Dear Diary,

I don't believe I've written in this thing since high school. To think I've kept this piece of junk all of these years. Probably my fear of someone finding it by mistake. After all these years, I'm back at Westerburg High. I know. I know. I'm so stupid by coming back, but with all this stuff with Mom's cancer, I knew I needed to be with her. It's been eighteen years since The Heathers ruled the school with an iron fist and Jason Dean plotted to destroy the entire student body. Though, I can't exactly pin all the blame on him, I did play his accomplice until the end.

Eighteen years and here I am, registering my own child to endure the hell I suffered here. Mentally, I don't think I ever left. There are times I still see Heather Chandler standing next me, mocking every move I make. I see Kurt and Ram, making perverted remarks about my daughter. Out of all the ones I feel responsible for, J.D. is the only one I don't see constantly. I don't have to. His essence is virtually everywhere. His memory is always haunting me, always pushing me to make decisions purposely to piss him off, even though he isn't there to get upset. What I majored in when I was in college, who I dated, even what I named my kid, which I think is the best kicker of all.

Look, I promise I'm a good person. I'm not the same Veronica Sawyer who was totally memorized by her boyfriend and let him talk her into the murders of three people. While I might still be suffering the PTSD from my senior year's events, I'm now a happily engaged single mother who stopped forging suicide notes (or anything for that matter) the day my high school sweetheart strapped a bomb to himself. I learned German. "Ich luge," by the way, means "I lie."

Asshole.

"Mom?"

Veronica quickly shut the diary and looked at her daughter, who was sitting beside her in the front office. "Yes, Heather?"

Yes, Veronica Sawyer had named her only child after the girls who molded her forever. Maybe it was that she felt guilty about accidentally killing Heather Chandler, or the psychological damage it had given Heather McNamara, or even the power high she gave Heather Duke, one which she never got over (she wrote a whole series of feminist novels against men, she is now universally hated). Perhaps she named her Heather out of spite, knowing it would anger J.D. if he was still alive.

"What are you doing?" Heather asked, pointing at the diary.

Her mother smiled and promptly stuck it in her purse. "Just jotting down some thoughts. So, you start senior year tomorrow. You excited?"

Heather shrugged. "As excited as I can be for spending my last year transferring from one teenage wasteland to another."

With that remark she returned to fixing her makeup. Veronica knew her daughter was absolutely beautiful, as many had been open on informing them both. She had crystal blue eyes, which where undeniably Veronica's though hers reflected complete innocence, unlike her mother's damaged and broken inside reflecting through. She had thick brown hair, which could have come from either of her parents, but a very slim physique. If she had a few more inches on her, she would look like one hell of a model. Everyone had loved to tell Veronica how much Heather had taken after her mother in looks, but Veronica could only part way see the resemblance. She was incredibly smart, like both her parents, but didn't seem set on an ivy-league university like she had been at that age. She did share her mother's love for reading classic literature, but Veronica had been pretty strict on what she would be able to read. Moby Dick was absolutely outlawed.

"Heather Sawyer?" Standing at the office counter, was a very youthful-looking woman about Veronica's age. She was extremely cheerful, and had a familiar demeanor.

Veronica and Heather both stood up. The woman smiled and tossed her curled blonde hair over her shoulder. "Veronica?"

She was wearing a very expensive looking outfit, with a yellow bracelet on her wrist with the initials: "HMW" engraves in silver.

"Heather?!" Veronica exclaimed. "Heather McNamara?!"

The woman smiled and ran around the counter to hug her former friend. "It's so good to see you! Yep, it's me, though I'm Heather West now. Oh my gosh you look beautiful!"

Veronica couldn't help but blush. "Thanks, Heather. So you work here now?"

"Well, not really. I volunteer. I'm a homemaker, but with my kids starting this school this year, I have some extra time to waste! So, is this your daughter?!"

Veronica hugged her daughter from behind. "Yep, this is my Heather. She'll be a senior at Westerburg now."

"How very! Heather's your name? Having a Heather at Westerburg who doesn't wear shoulderpads. That's going to be a first. Who's her father?"

Heather Sawyer looked at her mother. "That's a good question."

Veronica shifted uncomfortably. "No one. He's long gone now. It's just Heather and I, and soon my fiance, Phil." She flashed her engagement ring for Heather West to gawk at. "He was a reporter doing a piece on my firm back in Lima. Shortly after we fell in love. He got a job down here in Sherwood and will be moving down in a few weeks." It felt good to gloat about her happy post-high school life. She was a lawyer. She was marrying a sane, incredibly kind man. Phil was so wonderful, and acted like a great father-figure for Heather. She had definitely moved past the memories of Westerburg High, or so it seemed.

The Sawyers spent the remainder of the day taking a tour of the school before returning home. They had already spent the last week unpacking, to where most of the house seemed perfectly unpacked. While Heather went upstairs to her room to pick out her outfit, Veronica took time to call Phil, who gave her a solid reminder to send her back into the present.

"So what are you doing for Heather's birthday tomorrow?"

"Oh shit. That's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Veronica..."

She rubbed her face. "Sorry, with the move I've barely been thinking. That must be why she's so upset. Starting her senior year on her birthday in a new town and a new school. I'm a horrible mother."

"You're not. You're just sidetracked. Besides, you bought her gifts a month ago. I'm just sad I have to work and can't be there."

She smiled at her fiance's voice. "Heather's seventeen tomorrow. Where did the time go?"

Meanwhile, Heather was in the biggest struggle of her life. Blue, yellow, green, or red? The birthday/first day of senior year outfit needed to be perfect.

Before she could decide, the doorbell rang.

"Heather could you get that?!" Veronica called.

Heather sighed and raced down to the door. Upon opening it, she was quick to ask "How may I help you?" only to realize no one was there. In the place of a person, there was a wrapped gift on the doormat. It was cheap, black wrapping paper, with a shiny blue bow. She raised a brow. A gift? The night before my birthday? Leaving it at the door like a creeper?

The curiosity led Heather to tear into the paper. Inside was a copy of Moby Dick, with a sticky note stuck to it. In very neat, but straight stereotypically male handwriting, read,

"Thought you'd enjoy this."

She stared at it. It was an older book, probably purchased at a secondhand store. She suddenly wondered who would give this to her? Or how they would know where she lived? Maybe it was her grandparents, or even her mother. Possibly even Phil. Yet all of them knew of her mom's weird thing about Moby Dick. Maybe her mom gave it to her as a blessing.

She took another look at the paper and bow.

Black and blue...