Chapter Text
Even though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what the Heathers had in store for her, Veronica would be lying if she said she wasn’t at least curious. But she’d spent all those hours reading up about bratting with Betty, so she might as well put it to use. Like Betty said, she had it in her to stop.
Three o’clock took forever to arrive. To minimize contact between the Heathers and her parents, she made sure they were more toward the backyard, and she was sitting out on the front step. And when Heather Chandler’s red Porsche pulled up at 3:27, she shouted a quick “Bye!” over the fence as she looped her small purse—filled with her phone, her wallet, and her keys—across her shoulders and went out to meet them.
Heather McNamara got out of the passenger’s seat, cocking her head as she eyed her from head to toe. “Is that all you’re going to bring?”
Veronica followed her gaze, looking down at her purse, and then her outfit: blue blouse, warm cardigan, blue skinny jeans, and Oxford shoes. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, so... yes?”
“Do you have a stuffed animal or a blankie or something you like to cuddle with?” Heather McNamara asked, biting her lip, “Your mom’s old nightgown, or a long t-shirt of your dad’s?”
“Um... no.” Veronica blinked. “What are we doing?”
“Get in, little girl, we’re going back to my place!” barked Heather Chandler.
Heather McNamara grinned. “You heard her. Scootch your toosh.” Turning back toward the car, she pulled the lever to spring the passenger seat forward, and sitting behind the driver’s side was Heather Duke, who offered a small smile.
“Buckle up, bluebird,” said Heather Duke. “Heather drives like a bat outta hell.”
Veronica took a breath. Here goes nothing.
It wasn’t a surprise to her that Heather Chandler’s home was huge and impressive. After all, she had to have somewhere to store her industrial-sized ego. Red walls, white frames, black windows, it suited her very well. Looking at that house, it was obvious to even newcomers that only the Chandlers would live there.
They parked inside the garage—well, they went through the single garage door as opposed to the double—and Heathers Chandler and McNamara waited for both her and Heather Duke to come out before they made their way inside, Heathers McNamara and Duke holding onto her hands while Heather Chandler led them to the door connecting to the rest of the house.
“Why didn’t you guys just tell me it was a sleepover?” Veronica asked as they crossed the threshold.
“We thought you knew,” said Heather McNamara.
“What else would we be doing so late on a Saturday?” asked Heather Duke.
While she pondered the answer to that question, the Heathers led her up the stairs and into a hallway. She spotted the master bedroom, and the bathroom, and what was probably a closet before Heather Chandler stopped at two white doors opposite each other. The one on the right was clearly her bedroom—a conclusion Veronica came to based on the assortment of red things on the door: a Keep Out! sign, a Stop sign, generic red flowers and butterflies with pointed wings painted on one side of the door trailing upwards in an arc. The door on the left had the word Nursery in large pink letters, each one meticulously cut out and taped on.
“It’s not finished yet,” Heather Chandler began, nodding to the door labeled Nursery. “But if this works out, you’re more than welcome to pitch in ideas to make it more personal.”
“But nothing too outlandish,” added Heather Duke, shaking off her hand. “It’s a nursery, not a TARDIS.”
“Heather, don’t say words like that!”
They all looked to Heather McNamara, and Heather Duke asked, “What, ‘outlandish’?”
Heather McNamara shook her head. “The other one.”
“TARDIS?” Veronica asked, and she jumped when Heather McNamara clamped her hand over her mouth.
“Ssh!!” Heather McNamara shushed. “That’s a bad word, Ronnie, don’t say it!”
“But it’s not—” Veronica tried to say, eyes flickering to Heather Duke and Heather Chandler for help, but Heather Chandler rolled her eyes and Heather Duke just shook her head. In the end, she was freed from Heather McNamara’s grasp when Heather Chandler grabbed hold of her elbow and dragged her to the Nursery, throwing open the door and pushing her in before going in herself.
The Nursery was unfinished, but it was pretty far along to Veronica’s eye. Pushed up against the wall was a crib sitting at ground level, with dropside rails that clearly didn’t move as there was a very obvious door one could open to get in and out. She hung the strap of her purse on one of the posts. Above it were three small picture frames of large flowers in red, yellow, and green, a very nice touch in her humble opinion. And though the floor was beige carpet, there were also several rugs there, circular rugs in blue and orange, complementary colors that reminded her of her and Betty.
There was a bookshelf with few books, but a large rocking chair next to it, and across that was the closet with its wooden sliding doors. And between the closet and the bookshelf sat a closed toy chest with green sides, a red front, and a yellow lid she almost thought was a bench at first. And a dresser with five drawers and tiny labels above the handles. And there was a small red toddler table with a couple sheets of paper sitting there and a large pencil box full of sharp crayons and colored pencils. And no chairs.
There was a kind of charm to it. And it had potential. Blue walls, maybe?
Heather Chandler plopped her in front of the sheets of paper. The top one looked like a test paper from school—history or math, maybe.
“We’re thinking about putting a mobile up here,” said Heather McNamara, gesturing to the space above the head of the crib before looking over to where Veronica sat. “We’ve got one on the way already, custom-made. They said we can add stuff to it later if we want, so you can help with that when it gets here, okay, Ronnie?”
“Sure,” said Veronica, shrugging.
“Fill that out,” said Heather Duke, pointing to the paper on the table, “We’ll give you around half an hour. You shouldn’t need that much, but if you finish early, you can use the extra time to get yourself into the right headspace, okay?”
Looking down at the paper, Veronica grinned to herself. Now was her chance. She cleared her throat, looked up at Heather Duke, smiled, and took in a breath.
“No.”
Heather Chandler snickered behind her. “I love her already.” Planting her hand atop Veronica’s crown, and gently grabbing a fistful of hair, she squatted down to her level and whispered in her ear, “That’s a girl, Sawyer,” she purred, “We need you to do this so we know what’s okay with you. You don’t think we’re going to get intimate without your consent first, do you?”
Well, damn. It wouldn’t surprise her if they did, but damn.
“Answer me, please,” Heather purred again.
Veronica swallowed. “Yes.” Wait. “No. No? Maybe.” Her eyes darted from Heather’s face so close, to the sheet of paper, to Heather’s face once again. “I-I guess?”
“Heather, now look what you did,” said Heather McNamara, shaking her head. “You’ve made her all confused!”
But Heather Chandler only chuckled as she released her, pushing herself up using the toddler table. The other Heathers filed out quickly, and when Heather Chandler was the last one in, she turned back as she gripped the knob to the door and nodded.
“It’s very important you complete your assignment, so don’t waste the time we give you. Or someone’s going to get punished, and we don’t want to have to do that so soon. Trust me, we’ll know.”
And she closed the door.
And Veronica sighed. Leaning over, she reached into the pencil case and pulled out a few blue colored pencils. Navy blue, blue, and cerulean blue to start. And then she pulled out a blue crayon. And then she also grabbed a red, green, and yellow colored pencil, and a red, green, and yellow crayon out of the box too. Just in case. And she spent a minute arranging them into a perfect line by medium: crayons on the left, colored pencils on the right. Just because.
“Trust me, we’ll know,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes.
The assignment was easy and hard at the same time. After putting her name and the date in the top right hand corner, she skimmed all the questions on the page before flipping it over to see if it has a back. It did.
The first question was a matching one.
Draw a line linking a name from the left column to a title on the right column. Only one title per name.
Straightforward enough. On the left column, it listed Heather Chandler first, then Heather Duke, and then Heather McNamara. On the right column, in no particular order, it had the following titles to link them to: Mama, Mommy, Mimi, Miss, Mistress, Ma’am, Momma, and there was a blank space with parentheses underneath it that said (other?).
She used the red crayon to link Heather Chandler’s name to Mommy, the green one to link Heather Duke’s name to Momma, and finally, the yellow one to link Heather McNamara’s name to Mama.
The next question had several lines underneath it for multiple-word answers.
List all the nicknames/pet names you are comfortable being called.
She went to write Ronnie out of habit, but stopped just before the blue lead of the pencil hit the page.
It just said list—it didn’t say write. If she said it aloud, it would still be a list. And if the Heathers would know if she wasted time, then they’d know what she was doing.
So she put her pencil down, cross-crossed her legs, and held her sock-clad toes in her hands as she rocked back and forth.
“Ronnie’s okay,” she said to the ceiling, “I don’t have any others.”
Nothing happened, and she felt a bit silly, but she found herself giggling anyway. And because she fulfilled the requirement, she left the lines blank. Next question.
Check all the punishments you are comfortable with receiving if rules are broken. (Punishments subject to change with proper discussion.)
She steered clear of the physical ones like spanking and kneeling and being restrained or diapered, and humiliating ones like wearing a sign around her neck broadcasting her infraction or eating off a dog bowl on the floor or being led around in public by a leash and collar. Some she could understand due to proper distinctions—talking versus regular time-outs, for example—and some were too vague to understand at all. Video message? It said they would be PRIVATE in parentheses, but that didn’t help much. And diary reading. She didn’t have a littlespace diary to—well, maybe she’d have to get one in order for that to happen. And if it was supposed to be a fun experience like Martha and Betty said, then who cared if the Heathers read it or not?
In the end, all the punishments she chose seemed pretty tame. Writing lines or an essay (so easy it could hardly be called a punishment); video messages (why not?); diary reading (can’t hurt if she doesn’t get serious with her entries, right?); time-outs (all three kinds: talking, regular, and toy, because she was clearly a wild child); grounded (just to see what it was like in general); and no candy/treats (that would be easy). Six seemed like a good number of punishments to have, even if they were some of the least exciting ones on the lot. She checked them off in red.
The next question asked for the same thing, but for rewards. Things like a later bedtime, extra everything (bedtime story, dessert, screen time, treats), movies and outings of her choice, new toys and things, etc.
Obviously, she circled all of them. In green. Checks would take too long.
She flipped to the back to look at the Yay or Nay questions, where it gave her a word or a concept and she had to bubble in one or the other. No to collars, baby talk, diapers, yes to praise, kiddie shows, and she drew, colored, and labeled her own bubble for a Maybe column when it came to playdates and receiving surprise gifts. But homemade gifts were a definite yay. The Heathers may be loaded, but Veronica Sawyer can’t be bought.
And then, finally, at the very end of her assignment, which took up half the page, were the rules. Three were already filled out for her, with room for seven more, and like everything else, they were subject to change following proper discussion.
At least the rules the Heathers already decided for her were reasonable. Aggressively so.
- Communication is key. You will be open and honest about your feelings at all times.
- Self-harm is illegal. Any and all urges must be reported to one of us. See Rule #1.
- Meds (if needed) and meals will not be skipped. Proof may be required if difficulty staying on track.
She dreaded this part. She wasted the most time on this part. Rules were fine for Martha, but Veronica wasn’t Little. She didn’t need rules to follow—she was pretty good about doing all she needed to do to make it to the next day, and the next week, and the next month. And she couldn’t think of any anyway.
Well, except one.
No rules for Ronnie! I am a delight!
And just like that, she was done.
She put down her colored pencil and looked around the room. And she put her crayons and colored pencils back into the pencil box and gathered all the papers to stack them neatly under her assignment sheet before getting up and slowly wandering around the table. What were the Heathers up to now? It had to have been half an hour by now.
She stopped by the small crib and tried the door, swinging it back and forth between the palms of her hands before pushing shut again. Velcro. Nice.
The closet was empty save a few bins she decided to leave alone, and the toybox was mostly empty apart from an Elmo doll, a stuffed orange cat, a Raggedy Ann doll, and a Kermit. She pulled them out and set them all on top of the chest, next to each other like a group of friends. Maybe they were friends. Martha would think so.
And finally, she went to the bookshelf. There was a book of Mother Goose rhymes, Goodnight Moon, Where the Wild Things Are, the first Clifford the Big Red Dog book, and, surprisingly, Heidi. It was always a treat when she found something she’d never had the chance to read, so without giving it too much thought, Veronica walked the book over to the crib, pulled the door open, and laid down on her stomach with her book to read it. She left the door wide open though.
She took her time with it, taking in every single word and reading some sentences she particularly liked more than once. When she was barely done with the introduction, the door to the nursery opened, and she jumped.
“Time’s up,” said Heather Chandler before she even walked in. To Veronica’s surprise, Heather didn’t look surprised to see her in the crib at all. “You hungry? It’s snack time.”
Heather McNamara and Heather Duke slipped past her, with Heather Duke going over to the table to pick up the sheet, and Heather McNamara holding the door to the crib in place so she could climb out.
Carefully, Veronica climbed out of the crib, clutching the book to her as Heather McNamara placed her warm hands on her shoulders after closing the door to the crib, and Heather Duke laughed as looked over her answers.
“What?” asked Heather Chandler.
Heather Duke shook her head, flipping the sheet in her hand to glance at the back before looking up at them.
“Someone,” she said, looking at Veronica, “has a sense of humor.”
And she jumped when Heather Chandler snatched the paper from her.
Veronica couldn’t help but grin, biting her lip as Heather Chandler’s eyes traveled down the page, scrutinizing all her answers, her little flourishes. Heather cracked a smile and even a chuckle at the self-added Maybe column in the Yay or Nay section, but her eyes widened when she got to the rules bit. She stared at it a bit more, blinking as though she couldn’t believe what she was reading, before looking up.
“You think you’re funny, little girl?” asked Heather Chandler with a smirk.
And without missing a beat, Veronica said, “I know I’m funny!”
Heather’s smirk grew wider. She stepped forward, leaned her face really close, and said, “Well then. We’ll see who gets the last laugh.”