Heathers Oneshots!

BABY COME BACK. [h.c. + h.m.] [WORK IN PROGRESS]

I was an island
Before you came along.

Sherwood was plain. She'd noticed that as the plane had landed in that scrappy Ohio town. Trees and tan patches of land scattered across the dot of a town. It looked nothing like Heather's old town. The McNamara's had just moved from Maryland. With the expansion of her father's seemingly promising jewelry business her mother had suggested moving to her original hometown of Sherwood. To get in touch with their 'roots' or something.

The kindergartener hadn't cared then, but at the sight of her new 'home' her freckled nose had scrunched up in disgust. Tiny fingers brushed against the cool glass of the window, as if she could swipe to a different scenery. It didn't work.

Put your boat in my sand
Your hand in my hand
Your heart in my songs.

Turned out Sherwood's elementary schools were just as lively as it's roads. The blonde's old school uniforms were swapped with the apparel of public school. Not to say she didn't put effort into her appearance, because she did. Of course the child wasn't in charge of her outfits, that was her Mother's job. Whilst the other children jogged around the school yard in faded tennis shoes and baggy t shirts, the blonde girl lingered behind in her pink skirt and polo shirt that probably costed more than Kurt Kelly's outfits for the week.

It was the jingle of jewelry that snagged her attention. The kindergartener had turned towards the noise, but halted when blue eyes met green. She stilled, peering up at the other girl before her.

The ginger frowned, observant gaze on the transfer student. It was silent for a tick. The silver bracelet at the stranger's wrist 'clinked' light as she went to raise her hand to point forward.

"Why do you wear your hair like that?" Came the high pitched question.

McNamara's hands came up automatically, fingertips brushing at the curled pigtails that touched her shoulders. Heat trickled up to her freckled cheeks. "Pigtails?" She said, confused. She'd never questioned the look before. The five year old had practically worn it like that as long as she could remember. (Which wasn't very long) "My. .my Mommy does it like that." She said, defensive leaking into her tone.

"You look silly." The stranger insisted as she stepped forward, black sandals quiet against the dark pavement. Her hand came up quickly, gently pulling at the scrunching on one side of the do. The yellow fabric rugged out effortlessly and loose ringlets brushed the smaller girl's cheek and shoulder.

"Hey—" Heather squeaked, stepping away. The girl was getting on her nerves. "You can't do that!"

The other blinked, as if unaware of her words. "Come here, let me take the other one out—"

"No!" The child snipped taking another step away.

"I'm trying to help!" The fellow student whined faintly, getting fed up. "Kurt Kelly tugs on girls' pigtails that he likes. That's why you gotta' take them out." She admitted.

Naive blue eyes widened. Her hands lowered from her hair. "He. . . He pulled on my hair in line today. I told the teacher."

The red head sighed, holding out the palm with the scrunchie. Heather reached to take it, but the hand closed. "No. Take out the other one."

"uh-uh." She insisted. "I like my pigtails. Mommy said there cute. And it's okay if Kurt pulls on my hair if he likes me. He's cute." The child wistfully decided. The stranger frowned once more.

"You can't have a crush on Kurt."

"Why?"

"Because Heather likes Kurt." The girl explained with annoyance, as if this should've been obvious. It was not.

"I know I do." The blonde huffed.

"What?"

"I'm Heather."

"What?"

"My name is Heather."

"Heather Duke likes Kurt!" The child snipped, pink painted fingernail pointing at the kickball field. Her eyes followed. Kurt Kelly stood at base, a stupid smile on his rounded face. From the stands stood a girl in green, dark eyes on the boy. Besides her stood some girl in a pink sweater with the same glimmer in her eyes, but Mac' didn't give her much mind.

"Oh." The confusion melted from her tone.

"Yeah."

Silence fell between the classmates once again. After a moment, her hand came up once more, pulling out the last scrunchie. For the first time in that conversation, the stranger smiled.

"I like you."

"Huh?"

"You have a nice skirt." She justified. "And you're kinda silly. You're my friend now." The redhead chirped, ponytail swayed.

The news of her failed crush vanished at that news and relit a flicker in her eyes. "Really? Cool!" She offered an innocent smile.

The taller girl held out her hand, silver jewelry on her wrist swaying. "I'm Heather."

"I thought—"

"Heather Chandler." She said quickly. McNamara gave her a funny look.

"There's three Heathers in class. Heather Duke, Heather Chandler, and you."

"Heather Mc-" her giggle died as she started her last name. She always stumbled over it. "Mc—McNam–" that familiar blush threatened to return. "Heather Mac."

"Heather and Heather. We're gonna be best friends."

I was a fighter
And I was so brave
But I lowered my sword
When you held me and swore
You'd stay, stay, stay oh