4. Dreadful Etiquette

Vance walked through the front door of his house, his parents had picked him up after Heathcliff abandoned him at Remington. He knew he should have been grateful that they had driven all that way, but the journey home made it very difficult for him to be:

"Well, no wonder Heathcliff didn't give you a lift home; you threw up all over him." His mother said.

"Mom," Vance whined, rubbing his temple. He was beginning to sober up, but was left with an awful headache. "I couldn't help it, alright? I didn't even wanna go to that stupid party, he forced me."

"Nonsense, you could've said no, dear."

"Yeah," his dad added while driving. "Heathcliff's a good kid, he wouldn't force you to do anything."

"Unbelievable," Vance thought angrily. "I know that most parents' are nicer to other kids than their own, but this is ridiculous."

He dashed up to his bedroom, changing out of his alcohol-infused clothes and into another outfit. Instinctively, he rushed to his desk and pulled out his journal. Vance had so much to say, but no one to say it to.

I want to kill, you have to believe me. I've never felt like this before, but the urge is too strong now, and I don't know if I can hide it. I almost burned Remington University to the ground tonight, and I only have one regret...

...that I didn't actually do it.

Heathcliff told me that if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be on the pedestal he's put me on. But I don't wanna be on that fucking pedestal. I'd give anything to just live my life in freedom and in peace, without some cruel ventriloquist controlling my every move. Benny Finn was a true friend and I sold him out, and for what? To become another Heather.

If there's one thing the world could do without, it's more Heathers.

Tomorrow, I'll be apologising to him profusely, begging for forgiveness. But please, just for tonight, let me dream of a world without Heathcliff Chandler. A world where I am free.

Vance finished scribbling and furiously, he threw the journal in the direction of his bedroom window. As it dropped to the floor, a face emerged through the window, making him jump out of his skin.

It was Jennifer Dean.

"Dreadful etiquette, I apologise."

Vance's jaw dropped open, so many questions were filling his mind: How did she know his address? How did she know which window was his bedroom? How long had she been planning to do this? Where did she get a ladder from? Why was she stalking him?

And yet, he was overjoyed to see her. Jennifer seemed like the only person who understood him and his hate for the Heathers. Her presence was almost comforting to him.

"That's okay."

Jennifer smiled at him. "I noticed you have a croquet set in your garden. Wanna play?"

Vance nodded, smiling back.

The pair of them went into their back garden, setting up the game. There was something oddly invigorating, Jennifer coming to his house late at night, everyone asleep, unaware of them being together. This was precisely the freedom he had been wishing for.

"Mind if I be blue? It's my favourite colour, other than black. You don't have black, though." Jennifer asked innocently.

Vance hesitated. Blue, after all, was his colour. However, he was ready to change.

"Go for it," he replied.

"So, which colour do you want to be?" She asked. "Red, yellow or green?"

Vance pondered it over, before deciding. He wished he could've seen the look on Heathcliff's face. "...I'll be red."

They played a few rounds, taking it seriously at first. Then, they started to mess around, not caring who was scoring the most points. Jennifer and Vance laughed at the top of their voices, without a care or worry in the world. She had completely taken his mind away from the horror of the college party, and this was the most fun he ever had playing croquet.

The more time he spent with Jennifer, the more he became infatuated with her.

Jennifer felt exactly the same way about Vance.

A devilish smile appeared on his lips. "Hey, Jennifer, wanna make this interesting?"

"I thought it was."

"Oh it is, but..." he chuckled. "...I have an idea. It's pretty out-there, but if you're willing-"

"Tell me!" Jennifer interrupted eagerly.

"Well..." he smirked. "Let's say, every time you miss a shot, you remove an item of clothing...everytime I miss a shot..."

"You remove an item of clothing?" She finished. "So, basically, you wanna play strip croquet."

"You up for it?"

"Oh, I'm up for it!" She laughed, ready to take her shot. "But you've seen how bad I am at croquet."

"I know." Vance thought mischeviously.

He wasn't entirely sure how he had the nerve to suggest that, as it was not normally something he would do. He thought, perhaps, he still had enough vodka in his system to let go of his inhibitions and social cues. Vance had only known Jennifer Dean for a day, yet he felt a strange, sexual connection with her that he hadn't experienced with the other girls at Westerberg.

What started off as a game of caution, soon turned into a game of trying to get naked as quickly as possible; the pair of them deliberately missed easy shots and set themselves up for failure.

Jennifer missed yet another shot, and after having taken off her jacket, shoes and socks, she was left with her dark top and jeans.

"I guess I'm going with my shirt!" She laughed, pulling it over her head, revealing a black bra underneath.

The sight of her was more than Vance could cope with.

Without a second thought, he took his own shirt off.

"It's not your turn yet, Vance!"

"I'm sorry," he chuckled. "I guess I just couldn't wait...you're so beautiful..."

Glancing between him and the croquet set, Jennifer swiftly dropped her croquet mallet onto the grass, and ran over to Vance. They stared into each other's eyes for a second, before embracing into a passionate kiss. Jennifer wrapped her arms around his neck, and Vance had one hand on her waist, another holding the back of her head, feeling her soft dark hair brush against his fingertips. They both lost control, and the rest of their clothes.

Later that night, Vance and Jennifer laid cuddled together under a sheltered area of the garden, covered by a blanket. They had had sex in the garden, and Vance was still in disbelief that it happened, but he had no regrets.

"You're amazing, Vance." She whispered to him. "The Heathers don't deserve to be friends with you; you're nothing like them."

"I hope I'm not," he grinned. "But when the Heathers offer to be your friend, it's like getting an important job opportunity; life changes and you're not sure if it'll be worth it in the end, and you have to make a lot of sacrifices."

"Why can't you just stop hanging around with them?"

"That's just not how it works," he told her. "If you stop being friends with them, you won't just be like all the other kids and float under the radar...you'll become the lowest of the low. No one'll want to sit with you, and you'll spend the rest of your high school career being whispered about by everyone."

"I'm pretty sure that person you're describing is me," Jennifer replied. "After all, I did almost shoot up a couple of cheerleaders on my first day."

"Hey, they were just blanks, there was no way it could have killed them." Vance laughed. "And besides, it was pretty awesome."

Jennifer smiled, resting her head on Vance's chest. "I wish I could've killed Heathcliff Chandler, especially because of the way he's treated you tonight. He's one asshole that deserves to die."

"Thanks, but killing him won't solve anything."

She thought about it. "...How about we just make him really sick, then? Bring over a fake 'hangover cure' in the morning and see what happens?"

"That could work." Vance replied, pulling Jennifer closer towards him and kissing her forehead.