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Heathers, chapter two

summary: 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.
warnings: foul language, gun mentions
rated: t

“God, they’re not gonna expel him!” Heather M exclaimed with a grin, looking amused by the whole thing. They were in Ian’s backyard, playing crochet as always. Heather C was red as usual, with the lesser Heathers on yellow and green, and Ian on blue.

“He used a real gun, they should throw his ass in jail.” Heather C said, scandalized, but Ian smiled behind her.

“No way, he used blanks.” Ian replied. “All Anthony did was ruin two pairs of pants.”

The crony Heathers laughed while Heather C looked unimpressed.

“You seem pretty amused.” She said, a bit snotty. “I thought you’d given up on high school guys.”

“Never say never.” Ian said, as Heather’s red croquet ball bumped into Heather Duke’s green one.

“Are you gonna bump me out?” Asked Heather Duke, dressed all in green standing next to her cheerleader friend.

“Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?” Queen Heather walked over to her. “First you ask to be red. I’m always red. Now this?”

Heather bounced the green ball out into the bushes, a satisfied look on her face as Duke had to run into the garden to get it.

“It’s your turn, Heather.” Heather C called out as Duke got her hair tangled up in a branch. She looked simply amused by her friend’s misfortune.

“So are you guys doing anything tonight?” Heather M asked, and Ian nodded.

“I’m taking Ian to his first Remington College party.” Heather C said. “Don’t blow it, Ian, or it’ll be keggers with kids for the rest of senior year.”

Behind her, Heather Duke nailed the seemingly impossible shot, and Ian smiled. It was just like her to beat the odds. Heather C nodded respectfully and took her turn, hitting Duke’s ball yet again.

“Why?” She asked with a groan.

“Why not?” Queen Heather responded with a smile.

“Heather, your mother’s here!” Ian’s mother called, coming out into the yard with a plate of pâté, Ian’s father trailing behind. The Heathers waved goodbye and left, and Ian sat down at the patio table with his parents.

“So how was Spring Break withdrawal?” Ian’s dad asked him, and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s okay.” Ian answered. His mother smiled.

“Any chances you’ll get a date at some point?” She teased, but Ian looked thoughtful.

“There may be a dark horse in the running.” He said, thinking of Anthony.

“God damn will someone tell me why I read these dumb spy novels.” Ian’s father said, not really listening as he read.

“Because you’re an idiot.” Ian said semi-fondly. “Great pâté, but I gotta motor if I wanna be ready for that party tonight.”

. . .

Ian got ready for the party and Queen Heather picked him up in her pricey red convertible, with a slinky red dress to match. Ian was dressed simply, in grey trousers with a lighter grey shirt and black suspenders. Before they went to the party, they stopped at a convenience store, and when Ian ran in to get Heather some corn nuts, he saw a familiar face.

“Getting some 50 cent coffee with that?” Anthony said, approaching him, and Ian smiled.

“No, but if you’re nice I’ll let you buy me a slushy. I see you know your convenience-speak.”

“Yeah well, I’ve been moved around all my life.” Anthony said. “Dallas, Miami, Vegas, now Ohio, but there’s always been a Snappy Snack Shack where I could pop a ham and cheese in the microwave or feast on a turbo dog. Keeps me sane.”

“That thing you pulled in the caff today was pretty severe.” Ian said.

“The extreme always makes an impression. So, what flavor?”

“Cherry.” Ian answered with a little blush.

They payed for the corn nuts and bright red drink and exited the convenience store, where Heather was still waiting in her car.

“Nice bike.” Ian said as Anthony climbed onto his motorcycle.

“Thanks. It’s a perk from my dad’s job. He’s the head of a big construction company.” Anthony lit a cigarette.

“Must be tough moving around so much.” Ian said, and Anthony blew smoke out his nose.

“Yeah, but everyone’s life has static. I mean, is your life perfect?”

“Yeah,” He said, with a false air of superiority. “I’m on my way to a college party right now.”

Heather honked her car horn just then from the other side of the parking lot, looking impatient. Ian sighed.

“No, my life’s not perfect. I don’t really like my friends.”

Anthony nodded. “I don’t really like your friends either.”

“It’s just like. . . they’re people we work with, and our job is being popular and shit.” Ian gave a nervous giggle. He had never been comfortable enough to admit that to someone.

“Maybe it’s time to take a vacation.”

Heather honked her horn again, so they wordlessly waved goodbye to each other and parted ways.

. . .

Ian and Heather drove to the college party in silence. When they got there, the whole place smelled like cigarettes and boozy vomit. Some college jackass wouldn’t stop leering over Ian, and Heather wasn’t even around to make him back off, because she’d run off to blow some jerk. To add more shit to the pile, Ian had drank a beer that didn’t even taste good, and now he was sitting at a party feeling ill. He’d finally told the leering guy to shove it when he found Heather in the hall as he leaned against a wall trying to fight off nausea.

“What is your damage, Ian?” Heather asked him as soon as she approached. “That guy said you’re being really weird.”

“Can we please leave?” Ian asked, hearing the desperation in his voice.

“No!” Heather looked pissed. “I want to party.”

“I feel really sick, Heath-” And then Ian stooped down and threw up all over Heather’s shiny red shoes. Seeing the anger on her face, and feeling mortified, Ian ran out, only to have her follow him out the door.

“You stupid fuck!” Heather called out to him, and he rounded on her.

“You goddamn bitch!” He spat back.

“You were nothing before me.” Heather said, scandalized. “You were playing Barbies with Dan Howell. You were a bluebird. You were a brownie. You were a girl scout cookie. I got you into a Remington party. And what’s my thanks? It’s on the hallway carpet. I got paid in puke!”

“Lick it up, baby. Lick. It. Up.” Was Ian’s simple reply.

“Monday morning, you're history. I'll tell everyone about tonight. Transfer to Washington. Transfer to Jefferson. No one at Westerburg's going to let you play their reindeer games.” Heather smiled, and walked back to her car, leaving Ian to walk home alone.

. . .

Dear Diary, I want to kill and you have to believe

it's for more than selfish reasons. You have to believe me.

Christ, I can't explain it, but I'm allowed an understanding that my

parents and these Remington University assholes have chosen to ignore.

I understand I must stop Heather.

Betty Finn was a true friend and I sold her out

for a bunch of Swatchdogs and Diet Cokeheads.

Killing Heather'd be like offing the Wicked Witch of the West.

Or is it East? West! I sound like a fucking psycho.

Tomorrow I'll be kissing her aerobicized ass,

but tonight let me dream of a world without Heather.

A world where I am free.


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