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“Say aaah!” sang Heather McNamara, holding up a spork with a tater tot on the end of it and waving it in a circle in Veronica’s face before poking her lips with the tot, “Here comes the Polar Express! Choo-choo!”
Heather Duke, sitting across from them next to Heather Chandler, stifled a giggle. “That’s cute, Mac.”
Heather McNamara grinned at her. “Awww thanks!” Turning back to Veronica, she lifted the spork. “C’mon, Ronnie! Try it! It’s good~!” she sang again.
“It’s a tater tot,” Veronica mumbled, leaning away from her. “And you’re Irish.”
Heather Chandler, sitting across from her, scoffed, arms crossed in front of her and shaking her head, sending perfect blonde curls flying. “You’re so soft, Mac. Just be like, ‘FBI, open up!’”
Heather Duke burst into laughter, burying her face in the pages of her copy of Junie B Jones and the Stupid Smelly Bus. “That’s good! That’s so good!”
In spite of herself, Veronica couldn’t help but laugh too.
“Are you tryna feed her or make her laugh?!”
“Yes!” cried Heather McNamara, turning to her again. When she put down the spork, Veronica leaned back. “I’ll take what I can get,” she shrugged. And then she popped the tot in her mouth. “Mmmm!” she moaned, rolling her eyes at Veronica, “it’s so good!”
Smiling softly to herself, Veronica shook her head.
“Nice try, Heather,” she said, picking up her carton of chocolate milk and sipping at it through the red straw. “A for effort,” she added, biting down on the straw. She blinked when Heather McNamara picked up another tot from her tray and offered it to her. “Again?” she laughed.
“You need to eat, Ronnie,” said Heather McNamara simply.
“Yeah, but I can feed myself!”
Heather Chandler cleared her throat. Then, rising from her seat and slamming her hands down on the table so hard they all jumped, she went on to ask, loud enough for the adjacent tables to hear:
“Are we gonna have a problem?”
Someone ooooh’ed behind them.
Shrinking into herself, her eyes downcast, Veronica quickly shook her head, hands clutching her small black notebook in her lap. Her eyes flickered to Heather Chandler’s expectant face, and she leaned toward Heather McNamara, opening her mouth a tiny bit, and let Heather feed her the tater tot. She was rewarded with several gentle pats to the top of her head, courtesy of Heather McNamara, and a satisfied smile courtesy of Heather Chandler as she sat back down.
Several people aww’ed.
“Good girl.”
Hunching into herself, Veronica swallowed. She wasn’t sure she was feeling more little than she was small and intimidated.
Heather McNamara scooted closer to her and placed one hand on her back, using the other to continue to feed her. Every now and again, between the tater tots, she picked up a glop of mashed potatoes from Heather Duke’s tray, a few sporkfuls of rice from her own tray, and a bite of beans from Heather Chandler’s, rubbing Veronica’s back all the while. And, of course, prefacing all of them with her Polar Express... thing. And under the watchful eye of Heather Chandler, head of the Heathers and whatever they currently were to each other, Veronica ate everything offered to her without another word.
Between bites of food, both Heather McNamara and Heather Duke asked her questions. They were actively trying to get to know her, which, while appreciated, also made her stomach uncomfortable. Maybe it was the combination of food.
What kinds of books did she like? Did she like stuffed animals, and if so, did she have an ideal image of one? Did she mind being called Ronnie? What kind of music did she like? Did she have a favorite food? Drink? What was her opinion on graphic novels? What was her favorite flavor? Was she busy tonight?
That last one came from Heather Chandler, who broke her silence to cock her head at her, chin resting on laced hands before her. She blinked, staring at Veronica.
“Well?” she asked.
Swallowing nothing, Veronica lowered her head, staring into her lap, one hand squeezing and massaging her fingers. She had the urge to apologize rather than answer.
“I’m free tomorrow,” she mumbled. “Friday night’s movie night with Martha and Betty.” At the mention of Martha and Betty, she grinned slightly. Nervously. Awkwardly. “It’s kinda our thing.”
She already ditched them for lunch. Usually they’d be in the library right now, among the books and shelves, like kids playing hide and seek. Missing movie night might just kill her.
A corner of Heather’s lips quirked up in a smirk. “Excellent. Then we’ll pick you up tomorrow. Be ready around... say, three to four.”
Veronica blinked. “For what?”
She jumped when Heather stood up again, watching her carefully as she slid out of her seat and made her way behind her, her warm hands gripping firmly her shoulders as she bent down and whispered in her hot ear:
“Don’t worry your Little head about it. Just be ready.”
“Telling me not to worry is a surefire way to make me worry...” Veronica mumbled, looking down at her lap. If Heather heard her, she didn’t comment as she loosened her grip and went back to her seat. She lifted her head when she saw a block of yellow moving from the corner of her eye, sighing softly and smiling when the red straw sticking out of her chocolate milk poked her lips.
Heather McNamara smiled when she took it. “Once you’re done, we’ll go to the bathroom, and then we’ll walk you to class, okay? What’s your schedule like?”
It was readily apparent to her that part of being the Heathers’ pet Little meant somebody was always going to be holding her hand, though at the moment, she wasn’t sure how much of it was for show. Heather Chandler’s declaration that she was a Heather now had to have an implied expiration date; after all, she’d only requested this half hour of their time. But as lunch came to an end, and she made sure she had her diary, and Heather McNamara threw out her empty tray, and Heather Duke pulled her behind her when she saw Kurt and Ram coming up to them, it got her thinking.
If they were only using her for her skills, they probably wouldn’t have cared to get to know her. They definitely wouldn’t make plans with her for the weekend. And they probably wouldn’t have... well, maybe they would’ve given her a makeover so she wouldn’t embarrass them, but it seemed like a lot of work for just thirty minutes, clothes and all.
And she wasn’t even Little. Not that they seemed to care. Hell, if anything, they probably thought she was being a bit of a brat. And probably not even a good one, considering how easy she caved.
Whatever she was, she wished it was as easy for her to figure out as it was for Martha, or even Betty.
They took to the halls again, Veronica holding onto the crook of Heather Chandler’s elbow, making sure she was a bit behind so Heather was always in the lead. Behind them, Heathers McNamara and Duke giggled and whispered among themselves.
They met Martha and Betty at the corner, just coming out of the library. But before she could wave or even smile at them, Heather Chandler made a swift turn and dragged her up the stairs towards the girls’ bathroom. Betty had just started to call her name.
She was going to have some hardcore explaining to do.