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Heather was an unstoppable force of nature. She was popular, she was smart, she was beautiful, and best of all, she could have any boy she wanted. (and she’s only a junior!) She’s even been with a few of them- prude is not a word fitting of Heather Chandler. She might not like it a whole lot, and it’s more of a mechanical process for her, but it’s like that for everyone! (It’s not.) But the boys all tell her what a great fuck she is, how great she is at sucking dick, so it’s whatever. Heather and Heather don’t know anything, because let’s be honest, she’d never hear the end of it and she’s got a reputation to keep.
All the boys in Westerburg are lame, anyways. All the boys in fucking Ohio are lame. She can’t wait to get out of here, because she can still make it outside of Westerburg. She’s not going to become some washed-up old woman who’s best years were fucking high school. She wouldn’t put it past Heather to become like that. She’s a cheerleader, for God’s sake. Now Heather, on the other hand would always trying to steal someone’s spotlight. She’d become a vice-president, the co-whatever, second best. Second best to people like Heather.
Then Veronica came around. Veronica was a storm when she first appeared. Veronica was the fucking nobody, hanging out with Betty Finn! She probably played Dungeons and fucking Dragons. It was a real shame- Veronica being so pretty and all, and she was smart, and she chose to waste it on her nerdy hobbies. She could’ve been ruling with the Heathers for a lot longer. At least she got her before she graduated.
All of the sudden, someone taps her on the shoulder. It’s Veronica and she’s asking, “Hey Heather, what’re you thinking about?” Huh. Guess she noticed Heather spacing out in the hall.
Bullshiting an answer as quickly as she could, she spat out, “The spelling test. Apparently I can’t fucking spell myriad if my life depended on it.”
“Ah, yeah, I know what that’s like!” No, she doesn’t, because Veronica Sawyer is a genius, “If you ever need help studying I’ll be more than happy to help!”
She can tell that Veronica is lying, but she pays no mind and lies right back, “Thanks for the offer! I’ll take you up on it if I even feel like I need a pity party.”
“Hey, I was just trying to be nice!”
“And look where that had gotten you before you found us.”
“Whatever, Heather, I’m going home. See you tomorrow.”
So the next day happens, and the next day, and the next day, and nothing much changes for the next few weeks. Life is boring. Her friends are assholes, she’s an asshole, everyone at school’s an asshole. Boys are boys, girls are girls, and Veronica is Veronica.
Then the Remington party rolled around.
Heather was terrified of what Veronica was going to do.
Before though, Heather needed her BQ corn nuts. So they stop at the nearest convenience store, Snacky’s Snack Shack, or whatever the fuck it’s called. She sends Veronica in and Jesus if she doesn’t take forever. Then she comes out with that fucking new kid, JD. They talk about something for way too long and she honks the horn. Finally, Heather gets back in the car. Off to the party.
So they got in, they chucked their coats on the floor, met the two guys, and they went their separate ways. Veronica with some sleazebag, and Heather with some guy that wasn’t much better. But whatever. It’s a college party, it is what it is. She’s cuddling up to this guy, no idea what the hell his name it, but she’s here. She’s gotta go through. And when she unzips his pants and whips it out, she doesn’t even gag at it this time. So she does it, it’s gross, like always, but she doesn’t gag. (Too much.) She brushes her teeth and the whole thing’s over with. Ugh, do girls really enjoy this? Is there some secret she’s not in on? Whatever.
She wonder what Veronica’s up to the entire time of the party. She eventually finds out. Brad, that’s the name of the guy Veronica was with, comes out with Veronica and she looks like a wet dog who ate a shit ton of chocolate. How much did she drink? Brad explains how Veronica “Just won’t put out, man!” and while Heather might be a little happy, she’d never admit it. She’s mostly pissed that Veronica isn’t going with the flow.
She storms up to Veronica, still pissed about fucking up the party demanding, “What’s your damage? Brad says you’re being a real cooze.”
“Heather, I’m really sick. Like I’m gonna throw up so can we please jam now?”
And Heather really, really, wants to say yes but she has an image to keep.
“No! Hell No!” She glares because like, who does Veronica think she is, really. The more she thinks about it the angrier she gets. Heather took time out of her day to bring Veronica to a fucking Remington party.
Then she hears hurling noises and suddenly she sees a shit ton of barf on the floor and they need to get out of there now. The fact that Veronica is barfing on the floor is pretty funny, to be honest.
They storm out and they’re both fuming. “You stupid fuck!”
“You goddamn bitch!”
How dare Veronica call her that. She tells it like it is, “You were nothing before you met me! You were playing Barbies with Betty Finn! You were a bluebird! You were a brownie! You were a Girl Scout Cookie! I got you into a Remington party. What’s my thanks? It’s on the hallway carpet.”
“I got paid in puke!”
And Veronica snaps back, quick as ever, “Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.”
“Monday morning you’re history. I’ll tell everyone about tonight. Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerburg’s gonna let you play their reindeer games.”
After the fact, Heather isn’t sure whether or not she might actually lick up Veronica’s puke.
Of course, only if she got something good in return. She’s not going to though. She mind as well destroy her. Keep her dangling on a chain in front of Heather’s face, a slave to her whims. (Even more than she already is.)
Unless Veronica comes to her, groveling for forgiveness.
Then she might.
When she gets home that’s all she can think about. Not that disgusting guy or any guy in particular, but Veronica on her feet, groveling. Kissing Heather’s shoes. Maybe a little farther up.
And that’s when Heather realizes that she needs to stop right the fuck there.
Heather Chandler is not some carpet eater with a heart. She’s Heather Chandler, queen bitch and sex icon, even if it just is in Westerburg.
The next morning Heather wakes up to Veronica and JD standing in front of her bed.
What the fuck? Veronica didn’t surprise her, but why JD?
“Morning Heather.”
“Veronica. And Jessie James. Quelle suprise. Hear about Veronica’s affection for regurgitation?”
“Heather I think last night we both said a lot of stuff we didn’t mean.”
“Did we? How the hell’d you get in here?” Heather thinks she knows, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.
Then JD butts in. “Um, Veronica knew you’d have a hangover so, uh I whipped this up for ya. It’s a family recipe.”
Does JD think she’s stupid? “What’d you do, put a phlegm glob in it or something? I’m not gonna drink that piss.”
“Knew that stuff would be too intense for her.”
Oh, it’s on.
“Intense… Grow up. Think I’ll drink it just because you call me chicken?” Yes. JD and Veronica look at each other and agree. It’s disgusting. “Just gimme the cup, jerk.”
She briefly looks at it and it’s some unnatural blue and she probably shouldn’t drink it but it’s already in her mouth and she’s guzzling it down and oh no.
She can’t. Breath. Or think.
All she sees is JD’s smirk and Veronica looking the most concerned she’s ever seen her.
In her last moments, she knows it’s going to be her last, she thinks about Veronica and what could’ve been. The photo in her locker of the two of them in the photobooth. How JD fucked it all up.
“Corn nuts…” She chokes out.
Then everything goes black.
Heather Chandler is no more.
Her best friend, Veronica Sawyer, did her in with her boyfriend Jason Dean.
Some might call it ironic.
Heather’d call it fucking stupid.