Heathers (but it's written by a gay British teenager)

Chapter 5: Upcoming weapons and wire arches

Veronica breathed in the sense of buds and a sickly sweet rose scent from the the prickly green threads and scarlet petals her mother insisted on planting year round. She missed this, relaxing in the greenery of her back garden and not having to worry about the hawk-eyed bitches hitting miniature striped balls into wire arches that Veronica thought rather looked more like unfurled paper clips than sports equipment. Still, it was Heather's game of choice, and what Heather, Heather and Heather says goes. Especially the one who had claimed the colour red, as Jason called her. Veronica felt her mouth stretch into a smile, and she took a sudden interest in her shoes, not wanting Heather to notice how her face had suddenly adopted the ringleader's signature colour.
Too late.
'Drool much, Veronica?'
'What?'
Veronica lifted her head up slowly to face Heather, pulling her hair away from her eyes, and watching as Heather smashed her mallet into her ball, before straightening up and smirking in a quiet conformation of her success. 'You've taken a liking to Mr. Dean.'
'I have no idea what you are on about Heather.'
Veronica hoped she sounds confident but then again the wince at her own words wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear.
'Well,' Heather was fast approaching Veronica now, twirling the mallet inbetween her red-tipped fingers. 'You were practiced throwing your panties at him.'
I'm about to sucker-punch this bitch so hard she's not getting up off the grass unless it's on a fucking stretcher.
Veronica could feel the sudden spark rage bubbling in her. She had no idea why it's presence had been noted by her so quickly, especially after she was just fine a minute ago, but it was there, as venomous as Heather's stare.
And Heather could see it. The silent and invisible anger of a Miss Veronica Sawyer.
And Heather loved it. 'Trust Sawyer to fall for the guy who pulled a gun out in a cafeteria.'
Veronica could barely hear the awkward tinkle of the laughs of Duke and MacNamara. Honestly she's forgotten they were even here.
'God Heather they were blanks! Who the fuck can get hurt with blanks?'
'They should still throw him in jail. It was a real gun for fucks sake Sawyer.'
Veronica could feel her legs weakening with shaking, the pump of adrenaline in her arms, the tightening on her grasp on the smooth wood of her mallet.
I could just smash her head open right now.
I could.
I COULD.
I don't even know why she's pissing me off so much, I'm getting so het up over..
shit.
Heather cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes, as if questioning if attacking Veronica was worth the Argo.
Seemingly she decided at that precise moment in time, it was not.
'Oh, you actually like him? God Veronica, did you have a brain tumour for fucking breakfast?'
And maybe it was Veronica just being delusional, but she swore she heard a slight sense of bitterness to how Heather said that.