Trigger Warning - Eating disorders and bullying are found in this chapter of Dead Girl Walking. Please read at your own discretion.

AN - This is my first published fanfic. I hope y'all enjoy.

Veronica Sawyer

Dear Diary,

I hate this fucking school. Everyone here sucks. Except for Martha and Betty, that is. The only comfort I find is in listening to Panic @ The Disco and imagining what college will be like. I want to get accepted into Harvard so I can blow this popsicle stand.

"Veronica?"

"Hey, Martha." I close my journal.

"You were totally in your own world. You didn't hear me say your name the first time." Martha laughs.

"I get into my writing."

"So, have you made any process on our robot?" Martha asks.

"No, I was swamped with that essay last night," I respond.

"Oh, right," She sighs.

"Douche alert." I slam my locker closed.

Crowds part as Ram and Kurt walk down the hall. The stars of the football team. I hate them both.

"Martha Dumptruck!" Ram yells as he passes.

"Real original." I roll my eyes.

"What'd you say to me?" He turns on me and Martha.

"I mean, you can't even think of a better insult than the one you've used since the sixth grade?" I cross my arms over my flannel. "Just leave my friends alone."

"Sure, goth girl." Ram laughs as he walks away.

"Thanks, Veronica." Martha sighs.

"Yeah, of course."

The bell rings.

"See you after later." Martha turns and walks away, her head down like a dog that's been kicked.

I sit down at my usual desk in English, my headphones on. After 25 minutes, I raise my hand.

"Mr. Anderson, may I use the restroom?"

"Sure, Miss Sawyer. Just take the pass with you." Mr. Anderson doesn't even look up from his work.

I grab my backpack and walk out of class, hall pass in hand. I stand in a stall for a moment, just tired of this school.

Dear Diary,

I do miss the old days when everyone was friends with everyone. We used to be kind to one another, and now kids like Ram and Kurt get to go around, harassing anyone they choose. It's not fair.

The door to the bathroom swings open and three girls enter. The Heathers.

"Heather, hand me that highlighter, I want to take some Instagram pictures at break," Heather Chandler commands.

Heather Chandler is the top of the food chain at Westerburg. I would call her the b-word, cause she is one, but that word is very misogynistic, and we aren't about that.

"Yes, Heather," Heather Duke's shrill, nervous voice echoes.

Heather Duke doesn't have a personality. I think she might be a robot. She follows Heather C's every order as if her life depends on it.

"Wait, why did you need to do that now?" Heather MacNamara, the final Heather, asks.

And then there is Heather MacNamara. I get the feeling that she isn't really all that mean. She just goes along with them. It's unfortunate what kids will do to get through high school.

"God, Heather, did you eat a brain tumor for breakfast?" Heather C. says, probably as she applies makeup to her overdone face.

"Heather, that was kind of mean," Heather Duke responds, a hint of fear behind her voice.

"Shut up, Heather!" Heather C. raises her voice.

"Sorry, Heather." Heather Duke replies, like a robot.

Heather Duke steps into one of the stalls next to me. She crouches next to the toilet bowl and starts barfing, loud. I hold back a gag.

"Heather, bulimia is so 2012." Heather C says, doing nothing to help her so-called-friend.

The door to the restroom swings open.

"Well, well, well, I see you three are cutting class. Again." Miss Flemings, the first

"Heather was feeling sick. We just wanted to help her out," Heather lies through her teeth.

"You seem to want to help her so much, standing here putting makeup on. Heather C and Heather M, I will see you two in detention. And Miss Duke?"

I quickly scribble down a note and tear it out of my diary.

"Actually, Miss Flemings, we have a note. We're with yearbook club," I say, bursting out of the stall.

"Hmm, Veronica, I didn't realize you were with these three." She says, looking at my forgery.

"Yeah, yearbook." I hope she can't see through my lie.

"Okay... Just, get to what you're supposed to be doing." Miss Fleming walks out of the bathroom, her curly hair swishing.

I stand in an awkward silence with the two Heathers. Heather Duke exits the stall, a puzzled look on her face.

"That's an impressive forgery. Can you do anything else, like maybe tech stuff?" Heather MacNamara asks.

"Um, I'm pretty good at forging signatures and I can do some 'tech stuff' but it depends on what it is. Like, nothing illegal, but I can program simple robots." I respond, feeling conscious of my black jeans and flannel.

The Heathers each dress in designer clothes, they are the richest, most popular girls in Westerburg. High school royalty.

"Interesting." Heather Chandler picks at her nail.

She walks closer to me. I feel a bit of color rise in my cheeks.

"I could help you guys with a few things, but I need something in return. I did just get you out of a detention," I say, "Can I sit with you for a few days at lunch? If people think you three like me, then maybe they won't be so cruel to me and my friends."

Chandler laughs but considers after a moment. "I suppose we could do something for you. This weekend, we can get you some new clothes." 

"Oh, um, okay." I stumble over my words.

"With a little makeup," Chandler circles around me.

"And if we do your hair differently," Duke chimes in.

"You could be beautiful," Chandler finishes.

I raise my eyebrows at them. "If I do all of this, will Kurt and Ran stop bothering me and my friends?"

"Of course. I have those boys under my thumb." Heather Chandler says.

I shrug, "Okay."

What do I have to lose? I need to get away from these boys who torment me every day. That would make this year bearable. Maybe each day won't be as miserable if the popular kids thought I was one of them, even though I will never, ever be one of them. I

The main downside is that I have to spend time with the Heathers. During the weekend. This should be fun.

As soon as school got out, I got on the bus and went home.

I can't believe I'm going to spend time with the Heathers. But maybe, pretending to be popular won't be so bad. Maybe Kurt and Ram will stop harassing Martha and Betty. I just need to make it through a few days with these girls, and then, the last year of high school might be tolerable.

Saturday afternoon.

"Veronica, Heather is here!" Mom yells up the stairs.

I run my hands over the blue dress I was wearing, grabbing a leather jacket to throw over it. I glance in the mirror. I don't look like me, with the makeup I've put on, trying to imitate the way Heather looks. I pull the ponytail out of my hair and shake my head.

"Coming!" I respond heading down the stairs.

I round the corner to see Heather Chandler speaking with my mother.

"Mrs. Sawyer, you truly do have such a cozy home, it reminds me of my parents' vacation house in Michigan." She says.

She's the worst, I think to myself. 

I clear my throat. 

"You look..." Mom starts. 

"Awesome, Veronica," Heather finishes, "I had no clue you could do all this."

"Thanks," I push my hair back. 

"Bye, Veronica!" Mom calls after me. 

"Bye, Mom," I say over my shoulder. 

I follow her to the Porsche sitting outside of my house. A fucking Porsche, the roof down, Heather Duke sitting in the passenger seat, donning a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than my entire closet. MacNamara sits in the back, wearing a yellow jumpsuit, holding her designer bag close. 

What have I gotten myself into?