Veronica's POV:

September 1, 1989

I pause, my pencil hovering over the blank page of my worn diary, unsure of what I should write. Typically it all comes pretty easily to me. My thoughts can flow from my mind, through my pencil, and onto the pages, putting my private mind on display, letting me read exactly what goes through my head to trying to make some sense of all of the shit. But today, the first day of my senior year of high school, there seems to be a block there. I release a heavy sigh and glance up, looking from my seat on the bottom step of a crowded staircase into the bustling hallway. Kids push past one another, freshmen rushing to class, trying to duck between the towering seniors who seem to find it better to loiter in the halls than to actually get to class. But who am I to talk? I'm the one sitting on the staircase staring at people. Chatter fills the halls, blurring into a deafening sound, with only a few distinguishable words able to be heard. "Freak!" Is yelled from somewhere behind me.

"Slut!" Comes from far off to my left.

"Burn-out!"

"Bug-eyes!"

"Poser!"

"Lardass!"

All of these ring through the halls and find their way to my ears. I've had my fair share of name calling, we all have here. It's just a part of being a high schooler. An invisible, nerdy high schooler in my case. I tuck my knees closer to my chest in an effort to take up even less room on the stairs, also to avoid getting run into. A scrawny boy I've seen in a few of my classes today trips down the stairs, landing a few feet away from me, followed closely by a mob of football players, jostling each other, their laughter at the boy echoing around the packed hall. I shake my head slightly at the casual act, disgusted by group of jocks, and look back down at my blank page, which seems to stare back at me. After a moment's hesitation, I pick my pencil up again and scribble down a few words.

Dear Diary, I believe I'm a good person. I think that there's good in everyone.

I scoff at my own childish statements, and run my fingers through my hair, trying to keep it from falling in my face. With a sigh, I rest my head in my hands, fiddling with the end of my multicolored scarf, looking past my diary at a perfectly ordinary patch of flooring. Am I good person? Is anyone in high school really a good person? We used to be. With nostalgia warming my body, I remember being around all of the same kids that walk the halls of Westerburg High today, but back when we were all pure and innocent. Spurred on by my sudden pull down memory lane, I write out another sentence.

I look around at these kids that I've known practically all my life and ask myself: What happened?

"Wouldn't we all like to know?" I mumble to myself, closing my diary and slipping it into my bag with the rest of my school supplies. I stand up from my small spot to try and make my way through the throng Of students crowding around the cafeteria doors. Everyone is being shoved every which way. It's all a domino effect; one person is pushed into another, who then gets backed into someone else, until we're all shifting in one big fluid pack of teenagers. I pull my oversized sweater tighter around myself, and keep my head down, letting my hair fall into my face, trying not to draw any unwanted attention to myself. What happened to the days of elementary school? The days of nap time, eating paste, baking cookies, and getting chased for fun, not out of malice, or when we would laugh, but not on someone else's expense? But ultimately, we grew up, we realized that the world can't be made out of sunshine and smiles. So we all turned, most of us for the worse, pushing around the people that used to be our closest friends. Why? I can't say, because I don't understand it myself. I don't understand why we instinctively have to separate into a social hierarchy, some rising to the top, while the rest of us flounder at the bottom, trying desperately to just stay alive.

Lost in my thoughts, I ran right into someone, earning myself a sharp reply of disgust. Embarrassment takes over my body, making my cheeks flush. "Oh, sorry…" I manage, as I duck away from him. More all too familiar phrases are shouted across the halls, filling the minds of anyone who hears them with paranoia that it's directed at them; I'm no exception. Every word I hear will pile up in my mind and rattle around, convincing me that whatever they're saying is true. Why wouldn't it be? Of course it's true, otherwise they wouldn't be saying it, right? I look down to the floor, trying to tune out my own mind. Loser, Short-Bus, Stuck-Up, Hunchback, White Trash, Homo, Cripple. If you can think it, and it's vile, it's more than likely being said and heard here. It feels as though Westerburg isn't like the other high schools with our social cliques. Instead of existing in a somewhat symbiotic relationship, it feels as though when you walk through those doors, you've been admitted to the Thunderdome, a place where everyone is poised to fight at any moment and willing to step on you to get where they want. But, this is the last year of being confined to high school with the assholes I've known all my life.

As long as I can make it to June I'll be alright, because then maybe I'll be off to Harvard, Duke, Brown, or maybe Stanford. I sigh wistfully, letting my mind wander to what life will be like in college, an elusive paradise at this point, leaving all of this high school shit behind. I won't have to dodge mobs in the hallways, and worry about making it to my next class without getting shoved or insulted. No, instead, I'll spending my time the way I want to, studying in smoky French cafés, surrounded by people who are all like me. Dreaming of a wonderful future is all I can do to fight the dark fantasies of seeing this hellhole burn to the ground, along with all of the misery high schoolers have that have been selling up inside these walls. Drawing myself away from those thoughts, I once again look around at all of kids walking the same mindless pattern we have for the past three years to the cafeteria, and wonder if things could ever go back to the way they were when we young. I want to believe that they could, I know that life can be beautiful again. I often find myself hoping and praying that one day I'll wake up and come to school, and it will all be peaceful. Jocks will sit and laugh with, rather than at, all of the nerds, and we can all exist in harmony.

We've all gone through so many changes to get where we are now, so what's to say that we can't change again, but this time for the better? Instead of clawing at each other until we bleed, we can heal what's happened and be at peace. I'm barely able to stifle my laughter at my own thoughts, that are starting to sound more and more like something you would find on an inspirational sign at Hallmarks. I'm so consumed in my own pathetic wishes, that I once again, walk right into the person in front of me.

"Ow!" He exclaims sharply, turning to glare at me. Well, it seems my impossible wish at peace won't be coming true today.

"Are you okay?" I stammer, trying to show that I was at least sorry for running into him.

"Get away, nerd!" He practically spits, turning away from me.

"Oh, Okay…" I mumble distastefully to myself. Considering I'm always hoping for the prospect of peace, it doesn't really make sense that I wouldn't mind it if at least half of our school disappeared. It would at least get me up from the bottom into where the attention I get isn't just biting remarks, but maybe praise, or even envy. A larger part of me than I care to admit is hooked on that idea. "Alas," I mutter, "You're destined to be a nobody for the rest of your time here." And now I'm talking to myself. I let out a short laugh at this. It's no wonder why I'm taunted. But, only one hundred and seventy nine more days until I blow this town. With this thought running through my head to give me hope, I work my way through the crowd to the lunch line and grab a tray, as if I'll actually be eating the food. For the past three years, I practically never eat lunch, and I don't expect this year to be any different. With all of the gorgeous popular girls floating through the school, it's one of the things I can do if I have any hope of looking like them.

I'm jarred from these thoughts as a hand comes down on my tray, smacking it out of my hands forcefully to the ground. An obnoxious drawl comes from the mass of muscle in front of me known as Ram Sweeney towering over me. "Oops…." I can feel myself shrinking away, knowing that it's all I can do to keep myself away from further pestering, but somewhere, some stupidly bold corner of my mind opens my mouth to speak.

"It's incredible how you've only been linebacker for three years, yet this is your eighth of year of smacking lunch trays, and being a huge dick." As soon as these words are said, I instantly feel regret wash over me. Ram balls his fists and steps closer to me, causing me to try and back into the person next to me.

"What did you say to me, skank?" He growls. I wince at the insult, even though it's nothing I haven't heard before.

"N-Nothing!" Im able to stutter, trying to keep him from retaliating. It seems as though I'm not worth his time seeing as he leaves without another word. Either that, or he's used up his allotted vocabulary for the day, and needs time for his brain to catch up. I can't help but smile a little at my insulting thought, considering it serves him right, but then I catch myself and sigh. I preach, at least in my mind, and to my diary, about peace and acceptance, and all of that other crap, yet I'm just as guilty as the next person when it comes to seeking personal gain. But is it so bad to still want things to be easy like they were in the past? Even if you don't necessarily deserve it? Once again, I'm lost in my thoughts, and only pulled back to reality by a tapping on my shoulder.

Startled, and afraid that it may be Ram or someone else trying to ruin my life, I let out a small yell, only to realize it was my best friend since diapers, practically, Martha Dunnstock. I sigh and relax, knowing that it was just a friend who was trying to get my attention. "Hey, Martha." I greet her as I smile, picking up my lunch tray from the floor.

"Hey…" She responds, trying to help me with my stuff. I'm incredibly grateful for Martha, she's been by side ever since we were kids, and I couldn't imagine trying to get through high school without her. She's sweet, probably the only innocent person left in this school, but because of that, she gets picked on left and right. "We still on for movie night?" She asks, hope apparent in her voice, once I've gotten my bearings again. I smile more, movie night is one of our best traditions; just the two of us holed up at one of our houses watching movies. Sure it doesn't sound all that special, but it's an escape from our shitty reality for a while. And anytime that makes this town disappear is time that I cherish.

"Yeah!" I respond brightly, shifting my supplies and lunch tray so I can nudge her playfully. "You're on Jiffy Pop detail." She cracks a smile and nods.

"I rented the Princess Bride!" I chuckle a little. I love Martha, seeing as she's my best friend, but she hasn't quite caught up to most of us in high school. She still believes that we're all the same as we were in kindergarten, and there's nothing wrong with that, hell, I wish that we were all the way we were in kindergarten, but it tends to get her targeted specifically.

"Again? Wait, don't you have that memorized by now?" I ask her, trying to keep my tone light, I don't want her to start thinking I'm going to hate it if we watch it. She sighs, slumping into herself, clearly dejected.

"What can i say?" She says to me, the misery clear in her voice. "I'm just a sucker for a happy ending…." The sad hope that drips from her words makes my heart clench for her. It's not a bad thing to want a happy ending, and it's not her fault that there really aren't happy endings in the world. Her positivity and endearing innocence has helped me make it this far in high school, and I just don't want to see that crushed out of her, it's what makes Martha, Martha. Before I'm able to respond to her, a voice jeers from a little ways away in the lunch line,

"Martha Dumptruck! Wide load!" Followed by the quarterback, Kurt Kelly running up and slamming her lunch tray from her hands. My blood boils, why must everyone try to pick on Martha, she's done literally nothing to anyone. But that doesn't seem to stop them. Kurt stands in front of us, laughing his ass off. He may be the smartest guy on the football team, which gets him a lot of attention here, but to me, that's the equivalent of being the tallest dwarf. Something inside me draws me out of myself and closer to Kurt and another, incredibly stupid, part of me causes me to yet again open my mouth to confront him.

"Hey! Pick that up, right now!" I snap, crossing my arms. What the hell am I doing? I'm practically begging to be beat up. Kurt turns to me, having to look down, seeing as I'm one of the shortest kids in our grade.

"I'm sorry, are you actually talking to me?" He drawls, leaning closer, trying to intimidate me. I'd like to say that it isn't working, but the fact that my hands are shaking would betray that statement. Ram comes up behind him, his stupid glare matching that of his friends.

"My buddy Kurt here just asked you a question." He says, stating the obvious. I gulp and accept the fact that I'm going to keep talking and die, but at least it'll be after I try to put this jerk in his place.

"Yes, I am. I want to know what gives you the right to pick on my friend." I have no idea where all this confidence is coming from, but I can feel myself starting to lose it, so I muster out a few more statements. "You're a high school has-been waiting to happen, a future gas station attendant!" Oh, I wish I could learn to keep my mouth shut. I close my eyes tightly, waiting for a scathing remark or a shove to send me into the people around me. Instead, Kurt points to a spot on my forehead and says in the most mundane voice,

"You have a zit right there." Which of course sends everyone around us into fits of laughter. I duck my head down, and grab Martha, who has by now picked up her lunch tray and gotten situated again, and drag her out of the line, away from the laughing gaggle Of students, crowding around Kurt and Ram as if they're a bunch of heroes as opposed to assholes, to our place at a table in the corner, away from everyone else. I weave through the crowd, trying hard not to have either of us bump into anyone. Kids are sitting and standing practically everywhere, the aimless chattering becoming a roar in the confined space of the cafeteria. It sends an odd feeling through your body, knowing that each one of us is struggling and living such a complex life, yet by just passing by, you barely get a glimpse of it. But, through all of the jokes and the conversations, desperation is thick in the air, desperation for hope, a reason to live, to turn back time. Each and every one of us is desperate for something, and yet no one ever does anything about it. When we finally reach our table, after what felt like a harrowing trek through the wilderness known as a high school cafeteria, Martha sits down across from me.

"Thanks, Ronnie, for standing up for me back there…." She hugs herself a bit and looks down, her face a mix of sadness and shame. "I wish I could stand up to people the way you do, I'm sorry…" I rest by arms on the table and look at her. "Hey, it's okay, Martha. You're my best friend, and they shouldn't be picking on you… Besides, it's not your fault I can't shut up." She looks up at me a bit and musters a small smile. She's about to say something else, but the previously closed cafeteria doors are thrown open. Everyone knows who's about to walk through these doors, which at this moment seem like gates to heaven, so we collectively turn to look, and the chatter dies from a roar to a whisper around the room. Completely abandoning my conversation with Martha, I turn to face the doors, leaning out of my seat with intense desperation to just see them.

The Heathers.

As if carried by some ethereal breeze, the three float into the cafeteria, gliding easily through the crowd as they separate to create a path. First inside is Heather McNamara. Her eyes flit around around nervously, taking in all of the people watching. I can see the effort it takes to draw herself up and walk with her head held high; her hands ball into the yellow fabric of her jacket as she does so. She's the head cheerleader, and on top of that, her dad is loaded from selling engagement rings. A status like that is what keeps her in the Heathers, I'd imagine. Her curly brown hair bounces along as she walks in almost perfect ringlets, and while she may not be considered as "hot" as the other Heathers, she's still very beautiful, and I still want to be her.

Following close behind, is Heather Duke. I, and most of the other people in the cafeteria subconsciously shrink away as her cold glare sweeps the cafeteria. Duke runs the yearbook, and doesn't have any discernible personality, except for the fact that she's the cruelest of all of the Heathers, and I did hear around the school that her mom paid for implants. Though I'm not one to listen to gossip, but if it has to do with the Heathers, everyone will find out eventually. With a quick flick of her hand, Duke flips her long black hair behind her shoulder, and walks up next to McNamara, who also seems to shrink away from the girl clad in dark green.

Finally, after a moment of the entire room holding its breath, Heather Chandler walks in, drawing out a sigh everyone has been holding in. I sit up more, desperate to see her, the almighty, a pinnacle of beauty, her gorgeous red hair falling to her waist, unlike my short ginger hair that just goes past my shoulders, and the tight red blazer that hugs her figure. A hot mix of jealousy and desire burns in my stomach as I see her. She's the one that everyone wants to be, and I'm no exception to that. She is a mythic bitch. As they walk away, joining the other popular kids in the lunch line, the cafeteria starts to breathe again and the conversations resume. I rest my head in my hand and stare past Martha, into some alternate dimension where I'm no longer a nobody, but a Heather. They're solid teflon, never bothered, never harassed, it doesn't seem quite fair does it? They get to relax at the top, letting us peasants worship them and kiss their feet, willing to do their bidding at a moment's notice so long as we can get their attention. I would give anything to be like them.

The rest of lunch continues on the way it has for the past three years, everyone settling into their normal routine, whether it's talking with your friends, harassing nerds, sitting alone, smoking in the back, it all gets done just like clockwork, the way it has been since we were freshmen. When the bell rings to head to our classes, I bid Martha goodbye and walk out, following the sea of seniors trying to get wherever they need to go. But, I get held up in the crowd, and because of that, the bell rings before I'm able to get to my classroom. Just my luck, it's the first day, and I'm already late. With a heavy sigh, I continue making my way to my room, pulling out a piece of paper and start writing myself a hall pass in the principals handwriting. Just as I'm finishing, I hear voices coming from a nearby bathroom. My curiosity getting the best of me, I shove my forged hall pass into my pocket and walk closer, barely poking my head into the doorway. The scene that's unfolding in front of me is definitely one that I would never think would happen. The Heathers are standing in front of an obviously upset Ms. Fleming, who seems to be chewing them out about skipping class.

"Heather wasn't feeling well…" Chandler says smoothly, flashing a sweet smile towards the teacher. "We're helping her…" Never in my wildest dreams would I ever imagine actually being this close to the Heathers aside from class. Yes, you may call me ridiculous, but at our school, the Heathers are practically royalty, and nobody gets to just hang around them, and definitely not without their permission. I hear Ms. Fleming barely contain her obvious satisfaction at getting these three in trouble.

"Not without a hall pass, you're not." As if someone flipped a switch in my brain, I spring out of my stupor from seeing the Heathers and into action, furiously scribbling a hall pass onto any sheet of paper I have. If I get the Heathers out of trouble, then they'll have to take at least a little bit of notice in me. Besides, this may be my only chance of ever getting to talk to them. "Week's detention." Ms. Fleming says with a sense of finality. Before any logic can catch up with my mind, or before my stomach can twist into any more knots, I take a deep, step into the bathroom, and clear my throat, gaining the attention of all three standing there. I can still back out at this moment, play everything off, and just go to class. Or, I can help out the most popular girls in school, the ones that I have envied and longed to be for years.

"Actually, Ms. Fleming, all four of us are out on a hall pass…." I'm shocked as to how confident and steady I sound, despite my heart thumping loudly in my ears. I show her my forged piece of paper. "Yearbook committee." She analyzes the note quickly, and through gritted teeth responds, barely casting a glance at the Heathers.

"I see you're all listed…. Hurry up and get where you're going." And with that, she turns and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with the three most powerful girls in school, all of which are staring me down, making me shrink into myself and suddenly find the floor the most fascinating thing in the world. Why did I think this was a good idea? As if they'd actually take in interest in me. But the idea was just too tempting to let go and my will to work my way up from the bottom of the food chain spurred me along in my ridiculous endeavor. My heart practically stops as Heather Chandler, the queen of Westerburg High School starts talking. To me. In fact, she walks over to me and plucks the note I wrote out from my hands.

"This is an excellent forgery." She says after looking over the note and tucking it into her jacket. "Who are you?" Heather Chandler wants to know who I am? A lowlife on the school's social map? Quickly looking up into her piercing amber eyes, I stutter out my name.

"Uh, Veronica. Sawyer." I stick out my hand before realizing how stupid that is, and drop it to my side. I can feel my entire body overheating as embarrassment sets in. This is my one chance. I already have my foot in the door, the door to heaven, and there's no way I'm letting it close now, not after years of being tormented. "I crave a boon." I say, sounding stupid even to myself.

"What boon?" The exasperation drips from her voice. I'm already losing her attention, it's now or never. The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I get a chance to think them over.

"Um, let me sit at your table? At lunch. Just once. No talking necessary. If people think you tolerate me, they'll leave me alone…." I trail off, realizing how pathetic my plea sounds. Chandler glances at the others and begins laughing, Duke quickly follows suit, sending me an amused glare as if I'm some dog that's been trying to chase its own tail all day and it's finally getting annoying, and McNamara seems to only be half-heartedly giggling along. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see her sending me an apologetic look. My face burns with shame. Of course they're laughing at me. I'm a tiny bird that just asked to fly with eagles. Hell, I'd be laughing at myself too if I wasn't about to die of embarrassment. But, once again, my tongue gets the better of me, as more words begin to spill out before I can at least try to filter them. "Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes." This gets their attention again, and cuts off the laughter. A feeling of immense pride washes over my body, seeing as I just got them to listen to me again. Never in all of my years would I think I'd possibly be striking a deal with the Heathers.

"What about prescriptions?" McNamara pipes up. I'm about to respond when I'm cut off by Duke snapping at her.

"Shut up, Heather." And with that, the small form of McNamara shrinks behind her and stays silent. Before I can think anymore about that, Duke strides up to me and takes my chin in her hand, forcing me to look up at her. Ice blue eyes roam across my face, and I can feel her analyzing all of my features. I just only hope she can't hear my heart practically beating out of my chest, or feel my body shaking. It was one thing getting the Heathers out of trouble, another asking them if I could sit with them, but now Heather Duke is actually touching my face and judging it. Call me strange, but this day was slowly getting better and better. "For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure." She says matter of factly, letting go of my chin and stepping to the side. I can hardly believe my luck today, considering Heather Duke just gave me what was almost a compliment, I think. McNamara shuffles over to me too, and also studies my face, hazel eyes meeting mine for a second as she gives me a small smile.

"And a symmetrical face." She states, tracing down my face with her hand. "If I took a meat cleaver down the center of your skull, I'd have matching halves, that's very important." I feel as though I'm on the top of the world right now. Even if I think that I'm complete shit, and I do, the Heathers have managed to find a little bit right about me, and that's more than I could ever do myself.

"Of course, you could stand to lose a few pounds." Duke chimes in again. I look down at myself, the feeling of euphoria starting to drain. As if that's something I didn't know, and absolutely hated. My spirits lift again, though, as Chandler, who hasn't said anything yet, walks over to me, a small smirk growing across her face. She too looks me over, and I try not to fidget under her gaze, seeing as I've wanted to be her for as long as we've been in school together.

"You know, this could be beautiful…" She muses slightly, walking around me. "With a bit of mascara and maybe some lip gloss…" I glance to the others and see them smiling slightly too. This can't actually be happening, can it? Am I finally getting my chance to be at the top? Chandler stops in front of me, drawing Duke and McNamara with her. "Get this girl some blush, try to cover up a few of those freckles, and Heather, I'll need your brush… Let's make this beautiful." She finishes with a small shrug. "Okay?"

"Okay!" I respond almost immediately, happiness spreading through my body, giving me a sense of warm satisfaction. My risk has paid off, and after years of hoping and praying, I'm finally becoming a Heather.

Before I can even realize what's happening, all thoughts of getting to class abandoned due to my new attention from the Heathers, I'm standing in front of the mirror, as McNamara brushes out my hair and pins some of it away from my face, and Duke takes out an assortment of makeup, most of which I can hardly recognize, and starts applying to various areas of my face. Chandler stands back, arms crossed, supervising them as they alter my appearance. Through the process, I catch glimpses of myself in the mirror. I don't look too different from the way I was before, it just all seems more refined. My hair is combed out and smoothed down around my shoulders, and as for my face, my obnoxious freckles have been hidden for the most part, though I have so many it would take much more to truly cover them up, but aside from that, I look almost the same, it's just the green in my eyes seems to pop more, and any blemishes are now smooth. I can't help but smile, seeing myself in this new light. I've always been cast to the side, dismissed, and thought of as ugly, Hell, I hated myself for that very reason, but this girl staring back at me from the mirror is everything I've ever wanted to be.

My daydream has finally become a reality. I didn't notice that Chandler had walked out of the bathroom in the midst of all of this, but now she's striding back in, holding a folded up blue outfit. With a small smile I never would have imagined being directed at me she says, "Try this on. McNamara wore it once before we realized yellow was her color… Though it should suit you…" She places the outfit in my arms, and I can feel the disbelief I've been feeling throughout all of this register on my face as I stare down at the outfit in my arms, and glance up at McNamara for permission to be wearing something she once did. I'm returned with a small nod and a warm smile.

"Go ahead." She tells me sweetly, gesturing to one of the bathroom stalls. My body responds despite the stupor my mind is currently in as my feet carry me to the stall. I quickly take off the scarf, oversized sweater, and unflattering dress I was previously wearing and don my new clothes: a crisp white button-up shirt, a dark blue blazer that hugs the bit of a figure I didn't even know I had, and a light gray skirt that comes down above the middle of my thighs, definitely shorter than anything else I've worn, but it makes me feel good, like one of them. I pull my shoes back on over the knee high dark blue socks and walk out of the stall, collecting my old clothes in my arms. As I look in the mirror, I stop abruptly, just barely recognizing my own reflection. I'm speechless as I stare at this new girl that seems to be standing in the exact spot I am.

"Well, would you look at that…" Heather Chandler's voice pierces my trance, making me smile slightly and nod along. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a large brooch, a beautiful blue jewel gleaming in the center. Chandler leans down, her face inches from mine. She attaches the brooch just under the collar of my shirt. "This is a privilage, don't forget. Make one wrong move, and you lose everything…." She whispers before pulling away and putting a sweet smile back on. "Good work, ladies!" I turn towards the mirror once more, taking in the complete new Veronica. For the first time in my life, thanks to the most popular girls in school who seem to have adopted me for now, pulled me from rock bottom and onto the throne where they've always resided, I feel beautiful.