Other side of paradise (Jason Dean x reader)

𝐓𝐰𝐨

Veronica sat on the stairs to the second floor of the school, wearing her Heathers' uniform of a blue blazer and black skirt.  Every Heather had a designated color, although you usually just wore what you wanted.  Veronica admired you, in a way.  You didn't bother trying to conform to what the Heathers wanted unless she pushed you to.

Her, though, she was never really herself around her 'friends.'  The only time she was really herself was when she was alone.  The only person who saw who she really was was her diary.  An inanimate object knew more about her than any real person.  And that diary was the reason she dare sit on the dirty floor in her designer skirt.  When Veronica has the need to diarize, all else doeth fade.

That last line it what it says in the actual script that I am using for dialogue.  Quote: She's sitting on the stairs at school. It's unthinkable for a true Heather to hazard her designer uniform by sitting on stairs, but when Veronica has the need to diarize, all else doeth fade...

"Dear diary," Veronica began, voicing her thoughts aloud.  "Heather told me she teaches people life... She said 'Real life sucks losers dry.  If you wanna fuck with the eagles, you gotta learn how to fly.'  I said, 'So you teach how to spread their wings and fly?'  She said 'Yes.'  I said '...you're beautiful!'"

She was so wrapped up in her thought process and the memories she tried to reminisce in that she didn't notice the pair of Heathers' and the (y/n) quickly approaching.  She kept talking to herself as she scribbled her words down, the idea of penmanship being forgotten.

"God!  Come on Veronica," McNamara said, shoving Veronica with her knee.

"What is your damage Heather," you asked quietly.

"Don't blame me, blame Heather!  You heard her tell me to haul her ass to the caf, pronto!  Back me up Heather," McNamara defended.

"Yeah, she really wants to talk to you..." Duke agreed.

"Okay, I'm coming," Veronica said, standing up.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered.

You and the Heathers' led Veronica to the cafeteria, and standing right on the inside of the door was Heather Chandler, almost fuming.  You weren't sure what she was up to, but you knew no one really did anything to make her this mad.  At this point, you figured the wrong person just breathed in her direction.

"Hello Heather," Veronica greeted happily.

"Veronica, finally," Chandler sighed.  "I've got a note of Kurt Kelly's."

Oh yes.  Your sister had what the two of you used to call a superpower, but you now deemed a weapon of mass destruction.  With a note or enough practice, she could perfectly mimic someone's handwriting.  You two used to use it to mess with your parents and friends.  You once almost convinced your mother that your father wanted a divorce, and when she found out, she didn't bother to punish either of you.  Now Heather Chandler had Veronica use this talent to fuck with people.

"I need you to write a hot and horny, yet realistically low-key note in Kurt's handwriting... then we'll slip it onto Martha Dumptruck's lunch tray," Chandler explained.

"Shit Heather, her name is Martha Dunstock," you cursed.  "Besides, Veronica has nothing against Martha."

"Well she doesn't have anything for her either," Chandler stated in a bitchy tone.  "Come on V, it'll be very.  The note'll give her shower nozzle masturbation material for weeks!"

Veronica smiled, and quickly reached for your bag.  You sighed and handed it to her so that she didn't continuously choke you by tugging on a strap the wrong way.  For a genius, sometimes she could be so stupid.  She grabbed a notebook and pencil, and flipped it open to an empty page.

"Veronica needs something to write on," Chandler told you all.  "Heather, bend over."

She glared at Heather Duke, and you felt a little bad for the green Heather.  There were countless tables and stools surrounding your little group, but she still made her 'friend' humiliate herself for an already stupid idea.  Reluctantly, Duke bent over and held her knees for that Veronica could actually write.  Veronica smiled and slapped the notebook on Duke's back, and held the pencil, prepared to write.

"'Dear Martha,'" Heather instructed.  "'You're so sweet...'"

From across the cafeteria, Kurt Kelly (the boy who's handwriting Veronica had been tasked with replicating) and his best friend Ram Sweeny were watching the Heathers' and the Sawyers intently.  They were sitting with the rest of the football team, like always.  And staring at the same people as always.  Making the same dirty small talk as always.

"I'm telling you man," Kurt began.  "It would be so righteous to be in a Veronica Sawyer - Heather Chandler sandwich."

"Oh hell yes," Ram agreed.  "I wanna get a Heather and put her on my Johnson, and spin her around like a goddamn pinwheel!"

The two of them laughed, and you couldn't help but stare at them, confused.  You watched Ram say something, and saw the two of them fist-bump.  They didn't have enough braincells to make a proper thought, let alone something for an entire conversation.  You looked back to your sister and her friends, only to see that they had finished the note.

Veronica tore the page out of the notebook, and returned it to you so you could use it at your next class.  She handed the note off to Heather McNamara, and you watched as the yellow Heather made her way towards your best friend.  Martha was overweight, which gave the Heathers' and your sister ways to mess with you.  Martha was on her ways to dump whatever was left on her tray, and see what she wanted to save.  You two used to go together so you could grab snacks from her.  You watched as McNamara snaked the note under her arm, and dropped it on her tray.  

McNamara smirked and stood up straight, making her way back over to your clique.  You watched Martha in abject horror as she began to sort through her food, and eventually find the god forsaken note.  The girls and you all sat down so you could finally do what normal people do at lunch, and eat your lunch.  You were already making plans to call Martha as soon as you got home to apologize.  You may not have had any part in the creation of the note, but you felt guilty for knowing about it and not doing more to stop them.