time won't fly (14/?) ao3 buy me a coffee
they say she's gone too far this time
“Hey, what happened to your hand?” Martha asks.
Veronica blinks and pulls her gaze away from the window. Homeroom has started, but Ms Fleming is yet to arrive.
She looks down. Her knuckles are still cut and scabbed from last night, faint yellow bruises blooming around the red spots. She took a few more cracks at the wall last night. Flecks of paint now nestle in her bedroom carpet.
She curls her shaking fingers into a fist and forces a smile.
“Oh, I just hit it off the table last night at dinner,” she shrugs. “Mom made a big deal out of it, but it’s nothing.”
It’s a lie, because of course it is, because she can’t remember the last time she was honest with someone. Her mom didn’t even notice her hand. She’s too busy focussing on her teenage daughter being pregnant to worry about a bruised hand.
Martha nods, a slow, deliberate movement that looks like someone is forcing her head down and back up again. Her eyes linger on her hand while Veronica fights the urge to pull her sleeve down over it. There’s a certain sharpness in Martha’s gaze that makes Veronica’s chest tighten. Martha was never stupid, but Veronica will admit she was always naive. Kept believing that people meant the back-handed compliments they gave her, fell for prank dates and fake Valentine’s all throughout middle school. It came packaged with how she saw the world; rose-tinted glasses, even when reality was blue and grey.
The lenses have cracked now, it seems, because the lie Veronica spun isn’t landing this time.
The door opens, and for the first time in her high school career, Veronica is glad to see Ms Fleming. At least, until she sees Martha’s face.
The sharpness in her eyes turns cold, her pupils look more like steel. Ms Fleming has never been Martha’s favourite teacher, but she still got the respect Martha carried for all adults in the school.
Veronica doesn’t know what to call the look in Martha’s eyes as Fleming takes her seat. From her white-knuckled grip on her pen, she may well be about to jump across the desk and stab Fleming with it. Martha, who hated dodgeball because she was worried she would hurt someone.
Except she is also Martha who, last week, got a detention because she swore at a teacher. Veronica was surprised when she told her the first time, but now it comes back with a vengeance, the full weight crashing over her.
She did this. That moment before the assembly, she swore she was saving her from JD, but she killed her all the same. Sure, Martha survived the fall from the bridge, but how much of her lived after that? How much of the girl that she swore to protect did she destroy in her desperate attempts to keep her and JD from unravelling?
“Hey,” she hears herself say. Her scarred hand covers Martha’s, careful as if she’s handling a wild animal. Martha blinks, a swift intake of breath as her eyes dart to their joined hands. But she doesn’t pull away, and Veronica didn’t realise how much that would mean to her until now.
“Are you okay?”.
Martha blinks, heavily, sluggishly, as if she’s just now waking up. She takes a swift, sharp breath and looks over at Fleming. Her jaw tightens and something flashes in her eyes. Rage, Veronica thinks.
It flickers out when she looks back at her. Veronica doesn’t get rage; she gets a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and a gentle squeeze of her hand.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Just tired.”
Veronica knows a lie when she hears one.
For some reason, she almost blurts it out. One less secret to carry around with her.
Instead, she says, “let’s have lunch in the library today”.
Martha’s face breaks into a smile. Pink creeps into her cheeks, and it’s the most beautiful thing Veronica has seen in recent weeks.
“I’d like that,” she says.
Behind them, someone scoffs and whispers, “gay”. Martha’s smile drops in an instant. After a quick nod to Veronica, she pulls her hand away. Metal scrapes on wood as she pulls her chair in, her hand slipping out of Veronica’s. Her fingers twitch on the desk, her shoulders hunch and even the small smile on her face does nothing to ease the fear in her eyes.
Veronica hates it here.
They still meet in the library at lunch. Veronica had walked with a tight throat the whole way, the knot only easing when she saw Martha at the back table.
Their old table, she thinks. They never claimed it as such, not the way the Heathers’ table has an invisible plaque on it, but that’s what it is. Nowhere else felt right since that November in freshman year when the cafeteria felt too crowded.
“Hey,” she smiles as she sits down.
“Hi,” Martha says quietly. Her lunch is laid out before her; ham sandwich, apple, granola bar and a cookie wrapped in plastic. If she ignored everything else, it could still be 1982. The thought makes Veronica’s heart ache, yearning for a time she can’t go back to.
Martha doesn’t seem to agree. She bites her lip looks down at the desk and rolls the apple between her hands.
“I don’t know why my mom still packs me stuff like this,” she says. “I mean, I do. And I’m not complaining but…” She sighs, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. “I’m being stupid. And ungrateful.”
“No, you’re not,” Veronica says. Martha shrugs and sighs heavily.
“Anyway, how was class?” she asks. “Because I won’t lie; English was awful.”
“Does Miss Henderson still hold a grudge against you for cursing?”
“I think so.” She swallows thickly, pulls her sleeves over her hands. It could be her imagination, but Veronica is sure that the lights dim. “I mean, I deserve it, right? I cursed at a teacher.” She shakes her head in sheer disbelief. On some level, Veronica is glad about that. At least she’s not the only one confused.
“Yeah,” she says hoarsely. She runs her hand through her hair. “Honestly, I’m still kind of surprised you did that.” Martha blinks. “N-not bad surprised. Just…. I didn’t think you-”
“Had it in me?” she finishes. It’s not unkind or malicious, just a pure statement of fact. Veronica freezes, searching for the right words and coming up empty each time.
“I didn’t think you knew what bullshit meant.”
“Uh, I’m friends with you,” she points out. “And you need to have your mouth washed out with soap most days.”
“Oh, come on, I don’t curse that much.”
“Ronnie, I’ve read your diary. If I had a penny for every time you used ‘fucking’ as an adverb, I could probably go to Yale next year.”
Veronica’s mouth falls open. Martha raises her eyebrows, lips pressed together. She leans back in the chair and an actual laugh escapes her. Breathy and shaky, sure, but still.
“Well damn,” she sighs. Martha shrugs, a tiny smile playing about her lips.
“Do you think I have street cred now?”
“Oodles of it.” Martha’s cheeks turn pink.
“Anyway, the class isn’t that bad,” she says. “I mean, yeah it’s tough with Miss Henderson and Tyler Connrad is…” She breathes in slowly, shakes her head. “He’s there, but at least we’re reading something interesting. Besides, Heather’s in that class too, so it’s not like I’m alone in there.”
“Heather?” Veronica does the rotation in her head. Duke is in the other English class with her and with Chandler gone- “Heather Macnamara?”
Martha nods slowly. Veronica turns the words over in her head.
“Is that wrong?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t know you guys were friends is all. I mean, she was at movie night, but I didn’t know you guys talked.”
“Well, we are friends,” she says flatly. There’s a rough edge to her voice that makes Veronica sit up straighter. Martha looks down at the table, lips slightly parted.
“I mean…. I think we are. It-it’s not a problem, right?”
“No. Course not.” Veronica shakes her head. After a second’s hesitation, she reaches out and covers Martha’s hand with hers. Martha doesn’t pull away this time. “Why on Earth would it be a problem?”
The only problem is I wasn’t there to see it. I was too wrapped in my own fucking problems.
I am the fucking problem.
They sit like that for a while. At some point, Martha’s hand turns and she laces her fingers through Veronica’s, the corners of her mouth turning upwards. Veronica can’t find the words to say, and so they sit there, minutes passing in silence like they used to.
As they get up to leave, muffled giggles erupt next to them. Martha’s hand stiffens, and when Veronica turns, she finds a gaggle of freshman girls gathered a few feet away, binders up to hide their smiles. They immediately fall silent when they see her, but their grins don’t waver.
“Never seen two friends hold hands before?” she asks flatly. The girls all press their lips together, not saying anything. They look at Veronica and then at each other, eyes gleaming with some inside joke.
Veronica rolls her eyes, mumbles “whatever”, then she and Martha pack up their stuff.
The girls linger as they walk past, whispering behind their hands.
“Are you sure that’s her?”
“Definitely.”
“That’s the girl who-”
Veronica speeds up, her whole body tightening. She doesn’t need to guess. ‘The girl whose boyfriend killed himself and then she had a breakdown at his memorial’.
Martha suppresses a shudder as they walk through the halls. Veronica squeezes her hand in an attempt to be reassuring, but the encounter with the freshmen has left her more frazzled than it should have. Maybe it’s old echoes of the Heathers in her mind, but she can’t help but feel like everyone’s eyes are on her now.
The longer they walk, the more convinced she is that that’s true. The usually bustling hallway is far more, quiet conversations taking place in whispers. Despite her best efforts, Veronica’s skin crawls, her breaths come shorter and faster.
Martha’s hand comes to her arm, shaking.
“Veronica-”
She doesn’t need to finish.
On her locker, the word SKANK is scrawled in giant, red letters.
The entire student body holds their breath as she approaches it, Martha trailing behind her like a shadow. She can feel her heart pounding against the metal door, punctuating each letter.
There are varied responses behind her. Some giggles. Some whispers. Some gasps. Mostly people just wait, on the edge of their seats for crazy Veronica’s reaction. People are probably taking bets. There isn’t a reaction she can give that won’t please someone.
“So don’t give them one.”
Now you fucking show up?
She shifts her gaze just enough. JD is leaning against the lockers, arms folded across his chest. His eyes lock onto hers, cool and steady.
“They all want a show,” he reminds her. “Do not rise to it.”
You’re one to talk, she thinks. She doesn’t know if he can hear her until he chuckles.
“What do you think the slushies were for?” he asks, teasingly. Then he turns serious. “You’re better than me, Sawyer, we both know it.”
Well, that I agree with. She tries to swallow but can’t seem to move. Her heart gets louder and louder. How the hell is she meant to not react?
“Focus on me,” he says. “Don’t stop looking in my eyes, okay?”
She nods, a tiny, tiny movement no-one else can pick up on. Looking into his eyes is something she can do. At one point, it was all she wanted to do.
One foot in front of the other. The locker door gets closer. Her eyes stray to the marker-
“I’m over here, Veronica.”
Back at him. She lists off every detail, the bounce of his curls, the gap in his teeth, the small scattering of freckles over his nose. The indent in his cheek.
She is at her locker. She is right in front of him. He grins proudly, like a parent who watched their child’s first steps.
“Excellent work,” he murmurs.
She casts him a sideways glance as she pulls books out of her locker. JD remains by her side, his presence the most steady thing she has felt in weeks. He shifts and presses himself against her side, blocking out the crowd. When she breathes in, she swears she can find that scent he had when he was alive. Pen ink and cigarette smoke.
She turns around, face to face with dozens of her fellow students. Her breath hitches, then JD’s hand brushes hers. She doesn’t move her face, but her eyes flicker over to him.
“You’ve got this,” he whispers. “Give them nothing.”
Nothing.
She taps Martha’s shoulder and starts their journey, her eyes dead ahead. Murmurs rise all around her.
Give them nothing.
Give them nothing.
She’s almost won when they make it to the end of the hall. Veronica almost lets herself breathe, then, whispered to her right,
“I told you it was fake, she doesn’t even look pregnant.”
She stops.
Bones creaking, she turns to look where the voice came from. Amongst the crowd, she finds Mary Kinnley, honours student and in Veronica’s French class, standing with her hand halfway to her open mouth. Her eyes bulge out of her head in that ‘just got caught out’ kind of way.
Mary Kinnley, whose parents bought her a car for her 18th birthday because she’s “just such a good girl”, and who now looks squarely at Veronica’s stomach.
Mary’s eyes flick upwards and meet Veronica’s, her green gaze cutting right through her.
“You’re not, right?”
“What the heck, Mary?” Martha asks. Mary lifts her chin proudly.
“It’s nothing,” she says defensively. “I just heard something.”
“Stop hearing things then,” Martha says. “Come on, Veronica, let’s go-”
But Veronica can’t go. She is rooted to the spot. Her heart is frozen, her lungs are still, the blood in her veins is solid ice.
JD? She reaches out desperately, searching the crowd for his warm eyes. JD, come on, come on. I need you. A weak, pathetic cry escapes her lips. No, no, no, you were just here, where are you?
She reaches back, the same way she reached for him the first time, when Kurt and Ram danced around the hallway calling her a slut. Everything after that went to hell, but there might not be anything after this, and even if there is, she needs him now.
She doesn’t find him. Instead, her eyes land on Heather Duke.
“You told,” she whispers.
Heather starts to back away, but Veronica is too fast. Her hands close around her shoulders and she pushes her back, back, until she is pinned against the wall. Heather looks up at her, eyes wide, mouth opening noiselessly.
JD flashes in her periphery, sharp smile cutting across his face.
“So when I suggest killing Heather Duke it’s bad, but when you do it-”
I am not going to kill her, she says, but it doesn’t hit right.
“Veronica-” Heather gasps. Her hands are pressed against the wall, held up in a surrender. “Get a grip.”
“You told,” she says again. She digs her hands in harder, like she can make the brick wall behind her crack. “You fucking told them.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You fucking liar!” Another push, and this time Heather screams a little. “How did they find out? How did anyone find out?”
“I don’t-” But Veronica can’t hear her. Heather’s voice is garbled and subdued, muted down by the dozens of people gathering around her. Excitement prickles like lightning. Someone starts a chant of “fight, fight, fight” and it spreads throughout the crowd. Someone else yells “take your shirts off” and they fucking whoop.
So much for no reaction.
Heather squirms under her touch.
“Veronica… get your crap together,” she tells her. “I didn’t tell anyone.” She huffs. “I’m a lot of things, Sawyer, but you know a snitch isn’t one of them.”
“She has a point you know,” JD adds.
Oh you shut up. You never liked Heather.
“I didn’t. I still don’t,” he says. “But this…” He gestures towards her. “This is my thing, Veronica. Not yours.”
Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought you did. She grits her teeth. Maybe it’s my thing now.
JD stiffens. He moves closer to her, his collar turned up against an imaginary wind. For a moment, Veronica’s eyes move to Heather, wondering if she can see him too. Judging by the way Heather raises her chin, brown eyes burrowing into Veronica’s face, she doubts it.
“You were meant to be the better one,” he says. His voice is soft, the way it was when they lay tangled under covers. “I told you to clean up the mess here, not make a new one.”
You’re not the boss of me. He grins at that. You left a pretty big fucking mess.
“And this is helping it?” he asks. “Listen, Veronica. You know Heather Duke is a fucking snake, but she never does anything unless it improves her own standing. Now tell me, how does telling people you’re pregnant improve her life in any way?”
Veronica stiffens. Answers come to mind, mainly that it ruins Veronica’s life, but she was right when she said she’s Heather’s only friend. There’s a reason she never took a strike against Heather Chandler and only pushed Macnamara down when she knew she could stand on top of her. Self-preservation disguised as loyalty.
Slowly, Veronica steps back from the wall. Heather stumbles forward, smooths out her shirt. An apology is probably needed right now, but Veroncia doesn’t give it.
“What are you all still doing here?” Fleming’s voice cuts through the crowd. “The bell rang for class ten minutes ago.” Muted whispers move through the crowd and they begin to disperse; those on the edges first, then the more enthusiastic supporters when Fleming starts threatening detentions.
“Martha Dunnstock, why are you lingering around here?” Fleming asks. Veronica turns and sure enough, Martha is still hovering a few feet behind her, glistening eyes and an expression that can only be described as betrayed.
“It… it’s true then?” Her voice is so small Veronica fears someone will squash it. “You’re… It’s true.”
Martha looks down at her stomach. One single second. Enough to tear her apart.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
It isn’t enough. Martha shakes her head, a half-formed whimper escaping her lips.
“Martha Dunnstock, you will go to class right now, or you will be in detention for the rest of this week. And given your antics last week with Miss Henderson, you can’t afford to make things worse for yourself.”
Martha nods, the movement stiff and quick. Veronica moves forward, whispers her name, but Martha has turned away without meeting her eyes and is heading down the hall, gait still uneven from her fall.
She should’ve just gotten rid of it when she had the chance. No, she never should’ve let JD come near her.
“If I remember correctly, I didn’t come to you. You came to me. Quite enthusiastically, if I recall correctly.”
Get the hell out of here, JD.
He raises his eyebrows, but does as she asks. Then it’s just herself, Heather Duke and Ms Fleming.
Having a gun pointed at her was less painful than this.
“Now, ladies,” she says. “I don’t know what caused you both to create such a scene. I can only assume you’re fighting over some boy-”
“Well, that’s insensitive,” Heather interrupts. “Seriously, Veronica’s boyfriend fucking died and you’re assuming we’re fighting over a guy?” She folds her arms. “Of all the sexist, presumptious things you could’ve said, Ms Fleming, you chose that?”
Veronica bites her tongue. Hopefully, Fleming will assume she’s trying not to cry rather than holding back a laugh. She shouldn’t be laughing right now, but the look of utter shock on Fleming’s face is too good to miss.
“I am well aware of Veronica’s circumstances,” she says, voice clipped. “You can get to class, Heather, and you will be in detention for two weeks for inappropriate remarks to an adult.”
Heather looks at Veronica. Her eyes blaze and she knows Heather isn’t finished here. She could tear Fleming to pieces if she wanted to, and she is looking to Veronica for permission. How times change.
Veronica gives a small shake of her head. Stand down, she tells her silently. It isn’t worth it.
Heather exhales. Her jaw is still tight, her eyes bright with all the words she can’t say, but her shoulders drop. Veronica has a strong feeling she will hear about this later but for now, she has kept Heather out of trouble.
“Miss Sawyer,” Fleming says as they turn to leave. “A word, please. I am not finished with you.”
Veronica fights a sigh a she turns around. Heather’s knuckles brush against hers as she leaves, a gesture that undoes the knot in Veronica’s chest a little.
They stand in silence until Heather has disappeared around the corner.
“Now, Veronica.” Fleming clasps her hands. “I know you have been through a lot this semester. First Heather, then Kurt and Ram, then Jason Dean-”
“Martha too,” she reminds her. A shiver runs down her spine but she stands tall. “I almost lost Martha.”
“Yes, very sad. Anyway, then Jason Dean, and now your current predicament. I understand you are dealing with a significant amount, but there are people in school to help you.” She takes a step closer and Veronica moves back. “Now, I have an old collegemate who writes for
“Wait, wait.” She shakes her head. “What do you mean my current predicament?”
Fleming lowers her glasses. Veronica’s skin crawls.
How the hell did she not realise sooner?
“Well… you know.” She puts her hands on her hips and removes her glasses.
“What predicament?” she hisses. Fleming sighs like she asked about a hall pass.
“Don’t make me be crass, Veronica.” She gestures vaguely at her, but the direction is clear. “Your… you’re…” She sighs defeatedly. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Pregnant.”
Veronica laughs. God, she is stupider than she thought she was.
“Of course it was you,” she chuckles. “Heather wouldn’t, but you? I’m surprised you haven’t booked the news crew yet.”
“Veronica-”
“What was your angle going to be?” she asks. “Misguided Teenager Falls Victim to Satanic Lust? You being the guardian angel who saves me from myself?”
“You are making a lot of assumptions, young lady,” Fleming says, but her cheeks are flushed. “Now, I have no idea how this got out. But when your mother called to explain your… circumstances, of course, we had to have a meeting. When a girl of your ability ends up like this, we will be concerned, Veronica.”
“Okay,” she says flatly. Her whole body is shaking, her ears ringing so loudly it hurts, but she just smiles politely and turns toward the main door.
“V-Veronica, what on Earth are you doing?”
“Well, I have to go talk to my mother now, it seems.” She doesn’t bother looking back. “Thank you Miss Fleming for your concern and attempt at discretion.”
Fleming charges behind her, heeled boots clicking furiously.
“Miss Sawyer if you leave school now, we will have no choice but to suspend you.”
Suspended. Wow. What a stain to have on her otherwise squeaky-clean record.
Just as she reaches the door, Veronica turns back.
“Do you really think a suspension is the worst thing that can happen to me?” she asks.
Before Fleming can answer, she wrenches the door open and steps out into the cold air. White whisps of smoke form in front of her as she laughs.
JD appears beside her. His grin matches hers.
