Modern Heathers

Chapter Three: A Little Bit of Luck, A Little Bit of Lipgloss

I was about to walk out of the cafeteria doors when Kurt and his obnoxious shit-faced sidekick, Ram Sweeney, Ram by me, chucking food at each other. What kind of immature idiots have a food fight on the first day of senior year?

I rolled my eyes when a cup of water flew across the front of my shirt and jeans. I instantly froze, cringing. Shit.

I heard Ram snicker but I ignored it and instead hurried to the bathroom. Once inside I knew I'd made a mistake.

Heathers Chandler and Macnamara stood at the mirror. Chandler was reapplying some mascara while Macnamara was fixing her hair. I could hear vomiting, which I assumed was coming from Heather Duke.

I tried to ignore them, instead heading straight for the paper towels. Quickly I tried to wipe off my clothes. At least it was just water. It could've been worse.

The bell rang and I cringed again. I was late for a class on the first day of senior year. Such an epic start to what's supposed to be one of the best years of my life.

The door cracked open. "Whose in here? Didn't you hear the bell ring?"

Ms. Pauline Fleming. Kind of a weirdo. Rides motocycles to work and teaches English. Last year she took us to see a movie for "educational purposes" but it just ended up being a shitty romance that she had wanted to see that was showing during the school day.

She poked her head in and then rolled her eyes. "Heather, Heather-" Duke vomited again, "and Heather. You're late."

"Heather wasn't feeling well," Chandler said in a snobby voice. "We were helping her."

"If she wasn't feeling well she should have headed to the nurse," Ms. Fleming commented. "Do you have a hall pass?"

I quickly ripped a page out of the back of my diary and scribbled our names, my history teacher's name, and the time after checking my phone. It was really sloppy but it somewhat resembled my teacher's handwriting.

"All of us have a hall pass, Ms. Fleming!" I said quickly, passing it to her.

She nodded and passed it back. "Hurry up."

Chandler walked over to me, snatching the fake pass. "This is... an excellent forgery." She scrunched up her nose at me. "I know you, you're the girl that never goes to dances. Who are you?"

"Veronica... Sawyer..." I mumbled, staring at my feet. "Could I have a favor? Since I, uh, got you out of a detention?"

Duke stumbled out of the bathroom stall, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "You want a favor from us?" She asked.

"Shut up, Heather!" Chandler hissed at her. She turned back to me. "What kind of favor?"

"Could I, uh, sit at your lunch table? Just once? I can fake report cards, permission slips, absence notes..."

Heather gave an airy laugh and looked closer at my face. "You do have nice cheek bones... Heather! Give me that mascara, and your lip gloss."

I stepped back, nearly crashing into the wall. "What are you doing?"

"Making you beautiful. Now shut up." She quickly picked up a very large makeup bag that I soon discovered contained extra clothing.

At my look of confusion, Heather Duke quickly whispered, "always bring a back up outfit. Rule number one of being a Heather."

Chandler pulled out a purple top with blue flowers and silver trim, along with a pair of silver leggings. She looked me up and down. "These should fit you. Put them on."