Chapter Text
School had only started two weeks earlier and yet, Veronica already had fallen into painful monotony. Every entry in her diary was another account of the same teenage angst and age typical superiority complex set to the trials and tribulations of being a nerd. Westerburg High had a hierarchy, only meant to be enjoyed by beauty queens and quarterbacks as if it were stuck to a very specific script that everyone had to follow. Amid all of the BO, swearing, gossip, and screaming were Veronica and Martha - the two most boring girls in Sherwood. The two girls were sisters in arms, best friends since they said their first words. Martha had to be the sweetest girl who faced the worst circumstances. She was forgiving and saw the good in everyone. Veronica did her best to do the same.
Inside of Westerburg was four villages worth of teenagers. Unfortunately, Sherwood wasn't the host town of the school - which meant a long drive every morning. Some of the students were farming kids, shop owner kids, mechanic kids, among other small businesses, but then there was the elite: the rich kids who only lived there because their hoity-toity parents decided they liked the folksy life or ‘being one with nature.’ Veronica knew it was wrong of her, but she despised those kids. Aside from differences in class, everyone was the same - teenage zombies with more feelings than they could handle. Some resorted to tears, maybe sports, but unfortunately, most decided to express it through insults that they hurled at anyone lower on the pyramid (Martha and Veronica, for example).
So every day was an insult, in a literal sense, and in its endless repetition. School was a chore and Veronica wanted to like it that way. Veronica recognized that high school was only a tool, a step-ladder to lead her to a happy, moderately-successful future. In her opinion, anyone who really considered the best years of their life had never heard of the freedom of college, but would also likely never be accepted into one either. Highschool was shallow. Highschool was stupid. Highschool was a glamorous Hell.
However, part of her also realized that her senior year was her last in stereotype infested Sherwood, as well as her last year to disregard adult responsibility. Even though childhood sucks, you never get it again. Thus, Veronica came to the painful realization that she'd never actually been a real teenager by the typical standard. Veronica had craved to be a bigger person, to be unaffected by Westerburg's bullshit. As much as she hated to admit it, a good, healthy, responsible life was boring. It made for boring stories. It didn't build character. Every Disney movie she watched with Martha seemed to mock her with their inherent need for adventure. Disney movies chanted it over and over in Veronica's mind. Veronica was boring and Veronica would be boring.
Disney wasn't alone in this assessment either, the entirety of Westerburg's student body teased Veronica and Martha relentlessly. Or at least all of the ones who even knew their names did. Veronica would like to say that it didn't matter nor did it bother her, but that wasn't true. Veronica was a vulnerable hormonal mess, and it hurt. It really did. It hurt all of them: the losers, the cliques, the cool kids - everyone.
Of course, there's the Heathers. They don't have to take any shit from anyone. The Heathers get attention, excitement, and teenage fun. They break the rules - they break the law. They had followers, in real life, and on every social platform graced by their presence. The Heathers were beautiful in a small town where being trendy was a rarity. Veronica was not cute. She was usually left on the sidelines, and she didn’t mind it. Soon, in college, she and Martha would find someone - she was sure of it. Kind of.
The Heathers were interesting, and Veronica watched them from the wayside. She started to understand why they were worshipped, no one else in the middle of nowhere, Ohio is living like them. No one else was as pretty or as confident. Veronica built it up in her mind that they had it all. She came up with a stupid idea of how great it would be if she were one of them. Even dumber was the concept that she could just join them and they would be the Heathers & Veronica. Then, of course, she had these stupid, self-centered daydreams about using her influence as a Heather to make Westerburg a nice school. Maybe even helping Martha the respect she deserved. The daydream that she could make her boring life in a shitty school in a closeminded town beautiful.
The possibility of such a dream coming true, no matter how slim, wormed it's way into her brain until it took up permanent residence without even paying rent. So that's why Veronica took a chance when she saw Flemming approaching Heather, Heather, and Heather, likely to scold them for skipping class. Veronica had fantasized about this exact situation (it was a daily occurrence), and on a whim, she threw caution to the wind and decided to act as she would in her head. Walking into the bathroom, she scribbled down her saving grace on a blank page of her diary.
"Hello, girls," Flemming was annoyed, but in a flat, defeated way. The counselor had been that way since her divorce. It was this or sweaty and dejected. Her divorce was also why she'd developed a short temper. "Miss the bell?"
"Actually, we were helping Heather," The lilting voice of Heather Chandler was cool, commanding, and confident. "She's sick." Condescending, too. Talking to a teacher that way was a definite power play.
"How sweet," Sarcasm. For a hippy, Flemming was really aggressive. "But you should have just sent her to the nurse and then gone to class." The "nurse" she was referring to was a band-aid from the office and then a call for your parents.
Heather McNamara spoke up next. "We were also out on yearbook business, ma'am."
Flemming didn't buy it. "Only one of you is on the yearbook committee."
Heather Duke knew it was a sinking ship, but she wasn't about to abandon it. "I needed help." Her tone bit.
Flemming sighed. "Just admit you don't have a hall pass and then get to class." She cracked a brief smile, though it's unclear it was because she'd caught them or for the accidental rhyme.
It was then or never. Running on solely adrenaline, Veronica made her move. "Actually, Ms. Flemming, we're all out on hall pass. Together. For yearbook stuff." Other than a voice crack, Veronica was as smooth as butter.
"Really?" Veronica couldn't tell if Flemming or the Heathers were more surprised. Flemming read over the note before looking up at Veronica and reading it again. "I guess this means you're all excused. And none of you are in trouble. Be sure to hurry up and get to class soon.
Flemming left, she was so startled that she forgot to return the note. Veronica was still on shock from the event too, to be honest. That was the first time that she had ever pulled such a stunt - she never felt it necessary before. Teenage rebellion was pointless in her eyes, and it had no place in her life plan. Until now. And that was enough to cloud Veronica's mind. How did that work? She expected mortifying failure.
"We were out on a hall pass?" Heather McNamara spoke up first, snapping Veronica out of her bewildered stupor. Heather McNamara wore yellow. She was also the cheer captain; she added enthusiasm to everything with her perky attitude. She was the kind of girl that you couldn't possibly hate upon your initial impression. Heather was nice to everyone, pretty, rich, and had a pretty good moral compass. The only thing that subtracted from her magnetic personality was her awful friends.
"No, Heather," Chandler rolled her eyes. Heather was the most gorgeous, glamorous, and most vengeful person Veronica had ever met. Her hair always looked perfect, her outfits were always perfect, and she was always perfect. Teachers and students hated her, but still, they were all ruled under her perfectly manicured fist. She was a major bitch. She stared Veronica down like she something to eat. "Who did you have to blow to get that note?"
Veronica swallowed. "I wrote it." Chandler's eyes widened. The three Heathers shared a look.
Chandler cocked an eyebrow. "Prove it. Write another where we can see it."
Veronica had Mrs. Thorrup's handwriting down cold. It felt like her hand was moving on its own. The hall pass wrote itself through Veronica and all of the Heathers watched it happen.
Veronica had developed her knack for forgery in fifth grade. She thought that having better handwriting would make her more friends. A young Veronica then committed herself to master other people's handwriting until she found one that she liked. After a while she found it to be therapeutic in an odd way. Forging signature was her Tibetan sand art, plus she got neater handwriting. She didn't make any friends for it, though.
When she finished, she couldn't help but feel pride at the Heathers' collective awe. Heather Chandler smirked. "This time the fan is the one who writes a signature, how strange."
Duke laughed. Heather Duke was Chandler’s almost perfect, jealous clone. She wasn’t as tall, or as thin, or as confident, or as impressive as Chandler, and everyone knew it - especially Heather Duke. As far as Veronica could tell, Duke was really smart. She seemed to like reading - something Veronica could relate to. No one cared about Heather's brain, that wasn't superficial enough. "That's funny, Heath-"
"Shut up, Heather," Chandler's reaction was mechanic, keeping her lackey's in line was a part of her well-oiled machine. Duke muttered a soft apology. Chandler continued with her desired silence. "Jokes aside, why did you do that? Don't tell me you want clout or something."
The swell of confidence, the adrenaline, the perfect segue - now was the time for Veronica to realize her vision. Don't fuck this up. "I crave a boon."
"What boon?" Heather Chandler's tone was sharp enough to kill as if drain Veronica to waste her precious time. McNamara quietly asked Duke what a boon was, and Duke gave her a hushed reply.
Veronica couldn't imagine outright asking to join their clique. Now she understands how stupid of an idea that was. That would be insane. She'd be laughed out of town. Her name wasn't even Heather. "I want an alliance. I want to sit at your table, even just once. No talking necessary. Anything to make people leave me alone." She made a more reasonable request, albeit confused.
None of them looked convinced or even amused. Veronica continued. "I do more than hall passes. Report cards, doctor's notes, permission slips, and absent notes - even essays. I can manage anything." Intrigue breathed life back into the clique once more.
"Even, like, prescriptions?" Duke asked hesitantly.
"Shut up, Heather, I'm thinking."
Was Veronica dreaming? Was this working?
Chandler smiled. "Blue would be good for you."
"Thanks, I hear it's my color." Veronica loved blue, it could convey so many feelings and ideas. And it was really flattering on her.
Duke looked annoyed while McNamara was over-joyed. Chandler ignored them entirely, "For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure."
Heather McNamara decided to add her input. "And you're face is practically perfectly symmetrical. I could cut it down the middle and have matching halves; that's important."
"Wouldn't hurt for you to lose a bit of weight, though," Duke commented bitterly. Last year Heather Chandler accidentally on purpose let everyone know that Heather Duke had an eating disorder. Now she was damned to weekly meetings with Flemming - a fate worse than death.
"Giving this loser a makeover sounds more fun than school. More rewarding, too," Chandler mused. McNamara nodded happily.
"We can't! Like you said, she's a loser," Duke pleaded.
To Chandler, it was like she didn't say anything at all. "I feel like blue would really balance us out."
"Her name isn't even Heather," Duke gestured at Veronica irritably.
"People on Instagram would adore me while I gave her a makeover. Especially with a before and after," Chandler mused. "It'd be like charity work."
Duke stomped her foot for emphasis, "She is friends with Martha Dumptruck!"
The room went silent. Chandler stared at Duke until she shrunk. "So were you." Veronica watched the display in euphoric horror. Duke seemed to give in entirely with a whispered apology to Chandler, which was promptly ignored.
"You have great potential to be someone," Chandler stated at Veronica. "Specifically one of us - so you will be, okay?"
Veronica spoke before she could think about it. "Okay." As soon as she comprehended what was happening, she was elated. Surprise became a confused kind of ecstasy. She wasn't about to question the most miraculous thing that had happened simply because life rarely gives things to her free.
"By the way," Chandler continued with flourish. "What the fuck is your name?"
"Veronica. Veronica Sawyer."
Beauty appointments, pictures, stories, posts, boys, drama, gossip, clothes, rules, Heather, Heather, Heather, and Veronica. Veronica could only keep up in the beginning, but after an hour, she was dragged left and right without a real idea as to what was going on. She had to try things on, pick out clothes, find makeup while still keeping track of every party foul and fashion faux pas. Occasionally she was asked questions about herself to which her answers were always met by responses that were politely negative. Every question she asked them was always answered with either laughter or "duh."
Fashion was everything to the Heathers, especially Chandler. Their aesthetic had to be classic, but trendy, and never retro. It was also imperative that everything they wore was in season and in their color. Everything had to be run by Chandler otherwise it wasn't in their wardrobes at all.
Everything was in full swing. Veronica was starting to get the hang of things when it came to shopping, she even stopped feeling guilty about all of the money they were spending on her. Then Heather Chandler made another decision for Veronica. "You need a haircut. Something that makes you look less like a horse girl, preferably."
They took Veronica to the salon. They left her with Heather Duke. McNamara and Chandler announced that they were going to get supplies to help makeover her bedroom as well. That might have been overkill especially considering that they hadn't even seen her room, but Veronica didn't mind. She was genuinely having a good time. They had to wait for her haircut, and neither Duke nor Veronica picked up a magazine. The silence between them was thick.
Duke broke it. "Sorry, for being a bitch earlier. You seem cool."
This was unexpected from Heather as well as in general. "Oh, uh, thank you. You do, too."
"Sorry about all of this. Heather likes things a certain way as soon as possible. She's pretty spoiled, really."
"Oh, it's fine." It was fine. Veronica liked feeling so accepted. "But we don't have to talk about Heather."
A soft smile played on Duke's lips. "Oh, if only. She probably takes up the majority of my thoughts. Sometimes I miss days without her."
Veronica felt her nose scrunch. "Why don't we just talk about you? She's not really in charge of us, it's just something we go with."
If Duke had softened at all it didn't matter. She stuck up her nose. "There is no 'us' and there is no 'we.' You've been here for less than a day, Ronnie. Have you ever considered that maybe I just don't want to talk to you at all?"
Maybe Heather was a bitch. Veronica tried to save the conversation anyway. "Can I at least ask you what kind of books you like?"
"No." She didn't miss a beat. Veronica doesn't know how long it took for her to be called to get her hair cut, but it felt like at least a million years.
The haircut was more than a haircut. It was some sort of whole beauty thing, Veronica wasn't really sure. They did her nails, threaded her eyebrows, she even got eyelash extensions. She felt like she had been reborn - her skin was softer, her head was lighter, her nails were prettier, and her eyelashes were longer. When she looked in the mirror she almost cried, she was beautiful. Heather, Heather, and Heather all seemed pretty impressed by the transformation. Veronica was convinced that none of this was actually happening because of how surreal it all was.
They gave her new clothes, new jewelry, even new furniture (most of it was blue). They added her to the group chat. They said they liked her yard. Her mom and dad adore them. And there was absolutely no way around it: Veronica had made new friends. Her new friends had invented a new, better Veronica, one that was going to take the world by storm.
If Veronica thought school was horrible before she was a fool. She'd sooner be boring than have to deal with Heather's demands, Heather's whining, and Heather's gossip. Highschool with playground drama was torture. All of it was the same. "She kissed him?" "He kissed her?" "He has a girlfriend?" "She has a boyfriend?" "I heard she's pregnant." "I heard he's gay." Who cares? Not only is it entirely useless information, but it's also the intimate details of their tormented peers.
Every day Courtney whined about something. Every day some moron tried to convince Veronica to stick her hand in their pants. On a different timetable Veronica didn't yet understand Heather Chandler had a new boy toy - the current model being Peter Dawson. Every other week Kurt and Heather McNamara would either break up or get back together. The only thing that made it slightly worth it was that Heather Duke and Veronica got to talk shit about it all during French.
However, none of it was a worthy trade for losing Martha. The former best friends had daily phone calls early in the mornings while they made their beds, and at night while they did their homework - and both of those depended on whether the Heathers didn't want to talk to Veronica at the same time. Veronica and Martha only really ever waved or nodded at each other in the hallways. As absolute salt in the wound, Martha was happy for Veronica. Martha was supportive as her best friend left her behind. That was what really made her feel like the worst person alive. That was it.
Being a Heather made going to school like a desk job. Clock in, pain, clock out. Every damn day. But with all of the drama, praise, and beauty it was also like being the villains in a shitty, girl-hating chick-flick. Hurray for that.