I Was Meant To Be Yours

Being Queen

School today was okay; and by that I mean that it was only moderately shitty.

Heather Duke kept bothering Heather McNamara and I. During lunch, she tried kissing up to me by giving me her lunch. The Heathers were never "food" people, so I didn't feel guilty when I shooed her away after consuming five of her tater-tots and a few grapes.

After I refused to let her stay and sit with us, she snapped at me. "You're only popular because of Heather Chandler and I. These idiots don't remember the ugly nerd you were at the beginning of the year because you became friends with royalty." She leaned in so close, I could smell her cherry lip balm. "Watch your back, because it would give me immense pleasure to see your sorry ass overthrown."

Duke sauntered away towards the gymnasium. I guess she went there to ogle and flirt with the jocks to get self-worth from half-wit neanderthals; as was the ways of the Heathers before I took over.

Martha scooted her wheelchair closer to the table and we all talked. McNamara and Martha seem to get along fine; which is good.

Have you forgotten me?

(My God, J.D., get over yourself!)

I haven't forgotten...

(Well yeah, you're dead, so no, I don't think you'd have short term memory loss!)

Please, Veronica, let's stop fighting. Forgive me for being damaged; I forgave you.

(Goddam you! Just let me live one normal day, that's all I ask!)

Chandler decided to chime in on our private conversation. Bitch, you killed us! You have to live with that! This is a normal day for you now, suck it u-

"Shut up, Heather!!!"

A silence swept across the table. McNamara looked down, laughed curtly, and then excused herself to the bathroom.

I released an exasperated sigh, holding my head in my hands. Why can't I get a fucking hold of myself?

Heather had been gone for ten minutes when the food fight started. Martha and I just sat lamely, picking at our food.

Martha tried to ignore the screaming voices from the cafeteria as I tried to ignore the screaming voices in my head.

Senior year, am I right?