Heathers: The Chansaw Edition

Beginnings

September 1st, 1989

Dear diary,

Being at the bottom of the food chain doesn't feel any better as a senior. Oh yes, high school has changed many of us. This year has brought some nostalgic memories from what feels like forever ago. Before. When things were simple and nice and people weren't such assholes. I-

Veronica jumped as the first bell rang.

I packed up my diary with the blue pen I had been using, and placed them into my grubby green messenger bag. I stood and started up the stairs, praying that I would be able to get up them without being harassed by some jock. Just as I crested the crowded steps, I felt my text book leave my hands. A smack echoed through the stairwell.

When I bent down to pick up the book, someone stopped me. I looked up and saw Ram Sweeney sneering at me with a satisfied glint in his eyes. Ram, third year as linebacker, eighth year of smacking shit outta people's hands and being a huge dick. Despite thinking of the myriad of ways to punch him, I pushed down that anger and just rolled my eyes, trying to move away from him. He was too busy gloating to notice my departure. I'm used to this. I can handle this for one more year. At least, that's what I'd keep telling myself.

Just as I made it to my locker, I saw Them. It was the Heathers. They floated down the hallway in a way only they could. The crowd around them split as their heels clicked in unison. Despite myself, I too became entranced by the ethereal group as they came closer to me.

There were three people in the Heathers.

First, there was the cheerleader, Heather McNamara. She is Loaded (that's right, with a capital "L"). Her dad owns a well renowned jewelry shop. She rocked a plaid yellow blazer showing a two shades of yellow and black accents. This was paired with a simple, yet elegant pleated black skirt. Her golden locks, heart shaped face and large brown eyes pinned her as a stunning example of classic American beauty.

Then there was Heather Duke, who as far as I knew had no discernible personality, but her mom did pay for her implants. Her rich emerald green blazer with silver buttons stood out the most about her apparel. Her strong brown hair with red undertones were highlighted by the green of her jacket. To match her severe case of RBF, her dark eyes held a dangerous glint to them that said, "fuck with me and regret it."

And last but not least, there was Her. Heather Chandler. She rose above the rest. She wore her legendary blood-like blazer which stood contrasted by her grey plaid skirt. With this outfit, she made her presence known to the entire student population. Her shining blonde hair came down as lightly curled waves and her goddess-like face was paired with a set of ocean blue eyes. Despite her angelic features, her countenance held a certain malice to it that gave anyone an explanation of how she had come up to be at the top of the food chain at Westerburg. In short, Heather Chandler was...a mythic bitch.

I caught myself gawking at the Heathers. When the trio had made it far enough down the hallway, everyone unfroze and the whispers about their new outfits began. Shaken out of a trance of my own, I closed my locker and continued to class. Everything seemed to be normal until lunch time came around.

In the lunch line, I found my best friend since, well, diapers. Martha Dunnstock. She was dressed in one of her favorite purple sweaters with a unicorn on the front. As far as I know, she's the only one who could pull it off so well. When Martha turned around, her round face held a bright smile.

"Hey Veronica!" She exclaimed.

"Oh, hey Martha." I replied. Still annoyed from my earlier encounter with Ram.

"Are we still on for movie night?" She asked, a concerned look crossing her features.

I backpedaled, she didn't need to worry about me. "Of course! You're in charge of popcorn. What movie did you rent?"