Chapter Text
Westerburg High smelled like sweat, permanent marker, and desperation. I’d been here for two weeks, and honestly? The place already felt like a social experiment and social hierarchies that matter more than oxygen.
Heather Chandler ran the school like some designer-clad dictator, Heather Duke followed her like a lost puppy, and Heather McNamara… well. She was sunshine in human form. Sometimes I thought if you cut her open, glitter would just spill out.
And then there was Veronica Sawyer.
The girl who somehow ended up sitting next to me in Chemistry and decided that, for some unknown reason, I was her friend now.
Lucky me.
Veronica was sharp, funny, and just cynical enough that I didn’t have to roll my eyes every five minutes. She had this thing where she scribbled sarcastic commentary in her notebook instead of taking notes. I respected that.
But then, of course, I noticed something else.
Whenever Heather McNamara walked into the room, Veronica would suddenly forget how breathing worked.
First period was English, where the teacher tried to convince us Romeo and Juliet was a timeless love story instead of two hormonal teenagers making bad life choices. Spoiler: I didn’t buy it. (Though honestly, it would’ve been a better play if Juliet ditched Romeo and ran away)
Math class was just me and a textbook trying to figure out which one of us hated the other more. For the record, the textbook won.
And gym? Don’t get me started. Some idiot thought dodgeball counted as physical education. If survival of the fittest was the goal, then I’m filing for early retirement.
But the real circus happened at lunch.
So picture this: cafeteria chaos, Chandler monologuing about something that didn’t matter, Duke nodding like she was taking notes, Mac laughing nervously, and Sawyer trying to look like she belonged.
Sawyer sat right next to them, trying not to look out of place while also scribbling something sarcastic in her notebook.
I grabbed my tray and sat across from her, mostly to see if she’d notice. She did.
Veronica:
“You’re brave.”
Me:
“Brave? Sitting here?”
Veronica:
“Yeah. This is basically a shark tank. Chandler smells fear.”
Me:
“Good thing I don’t smell like anything but stale coffee and despair.”
Veronica: [snorts]
“Perfect camouflage.”
Except she wasn’t watching Chandler.
Or Duke.
Nope.
Her eyes were glued on McNamara, who was busy trying to open a soda can without breaking a nail.
Me: (leaning over)
"You’re staring."
Veronica: (nearly choking on her drink)
"What? No. I was— I was just—"
Me (While passing by):
"Admiring her soda-opening technique?"
Veronica: (glares, red ears)
"Shut up."
Me:
"Not judging, just… observing. Trust me, I notice these things."
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the exact moment I realized I had front row seats to Sawyer’s very obvious gay panic.
By the end of the day, Sawyer was still pretending she wasn’t sneaking glances at McNamara. She walked with me to the parking lot, rambling about Chem homework and how Chandler’s voice gave her migraines.
Me? I was filing it all away.
The blush, the stares, the denials.
If Sawyer thought she was subtle, she wasn’t.
Note to self:
Sawyer keeps denying it. Classic. But she looked at McNamara for a full three minutes straight before I said anything.
At this rate, she’s either going to:
A) implode,
B) make me watch her implode, or
C) force me to play matchmaker just so I don’t die of boredom.
…Yeah. Probably C.
So here’s the plan. Sawyer’s in denial. Mac is oblivious. And I? I’m stuck in the middle, armed with sarcasm and way too much free time.
This isn’t friendship.
This is an assignment.
Operation: Sawyer Has a Type has officially begun.
September 10th — 7:42 PM
Sawyer : Did you finish the stupid chem worksheet??
Jason Dean: obviously. i’m a genius.
Sawyer : Oh thank god. send answers before my brain melts.
Jason Dean: wow. so i’m not a person, i’m just your homework dealer.
Sawyer : You’re my emotional support goth and homework dealer. multitasking.
Jason Dean: fair. what do i get in return?
Sawyer : Lifelong suffering as my friend.
Jason Dean: …so basically detention without the walls. Great. At least buy me a slurpee.
Prime time for Sawyer’s weekly academic meltdown. This was how we operated. She panicked, I mocked her, she mocked me back. Balance in the universe.