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“I swear to God,” Veronica starts, angrily plopping down in her seat next to Heather McNamara at the Heathers’ usual lunch table, “if one more guy tells me to name five Radiohead songs I will beat his nose off his face with a Jane Austen book.” She pointedly slams down her copy of Emma that she’d been holding on the table next to her tray. Her plastic fork makes a satisfying sound as it clatters.
“Just don’t use Persuasion,” Heather Duke requests. “I don’t want blood on my book. Which you still haven’t given back.”
“Tomorrow, Heather,” Veronica promises, like she’d been doing every day for the past month or so. She has no intentions to return the book; Duke had lent her this absolutely gorgeous addition, which she was originally planning to keep safe and return as soon as she could. But the day after she graciously let Veronica borrow the book Duke called her a slut in a fit of Chandler-induced rage, so Veronica feels she doesn’t owe her anything.
Plus, Duke’s a megabitch. So.
“What happened, Ronnie?” Heather McNamara pipes up from Veronica’s right side. Veronica suspects she’s just trying to get the conversation topic off of books she doesn’t know, but she humors Mac anyway because she usually does.
“Peter Dawson happened,” Veronica rolls her eyes. She picks up her fork and stabs at a rotten cafeteria vegetable she’s not planning to eat solely for the dramatic affect. Her boyfriend must be rubbing off on her; JD does things like that all the time. “He hasn’t stopped hitting on me, even though I have an actual boyfriend now, and today he thought he could impress me by doubting my knowledge of a band I have on my own shirt.” Veronica shakes her head; when it comes to guys like Peter, she misses being a nobody. He never gave her a second glance in her pre-Heather days.
“Well,” Duke starts, staring down at her empty tray, “can you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Name five songs?”
Veronica scoffs, offended. “Of course I can,” she states. She’s far from lying. “I love Radiohead.”
“Then did you do it?” McNamara asks. Veronica shakes her head like it’s obvious, and Mac frowns.
“Why?”
“Principle.”
In her seat across from Veronica, Heather Chandler pointedly groans.
“This is why I told you to not wear band shirts, Veronica,” she drawls, as usual sounding like the mere existence of Veronica’s occasional individuality is an inconvenience. “I get that you like to show off, but the guys at this school feed on any little thing they can look down on you for. Just to impress you.”
“I’m not showing off,” Veronica insists. It’s true; while she’s far from insecure of her music taste, she’d never understood people who treat it like a flex. Yeah, she likes Radiohead. But she listens to Hamilton, too, and Six and Hadestown. Her favorite singer is Olivia Rodrigo, and she’s liked Taylor Swift since middle school. She just listens to what she likes, and as a result, wears what she likes. For her, it’s always been as simple as that.
“And it’s not impressive,” Veronica states. She shakes her fork to get the rotten vegetable off, rather aggressively, and starts looking for a more decant thing to eat. She settles on a semi-edible looking tater tot and stabs it with her fork, almost squishing it in her irritation. “Honestly, I thought agreeing to join this group meant people were going to leave me alone.”
“Watch your words, Ronnie,” Heather Chandler starts. Veronica recognizes the hostility in her tone and almost sighs; sometimes she feels like she’s walking on eggshells around these friends of hers. She can’t wait for high school to be over; she fantasizes about the day she gets to unfollow Chandler and Duke on Instagram. Mac she’ll keep in touch with, she thinks. “You didn’t agree to join anything. We took you in because you begged us to, and we don’t like to see potential go to waste. Plus, we’re nice.”
Yeah right.
“Anyway,” Chandler continues, “you’ve been one of us for a few months. You’ve come to a point where you don’t owe anything to any guy at this school. So just ignore Peter; you’re way too hot for him now.” And with that, Chandler takes a sip of her water as if what she’d just said doesn’t matter at all. She does that; Heather rarely gives compliments, but when she does, she makes sure you know she doesn’t actually care. That it’s just a fact that had to be stated. Still, Veronica’s not falling for that.
“Wow, Heather,” she starts, sounding smug but not too smug as to not cause another hostile reaction, “slow down or I might just think you’re the one hitting on me.”
Heather rolls her eyes. “You being bisexual doesn’t make everyone else bisexual, Sawyer,” she reminds Veronica. In return, the non-Heather just grins.
“What is this about my girlfriend making people bisexual?” Veronica hears a voice behind her. It’s a calm, familiar drawl, and it makes her smile.
Heather McNamara jumps at the sudden sound, and it makes Veronica smile even harder. She used to jump, too, when her boyfriend would appear randomly out of thin air and make himself known with some cryptic comment; and he used to love the way she jumped. He’d go out of his way to scare the shit out of her, and she’d cuss him out but laugh in spite of herself, every single time. Now she was used to it, and his sudden arrivals would only make her grin. Doesn’t mean he’s stopped trying, though.
“Not making people bisexual,” Chandler insists. JD nods, but he leans down and whispers denial is a river into Veronica’s ear. She giggles at the comment and folds into herself a little at the ticklish sensation.
“She’s certainly gorgeous enough to do it,” JD states, leaning his chin on top of Veronica’s head and resting his hands around her waist. Veronica giggles again, her usual dorky, too-loud kind of laugh, unable to hide her delight.
Duke pointedly groans. Chandler shushes her. McNamara lets out a soft, fond aww that no one can really hear.
“Veronica, did I not say your emo vampire can’t be with us at lunch?” Chandler asks, clearly not expecting an answer. “There are very obvious rules to this table, which you keep ignoring. For example; no one who is not a Heather is allowed to be here.”
Veronica rolls her eyes, JD’s presence making her braver like it always does. “He’s my boyfriend, Heather, not a vampire,” she reminds the demon queen.
“And I don’t answer to you, in case you forgot,” JD jumps in.
“Shut up, Edward Cullen,” Chandler bites. Veronica snorts in spite of herself, and JD gives a pinch at her waist as if to ask whose side are you on. Veronica folds into herself again.
“I haven’t seen her all day. Let me have this,” JD requests. Heather Mac tentatively moves over on the bench, giving JD room, and JD smiles at her while Heather Chandler silently glares.
“Hey, cool shirt,” JD says to his girlfriend a few moments later, when Chandler has stirred the table’s main conversation topic to the Heathers’ overdue monthly trip to Sephora. Veronica had actually grown to like those trips, but she turns to JD anyway with a grin.
“Thanks,” she says. She knew he’d like the shirt.
“Name five Radiohead songs,” JD says with a smirk.
He’s joking; Veronica knows he is. Her boyfriend is kind of a condescending dick sometimes, she’s gotten plenty used to that by now, and he once told her he loves when she puts him in his place. Sometimes his arrogance is even funny; most of his jokes, even when they annoy her, make her laugh. And yet, Veronica feels her hand travel beyond her tray and clutch onto the copy of Emma.
JD cocks his head at her, still conceitedly challenging, and Veronica grasps onto the book tighter. She is not a violent person. She’s a feminist person, but she has to keep reminding herself that she is not violent.
Violence is bad.
Still, she feels rage simmer inside of her. Like, an odd amount of rage; she’s far angrier than she would usually be about this kind of a thing. She feels like snapping, like she’s had enough of something. She’s not sure of what, honestly, but it seems that the feminist part of her mind has decided to take over her whole body and turn her cheeks red and the only thing she can do to stop it is plant her foot on the ground as forcefully as she can.
“Why is Veronica about to explode?” she hears an amused voice. It’s Heather Duke, although the question sounds rhetorical; Duke often notices more than you’d think she would. Veronica had never, not once, seen her use that power for good.
“Yeah, Sawyer, all I said was that I needed to stock up on mascara,” Chandler says; she sounds weirded out, and Veronica isn’t surprised. She herself is unsure why she’s responding like this.
JD’s eyebrows furrow, catching that something is going on. He mouths you good? at Veronica, and seems concerned enough to make her tense body relax just enough.
She nods at him, and then turns back to the Heathers. “I’m fine,” she says, sounding casual enough. She hopes her cheeks will stop flaming soon; she doesn’t even know why they are. “Sorry.”
The rest of lunch is relatively normal; Veronica’s a little quiet, but none of the Heathers really notice. JD seems to, but he just gives her these lingering glances like he’s trying to figure out what’s wrong. When she finishes her food, Veronica goes to her locker and pulls out the sweater she keeps there; she tugs it on and doesn’t remove it until the end of the day, although she’s far from cold.
It takes a little while, but soon Veronica calms down significantly. By the time school’s over and she goes to hang out with JD at his house, her unbearable anger is nowhere to be seen.
In fact, there isn’t anything remotely similar to violence on her mind as she lays with her head in her boyfriend’s lap and dissolves into the peaceful world of Emma. She’s supposed to be doing homework, and he is too, but neither of them had touched a notebook since they arrived. It’s this new way to pass the time that they’ve begun doing a little while ago; if they’re hanging out after school and are too tired to actually do anything, they form a sort of book club. As in; Veronica reads her book, JD reads his, they’re cuddling in one way or another, and they spend a good hour or two not talking unless it’s an urgent matter or one of them is showing the other a witty quote that made them laugh. Veronica has grown to love this new habit of theirs; it’s completely unproductive, and does mean she sleeps a lot less with all her late-night cramming, but it’s nice.
And today is just as nice as usual; JD’s running his fingers through her hair, messing it up in a way she should probably care about but doesn’t seem to, and she’s laying on his lap because he’d tugged her down onto the bed instead of giving her a chance to sit properly (she’s not complaining, though). She’s in this trance kind of state, the way she always gets when she reads; fully absorbed into her own world. Still, for once, in a way her ADHD often doesn’t allow. At peace.
Which is the reason she startles slightly when the calm rhythm of JD’s fingers running through her hair turns into a rather gentle, but definitely noticeable, yank. Startles slightly might be an understatement, actually; Veronica lets out a mouse-like squeak and her book slams closed over her fingers. Well, at least she didn’t lose her page.
“You scared me!” she whines at JD anyway, glaring up at him. Her voice is high-pitched in a way she doesn’t like; she hates being startled. It’s a shame that it happens all the time.
“I called your name like five times, you weren’t answering,” JD explains with a shrug. He has this small grin on his face; it’s somewhere between amused and adoring, like Veronica’s both funny and precious. Just the thought makes her feel warm inside. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Veronica dismisses. She keeps looking up at JD, waiting for him to say what he’d pulled her out of her hyperfixated daze for.
“What got you so mad in the cafeteria today?” JD asks eventually. “Is it something I did?” It’s an odd timing for sure, but he does that sometimes; randomly returns to old things she said or did just to ask her about them. She asked him why he does that, not too long ago, and he just shrugged and said that he has a good memory and that everything she does is always on his mind. She called him cheesy, but proceeded to squeal into a pillow when they hung up the phone.
Right now, though, his callback isn’t making her giddy. She sits up carefully, suddenly needing to distance herself. She’s not sure why this topic is so uncomfortable for her; she hates misogyny, sure, like any decant woman should, but this music thing is really getting under her skin.
To his credit, JD doesn’t pressure her; he watches as she sits up and leans against the wall, and hands her the bookmark still resting on his knee. She smiles at him as a genuine thanks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You didn’t do anything,” she says eventually, deciding she at least needs to clear up that part. “Or, well, not… exactly.” JD’s eyebrows furrow, letting her elaborate without intervening.
“Just… some guy asked me to name five songs this morning, so I was already annoyed,” Veronica explains; she’s barely telling half the story. “That’s it,” she says anyway.
“Is it?” JD asks, looking at her expectantly. “Because I’ve seen you annoyed, and that wasn’t annoyed.”
“Okay, it’s not it, exactly,” Veronica admits, and she unhelpfully notices that she’s said exactly twice now. Her brain works in mysterious ways when she’s trying to avoid her own thoughts.
She sighs, looking down at her hands. She gives them a shake once, twice, since she knows it helps her focus her mind. JD doesn’t comment, just watches her. The feel of someone’s eyes on her while she’s trying to think would normally get Veronica squirming, but when it’s JD’s eyes, she feels calmer. Like he’ll catch her if she falls into the confusing pit of thoughts she can never seem to put together coherently; some lawyer she’s going to be, she briefly thinks, but she stores that thought away in a drawer in the back of her mind. The problem right now is that she’s too righteous. Jesus, she needs to get it together.
“You know I love Radiohead, right?” she asks JD eventually. He nods like it’s obvious, and even that fact does something to ground her. This boy’s effect on her cannot be entirely normal. “So, I’ve just always hated the whole name five songs thing,” she continues explaining, dancing around the main point even she can’t quite figure out. “I mean, it just feels so patronizing. Like yeah, I know the band on the shirt I’m fucking wearing, despite being a girl. The fact that I was born a different gender than the one misogyny prefers doesn’t mean I can’t like good music, even if I do like pop. I have layers.”
“You have so many layers,” JD agrees with her, and despite the odd wording he seems to be serious. “Even if you listen to musicals and your favorite album’s GUTS,” he adds with a grin. A good-naturedly joking grin; nothing new.
And yet for some reason, it makes Veronica groan. JD frowns at her reaction, genuinely puzzled.
“See, that’s the thing,” she starts before she can think of what she’s saying. “So many people, mostly these annoying, arrogant guys, make me feel ashamed of this stuff that I like. Like, last year I told Kurt Kelly that I like Taylor Swift and he called me such a girl and started laughing to his friends about it.” Her nose wrinkles at the memory, and she tries to remember why she’d even been talking to him in the first place but comes up short.
“Yeah, but Kurt’s a dick,” JD reminds her. “We know that.”
“It’s not… just him. It’s like every condescending asshole feels the need to be personally offended by things that make me happy,” Veronica tries explaining. And oh, she has the perfect example. And she so doesn’t want to say it. “Do you… do you remember the first time I played my playlist for you?” she asks anyway.
“Um… no, I don’t think so,” JD admits.
Veronica sighs. Here it goes. “We were, like, studying or something. I’m not sure. I put on my playlist because I wanted to listen to music, and there was Olivia Rodrigo in the beginning, and you made such a face,” she remembers it even now, a few months later; down to the way he smirked arrogantly and furrowed his eyebrows in disgust. “And you started saying that pop music was so stupid and worthless, and you went on this whole rant about how modern music has lost its value… I just skipped the song,” JD’s watching her intently now, but his eyes have gone all distant like he’s remembering with her. “And then there was Hamilton or Six or something, and you made fun of me so much. And I don’t really mind when you make fun of me, you know that, but it was song after song, and you were saying I was so uncool, which I am, but you weren’t just making fun of me. You were saying the stuff I like is meaningless and embarrassing and…” she pauses, taking a breath. This is an oddly difficult conversation for the amount of music references that have been made so far.
“I don’t like feeling bad about the things that make me happy,” Veronica admits, and she thinks it’s weird she even has to. “I listen to Radiohead and Pink Floyd, and I love Olivia Rodrigo and Taylor Swift, and I listen to musicals, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with any of that. But everyone, including… including you, make me feel like there is. And I know I’m not cool, and I’ve never tried to be, but I’m not…” and there it is. The point finally forms in her head, into one clear sentence. “I’m not dumb, JD.”
“I never thought you were,” JD doesn’t hesitate. Veronica scoffs.
“Of course you did.”
“Why would I?”
“Because you read poetry,” Veronica bursts. JD frowns in confusion, and Veronica hurries to clarify. “Not… just that. You read poetry, and all these sophisticated books, and you listen to old rock and you talk all smart, and I love all of that about you, but I’m not… like that. Or, well, maybe I am, but I’m not just like that. I like pop and romance books and rom-coms and these meaningless things you hate. And you know that, and sometimes I feel like you think of me less for it.”
“I don’t,” JD says, once again simplifying the situation in a way that makes Veronica wonder if it really wasn’t that hard all along. “Veronica, you’re the smartest person I know.” The honesty in his voice makes Veronica feel composed again, and she focuses on his eyes. They’re holding hers like a hug, to keep her there and keep her comforted. “You’re going to go to Harvard, I’d like to remind you, and you have more general knowledge than anyone could dream of, and I’ve seen you in English class, and you always know exactly how I feel and how to help me with it. And that’s the smartest thing you can do.” Veronica smiles, soft and a little bashful.
“EQ,” she murmurs. JD smiles back.
“And you do read poetry and old books,” he reminds her. “And you analyze them like a sport. And you threatened to defenestrate me last week, I had to look that up.” Veronica feels warm inside at his mention of her random comment. At the way he remembers.
“It was either that or disembowel,” she tells him. He shakes his head at her, still smiling.
“And you were wrong about another thing,” JD notes. “Not because you’re dumb, because this is touchy for you. But you’re not uncool, Nikki.”
“JD, come on,” Veronica scoffs in disbelief. “It’s fine. I’ve accepted it years ago.”
“You like things that make you happy,” JD repeats her own words back to her. “And you don’t pretend otherwise. And I seriously can’t think of anything cooler than that.”
She’s not cool, she knows that, but she’ll believe anything JD can reassure her of. Once again, that can’t in any way be entirely normal, but she’s not complaining.
“Sorry for being an annoying feminist,” Veronica starts, and JD shakes his head as if to say she has nothing to apologize about, “but I think… I think it’s easier to feel dumb when you’re a girl. Especially if you like girly things.”
JD doesn’t answer immediately, and Veronica doesn’t blame him; she just watches him expectantly, waiting. She shakes out her hands again to focus her thoughts on him and not on the strange, relived buzz in her mind. Like her adrenaline is wearing off.
“That must suck,” JD says eventually.
“No kidding,” Veronica can’t help but note, not unkindly.
JD waits a beat and puts a hand on her shoulder, as if asking for permission. When she scoots closer to him he fully wraps her up and her head is in his chest now, his arms holding her close like she’s precious.
“I’m sorry I can be a condescending asshole,” he tells her, voice all soft as his hand runs over her hair. It must be such a mess now. She can’t find it in her to care.
“S’okay,” she slurs, because he’s warm and her brain is finally quieter and all of it is making her drowsy. “Sorry I bore you with my music.”
“You don’t,” JD says, pressing a kiss to her hairline. She feels her insides melting. “Stop apologizing,” he adds.
And Veronica knows this conversation was serious and good and smart, but she also can’t help but think how attractively respectful JD has been all throughout it, and how his chest is so warm she will happily crawl inside of it and die there. Not leave until she fully decomposes.
“And for the record,” JD starts, and Veronica shifts slightly so she can look up at him, “I’d like to see you try throwing me out a window.”
Veronica beams. “Hey, you did look it up!”
They watch Hamilton that night. She tells him they don’t have to, but he says that he wants to if she loves it so much. She kisses him. And he focuses on the TV, and he bites back any sarcastic comment about timelines or accurate history, and he holds her during It’s Quiet Uptown when her eyes get misty, and he lets her pause every few minutes to throw in “fun facts” that are just a more complicated form of info-dumping.
And by the time they go to bed, because they finished watching the musical far too late and Veronica didn’t exactly disclose to her parents that JD’s house was empty, JD’s been humming Non-Stop for an hour and has looked up Hamilton memes on TikTok. He said it was just to please Veronica, but he smiled at the stupidest ones he could find. And let’s just say she was pleased.
Unfortunately, the magic can’t last forever, and when they get to school the next morning JD has to leave her be in favor of his locker. But she knows he doesn’t want to, because she’s wearing a Slipknot shirt he’d given her last night and he loves when his clothes fit her all loose. The thought makes her happy; maybe her effect on him is a little not-normal, too.
“Yo, ‘Ronica,” is the first thing she hears the second JD leaves her side. She sighs; she doesn’t need protection, never has, but sometimes people being scared of her boyfriend is a good thing. When JD’s next to her, bothersome guys like Peter Dawson don’t walk up to her and lean on her locker at not even eight in the morning. She doesn’t think two days in a row where she has a conversation with a guy like him should be legal.
Still, she turns to him, because she’s polite. And possibly a little excited to hear what he has to say in hopes it gives her an excuse to knee him in the you-know-where, the way she’s been fantasizing about ever since she’d become a Heather and he’d started obsessively hitting on her.
“Yes, Peter?” she responds, keeping her tone formal to hopefully make him feel awkward about his yo. Which, honestly, everyone should feel awkward about.
Peter doesn’t seem to, though; instead, he smirks. Veronica has to plant her leg on the ground very firmly to not kick him in the you-know-where anyway. Guys like him are always so damn smug, no matter how many times they get turned down. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t exasperating.
“Cool shirt,” he comments, clearly sarcastic. Veronica blinks, not dignifying his words with a response; she knows something very annoying is about to happen, and it’s too early in the morning to waste her energy. “Name five Slipknot songs.”
And there it is.
Veronica knows to say it now; she hates guys like Peter. Idiots who think patronizing her is impressive. Does she like Slipknot? Not at all, actually. Is she wearing the band shirt to be performative in any way? No. She’s wearing it because JD gave it to her and it smells like him and is like three sizes too big and she will not take it off if you pay her. Can she name five songs? Yes. Definitely. Again, not because she likes the band, but because JD cares about his interests just as much as she does and Veronica’s ADHD has this very specific side-effect where if she gets a load of information chucked on her from a trying-to-not-be-excited, six feet tall puppy of a boy, she will remember all of it in full detail. Will she name five songs right now? No, absolutely no way in the world. Why?
Principle.
And so, Veronica blinks at Peter again. And again. And then she looks down at her too-big shirt, as if looking for an answer. He scoffs at her, just like she figured he would; like he’s outsmarted her. Like she’s some dumb helpless girl who needs him to save her from her own music taste.
So, with the courage of being a Heather and not owing anything to any guy in this school and having the ability to destroy anyone’s life if she does Heather Chandler enough favors, she raises her eyebrows at Peter.
“Name five women who would feel safe in a locked room with you.”
Peter stares.
“And your sister doesn’t count.”
Peter keeps staring. Then he shakes his head, once again acting like she’s stupid.
“Gee, ‘Ronica, don’t be so mad,” he defends, clearly still arrogant. Guys really never learn, huh? “I was just asking.”
“So was I,” Veronica raises her hands in surrender, her defensive tone mocking his. “Oh, and by the way, next time you try to patronize me over my boyfriend’s shirt, maybe try to not be my height; I’m less annoyed by tall people. At least they can actually look down on me. Okay?” she gives him a tight smile, channeling every bit of sarcasm in her body.
“And it’s Ve-ronica, just so you know,” she adds when Peter stays quiet. “Not that many syllables.”
Peter mumbles something about high heels (which she is absolutely not wearing today), and then he leaves. Veronica hears a deep chuckle coming from somewhere behind her and smiles; now there’s a condescending guy she actually wants to talk to.
“Damn, girl,” JD comments honestly as Veronica closes her locker. She figures he’s watched most of the interaction, and it makes her feel weirdly proud; she’s standing up for her feminist ideals, and not apologizing about it. Plus, whenever JD sees her turn a guy down he says she’s hot and a badass, which is always a nice bonus.
“Learned from the best,” she says. When JD smirks, a crooked, overconfident and endlessly attractive kind of smile, she can’t help but add “Heather Chandler.”
JD’s smirk widens. “Of course,” he says, and Veronica grins at him. She looks so smug; he’s always liked her smug.
“So, ‘Ronica,” he teases, watching with joy as Veronica rolls her eyes, “can you name five songs?”
Veronica pointedly closes her locker door. “You don’t get to be patronizing either, you know,” she reminds him defiantly.
“I’m tall,” JD responds, and Veronica shakes her head. “Plus, it’s my shirt; I think I have some kind of a right here. And I’m only asking because I know you know.”
“Fine, then,” Veronica decides. She looks up at JD, the smug grin still on her face. He knows he’s going to love what’s coming. “Can you name five women?”
“You’d be one of them,” he responds, no hesitation. Veronica doesn’t falter.
“Yes, well. That’s one,” she states. She mockingly narrows her eyes at him, like she knows she has the upper hand; which, considering the fact that she’s wearing his already oversized shirt and it’s swallowing her whole and making her look like the most precious thing he’s ever seen, she does. She usually does. “Do you even know five women?” she asks.
JD lets out a surprised sound, something between offended and shocked; sometimes he forgets how unexpectedly good at being an asshole Veronica is. It’s one of his favorite things about her. Still, he’s just as much of a proud asshole as her, so he raises his eyebrows.
“Do you want to be pinned against a wall?”
Veronica’s pale nose gets the slightest hint of pink. Bingo.
“I…” she starts, looking up at him with wide eyes. He can practically see her trying not to pin him against a wall herself, with the way her hands are closing around her math textbook. Predictably horny, as always. “I have to get to class,” she decides lamely. Then she hurries away, hands still tightly around her book. JD grins.
“Coward!” he yells after her.
He’s truly helpless for her, he thinks as he watches his genius badass of a girlfriend scamper off. And then he thinks of his word choice.
Oh God, what has he become.