Hey guys, these chapters are long! I was really looking forward to writing this as it was something I really wanted to read. I may have made it a tad more angsty than normal, but oh well. Welcome to Westerburg!- 😈

Virgil Sawyer entered Westerburg High, beginning to write in his notebook.

September 1st, 1989
Dear Diary. I believe I'm a good person. You know I believe there's good in everyone. But here we are, the first day of senior year! And I look at these kid's I've known all my life and I ask myself, What happened?

The hallways of Westerburg High were filled with jeering taunts and insults, and meatheads shoving people into lockers. Pleasant. Virgil walked along, writing in his diary, accidentally bumping into someone.

"Oh, are you okay?"

"Fuck off Emo," the person scoffed, brushing him off. Virgil pulled up his hoodie in frustration.

"Oh, okay. Sorry..." his voice trailed off. What was the point? The kid was too far away and he was an asshole, just like nearly everyone else at this hellhole of a school.

"Hey, things will get better Virgil. Remember those nice letters to Harvard, Duke, and Brown? They'll come soon. And then you can blow this town." Virgil soothed himself with the oft repeated phrase. He could do this. Just survive this year. Easy enough.

Suddenly his diary was slapped out of his hands. Virgil inwardly groaned as he looked up. Remus Kelly. Linebacker, numbskull, and general nuisance.

"Oooops," the idiot said mockingly. He then wandered off looking for someone else to torment. Virgil quickly picked up his diary, relieved it hadn't been damaged.

Virgil let out a frustrated exhale. He didn't understand why they all had to be jerks and assholes. They all had the potential to be good. He knew they could be. Kindergarten was a prime example. They were kind before, they could be kind once more. They could be beautiful-

"Ah! Oh hey Emile!" The startled teen calmed when broken from his thoughts by his best friend.

"Hey!" The cheerfully childish teen smiled. Virgil didn't know how he retained his relentless optimism, especially here, of all places, but he learned not to question it. If anyone could hold on to childish spirit, it would be his best (and only) friend on this earth. "We on for movie night?"

"Yeah, you got the popcorn?" This was not a question. If Virgil knew his friend at all, which he did, he knew he already had themed snacks planned.

"We'll be watching the entire first season of Steven universe!" Virgil chuckled. Classic Emile. The pink clad boy beamed.

"Woah, don't you have it memorized by now?"

"What can I say? I'm a sucker a happy ending." Before Virgil could respond, his fourth least favorite person arrived, smacking Emile's books out of his hands, getting into his face with a cruel sneer, sunglasses permanently fixed on his face.

"Woah, guess I didn't know where I was going. I forgot we had a giant traffic cone in the hallway!" Remy taunted. Emile went bright red. Virgil did too, but not in embarrassment. He wanted to deck Remy Sweeney, the so-called smartest kid on the football team. Like that meant anything. It's just like being the tallest of the seven dwarfs. Bullshit. Emile started to go pick up his books, still red. However Virgil stopped him. He would not stand for this, hands balled into fists.

"Hey! Pick that up! Now!" Remy turned from laughing with his ever present best friend, no surprise being Remus, to face Virgil. He pulled down his sunglasses in shock.

"I'm sorry, are you actually talking to me?" Virgil started to sweat slightly. You can do this Virgil, he told himself, just remember he hurt Emile.

"Yes I am. I want to know what gives you the right to pick on my friend? You're a future high school has been waiting to happen. A future gas station attendant." There was dead silence in the hall. No one ever spoke to Remy Sweeney like that. Finally he responded.

"You have a zit right there," he said, poking the space in between Virgil's eyes, pushing him back. Virgil stumbles back into the crowd, Emile running after him. Students snicker all around.

Virgil wrote furiously in his diary. He didn't have many good words to express his rage at . But he tried.

Dear Diary, Why? Why? Why? WHY?

Virgil heard the murmurings of his fellow classmates, who thought no one heard those secret thoughts they had.

"Why do they hate me?" A kid curled in a corner whispered.

"Why don't I fight back?" A girl covered in bruises cried.

"Why do I act like such a creep?" A meat head dissed himself.

"Why won't he date me?" A quiet voice that sounded suspiciously like Emile's creeped into his ears, on the verge of tears.

"Why did I hit him?" A boy opened his locker and begged.

"Why do I cry myself to sleep?!" Several students had written and whispered and sobbed in bathrooms and corners and closets. As well as those in COMMENT SECTION. I know who you are and hey, join the club! Anyways....

"I can't survive this!" A kid smoking weed and pot mumbled.

"I can't escape this!" A person holding themselves tight said.

"I think I'm dying!" A shrill, almost broken voice sobbed in a bathroom.

"Woah! Guys, look, it's the Sanders!" A kid shouted. Virgil looked up from his sketching and writing, as the hallway parted like the Red Sea. Ah the Sanders. They float above all of it.

He first spotted Patton Sanders MacNamara, clad in yellow. The head cheerleader with a beyond loaded dad. He sold engagement rings. This kid was arguably the peppiest person on the planet, his round face with bright blue eyes glowing like the sun.

Oh and then the green one. Logan Sanders Duke. No describable personality and head of the yearbook committee, but he heard the kid got plastic surgery at some point. He was nondescript as a piece of printer paper, and the most boring kid in town.

And finally he spotted him. Roman Sanders Chandler. The almighty. He is a mythic bitch. He was everything everyone wanted to have and wanted to BE. Roman Sanders Chandler was, objectively, perfect.

Virgil shuddered as the trio strutted and sashayed passed him, the embodiment of people who were in complete control and knew it too. But that wasn't Virgil's problem.

He leaned on the wall outside the bathroom near the water fountain, writing in his diary. Virgil startled when Logan Duke vomited into the toilet.

"Grow up Logan, bulimia is sooo 87'," Roman said, snobbishly.

"Maybe you should see a doctor Logan," Patton said.

"Yeah, Patton, maybe I should." He vomited again. "Do you have a breath mint?"

"Ah Patton and Roman," the most critical teacher in school said, Mr. Dice. More vomit filled the air. "And Logan. Perhaps you didn't hear the bell over all the vomiting? You're late for class. 0/10 boys." Virgil could practically feel Roman rolling his eyes.

"Logan wasn't feeling well. We're helping him."

"Not with a hall pass you're not. Weeks detention." Mr. Dice started to walk away as they protested. Something about cheerleading practice, and fairness, and salaries. Like he gave a shit. Virgil didn't know what came over him but suddenly he forged a hall pass.

"Actually Mr. Dice we're all out on a hall pass. Yearbook committee." The teacher looked at the pass carefully. Then he sighed, as the Sanders starred in interest.

"I see you're all listed. 5/10 I suppose. Hurry up and get where you're going." Then he exited, Sanders immediately intercepting Virgil. Roman grabbed the forged hall pass from Virgil to look at it.

"This is an excellent forgery. Who are you?" This was Virgil's chance!

"Virgil Sawyer! I crave a boon." Roman snorted as the fellow Sanders stood behind him.

"What boon?" Virgil hurriedly explained, incredibly nervous.

"Uh, just let me sit at your table. JUST ONCE! No talking necessary. If people think you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone." Roman looked back at the other two, and immediately they all did a very artificial laugh on cue. "Oh! Before you answer I also do report cards, tardy slips, and absence notes."

Logan quickly jumped at that.

"What about prescriptions?"

"Shut up Logan!" Roman snapped. Logan immediately was cowed, backing down, head tilting toward the floor.

"Sorry Roman." Roman examined Virgil's face.

"For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure."

"Oooh, and a symmetrical face. If I took a meat cleaver down the center of your skull, I'd have matching halves. That's very important," Patton giggled, drawing an invisible line down Virgil's face. Logan rolled his eyes, circling Virgil.

"Of course, you could stand to lose a few pounds." Virgil, offended, gave Logan a dirty look.

"And you know, this could be beautiful." Roman gestured to Virgil, getting slightly more offended. "Lets add some mascara, some lip gloss, and blush. Logan, give me the damn brush," He said, ripping the brush from Logan's hands. "Time for you to be someone." Obliviously, Virgil is too excited to feel frightened.

"Okay!" Virgil says, excitedly. Outside, more chaos ensues as he gets remade into a Sanders. Bullies and idiots all insult and attack each other, searching for an apex predator. But the Sanders are busy.

Suddenly they finished, starting to exit. Virgil felt powerful in his new outfit as people began to whisper. It was comforting in away, like his old hoodie, but with more "pizazz" as Patton put it, giggling at the bright purple and black color scheme.

"Who's that with Roman?"

"Oh look it's that emo kid."

"What's his name? Anxiety? Should be, look how he used to twitch."

"How did he get with the Sanders?"

"Don't ask me. But god damn is he lucky."

"Virgil?" Emile whispered quietly as Virgil passed by, decked out like a Sanders. Virgil barely noticed. For once, things felt like they were going his way.