Chapter Text
August 31st, 1989
Dear Diary,
I know it's been some time but... I just haven't been feeling well these last couple of days. The prospect of going back to Westerburg, to go back to that hell hole, is just too much for me.
Tomorrow is the first day of our senior year and honestly, I just can't wait for all of this to be over. I always try to be positive, to see the good in everyone, but my classmates have made that very difficult.
Yet, I still remember when we were in elementary school, we were so tiny, happy, and shiny... I wish I could go back.
I wish I hadn't become the 'Westerburg Fag'.
I wake up to the sound of my alarm. I wish I didn't need to go, I wish I could stay in my bed, but I have to attend school. I didn't even get that good of a sleep. I take a quick stop at the bathroom and put on my clothes: My usual oversized jacket, jeans, and a scarf. I don't even really like them, but I can't wear what I really want. Not after everything that happened.
Back in elementary school we were really close, but once we entered high school we started to drift apart. My classmates started forming their own groups and cliques. They became more interested with partying and status. I, however, became interested in... different things.
I was always kinda reserved, even as a kid. I mostly kept to myself and preferred to write and read. Some kids mocked me for that, but still remained my friends. But as I grew older, I started to experiment with what I wore, eventually realizing I enjoyed wearing what could be considered 'feminine clothing'.
Comparing them to other parents I've seen, mine were actually pretty ok with my wishes. They still didn't seem fully comfortable with them, but they didn't prohibit me from wearing the clothes I wanted. They did, however, try to dissuade me from doing so, in fears of me being made an outcast and called names. That didn't stop me though and I began going to school in some, ehm, interesting outfits. That's when I gained my nickname: The Westerburg Fag.
I'm not even gay, I just think the outfits look really nice. That didn't stop the comments however, and I became more and more marginalized. No one wanted to be associated with me and I lost most of my friends. Eventually I decided to stop wearing the clothes I wanted and started to wear that jacket and scarf. It covers most of me, which is good cuz I don't want them to make fun of my thin body.
I lazily fix my hair a bit, eat a toast, and say goodbye to my parents before leaving. The school is a few streets away so I just go by foot. Once I arrive, I see there's already people there, probably gossiping and talking about their vacations. I catch some looking at me with disgust. I don't pay them attention and just walk to my classroom.
I see some guys from the football team already bothering a kid. They really can't wait, can they? They push him to the side and he falls to the floor in front of me. I quickly offer him my hand. "Hey, are you ok?"
He looks up to me, a faint blush forming in his cheeks. He's got red hair, freckles, and glasses: a typical nerd. He slaps my hand away and says, "Get away, freak." He nervously hurries away, leaving me a bit confused.
After the incident, I find my classroom and sit down. It's my French class, which is boring as it's just the first day. To be fair, all of them are. I write some notes but mostly spend my time daydreaming about writing in a smoking french café. I can almost smell the coffee.
My fantasy gets interrupted by the ringing of the bell announcing our first lunch break. I take my diary and pen and walk to the cafeteria.
September 1st,
Dear Diary,
Well, today's my first day of senior year and everything seems to be going as expected. Classes have been boring but at least they haven't called me a fag yet. Better not jinx it, though. God, I wish I could be in college already. If it could be in an Ivy League university, that would be great, but at this point I'll take anything. I just want to be somewhere that's more tolerant than this stupid piece of-
"Grab your lunch tray already!"
I snap out of my writing trance and grab the tray they're offering me. I put my diary in my jacket and wait in line. Eventually, my turn arrives and I'm served my lunch. Not very appetizing, to be honest, but it is what it is. I start to make my way to my table when my tray gets smacked off my hands and falls to the ground. I turn my head around to see Ram Sweeney, third year linebacker, standing next to me.
"Oops." Is all Ram has to say.
I don't know why I didn't expect this. He has been doing this exact same shit for years. I see him leave and mumble "Dick."
Ram turns around, get close to me and shouts, "What did you say to me, sissy?"
"N-Nothing." I blurt out. He grabs me from the neck of my shirt and says, "I know you fags think about dick all the time but that doesn't mean you have to say it every time it crosses your mind."
He lets go off me and pushes me back. I almost fall but someone holds me and helps me regain my balance. I turn around and see it's Martha Dunnstock. She's my only friend in this school. We've known each other since kindergarten and she's the only one who has stuck by my side. Sadly this, alongside the constant mockery due to her weight, has made her as much of an outcast as me.
"Hey, Ronnie, are you ok?"
"Y-Yeah, thanks. Where have you been?"
"Was feeling a bit sick but got over it, don't worry. Are you in for movie night?"
"Yeah, but you have to bring the pop corn."
"I rented The Princess Bride!" Martha says excitedly.
"Again?" I ask with a smile. "Haven't you memorized it by now?"
"What can I say? I'm a sucker for a happy ending!"
Suddenly I see someone quickly appear and smack Martha's tray. "Martha Dumptruck! Wide load! Honk! Haha!"
It turns out it's Kurt Kelly, quarterback and another jackass like Ram. He's actually pretty smart, though... for a football player, that is.
"Hey, pick that up!" I shout at him
"Wait, I'm sorry. Are you actually talking to me?" He asks while making his way towards me.
"Hey, fag. My buddy Kurt asked you a question." Ram adds, having come from the jocks' table, and places a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, I am!" I respond to Kurt, sensing how everyone has turned their head around to see us. "What gives you the right to pick on my friend? You're a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future... gas station attendant!"
Kurt approaches me menacingly, making me walk backwards intimidated. He just points at my forehead and says, "You have a zit right there." He then places his palm on my face and pushes me back before walking away with Ram, grinning and laughing.
I see other people laughing and just angrily walk to Martha and I's table. I hate those douchebags, they think just because they're on the football team they can do whatever they want. Martha was trying to comfort me when a random student walks in the cafeteria and proclaims, "Hey, everyone! Please prepare yourselves for the arrival of Heather, Heather, and Heather!"
I roll my eyes. Of course the Heathers would want to make a big entrance on the first day of school. Oh, the Heathers, the queens of Westerburg, they float above all the problems of us peasants. They're the most fashionable traffic lights you'll ever meet. The doors open and in they walk, treating the cafeteria as their runway.
First, there's Heather McNamara, your typical white girl with blonde hair. Her dad's got stacks: he sells engagement rings. She's head cheerleader and loves the color yellow.
Then there's Heather Duke, she's got black hair and tan skin. No real discernible personality but hey, her mom did pay for implants. She runs the yearbook committee and wears green.
And finally, Heather Chandler, a redhead with even redder lips and blazer. The leader of the group, the queen bee of Westerburg... She's a mythic bitch.
They're solid teflon, never bullied... never harassed. They walk with such confidence, not caring for what others might say. Sigh. I would give anything to be like them.
"Y-Yeah, man. Obviously, I would love to be their boyfriend. W-Why would you ask that?" I turn my head to the table to our right and see it's the redhead from earlier talking to his friend.
"Guys would notice me if I sat at their table, you know?" I turn my head to the left and see it's a stoner girl talking to one of her friends.
"I'd love to kidnap a Heather and photograph her naked in an abandoned warehouse and leave her tied up for the rats." The redhead's friend says. Me and everyone in a 6 foot radius just look at him with disgust.
Once their show ends, the Heathers go sit on their table. Since Ram knocked away my food, I decide to pass my time talking to Martha. Eventually the bell rings and we start to make our way to our next class. I look back to the Heathers' table and see they're gone, no idea where they could have gone to. I get the urge to go to the bathroom and say goodbye to Martha.
After finishing to wash my face, I leave the bathroom but decide to stay near them. I sit in a corner next to a trash bin. I don't really worry about getting in trouble as I could always just forge a note. I hear some vomiting coming from the girls' bathroom, I guess someone didn't like the food. I just sit there, trying to collect my thoughts. I'm tired of being mocked and harassed nearly everyday. I wish I could stop the insults. I wish I could be popular and accepted like the Heathers.
I see Mrs. Fleming, the school counselor, walk right past me, seemingly not noticing I'm there and entering the girls' bathroom.
"Ah, Heather and Heather." I hear her say through the door before being interrupted by the sound of more vomiting. "... and Heather. Perhaps you didn't hear the bell through all the vomiting but you're late for class."
"Heather wasn't feeling well." I hear Chandler saying. "We're helping her."
It was then a risky idea crossed my mind, a crazy plan that might just work. I quickly rip out a page from my diary and start writing as I hear Mrs. Fleming speaking. "Well, not without a hall pass, you're not. You three, weeks' detention."
I finish writing, stand up, and open the door. "Uh, actually, Mrs. Fleming." I say to their surprised faces. "We're all out on a hall pass. Yearbook committee."
I hand her my forged hallpass. She inspects it for a moment before asking, "Where have you been?"
"I was, uh, waiting outside." I tell her.
"Hmm." She goes back to inspecting the hallpass. "Seems legit..." She gives it back. "Just please hurry up and get where you're going."
With that she started to leave but stopped at the door, turned her head back, and said, "Oh, and Ronnie... I know I don't need to tell you this but, don't get any funny ideas in here." And with a small smirk on her face she left.
Damn, that comment kinda hurt, to be honest. Chandler grabbed the forged hallpass from my hands and analyzed it. "This is an excellent forgery... Didn't know you had these kind of skills, Ronnie."
"Uh, thanks." I respond. "Look, I, uh, I need a favor."
"What kind of favor?" Chandler asks me with inquiring eyes.
"I'll forge you anything you want, whenever you need it, just please... let me sit at your table. Just once. No talking necessary. If people see you tolerate me, they will leave me alone." And maybe they'll stop calling me a fag, I think.
It seems Heather was able to see through my true intentions and said, "Oh, Ronnie, you really think that's gonna work?" She starts to laugh before something sparks on her eyes. I see a scheming grin spread through her face. "You know... for a pathetic nobody, you do have a good bone structure."
McNamara, confused by Chandler's words, starts analyzing my face. "You do have a symmetrical face." She finally says. "If I took a meat cleaver through the center of your skull, I'd have matching halves. That's very important."
Duke gets close to me and starts poking my stomach with her fingernail. "You seem thinner than most guys here. But, obviously, you're not as curvy as us, and losing a couple of pounds wouldn't hurt either."
"You know, Ronnie..." Chandlers begins. "You could be... beautiful. I have a deal for you: you can sit at our table. Hell, you can even become part of the group. But, you'll have to let us change your appearance. You'll have to let us turn you into a Heather."
I'm taken aback by her proposal. What the hell is she talking about? Turn me into a Heather? "What? No. No way, that's crazy."
"Oh, c'mon, honey" Chandlers says to me, her tone soft and sweet. "Don't you wanna be popular like us? Aren't you tired of being the Westerburg Fag?"
I consider her words for a moment before responding. "W-Well, yes. But not like this!"
"Ronnie, do you think we've forgotten the kind of clothes you used to wear? Wouldn't it be fun to wear something like that again? Look! We even have your outfit right here. Heather, your bag!" Chandler shouts at Duke. She follows her order and hands her her bag.
"Told you having an extra outfit would come in handy."
"Shut up, Heather!"
"Sorry, Heather."
Chandler opens the bag and shows me its insides. There I see a white shirt, a blue blazer, a grey plaid skirt, blue socks, black shoes. and a blue brooch. Essentially their outfits but in blue. My favorite color, actually... what are the odds?
The outfit looks really pretty and my hand hovers above it, yet I remain hesitant. My mind becomes a warring zone between accepting Heather's offer or not. I could finally stop the bullying, the mockery and... well, the clothes do look nice.
"I, uh... I accept." I finally say.
Chandler's face lights up, a satisfied smile forming on her lips. "Good choice... Now, take off those hideous clothes."
I feel a faint blush in my cheeks as I hear her command, but I've already accepted so may as well do it. I undress myself, remaining only in my underwear. Heather hands me the bag and I hear the other two giggling. I've actually never worn a skirt so my hands are a bit shaky, but I manage to put it on.
I give a small spin, admiring the way the skirt moves. It feels nice. "So, I guess that's all then."
"Oh, no, honey." Chandler says. "We still have to put makeup on you and fix your hair."
I was hesitant to let them put makeup on me, but they said that it would make my face pop more and hide my eyebags. Chandler let McNamara and Duke take care of the makeup and my hair. With a finishing touch on my hair, McNamara said "Voila! We're done. Want to see the result?"
I stand up and walk to the mirror, shocked to see what I see. I look... beautiful. I can't believe it. I can't believe that the brunette in the mirror is me. I hear the bell ring and get exalted.
"Ronnie, sweetie," Chandler tells me. "I think it's time to show your makeover to the school."
I feel really nervous as I walk down the hallway, following the Heathers. By now, everyone should be at the cafeteria, and I realize they want to make a big fuss about presenting me. I take deep breaths to calm myself, but still feel my heart pounding in my chest. Chandler opens the doors and starts talking while Duke and McNamara cover me with their bodies.
"Good evening, Westerburg High." She announces, everyone in the cafeteria looking over to hear what she has to say. "We're glad to inform you that the Heathers have found a new member. Give a warm welcome to... Veronica Sawyer!"
Duke and McNamara walk to the sides, letting me stand there, alone and free to the gaze of everyone. Veronica? I think. She didn't tell me she would change my name. I don't know how to feel about it but.. I guess is time to start anew.
The room stays silent for a moment before I start hearing murmurs. My mind is filled with questions. What are they talking about?
I try to stand up with confidence despite my nerves. I glance back at the Heathers for support but they just stare at me intently. A horrible thought crosses my mind. What if this was just a twisted scheme to humilliate me?
I look back at my classmates, trying to decipher the look on their faces. Some seem intrigued, others surprised, a few look downright disgusted. I feel dozens of eyes on me, judging every aspect of my new appearance.
I spot someone who catches my attention: a guy I've never seen before, dressed in a black trenchcoat. He's holding a book, he seems to have been reading it but is now looking at me with interest. I look away as his gaze is too intense for my liking.
I catch some guys from a nearby table shamelessly gawking at me. "You know... the fag doesn't look half bad right now." I hear one of them say. Another guy mocks him for it but the rest are too busy continuing to stare at me.
It's strange but that comment and the depraved looks the other guys gave me, made me feel a strange sort of pride. They're not mocking me, in fact they seem almost... interested?
I look back at Heather Chandler and see a look of genuine surprise on her face. I think she didn't expect this to go as well as it did. Honestly... neither did I.
I turn back my head and see a girl reprimand her boyfriend for staring at me. Actually, it's mostly guys who are staring at me so much. It's... weird. To be fair, it's not like any girls were paying attention to me before. No girl wanted to hang out with me. No one except...
My gaze drifts to Martha and I's table. I see her sitting there, a bit confused but when she notices I'm looking at her she gives me a smile. A nice gesture but I can tell in her eyes that she's not the most comfortable with me being a Heather now.
I give her a reassuring smile, hoping she understand why I had to do it. I look over at the jocks' table and catch Ram and Kurt with a very conflicted look on their face. I roll my eyes. Those two can go fu-
I feel a hand gripping my arm, dragging me away. It's Heather Chandler's. "Enough show for today, Veronica. Let's go to our table."
I let her take me to their table, acutely aware of everyone's gaze on us. Duke and McNamara are already sitting there, the former flashing me a smile while the latter just gives a small nod. I smooth my skirt beneath me, and sit down.
Duke hands me an apple to eat. "I don't like apples so you can have it" she tells me.
"T-Thanks." I meekly say.
As I start eating my apple, I manage to hear snippets of other people's conversations. All talking about me. I hear comments like: "... can't believe the fag got a makeover..."; "... he almost looks good, right?...", and "... I would let him munch my apples, if you know what I mean...". They're degrading yet I can't help but also feel strangely validated.
I risk a glance at Chandler, trying to decipher what's under her expression. For me it's clear she intended for my makeover to go badly, so what is she thinking now that I became the center of attention? Does she regret it? Only time will tell.
I continue eating the apple as I reminisce about today's events. Well, I got my way, I guess. But am I ready to follow whatever path this may lead to?... I don't really have the answer right now, but I'm willing to give this a shot. Who knows, maybe I finally found my place. Maybe things will finally get better.