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Hanging out with the Heathers was never Veronica’s favourite thing to do.
Sure, they were her friends, but she didn’t really like them all that much. When she walked with them, it was like putting on a different skin. Veronica could never fully be herself: she’d run the risk of being Heather Chandler’s verbal punching bag for the week. Chandler was fierce and predatory, like a hawk, or a lion. She had sharp, watchful eyes that seemed to criticize her every move, never afraid to bite. God forbid Veronica befriended anyone outside of Chandler’s little circle.
But with JD, it was different, like a teenager rebelling against a parent. With JD, Veronica could push aside the petty things in life, like what skirt Nancy Stevens was wearing or how there was another college party next week. He gave her the courage to do things she’d never had the guts to. She had deep conversations with him, talking about the stars and what the future would look like until she fell asleep in his arms, his coat smelling like cigarettes and gunpowder.
When Heather Chandler began to notice that Veronica was slowly drifting away from her group, a wave of fury washed over her. What did Veronica see in that loser, anyway?
She couldn’t really explain why she was so upset at the fact. Maybe it was because Veronica said she had sworn off high school boys, and that was a lie. Or maybe it was something deeper— Veronica’s complete indifference of what the school thought of her, how Heatehr felt almost jealous that she could never be Veronica Sawyer. She had spent ages trying to impress Veronica, but to no avail. So how come this little twerp managed to catch her eye in a day?
She had to put it to an end.
It started off with simple daydreams— poisoning Jason Dean and hiding his body where he’d never be found, Veronica crawling back to her looking to be comforted. Or maybe burning him alive in one of his father’s abandoned construction sites, and being a shoulder for Ronnie to cry on.
Then, one day, when she came back from school, she grabbed the address book from the top of her dresser and flipped through it casually, as if she planned to visit an old friend. His address was easy enough to find— who didn’t know Big Bud Dean’s Construction? She carefully copied down the address in her swirly handwriting on a piece of red stationary and stepped out of the house.
When she knocked at the door it swung open almost immediately, JD standing at the door with a smug look on his face and motor oil smeared on his shirt.
“Well, well, well,” he said, giving her a half-bow. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Heather... Duke, is it?”
“Chandler, thank you very much,” Heather sniffed, only slightly offended. She suspected he got her name wrong on purpose. There wasn’t a person at school who didn’t know who she was. “Can I come in?”
“Why, of course,” said JD, unusually courteous. He opened the door wider and walked her into the living room, where a TV spoke in muted tones and a motorcycle wheel covered in motor oil sat on the coffee table. “What brings the occasion?”
Shit. Shit! What was she doing? She had no plan, not even a weapon! Heather could feel herself breaking into a cold sweat.
Regaining her composure, she said, “It’s about Veronica. We... need to talk.”
“Ronnie, huh? What’s the problem? Is she spending a little too much time away from the kingdom?”
So he was mocking her! Hearing Veronica’s nickname come from his mouth made the anger bubble up inside her. She started to narrow her eyes— then stopped, and smiled sweetly at him.
“Actually... could I get a glass of water? It’s been so dry out, I can almost feel myself being fossilized.”
“Sure, the glasses are in the kitchen, second cupboard to the left.” JD turned away from her, focusing on the motorcycle wheel again.
She ventured through the living room to the kitchen, trying to ignore a picture of a young JD and his parents on a nearby shelf. She filled a glass with water, gulped it down, and took a deep breath. This was it. She was going to be rid of him once and for all. She quietly pulled open drawers until she found what she was really looking for: a kitchen knife. Holding it behind her back, she called, “Hey, JD, do you think you could give me a hand? I can’t seem to find the glasses anywhere... and you’re the host, I mean— shouldn’t you be getting me water?”
She could hear JD give a huff of annoyance, tools clanking as he set them down on the coffee table. He walked in, wiping his hands on his shirt, seeing the glass on the kitchen counter. He stopped, raising his eyebrows at Heather with irritation.
“Looks to me like you found them just f-“
She lunged at him with the knife, aiming for his stomach. JD’s eyes widened in surprise, but his demeanor hardened again when he caught her arm just in time. She struggled against it, desperately trying to nick him or at least scare him bad enough that he would leave Veronica alone.
No such luck. JD was a lot stronger than someone who looked so lanky would seem. They were caught in a silent gridlock. As one arm held hers with the knife, something cold pressed against her temple. Heather looked up in horror to see the same pistol that JD had used a few days ago in the cafeteria against her forehead. Even if it was filled with blanks last time, she wasn’t taking any risks.
As she relaxed, so did JD— only slightly. Instead of looking angry, he had an emotion on his face that made him look much scarier: exhilaration.
“Alright,” he panted, stepping away, still pointing the gun at her. “This isn’t about Veronica, is it?”
“Yes, it is,” Heather insisted through gritted teeth, still gripping the handle of the knife tightly and pointing it at him. “I want you to break up with her. If you’re even dating her at all. She doesn’t belong with someone like you.”
“And what makes you say that?”
“She said it herself before you got here,” Heather spat venomously. “That she’d given up on high school boys. She should be at college keggers with me, not long walks on the beach with you.”
Heather couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. This kid had a gun pointed at her, and she was the one making demands. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.
“You’re... jealous?” JD raised an eyebrow, half amused and half suspicious.
“I’m not jealous— I’m doing what’s best for her. Which is getting rid of you.”
JD chuckled lightly, no mirth in his eyes.
“Sure, okay. Look, why don’t we make a deal?” His hand was steady on his gun, as if he’d done this a million times before.
“Like what?” Heather's voice wavered.
“I’ll pretend that all this never happened, and let you leave, but only on two conditions: if you continue to let Veronica spend time with me, and you forget all this happened, too. Hell, I’ll even make sure she still has lunch with your little clique. Deal?”
There was no doubt in JD’s voice that he was going to get what he wanted, deal or not. She lowered the knife a slight increment.
“Deal,” she said, feeling as if she had just sold her soul to the Devil himself.
And just like that, JD looked normal again. Almost.
“Great!” he said. “I’ll show you out now.” He guided her out of the house with the pistol pointed at her. “And you can leave the knife on the counter— unless you plan on making some lunch.” He grinned at his own joke. “Goodbye, Heather Chandler,” he said, shutting the door in her face.
Heather walked home stunned, sure he would keep his promise, but unsure of what was to come.
As soon as he shut the door, JD began to pace around the room. He couldn’t fathom what possibly could’ve driven that girl to try to murder him. It wasn’t friendship, that was for sure. Unless... unless.
Unless she felt the same way about Veronica as he did.
The realization hit him fast, disgust balling up his fists. Stupid. Stupid! He didn’t want another body on his hands, but he knew he should’ve killed her right then in his kitchen. There was no way he and Chandler would be able to coexist in peace if she felt the same way about her that he did.
He was going to have to break their deal.
The weeks went by smoothly as JD created his plan, with Chandler truly seeming to have forgotten their unusual meeting and Veronica completely oblivious. He was much more prepared than her. All he had to do was wait for an opportunity to jump.
It finally came the morning after one of Veronica’s rendezvous at a college party. JD had seen the lights on in her room and crawled in through the window, listening to her rant and rave about how she wanted Heather Chandler out of her life.
It felt like it was too good to be true to JD, as if it was a sign from God that his plan was ready to be put in action.
So, the morning after, he tagged along with Veronica to check up on her.
When Heather heard footsteps inside her house, fear rocketed through her. Was JD finally here to finish her off? She had had more than a few sleepless nights, with nightmares of Jason Dean breaking into her house and strangling her or shooting her through the forehead (with her corpse looking like a mess!). But she heard Veronica’s voice laughing at his, so she relaxed and feigned sleep. He wouldn’t try anything with her around.
So when JD brought the cup into the room, she assumed that it was that awful concoction of milk and orange juice they were giggling at in her kitchen. When she saw it was blue, she rolled her eyes, thinking they found some food dye to mess with her. She wasn’t going to let JD make a fool out of her again, especially in front of Veronica, so in one last attempt to prove herself to Veronica, she downed the cup in one go.
Immediately after she swallowed a gulp, bitterness stung and burned her throat. She felt like her throat was closing up on her, and she dropped the cup, grabbing at her throat frantically and trying to say something, anything. This is it, she thought. This is when I die.
Struggling to breathe, she choked out, “Corn... nuts,” and blacked out, falling onto the glass table as the darkness engulfed her.
Veronica stood in silent shock, hands going over her mouth. “I just killed my best friend,” she said shakily.
“And your worst enemy,” JD added.
As they slowly pieced together what to do, with JD feigning surprise and shock, she forged the note and turned to leave the house. JD had already left, waiting impatiently for her in the car. But right before she did, something on Chandler’s vanity dresser caught her eye. It was a crumpled-up note, the stationary the same as the one Veronica used to write Chandler’s suicide note with. She unfolded it, smoothing out the creases.
JD’s address was printed on the first line of the paper in Chandler’s discernible flowery handwriting. Veronica frowned in confusion. She looked at JD, out of his line of sight from the car, and pocketed the note.
She never mentioned it to JD, or anyone else, after that day.
Veronica turned to look at Heather Chandler’s lifeless body on the shag carpet. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and fled out of the house.