pulled on his black trench coat. He glanced once at the glowing red numbers on the clock: 4:37 AM.
Too early for comfort. Too late to pretend this hadn’t happened.

Before he climbed back out the window, she reached for a scrap of paper and a pen.
“Can you write your phone number down?” she asked. “I don’t have it yet. And I know you can’t be at school today because of the suspension. But… if today gets bad, I’d like to be able to call you.”

JD scribbled the number, then gently folded her fingers over the paper before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll pick up.”

Then he was gone—like a ghost who knew the house too well.

Veronica sat on the edge of her bed for a long time, knees pulled to her chest.

She didn’t know what today would bring.
But at least she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21.1: The Ghost in the Hall
POV – Alice

She heard the front door creak before she heard the footsteps.

JD.
Of course.

Not loud—just the faint groan of old wood shifting, followed by the whisper of JD’s shoes landing too softly, like he didn’t want the house to notice he was back.

Alice didn’t move at first.
She stayed curled beneath the blanket on the living room couch, eyes closed, pretending she didn’t notice the way the air shifted—like the front of the house had drawn in a breath it didn’t mean to take.

But then the stairs creaked—just once, careful and deliberate—and she opened her eyes.

She waited until she heard the soft click of his bedroom door closing. Then she tossed the blanket aside and rose to her feet, silent.

Her bare steps made no sound on the stairs. She didn’t bother knocking. Just turned the knob and stepped into his room like she had every right to.

Because she did.

JD was sitting on the edge of the bed, boots still on, coat half-off—like he hadn’t expected to make it this far without a fight.

He looked up when she entered. Froze.

Alice folded her arms. “You climbed through her window.”

JD blinked. “Hi. Good morning. Nice to see you too.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was flat. “Don’t act like this is cute.”

He looked away. “I left a note.”

“Yes,” she said sharply. “And like most of your notes, it told me exactly what you wanted me to hear—and nothing I actually needed to know.”

“I just wanted to check on her.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “That why your coat smells like lemon shampoo and regret?”

JD winced. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

Alice stepped closer. “But it did.”

He nodded once. Tired. No defense. No excuse.

She rubbed her forehead, eyes stinging—maybe from lack of sleep. Or maybe just from watching him set himself on fire again and trying to convince everyone it was light.

“Do you even remember the last time you got too close to someone and it blew up?”

JD met her eyes. “She’s not like Mom.”

Alice’s voice dropped. “Exactly. That’s what scares me.”

Because this one was real. And if he lost her—if he burned this down too—there wouldn’t be any excuses left.

Silence stretched between them like a dare.

Finally, JD dropped his head into his hands. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I just… needed to feel close to something that made sense.”

Alice didn’t answer right away. She crossed the room and picked up a slip of paper from his desk—another half-written note, probably never meant to be delivered.

She didn’t tear it. Didn’t crumple it.

Just held it, like it might explain something he couldn’t say out loud.

“You don’t get to leave me behind while you go rewriting the ending,” she said quietly.

“I’m not,” he muttered. “I just—”

“‘I just needed air,’” she finished, quoting the note. “I know.”

She looked at him—really looked.

His shoulders were hunched. His eyes were rimmed in red. He didn’t look like someone who’d stayed out too late.
He looked like someone who’d crossed a line and didn’t know how to walk it back.

Alice sighed.

“Take a shower. Get some rest. If Dad asks, you couldn’t sleep and went for a walk.”

JD blinked. “You’re covering for me?”

“I’m not covering,” she said. “I’m buying you time. There’s a difference.”

And with that, she left him there—sitting on the edge of his bed in a room that suddenly felt smaller than it had yesterday.

Because JD was back.

But not unchanged.

And Alice wasn’t sure how many more times she could watch him disappear and still believe he’d come back whole.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21.2 – Timeline Maintenance

POV – Heather McNamara

The weekend was over—and Heather’s usual Monday morning dread felt laughable compared to the weight sitting on her chest now.

Whatever lightness she’d felt from those chance meetings with Alice had been buried under the shock of losing Heather Chandler—and the emotional whiplash of dealing with Heather Duke.

Since the phone call Saturday night, Duke had swung from grief to rage to something disturbingly close to relief. She’d spent most of the afternoon and evening calling McNamara’s house nonstop. When she finally got through, she’d demanded to know where she’d been.

And without thinking, McNamara had told her: she’d been out. With Alice.

“You ditched me for the weird new girl?” Duke had snapped, her voice crackling through the landline like static.

McNamara had almost said, You ditched me first—but the timing, and everything that came after, made it too loaded to say out loud.

A sharp car horn jolted her from her thoughts. Heather Duke. Of course.

She grabbed her bag and rushed outside before Duke could blare the horn again.

“I thought you’d be waiting,” Duke said as she climbed into the Jeep. “We’ve got a lot to do before the assembly. I was up late typing the presentation. I’ve already assigned parts for you, Veronica, and me to read.”

McNamara blinked. “I thought you were mad at Veronica.”

“I am,” Duke said flatly. “But if we want people to remember Heather Chandler’s legacy properly, we need to present a united front. That means reading what I give you. Exactly what I give you.”

She didn’t wait for a response before adding, “No improvising. And definitely no talking to the weird new girl.”

As Duke launched into her plans for the memorial assembly, McNamara turned toward the window, tuning her out.

Wishing she were somewhere else.
And with someone else.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22 – Things Left Unsaid (Alice POV)
POV: Alice

JD was up when Alice came downstairs. It looked like he hadn’t even tried to shower or sleep.

He sat at the kitchen table, hunched over a sheet of notebook paper, chewing on the end of a pen like it owed him money. His coffee was untouched. Crumpled pages littered the table like fallen leaves.

Alice crossed her arms. “You didn’t sleep?”

JD shook his head. “Didn’t try.”

She hovered in the doorway, watching the uneven scratch of his handwriting, the way his shoulders moved like he was bracing for something.

“You writing a manifesto or a love letter?” she asked dryly.

JD glanced at her, eyes shadowed but not sharp. “What do you think it is, Alice? A grocery list?”

He folded the pages and tried to slide them into an envelope, only to tear one corner in the process. With a quiet sigh, he held it out to her.

“Can you give this to Veronica? Please.”

Alice didn’t take it right away. “You know I’m not your personal courier.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’m suspended. How else am I supposed to get a message to her?” Then, quieter: “There are things I need her to hear now, or I might not be brave enough to say them later.”

That earned a raised eyebrow. “Really?”

“Please,” JD said, fast. Too fast—like the word had been waiting behind his teeth all morning. “I need her to have this.”

Alice looked at the envelope, still resting in his hand like it was ticking.

“What does it say?”

JD shrugged. “Stuff I’m not good at saying out loud. That I’m sorry. That I’m thinking about her. That I’d be there if I could.”
He hesitated.
“That I don’t want her to feel alone.”

Alice’s instinct was to say no. To remind him this wasn’t a movie, that a letter wouldn’t erase the weight sitting on Veronica’s chest. That whatever this thing was between them didn’t need more mythology.

But she could see it—how tightly he was gripping the moment. How much he needed Veronica to have something of him while they were apart.

She took the letter.

JD exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all morning.

“She’s going to get looks today,” he said quietly. “Questions. Teachers pretending not to know. Rumors.”

Alice nodded. “She’ll survive it.”

“I know,” he said. “But I also know how fast surviving turns into breaking.”

She studied him.

“You want me to keep an eye on her.”

“Please. Maybe you could give her a ride to school.”

Please wasn’t a word JD used lightly—and he’d said it three times in one conversation.

Alice tucked the letter into her bag. “I’ll give her a ride. I’ll give it to her in the car.”

JD didn’t argue.

Alice turned to leave, then paused at the door.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s not just her people are going to talk about. Heather’s gone. People remember who she hung out with.”

JD looked up. “You think they’ll come after you too?”

“I think they’ll assume things. Whisper. Guess. That’s what high school does. We both probably have targets on our backs.”

JD was quiet for a beat.

“Then maybe,” he said, “we both keep an eye on each other.”

Alice didn’t smile. But her voice softened.

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe we do.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 23 – Scenes We’re Forced to Play
POV: Veronica

Veronica didn’t realize Alice was going to pick her up that morning. She also realized Alice hadn’t called ahead—maybe because she knew JD had stayed over. Maybe because she knew what had happened.

Alice didn’t say anything at first, just nodded toward the passenger seat.

The car ride was quiet. Not uncomfortable, exactly—just full of things unsaid.

Halfway to school, Alice finally spoke.

“JD… asked me to give you this.”

She handed over an envelope so overstuffed it had split along the side. Veronica took it carefully.

“Thanks.”

She looked down at it, then sideways at Alice. “Was he still awake when you left?”

Alice gave a short nod. “Didn’t sleep once he got home. Just sat at the table writing that.”

Veronica turned the envelope over in her hands.

“You know what it says?”

Alice shrugged. “I didn’t read it. Figured it was for your eyes only. But—maybe don’t read it with someone looking over your shoulder.”

Veronica nodded. She didn’t say thank you again. She didn’t have to.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, Alice shifted in her seat like she wanted to say more.

“I’m not telling anyone,” she said, eyes forward. “About the weekend. That’s not my story.”

Veronica studied her. “But you’re worried.”

Alice snorted softly. “When am I not?”

They walked in together, their footsteps slightly out of sync.

Inside, the hall was colder than Veronica remembered.

People were already whispering—cutting their eyes toward her and then away, like she was a walking ghost of someone else’s grief. Like seeing her made it real. Or worse, gave them permission to forget it wasn’t their story.

Heather McNamara stood a few steps behind her, gaze flicking quickly away from Alice.

Veronica caught the shift. McNamara—usually polite, even soft-spoken, and only ever cruel under pressure—suddenly couldn’t seem to look Alice in the eye.

And Alice looked… confused. Not angry. Just like she hadn’t expected the cold shoulder either.

Before Veronica could ask, a voice rang out—too loud, too bright, like a flashbulb going off in a darkroom.

“There you are!” Heather Duke called, cheerfully artificial. It hit the air like sprayed-on perfume—meant to mask, not remove. “We need you.”

Veronica turned to Alice, but Alice was already backing away.

“You don’t have to—” she started.

“It’s okay,” Veronica said quietly. It wasn’t. But she went anyway.

McNamara and Duke flanked her like nothing was wrong, like they’d practiced this pose in a yearbook mirror.

Duke was already talking. “There’s no time to rehearse, but I assigned you a section. You’re right after me.”

Veronica blinked. “Wait. I’m speaking?”

Duke gave her a look like she’d just asked if birds fly. “Of course. We’re her best friends.”

McNamara looked down.

Veronica didn’t argue. She just followed.

Knowing that somehow, even now—especially now—she’d have to find the right words.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24 – The Paper-Flower Crown
POV – Veronica

The auditorium was packed—standing room only. Students pressed into the aisles, faculty lined the back walls, and someone had dimmed the overhead lights just enough to make everything feel sacred and suffocating all at once.

Veronica stood behind the curtain with Heather Duke and McNamara, flanked by the glittered memorial board she’d helped assemble, pretending not to shake.

There was a paper-flower crown on the podium.

Purple and red tissue blooms, uneven and drooping slightly, arranged like a crumpled lunch project someone had declared holy. Like symbolism glued together at the last minute.

“She would’ve loved it,” McNamara whispered.

Veronica didn’t answer.

She was already drowning in the sound of it all: the soft sniffles from the front row, the hollow rustle of tissues, the tinny warble of “Wind Beneath My Wings” piped in over the PA system like some kind of emotional tranquilizer. A song so saccharine Heather Chandler would’ve risen from the grave just to slap the DJ.

Beside her, Duke kept whispering lines under her breath like she was rehearsing her grief.

Veronica scanned the crowd. No Alice.

She hadn’t seen her since arriving at school—swept from her orbit the moment Duke and McNamara reattached themselves like matching earrings.

Veronica still hadn’t read JD’s letter. It was tucked into the back of her notebook, too heavy with potential to risk opening in public. She told herself she’d read it later—when her hands weren’t full of fake roses and social pressure.

Now, standing in the wings, she regretted not reading it sooner.

And JD—JD didn’t even know this was happening.

Heather Duke stepped forward first. Her voice trembled just enough to sound real to people who didn’t know better. She spoke about Heather Chandler’s strength, her leadership, her humor—how misunderstood she’d been. The crowd nodded along. Teachers dabbed at their eyes.

Veronica’s stomach twisted.

Because it was a lie. A well-rehearsed, guilt-soaked lie. And she was the next act.

Duke stepped back and gave her a small, meaningful smile. Her cue.

Veronica stepped forward.

The lights were hotter than she expected. The podium was sticky with someone else’s grief. And the paper-flower crown was still sitting there—daring her to put it on.

She didn’t.

She placed her hands flat on the podium, leaned into the mic, and—for a full three seconds—said nothing.

The room held its breath.

“Heather Chandler,” she began, voice low, unsure if it would hold, “was a complicated person.”

Duke stiffened beside her.

“She was… bold. She made space. She didn’t wait to be invited.”

Veronica swallowed.

“She could be harsh. Cruel, even. But she was never fake.”

There were a few sharp inhales. A rustle of discomfort.

“She scared me. She challenged me. Sometimes I think she liked breaking things just to see if they’d come back stronger.”

Her throat tightened.

“She wasn’t perfect. But she mattered.”

The silence that followed wasn’t soft. It was brittle—like the truth had landed but no one knew what to do with it.

Veronica stepped back, eyes stinging. McNamara reached out to touch her elbow, to usher her offstage, but Veronica shook her off.

The paper crown still sat untouched.

They didn’t want truth. They wanted ritual.
They wanted a version of Heather Chandler they could mourn without guilt.
And Veronica couldn’t give it to them.

Her breath caught.

She turned, fled offstage, and didn’t stop until she reached the dim hallway behind the auditorium, chest heaving.

She made it to the pay phone near the faculty lounge. Her hands shook as she dropped in a coin and pulled out the scrap of paper she’d stuffed in her pocket that morning. JD’s number.

Four rings. Then the answering machine.

She didn’t leave a message.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she sank to the floor beside the phone, arms wrapped around her knees, head bowed.

And that’s when the tears came—silent, hot, real.

Not for Heather.

For herself.

For the girl who was supposed to say the right thing.
And for the one who no longer knew what that even meant.

Her hand brushed her journal. The envelope Alice had given her slipped free and hit the floor with a quiet, unmistakable weight.

She stared at it.

Then opened it.

JD’s handwriting was messier than she had expected—slanted, rushed, like he hadn’t known how to slow down the feelings spilling out.

It was a lot. A full thirteen pages of a lot. A flood of thoughts that felt too sharp for daylight. Too honest for air.

And even though he didn’t use the words I love you, the implication hummed between every line.

Veronica read it once.

Then again.

And her fingers curled around the pages like they were the only solid thing left in her day.

She didn’t know if she was ready to say it back.

But she knew this much…

Whatever happened next—
She wasn’t going through it alone.
Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24.1: The Ones Who Notice
POV – Heather McNamara

Heather lingered by the vending machine, fingers frozen above the buttons. She wasn’t hungry. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been standing there, trying to look like she was doing something.

She spotted Alice before Alice spotted her—alone, sharp-eyed, cutting through the near-empty hallway with purpose.

Heather hesitated, then took a few slow steps forward.

“She’s not with the you then,” she said quietly, by way of greeting. “I didn’t see her with Heather Duke either.”
“I don’t think Heather is happy with Veronica. She didn’t stick to the script l”
Alice didn’t stop walking. “Yeah. I figured.”

Heather fell into step beside her. “I thought maybe she’d be back here. You know… near the phone?”

“I already checked.”

They turned a corner. The silence stretched long between them. Heather bit the inside of her cheek.

“She was amazing, though,” she said, not sure if she meant it as apology or deflection. “On stage. She didn’t fake it. Everyone else was just—” She stopped herself.

Alice didn’t answer. She kept scanning the halls like she could track Veronica by instinct.

Heather tried again. “This morning… I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

“You were,” Alice said flatly.

Heather winced. “I didn’t mean to be.”

“You didn’t even look at me.”

“I know.” Heather exhaled, voice softening. “It’s just—everything got… messed up.”

Alice slowed slightly, eyes cutting to her. “Messed up how?”

Heather stared at the lockers. “Duke’s been saying I shouldn’t talk to you. That it looks weird. That people might—” She stopped. “She wasn’t thrilled I spent Saturday with you.”

Alice’s brow furrowed. “So that’s why you shut down?”

Heather nodded, then shrugged, arms wrapping around herself. “It felt like… like cheating. Like I wasn’t supposed to enjoy that night. I didn’t know how to talk to you after.”

For a moment, Alice said nothing. Then her voice dropped a register, quieter but not unkind.

“You could’ve just said that”

“I didn’t want to make it worse. And I didn’t have time to get away from Heather. She specifically told me to not talk to you. How was I supposed to explain to you that o can talk to you in from of that person who told me to not talk to you?” She said in a rush

“You kind of did,” Alice said. “But… I get it.”

That landed heavier than anything else.

They turned another corner. Still no Veronica.

“I wonder if she read the letter after the assembly,” Alice said. “I figured maybe she needed space, but…”
“What letter?” Heather asked
“One that my brother wrote for her.”

“But space doesn’t usually come with a disappearing act.”

Alice nodded.

Heather hesitated, then almost said something—almost. Her mouth opened.

“That morning—when Duke showed up, she said I’d ruin everything if I—”
She stopped. Swallowed. “If I kept talking to you.”

Alice looked over at her, searching her face, but didn’t press. Not yet.

They passed the stairwell. Still no Veronica.

And then—click. The unmistakable sound of sensible heels on tile.

Ms. Fleming rounded the corner with a clipboard and a head full of steam.

“Ladies. The assembly ended over twenty minutes ago. Care to explain why you’re wandering the halls?”

Alice and Heather glanced at each other. Neither spoke.

Ms. Fleming didn’t wait. “Detention. Both of you. Congratulations on the solidarity. Now move.”

They followed, steps slow and reluctant.

They hadn’t found Veronica.

But at least, for a moment, they’d found each other.

Chapter Text

Chapter24.2: What You Didn’t Say

POV – JD

The ringing of the phone woke him up.
It took a moment to register who might be calling as he rushed to answer, still caught in a sleepy daze.

The phone rang—twice more.

Then the machine kicked in.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his voice came through the speaker—flat, slightly rushed:

“Hey. You’ve reached the Dean residence. Leave a message.”
Beep.

Silence.

JD picked up the phone.

No voice. No words. Just… a decision reversed. Someone changing their mind at the last second.

He didn’t need a message to know who it was.

Veronica.

He hit rewind. Pressed play—just to be sure. In case the machine had picked up something he missed.

The tape hissed. A faint breath. Then nothing.

He let it whir to a stop before the dial tone swallowed it whole.

His fingers hovered over the phone again—but didn’t pick it up.

Instead, he sat at the kitchen table, staring at the a draft of the letter he’d given Alice that morning.
Thirteen pages—written, rewritten, rewritten again.

He’d told himself it didn’t need to be perfect. But he hadn’t meant it. He wanted every word to land like a parachute—something to break their fall.

And now?
Maybe she’d read it. Maybe she hadn’t.
Maybe it was too much.

Would people stare at her. As she walks through the halls. He been to enough school to know how teenagers gawk. How many people knew that they were going to that party together?
Would be notice that she looks like she’s keeping a secret?
The weight of an entire school staring at her and wanting a lie.

He didn’t know what had happened. Only that it had broken her enough to almost call—and not quite.

So he waited.
Didn’t check the clock.
Didn’t check the window.
Didn’t even pretend to get up.

The phone rang again.

This time, he snatched it up before the second ring.

“Hello?”

A pause. Then—

“JD?”

Her voice cracked on his name like it had splintered in her throat.

He closed his eyes. “I got your answering machine message.”

“I didn’t leave one.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence.

Then:
“I—I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

“Tell me where you are.”

“School. Back hallway. Pay phone near the faculty lounge.”

“You want me to come get you?”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Please.”

“I’m on my way.”

POV – Veronica
POV – Veronica

The hallway had emptied again. She was surprised how well she’d stayed hidden on the floor.

She sat with her back to the wall, JD’s letter clutched like a lifeline, the air still thick with the words she hadn’t said.

Someone had passed earlier—cast her a look like they weren’t sure whether to offer comfort or avoid catching whatever she was feeling.

She didn’t care.

Her eyes burned.

The letter—creased, fingerprinted, read twice over—rested in her lap. She wasn’t ready to let it go. Couldn’t.
His words still buzzed beneath her skin.
Messy. Rushed. Honest.
Everything she hadn’t realized she needed.

Eventually, she stood—knees stiff, stomach hollow—and pushed open the side door.

Outside, the air was heavy. Gray sky, no breeze. Like the day hadn’t exhaled yet.

And then—across the lot—she saw him.

Leaning against the bike, helmet dangling from one hand. Eyes already locked on hers like she was the only thing anchoring him.

She walked faster than she meant to. Didn’t stop until her arms were around him.

JD caught her without hesitation. One arm firm across her back, the other settling gently between her shoulders.

“I hated today,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“I figured.”

He didn’t ask for details.
Didn’t push.
Just held her like he already knew the parts she hadn’t said.

When she pulled back, her hand lingered on his chest.

“Can you take me anywhere that’s not here?”

JD nodded, voice quiet. “Let me take you home.”

He handed her the helmet.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 24.3: Detention Notes (Heather McNamara)
POV – Heather McNamara

The detention room smelled like old pencil shavings and mildew. Ms. Fleming hadn’t even looked up when she came in—just pointed to the back row and went back to some kind of paperwork.

Heather McNamara slid into the seat closest to the window. It was just her and Ms. Fleming for a few minutes. She wondered if Alice even knew where the detention room was—or if she’d forgotten.

With about a minute before afternoon detention officially started, Alice slipped in and took the seat beside her. Neither of them said anything right away.

Heather kept her eyes on the blackboard. She could still feel the stiffness in Alice’s shoulder from earlier—that brief, confused glance when she’d tried to say hi and Heather had barely acknowledged her.

She hadn’t meant to freeze her out. Not really. It was just—everything had gotten so complicated so fast.

And underneath it all, she kept thinking about that one sleepover in sixth grade—before everything shifted.
Before the heels and cruelty and power plays.
Just the three of them in flannel pajamas, eating popcorn and debating who was better: Madonna or Cyndi Lauper.
That version of Heather had laughed so hard she nearly choked on a Milk Dud. She’d braided McNamara’s hair and made up a dance routine in socked feet on the carpet.
She’d whispered, “Don’t let boys tell you who you are.”

That version of Heather had vanished slowly—replaced by someone sharper, meaner, more afraid of being unimportant than of being hated.
But McNamara had never stopped looking for that girl in the silences between insults.
And now she was gone—for real. For good.
And somehow, that hurt more than she’d expected.

“I called home to let JD know I was staying late,” Alice said quietly, looking tired. “I should’ve realized that was where Veronica was. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her—JD said she was asleep.”

“Oh.” Heather blinked, startled as if she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Right. That makes sense.”

Alice glanced sideways. “I should’ve figured. The second we couldn’t find her…”

Heather shrugged. “You were worried.”

“You were too. Don’t act like you weren’t.”

“Girls, detention has started. No talking,” Ms. Fleming said, glaring at them from behind her paperwork.

A beat. Then Heather pulled a sheet of lined paper from her notebook and started writing. She folded it once, twice, and slid it under the desk to Alice.

Alice raised a brow, then opened it.

DUKE IS FURIOUS.
She keeps going on about Veronica “ruining everything.”
I think she blames her for what happened Chandler.
Even though… I don’t think she’s really mad about that.

Alice scrawled something underneath and passed it back.

Do you think Duke is afraid Veronica is trying to take Heather Chandler’s place?

Heather smiled faintly. Then wrote:

Possibly.
Duke is going to come after her either way.
And if she can’t?
She’ll try to drag anyone who’s close to Veronica through the mud instead.

Alice tapped her pencil against her lip before replying:

Let her try.
Veronica’s not alone.
Neither is JD.

Heather hesitated before adding:

I wasn’t trying to freeze you out this morning.
Duke found out about us hanging out on Saturday.
She wasn’t happy.
Said it “looked bad.” Like I care what she thinks.
I just didn’t want to make things worse.

Alice didn’t write back right away. But when she did, it was simple.

We’re good.
But next time—just say hi.

They exchanged a quick glance. Almost a smile.

Across the room, Ms. Fleming cleared her throat and muttered something about indoor voices to no one in particular. Even though neither of them had said anything.

Heather passed one final note.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next.
But I’m glad we’re not pretending today.

Alice nodded once.

And for the rest of detention, they just sat in the quiet.
No more notes. No more pretending.

Just the quiet knowledge that things were already shifting—and maybe, just maybe, they weren’t entirely alone in it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25 - A Way Out (JD, Alice POV)

POV – JD

He had brought her home.
Held her as she finished crying.
Watched as she fell asleep before falling back to sleep himself.

Then—for the second time that day—he was woken by the house phone ringing.
At least this time, he got to it before the answering machine did.

It was Alice. Somehow, she’d gotten detention and would be home later. Alice sounded worried. She wasn’t sure where Veronica was just that she disappeared during the assembly. He let her know that she was with him.

He hadn’t even realized how late it had become.

When he went back to his room, Veronica was awake.
She looked up at him. “I read the letter.”

He nodded once. Didn’t ask what she thought. Didn’t try to explain.

“There was a lot in it,” she said. “Some of it scared me.”

“I figured.,” he replied softly.

“But not all of it. And even though you didn’t use the exact words… I could tell what you were trying to say.”

That made him pause.
Finally, he sat beside her—close enough that their shoulders touched.

“You don’t have to say anything back.”

Veronica turned toward him. “I want to.”

He swallowed. Didn’t move.

“I love you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “It scares me too. But maybe we can be scared together.”

He looked at her then—really looked. Like he was trying to memorize her face in this exact moment.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She kissed him first.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate.
It wasn’t like the other night—all heat and grief and adrenaline.

This was slower. More careful. And when they pulled away, JD touched her cheek like she might break if he pressed too hard.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“I know,” she answered. “But I want to.”

He nodded, eyes searching hers one last time for hesitation. When he found none, he kissed her again.

They undressed quietly, clumsily—helping each other out of layers like they were sharing a secret, not shedding something shameful. JD’s hands trembled when he touched her, but he didn’t pull away. Veronica guided him with gentleness, not urgency.

It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t choreographed.

But it was real.

Afterward, they lay curled beneath the blankets, bodies tangled in the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward—it was full. Their hands found each other again without needing to look.

JD pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I don’t want this to be something we regret.”

“It’s not,” she said. “It won’t be.”

He watched as she drifted off again.
She shifted in her sleep, curling toward him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And just for a second, the thought came—clear and stupid and terrifying:

I want to marry her.

He shut it down immediately. Too much. Too fast. She’d laugh in his face—or worse, say yes when she didn’t mean it.
They were still covered in death from the weekend, still waiting to see what parts of them were going to scar.

But even as he pushed the thought away, it didn’t leave.
It stayed there.
Low in his chest.
Quiet. Steady.

Something he wasn’t ready for.
Something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
But something that felt, just maybe, real.

POV – Alice

The house was quiet when Alice got home from school.

Too quiet—but not unfamiliar.

She dropped her backpack by the front door and stood still, listening. No TV. No music. No telltale scuffle of JD’s boots. Just the low creak of the ceiling settling, and that particular kind of silence that had weight to it—the kind that meant something had already happened.

When Veronica hadn’t come back after the tribute.

Alice had noticed immediately. One minute, Veronica was at the podium, giving the kind of half-truth eulogy that made people squirm. The next, she was gone.

Not to the bathroom. Not to the nurse. Just—vanished.

Heather Duke had shrugged it off. “She probably needed a moment,” she’d said, like Veronica was some dainty heroine in a paperback drama.
Heather McNamara had looked genuinely worried. She’d even gone looking for Veronica afterward but was quickly swept into the next phase of orchestrated mourning.

Alice was still kicking herself for not appreciating sooner that Veronica had asked JD to pick her up. Given how upset she’d been, who wouldn’t want to get as far away from that school as possible?

She was pretty sure JD was still home—and that he hadn’t taken Veronica back to hers.

With how suspiciously quiet the house was, there was only one place they could be.

She climbed the stairs two at a time.

His bedroom door was shut.

She knocked once. Sharp. Not angry. Just present.

There was a pause. The rustle of fabric.
Then JD’s voice, low and cautious: “Come in.”

Alice opened the door to find them in the bed.

Not just lying there.
Still under the covers.

Clothed now—at least partially. JD had pulled a flannel over his bare chest, and Veronica was wrapped in his comforter, hair mussed, cheeks pink.

They didn’t look startled. Just braced.

Veronica sat up straighter, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. JD pulled her closer to him, protective.

“Really?” Alice said evenly.

Veronica looked down, then back up. “Sorry. I should’ve told you I was leaving.”

“I’m not your parole officer,” Alice replied. Then, after a beat: “You okay?”

Veronica hesitated. “Getting there.”

Alice glanced between them, reading all the things they weren’t saying. The silence that followed wasn’t tense—but it was thick. Not with judgment, but with truth.

“Just…” Alice’s voice softened. “Don’t make me lie for you. Either of you.”

Veronica shook her head. “We’re not asking you to.”

Alice looked at them—curled and quiet, still echoing with a decision they probably hadn’t meant to make—and felt something twist in her chest.

Not anger. Not approval.
Just the weight of being the one who stayed grounded.

She let out a slow breath. “Alright.”

Then she stepped back and pulled the door mostly shut behind her.

Not slammed. Not left wide open.

Just closed enough to say: I see you. I’m still here.

Because sometimes, the most protective thing you could do was let the truth settle—exactly where it landed—and trust them not to shatter under it.

Chapter Text

Chapter: The Things That Used to Matter
POV – Veronica

The kitchen was too bright for how she felt.

Not when she came downstairs wearing a mismatched mix of her own clothes and JD’s—jeans she’d tossed on quickly, his flannel still hanging loose over her shoulders. Not when she found Alice already at the table, a half-full mug of tea in front of her, elbows resting near the steam. Not when the silence settled between them like a threadbare blanket—thin, but not unfriendly.

Veronica sat across from her, mug untouched, the ceramic warm against her palms. She wished she was still upstairs with JD—but she owed Alice at least a conversation.

No one had really said much.

Not when she’d padded into the kitchen barefoot. Not when Alice had reached for the kettle and poured her a mug without asking how she took it. Not even when the metal kettle let out a quiet hiss as it settled back on the cooling burner.

Alice finally spoke. “You know she’s going to come after you, right?”

Veronica blinked. “Who?”

“Heather Duke. She’s not subtle.”

Veronica looked down at the table, tracing a faded scratch in the wood with her thumbnail. “Good.”

Alice gave her a look. “You don’t care?”

“I don’t want Heather Chandler’s spot,” Veronica said. “And maybe at some point I would’ve cared what Duke thought. I think I did,” she added. “Last week, I might’ve bent over backward trying to make it right. Thursday, I probably would’ve apologized even if I wasn’t sure what I did wrong.”

She looked up.

“But now? After everything? No. I really don’t.”

Alice nodded slowly. “That’s new for you.”

“Yeah,” Veronica said. “Guess it is.”

Alice raised her mug. “Congratulations. You’ve officially stopped giving a shit what Heather Duke thinks.”

Veronica clinked her mug against Alice’s without drinking. “Feels weird.”

“Give it a day,” Alice said. “It’ll start feeling like freedom.”

The tea between them was beginning to cool. Alice didn’t move to pour more.

“I don’t know her, but I know the type,” she said. “She’ll push back if she feels like someone else is getting the spotlight. And she’ll aim for whoever looks soft enough to bruise.”

Veronica’s throat tightened at that.

She thought of JD upstairs, the way he’d held her like he already knew how heavy her heart was. The way he didn’t flinch, even when she did. The way she hadn’t even needed to explain herself.

He wasn’t easy. She knew that. There were shadows in him—sharp corners she hadn’t fully mapped yet. But somehow, even those felt more honest than most people’s smiles.

“I can handle Duke,” she said quietly.

“You might have to,” Alice said.

A beat passed.

Then Alice stood and started gathering the mugs, not looking at her. “Just… whatever this is, be sure. If it goes to hell, I’m the one who’s gonna have to put out the fire.”

Veronica gave her a grateful look. “Thanks for being here.”

“I didn’t say I liked it,” Alice said, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Just said I’m here.”

For a few minutes, no one said anything. The kettle on the stovetop gave a quiet pop as it cooled. Somewhere outside, a lawnmower started up. The world kept spinning.

And for the first time in a long time, Veronica didn’t feel like she was spinning with it.

She just felt… here.

Present. Exhausted. Real.

And free.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Good Intentions and Other Lies
POV – JD, Alice

POV – JD

JD woke up the next day.

Even though he’d given Veronica a ride home the previous evening, his bed still smelled like her.

That probably shouldn’t have meant anything.

But it did.

A part of him wished she had stayed. Not because of what happened—though that still echoed in his chest when he let himself feel too much—but because it was easier to breathe with her there. Like she anchored something in him he hadn’t realized was floating loose.

He still had a love of chaos. But being with her felt like standing in the eye of the storm—with a view of it all.

That feeling didn’t last once he made it downstairs.

The bacon was already frying when JD shuffled into the kitchen, shirt wrinkled, eyes bleary.

Bud Dean was at the stove. Whistling.

JD stopped in the doorway.

“You’re cooking?” This was not the kind of chaos he appreciated.

His dad glanced over, all grin and posture. “Thought I’d treat my favorite kids to a real breakfast.”

“You’re usually gone by now.”

“Yeah, well,” Bud said, flipping a strip with too much flair, “figured I’d make time today. Family first, right?”

It didn’t fit. Bud didn’t do domestic. Didn’t do champ, or Sunday-morning bacon, or sincere concern.

He did power plays. He did control.

JD grabbed a mug and poured himself black coffee, watching his father over the rim like he expected it to morph into something venomous.

Bud set a plate of overcooked bacon, eggs, and toast in front of him. “Eat up, champ.”

JD stared at the plate like it might blink.

“You cook now?” he said—surprised, suspicious.

Bud beamed. “Can’t a dad make breakfast without it being a federal case?”

JD didn’t answer.

Because this wasn’t about breakfast. Or some last-ditch attempt at parenting.

This was theater.

POV – Alice

She was halfway down the stairs when she heard her dad say “champ.”

It made her pause—just long enough to cringe—then keep moving.

By the time she hit the kitchen, JD was already halfway through pretending to eat, and Bud was pouring orange juice like this was a sitcom and not real life.

“I don’t have time for a weird family breakfast,” she said, brushing past them to grab a banana from the counter and shove it into her bag.

“Morning, kiddo,” Bud said, all grin and effort. “I see you colored your hair—looks good.”

“You’re still here,” she replied flatly, not looking up as she dug around for her keys.

“Got a late start. Thought I’d spend a little time with my two favorite people.”

Alice, under her breath to JD“Bet the bacon’s name-brand. Must be important.”

“You bought steaks last time you wanted something.”

Bud paused for half a beat, then chuckled. “Can’t a dad make breakfast without it being a federal case?”

Alice checked the clock and slung her backpack over one shoulder. “Some of us have places to be.”

Bud gave her a look. “You can’t sit for five minutes?”

She was already halfway to the door. “Not if I don’t want to be late.”

She mouthed sorry to her brother as she left.

She didn’t look back.

After the plates were cleared

Bud didn’t head out like he usually did. Instead, he lingered by the counter, pulling out a slim folder and flipping it open like they were at a meeting and not in the kitchen.

“You’re suspended for a few days, right?” he asked, too casually. “Thought maybe we’d do something. You and me.”

JD blinked. “Like what—go bowling?”

“Something low-key. Father-son bonding,” Bud said, like the phrase didn’t sit quite right in his mouth.

JD folded his arms. “What’s this really about?”

Bud shrugged. “Can’t it be about family?”

“Not when you’ve ignored it this long.”

Bud’s grin faltered just enough to show the crack beneath. “Heard some things. Around town. People say you’ve been… keeping company with some girl named Veronica. Someone said you picked her up yesterday from school. In the middle of the day.”

JD’s stomach knotted. “You been checking up on me?”

“People talk,” Bud replied smoothly. “It’s a small town.”

Probably gossip. JD doubted he knew anything concrete—just that he’d been seen with her. Maybe people assumed they were dating. Maybe that was enough.

But even that was too much in Bud’s hands.

Bud raised both palms, all false innocence. “Hey, I’m just saying—maybe it’s good you’ve got someone normal around.”

JD’s voice went ice-cold. “She’s not your business.”

A beat passed.

Bud smiled again, tighter this time. “Of course not. Just looking out for you, son.”

That last word landed like a warning.

He slipped his folder back into his briefcase and straightened his tie. “Anyway. I’ve got a thing this morning, but I’ll be back before lunch.”

JD didn’t answer. Just watched him leave.

The front door closed. JD stood still, listening for the click of the car door, the engine.

The silence that followed.

Then the phone rang.

He picked it up. “Dean residence.”

Alice’s voice came through the line, slightly muffled. “Hey. Payphone outside the cafeteria. Just checking—he leave?”

“Just now.”

“Figures. He was putting on a show this morning.”

JD let out a humorless breath. “Yeah. Broadway would’ve rejected it for being too fake.”

Alice didn’t laugh. “He’s up to something.”
“I think it’s about Veronica. He started fishing for information after you left. Somehow he found out I picked her up from school yesterday.”

“Great. That’s all we need—Dad playing detective.”
She sighed sighed. “He doesn’t stay in town unless there’s a reason.”

JD looked toward the window, voice low. “If he’s watching us…”

Alice: “…we watch him harder.”

They didn’t say more.

But in that moment, there was something quietly unbreakable between them—even through a payphone and a silence.

Because even if their dad was plotting something—

They were done pretending he still had the upper hand.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26.1: Friendly Fire
POV – Heather McNamara

Heather Duke was waiting by her locker when Heather McNamara rounded the corner.

She looked like she’d been there a while—arms folded, expression tight, wearing a smile that didn’t come anywhere near her eyes.

“Hey,” McNamara offered, trying to keep walking. No such luck.

“You weren’t in homeroom,” Duke said, voice sharp but low. “Everything okay?”

McNamara hesitated. “I had to check in with Ms. Fleming.”

It was technically true. Ms. Fleming had wanted to talk with her that morning about how she was feeling after Heather Chandler’s death. It just left out the part where she’d served detention the day before—with Alice Dean.

Duke raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Because Courtney said you and Alice were in detention. Together.”

McNamara flinched. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“She’s JD’s sister,” Duke said like it was a punchline. “That makes it a big deal.”

McNamara turned to her locker and opened it slowly. “She’s not like him.”

“You sure about that?” Duke leaned in, voice dipping into something poisonous. “He looks like a psychopath. So she probably is too. Or at the very least—she’s covering for him.”

“She’s not,” McNamara said, sharper than she meant to. “She’s just… honest.”

Duke blinked like she didn’t quite understand the word.

“Well, honesty doesn’t exactly have a great track record around here.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “People who can’t keep secrets don’t tend to last long.” The glare she gave McNamara landed like a warning shot.

McNamara stared down at her books, trying to breathe past the new weight in her stomach.

Duke shifted, leaning against the locker beside hers. “Anyway. You owe me.”

McNamara frowned. “For what?”

“For disappearing after the assembly. For letting Veronica hijack it. For ditching me all weekend.”

“I didn’t ditch you.”

“You ditched the plan.” Duke’s smile was all teeth. “Which is why you’re coming with me Friday night.”

McNamara blinked. “What?”

“Double date. You, me, Kurt, and Ram.”

Her heart sank. “I have a lot of homework—”

“Nope,” Duke said breezily. “Already told them you were in. Told Kurt you wanted to make it up to him.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did now,” Duke said, grabbing McNamara’s wrist with that careful, too-practiced grip that looked friendly from the outside and felt anything but.

McNamara gently pulled her arm back. “Where are we going?”

“Bowling, probably. Or mini-golf. Something wholesome and forgettable.”

McNamara stared at the floor. She didn’t want to go. Not with Ram. Not with Kurt. Not with Duke pulling all the strings like she always did.

But saying no wasn’t really an option. Not without consequences. Not with everyone pretending things were normal.

Duke turned to leave, then paused. “Oh. Veronica’s not here today. You know why?”

“No,” McNamara said—too quickly.

Duke narrowed her eyes. “She disappeared after the assembly. Makes you wonder what kind of game she’s playing.”

McNamara didn’t answer.

Duke gave a satisfied little smirk. “Maybe you’re not the only one getting too close to the wrong people.”

Then she walked off, heels echoing, voice lifting into laughter as she caught up with Kurt and Ram.

McNamara stood frozen by her locker.

Her stomach twisted.

Because Duke hadn’t asked. Not really.

She’d given marching orders—dressed up like friendship.

And McNamara, like always, had followed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26.2 : Out of Sight, Not Out of Mind

POV – Veronica

Veronica sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, her journal balanced on her knees.

She hadn’t meant to skip school. Not officially, anyway.

But after the assembly… after Heather Duke’s hissed threats and sideways glances… after coming emotionally undone in JD’s bed and trying to piece herself back together over lukewarm tea with Alice—

She needed a day.

Just one.

One day where the world didn’t ask her to smile, perform, or explain.

The pen hovered over the page for a long moment. Then she started writing.

October 11, 1988 – Tuesday

I should’ve gone to school. Pretended things were fine.

But Duke’s eyes yesterday… she looked at me like I’d stolen something. Like I’m next.

And I’m tired. Not just physically. I mean the kind of tired that settles in your ribs and makes it hard to breathe.

I keep thinking about what Alice said. About Heather Duke.

Alice sees through things. Sometimes it feels like she sees right through me. It’s strange—she’s JD’s sister, and yet she doesn’t act like she’s choosing sides. Maybe that’s what makes her feel safe to talk to. Maybe I just needed someone to sit still with.

I wonder if she knows how much that helped.

And JD… I don’t even know where to start.

He didn’t say it. I didn’t either. But something changed yesterday.

Not in a bad way. Just… deeper. Realer. Like there’s no turning back now, even if we wanted to.

Veronica blinked at the last line, then gently closed the journal and set it aside.

The house was too quiet.

Her parents were at work—probably pretending nothing unusual had happened. Pretending she hadn’t walked out of an assembly about a dead girl.

She glanced at the phone.

Maybe just for a minute.

She dialed JD’s number and held the receiver to her ear, already imagining his tired voice—the one that always sounded like he hadn’t slept, but was still glad to hear her.

But it wasn’t JD who answered.

“Dean residence,” said a clipped, unfamiliar voice. “Who’s calling?”

Veronica froze. “Um—hi. Is JD there?”

“Who is this?”

“I… I’m a friend from school.”

A pause. Then, suspicious: “Why are you calling during school hours?”

“I’m not at school today,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I just needed to ask him something.”

Another pause.

“Are you one of the girls from that assembly mess?”

“I—excuse me?”

There was a muffled shuffle on the other end. A faint protest. Then:

“Veronica?”

JD’s voice. Tense. Low. Like he was trying not to be overheard.

“Yeah, hey,” she breathed. “What the hell was that?”

“My dad,” JD muttered. “Sorry. He’s on some weird family-man kick. Thought I was hiding something.”

“Well, you kind of are.”

“Yeah. And now apparently I’m doing it badly.”

She smiled despite herself. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I’m glad you called.” His voice dropped a little. “I was starting to think yesterday was a dream.”

“Just the part with you,” she said. “The rest was more like a nightmare.”

A pause. Then:

“I can’t talk long. He’s still standing ten feet away, pretending to do dishes.”

Veronica’s stomach twisted. “Is he okay?”

“No. But he’s trying to seem like it.”

The silence between them lingered—soft and heavy.

Then JD said, “We’ll talk later. I’ll call you tonight. Promise.”

“Okay.”

“Stay safe, Veronica.”

“You too.”

She hung up and sat for a moment longer, the dial tone humming in her ear.

She still felt alone. Still overwhelmed.

But not invisible.

And that, at least, was something.

She reached for her journal again.

I keep the letter tucked under my pillow. The edges are already creased from how many times I’ve opened it. Thirteen pages. Single-spaced. No salutation. No sign-off. Just a slow unraveling of his thoughts in ink that smudged in places—like he was writing faster than his hand could keep up.

I tried reading it straight through once, but that didn’t work. It’s not that kind of letter.

It loops and spirals. Doubles back. His thoughts collide mid-sentence. One minute he’s writing about how my hands move when I talk—like I’m conducting invisible music—and the next he’s quoting Camus, calling most people “sleepwalking corpses dragging debt through a burning planet.”

Then he pivots again.

“You looked at me like I wasn’t already half-erased.”
“When you kissed me, it felt like something inside me stopped screaming.”
“I used to think the world was a loaded gun. But now I think it’s a fire escape. You just have to know when to climb.”

I don’t always know what to do with it—with him.

Some of it makes me ache. Some of it scares me. Some of it feels too private to even reread, like I’m trespassing on something sacred. And some of it makes me want to shake him and say, You can’t just say these things like they’re normal.

But what I can’t stop thinking about is how much of it wasn’t trying to convince me of anything. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a performance.

It was raw. Strange. Frighteningly earnest.

He never said I love you. But every word bent toward it, like a compass needle twitching north.

And between all the philosophy quotes, the post-apocalyptic metaphors, the sideways confessions, I can still hear what he wasn’t saying out loud:

I want you to believe me.
I don’t know how to survive this world.
But if there’s a reason to try, it’s you.

She didn’t hear him at first.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, diary open beside her, pen cap between her teeth, wearing her monocle. The window creaked softly as it slid open, but it wasn’t until he cleared his throat—quiet, awkward—that she looked up.

JD was already halfway inside.

She blinked. “You snuck out?”

He shut the window behind him. “I had to get out of there. Sorry I couldn’t really talk. I was trying to keep you off his radar.”

“It’s okay. It gave me more time to write.” She gestured vaguely to the diary, then closed it. “Why don’t you want me to meet your dad?”

“I don’t really trust him,” JD said. “He acted like he was doing some kind of background check. Asked who I was talking to. Why. What my grades were.”

Veronica wrinkled her nose. “Seriously?”

He gave a humorless half-smile. “I think he’s trying to remember how parenting works. Or pretending to.”

She folded her legs beneath her. “Is he mad?”

“No.” JD dropped to the floor beside her bed, leaning back on his hands. “Not yet. That’s the weird part. He’s being… nice.”

“That’s bad?”

“With him?” JD looked up. “Yeah. It means he wants something.”

Veronica hesitated. “Do you think he suspects anything? About… what happened?”

JD shook his head. “No. If he did, I wouldn’t be here right now. He’s not subtle when he’s angry.”

Silence settled again—soft, close, familiar.

Veronica reached out and laced her fingers through his, tugging him gently up onto the bed. He didn’t resist.

He lay beside her, eyes on the ceiling.

After a long pause, he said, “He said something this morning about missing things. Like he regrets not being around more. That’s such a joke.”

She waited.

“My mom used to say he only showed up when there was something to prove,” JD continued, voice low. “I think she got tired of waiting for him to show up for anything else.”

He didn’t say more. She didn’t push.

Instead, she leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. “You don’t have to talk about her.”

“I know.”

Their hands stayed tangled. The sheets shifted around them like the world was making room for something unspoken.

Eventually, JD glanced toward the door. “Are your parents home?”

“No,” Veronica whispered. “They’re still at work.”

He nodded, then leaned in to kiss her. It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t desperate. Just the kind of kiss that asked, Are you still with me?

She kissed him back like yes was the only answer she had.

The rest of the afternoon unfolded in quiet—slow, careful, grounding.

They didn’t talk about Heather Chandler. Or Heather Duke. Or the whispers in the hallway. Not about Bud Dean or broken promises or diary entries left unfinished.

They didn’t need to.

Later, curled beneath the covers with his arm wrapped around her, Veronica whispered, “I wish we could stay like this.”

JD didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: Out of Sight, Not Out of Mind
POV – Veronica

Veronica sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor; her diary balanced on her knees.

She hadn’t meant to skip school. Not officially, anyway.

But after the assembly… after Heather Duke’s hissed threats and sideways glances… after coming emotionally undone in JD’s bed and trying to piece herself back together over lukewarm tea with Alice—

She needed a day.

Just one.

One day where the world didn’t ask her to smile, perform, or explain.

The pen hovered above the page for a long moment. Then she started writing.

October 3rd, 1988 – Tuesday
Dear diary,
I should’ve gone to school. Pretended things were fine.

But the way Heather Duke looked at me when I didn’t read what she wanted me to. she looked at me like I’d stolen something. But what I have no idea.

And I’m tired. Not just physically. I mean the kind of tired that settles in your ribs and makes it hard to breathe.

I keep thinking about what Alice said. About Heather Duke.

Alice sees through things. Sometimes it feels like she sees right through me. It’s strange—she’s JD’s sister, and yet she doesn’t act like she’s choosing sides. Maybe that’s what makes her feel safe to talk to. Maybe I just needed someone to sit still with.

I wonder if she knows how much that helped.

And JD… I don’t even know where to start.

He didn’t say it. I didn’t either. But something changed yesterday.

Not in a bad way. Just… deeper. Realer. Like there’s no turning back now, even if we wanted to.

Veronica blinked at the last line, then gently closed the diary and set it aside.

The house was too quiet.

Her parents were at work—probably pretending nothing unusual had happened. Pretending she hadn’t walked out of an assembly about a dead girl.

She glanced at the phone.

Maybe just for a minute.

She dialed JD’s number and pressed the receiver to her ear, already imagining his tired voice—the one that she had gotten so used to hearing. The one that sounded like he hadn’t slept but was still glad to hear her.

But it wasn’t JD who answered.

“Dean residence,” said a clipped, unfamiliar voice. “Who’s calling?”

Veronica froze. “Um—hi. Is JD there?”

“Who is this?”

“I… I’m a friend from school.”

A pause. Then, suspicious “Why are you calling during school hours?”

“I’m not at school today,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I just needed to ask him something.”

Another pause.

“Are you one of the girls from that assembly mess?”

“I—excuse me?”

There was a muffled shuffle on the other end. A faint protest. Then:

“Veronica?”

JD’s voice. Tense. Low. Like he was trying not to be overheard.

“Yeah, hey,” she breathed. “What the hell was that?”

“My dad,” JD muttered. “Sorry. He’s on some weird family-man kick. Thought I was hiding something.”

“Well, you kind of are.”

“Yeah. And now apparently, I’m doing it badly.”

She smiled despite herself. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I’m glad you called.” His voice dropped a little. “I was starting to think yesterday was a dream.”

“Just the part with you,” she said. “The rest was more like a nightmare.”

A pause.

“I can’t talk long. He’s still standing ten feet away, pretending to do dishes.”

Veronica’s stomach twisted. “Is he okay?”

“No. But he’s trying to seem like it.”

The silence between them lingered—soft and heavy.

Then JD said, “We’ll talk later. I’ll call you tonight. Promise.”

“Okay.”

“Stay safe, Veronica.”

“You too.”

She hung up and sat for a moment longer, the dial tone humming in her ear.

She still felt alone. Still overwhelmed.

But not invisible.

And that, at least, was something.

She reached for her diary again.

I keep the letter tucked under my pillow. The edges are already creased from how many times I’ve opened it. Thirteen pages. Single-spaced. No salutation. No sign-off. Just a slow unraveling of his thoughts in ink that smudged in places—like he was writing faster than his hand could keep up.

I tried reading it straight through once, but that didn’t work. It’s not that kind of letter.

It loops and spirals. Doubles back. His thoughts collide mid-sentence. One minute he’s writing about how my hands move when I talk—like I’m conducting invisible music—and the next he’s quoting Camus, calling most people “sleepwalking corpses dragging debt through a burning planet.”

Then he pivots again.

“You looked at me like I wasn’t already half-erased.”
“When you kissed me, it felt like something inside me stopped screaming.”
“I used to think the world was a loaded gun. But now I think it’s a fire escape. You just have to know when to climb.”

I don’t always know what to do with it—with him.

Some of it makes me ache. Some of it scares me. Some of it feels too private to even reread, like I’m trespassing on something sacred. And some of it makes me want to shake him and say, You can’t just say these things like they’re normal.

But what I can’t stop thinking about is how much of it wasn’t trying to convince me of anything. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a performance.

It was raw. Strange. Frighteningly earnest.

He never said I love you. But every word bent toward it, like a compass needle twitching north.

And between all the philosophy quotes, the post-apocalyptic metaphors, the sideways confessions, I can still hear what he wasn’t saying out loud:

I want you to believe me.
I don’t know how to survive this world.
But if there’s a reason to try, it’s you.

She didn’t hear him at first.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, diary open beside her, pen cap between her teeth, wearing her monocle. The window creaked softly as it slid open, but it wasn’t until he cleared his throat—quiet, awkward—that she looked up.

JD was already halfway inside.

She blinked. “You snuck out?”

He shut the window behind him. “I had to get out of there. Sorry I couldn’t really talk. I was trying to keep you off his radar.”

“It’s okay. It gave me more time to write.” She gestured vaguely to the diary, then closed it. “Why don’t you want me to meet your dad?”

“I don’t really trust him,” JD said. “He acted like he was doing some kind of background check. Asked who I was talking to. Why. What my grades were.”

Veronica wrinkled her nose. “Seriously?”

He gave a humorless half-smile. “I think he’s trying to remember how parenting works. Or pretending to.”

She folded her legs beneath her. “Is he mad?”

“No.” JD dropped to the floor beside her bed, leaning back on his hands. “Not yet. That’s the weird part. He’s being… nice.”

“That’s bad?”

“With him?” JD looked up. “Yeah. It means he wants something.”

Veronica hesitated. “Do you think he suspects anything? About… what happened?”

JD shook his head. “No. If he did, I wouldn’t be here right now. He’s not subtle when he’s angry.”

Silence settled again—soft, close, familiar.

Veronica reached out and laced her fingers through his, tugging him gently up onto the bed. He didn’t resist.

He lay beside her, eyes on the ceiling.

After a long pause, he said, “He said something this morning about missing things. Like he regrets not being around more. That’s such a joke.”

She waited.

“My mom used to say he only showed up when there was something to prove,” JD continued, voice low. “I think she got tired of waiting for him to show up for anything else.”

He didn’t say more. She didn’t push.

Instead, she leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. “You don’t have to talk about her.”

“I know.”

Their hands stayed tangled. The sheets shifted around them like the world was making room for something unspoken.

Eventually, JD glanced toward the door. “Are your parents home?”

“No,” Veronica whispered. “They’re still at work.”

He nodded, then leaned in to kiss her. It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t desperate. Just the kind of kiss that asked, Are you still with me?

She kissed him back like yes was the only answer she had.

The rest of the afternoon unfolded in quiet—slow, careful, grounding.

They didn’t talk about Heather Chandler, or Heather Duke, or the whispers in the hallway. Not about Bud Dean or broken promises or diary entries left unfinished.

They didn’t need to.

Later, curled beneath the covers with his arm wrapped around her, Veronica whispered, “I wish we could stay like this.”

JD didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: A Good Dad for the Cameras

POV – Alice

It was finally Friday, and Alice was just getting home from school. JD pulled in as she parked her car. She wasn’t sure where he was coming back from—but odds were, it was either 7-Eleven or something to do with Veronica.

The scent of steak on the grill hit Alice before she even opened the front door.
That was the first warning.

The second was the sound of Motown filtering through the living room speakers—Bud’s “family music,” the playlist he only dusted off for dinner parties and company picnics. Not for his kids. Never just for them.

She exchanged a glance with JD, who lingered behind her with a cigarette tucked behind one ear and suspicion in his eyes.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” she muttered.

“That he burned dinner and is trying to distract us with Marvin Gaye?” JD said.

Alice sighed. “That it’s all for show.”

They walked in to find the table already set—plates, cloth napkins, matching glasses. Bud stood at the stove like a sitcom dad, apron over his shirt and a smile too wide to be real.

“Hey, kids!” he said, like he hadn’t been absent most of the week. “Thought we’d have a little family night. How was school?”

Alice dropped her bag. JD didn’t answer.

Bud didn’t wait for one. “Steaks’ll be done in five. Alice, grab the salad from the fridge, would you?”

She did, wordlessly.

They sat through the meal like props in a commercial. Bud asked JD about classes. Asked Alice about clubs. When neither offered much, he kept the conversation light and controlled, steering it around anything real.

“JD, how’s that charcoal piece coming?” Bud asked, upbeat.
“I don’t draw,” JD said.
“That’s me,” Alice added.
“Right, right—the watercolor.”
“Pencil. Since middle school.”
Graphite smudged the side of Alice’s hand. Bud didn’t notice.

Ice chimed in the glasses. The Motown playlist looped.

While clearing plates, Alice reached for the salt and saw it: a brochure half-tucked beneath a stack of mail on the counter.

Heartland Heritage Development, Inc. — Family Forward. Community Strong.

The logo on the pamphlet matched the binder Bud had been carrying all week—Heartland Heritage Development, Inc. embossed in gold.

That was it.

This wasn’t about reconnection.
This was Bud Dean playing the part.

He needed to look like a family man. A good father. The kind of guy who deserved the long-term, high-visibility contract with Heartland Heritage Development, Inc.

Later that night, after the dishes were done and Bud disappeared into his office with a fresh drink, Alice found JD smoking on the back porch.

“He’s not just being weird, is he?” JD asked without looking at her.

“No,” Alice said. “He’s trying to look good. The new contract’s courting a ‘family forward’ image. If they find out what kind of dad he really is, it could tank the deal.”

JD exhaled. “Makes sense. He only plays father when there’s something in it for him.”

Alice nodded. “We’ll play along. For now. But we keep an eye on him.”

JD gave a small, humorless smile. “You think he’ll ever realize we see right through it?”

“No,” Alice said. She tipped her chin toward the house. “And we don’t give him anything he can use.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 28.1 - A Quiet Place to Hide

POV – Veronica

Veronica hadn’t expected him to come over—he’d just gone home a few hours ago.
But she was happy to see him climbing through her window regardless.

She helped him finish getting through the window, even though he could do it on his own—breath caught in her throat. His presence still hit her like a wave. Like relief.

He didn’t kiss her right away.

He sat on the edge of her bed, jaw tight, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to hold something in.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

Veronica nodded and sat beside him, their shoulders barely touching.

“It’s my dad,” JD said, voice low. “We figured out why he’s been putting on the family-values act. It’s not for us. He’s trying to land a contract with Heartland Heritage Development, Inc. They want a perfect little nuclear family on paper. I guess he figured perfect single dad will have to do.”

Veronica tilted her head. “And he thinks you’re the problem?”

JD gave a humorless smile. “He knows I am. And if he finds out how serious we are—or what we’ve been doing—he won’t blame me. He’ll blame you. Or worse, use you.”

“Use me how?”

“Fake family dinners. Performative interest. Smile-for-the-camera bullshit,” JD muttered. “He’ll put you in a picture frame and sell it to his clients like it means something.”

She reached for his hand. “We don’t have to give him that.”

JD was quiet for a moment. “We should keep this quiet. At least until he’s gone.”

Veronica nodded. “I get it.”

A beat.

Then she asked, softly, “What about your mom?”

JD went still.

“She died,” he said. “When me and Alice were eight.”

Veronica’s thumb brushed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the carpet. “It wasn’t an accident.”

The words settled in the air like dust.

“She… she went into a building right before it exploded. A demolition site my dad’s company was overseeing. I saw her in the window. She waved at me.”

Veronica’s breath caught.

JD’s voice didn’t shake, but it felt like it should. “They called it an accident. But I think—no, I know—she knew what she was doing.”

Veronica leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and squeezed his hand once. “I’m here,” she murmured.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, lingering like he didn’t want to pull away.

When their lips finally met, it wasn’t desperate.

It was quiet. Honest. Anchored in something deeper than either of them had words for.
They moved together slowly, turning to each other in a way that felt new—and already necessary.

Later, they lay tangled beneath the blankets, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his stomach.

“We should be smarter,” Veronica whispered.

JD turned his head, watching her in the dim light. “About what?”

“About… this,” she said, pulling the sheet up around herself. “I’m not on birth control. And we haven’t exactly been using our best judgment.”

JD blinked. “Oh.”

“I mean, it’s not like I regret anything. But maybe next time we… I don’t know, have a plan?”

He nodded, sobering. “Yeah. A plan sounds good.”

She leaned over and kissed his collarbone. “I like you better when you’re not trying to self-destruct.”

He chuckled softly as he pulled her closer. “I like me better when you’re around.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, fingers intertwined on top of the blanket. JD stared up at the ceiling—the look he got when he was already solving something. He’d find a way to get condoms and hide them; of course he would. If he hadn’t already, there had been reasons—Bud’s eyes everywhere, her parents’ radar, the way they kept stumbling into each other without planning. She didn’t need to ask.

She was already counting down to Monday. She’d call the clinic about birth control.

They were still in over their heads.
But at least now, they weren’t pretending otherwise.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28.2: The Midnight Call

POV – Alice

Alice was brushing her teeth. It was a little past midnight.
She was trying to stay up, waiting for JD to get home. They’d just talked—again—about how he needed to be more careful sneaking around to see Veronica. It was a miracle no one had caught them yet. No one except her.

The house phone rang. Hope spiked—maybe JD, finally, with an explanation. She spat out the toothpaste and bolted downstairs, bare feet thudding the last three steps, snatching the kitchen wall phone before the answering machine could grab it—if it was JD, she wanted it live, not sitting there for Bud to replay with his coffee. Bud slept like the dead; he always checked the machine in the morning.

“Hello?”

A shaky breath on the other end.

After a moment, a quiet voice: “Alice?”

Alice blinked. “Heather?”

A pause. Too long. Like the signal was underwater—or like Heather didn’t want to speak.

Then, barely audible: “Can you come get me?”

Alice was already grabbing a jacket—something warmer than sleepwear. “Where are you?”

“The gas station on Briarfield. Closest one to the water tower.”

Alice swore under her breath. “Are you hurt?”

Another pause. Then, softly: “Yeah.”

By the time Alice pulled into the Briarfield station, the lot was empty. One streetlight flickered on and off. She rolled to the back corner of the lot, away from the pumps, and threw the car in park. Heather McNamara stood near the edge of the trees, arms wrapped around herself like she might fall apart without the pressure—she’d backed away from the phone booth after a truck slowed at the pumps, retreating to the edge of darkness.

Alice got out fast.

Heather flinched at the sound of the door.

“Hey,” Alice said gently, hands out, slow and careful. “I’ve got you. Come on.”

Heather moved stiffly, climbing into the passenger seat without speaking. She didn’t look at Alice. Didn’t look anywhere. Just stared at the dashboard like it might offer an explanation she hadn’t been given.

Alice shut the door, slid behind the wheel, and turned the heat up. “Do you want to go home now, or sit here a minute?”

Heather’s voice came out small and flat. “Not yet. Anywhere that isn’t… them.”

Alice nodded and kept them parked in the back corner, the heater humming under the flickering light.

They sat in silence for a minute before Alice finally said, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Heather’s eyes went wet. She shook her head. “You already know.”

Alice gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“…Kurt?”

A barely-there nod.

Alice’s stomach twisted. “Did he—?”

“He was drunk. They all were. Duke left with Ram. I—I thought maybe it would be fine, you know? I’ve dealt with him before. It’s never been great, but I figured I could just… laugh it off again.”
She swallowed. “Tonight he was different. Not just sloppy—mean. Like he had something to prove. And Ram was amped up earlier, pushing people, making jokes he meant. It’s like they’ve both been… getting bolder.”

Alice’s jaw clenched. “But this time he didn’t stop.”

Heather wiped her face, gaze slipping toward the window. “No. I said no. And he just laughed. Got rough. I pushed him and he—he got angry.”
Her voice frayed. “He grabbed my wrist harder than he ever had. Kept saying nobody was going to believe me.”

The words broke apart as she said them. Like she couldn’t believe them even now.

Alice kept the car in park, fingers trembling on the wheel.

“Do you want to go to the police?”

Heather didn’t answer.

“Because we can,” Alice said. “I’ll go with you. I’ll tell them everything I know. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Heather shook her head. “They’re not going to believe me. It’s my word against his. And I’ve still got the same reputation I did yesterday.”

“Screw your reputation,” Alice snapped. Then, softer: “You’re not the one who should be ashamed.”

Heather let out a sharp, bitter breath. “Duke’s gonna say I should’ve known better. That I always flirt. That it’s my fault for staying.”

“She’s wrong,” Alice said firmly. “Heather, look at me.”

Heather turned slowly, reluctantly.

“You said no. That’s it. That’s all that matters. And if she tries to make you feel small for what happened, I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?” Heather asked, eyes glinting with something like tears and something like fire.

“I don’t know,” Alice admitted. “But it’ll be loud. And it’ll probably get me suspended.”

Heather let out a half-laugh, half-sob.

Alice reached over and took her hand. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight. But you’re not going back there. Not with them. Not alone. Okay?”

Heather nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Alice pulled her into a hug. Heather cried into her shoulder.

They sat there a long time—two girls in a silent car under that same flickering streetlight—trying to believe they were safe again.

“We probably shouldn’t stay here all night,” Alice said gently. “Do you want to go back to your house or stay over at mine?”

“I can’t go home…”

“Let me guess—you told your parents you were staying at Heather Duke’s,” Alice said, a tired déjà vu settling in.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Then my place it is.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: What the Hell(JD, Heather McNamara POV)

POV – JD

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

But being with her made it easier. Safer, somehow. It had only been a week—maybe less—since they’d started actually being something, but it felt like years. Everything with her just seemed to fit.

Which was great—except now it was after two in the morning and he was trying not to get murdered by his sister.

He slipped in through the front door as quietly as possible. No creaking, no floorboard betrayal.

And then—

“Alice,” he muttered.

She was standing in the dark front hall like an angry ghost in pajama pants, arms crossed, glare locked and loaded. She had clearly been waiting for him.

“Where the fuck have you been?” she whispered, furious.

JD froze mid-step. “I went to talk to Veronica,” he whispered back. “I fell asleep afterward.”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “What? How do you fall asleep after just talking?” Somehow she made a whisper menacing.

JD lifted a brow. “Do you really want us whispering about my sex life at two-something in the morning?” If it made her uncomfortable, maybe she’d drop it.

A third whisper cut in, startling them both.

“What are you two whispering about?” came a curious voice.

JD flinched. “What the hell? Alice, why is there a Heather in our house?”

Alice sighed. “Well, I guess we don’t need to whisper anymore. We were only whispering to avoid waking Heather up.”

JD glanced between them, still suspicious. “I thought we were whispering because Dad was up working late or something.”

“No—he passed out hours ago. Fortunately, he didn’t realize you’d gone out.” She shot another glare at her brother. “I almost forgot—you two haven’t actually met. JD, this is Heather McNamara. Heather, my brother—JD—who has apparently forgotten how to use his brain.”

JD’s gaze flicked over the smeared mascara and borrowed hoodie. “Let me guess—you pulled her out of some party?”

They answered at the same time.

Alice: “No.”
Heather: “Sort of.”

Alice cut JD a look. “It’s not your business.”

He raised both hands. “Fine.”

Heather shifted in the doorway. “Aren’t you two afraid you’ll wake up your dad?”

JD snorted. “He sleeps like the dead. He could sleep through a hurricane—probably half-deaf from all the explosions and implosions on the job sites he supervises,” he added with a shrug.

Heather blinked. “That’s… horrifying.”

“Welcome to the Dean household—‘horrifying’ is just Tuesday.”

Alice rubbed her forehead like a migraine was blooming in real time. “Anyway, we just talked about this. You need to be more careful sneaking out. If Dad figures it out, we’re all screwed. You’re lucky he hasn’t noticed you’re not just going to 7-Eleven.”

JD rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks, Mom.”

“I’m serious,” she snapped. “You think he’s gonna be chill about you climbing in and out of windows for some girl?”

JD’s tone softened. “She’s not just some girl—you know that.”

Alice’s voice dropped, almost tired. “That’s what worries me.”

Then, after a beat: “And since you’re apparently not careful about sneaking, I have to ask… are you two at least being careful about other things?”

JD didn’t answer. He looked away, bracing for the fallout. So much for dodging the topic.

Which, in itself, was the answer.

“Seriously?” Alice said, voice rising again. “Seriously? You’re telling me you two have been out here just—just being stupid?”

JD ran a hand through his hair. “We weren’t planning on it. It just happens. But we talked about it tonight, okay? We’re going to come up with a plan. Be smarter. Less… impulsive.”

Alice gave him a long, unreadable look. “What do you mean it just happens?”

JD cringed. He really didn’t want to have this conversation with his sister—let alone in front of someone he barely knew. Especially someone who might carry Veronica’s name back to the wrong ears.

It wasn’t Alice’s business how often he and Veronica had sex. Still… he’d kept count. Six. The number wasn’t the problem. The problem was they hadn’t planned any of it. Hadn’t really talked. And that part? That was on him too.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Whenever we’re together, it just… kind of happens.”

Then, quieter: “Can we drop this subject? At least for now?”
(His eyes flicked toward Heather again, a warning he couldn’t quite hide.)

Alice didn’t look satisfied. But she nodded. “Fine. But this is not over. Because if Dad finds out, he’s not going to come down on you. He’s going to make it her fault. And you know it.”

“I know,” JD said quietly as he sat on the sofa with his face in his hands.

He really did.

But knowing didn’t help the pit growing in his stomach.

Up until tonight, some part of him had just assumed Veronica was on birth control. Why wouldn’t she be? That was normal, right? What girls did when they knew they might…

Damn it. Maybe she hadn’t planned for any of this either.
Maybe he was her first.
Maybe she didn’t even know what to expect.

He didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know if there’d been anyone else. He didn’t want to picture anyone else in the space that felt like it belonged to them.

And still… she’d trusted him. Enough to bring it up. To talk about it. That should’ve been his job—being the one with a plan. He liked chaos, sure. But only the kind he could control. Chaos with shape and direction. Explosions he’d lit himself.

This—what he had with her—was chaos he couldn’t predict; he hated it and loved it in equal measure.

And now he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe it was already too late. That whatever happened next was going to be his fault.

Heather, to her credit, hadn’t said a word during that last exchange. But her eyes lingered on JD—curious, maybe even sympathetic. It made him uneasy. He didn’t want sympathy from someone who could carry stories. Not about Veronica.

“So, are we good? At least for now?” JD said, standing up, hoping Alice would let him retreat to his room.

“I guess. Just go to sleep,” Alice said in her I’m-too-tired-to-deal-with-this voice—a tone he’d heard more times than he could count.

For now, he let it go.

At least Alice wasn’t stopping him from going to bed.

Small victories.

POV – Heather McNamara

The sound of JD’s footsteps faded and the house went quiet again.

Alice set a folded blanket on the couch, then a towel, then a pair of socks from a basket. The scent of mint tea lifted from Heather’s mug. The kitchen clock ticked; somewhere a vent clicked.

Heather cleared her throat. “So, this is the infamous couch you mentioned over pizza.”

Color rose in Alice’s ears. “Yeah. Once. Not my favorite surprise.”

“It… sounded like them,” Heather said. “Real.”

Alice’s mouth tilted. “It is. They’re new. And not great at planning. They need to be smarter—that’s on them.”

“I won’t say anything,” Heather offered. “I think they’re cute.”

“I know,” Alice said, a quick huff of a laugh. “That’s half the problem.” She rubbed her forehead like a migraine was blooming in real time.

“Are you okay?” Heather asked, nodding at Alice’s temple.

“Fine. Just tired,” Alice said. “You’re the one I’m worried about.” She softened again. “Toothbrush? Spare T-shirt? Shower? Or just sleep?”

“The mint tea’s enough,” Heather said. “And the couch.”

Alice adjusted the blanket. “Crash here as long as you want. Bathrooms is at the end of the hall.. If you need anything, I’m the second door on the left—not the one on the right. I’ll leave the hall light on so you don’t trip.”

The right was JD’s. Obviously.

Heather nodded. She pulled the blanket to her chin and let the mint tea sit warm in her throat. She replayed JD’s earlier line—she’s not just some girl—and the warning tucked inside it. Territorial. Protective. Maybe both.

The house carried sound, but softer now—like weather moving on. For tonight, that felt like enough.

Chapter Text

29.1: Half-Truths and Exit Signs (Heather McNamara POV)

POV – Heather McNamara

Heather had just stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water when she saw him.

He didn’t look like JD. Broader shoulders, older lines, and a pressed suit that didn’t belong in this kitchen. But the eyes were the same—cold and curious. He was sorting through papers at the kitchen island like he belonged there. When he looked up, his gaze pinned her in place.

“Morning,” he said. Then a slow smile. “You must be Veronica.”

Heather blinked. “Uh—no. I’m Heather.”

The smile didn’t slip, but it tightened. “Heather,” he repeated. “Right. My son’s… friend?” His gaze skimmed her, evaluative. “You two look… similar.”

“I’m friends with Alice,” she said. She and Veronica looked nothing alike—anyone could see that.

He stepped closer, not threatening but deliberate. “You’re friends, then?”

She nodded cautiously. “With Veronica? Yeah.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

Heather’s instincts screamed say nothing. But the way he asked made it feel like a test—like too little might be worse.

“She’s smart,” Heather offered. “Really smart. Like… could’ve skipped middle school, but her parents worried she’d be too different from everyone else.”

“Is that so.” He leaned back like he was chewing on the words.

Heather wrapped her fingers tighter around her glass. “We’re both seniors; we only have one or two classes together. She sometimes helps me study. Just… kind of school stuff.”

“School stuff.” His voice was flat. “And she’s been spending a lot of time with JD.”

Heather swallowed. For a beat, the kitchen blurred and last night snapped forward: Kurt’s letterman jacket reeking—chemical-sweet and locker-metal—like the weight room had soaked into him. He’d been too wired, too loud, mean over nothing. Ram had egged it on with that grin that never reached his eyes.

Before she could lie, the front door creaked and closed again.

“Hey!” Alice’s voice carried from the hall. “Heather, you want me to—”

She stepped into the kitchen and stopped short. Her eyes flicked between them, jaw tensing.

“Dad,” she said, sharp. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

“I do,” Bud replied, as if nothing had happened. “Just came back for a folder. Important meeting. Out of town.”

“Right,” Alice said. “Then maybe let Heather go back to not being interrogated.”

Heather was already moving, clutching her glass like armor.

Bud didn’t stop her. He just gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nice meeting you, Heather.”

“Sure,” she said quietly, hurrying past Alice and down the hall.

She didn’t stop until they were both in Alice’s room, door shut.

“He thought I was Veronica,” she said, voice pitched too high. “What the hell, Alice?”

“He hasn’t met her,” Alice said, rubbing at her temples. “He’s been weird lately. Fishing for information about her ever since he found out JD picked her up from school on Monday. We still don’t know how he found out. You okay?”

Heather nodded too fast. Then slower. “Yeah. I just… yeah. I’ve seen the commercials, but seeing him in person is… different.”

“He’s a lot,” Alice said. “JD’s been trying to keep Veronica as far away from him as he can.”

They sat on the floor for a while. It was safer there. If JD had to keep Veronica safe from men like that, what chance did anyone else have?

“They’ve been… different lately,” Heather said finally. “Jumpier. Mean over nothing. Coach keeps letting them lift after hours, and somebody’s calling the stuff in their gym bags ‘vitamins.’”

Alice’s mouth tightened, like she was filing it away.

Eventually, Alice asked, “Are you ever going to tell someone what happened?”

Heather stared at the carpet. “No one believed the last girl who did. She said Ram forced her and people said she was lying for attention. She had to switch schools. I’m not doing that.”

Alice didn’t argue. She just sat there, quiet.

Heather looked up. “If I act like nothing happened, maybe nothing more will happen.”

Alice looked like she wanted to scream. Instead, she reached out and set a hand gently over Heather’s.

“You shouldn’t have to pretend,” she said.

“I know,” Heather whispered. “But I do.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 29.2: I Brought Cookies (Veronica POV)

POV – Veronica

Veronica sat at her desk, diary open, monocle in hand—but she didn’t feel like writing.
There was too much she wanted to say.
And putting any of it on paper might make it too real.

Her eyes felt gritty; a dull, behind-the-eyes ache had been buzzing since lunch. Too many late nights, not enough water—stress doing its usual tricks, she told herself.

A knock interrupted her thoughts.

“It’s open,” she said automatically, not really expecting anyone.
A small part of her hoped it was JD—even though she knew it wouldn’t be.
And she was right.

It was Heather McNamara.

She slipped inside and shut the door, with a soft click. Veronica patted the edge of the bed; Heather set the Tupperware on the duvet and sat, careful, like the mattress might tip the wrong way if she breathed too hard.

“Hey,” Heather said. “Your mom said you were up here. I, um… I brought cookies.” She gave an unsure smile and lifted the container before setting it back down.

“Thanks. How’ve you been?” Veronica asked, aiming for casual—but keeping a little guard up.

Heather hesitated, then took a breath. “Do you really want to know?”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“I want to scream,” Heather blurted. “I’m supposed to show up to school tomorrow and act like everything’s normal—but it’s not. I don’t trust what Heather (Duke) will say if I sit with her, but I don’t know what she’ll do if I don’t. I want to hang out with Alice more, but Heather’s made it clear she doesn’t want me doing that either. And she forced me into this awful double date with Kurt and Ram, which ended with them ditching me in the middle of a field.”

She said it all in one breath.

Veronica blinked. “Okay, I think I got most of that. Why did they leave you in a field?”

Heather winced, looking away. “I guess Heather was trying to get back at me for bailing on her last weekend.” She shrugged. “I got a ride from Alice.”

Veronica paused. “You didn’t go home.”

Heather shook her head. “Couch, blanket, mint tea. She was… kind. If anyone asks, can you say I was with you?” She straightened the cookie lid like alignment could fix the night. “Anyway—how’s calc treating you?”

“Sure.” Veronica eased the lid back and took a cookie—then broke off only a small corner, more for show than hunger, and reached for the water on her desk. “Why does Heather care so much about you being around Alice? I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

“We’ve ended up hanging out a bit lately. Heather was not happy about it. I think she’s scared of her. Or maybe of JD. She calls him a psychopath, and since Alice is his sister, she says Alice must be ‘crazy,’ too.” Heather frowned. “It sucks, because I actually like hanging out with Alice. Honestly, I’d rather be with her. Or you. But if Heather sees us all together, she’ll twist it—say it’s part of you trying to take Heather Chandler’s spot.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell people,” Veronica muttered, “but I don’t want to be the new Heather Chandler. I just want to be me.” She paused, rubbing her temple. “But I guess I don’t really have room to talk.”

Heather tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Veronica hesitated. “Can I tell you a secret? I mean, it’s not really a secret-secret… but we’re trying to keep it quiet.”

Heather nodded.

“I’ve been seeing JD,” Veronica said softly. “I don’t really know what we are to each other. But it’s… serious. I keep telling myself I don’t care what people will say—it should be our business—but at Westerburg, not caring is a full-time job. I’ve seen him almost every day since we met; days without him feel wrong. That’s… new.”

She couldn’t bring herself to meet Heather’s eyes.

For a second, Heather didn’t say anything. Then, softly, “I kind of figured.”

Veronica looked up. “You did?”

Heather picked at the cookie lid on the duvet. “I probably shouldn’t say—it wasn’t meant for me to hear. I overheard Alice and JD talking—by accident. It was late. Mostly Alice telling him he needs to be smarter. I don’t remember all of it, but it’s obvious he’s crazy about you. I haven’t told anyone. Not even Heather. Especially not Heather.” She nudged the Tupperware toward Veronica. “They’re oatmeal–chocolate chip. You can say no.”

The room felt suddenly sharper. “Heather, if something’s wrong—”

“It’s not,” she cut in quickly. “I promise. I think you two actually make sense, in a weird way.”

Veronica blinked. “That might be the nicest and scariest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Heather gave a small, sheepish shrug. “I didn’t have proof. Just that look on the first day. Subtlety wasn’t happening.”

Veronica’s stomach flipped. “You noticed that?”

“I think the whole cafeteria noticed that. Heather definitely did.”

“Great,” Veronica sighed. Her voice dropped. “And you’re really not going to say anything?”

“No. I know how rumors work at our school. And I know Heather’s just waiting for an excuse to tear you apart in public. I’m not giving her one.”

Veronica stared at her for a moment, then looked down at her lap. “Thanks.”

Heather took another cookie. “Besides, I’m already in enough trouble for liking Alice. Might as well be loyal to someone who doesn’t want to control me.”

That made Veronica smile. But something still felt held back.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Veronica asked again.

“I’m fine—” Heather started, then swallowed the lie. “Yes. No… it’s complicated.” She drew a breath. “Heather and Ram left me with Kurt. He was drunk and I…”

She didn’t have to finish. Veronica knew the rest. There had been rumors about both Kurt and Ram pushing things too far on dates—but the accusations never seemed to stick.

“Alice wants me to go to the police,” Heather whispered. “But I still remember what happened to the last girl who did.”

There was a long pause.

Neither of them moved. The quiet stretched between them—not uncomfortable, but heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

Finally, Veronica broke it. “You can sit with me tomorrow.”

Heather looked up, startled.

“At least until Heather decides otherwise,” Veronica added with a faint, crooked smile. “She’ll probably make a scene about it. Say we’re trying to stage a coup or something.”

Heather gave a weak laugh. “She’ll say it’s what Heather Chandler would’ve wanted.”

“Of course she will.”

Veronica’s smile faded as she picked at the corner of her notebook. “Honestly, I might need to keep a little distance anyway. From Alice. From JD. Just… for their sake. For now.”
Not because I’m ashamed. I don’t care what they think—okay, I care a little; it’s hard not to at Westerburg—but I’m not handing the rumor mill free kindling.

Heather nodded slowly, seeming to understand more than she said.

“I’ll still sit with you,” she said quietly. “Even if it’s just for a little while.”

Veronica gave a small, genuine smile. “Thanks. I could use the backup.”

Heather slid the lid back and offered her another cookie. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

This time, Veronica didn’t hesitate before taking it—then only nibbled, more careful than hungry. “It’s been a week,” she said, almost to herself. “Stress stomach. I’ll be fine.”

They sat in silence for another minute or two—long enough for the weight of everything unspoken to settle in a way that didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

Then Heather stood.

“I should go,” she said softly. “But… thanks. For listening. And for not making it weird.”

“Anytime,” Veronica said, small but real.

Heather hesitated in the doorway like she wanted to say something else—but instead, she just gave a little wave and disappeared down the stairs.

Veronica listened to the front door close.

The room felt quieter, but not in a bad way.

She looked at the Tupperware of cookies. Then at the phone. Then back at her diary.

Still blank.

She closed it.

Maybe tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Chapter 30: Distance Maintenance (Veronica, JD POV)

POV – Veronica

Dear Diary,
I should’ve known today was going to be rough. I felt like everyone was staring at me. At least I only had to wait until lunch to find out why.

Heather McNamara tried to sit with me. But, as I expected, Heather Duke swooped in to “help her find the right table” before she even got a chance to sit down.

Alice swung by with a note from JD—apparently Duke’s trying to tell everyone I’m happy Heather Chandler is dead. The one upside to people not knowing we’re together: they don’t realize he’s going to tell me everything they say.

He also said not everyone’s convinced Duke knows what she’s talking about.

She closed the diary and set it aside. Mostly, she’d been writing to delay the inevitable: the phone call.

Veronica crossed her room and sat on her bed, staring at the phone like it might make the call for her. Then she picked up the receiver and dialed.

Two minutes of polite questions, the clatter of a keyboard, and the line she didn’t want: “Earliest is Saturday, November 5 at 3:30.” Sliding scale. Bring ID. We’ll call if something opens up.

She set the phone back in its cradle. The click sounded too loud.

Twenty-six days. About four weeks.

A contraception consult, not a test. She wasn’t late. Her last period had ended the Monday before she met JD. It hadn’t even been two weeks since then. It’s just an appointment to get a prescription. She just has to wait about a month for an appointment that probably won’t even be twenty minutes.

She tugged on JD’s flannel and shrugged into her old jacket, then pulled her dad’s bicycle from the garage and pedaled toward the Dean house.

She knocked lightly. No Alice at the door, but it was unlocked.

Inside, the air smelled like stale coffee and old carpet. She’d seen JD’s light from the street; she knew he was up. She eased his door open. He turned, surprised—but not unhappy to see her.

“I couldn’t sit in my room anymore,” she said, shrugging out of the jacket. The flannel stayed on. “Not alone.”

JD nodded and stepped aside to let her in. “Good. I didn’t want to be alone either.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

“November 5. 3:30,” she said, settling on the edge of his bed. “About four weeks. Earliest they had.”

JD frowned. “That’s ridiculous—that’s a month away.”

“Pretty much. But I’ll take it over nothing.”

He was quiet for a second. Then, softly: “Do you want me to come with you? When the day comes?”

“It’s just a prescription consult,” she said, exhaling. “It’s not a big deal.”

He nodded. “I know.”

They didn’t say much after that. Just sat in the quiet.

Waiting.
Planning.
Trying not to let the weight of almost four weeks settle too heavy between them.

His thumb brushed her knuckles, then lingered—small circles, barely there. She inched closer on the mattress; the dip brought their knees into the same patch of quilt.

“We have to be more careful,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “We keep saying that. But then…”

She turned a fraction toward him; his knee pressed lightly to hers. “But then I’m with you,” she said, barely audible. “And I can’t think straight. I know what I should do. I do. But being near you makes all that logic just… disappear.”

He let out a breath—half laugh, half sigh—the kind you feel more than hear when you’re this close. “You think it’s easier for me? When I’m around you, everything else drops out.”

She tilted her head until there were only inches between them, a sad smile caught in the space they hadn’t crossed. “We can’t keep using that as an excuse.”

“I’m not,” JD said. He shifted closer, shoulder brushing flannel to flannel. “I’m saying I need to get better at pulling you back when you’re too close to the fire. Because I’m always going to want to run toward it with you.”

She paused. Softer, almost against his shoulder: “What if we already lit it?”

He looked at her, steady, their foreheads nearly aligned—and didn’t have an answer.

POV – JD

He hadn’t told her how many places he’d considered going over the weekend. How many corner stores he’d walked past, willing himself to just go inside and buy the damn condoms.

But every time, the same thought stopped him:
What if someone sees?
What if it gets back to his dad?

And if it did—if Bud found out—he’d twist it. He’d already cut the balance in JD’s bank account just because he picked Veronica up right before lunch, in the middle of the school day. If that counted as “corrupting” her, JD didn’t want to know what Bud would do with the truth. Bud always knew how to make him feel like both the problem and the scapegoat.

So instead, JD just… hadn’t.

And now here they were. Twenty-six days out from an appointment that should’ve been booked before any of this started.

It wasn’t her fault. She’d trusted him.

He told himself it was birth control, not a test. She wasn’t late. The math was fine. It had to be fine. If she says she’s fine, then she’s probably fine… right?

He refused to think the word that hovered anyway. If he didn’t say it, it couldn’t stick. He pressed it down until it felt like nothing.

He looked at her—really looked at her—sitting on the edge of the bed like she was trying not to vanish under the weight of everything she was carrying alone. She was wearing his flannel again, sleeves pushed to her wrists.

She’d asked him a simple question. One he should’ve been able to answer.

He didn’t. He slid an inch nearer instead; their knees aligned, her hand still in his, his other palm ghosting the edge of her sleeve. He sat there, still, breathing like a slow apology, counting the inches he wasn’t crossing.

Because the truth was, he didn’t have an answer. Not yet.

So he gave her the only comfort he could think of in the moment: he closed the last inch and kissed her—careful, present, a promise to stop there—and then stayed close, his forehead resting against hers as the quiet settled around them.

Chapter Text

Chapter 31: Paper Trails and Promises

POV – JD

The door clicked shut behind Alice, and the room exhaled.

JD didn’t move right away. He just stared at the space where she’d been, the echo of her voice still buzzing in the walls. He hated when his sister was right.

“Halfway to stupid,” he muttered.

Veronica sat beside him, quiet. “She’s not wrong.”

“No,” he agreed. “That’s the worst part.”

They stayed like that—still flushed, still close—but no longer touching.

JD leaned back on his hands, staring at the ceiling. “So. Logistics.”

Veronica huffed a tiny laugh. “Fine. What’s the least dumb version?”

“Alice runs the notes whenever she can,” he said. “If she can’t, locker drops—yours or mine. Nowhere else.”

Veronica nodded. “Okay, that should work.” A quick glance. “And we stick to what we already said—initials, short, boring.”

“Right.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “We also need a semi-private place to talk.”

“Somewhere at school,” she said. “But not obvious. And not… too private.” A wry tilt to her mouth.

He let out a breath. “We don’t have to pick it tonight.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Let’s scout this week—see what actually stays empty. We can decide by Friday.”

“Deal.” He paused, then added, light but meaningful: “Somewhere high usually clears out after last bell.”

Her answering look said she’d caught the hint without committing to it. “We’ll see what’s high and empty.” She was already thinking of the bleachers.

“This month is going to suck,” she said, softer.

JD tilted his head until his cheek brushed hers. “But you’ll write me?”

“I’ll write you so hard they’ll ban pens.”

He smirked—but it faded almost immediately. “I want to go with you.”

Veronica lifted her head. “Where…?”

“Your appointment.”

Her eyes widened. “JD, it’s just an appointment to get a prescription.”

“I’m not trying to crowd you,” he said quickly. “I just… I don’t want you walking into that alone. You shouldn’t have to. Not because of me.”

“It’s not just because of you,” she said gently. “It’s both of us.”

He looked down. “Then let me be there for it.”

Veronica hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. But you can’t be weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

“Then be extra not-weird.”

JD brought her hand to his lips. “Deal.” He reached for the notebook on his desk, scribbled her a note, folded it to look like a vocab list, and pressed it into her palm. “Rules start tomorrow,” he said, mouth quirking. “Consider this one a pre-rule exemption.”

For now, this was what they had—smuggled letters, a meeting spot to be found, weeks of distance and waiting.

But she was still holding his hand.

And JD would write her a hundred letters if that’s what it took to hold on.

POV – Veronica

Veronica buckled her seatbelt as Alice turned the key in the ignition. The car gave its usual tired groan before rumbling to life. JD’s note rested in her lap—folded neatly, already soft at the edges from how tightly she was holding it.

While Alice wrestled the bicycle into the Pontiac’s trunk—and bungeed the lid down because it wouldn’t quite close—Veronica peeked at the note. By the second line her ears went hot; by the third she refolded it fast. By the time Alice slid behind the wheel, whatever heat had crept up her neck had faded.

They didn’t speak for the first few blocks.

Outside, the evening air was just starting to chill. Inside the car, the heater rattled faintly, pushing out warm air that smelled like dust and cinnamon gum.

Finally, Veronica broke the silence. “I know you went to pick up Heather the other night.”

Alice’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Did she tell you what happened?”

Veronica nodded once. “Some of it.”

“Think you can get her to go to the police?”

“They’re the golden boys of the school,” Veronica said flatly. “Even with proof, it’ll turn into a he-said-she-said. And they’ll use the fact that she’s dated them against her.”

Silence fell again.

Then, softly: “I told her about me and JD. She kind of already knew.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Did she say how?”

“Not really. Just said it was obvious. That first day you two showed up… I guess we weren’t subtle.”

Alice gave a dry snort. “You were absolutely not.”

“She also said something about you and JD talking about him sneaking out to see me. She was very vague on the details.” Veronica smiled faintly. “She didn’t tell Duke. Swore she hadn’t told anyone, actually.”

Alice tapped the wheel. “I believe her.”

Veronica turned toward her. “You do?”

Alice nodded. “She’s… surprisingly good at keeping things to herself. I told her about you two before you even confirmed it.”

Veronica blinked. “Wait—you told her?”

“Yeah.” Alice’s voice was calm. “We bumped into each other last weekend. Ended up getting pizza. She asked, and I told her. She promised she wouldn’t say anything. And I guess she really didn’t.”

“And?”

“She didn’t tell Duke. Didn’t gossip. Just… held it. Like it was something of hers to protect.”

Veronica looked down at the note in her lap. “I think she needed something of her own.”

Alice nodded slowly. “She’s been through more than she lets on. You can see it—how she changes the subject when things get too close to real.”

Veronica’s fingers curled tighter around the letter. “We’re all a little too good at that lately.”

They turned onto her street. Most of the houses were dark; her own was a quiet silhouette—porch light off, living room shadowed.

“Thanks,” Veronica said as Alice helped her get the bike out of the car. “For the ride. And for… all of it.”

Alice reached over and gave her hand a quick, dry-sisterly squeeze. “Just don’t make me deliver anything more dramatic than a love letter.”

Veronica huffed a laugh. “No promises.”

She slipped out into the cool dark, JD’s note tucked safely in her pocket.

And for the first time all day, she felt like she could breathe.

Chapter Text

Week 1 – Guarded Affections
POV: JD and Veronica
Notes and scenes
Dates: October 11–15, 1988

Delivered in a plain envelope, handwriting sharp—like each letter was carved into the page. Slipped into Veronica’s locker in the morning.

10/11/88

V,

I know I already gave you a letter last night before you left. But I hate the idea of not seeing you.
We might get away with talking on the phone—at least when my dad isn’t here—but it’s not a good idea when he is. Unfortunately, he’s been around more than usual. Up late in his office, working on something. I’m not sure what, but I don’t trust it. I’m doing my best to play the role of “well-behaved son,” like I have any choice in the matter.

I know this is supposed to be smart. Responsible. Whatever.
But I’m starting to think “smart” just means miserable with extra steps.

Still—if this is what keeps you safe, I’ll do it.
I’ll even smile when someone glares at me like I’m about to set the cafeteria on fire.

Ms. F pulled me into her office today. Says I’m not “adjusting.”
I think she means I’m not pretending hard enough.
Pretty sure she doesn’t like me.

Are you okay?
You looked tired when you left yesterday. Not in a bad way. Just… like you’re carrying too much.

Wish I could take some of it off your hands.
—J

Floral paper with a faint graphite smudge in the margin. The bottom right corner is folded and unfolded repeatedly. Delivered by Alice at lunch.

10.11.1988

J,

I’m fine. Just stress and not sleeping as well as I should—catching up to me.

It’s only been a day and I’m already keeping count.
It’s 25, in case you’re wondering.
November 5th can’t get here soon enough.

I didn’t expect this to feel so strange. We’re in the same building, breathing the same air—but it still feels like I’m missing something essential.

I keep looking over my shoulder, like you might be there.
And when you’re not, it aches.

A says this is the smartest way to do things. Maybe she’s right.
But smart and easy don’t always go together.

I miss your voice.
—V

Same notepad as Tuesday morning’s note, a little sloppier. Still folded with care. Slipped into Veronica’s locker sometime after lunch.

10/12/88

V,

I saw HD cornering HM this morning. RS was nearby, grinning like he knew a secret. I didn’t like it.

I’m not trying to sound paranoid—I swear.
I just don’t trust them. Especially not around people like you.

Not because you’re weak.
Because you’re honest.
And they don’t know what to do with that.

Are you sure you’re okay?
You looked pale today. Tired. Again.

I won’t press. I just… worry.
—J

October 12, 1988 – Wednesday (Late Night)

POV – JD

The kitchen was lit only by the fridge. JD leaned on the counter, thumb tapping against the can of soda in his hands. He almost snuck out. Almost called. Almost everything. He closed the door.

Upstairs, a door settled. Bud’s office stayed shut.
Just enough light from outside filtered in for JD to pull a pen from the junk drawer and write on the back of a crumpled grocery list.

V—
Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about you and…

He stared until the ink pooled. Folded the scrap. Unfolded it. Tore it into clean squares and stacked them beside the fruit bowl.

“Smart,” he muttered, like daring himself to keep it that way.
He drank the rest of his soda, counted every step on the way back up, and every reason not to be stupid before morning.

Envelope sealed with tape instead of glue. Writing a little shakier than Tuesday’s. Delivered by Alice before class.

10.13.1988

J,

I’m fine. I promise. Just the usual—tests, papers, HD’s paranoia, and… whatever this is between us.

I think all the distance is catching up to me.
I feel tired all the time.
Not sick—just worn out.

Senior year was already stressful.
Doing it while trying not to look at you might be the final exam no one warned me about.

But I’m staying far away from KK and RS.
I know what people whisper. I’m not going to give them any reason to target me.

Thanks for worrying. I mean it.
—V

Written in block print, as if trying to stay neutral—but not succeeding. Delivered sometime after lunch via locker drop.

10/13/88

V,

I sat at the same table today—the one I first saw you from.
Same flickering light above. Same cracked tile under my foot.
I kept expecting you to show up and look at me the way you did that first day.
Like I was a question you were already halfway to answering.

You didn’t show up, of course.
I knew you wouldn’t.
But I kept looking anyway.

There’s a rumor going around that you’re “taking time to grieve.”
HD’s words, I think. She says them like she trademarked HC’s ghost.

I wanted to call her out. Especially since just the other week she was telling people you were happy HC was gone.

I didn’t.
I guess that’s what passes for maturity now.

The school feels heavier without you in it.
Or maybe I just do.

I’ve been dreaming about you. I’d write about it, but that would probably just get us in trouble for breaking the rules about keeping things boring.

I miss you.
—J

Late-night ink blotches where she stopped and started sentences. Envelope sealed with red wax—dramatic, even for her. Alice delivered it in the morning.

10.14.1988

J,

I’ve been dreaming about you too.
Nothing as interesting as your dreams—and not the scary kind.
Just dreams where we’re doing boring things: grocery shopping, arguing about peanut butter brands, making brownies, reading, and watching bad movies. Just being together.

I wake up with your name still in my thoughts.

You don’t have to be subtle around A.
She already knows more than she lets on.
But you’re right—HD is watching me like I owe her something.

I’m being careful.
I swear.

The funeral is tomorrow. Are you planning on going?
—V

October 15, 1988 – Saturday

POV – Alice

The church smelled like lilies and cold air. Too many bodies in black, too much perfume, not enough heat. Heather Duke sat in the front row with her spine so straight it looked painful, dabbing beneath her eyes with a tissue that probably hadn’t touched a real tear.

Heather McNamara sat beside her, hands clenched around the funeral program. Alice wasn’t sure if she was praying or just trying not to faint.

The casket gleamed under the stained glass light—red lacquer and gold trim. She was dressed in pink. Chandler would’ve approved. Maybe.

Alice stood in the back with the overflow crowd. Too many people, too much whispering, too many eyes pretending not to look at each other. Ms. Fleming sniffled. Principal Gowan adjusted his tie. Someone’s parent muttered that they were missing the game.

Alice scanned the room again.
Veronica and JD were sitting in a pew in the far back corner.

She kept watching.

JD’s jaw was set tight. He hadn’t shaved. Veronica kept fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. Neither of them had brought flowers.

The sermon turned into some diatribe about the dangers of kids watching “MTV Video Games.” Alice shook her head at the nonsense.

She blinked. Scanned again. JD was still in his seat.

No. He was standing. Moving. Hands in his pockets, quiet steps, slipping between people like smoke.

Out the side door.

Had Veronica gone out the same way? Alice hadn’t seen her leave. But she was nowhere to be seen.

Her stomach did something cold and heavy.

Maybe they were just getting air.
Maybe it was too much.
Maybe.

She told herself that and stayed where she was.

Later, back at the house, the front door creaked open under her hand.

“JD?” she called, even though she knew their dad had left again that morning. She kicked off her shoes and dumped her purse on the bench by the stairs.

The house was quiet—too quiet.

Then: the soft creak of floorboards upstairs. A low laugh. Not JD’s.

Alice froze.

Veronica.

She didn’t need to see. Didn’t need to knock.

Her hand gripped the banister like she might snap it.

They hadn’t just stepped outside.

Alice muttered under her breath.
“Shit.”

Chapter Text

Week 2 – Frayed Edges & Quiet Alarms

Dates: October 15–21, 1988

October 15, 1988 – Later That Night

POV – Alice

She didn’t knock.
She opened JD’s bedroom door like she had every right to—because she did—and because she’d already heard enough to know.

The room smelled like sweat and shampoo and everything they’d tried to pretend they could live without.

Veronica sat up fast, the sheet dragging with her. JD didn’t move at all. He just lay there, shirt half-on, staring at the ceiling like he’d already been caught before she even arrived.

Alice didn’t speak. Just stood in the doorway, arms crossed, heart sinking.

Veronica opened her mouth—then wordlessly closed it

JD exhaled through his nose. “It’s not what it looks like,” he said reflexively. Then after realizing the impossibility of denying the situation. “No. Never mind. It is exactly what it looks like.”

Alice stayed where she was. She could feel her heartbeat in her teeth.

So much for distance.
So much for smart.

She’d wanted to believe they could be careful. That knowing better would be enough to be better. But they hadn’t even made it a week.

She could’ve said it—could’ve pointed out the pattern.
You’re not fixing anything. You’re just using each other to forget.
The realization hit her square between her ribs and her throat.

So when she looked at them—Veronica’s red-rimmed eyes, JD’s cracked façade—
it wasn’t judgment that came up.

It was sadness.

Sadness and something protective and sharp. Like realizing two of the people you care about most in the world are already drowning, and the only thing they trust enough to cling to is each other.

She wasn’t sure when the care she held for her brother extended itself to his girlfriend. But finally realizing the pain they were both trying to bury, she knew it had.

Alice stepped back.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” she said.
And she closed the door.

October 16, 1988 – Sunday

POV – Alice

Alice knocked on the front door, binder tucked under one arm like a peace offering. Veronica’s mom answered, apron dusted with flour and a polite smile.

“Alice, hi! We didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Sorry, I should’ve called.” Alice lifted the binder. “There’s a big exam tomorrow—Veronica said I could stop by if I wanted some help studying.”

Mrs. Sawyer nodded, stepping aside. “Well, I hope you two aren’t burning the candle at both ends. You kids are already juggling so much these days.”

Mr. Sawyer sitting on a nearby couch glanced up from the paperback he was reading and gave Alice a wave. “You girls take care of yourselves, alright? It’s just high school.”

Alice smiled tight. “Sure. Just high school.”

She kept her footsteps quiet as she climbed the stairs. Veronica’s bedroom door creaked as she opened it, but Veronica barely flinched—she was sitting on her bed, writing in her diary. Her textbooks sat forgotten next to her. She looked washed out in the lamplight, like she’d traded sleep for silence.

Alice handed over the note. Veronica read it, scribbled a reply, and passed it back.

“You okay? You look a little pale,” Alice asked gently.

“Yeah. Stress messes with my stomach,” Veronica said. “I usually get like this around midterms and finals, but I’m always afraid I’ll get cocky and face-plant—disappoint everyone. My parents and teachers expect Ivy League. Heather Chandler expected me to do whatever she wanted.” She exhaled. “It’s a lot.”

Alice gave her hand a small squeeze.

They didn’t need to say it. This was becoming the routine now.

Yesterday was just a slip-up.
They knew they needed to be careful.
No one asked if it was sustainable.
No one asked if it was smart.

Written in black pen, faint left-to-right smears trail each line. Weekend drop at her house—plain envelope.
10/16/88

V,

I think A is trying to pretend Saturday didn’t happen. I was surprised when she didn’t give me a lecture. But if she wants to pretend it didn’t happen, I guess we can too.

It still feels too close to say out loud what happened Saturday.
But I can’t stop thinking about it.

I swear HD is trying to turn the whole school into her personal kingdom.
She cornered one of the cheerleaders by the vending machines Friday morning. I didn’t catch all of it, but I heard “loyalty,” “reputation,” and “you don’t want to end up like Veronica.”

Nice to know I’m dating the cautionary tale. Bad joke. I know.

I saw KK laughing with RS again outside Ms. F’s office.
Every time I see them, I want to set something on fire.

I’m trying not to be paranoid. But they’re always watching. Whispering. Grinning like they’ve already gotten away with something.

I don’t know what it is, but I don’t trust them—
especially not around you.

Stay safe.
—J

Written in her diary-style notebook, torn out and folded twice. Perfume-smudged corner. Delivered by Alice.
10.16.1988

J,

You’re not paranoid. You’re paying attention.
At least you see me as I am and not what you expect me to be.

Except for going to the funeral and seeing you yesterday, I’ve been staying in my room most of the weekend—under the guise of studying. Your sister stopping by was a surprise. Especially after yesterday. I think my parents believe I’m working too hard. I took a nap this afternoon. I never nap. So, they’re probably relieved I had a friend visit.

Maybe that’s easier. Less pretending.

Maybe if we act like it didn’t happen, it’ll feel less like a failure.

You’re right about KK and RS. I stay as far from them as I can. I don’t look them in the eye.
I’ve learned sometimes silence is safer than strength.

I miss you.
—V

Written quickly between classes, corners dog-eared. Slipped into her locker.
10/17/88

V,

I overheard two juniors whispering in the stairwell about a girl who transferred last year. Did you know her?

It’s not just rumors anymore. The stories about RS and KK are too consistent to ignore. I don’t know every detail—and maybe I don’t want to. But if they hurt you—

I won’t be quiet.

Just say the word, and I’ll find a way to make them disappear.

(And before you roll your eyes or get too worried—yes, I mean metaphorically. For now.)

Yours,
—J

Ink lighter than usual. Her handwriting looks slightly off—like her hand was shaking.
10.18.1988

J,

I feel off.
Not sick, just… heavy. Slow. Like everything’s underwater.

I think it’s just school pressure. All the pretending. All the waiting.

Couldn’t handle coffee today—one sip made me feel so sick at the kitchen table I had to dump it out.
It’s nothing. Probably nothing.

I think once we can see each other and not have to worry about being stupid, I’ll feel better. That’s just about 18 days away.

You said you’d be there. I believe you.
That’s the only part of the future I’m sure of right now.

—V

Written late at night, a ring on the corner from a mug that wasn’t coffee. Delivered by Alice before school started.
10/18/88

V,

Your last letter scared me.
Not in a bad way—just in the “you’re not okay and I can’t fix it” kind of way.

I hate this distance.
I hate the rules and the notes and the waiting and the pretending.
But I don’t hate you. I couldn’t.
Even when I’m worried sick.

Has coffee given you problems before? Maybe eating something small in the mornings will help.
Please tell me you’re eating. Sleeping. Tell me you’re taking care of yourself.

I probably sound like A; don’t tell her I said that.

But if you’re not okay, then the distance thing ends.
I don’t care about being smart or stupid. If this is doing more harm than good, we shouldn’t keep doing it.

—J

P.S. I found a place we can meet up without too many eyes on us.
Top row of the football field bleachers, right after school Wednesday.

October 19, 1988 – Wednesday

POV – JD

The field was already emptying, the last shouts from JV practice blowing thin across the track. JD took the top row, back to the chain-link, coat draped over his shoulders like a tent. He kept his arms out of the sleeves so he could wrap them around her when she came.

Veronica climbed without looking down, breath quick from the wind. He opened his knees; she slipped between them and sank back against his chest. He pulled the coat around her, his forearms crossing low at her ribs. From a distance, from behind, they could’ve been one person sitting very still.

They watched the sky go orange to iron.

“I told Heather McNamara,” Veronica said at last, voice tucked under the wool. “About us.”

JD’s arms tightened before he could stop them. Then he let his jaw unclench. “She kind of already knew,” he admitted. “She overheard me and Alice the other night. It was an awkward conversation. Alice was… telling me to be smarter.” A ghost of a laugh. “She’s not wrong, and I hate when she’s right.”

Veronica nodded against him. “Heather said she didn’t mean to listen.”

“I figured.” He exhaled into her hair. “She was at our place that night. Couch. Mint tea. Alice was trying to keep our conversation to a whisper to not wake her.”

Veronica shifted, just enough for him to feel it. She didn’t turn around.

“Duke and Ram ditched her,” she said. “With Kurt. In a field.”

JD’s mind lined up the pieces he’d been pretending weren’t there.
He felt the click in his chest. Ugly, certain.

“It was Kurt,” he said, low—not a question.

Veronica’s fingers found his wrist under the coat. “It’s not my story to tell,” she said. After a beat: “But you’re not wrong.”

The fall wind picked up around them. He nuzzled his face into the side of her neck and counted breaths until the hot edge of his anger cooled enough to speak.

“I can’t fix what happened,” he said. “But we can make it harder for them. You don’t walk alone. You, Alice, Heather—triangles, not lines. If Duke tries…”

She didn’t answer that. Instead, she pressed his crossed arms closer, as if to say let’s talk about this later.

They let the quiet do the rest. He rested his chin on her shoulder as her breath evened under his hands. The coat kept them warm and invisible. If anyone looked up from the parking lot, they’d see a single silhouette on the top row and nothing worth remembering.

“I’ve missed you,” Veronica said.

“I’ve missed you too,” JD whispered.

Written around the end of the school day, the pen pressure deeper than usual. Delivered by Alice to Veronica’s home.
10/20/88

V,

Yesterday helped.
Seeing you. Hearing your voice without paper in the way.

But today hit harder because of it. I kept wanting to look up and see you again—
to reach for your hand without calculating who might be watching.

When you stood up on the bleachers, you looked pale for a second. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe it was nothing.
You didn’t say much. You didn’t have to.

There’s a kind of quiet I only get when I’m around you.
And I’m starting to think I’d trade every smart choice I’ve made just to feel that quiet more often.

Be careful today. Okay?
—J

Written on notebook paper, the edge ragged where it was torn out. Delivered by Alice during lunch.
10.21.1988

J,

It wasn’t just you.

Thursday was rough. I kept looking toward the back of the cafeteria like maybe I’d find you sitting there again.

You weren’t.
And I know why—but it still stung.

My stomach’s been weird lately, especially during homeroom. But by the end of the day, it’s usually fine.
Wednesdays might be the only day I can breathe properly.
Every other day feels like holding my breath until I see you again.

I know this won’t last forever. Sometimes it feels like it might stretch me too thin before it breaks.
But it’s fine. I’m fine. We just need to get through two more weeks.

That—and how much I want to tell people we’re together.
I won’t, not yet. But I wanted to tell you that.

—V

Chapter Text

Week 3 – Unspoken Disappointments

Format: notes and scenes

⸻

Written on plain lined paper. Folded once, edges crumpled. Delivered to Veronica’s locker in the morning.

10/24/88
V,
Change of plans.
My dad’s dragging me on a “business trip.”

Which really just means I get to be his silent accessory in a suit. A prop of a good son. Smile, nod, don’t embarrass him. I don’t know why he doesn’t take A—she’d do a much better job than me. I wonder if he even knows I had plans.

We leave Wednesday morning. Supposed to be back Saturday. When I asked for specifics, he teased me about “having a date,” said dates can always be rescheduled.

Which means… I won’t be back in time. Not for your appointment.

I’m sorry. I wanted to be there more than anything.
You deserve better than this. Better than me missing the one thing I swore I’d show up for.

—J

⸻

Folded in thirds. Slightly tear-stained.

10/25/88
J,
You didn’t break your promise. Your dad did.
And even then—some promises get rewritten. That doesn’t mean they were empty.

I wanted you there. But more than that, I want you safe.
If being stuck in some suit-and-tie circus keeps you away from your dad’s worst moods, I’ll take it.

I’ll be okay. Really. I’m just going to go in, talk to the doctor, get the pills, and leave with the prescription. It should be fine. I’ll probably spend more time in the waiting room than with the actual doctor.

I just hate that this is how the world works. That you’re always the one paying the price for his image.

I’m counting the days until we can be done with all of this.

—V

⸻

October 25, 1988 – Evening

POV – Alice

The kitchen smelled faintly of burnt toast and cheap dish soap—leftovers from Alice’s attempt to cook something edible earlier that evening. JD stood near the counter, arms crossed, jaw set. He hadn’t said anything since Alice came downstairs.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

Alice looked up from where she was wiping crumbs off the stove. “Sure, if it doesn’t involve cleaning the bathroom again.”

He gave the ghost of a smile, then shook his head. “It’s about Veronica.”

That got her attention. She put the rag down. “Okay.”

JD hesitated, then leaned his weight into the counter like it might help him hold something back. “She said she’d be fine going to the appointment alone. But I don’t like it.”

Alice didn’t answer right away, waiting.

“She’s been looking… paler. Like she’s running on fumes. And I know she says she’s sleeping and eating, but something’s off. Even though I only see her in passing… she talks like everything’s normal, but her hands shake sometimes. And I can’t stop thinking—what if she faints while she’s there? What if something happens and she’s alone?”

Alice exhaled slowly, already knowing where this was going.

“I don’t want her there by herself,” JD said, voice low. “Even if she says it’s fine.”

“So you want me to go?”

JD nodded. “If she’ll let you. I know you’re not exactly close, but you’re the only one I’d trust with this. I just—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. “I just need to know someone’s there. In case something goes wrong.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Okay,” Alice said. “I’ll go.”

JD looked up, something unreadable passing through his expression—relief maybe, or just the ache of having to ask at all.

“She doesn’t have to know it was your idea,” Alice added. “I’ll say I was already planning to be free.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

Alice gave a half-nod, brushing her hair behind one ear. “She’s tougher than you think, you know.”

“I know,” JD said. “That’s what scares me. Tough people don’t always ask for help until it’s too late.”

⸻

Pen pressure uneven, likely written between classes.

10/26/88
V,
Ms. F called me into her office again. I thought she’d lecture me about missing class for the trip—but no, it was about how I’m “feeling.” Or something. I wasn’t really listening.

She’s the kind who pretends to care because it makes her look like a good person. But I don’t think she actually does.

You do.
You’re not fake. You’re not hiding behind a mask of goodness.

I think that’s why I’m falling for you.
You make the lie feel less permanent.

See you at the bleachers.

—J

⸻

Envelope sealed with duct tape. A tiny flower doodled near the corner.

10/27/88
J,
I haven’t felt great this week. But I felt better after seeing you yesterday. I think it’s just stress. The waiting. The pretending. All of it.

I think A knows we’ve been meeting up on Wednesdays. But there’s not much she can do about it. The spot’s hidden—but not that hidden.

Anyway, school feels louder without you—even though you barely made a sound.
I feel like I’m underwater in every hallway.

But don’t worry—I’m not fainting or anything. Just… off.
I’m eating. I’m sleeping. I’m holding steady.

And I’m staying far away from RS and KK.
Promise.

—V

⸻

October 27, 1988 – Evening

POV – Alice

The kitchen was the only place in the house that felt safe to talk. The living room always carried the risk of their dad walking in, and the bedrooms had walls too thin to trust. So, Alice lingered at the counter, textbook open but mostly ignored, while the kettle hissed on the stove.

JD was pacing again—restless, like the kitchen floor couldn’t hold him still.

“I could just not go,” he said suddenly. “Miss the flight, stay here. Veronica’s appointment’s next Saturday—I should be there.”

Alice’s eyes lifted from her notes. “JD—”

“I’m serious.” His voice was low, clipped. “He doesn’t need me there. He just wants the optics. A picture. Me in a jacket I didn’t pick out, standing behind him while he plays Mr. Family Values.” JD gave a humorless laugh. “If I disappear, let him explain that for once.”

Alice closed her book. “And what happens when he explains it by emptying your account?”

JD’s head snapped toward her. “He wouldn’t—”

“He’s done it before,” Alice cut in. “You were suspended our first day of school here, remember? One week, and he slashed your balance in half. Said since you wouldn’t be going to school, you didn’t need money either.”

JD froze, mouth tightening. He wanted to argue, but she’d already won.

“You know the accounts were never generosity,” Alice pressed, voice steady. “They’re chains. We use them for everything—food, gas, car insurance, bills he ‘forgets.’ And face it, that’s all of them except for the ones tied to relocating. Every dollar goes through him. You think he won’t yank harder if you embarrass him in front of a client?”

JD leaned against the counter, rubbing his forehead. “Maybe I don’t care. Let him take it. If something’s wrong—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

Alice stilled. The way he’d said it made her wonder what exactly he was afraid of.

She pushed back from the counter, standing to pour the tea. “That’d be great, if it was just you. But you know he’ll punish both of us. He’ll cut my balance too, just to make sure I can’t help you again.” She set the mug on the table and nudged it toward him. “I can’t risk being down to nothing again.”

For a moment, the only sound was the tick of the cooling kettle. JD finally slouched back onto a stool, wrapping both hands around the mug like it was the only steady thing in the room.

“It’s still bullshit,” he muttered. He took a sip and grimaced. “This isn’t coffee.”

Alice arched a brow. “You’re welcome.”

He shot her a betrayed look, and she only cupped her own tea in both hands.

“Yeah,” she said. “But it’s the math we’ve got.”

⸻

Written quickly on notebook paper, frayed at the edges. Delivered by Alice at the end of the day.

10/28/88
V,
I hate being far from you. Even though I saw you Wednesday. Even though we passed in the hall. It’s not enough. Maybe I’m just selfish.

I’m worried. Not just about your health—about what this school takes from you every day, and how it makes you pretend it hasn’t.
You deserve so much more than this place has to offer.

And I know the difference between stress and something deeper.
But if you say you’re okay, I’ll believe you.

For now.

If RS or KK even look at you wrong, I don’t care what city—or continent—I’m in. I’ll find a way back. And they’ll wish they hadn’t.

I miss you.
I love you.
There. I used the actual words this time.

Even if I can’t be there—you’re not alone.

—J

Chapter Text

Week 4 – Weight in the Silence

October 31 – November 4, 1988

⸻

October 31 – Monday

POV – Alice

Alice spotted Veronica near her locker before second period, shoulders hunched beneath her cardigan like she was bracing for a storm. She waited for a break in the crowd, then stepped up and held out the folded note.

“For you,” Alice said simply.

Veronica took it, her fingers brushing the edges like they were something fragile.

“I can go with you,” Alice added, lowering her voice. “To the appointment. If you want.”

Veronica’s eyes flicked up. “You don’t have to pretend it wasn’t his idea.”

Alice shrugged, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets. “You shouldn’t have to go alone. That’s all.”

Veronica nodded once. “I’ll let you know.”

Alice didn’t push. She just turned and walked away.

⸻

Note delivered by Alice — written Sunday night
Plain ruled paper, smudged on the edges.

October 30, 1988 – Sunday
V,
If I could be in two places at once, I would. But I can’t. And I hate that.

A said she might be able to go with you. I didn’t ask her to unless you’re okay with it—but I’d feel better if someone was there. Just in case.

I don’t like how pale you’ve looked lately. I keep telling myself it’s stress or school or silence. But something’s off. And it’s getting harder to ignore.

So yeah, if you’re okay with it… let Alice come. Please.

—J

⸻

November 1 – Tuesday Night

Scene – JD sneaks out

The window creaked open with a soft groan. JD crouched low, listening. Then he slid down the trellis like he’d done a hundred times before. The moonlight barely reached the porch, but he didn’t need light to find his way.

Veronica’s bedroom window was already cracked open. She pulled it up fully before he could knock.

“I was hoping I’d see you before you left,” she whispered, stepping back to let him in.

“I just wanted to be with you,” he said. “One more time before I have to play perfect son.”

She pulled him into a hug. Neither of them said much—just curled up on her bed, fingers intertwined, his head resting near hers. Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Then they fell asleep.

He woke before dawn, pressed a quiet kiss to her cheek, and left a note on her nightstand before slipping back into the dark.

⸻

Note left on Veronica’s nightstand — written on scrap paper
V,
Didn’t want to wake you. Wish I could’ve stayed.

My dad’s already going on about who’s going to be at this thing and which hands I’m supposed to shake. He packed three ties for a two-day trip. I didn’t even want to pack a razor. I think that says everything.

He wants to look like the company has a future. Like it’s a family thing. And I’m the part he points to.

Wish I could be here Saturday. Wish I could stop writing “wish” like it’ll change anything.

Please let A go with you. I hate that I can’t, but I trust her. And I trust you.

I love you.
—J

⸻

November 4 – Friday

POV – Alice and Veronica (lunch)

The cafeteria buzzed with lazy Friday chatter and the rustle of lunch bags. Alice sat across from Veronica, poking at her rice like it might bite, while Veronica’s sandwich stayed untouched in its wrapper.

Veronica sipped from a juice box.

“You’re sure you’re okay with tomorrow?” Alice asked, not for the first time.

Veronica nodded. “You won’t have to hold my hand.”

Alice snorted. “Yeah, I figured. But I will if you want.”

They both smiled. Just a little.

“I didn’t tell my parents what the appointment’s for,” Veronica said after a pause. “Just told them I had one. They didn’t ask questions.”

Alice didn’t push. “Then we’ll go. Quietly.”

Veronica hesitated, then added, “Have you heard from JD?”

Alice shook her head. “No. But with how our dad’s been acting, I wouldn’t be surprised if JD uses whatever window he gets to call you. He’s really been worried. Which is… not his usual default setting.”

Veronica nodded, quietly grateful.

And that was that.

⸻

November 4 – Friday Night

POV – Veronica

The phone rang just as Veronica came back from the bathroom, face pale and clammy, the taste of bile still sharp at the back of her throat. She snatched the receiver before it could wake anyone.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” JD’s voice was rough, like he hadn’t spoken all day. “You okay?”

Veronica leaned against the wall. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You sure?”

She hesitated. “I will be. It’s just a lot. I hate not seeing you.”

“I hate it more,” he said. “But knowing Alice is going with you… that helps.”

“It does,” she admitted.

“You okay otherwise?” he asked. “No new weirdness?”

Veronica thought of the nausea, the headache that wouldn’t leave. “No weirder than usual.”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

She didn’t answer that directly. “How’s the trip?”

“Hell,” JD muttered. “He keeps telling people I’m gonna work with him one day. Making it sound like the company’s some wholesome family empire.”

“You’re not.”

“I know,” he said. “But pretending is easier than arguing right now.”

There was a pause.

“I miss you.”

“I love you,” JD said, soft and steady, no strings attached.

Veronica closed her eyes. “Me too.”

They stayed on the line until one of them had to hang up.

And even when the dial tone came, it still felt like he was there.

⸻

POV – JD

Her voice was soft on the other end, worn thin but still trying to sound steady. JD pressed the receiver hard against his ear, like maybe he could close the distance if he just held on tight enough.

He set the phone back in its cradle. The hotel lamp buzzed faintly, the only sound in the room.

Then another sound — the creak of floorboards. JD’s head snapped up.

His dad was leaning against the doorway, sleeves rolled, tie loosened. “Long call,” Bud said casually. “Important, I take it?”

JD’s stomach dropped. How long had he been standing there?

“Just a friend,” JD muttered.

Bud’s smile was slow, practiced. “Sure. A friend.” He let the word hang there, heavy. “Do you tell all your friends you love them?”

JD’s stomach turned cold. His jaw clenched, but nothing came out.

Bud let the silence stretch, like he was daring JD to break it, before pushing off the doorframe. “Careful who you trust, son. Words have weight.” He gave a thin smile, the kind that said he’d already filed this away for later. “Wouldn’t want a distraction to cost you.”

The door clicked shut behind him, but JD couldn’t move. His pulse hammered as he stared at the phone, every word he’d said to Veronica now poisoned by the fact that Bud had heard.

Chapter Text

Chapter 32: What We Thought We Had Time For (Alice,Veronica POV)

POV: Alice

The waiting room was too bright.

Veronica sat stiffly in the cracked vinyl chair, fingers knotted so tight in her lap they ached. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead—too bright, too steady—merging with the scratch of pens and the low murmur of weekend television.

Across from her, a toddler smacked a plastic dinosaur against a wooden chair while their mother flipped through a parenting magazine, eyes glazed.

Alice sat beside her, quiet.

Veronica wore JD’s flannel over jeans. She’d stopped dressing like Heather Chandler expected her to on weekends. No tights, no blazers. Just comfort.

When Alice had pulled up earlier, she hadn’t said much—just a small nod, jacket zipped halfway, a plastic water bottle in one hand, and something steadier in her posture than usual.

“You good to go?” she’d asked, voice soft.

Veronica had nodded, even though she wasn’t sure. After weeks of telling JD the birth control appointment wasn’t a big deal, she’d felt the anxiety ratchet up as the day drew near.

Now they sat in a silence that felt heavier than most.

After a long pause, Alice leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You sure you want to do this?”

Veronica nodded slowly. “No. But I’m doing it anyway.”

Alice didn’t push. She leaned back, eyes flicking up to the clock above the check-in desk.

Eventually, a nurse called Veronica’s name.

Alice started to stand, but the nurse shook her head. “Just her, for now.”

Veronica followed without looking back.

⸻

The room in the back was colder. The kind of cold that seeped through your clothes and settled into your bones.

She answered in a daze—cycle, current form of protection, partner. When they asked if she could be pregnant—the word pregnant made her flinch. They handed her a cup and pointed her toward the bathroom.
“Routine test,” the nurse said, smiling in a way that didn’t reach her eyes.

Veronica didn’t think twice. Until ten minutes later, when the doctor walked in with a clipboard—and a different kind of smile. One that wasn’t routine.

“Veronica,” she said gently, “before we proceed… we need to talk.”

Veronica’s stomach dropped.

“You’re already pregnant.”

She felt like she was falling into a sinkhole.

“I know this isn’t what you expected today,” the doctor continued. “We can talk through options—there’s no pressure to decide anything right now.”

Options.

But all Veronica could think was: It’s already happening. There’s no preventing something that already exists.

She managed a nod. Or maybe she didn’t. Everything blurred.

The doctor spoke clinically of timelines, resources, vitamins. Follow-up appointments. A referral, if she wanted one. Something for the nausea.

But Veronica was already halfway out of her body.

She stood and walked to the bathroom.

Locked the door.

And cried.

It wasn’t just the pregnancy. It was the timeline. The unbearable symmetry.

Heather’s death. The mug. The kiss. And now this. Another thing passed between hands that couldn’t be taken back.

She pressed her forehead to the cold tile, breath snagging. “…shit.”
Another breath—harsher. “Shit.”

⸻

POV – Alice

Out front, Alice’s leg bounced. She glanced up every time the door opened. The receptionist offered her a tight smile. It had been too long.

When a nurse finally came over and said, “Would you mind coming back? Your friend’s having a hard time,” Alice didn’t ask questions. She just followed.

They led her down a narrow hall to a closed bathroom door.

“She locked herself in,” the nurse said quietly. “We think she might respond better to you.”

Alice knocked once, then leaned against the door. “Veronica?”

No answer.

“It’s me. I’m just outside.”

A pause. Then the lock clicked.

Alice stepped in to find Veronica sitting on the closed toilet lid, eyes red-rimmed, shoulders tense.

Alice crouched without a word and held out her arms.

Veronica hesitated—then collapsed into her.

She didn’t say I’m scared. She didn’t need to.

Alice held her the way you hold something you don’t want to break any further. She remembered JD in the kitchen a week ago, pacing until the linoleum nearly split, rubbing his forehead like he could hold the world together with his hands.

Maybe I don’t care. Let him take it. If something’s wrong—

He’d cut himself off then, jaw locked, but now the words rang differently. Like he’d already known. Like part of him had been bracing for this moment before any of them said it out loud.

Eventually, Veronica whispered, “They said… almost seven weeks.”

Alice’s breath caught.

That lined up exactly.

Veronica’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering through her tears. “But… I haven’t even known JD that long. How—”

The nurse returned with a kind smile and guided Veronica back to an exam room. “I know it sounds confusing, but we don’t date pregnancy from the day you conceived. We start from the first day of your last period. For you, that was September twenty-first, which makes you almost seven weeks. Conception usually happens about two weeks later—early October in your case. The likely window is October first to fifth—maybe the third or fourth. An early ultrasound can narrow the window, but not to an exact day.”

Alice saw some of the tension drain from Veronica’s shoulders. That matched. That made sense. Veronica nodded slowly, though her voice was still small. “I just… thought I had more time.”

They let Alice stay for the wrap-up. The nurse spoke softly as she handed over paperwork, a bottle of prenatal vitamins, and a small paper bag with something for the nausea.

“Take one in the morning, one at night. With food,” she said, like they were discussing allergy meds.

Alice nodded, even though the instructions weren’t for her.

Veronica sat on the edge of the exam table, paler than usual, but no longer crying.

She looked… quiet. Still. Like she’d pressed pause on something inside herself.

Back in the car, they didn’t talk.

Alice drove.

Not home, though.

Veronica didn’t want to go back to her house. She said she needed space. Said, “Can we go to yours? I want to be there when JD gets back.”

Alice glanced at her—pale in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the window. It hit her then that JD had been right not to want her alone. He hadn’t said why, not fully, but he’d felt it.

Now Veronica was here, asking for him, and Alice knew the weight of this wouldn’t stay hers to carry for long.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “We’ll go to mine.”

And she took the long turn toward her house.

Chapter Text

Chapter 33: The Other Mug (JD, Alice POV)

POV – JD

He was pacing the kitchen again. His dad had dropped him off around five before disappearing, and now it was almost six. He would’ve thought Alice would be home by now. He’d even called Veronica’s house under the guise of looking for his sister. Her mother said Veronica and Alice were still out she wasn’t sure when they where due back.

He wasn’t sure when his dad would get back, but he had a sinking feeling it would be sooner than he wanted. He just hoped Alice got back first. Standing around wasn’t doing any good. He needed air.

Once he stepped outside, he didn’t have to wait long. Alice’s car pulled up, headlights cutting across the lawn.

The moment he saw her face, his stomach dropped.

“Hey—” he started, trying for calm, casual. Failing at both.

“She’s fine,” Alice cut in, voice clipped. “Let her tell you.”

He looked past her. Veronica stepped out slowly, hands buried in her jacket pockets, eyes unreadable.

JD met her halfway across the lawn and pulled her into a hug.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “Did you go?”

“I went.”

Silence.

He stepped back, cautious—like one wrong move might shatter her.
“Did they say everything’s okay? Did you get the prescription?”

Veronica laughed once—sharp, joyless.

Then she leaned into his shoulder, voice barely above a whisper.
“No—I’m pregnant.”

Three words—clean, direct, irreversible.

JD’s throat closed. “What?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Too many questions were spinning through his head, none of them mattering more than getting her out of sight.

He took her hand and led her inside and up the stairs; behind them, Alice slipped quietly into the kitchen. Their father still wasn’t home, but JD knew time was running out.

When they reached his room, he shut the door.

Veronica pulled a folded paper from her pocket and held it out like proof.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “And now it’s too late.”

He took the paper—not reading it, just holding it like it might anchor him.
“I should’ve been there.”

He’d asked Alice to go with her, to be there in case something felt off.
But he’d already noticed—the pale face, the trembling hands, the way she looked like she might faint. He just hadn’t wanted to be right.

Veronica’s voice stayed calm, but he heard the shake beneath it.
“I thought about it,” she admitted. “About ending it. But then I saw her.”

“Heather?”

She nodded. “I watched her die because of something we didn’t think through. Because we thought we were just playing with consequences.”

Her voice cracked. “I’m not doing that again.”

JD didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

His mind flipped through everything at once—the warmth of her body curled beside his, the sound of her laughter, the weight of his mother’s absence, the taste of that kiss before the mug.

He sank onto the bed.

“You’re sure?” he asked—but it was the wrong question.

Veronica stepped closer.
“I’m sure I’m not getting rid of it. That’s all I know right now.”

He looked up at her.

She was wearing his flannel again. Hair pushed back like she hadn’t thought much about it. She looked beautiful and scared.

JD nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Then we figure it out.”

Just like that.

Not because he wasn’t scared—he was terrified.
Not because he thought he could fix anything—he couldn’t.
But because if she was going to carry this, he wasn’t going to let her carry it alone.

Veronica sat beside him slowly, and they didn’t speak for what felt like a long time. .

“I feel like this is the other mug,” she whispered.

JD turned to her, confused.

“You know,” she said. “There were two. And I picked the wrong one.”

He stared at her, shaken. “You think this is the wrong one?”

She shook her head.
“No. I think… this is the one we didn’t think about. And now it’s ours.”

JD reached for her hand. “Then we treat it like that.”

Veronica nodded. “And we act smarter.”

JD let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah. We start with that.”

She rested her head on his shoulder.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a grenade waiting to go off.

He felt present, terrified, and in love.

POV – Alice

The kitchen felt hollow, the kind of quiet that pressed in on her ears. Alice leaned against the counter, arms crossed, staring at nothing.

She knew without asking that JD had taken Veronica upstairs to his room.
She could only hope her brother didn’t say anything too stupid. He wasn’t dumb, but he was still capable of making bad decisions.

She should have seen it coming. She didn’t realize until she was at the clinic with Veronica that he had probably known. He’d been wound tight for weeks. Alice had assumed it was due to the distance he and Veronica were trying—and failing—to maintain.

Alice decided to make some tea. She’d found recently that just going through the steps of making tea helped her focus.

The front door opened just as the kettle began to boil. Keys jingled; polished shoes crossed the threshold.

Bud filled the doorway to the kitchen, loosening his tie with one hand, gaze sweeping the room like it belonged to him more than anyone living in it.

“Evening,” he said, smooth as glass.

Alice returned the greeting with a short nod. She was trying to read what kind of mood her father was in before she said anything.

He set the beer he’d brought home in the fridge, pulled one out, and popped the cap. As he leaned against the counter opposite that’s when Alice was able to recognize the look on her dad’s face. He knew something.

“Quiet around here.”

“Not much going on.” She turned back to the tea, hoping to avoid giving her dad any more information than he already had.

He let that hang. “Funny thing. When I was at the hotel the other day, I overheard your brother on the phone. Late. Sounded like a girl.” He took a slow drink, watching her. “I could’ve sworn I heard him say… something about you going somewhere with her today. How did that go?”

Alice kept her face still, even as her pulse jumped. She didn’t answer the question but her dad continued on regardless.

Bud’s smile didn’t touch his eyes. “That was Veronica, wasn’t it?” A beat. “Thought I even heard him tell her he loved her.” His gaze flicked upward—subtle, sharp. “So—when did your brother get so serious about someone? I hope you’ve been keeping an eye on him. We wouldn’t want your brother getting himself into too much trouble, now would we?”

Alice didn’t look at him, but she couldn’t help glancing at the ceiling when a small thump sounded overhead. He’d already clocked it.

“So I take it the girl’s over. If your brother is so serious about her, maybe it’s time we meet.”

Alice did not like where this was going.

He tapped the bottlecap against the counter, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. “Be a peach—go see what your brother and his girlfriend want on their pizza.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 34: Extra Cheese and Unsaid Things (Veronica,JD POV)

POV – Veronica

The smell of pizza should’ve been comforting.

It wasn’t.

The strong scent of tomato and garlic made her stomach turn; she took another sip of water anyway. The room was loud and sticky with the kind of awkward tension that clung to the air like old wallpaper. Veronica sat at the table, hands folded neatly in her lap, doing everything in her power to look like a normal teenage girl enjoying a slice of pizza with her boyfriend, his sister, and his terrifying father.

When JD first talked about keeping her hidden from his dad, she thought he was just being paranoid. I mean, she’d seen the commercials. But now that she’d met him—really met him—she understood the fear.

Bud Dean was practically glowing.

“I mean, I don’t want to brag,” he said—right before doing exactly that—“but they were eating out of my hand by the end of it. Big contract. Long-term. I might even get contracts with bigger companies after this. Who knows?”

JD didn’t look up from his plate.

Alice made a noise of acknowledgment that sounded like a polite hum but might’ve just been her swallowing rage.

Veronica took another sip of water and prayed no one noticed her flinch when Bud said, “Could be the start of something big for all of us, huh?”

He gestured broadly toward the table, like they were some kind of TV family on the edge of a happy ending. Veronica forced a smile. JD’s jaw was locked tight. Alice’s eye twitched.

“Glad you could join us, Veronica,” Bud added, turning to her with all the sincerity of a man who wanted a gold star for remembering a name. “Nice to see JD keeping good company for once.”

Veronica blinked. “Thanks,” she said, because what else could she say?

He grinned like that sealed the deal. “You like pizza? We always used to get the extra-large back in Dayton. JD could polish off half by himself in middle school, couldn’t you, sport?”

Bud’s gaze snagged on the flannel Veronica was wearing. “Nice shirt—I think JD has one just like it,” he said, light as a joke that didn’t quite land. He was already back to contracts before she could tell if it had been a warning.

JD set his slice down, grease slick on his fingers. His jaw ticked once. “If you’ve seen one flannel, you’ve seen them all,” he said, appetite gone.

The words pinned her. Labeled before named. Heat crawled up her neck. She slipped out of the flannel and folded it on her lap. The room was warm; she’d be fine in her T-shirt.

Alice picked at a slice of mushroom like it had personally wronged her.

Veronica glanced sideways at JD. His hand was clenched under the table. She nudged his knee with hers. It was the smallest touch—but he eased, just slightly.

Bud kept talking.

And talking.

And talking.

About the contract. About his “team.” About how appearances mattered in business—how people liked working with family men, with solid home lives. “Trustworthy types,” he said, waving a breadstick like a pointer. “Not the kind who let things get messy.”

Alice choked on her soda and coughed so hard she had to excuse herself from the table.

JD muttered something about needing more napkins and disappeared after her.

Veronica stayed seated, spine straight, smile fixed.

Don’t give him anything.

POV – JD

JD closed the cabinet a little harder than necessary, letting the stack of napkins thud into place on the counter. Alice was already leaning against the fridge, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

“Well,” she said dryly, low enough not to carry, “Dad’s in rare form.”

JD didn’t respond right away. He reached for a glass, turned it over in his hands like it might help him breathe. “He thinks he’s winning some kind of family-man Olympics.” He set the glass down. “He saw the shirt.”

“He sees everything,” Alice answered. “He just likes you to wonder which things he’s going to use.”

She scoffed. “He called Veronica a real keeper. I nearly threw a breadstick at his head.”

JD cracked a smile, but it faded quickly. “He’s too happy about this. About her.”

“He doesn’t know,” Alice reminded him. “Not about Heather. Not about the appointment. Definitely not about the other thing.”

JD swallowed hard.

Alice’s voice dropped. “And he can’t know.”

“I know.”

JD ran a hand through his hair and sank onto one of the kitchen stools. “You think he’d really blow everything up if he found out?”

Alice didn’t answer right away. “You remember St. Louis?”

JD winced.

“Yeah. I think he’d blow it up. Especially if it makes him look bad.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Imagine what he’d do if he knew Veronica’s preg—”

Alice slapped a hand over JD’s mouth to cut him off. “Don’t even say it.” She glanced toward the doorway to make sure they hadn’t been overheard.

“I’m serious. He’s got his big friendly dad mask on now, but if he catches wind that we’re not ‘marketable’ anymore…”

“He’ll turn,” Alice finished. “Fast.”

JD stared at the wall. “He probably thinks Veronica’s some sweet honor-roll girl who’ll make me look like a responsible young man.”

“Well,” Alice muttered, “joke’s on him.”

JD exhaled through his nose, half laugh, half defeat. “She’s not what he thinks. And neither am I.”

Alice nodded. “And he’ll figure that out. Eventually.”

JD stood again, restless. “We’ll just have to be careful. All of us.”

She gave her brother a look of exasperation—but didn’t push the joke further. “Just keep her safe. And don’t give him anything he can use.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try harder.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, listening to Bud laugh from the dining room. Veronica’s voice was quieter—polite, controlled.

Too controlled.

“Go rescue her,” Alice said. “Before she chokes on her own niceness.”

JD nodded. “On it.”

He grabbed the napkins, steadied himself with a breath, and headed back toward the dining room.

POV – Veronica

That left Veronica.

Bud dabbed at a crumb like he owned the table and the air above it. “So, Veronica,” he said, casual as a survey, “busy day with Alice? Where’d you two run off to?”

Her pulse ticked. “Shopping,” she said. Old trick. Shopping and a “sleepover”—the cover she and Heather used when it was really a kegger.

“On a Saturday?” His smile thinned. “Which mall?”

She didn’t look away. “The one by the highway.”

Bud’s eyes flicked to her hands. “So what’d you end up getting?”

Veronica lifted her water. “Didn’t find what I was looking for.”

“Oh?” He tipped his head. “What were you after?”

“Something to wear to a college interview.”

A beat. He weighed it, then nodded. “Ambitious. Start early.”

Alice returned with a fresh soda and slid back into her chair without a word.

Under the table, JD’s hand found hers and gave it a quick squeeze.

“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Dean,” Veronica said.

“Anytime,” he said, watching. “Now that we’ve met, hopefully I’ll see you around more.”

She kept her smile where he could see it and the flannel where he couldn’t.

Stay. Breathe. Don’t give him anything.

Chapter Text

Chapter 34.1: Tea and a Soft Landing

POV – Heather McNamara

Heather hadn’t expected a knock at the door after nine.

She was in pajama shorts, one of her dad’s old college sweatshirts, and halfway through rereading a dog-eared romance novel when she heard it. Her parents were upstairs watching a game show. Duke hadn’t called all night, which was its own kind of silence.

She cracked the door open—and blinked.

“Alice?”

“Hey,” Alice said, voice low. She looked… exhausted, like someone had wrung her out and left her to dry. “Is this a bad time?”

Heather didn’t hesitate. “No—God, no. Come in.”

Alice stepped inside, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was holding herself together by force. Heather watched her for a beat, then asked, “Want tea?”

“Do you have the good kind?”

Heather smiled. “Hidden behind the gross detox stuff Mom likes.”

She moved around the kitchen by habit—teakettle filled, a lacquered tin of loose-leaf pulled from the back, two handmade mugs down from the upper shelf. She passed Alice the sunflower mug—warm-glazed and weighty in the hand. Alice didn’t say anything, just held it like something familiar. Her fingers lingered against Heather’s for a second longer than necessary.

They sat at the table under the bright overhead.

“So,” Heather said gently, fingers wrapped around her mug. “Long night?”

Alice let out a laugh that didn’t quite land. “My dad was in full ‘ideal American father’ mode. It was nauseating.”
“He met Veronica tonight—pizza at ours. He performed; she survived. I couldn’t stay. He was already trying to fold her into the show.”

Heather winced. “Oof.”

“I’m glad you came here.”

That earned her a glance. A soft one.

Silence settled again—not awkward, just warm. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling.

After a minute, Alice stirred her tea and said, “I’m not supposed to say much. But JD and Veronica… they’re done hiding. I think they’ll start showing up as a pair. There isn’t much reason to keep it quiet anymore.”

Heather’s chest tightened, but not with surprise. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I figured they would.”

Alice gave a dry smile. “I thought you might have.”

Heather stared into her mug. “I’m not stupid. I just… don’t always say things. Not when I should.”

“You ever think about changing that?” Alice asked.

Heather hesitated. “Yeah. More and more lately.”

There it was—that feeling again. Like standing at the edge of something.

“I haven’t told Heather Duke I’ve been hanging out with you,” she confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “She’d lose her mind.”

Alice didn’t flinch.

“I want to,” Heather added quickly. “It’s just—she’s been in my life since forever. It’s hard. Even when I know it’s toxic.”

Alice looked at her for a long time. “It’s not stupid,” she said quietly. “It’s history. Doesn’t mean it has to be your future.”

Heather felt the knot in her chest loosen.

“You’re not mad?” she asked.

Alice shook her head. “No. I get it.”

And somehow, that felt bigger than any grand gesture.

Heather got up and flipped off the harsh kitchen light, leaving only the soft owl nightlight by the stove. When she sat back down, she didn’t take her old seat across the table—she sat beside Alice instead.

Their knees brushed.

“Thanks for coming over,” Heather said.

“Thanks for letting me,” Alice replied.

They sipped tea in the quiet, side by side. Outside, a branch tapped gently against the windowpane.

Heather didn’t bring up JD again. Or Veronica. Or Duke.

She didn’t need to.

Sometimes comfort wasn’t about solving anything.

Sometimes it was just about a warm mug, a soft landing, and knowing someone chose your door to knock on.

Chapter Text

One Awkward Parent at a Time

POV – JD

By the time they pulled up to the Sawyer house, the porch light was on and the night air had that late-night stillness that made everything feel too real.

“I can walk you to the door,” JD offered, already knowing what the answer would be.

Veronica shook her head. “One awkward parent interaction a day is enough.”

They exchanged a look—tired, amused, a little shell-shocked.

He watched her disappear around the back while he parked his bike farther down the street. Ten minutes later, he was climbing in through her bedroom window like it was the most normal thing in the world. It practically was, by now.

Veronica was already curled on the bed, his flannel tossed to one side, arms wrapped around her knees.

“That dinner…” she murmured.

“Don’t,” JD said, closing the window behind him. “It’s either laugh or scream.”

“I almost screamed when he asked what my parents thought of us.”

JD dropped onto the bed beside her. “I think he’s planning a backyard barbecue where we all wear matching polos.”

Veronica groaned. “Stop.”

He leaned in, kissed her shoulder. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Just tired. And weird. And weirdly okay.”

JD kicked off his boots and stretched out beside her. “You sure? ’Cause today was a lot.”

“You were there for most of it.” She paused. “The rest… I don’t know. You made it easier.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t answer right away. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck and let out a breath she’d been holding since dinner.

Then, softly: “You realize this is stupid, right?”

“What is?”

“This.” She gestured at the space between them. “Technically, we should be smarter. Waiting. Thinking things through.”

“We can,” JD said. “We can just sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” she said. “I need the noise in my head to shut up.”

He hesitated. “Okay. But say when.”

She huffed a small laugh. “I’m already pregnant. I can’t get any more pregnant than that.”

“True,” he said, brushing her hair back from her face.

In here, there was nothing to explain. No one watching.

They kissed. It wasn’t hurried or desperate this time. Just slow. Familiar. The kind of closeness that didn’t need fixing—just holding.

Clothes slipped away. Conversations did too.

For a little while, they let themselves pretend the world didn’t exist beyond the bedroom walls.

Sunday kept its head down—homework, calls, nothing brave.
After midnight he found her window again and slipped out before sunrise.

For once, the only truth they needed was the one between them.

Chapter Text

Chapter 35: Something’s Different (Alice, Veronica POV)

POV – Alice
Monday morning, November 7, 1988

Alice spotted Veronica the moment she stepped out of her car.

She was different.

Not dramatically. Not in a way that screamed scandal or confession. Just… lighter. Like someone who’d been holding her breath for days and had finally exhaled.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t flinch when Heather Duke brushed past her in the hall. And when Heather McNamara gave her a gentle squeeze on the arm and whispered something, Veronica smiled—not her usual practiced smile, but something smaller. More real.

Alice narrowed her eyes.

She approached slowly, coffee in one hand, books in the other, and cut Veronica off at her locker.

“You sleep at all this weekend?”

Veronica blinks, then: “Some.”

Alice lifts an eyebrow. “Really?”

Veronica’s shrug is small. “Eventually.”

Alice settles against the locker, coffee balanced in one hand. “You’re not unraveling today.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. Just… different.”

Veronica looked at her—really looked. “You’re fishing.”

Alice took a long sip of her coffee. “I don’t have to fish. I know my brother.”

Veronica’s lips twitched. “Then you know he didn’t sleep at home last night.”

“Figured as much. His bed looked untouched all weekend.” She crossed her arms. “You okay?”

Veronica hesitated. Then nodded. Quietly: “Yeah. Weirdly. We talked. About everything. About your dad. About the baby. About… being smarter.”

“Did the talking happen before or after?” Alice said, dry.

Veronica shot her a look. “Before—and after.”

Alice exhaled and lowered her voice. “Not funny.” She glanced around to make sure they weren’t being overheard.

“Hey, you’re the one who asked,” Veronica whispered back.

“You know I still think this is a terrible idea, right?”

“Yes—you’ve mentioned that a few times,” Veronica said. “But we’re in it now. So we’re trying to be smart. Trying to be careful.”

“Careful would’ve meant sleeping in separate zip codes.”

“We’re in high school, not solitary confinement.”

“You’re not the one who has to cover for him when he shows up late with guilt all over his face.”

Veronica smirked faintly. “He’s already got that look down.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. I’ll help how I can—but don’t make me lie. And don’t give me a front-row seat to something that’s going to end in more wreckage.”

Veronica’s face softened. “We’re not trying to wreck anything. I swear.”

Alice studied her for a second, then gave the smallest nod.

“You’re glowing a little,” she said finally.

Veronica blushed. “That’s just guilt, secondhand JD cologne, and anti-nausea meds.”

“Uh-huh,” Alice thought. Veronica was probably confusing cologne with deodorant, but it wasn’t worth mentioning.

They stood like that for a moment, neither pushing the conversation further. The bell rang.

Alice started to turn away, then stopped. “He’s really scared. My brother. He won’t say it out loud or admit to it, but he is.”

Veronica glanced down at her hands. “So am I.”

“Good,” Alice said, moving into the crowd. “Means you’re taking it seriously.”

She didn’t add the part coiling in her gut: “careful” only works until it doesn’t.

POV – Veronica

The hallway after fourth period smelled like perfume samples, old pencils, and someone’s very aggressive strawberry lip gloss. Veronica stood at her locker, swapping out her books, when Heather McNamara appeared at her side like a slightly anxious but well-meaning shadow.

“You didn’t come to study hall,” Heather said, soft-voiced with a hint of edge. “Duke noticed.”

Veronica gave a half-shrug. “Let her notice.”

Heather tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

Veronica paused, closed her locker, and met her eyes. “Can I tell you something?”

Heather nodded immediately. “Of course.”

“JD and I have decided to stop hiding our relationship.”

Heather’s eyes widened. “Are you nervous about how people are going to react? Heather Duke’s been waiting to have something she can really twist into a rumor.”

“She’ll find something regardless of what I do.” A beat. “It doesn’t make sense to keep it quiet anymore. We’re not hiding.”

Heather bit her lip. “You know Duke’s going to lose it, right?”

“I’m counting on it.”

That got a small laugh. “You’ve got guts.”

“No. I’ve got JD—and bigger things to deal with than whatever Heather Duke thinks counts as scandal.”

Heather nodded slowly, thoughtful. “So… this is serious?”

Veronica didn’t flinch. “Yeah. It is.”

There was something reassuring about the way Heather didn’t launch into warnings or whispered rumors. Just a pause, a glance, and a sigh that felt more like resignation than concern.

“Well,” she said, “if she tries to make it a thing, I’ll back you up.”

Veronica blinked. “Really?”

“Really.” Heather smiled, soft and real. “Just don’t make me watch you two make out in the middle of the lunch line.”

Veronica grinned. “Deal.”

The bell rang.

They parted ways in the crowd, but the weight Veronica had been carrying for the past few weeks felt just a little lighter.

The cafeteria buzzed with its usual noise—plastic trays clattering, someone arguing about algebra, the faint echo of Big Fun leaking from someone’s Walkman.

Veronica walked in just after JD.

He didn’t wait for her to trail behind. Instead, he reached for her hand.

And she let him take it.

Heads turned.

It didn’t take long.

By the time they reached the middle of the room, JD stopped at the table directly behind the Heathers’ usual spot. He took the aisle seat facing them and set his tray down.

She followed, sliding into the chair beside him.

Heather Duke half-turned in her seat, a Diet Coke lifted to her mouth, like she’d just caught the scent of blood. “You’re kidding.”

McNamara glanced back and forth between the two tables, tense but not surprised.

Veronica kept her voice even. “Nope.”

“You’re seriously doing this? After everything that’s happened?”

JD leaned back, utterly unfazed. “Nice to see you too, Heather.”

Duke ignored him, eyes pinning Veronica like she was trying to see through her skin. “You think now is the time to flaunt your little brooding bad-boy romance? While the school is still—”

“Still what? Grieving? Processing? Turning Heather Chandler into a saint?” JD cut in, sharp but measured.

A quick inhale from Duke. “You don’t get to say her name.”

“Too late,” JD said, voice flat.

Veronica started to answer—chin up—but McNamara cut in, softer: “Guys. Please.”

But the noise around them had already shifted, curiosity rising like smoke.

And then came the thunder: Kurt and Ram—raw knuckles, red-rimmed eyes, shoulders too wide for their jackets.

They moved as one, all swagger and meathead fury, plates forgotten as they stomped to the table like it was a showdown.

“Hey!” Kurt barked at JD. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Ram crossed his arms. “She’s not yours.”

“She’s with me,” JD said, unblinking.

“Back off,” Kurt growled. “You come near her again—”

Veronica stood. “He already did—” Snickers flared; heat rushed to her face. JD rose, unhurried, and slid an arm around her waist, steady. “I mean, I’m with him.”

The whole section went silent.

Even Duke didn’t speak—she only turned farther in her chair, watching.

Veronica looked at all of them—Heather Duke at the next table, Kurt, Ram, the rest of the room that had pivoted toward them like an audience at a bad soap opera.

“We’re together,” she said.

And that was it.

The bell didn’t ring. The sky didn’t fall. But the power dynamic shifted.

Duke’s expression hardened into something unreadable.

Kurt muttered a curse and turned away.

Ram followed.

And McNamara, brave and quiet, gave Veronica a barely-there nod of support.

JD leaned in. “That went better than expected.”

“For now,” Veronica whispered, sitting back down.

Because the fire had been lit.

But she wasn’t running from the heat anymore.

Chapter Text

Chapter 36: Green-Eyed Games
POV – Heather Duke

Thursday, November 10

By Thursday’s lunch, Heather Duke watched from across the cafeteria—she’d always been good at spotting angles.

It was how she survived Heather Chandler.
How she learned to parry insults with sweeter ones.
How she wore red like it was owed—Chandler never let her. Back then, red was a crown you didn’t touch; Heather was kept in green. After the funeral, she traded shades. Not borrowed—claimed.

And it was how she knew—Veronica Sawyer wasn’t acting out of grief.

This wasn’t grief.

This was a move.

From her vantage point, Heather rested her chin on one hand and watched Veronica lean in toward JD. Their trays sat ignored between them. His knuckles brushed her forearm; Veronica laughed—soft, real. No fear in her posture. No shame.

The cafeteria felt wrong without Chandler’s laugh cutting through it. Wrong, and Veronica filled the silence too easily.

That was the part Heather couldn’t forgive.

Veronica had been a nobody not long ago. Smart. Slightly weird. Too mouthy for her own good.

But now?

Now people looked at her like she was something tragic and brave.
Like surviving Chandler gave her gravitas.
Like she’d earned something just by still being here.

And now she had him.

The new boy. The mystery. The one who used to glare at everyone like they were insects under his boot—who lately only had eyes for her.

JD. All sharp edges and wolfish charm and just enough softness to make girls doodle his initials on the backs of their notebooks.

Veronica didn’t date boys like JD. She didn’t date anyone seriously. That had always been part of her appeal—aloof, unavailable, untouchable.

So this?
This wasn’t happenstance.

This was theater.

Veronica thinks she can take Chandler’s place.
She thinks she can do it without rules. Without hierarchy.
Without the red.

Heather speared a tomato and smiled like she wasn’t tasting blood.

By now, Ram and Kurt had noticed too—JD and Veronica, playing house in the middle of lunch like the battlefield Chandler left behind was still smoking. Kurt muttered something crude; Ram laughed too loud. Heather let them bark. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin and tilted her head, the picture of polite boredom.

This wasn’t about football boys and bruised egos.

This was about control.

And Veronica, for all her banter and brooding, had just painted a target on her back.

Heather’s own hands had trembled that night. She’d replayed it too many times not to know. But if she was guilty, so was Veronica. And Veronica wasn’t suffering half enough.

Everyone whispered like Chandler had been ripped away by fate. Heather knew better. Death had fingerprints. If hers were there, Veronica’s weren’t clean.

Across the room, JD said something low; Veronica’s mouth tugged into a small, private smile like a secret she planned to keep. The sight clicked something cruel and cold into place.

Fine.

If Veronica wanted to play queen, she’d better be ready for the crown’s weight.

Heather took a long sip of Diet Coke, set the can down without a sound, and leaned back—expression smooth, eyes bright with calculation.

She didn’t need Chandler’s crown.

She just needed to make sure no one else wore it better.

And Heather? She was already sharpening the knives.

Chapter Text

Chapter 36.1: The Line He Wouldn’t Cross (JD, Alice POV)

Thursday, November 10 — late evening
POV – JD

He hadn’t meant to think about it.

But once the thought surfaced, it didn’t let go.

It crept in while he lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the hum of a too-quiet house. Alice wasn’t home yet. His dad was out—probably with some contractor, or worse, playing dad of the year at another bar.

Veronica wasn’t there either.

But the ache of her absence was.

He could still smell her on his shirt. Still almost feel the warmth of her from the last time she kissed him.

And then it came, quiet as a whisper:

It was so easy.

Heather Chandler had died without a plan.
Not a real one. Not the kind he would’ve sketched out on paper, step by step.
It was a joke. A dare. A bluff taken too far.

He’d filled the mug and let Veronica give it to her like it was nothing. If he’d been paying attention, he could’ve stopped it—could’ve spared Veronica from watching her best enemy and worst friend drink drain cleaner like it was coffee.

And just like that, she was gone.

No violence. No screaming. No time to second-guess.

The world rearranged itself around her absence before he even understood what they’d done.

He hadn’t meant to kill her. Neither of them had. But that didn’t change the fact that they did—and if it had been that easy by accident… what if it wasn’t an accident next time?

What if it was someone who deserved it?

His mind flicked to Kurt and Ram. Not just the leering, the rumors, the smug cruelty. He had seen what they did to Heather McNamara. The bruises. The laughter after. The way they looked at Veronica like she was a piece of meat they hadn’t gotten to yet.

JD’s jaw clenched. Now that everyone knew Veronica was dating someone, they’d see her as a challenge. He’d heard them on his first day—the “Heather Chandler and Veronica sandwich” joke. Just the idea of them seeing her that way sparked a deep, steady rage.

It would be easy. He knew it would. The school wouldn’t mourn them. People would pretend to be shocked for a week and then move on like always.

And Veronica would be safe.

Except—

No.

He closed his eyes.

Except she wouldn’t. Not really. Not from him. Not after that.

Because once you crossed that line on purpose, it wasn’t protection. It was power. Control. The part of yourself you couldn’t explain away with grief, or rage, or “good intentions.”

Alice would never forgive him.

And Veronica—

She would leave.

He wouldn’t blame her.

What kind of mother would want to raise a child with a known murderer?

The thought hit harder than he expected. The word still felt unreal—mother—thinking about his girlfriend as someone’s mother, let alone what that would make him. But it was real. It was happening. And he wanted to be worthy of it. Of her. He wanted to give their child a childhood he never got. He wanted them to feel safe and loved all the time, not just when it was convenient for someone else.

He sat up slowly, letting the silence settle around him.

The temptation was still there. The quiet logic of it. The fantasy where no one had to be afraid anymore.

But he wasn’t a fantasy. And neither was she.

And if he wanted any kind of future—with her, with the baby, with the fragile, maybe not hopeless life they were trying to build—then he had to hold that line.

Even if no one ever knew he almost didn’t.

Even if it would’ve been easy.

⸻

POV – Alice

The front door creaked open.

Alice stepped inside, flipped the deadbolt. No TV. No music. Only the fridge humming and the staircase complaining under her steps. She reached the second-floor landing and glanced toward JD’s door before turning toward her room.

The door was cracked. Just enough to mean don’t bother me, but not stay out.

She tapped her knuckles on the frame. “You eat yet?”

JD sat on the edge of his bed, hunched forward, elbows on his knees. His fingers were loosely laced like he’d forgotten they had bones. He didn’t look up.

She didn’t ask again. Just leaned in the doorway and watched.

Something was off.

Not in an obvious, JD’s-about-to-blow-up-a-school way.
Just… wrong.

His whole body was coiled. Not tense like rage—held, like grief. Like he was trying to keep some terrible idea from leaking out through his skin.

Alice stepped closer. “Hey.”

He blinked, finally met her eyes. “Hey.”

She frowned. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re thinking like it’s trying to kill you.”

That almost earned a smile. Almost.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t do anything.”

Didn’t. Not wouldn’t.

Alice didn’t answer. She crossed the room, grabbed the folded blanket off his chair, and tossed it at him without ceremony.

“Get some sleep,” she said. “Whatever that thought was—it can wait.”

JD nodded. A silent agreement. A truce.

Alice turned to go, then paused in the doorway and looked back.

He was still sitting there, blanket in his lap, shoulders slack.

And in his face—the tilt of the jaw, the almost-smile, the weight behind his eyes—she saw it.

He hadn’t done anything.

But whatever he’d been thinking?

It hadn’t been good.

Chapter Text

Chapter 37: Enough Is Enough

POV – Heather McNamara
Friday, November 11 (School closed for Veterans Day)

Heather McNamara had a high tolerance for drama.

She’d had to. When your best friend was Heather Chandler—then Heather Duke by default—you learned to ride the storm or get swallowed by it.

But something had shifted.

This wasn’t hallway gossip or cafeteria cold shoulders. This was calculated. Cold. Like being handed a glass of water and realizing too late it was vodka. Like smiling at someone who already picked the knife.

And Heather was done pretending not to see the blade.

She spent the late morning working on homework until the walls started to itch. She needed air. The 7-Eleven was close, and if she was lucky, maybe she’d run into Alice—Alice tended to swing by in the afternoons.

There weren’t many people outside. Heather was about to grab a snack and go when she spotted Alice on the curb-side bench she’d never really noticed before.

“Hey,” Heather said, relief loosening her shoulders. “I was hoping to bump into you.”

Alice looked up. “Duke declare war yet?”

“Give it five minutes,” Heather said, sliding in beside her. “She’s laying the groundwork.”

Alice closed her book. Not surprised. “How bad?”

“She’s got Kurt and Ram watching Veronica. Making it look casual, but it’s not. She’s hunting for something. Anything.”

Alice’s jaw tightened. “Of course she is.”

Heather hesitated. “She’s pissed, Alice. About Veronica. About you. About me.”

Alice’s eyes flicked sideways. “You?”

“I’m supposed to fall in line. I always do.” Heather exhaled. “But I didn’t today.”

“And she noticed.”

“She always does.”

Alice studied her for a beat. “You okay?”

Heather let out a shaky laugh. “Not really. But I can’t continue to sit with her and pretend that everything is okay.”

“That’s not nothing.”

Heather nodded, her voice smaller now. “She’s not gonna let it go.”

“No,” Alice agreed. “She won’t.”

“She’ll make me pay for it. She always does.”

Alice didn’t say don’t be scared. Didn’t offer false comfort. Just: “You’re not doing this alone.”

Somehow, that made it worse—because Heather believed her.

They let the quiet settle, watching the slow drift of cars in and out of the lot. The sun was high and thin and too bright on the metal newspaper rack.

“I used to think being part of a group meant safety,” Heather said. “Lately it just feels like a target.”

“Maybe it depends on the group,” Alice said.

Heather smiled, crooked. “Yours isn’t really a group.”

“No,” Alice said. “But it has a bench. And I don’t mind sharing.”

That got a breath of laughter. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Takes one to sit with one.”

Heather didn’t argue. She shifted, her fingers brushing the back of Alice’s hand where it rested between them.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did Alice.

For a second—just one—Heather thought maybe. Just maybe.

Alice turned toward her. Close. Closer than before.

Their eyes met.

The space between them hummed, warm and small.

Heather leaned in—barely.

Alice’s breath hitched.

And then—

Heather cleared her throat, smile arriving too fast. “Come on,” she said, standing. “Let me get you a soda. My apology for dragging you into Heather’s War.”

Alice blinked, pulse evening out. “As long as it’s not cherry.”

Heather paused. “I thought you liked cherry.”

“Only as a Slurpee,” Alice muttered. “Everything else tastes like medicine.”

Heather laughed. “Duly noted. No cherry. Just overly carbonated caffeine and questionable food dye.”

Alice smirked, rising to join her. “That’s the good stuff.”

“You’re weird,” Heather said.

“And yet, here we are.”

They pushed through the 7-Eleven door together, the bell chiming overhead.

Not flinching.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Chapter 39.1 – A Little More Obvious (JD POV)

Late Friday, November 11
POV – JD

It was the way she hummed.

Alice never hummed. She scoffed. She sighed. She muttered under her breath when homework was stupid or people were worse. But she didn’t hum—until today.

JD leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching her glare into the fridge like it had personally wronged her. She’d tossed her bag on a stool, jacket still half-on, hair messier than usual in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The humming had stopped, but the mood hadn’t. Something about her was lighter. Uneasy, but lighter.

She pulled out a Coke, cracked the tab, and didn’t flinch when she noticed him.

“You okay?” he asked.

Alice took a sip. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

JD shrugged. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I’m thinking about someone but pretending I’m not’ look.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned against the counter. “Since when do I do that?”

“Since now.”

Alice didn’t answer right away. Then she exhaled through her nose, like she was trying not to smile.

“You remember Heather McNamara?” she asked.

JD gave her a dry look. “Blonde. Nervous. Dated a linebacker with two brain cells. You brought her over here once and we argued about my s—” He stopped himself. “I mean, my relationship with Veronica. Yeah, I remember her.”

“Well… we’ve been talking.”

“Talking, huh?” JD said, easy—already understanding.

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

JD smirked but kept quiet. Alice took another sip, like carbonation might buy her time.

After a long pause, she said it—flat, direct, no buildup.

“I like girls. There, I said it.”

JD didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just nodded.

“McNamara then?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe. There’s something there. It’s not official. I don’t even know if she… if that’s what she wants. But it feels different. Like I don’t have to pretend.”

JD stepped in, pulled out the stool across from her, and sat.

“I kind of figured.”

Alice arched an eyebrow. “You did?”

“You always talked about boys like they were furniture. Functional, boring, and not worth rearranging.”

That got a real laugh—quick and quiet.

“I didn’t know for sure,” JD added, softer. “But I’m not surprised.”

Alice’s voice dipped. “You gonna be weird about it?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“I mean, no more than I usually am. It’s the ’80s—everything’s already weird. But I’m not gonna be weird about you.”

She looked at him, waiting for a punchline that never came.

“I’m not planning to make a thing out of it,” she said. “No parades. No posters. It’s just… mine.”

“Fair,” JD said. “Doesn’t mean you have to keep it locked up.”

“No, but… I’m not rushing anything.”

“You don’t have to.”

She hesitated. “If Dad ever finds out…”

JD leaned back, then grabbed his own Coke. “He won’t. But if he does—then we deal.”

“He’ll probably accuse us of being less ‘presentable.’”

“Less marketable, more like,” JD muttered. “Can’t have the All-American family with the queer daughter and the son who writes nihilistic manifestos—while knocking up his girlfriend.”

Alice smirked. “At least we’re equal-opportunity disappointments.”

JD cracked his soda, took a sip, and looked at her again. She wasn’t just lighter. She was braver. Like some knot inside her had finally loosened.

“I’m here,” he said. “No matter what.”

She gave a single, quiet nod.

That was all she needed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 37.2 – Testing the Current (Heather McNamara POV)

POV – Heather McNamara
Sunday afternoon, November 13

Heather had never really been the type to show up uninvited.

And yet—this was the second time she’d turned up at Veronica’s with cookies and no real plan, just the vague excuse of “checking in.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t care—she did. Sometimes too much. But caring, in the world of the Heathers, meant standing beside, not stepping ahead. It meant smiling at the right time, laughing when expected, and knowing when to keep your mouth shut.

Lately, she wasn’t sure who she was supposed to be standing beside anymore.

Still, there she was—on Veronica Sawyer’s front porch—with a Tupperware of stale cookies and no strategy beyond surviving the next five seconds.

Veronica opened the door, brows lifting. “Hey?”

“Hey,” Heather echoed, shifting her weight. “I, uh… brought cookies. Again. Thought you might want company. I know the other day was… a lot.”

Veronica stepped aside. “Come in.”

The house smelled like lemon cleaner and something vaguely herbal—like someone had tried to cover up stress with tea. Heather followed her into the kitchen, where a half-full mug sat beside scattered school papers. It looked like Veronica had been trying to focus on anything but her thoughts.

Heather set the cookies down. “They’re not great. My mom made them for some church thing and then forgot to take them.”

Veronica smirked. “Perfect for emotional crises. Ten out of ten.”

They sat at the table. The silence wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either.

Veronica broke it first. “How’s Heather Duke?”

Heather winced. “Mad. Furious you’re not falling in line. She’s not thrilled with me either.”

“Figures.”

Another pause. Heather picked at the edge of the Tupperware lid.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I think she’s wrong. About you.”

Veronica looked up.

“I mean the way she talks—like this whole thing with JD is some kind of master plan. Like you’re trying to take her crown.”

“I’m not,” Veronica said, flat. “I’m just trying to live my life and spend time with my boyfriend. The high school power structure can kiss my ass.”

“I know,” Heather said quickly. “That’s what I’m saying. She’s… seeing ghosts.”

She reached for a cookie, broke it in half, then paused—like she wasn’t sure what to do with either piece.

“Is Alice around?” she asked, aiming for casual. “JD’s not here, is he? If it’s a bad time, I can come back.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“No reason.” Heather’s cheeks flushed. “She just seems… grounded.”

“She is,” Veronica said. Then, after a thoughtful beat “Why?”

Heather shrugged. “Just wondering. Is she always like that? Cool under pressure?”

Veronica’s smile was small. “Most of the time. Unless someone hurts someone she cares about. Then she’s less ‘cool’ and more… calculating.”

Heather blinked. “Good to know.”

“You planning something?”

“No,” Heather said quickly. “Not unless she is.”

It slipped out before she could filter it. And there it was—right in the open.

Veronica didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Just watched her with soft curiosity.

Heather let out a shaky breath. “Wow. That sounded cooler in my head.”

“It didn’t sound bad,” Veronica said. “Just… honest.”

There was a pause. A different kind of silence this time.

“I think I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel things,” Heather said. “Especially for people who wouldn’t return the favor.”

“Like Duke,” Veronica said.

Heather didn’t argue. She didn’t have to.

After a moment, she added, “Do you think Alice would ever want to—” She hesitated, fingers tightening around her mug. “—go out? Like… not just as friends?”

Veronica didn’t answer right away. She glanced toward the living room, like she could see Alice curled up with a dense paperback, eyebrows drawn in concentration.

“I’m not sure,” she said finally. “But I know she doesn’t fake things. If she wants something, she says it. And if she doesn’t… she still says it.”

Heather huffed a laugh. “That sounds terrifying.”

“It’s not,” Veronica said. “It’s honest. And right now, I think that matters more to her than anything.”

Heather nodded, the smallest bit of relief breaking through her nerves. “Okay. I can do honest.”

Veronica lifted her mug. “Then you’re already ahead of most people.”

Heathrr laughed—just a little. “I’m working on that.”

And maybe she was.

The air between them shifted. Less rehearsal, more real.

Like stepping into cold water.

Testing the current.

And deciding not to swim back.

Chapter Text

Chapter 38: Pressure Points (Alice, Heather Duke POV)

POV – Alice
Monday, November 14, 1988

Something was off.

Not in a big, flashing-neon-sign kind of way.
More like a hairline crack in the foundation. A low hum behind the walls. Her childhood had trained her ear for that—storms you hear before the first crack of thunder. But Alice had lived with enough unspoken tension to recognize the early signs of something breaking.

It started with the whispers.

Nothing she could catch outright. Just the way conversations clipped short when she entered a room. How a few girls from the yearbook staff stopped mid-laugh to glance at her and then look away too fast—like they’d been caught staring at a car crash they couldn’t stop watching.

Then there were the teachers.

Mr. Halderman pulled Veronica aside after homeroom. It was only a minute. Two, tops. But when Veronica came back, she looked like she’d swallowed something bitter and couldn’t get the taste out.

And Heather Duke—Heather Duke was smiling too much.

Not her usual smug smirk or Heather Chandler’s sharp-toothed grin.
This was something more practiced. Serene.
Like someone trying to look innocent while digging a grave.

Alice leaned against her locker and scanned the hallway.

Veronica and JD were at the end of it, near the vending machines. His hand hovered protectively at the small of her back. Veronica was talking—trying to laugh something off—but her eyes weren’t in it.

Something had shifted.

Alice snapped her locker shut and spotted Heather McNamara near the gym doors, half-lost in thought, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve. Not talking to anyone. Just waiting—for class, or for something she hadn’t admitted to wanting yet.

Alice didn’t hesitate.

They’d had tea together a handful of times now—quiet evenings at Heather McNamara’s home, steeping tea and talking about everything except the things that really hurt. And then, that night in the field. When Duke had ditched her. When Alice had been the one to pick her up, trembling and scraped, and drive in silence until Heather whispered, “Thanks for coming,” like it wasn’t the bare minimum.

Since then, Alice had been watching. She’d learned to scan for tripwires—first with her dad, then with JD. But now it wasn’t just JD and Veronica she kept an eye on. It was Heather Duke. Most of all, Heather Duke.

She stepped up beside Heather McNamara, casual but firm. Close enough to catch the clean citrus of her shampoo. “Got a minute?”

Heather blinked, then smiled faintly. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Has Heather Duke been saying anything weird lately?”

Heather gave a tired little laugh. “You’ll need to narrow that down.”

Alice tilted her head. Not amused.

Heather’s smile faded. She glanced toward the hallway, then back at Alice. “She’s been saying stuff like… Veronica is not acting like herself. That someone should check in on her. She mentioned talking to Ms. Fleming.”

Alice felt her stomach sink.

“And what do you think?” she asked.

McNamara hesitated—but not for long. “I think Heather hates not being in charge. And I think she’s pretending concern because it plays better than jealousy.”

Alice nodded once. “Thanks.”

Heather shifted on her feet. “Do you think she’s trying to get Veronica in trouble?”

“I think she’s planting seeds,” Alice said. “And if we don’t pull them up fast, something ugly’s going to grow.”

They stood there in the hallway, the school day humming around them—bells echoing faintly, sneakers squeaking on linoleum, someone slamming a locker too hard.

Not just two classmates passing information. Something else.

Something that had started with a chance encounter, a pickup in the dark, and a few mugs of tea.
Not quite a secret.
Not quite just a friendship.
But something that mattered.

Alice paused before walking off. “If she tries something… let me know, okay?”

Heather gave a small nod. “Yeah. I will.”

No notes passed. No plans made.

But maybe that was how trust started—quiet, and not all at once.

Alice didn’t say the rest aloud—that JD and Veronica were already walking a tightrope. That it wouldn’t take much—a rumor, a teacher’s concern, a strategically worded complaint—to push them off it.

She turned toward the guidance office. She’d asked Ms. Fleming before first period to pencil her in after third.

Time to check in. Quietly. Carefully.
Before Duke made the first move and left them scrambling.

Because Alice knew how these things went.

It was never the fire you saw coming that burned you worst.
It was the spark you missed.

She didn’t know if Heather had seen what she’d just saw—but she hoped she remembered what side of the board she was on.

⸻

POV – Heather Duke

Heather Duke prided herself on being three moves ahead.

Always had. Always would.

She knew how to weaponize rumors.
How to smile while twisting the knife.
How to make someone question their own sanity with just a few well-placed comments in the right ear.

She’d learned from the best.
Heather Chandler may be gone, but the blueprint remained.

And Veronica?

Veronica was slipping.
All that righteous grief, that weirdly confessional speech, the sudden reveal that she was dating JD of all people—the new kid most people still saw as a trench-coated psycho. And the way he watched her: fixed, hungry. Obsession dressed up as devotion. It wouldn’t surprise Duke if he stalked his own girlfriend. Maybe that was the appeal—he never looked away.

It was a mess.
A vulnerable mess.

And vulnerable people were easy to discredit.

Heather brushed a hand through her hair and approached Ms. Fleming. Just the guidance counselor she could use. She’d timed it perfectly—between third and fourth. The office door was cracked. Good enough.

“Ms. Fleming?” she said sweetly. “Can I talk to you about something… kind of sensitive?”

Ms. Fleming looked up. “Of course. Come on in. I have some time to talk to you before my next appointment.”

Heather stepped just inside the doorway. No need to sit. Not yet. Not until she planted the right ideas.

“It’s about Veronica Sawyer,” she said, lowering her voice just enough. “I’m worried about her.”

That was always the trick: concern.
Never accusation. Just worry.

Ms. Fleming frowned. “What kind of worry?”

“She hasn’t really been herself lately,” Heather said, twisting her fingers nervously. “She’s been skipping classes… withdrawing… and some of the things she said at Heather Chandler’s memorial were… a little alarming, don’t you think?”

Ms. Fleming’s expression shifted slightly.

Perfect.

Heather stepped forward. “I’m not saying something’s wrong, but I think maybe someone should check in on her. Just in case.”

“Funny,” came a cool, familiar voice from the doorway. “You didn’t seem that concerned when you dragged her into tribute planning and left her to give a speech you picked for her.”

Heather turned slowly.

Alice Dean leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Calm. Watching. Like a cat who already knew where the mouse was hiding.

Ms. Fleming looked between them. “Alice—you’re early for our meeting?”

“Yeah,” Alice said. “Didn’t want to be late.”
The truth was, she’d seen Duke heading this way and followed.

Heather narrowed her eyes. “This is a private—”

“Really?” Alice cut in. “Because it looked like you were about to suggest Veronica needs psychological intervention based on being emotional at a memorial. You’ve been dragging her through the mud for almost a month. How else is she supposed to feel?”

Ms. Fleming looked uncomfortable. “No one’s making any assumptions—”

Alice smiled, disarming but sharp. “Good. Because we’d hate to confuse grief with instability. Especially from someone whose best friend just died.”

Heather Duke’s mouth went dry.

Alice didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t threaten. She didn’t need to.

She had the angle and the language—the be-polite-while-you-block-punch voice she learned at home.

Heather realized, with a slow chill, that she wasn’t dealing with another Veronica.

She was dealing with someone who’d seen girls like her before—and survived them.

Alice leaned in, her voice just for Heather. “I’ve played this game before. Your skills? Amateur at best.”

Then, to Ms. Fleming, with a sugary smile: “Thanks for looking out for Veronica. But I think what she needs right now is a little less judgment—and a lot more privacy.”

And just like that, Heather turned and retreated into the hall.

Heather stood frozen just outside the guidance office, pulse hammering behind her ribs.

When she saw that Alice was still watching her from inside, she moved—quick steps down the hallway, needing distance. Needing space.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been put in her place.

But it was the first time she realized—

Claiming the crown would be harder than she’d anticipated.
Much harder…
Especially with Alice Dean watching the board.

Chapter Text

Chapter 39 – No One Cares About the Sidekick (Heather Duke POV)
Lunch – Monday, November 14, 1988
POV – Heather Duke

Heather McNamara had stopped returning her calls.

Not that Heather Duke cared. The girl was practically useless anyway—one big flinch wrapped in a yellow headband and too much mascara. Her loyalty had always been soft and half-hearted, like she couldn’t even commit to sucking up properly.

But now, watching from across the cafeteria as Heather McNamara laughed at something Alice Dean said?

That was new.

That was dangerous.

She’d been humiliated earlier in the guidance office—Alice had stood in the doorway and shut her down. Duke wasn’t used to being dismissed, and the anger still sat under her skin, sharp and hot. But anger could be useful. Anger gave her teeth.

Heather narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses, adjusting her grip on the clipboard she didn’t need. It was a prop—just like most things she carried. Props were useful. They made you look organized. Important. In control.

And if Heather Duke was anything, it was in control.

Or… she had been. Before Heather Chandler went and ruined everything by dying—and it was all Veronica’s fault. If she had just slept with Brad like she was supposed to—or at least not embarrassed him by turning him down in front of other people—none of this would be happening at all.

But now, things were slipping further out of her control.

Veronica wasn’t falling apart like she was supposed to. JD wasn’t crawling back into whatever sad hole he came from. And now Alice—quiet, observant, tactically invisible Alice—was suddenly in the way.

Duke had underestimated her.

Not anymore.

First, the paper flower crown at Chandler’s memorial—the Monday after she died. Veronica’s stunt, maybe, but Alice had been the one who kept it from collapsing. Then came the whisper campaign: neat little doses of “Veronica needs help” slipped to teachers, office staff, a few eager gossips. Duke had Ms. Fleming ready to fold—until Alice appeared in the doorway, polite as a knife, and killed it in minutes.

That wasn’t normal.

That was power.

And Heather Duke didn’t like anyone else having power.

Especially not someone who looked as important as wallpaper.

She watched Heather now, leaning in toward Alice, smiling at something. It didn’t matter what they were saying. What mattered was that it was happening.

That meant McNamara wasn’t hers anymore.

Heather scoffed quietly to herself. Let the idiot go. Let her cling to Alice like a new security blanket. It would only make it more satisfying when she tore it all down.

But even as she planned her next move, something tugged at the edges of her memory—uninvited and unwelcome.

The night party.

A phone call. Late.

Heather remembered rolling her eyes. Saying something biting. Hanging up.

The next afternoon, Heather Chandler was gone.

And now people were whispering things. Not to her—never to her face—but in bathrooms, between lockers, just out of reach.

Heather Duke didn’t believe in ghosts.

But something about Chandler’s absence felt like a bruise that wouldn’t fade.

It didn’t matter.

The story people believed was the one you told loudest. And right now, no one was telling Chandler’s story louder than Veronica Sawyer.

Which meant if Heather Duke wanted to win back the narrative, she needed a new villain.

Alice Dean fit the bill perfectly.

She was clever, quiet, and far too comfortable on the edges of the spotlight. But more importantly—she made Veronica stronger. Calmer. Like someone was finally watching her back.

And if Heather Duke knew anything, it was this:

To break a queen, you go after her knight first.

Kurt and Ram.

Perfect.

Heather Duke twirled the cap of her pen between her fingers and cut across the gym toward the weight room. Through the narrow pane of glass, she watched the two of them rack plates, showing off between sets—chalk dust hanging in the stale, sweat-sour air. Kurt and Ram were technically supposed to be in study hall, but everyone knew the coach let them spend it here. Better for the team. Better for keeping them out of trouble—at least in theory. Duke had skipped class herself, timing it perfectly so she could catch them alone.

They were hammers—loud, dumb, and easy to swing. The trick wasn’t getting them to do damage. It was getting them to think it was their idea.

She tapped the glass with the pen cap until Ram looked up, then crooked a finger. They came out into the hall still buzzing with leftover adrenaline and whatever passes for joy in meatheads.

“Heather,” Ram said, already grinning. “Didn’t expect you by the weight room.”

“I don’t usually slum it,” she replied, sweet and sharp. “But today’s special.”

Kurt cocked a brow. “You come to watch us lift?”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here because I need a favor.”

That got their attention.

Heather didn’t ask for favors. She maneuvered. She maneuvered so well they usually didn’t realize they’d already said yes.

“What kind of favor?” Ram asked, trying to sound cautious. Trying and failing.

“It’s more like a… service opportunity,” she said, tapping the pen against her lips. “Let’s call it giving someone a reality check.”

Kurt leaned against the cinderblock wall. “You talking about Veronica?”

“Not exactly.” She let the pause stretch. “Veronica’s got her little security detail.”

“JD?” Ram guessed.

“No,” Duke said. “His sister. Alice.”

That landed.

Kurt scoffed. “The weird one?”

“She’s not weird,” Ram said slowly. “Just quiet. Watches a lot.”

“Exactly,” Duke smiled. “She’s been getting comfortable. Whispering in ears. Undermining her betters. I think it’s time someone reminded her where the food chain starts.”

“What do you want us to do?” Ram asked, already halfway convinced.

“Talk to her. Corner her. Make her squirm. Not too much. Just enough.”

“And if Veronica gets in the way?” Kurt said, almost too casually.

Heather’s smile didn’t falter. “Then she learns her place, too.”

She didn’t give them the whole plan.

She never did.

Heather Duke didn’t need loyalty. She needed momentum. Just enough pressure in the right direction—and the rest would fall like dominoes.

She turned to walk away, already rehearsing how she’d act surprised when it all came crashing down.

Let Alice Dean think she was clever. Let her think she was safe.

She wasn’t.

Because once Heather Duke decided someone was a threat?

They stopped being a person.

They became a target.

Chapter Text

Chapter 40: Interference Pattern
POV – Alice
After school, Monday, November 14, 1988

Alice was halfway down the main hall when she heard it.

At first, just laughter—sharp, forced, echoing too loud off the lockers. Then came the unmistakable sound of Veronica’s voice.

Tense.
Not scared. Not yet. But close.

“No, I’m serious. I’m not interested.”

Alice’s stomach dropped. She quickened her pace.

She turned the corner and spotted them—Kurt and Ram, standing too close, flanking Veronica like linebackers who didn’t understand personal space. Kurt had his arm braced on the wall above her head, a cocky grin plastered on, like he thought this was irresistible. Ram stood just behind her, like a door already shut.

Veronica’s eyes flicked toward Alice the moment she appeared.

She didn’t call out.
But she didn’t have to.

Alice was already moving.

“Hey,” she said, voice sharp enough to slice the air. “Step back. Now.”

Kurt turned first. “Oh hey—it’s psycho trench coat’s sister. Don’t worry, we’re just talking.”

Ram smirked. “So, I guess you really are her bodyguard.”

Alice ignored the comment. “Didn’t realize you needed two guys to intimidate one girl.”

Veronica exhaled behind her—quiet, shaky.

Kurt raised his hands. “Relax. We were just trying to cheer her up. She’s been kind of dark lately.”

“Maybe because creeps like you won’t leave her alone.”

Ram rolled his eyes. “She’s lucky we’re even asking. Most girls don’t get second chances when they blow us off.”

Kurt added, “Yeah, she should be thankful for our attention.”

Alice turned to Veronica. “You okay?”

Veronica nodded, jaw tight. “Fine. Or at least I will be.”

Alice looked back at the boys. “Touch her again, and you’re not going to need a second chance. You’re going to need dental records.”

The hall was empty except for the four of them. No one passed by. No one lingered at the lockers. The silence made the threat feel bigger.

Kurt and Ram hesitated—maybe sensing this wasn’t just another snarky girl they could laugh off.

Alice’s eyes didn’t waver.

Eventually, Kurt stepped back with a huff. “Whatever. Not worth it.”

Ram followed, muttering something crude under his breath as they walked away.

Alice didn’t move until they turned the corner.

Then she turned to Veronica. “They didn’t touch you, did they?”

“No,” Veronica said. “But they wanted me to go out with them. Said I was being cold. That I needed to stop being ‘so dramatic.’”

Alice rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if their idea of romance is a six-pack and going cow tipping. You handled it.”

Veronica looked down, then met Alice’s eyes. “Thanks for showing up.”

Alice gave her a tight smile. “I figured Heather Duke was planning something—but I didn’t expect her to send backup.”

JD wasn’t around. Their dad had picked him up early to meet with clients. Somehow Bud’s timing always worked against them.

They stood there for a beat, letting the tension drain.

Then Alice nudged her lightly. “Let’s get out of here before one of them grows another brain cell.”

Veronica managed a laugh. “Would it be okay for us not to tell JD about this? At least not right away? He’ll just be angry he wasn’t here—and he already has enough going on.”

Alice looked at her, skeptical. “I thought you two told each other everything. What happened to no secrets?”

Color crept into Veronica’s face. “I tell him—just not today. Okay?” Her eyes searched Alice’s.

Alice sighed. “Fine. I won’t say anything. But I’m not lying for you either.”

“I know,” Veronica said quickly.

Together, they walked away from the locker-lined corridor. The emptiness behind them felt less like safety and more like something that could be used and missed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 41 – Sharks in the Water
POV – Alice
After school, Tuesday, November 15, 1988

In hindsight, the whole day had felt like the calm before the storm.

The building was thinning out after the last bell when Alice felt it—the shift in the air, the subtle change in the hallway’s rhythm. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Kurt and Ram moving down the mostly empty corridor, eyes locked on her like predators catching scent.

She kept her face neutral, her steps steady—but inside she was already running scenarios, mapping exits, calculating exactly what Heather Duke had sent them to do.

“Hey, Alice!” Kurt called, too cheerful, too forced. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Ram drifted in behind, boxing her in.

She raised an eyebrow, folded her arms. “Can I help you two with something?”

Ram leaned in, a smirk plastered on. “You’re still kind of new. We figured we could spend some time together—help you get the lay of the land.”

“I’m not interested,” Alice said.

Kurt chuckled, glancing at Ram. “Aw, come on. We just want to talk. Maybe about Veronica. Maybe about how you’re always hanging around her.”

Alice’s jaw tightened. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Ram’s grin widened. “Okay, fine. You’re getting a little too comfortable playing bodyguard. Maybe you need a reminder you’re not as tough as you think.”

She met his gaze, unblinking. “And I think you’re making a big mistake if you think you can intimidate me.”

Kurt took a step closer—

“That’s enough.”

Heather McNamara’s voice cut down the hall—sharp, steady—as she approached, eyes blazing.

The boys hesitated, looked at each other, then back at Alice and Heather.

“This isn’t over,” Kurt muttered. But he and Ram peeled off toward the stairwell, disappearing into the dim.

Alice let out a slow breath and nodded to Heather. “Thanks.”

Heather’s smile was small, steady. “We look out for each other, right?”

Alice nodded, heart still pounding. Whatever Heather Duke was planning, she hadn’t counted on Heather standing here.

And now that she was?

They might actually have a shot.

⸻

Later, Alice sat on the bleachers, the sun throwing long shadows across the empty field. The wind carried a sharp autumn edge; she tugged her sleeves down.

Heather sat beside her, legs swinging, more relaxed than Alice had seen her in a while.

“You know,” Heather said, light but sincere, “I never thought I’d be here—sitting with you, actually talking about real stuff.”

Alice smiled, surprised by how easy it felt. “Yeah. Life’s funny. We’ve both had to deal with a lot of drama, but at least now we’re not dealing with it alone.”

Heather nodded, gaze drifting over the field. “It’s weird. I spent so long just following orders, trying to stay on everyone’s good side. But you… you don’t do that. You stand up. It’s kind of amazing.”

Warmth bloomed in Alice’s chest. “I had to learn. For JD. For me. But you’re stronger than you think, too. I saw it today—with the meathead twins.”

Heather flushed, then turned more fully toward her. “I… I’ve been thinking about us. About what this could be. It scares me, but it also feels right.”

Alice reached for her hand. “It’s new for both of us. We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time.”

Heather squeezed back. “I’d like that.”

They sat a moment, silence warm and full of possibility. A new kind of alliance—built not just on shared struggle, but on something else, too.

Then Alice saw movement.

Out of the corner of her eye: Kurt and Ram.

They slipped along the far side of the field, heads down, posture tense. Ram tugged his jacket into place. Kurt looked around too many times. No laughter. No talking. They were walking back from the far side of the parking lot.

Something was wrong.

Alice stood; the hairs on her arms rose. “Do you see that?”

Heather followed her gaze; her expression tightened. “What were they doing back there?”

Alice didn’t answer. She was already moving.

They cut across the grass toward the back edge of the student lot—cracked pavement, scrubby trees, a fringe of overgrown hedges. The kind of place people chose when they didn’t want to be seen.

Where Kurt and Ram had just come from.

Alice slowed, scanning. Then stopped.

Something wasn’t right.

Two more steps.

Veronica.

She was on the ground, slumped half against a tree. Clothes torn, tights ripped. Her bag lay several feet away, like it had been thrown. There was blood streaking through the dirt beneath her.

Her skin looked wrong—pale, blotchy. Mascara streaked. Lips drained of color.

Heather’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God…”

Alice dropped to her knees. “Veronica—hey. Hey. Can you hear me?”

Veronica blinked, slow and unfocused.

Then, barely a whisper: “They left.”

Alice swallowed and kept her voice low, even. “We’re here now.”

Heather knelt beside them, fingers trembling as she brushed Veronica’s hair back. Veronica looked between them like she couldn’t quite focus. “I told them no.”

“You don’t have to say anything else,” Alice said, fiercely gentle. “You’re safe now. We’ve got you.”

The lie tasted bitter. She hadn’t been safe. And they had been too late.

Veronica’s voice was paper-thin. “Do we have to tell anyone?”

Alice’s chest clenched. Even now, Veronica was thinking about silence. She forced herself steady. “You don’t have to decide that right now. Let’s get you care. No one else needs to know unless you want them to.”

She hated saying it. She knew the moment the hospital admitted Veronica, a phone call would be made to her parents. But there would be time to apologize for that lie later.

They got her to her feet. Her knees buckled; Alice caught her and held on.

The sun was lowering, shadows stretching long and cold. The lot behind them was empty. Kurt and Ram were gone. Their fingerprints lingered.

Something inside Alice went quiet and deadly.

They didn’t need to ask what happened.

They already knew.

They settled Veronica into the back seat. Heather climbed in beside her, an arm around her shoulders. Alice looked once more toward the hedges—the dark, the broken silence.

Someone was going to pay for this.

But not now.

Now, they would get her help.

There would be no hiding this from JD. Hopefully Alice could keep him from doing anything too stupid.

For now, she said nothing. She focused on the road—on getting Veronica to the hospital.

The world had already shattered.
Now came the slow, impossible work of picking up the pieces.

Chapter Text

Chapter 42 – Blood in the Water (Alice, JD POV)

Sometime after 7:00 p.m., Tuesday, November 15, 1988

POV – Alice

The ER waiting room smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee. Alice sat stiff in a molded plastic chair, hands clasped between her knees. She’d sent Heather McNamara to find JD. She would have gone herself, but she needed to stay close, to keep track of any updates on Veronica.

She wasn’t a fan of eavesdropping, but it had become something of a talent. And right now, if she wanted to keep up with Veronica’s condition, it was the only way.

Across the room, Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer stood near the reception desk, speaking in low voices to a doctor in blue scrubs.

“…complications from the assault,” the doctor said quietly. “I’m afraid she miscarried. Given the timing, it was early, but—”

Mrs. Sawyer’s hand flew to her mouth. Mr. Sawyer’s face hardly changed, but his shoulders tightened.

They hadn’t known. Alice could see it in the sway of Mrs. Sawyer’s stance, in the way Mr. Sawyer’s jaw set like stone.

The doctor kept talking—words like internal bleeding and surgery—a technical undercurrent that settled heavy in Alice’s chest.

Veronica didn’t know yet.
And JD—

God. JD was going to break.

POV – JD

He had barely cut the engine on his bike when he saw her—Heather McNamara, curled on the concrete stoop like a dropped doll, knees up, mascara smudged under red-rimmed eyes.

He froze. “Heather?”

She looked up.

“What happened? Did you and Alice get in a fight? I’m sure she didn’t mean—”

“It’s not Alice.” Her voice cracked. “Alice is fine. Well… as fine as I am.”

Something in JD’s chest locked.

“It’s Veronica,” Heather said. “She was attacked. At school. Alice found her. They’re at the hospital. We couldn’t get ahold of you… we didn’t want you to find out through a message.”

The air punched out of his lungs. “What?”

Heather was already on her feet, pulling keys from her pocket and walking back to Alice’s car. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

The ride was silent except for Heather’s uneven breathing. JD stared straight ahead, fists clenched until his knuckles went white.

“How long ago?” he asked.

“About two hours. I don’t think many people know yet.”

His jaw locked. “Who?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

By the time they hit the hospital lot, JD looked like a powder keg with a lit fuse. He was out of the car before Heather finished braking.

POV – Alice

She saw him coming before the front desk did—a blur of black coat and too-wide eyes. She intercepted him halfway down the hall.

“She’s in surgery,” Alice said quickly, stepping in front of him. “You need to calm down. All we can do is wait.”

“Who did it?” His voice was raw. “Tell me who touched her.”

Alice’s jaw tightened. “You don’t need to know right now—”

“The hell I don’t!”

“JD—stop.” She grabbed his arms, forced him to meet her eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper meant only for him. “It’s worse than you think. The attack caused complications.”

His stomach sank. “What do you mean?”

“She—” Alice’s voice caught. “She lost the baby. She doesn’t know yet.”

For a second, he just stared at her. Then the words hit.

His breath went sharp and shallow, like the air was trying to escape him all at once. “No—”

“JD, you need to keep it together. She’s been through—”

He didn’t let her finish. Something inside him broke clean in half.

The first sound was barely a gasp—then it turned into something rawer, louder. His hand slammed the wall. A clipboard clattered to the floor. A rolling stool toppled.

“Sir,” a nurse said sharply from the station. “You need to step back.”

“I’m gonna kill them,” he said, voice shaking. “I swear to God—”

Two nurses moved first, then a security guard. “This way, sir,” the guard said firmly. JD’s eyes never left Alice’s, but he let them take him. He didn’t have a choice.

“Give me five minutes,” Alice told the guard. “I’ll get him home.”

On her way to the exit, she crossed paths with Heather. In the time it had taken Heather to park, JD had already gotten himself walked out. Heather pressed the car keys into Alice’s palm without asking for an explanation.

“He can’t be here right now,” Alice said.

Heather nodded, already turning toward the waiting room. “I’ll stay with her parents.”

Out at the car, Alice pulled an old blanket from the trunk and spread it over the back seat, cracking both windows. The sweet-metal smell still clung. Let it. If JD noticed, she wanted him to remember why he couldn’t do something stupid tonight.

She got him into the passenger seat. He stared through the windshield like it was miles of empty road.

They drove without talking.

POV – JD

All he could think was he should have killed Kurt and Ram before this.

He’d already tested that thought once and refused it. He’d drawn a line—for Veronica, for the baby. For their baby.

That was before the word miscarriage. Before the empty space where a heartbeat might have been.

It would be easy, the whisper said again.

He hadn’t done it because Veronica would leave him. And even though Alice hadn’t turned them in for what they’d done to Heather Chandler, he wasn’t sure she’d stay quiet a second time.

But who would miss them? Besides football, the only things they had to offer the world were date rape and AIDS jokes.

Now he was sure: the two of them needed to die.
The line he’d sworn to hold felt miles behind him—a memory he could no longer reach.

POV – Alice

She was grateful their dad wasn’t home. Lately he’d been coming in late and vanishing again.

She caught JD at the bottom of the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Alice kept her voice even. “They’re not letting you back in the hospital until you calm down.”

“Where do you think I’m going?” he said. “I’m going to hunt some jocks.” He pulled the gun—didn’t raise it—the metal flashing once. Alice’s skin went cold.

“No, you’re not. Veronica needs you. Killing them won’t make her better. It’ll just put you in jail. Them—that’s where they belong.”

“Are they going to end up there?” he shot back. “Nothing happened when they assaulted other girls. How can you not want them dead after what Kurt did to Heather? I’m sure Veronica would want them dead too.”

“She does not,” Alice snapped.

“She does too,” JD fired back.

“She does not.”

“She does too.”

“JD!” Alice stepped closer. “How can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time? You two could barely last a month pretending to stay away. How do you think it’s going to be if you’re in jail? Veronica doesn’t need you as a weapon right now—she needs you next to her.”

He looked away and didn’t answer.

“They’ve gotten away with this before,” Alice said, slower. “But not this time. The way they left her—there’s evidence. We will make sure it sticks. You just need to hold on.”

JD finally spoke. “I thought about killing them before… just a few days ago.” He kept staring past her at the wall, jaw working, the gun still in his hand.

“Give it to me,” Alice said quietly.

A long beat. Then he set the gun on the hall table like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Alice nodded once. “Good. Now we wait for the hospital to call. And when Veronica wakes up, you’re there. That’s the job.”

He said nothing.

She stayed planted between him and the door.

And for the first time since the waiting room, Alice let herself breathe.

Chapter Text

Chapter 42.1: Recovery Room
POV – Veronica
Tuesday, November 15, 1988

Her body felt strange—heavier in places, lighter in others. Her mouth was dry. Her arms ached. Her stomach—

Her breath hitched. Something felt wrong.

The curtain creaked; it wasn’t JD who came in.

Heather McNamara slipped inside, hair mussed, jacket half-zipped, worry careful at the edges of her face. She pulled the curtain most of the way closed and sank into the chair.

“Hey,” Heather said softly. “Your parents are talking to a doctor.”

Veronica wet her lips. “Alice?”

Heather nodded. “She had to take her brother home.”

Veronica blinked. “Is he—”

“I was still parking when it happened,” Heather said, choosing words. “There was… a scene. Security got involved. He’s okay, but he needed to go.”

Veronica closed her eyes for a beat. “Tell me.”

Heather reached for her hand. “Before I say this, you need to hear me: none of this is your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do caused it.”

A cold slid through Veronica. “Caused what?”

Heather’s voice stayed steady, though it wavered at the edges. “There were complications. It turns out you were pregnant, and… the doctors said the baby didn’t make it.”

Silence filled the room, blunt and fixed.

Veronica stared at the blanket. “I knew,” she said finally, voice thin. “We… we both knew I was pregnant.”

“Oh.” Heather’s eyes widened.

“We were going to keep it.” Veronica’s throat burned. “We didn’t know how yet, but… we were going to make it work.”

Heather’s fingers tightened around hers. “I’m so sorry.”

Veronica tipped her head back against the pillow. “Does JD know?”

Heather hesitated. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to check in with Alice yet.”

Veronica nodded. The ache wasn’t only physical.

A quiet knock came at the frame. Veronica looked up, hoping to see JD.

Instead, her parents stood in the doorway, both ten years older than they’d been at breakfast. She tried not to let the disappointment show on her face.

“Stay?” Veronica asked Heather, still not looking up.

Heather nodded.

Her mother crossed the room first and sat on the edge of the bed, careful. “Sweetheart… we’re here. You can tell us anything.”

Veronica kept her eyes on the blanket. “It started after school. I’d stayed late for a teacher and some homework for… a friend who missed class,” she said, steadying her voice. “I was walking to my car. Kurt and Ram were waiting. I thought they were just… being themselves. They cornered me.”

Her voice wavered but held. “I don’t know how long it lasted. I think I passed out. The next thing I remember was waking up in the bushes. Alice and Heather found me. They brought me here.”

Her mother’s grip tightened. Her father stepped closer, jaw set.

Veronica cleared her throat. “Heather mentioned there was a disturbance earlier. Is Alice all right?”

“She’s okay,” her mother said, gentle but firm. “She took her brother home so he could calm down.”

“Do you think he’ll come back soon?” Veronica asked, her voice carrying a thread of hope.

Her mother frowned but didn’t answer right away. Her father’s jaw flexed, stone-hard.

Veronica drew a ragged breath. She wanted JD there, but she had work to do. “I want them behind bars,” she said. “I don’t care what their dads or their money say. They’ll answer for this.”

Her father didn’t hesitate. “Then we’ll do everything we can to make that happen.”

For the first time since waking, something shifted inside her that wasn’t only fear.

It wasn’t big. It wasn’t loud.

But it was hope.

Chapter Text

Chapter 42.2: A Lesson in Discretion
POV – JD
4:00 a.m., Wednesday, November 16, 1988

They finally let him back in. He was going to try not to get kicked out again.

He stopped at the door. Through the narrow window, she was propped against the pillows, pale under fluorescent light but awake. Her hair was pulled into two thin French braids and pinned back, the rest falling to her shoulders. The blanket was drawn to her waist.

He eased the door open and slipped inside.

Her eyes found him immediately. Not startled. Not exactly relieved either—just there you are.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, low.

“Like someone took a bat to me,” she said, managing a thin smile. “But I’m upright, so that’s something.”

He stepped closer, hands in his jacket pockets. “Alice said you talked to your parents.”

Veronica nodded. “They know about the pregnancy. About… what happened. And the miscarriage.” Her eyes dropped to the blanket.

JD sat down and took her hands. “Alice told me yesterday—before I got kicked out.”

“They don’t know you’re the father. Or that we’re… us.”

JD’s stomach tightened. “Do you want them to?”

“Not yet,” she said quickly. “They’ve got enough to process without trying to figure you out.”

He didn’t take it personally. Not entirely.

“Looks like I might be here a while,” she added. “Maybe even through my birthday.”

“When’s your birthday?”

Her mouth tugged, faintly incredulous. “We’ve been doing all this and never talked about birthdays? November eighteenth. This Friday. With everything going on I guess I didn’t have time to really think about it.”

He nodded slowly. “Mine’s December twenty-first. Alice’s too.”

“That makes sense, since you two are twins.”

She was quiet for a moment, then: “Will you hold me?”

The question landed heavier than she probably meant it to. JD nodded. He toed off his shoes and eased onto the narrow mattress, careful of wires and bruises, settling on his side. He wrapped an arm around her waist, palm against the curve of her ribs.

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

Within minutes, her breathing evened. Her head rested against his chest. JD stared at the far wall, muscles locked to keep perfectly still.

If this was all he could give her right now, he’d give it. Every second.

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the knock. Not loud—just a measured rap on the doorframe—but enough to wake him. Veronica stayed very still. Too still. Pretending to sleep.

JD loosened his arm and turned his head as the door opened.

Bud Dean stepped in like he owned the place.

His expression wasn’t angry. Not exactly. Just sharp, calculating—someone tallying a debt.

“Morning,” Bud said flatly, eyes sweeping the bed like a ledger. “Cozy arrangement you’ve got.”

JD didn’t answer. His jaw locked so tight it hurt.

“Got a call from a nurse last night,” Bud went on. “Said there was a scene in the waiting area.”

JD kept his voice even. “I was upset.”

“She lost a baby,” Bud said, clipped. “I get that. But throwing a fit in public? That’s not how we handle things. Especially not when I’ve got a contract with a family-values client and eyes everywhere.”

Under the blanket, Veronica’s fingers shifted—almost imperceptibly.

Bud stepped closer. “Honestly? Might’ve spared you both from a lifetime of mistakes. Consider it a lesson in discretion.”

JD’s fingers curled into the sheet.

“You’ve got about a month and a half until you’re legally not my problem,” Bud said. “Until then, you live under my roof. You want to keep doing that? Keep the status quo. No more public drama. No more hospital scenes. No more playing house with your… distraction.”

He glanced at Veronica, then back. His voice went colder. “Think about what kind of man you want to be. Because the moment you stop being useful to me, you stop being anything.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Veronica’s hand found JD’s under the blanket.

He took it.

And held on tighter.