Chapter Text
September 1st, 1989.
Dear Diary.
It’s finally senior year, though, I can’t help but ask myself, what happened? These kids that I’ve grown up with are practically different people entirely. Even I’ve changed. I mean, the Heathers? Freshman me could have never even dreamed it.
I guess I’ve become accustomed to it. Mom says that they’re bad influences, as if it wasn’t obvious.
But I don’t succumb to peer pressure! My old peers, at least. I might kinda succumb to peer pressure from the Heathers. But in my defence, they’re very persuasive.
I have to get to class now, but I’ll definitely be checking back in later.
Veronica Sawyer.
“God, I can’t wait to see the new freshmen,” Heather Chandler beamed as she led Heather, Heather, and Veronica to the cafeteria. “They get smaller every year.”
“I love their nervous faces,” Heather Duke agreed.
“Wait, guys, what if we waited a few minutes to see if any freshmen sit at our table?” Heather McNamara suggested. “So we can crumple them on their first day.”
Heather Chandler grinned like the cat who got the cream.
“Heather, I think you’re a genius.”
“Thank you, Heather.”
“Sawyer, while we wait, go grab me some Corn Nuts from the vending machine,” Heather Chandler ordered, nodding her chin off to the right.
“BQ or plain, Heather?” Veronica asked.
“BQ,” Heather stated, like it was obvious. Veronica let out a short sigh and turned to head off.
On her way, she passed an unfamiliar face. Too tall to be one of the new freshmen, his complexion too hardened. Like he’d been through things in his life no one wanted to. Veronica felt bad for him, until she reasoned with herself that it was highly likely that she was just reading into it too hard.
She stopped in front of the vending machine and pulled a bill out of her wallet. She pushed it into the slit, then punched in the code on the keypad for the Corn Nuts.
“Here, Heather,” Veronica said dully when she returned. Heather Chandler didn’t say anything. Just snatched the bag between her index and middle fingers and briefly inspected it before tearing it open. Veronica pressed her lips together and turned her head to look at a group of other kids, then slightly rocked on her heels.
“Alright, let’s head in,” Heather decided a few moments after uninterrupted chewing. “I’m tired of standing here.”
Like Heather McNamara said, three meek freshmen had taken a seat at their table. Heads turned when the quartet entered. Everyone in the cafeteria looked at the Heathers, and then the freshmen… and then the Heathers again.
Heather Chandler took two steps into the cafeteria, then stopped. She stared at the table. Her eyes narrowed into a toe-curling glare.
“And what do we have here…?” She drawled, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, approaching the table. Her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “A couple of freshmen at my table…?”
“It’s a table, not a throne,” one of them retorted boldly. “You can sit anywhere else.”
An unsettling silence settled over the gathered teens.
Kurt and Ram were at her side in seconds.
“Want us to beat this twerp, Heather?” Ram asked eagerly.
“We’re seniors, man,” Kurt told him. Ram shrugged.
“Not yet,” Heather replied. “I’ll enjoy berating the backbone out of this one.”
Veronica glanced away. She looked off to the side.
It was him again. The tall, dark, brooding boy. He was just… watching. His hand raised to his head, two fingers pressed against his temple.
Veronica was distracted.
She wondered what his name was. Where he transferred from, what classes he was in, if they shared any. If she’d ever talk to him.
Before she knew it, the freshmen had scrambled (possibly left in tears) and the Heathers were claiming the table again. Clearly, the bolder boy hadn’t had that much backbone.
Veronica tried to pay attention to the conversation between the Heathers. She really did. But she was just so curious about the new kid. What had turned him so weathered? What was he holding on to?
Their eyes met across the cafeteria.
Veronica didn’t look away. Neither did he.
“Jesus, Veronica, keep your pants on,” Heather Chandler scolded, snapping her out of her daze. “You’re practically eyefucking the new kid in front of the entire school.”
Duke snorted, “drool much, Sawyer?”
“Shut up, Heather,” Veronica muttered. Heather Duke looked offended. “I’m not doing any of that.”
“Anyone who looks at you can tell you’re just waiting to toss your panties at him,” Chandler bit out. “Seriously, the greasy trench coat kid? Hell, any other boy is better than him. Even Peter Dawson; and he’s crazy boring. I mean, obviously you can’t date Peter because he’s my ex, but my point stands.”
“I’m not attracted to him,” Veronica objected. “I don’t even know his name.”
“It’s Jason Dean,” McNamara told them. “He’s in my American History. Real weird kid. Told Mr. Bennett to just call him JD.”
Jason Dean. JD. So that was his name. Veronica tried to hide another glance at him.
“Stop,” Chandler uttered. Clearly, she caught her.
“Alright, alright,” Veronica huffed. “Point made.”
“Good,” the redhead sat back. “He’s no good. I can tell.”
“He looks like a school shooter,” Duke muttered, curling her lip. Chandler smirked, looking amused.
“Yeah, are we sure he doesn’t have a gun on him?” McNamara asked, laughing.
“Why would he have a gun?” Veronica rolled her eyes.
They watched as Kurt and Ram approached JD, taunting him. They also watched JD stand, pull a gun out of his trench coat, and fire it at the jocks.
The bullets were blanks.
“…he’s got a gun,” Veronica muttered.
The Heathers were too stunned for words.