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Heathers, chapter one

A/N: i'm alive!! Heathers is my very first high school au, and it's based on the 80's classic Heathers (don't worry if you haven't seen it). Ian one of the most popular kids in school, and Anthony is the mysterious new guy with a dark mysterious past. I've also posted this on ArchiveOfOurOwn, and I'm on tumblr! Please enjoy, con-crit welcome :))
Rated T


Dear Diary,

Heather told me she teaches people "real life."

She said, real life sucks losers dry.

You want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly.

I said, so, you teach people how to spread their wings and fly?

She said, yes.

I said, you're beautiful.

. . .

Life at Westerburg high was an odd one for Ian Hecox. He was semi-adopted by the most popular girls in school, a trio of scheming rich bitches all named Heather. They saw a regular guy in the halls, thought he was handsome with his bit of scruff, gorgeous blue eyes, and lean physique, and made the decision to welcome him to their world, to the world of teen royalty. And that was when everything went downhill. Spring, 1988.

Ian was just finished writing in his journal when two Heathers approached him. He stood up from the bottom stair where he was sitting and smiled at them.

“Heather wants you in the caff.” Said Heather D. She was a short brunette, always wearing thick make-up and a bored sort of look. When she wasn’t terrorizing the masses, she had her nose stuck in a book, Moby Dick this month, her own personal escapism from the dreary life of a shit side-kick.

“Sounds Urgent.” Said Heather M. Speaking of side-kicks. Heather M was blonde and the tallest of the bunch, constantly wearing her cheerleading uniform and scrunching up her perm.

“Alright, let’s go.” Ian stood and walked with them to the cafeteria, only to see Heather C standing front and center. Another blonde, she always had her hair back in a red scrunchie, and this smug, almost evil look on her face, like she got off on torturing her victims, the student populous of Westerburg High.

“Ian, there you are.” She said, her chin held high by her massive amounts of pride. “I need you to fake a note for me. Have I mentioned how much I love your copy-cat handwriting abilities lately?”

“What do you need?” He answered back with a smile.

“I need a love note for my favorite little loser.” She looked across the caff. “Mari.”

Mari Takahashi was a petite Japanese girl with thick-framed glasses and limp hair. She was quiet and always sat alone.

“I have nothing against her Heather.” Ian sighed, but Heather shot him a dirty look.

“You don’t have shit for her either.” She said, and Ian nodded. “It’s from Kurt, make it steamy.”

Ian composed the note “from Kurt” in his handwriting, then Heather M bounced along in her black and red cheerleader uniform and snuck it onto Mari’s tray.

“We’ll give her some time to discover that, she’s far too focused on her food.” Heather C said with a laugh. “For now, let’s do the lunchtime poll.”

“What’s the question, Heather?” asked Heather D as she looked longingly at the lunch line.

“God damn, Heather, you were with me in study hall when I thought of it.” Heather C snapped at her. “Alright, you win a big money prize of five million dollars. And the day you get the big check, aliens come to Earth and say they’re gonna blow it up in two days. What do you do with the money?”

“Okay, let’s go.” Ian picked up his notepad and started to walk across the caff with Heather. While looking around, he saw something life-changing. A kid sat in the corner alone, looking steely and nonchalant. He had dark hair, pale skin, and big brown eyes. He wore a massive leather overcoat hiding his simple plaid shirt and baggy black jeans. With his messy hair and one dangling earring, he was the epitome of bad boy.

“Oof!” Ian heard a noise and stumbled, having accidentally bumped into someone while staring at the new kid.

“Sorry.” Ian said, then turned around and saw who it was. “Oh hey Dan.”

Dan was an old friend of his, back before he was the pop-jock king of school. He was a fine person, but he wasn’t a Heather, so they hadn’t spoken in ages.

“Hey Ian.” Dan replied. “Oh, you’ll never believe what I found the other day.” He dug some pictures of them from seventh grade out of his bag. “Remember this?”

“Oh yeah, that’s amazing.” Ian said, enjoying a moment with his old friend. He’d forgot what hanging out with him was like; he was so light-hearted and relaxed, unlike his new popular gang.

“Come on, Ian.” Heather rolled her eyes and dragged him to the cheerleader’s table. She asked the question and Ian prepared his notepad.

“I’d give it all to the homeless.” Answers Kelly first, and Ian, instead of writing down the answer, got irritated and cheeky.

“You’re beautiful.” Ian said, in a voice of false praise. Heather shot him a look, and he walked away.

“What the hell, Ian.” Queen Heather said, looking downright pissed.

“We always ask the same people, Heath.” Ian said, glancing around. “Let’s ask someone different for a change.”

“Fine.” Heather agreed, knowing when to pick her battles. “But let’s check out your handiwork else where.”

She pointed to Mari, who had discovered the fake letter and unfolded it, and was now reading it with a merry smile. Heathers two and three approached, looking devilishly happy. Ian felt miserable as he watched Mari approach Kurt, the asshole jock from whom the love note was supposedly from, and even worse when he laughed in her face, and the rest of his table joined in.

Ian said nothing, but continued the lunchtime poll with Heather One, who was looking much happier knowing that some of Ian’s charity actually talking to the nerds didn’t cancel out Mari running out of the caff crying.

He was even in a sour mood sneaking into the girl’s bathroom later on, trying to help Heather D throw up (and ignoring Heather C’s jab that “bulimia is so ’87, Heather”). When they went back out to the caff, still not looking too happy, Ian again glanced over at the dark stranger in the corner, only to meet eyes with him.

“His name’s Anthony.” Heather M said, standing beside her and smoothing out her cheerleader’s uniform. “He’s in my American History.” She gave him a look of wordless encouragement, and Ian approached him slowly. He looked mildly amused seeing the popular kid walk towards him.

“Hello, Anthony.” Ian said. He smiled politely, and Anthony gave him a wry grin.

“Greetings and salutations.” He looked behind Ian to the group of waiting girls. “Are you a Heather?”

“No, I’m an Ian.” He smiled. There was a moment of silence. “I have a stupid question for you.”

“There’s no such thing as a stupid question.” Anthony interrupted, and Ian tried unsuccessfully not to blush.

“You inherit five million dollars the same day aliens the same day aliens come to Earth and say they’re gonna blow it up in two days. What do you do with the money?” Ian watched him ponder it thoughtfully before answering.

“That has got to be the stupidest question I have ever heard.” He smiled. From a few tables down, the jerk jocks Kurt and Ram were watching with some amusement. “I don’t know, I think I’d row out into the middle of a lake with a bottle of tequila, my sax, and some Bach.”

The way he spoke was constantly slow and deliberate, and he always looked into Ian’s eyes, his gaze unwavering. His voice was soft and deep, his whole manner wildly attractive. Ian was smitten.

“How very.” He wanted to talk to him more, but he suddenly felt Heather C’s presence by his side.

“Come on, Ian.” She said, clearly annoyed with waiting.

“Later.” Ian said, hiding his disappointment.

“Definitely.” Anthony replied, and Ian turned and left with the Queen B.

As Ian returned to the table they were sitting at, he looked over to Anthony once more, only to find that Kurt and Ram had stood up and walked over to him.

“What did your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Ohio?” Kurt said to him, leaning over him threateningly. “Hey Ram, doesn’t this cafeteria have a ‘no fags allowed’ rule?”

“Well they seem to have an open door policy for assholes though, don’t they.” Anthony stated calmly as Ian and the Heathers looked on.

“What did you say, dick head?” Ram said loudly, rearing for a fight, but Anthony just stood up calmly.

“Allow me to repeat myself.” And then, unexpectedly, he pulled a massive handgun from within his large coat, and fired two shots.


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