#yapperonica

[imightbebeautiful]

September 23rd, 1989

Dear diary,

"Jason Dean, J.D. for short." I found out his name! I found out much more than that! I'm fighting the urge to squeal right here and now.

I'm in Heather's car with Heather and Heather too. Thank goodness the three are busy talking about... a piñata? No idea. I don't really care. Ram's house isn't far so I have to write this quick. Good thing I always keep my notepad with me. You'll be my substitute diary for the night, like its cousin. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Anyway, ♡J.D.!♡ I ran into him at the 7-Eleven. The four of us made what was supposed to be a quick stop there to get snacks, mainly some Corn Nuts for Heather. They sent me to fetch everything (looks like I'm the errand girl), and I stepped out of the car thinking I'd be back in a second. Oh was I wrong.

There, from around the slushie machine, came out the mysterious new kid that won't leave everyone's mouth nor my mind. I might've fixed my hair, threw him a few looks, and basically flirted here and there. But he did so too!

He spoke to me first, which I was completely calm about... externally. Then he offered to buy me a Slurpee and after some banter debating the 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶𝒸𝒾𝑒𝓈 of the store's 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓈, I asked for his name and he finally "threw it."

It's good to put a name to the handsome face. The face I had centimeters away from mine at one point. Maybe I should've leaned in, he clearly got that close on purpose... But nope! I'll take it slow. I would have to be desperate to go that fast.

There was no small talk, no vain topics. He's a breath of fresh air in this godforsaken town.

Speaking of, he explained his reason for moving here is because of his father's job. You will never guess who the man is... Big Bud Dean! I see his TV commercial all the time! It's kinda hilarious but also pretty overblown. And judging by J.D.'s reaction, seems I'm not wrong in thinking that. But hey, maybe the man is just quite the character. I guess I'll know once I IF I meet him.

If.

I shouldn't be getting my hopes up anyway. After all, I keep proving my potential to make it to the next edition of The Guiness Book of World Records as the world's unluckiest human alive. I mean, what are the chances I make a "does your mom know" joke to someone whose mother passed away? Well, it's never zero, because that's exactly what I did!

F U C K !

✎ᝰ.

Veronica has to take a brief pause to deal with the embarrassment of the memory. Duke was throwing her a weirded out glance, clearly noticing the strange expression she was making. In response, Veronica gave her an awkward smile before she continued writing.

✎ᝰ.

On the bright side, he didn't seem to take any offense to my ignorance. I'd even say something good came from it. He opened up about his life, what he's been through, how he copes. He hasn't had it easy, that much I could tell.

He said he considers himself apathetic, numb. I can't exactly agree. He may be, to an extent. After all, we know ourselves better than anyone else but... How do I put it? A part of me feels like if that were the complete truth, we wouldn't have had that conversation in the first place. Why would an apathetic person reach out to someone else twice? Why lay your soul bare if not because you do care, and deep down wish for connection?

He doesn't strike me as apathetic, he strikes me as someone who's been severely hurt. Someone who feels in extremes and resorted to apathy as a shield. He did say: "The extreme always seems to make an impression." Maybe that's all he's ever known.

I don't entirely understand what he's been through. I probably don't even know the half of it. Still, I find that I wouldn't mind listening and being there for him if he lets me.

God! Was that too sappy?

I barely know the guy!

And yet, in a perfect world where I didn't have to kiss the Heathers aerobicized asses, I would've happily stayed there for the rest of the evening. Just talking at the local 7-Eleven, probably ending the night with a stomachache from all the candy and laughter. Sounds like a perfect Saturday night to me. Instead, I'm on my way to a party. And yeah, I am a bit curious and excited to experience a real one, I won't deny it. But I can't help but wonder what could've been.

✎ᝰ.

Heather Duke tells Veronica to "drop the homework" since they're almost at Ram's house. Veronica puts her pen and notepad back inside her blazer's pocket and readies herself for whatever the night might throw her way.

[imightbebeautiful]

Introduction 𓂃🖊

𖦹꧁ ༺ 📖 ༻ ꧂𖦹

My name's Veronica Sawyer, currently 17 years old, and a senior (class of 1990!) at Westerberg Highschool.

This is the part where I give you some context. You see, you are my diary. Shocking, isn't it? Not at all. I've been writing for years now. Not to mention, you're an inanimate object so you have no feelings, LOL. What a weird acronym. But it works. Better than writing long "ha ha ha's" like I used to.

As I was saying, you're my new diary, since the last one ran out of pages. Just in time for the first day of senior year. This has been a way of organizing my thoughts and an outlet for my feelings since middle school. Some may call it lame or deranged ("some" being everyone at school) but I don't care. Why should I? It's my little hobby and I won't let anyone ruin it for me. Martha, my best friend, said it's like my very own archive. And has encouraged me to keep going ever since she found out. I love that girl. ♡

So yes, I'll be pouring all of myself into you. I just realized how funny that sounds after writing it which is making me LOL again. The acronym is growing on me.

Introduction aside, I think I will write my first entry after school. Here's to hoping I don't get too harassed. It's the first day, for God's sake. Surely their attention won't be in making other's life miserable when they have their big egos to inflate. Maybe they'll be too busy showing off their first-day-of-school outfits or getting their crushe's attention. But also, if that turns out to be the case, I'll start to believe in miracles.

Gotta go, dear diary. I can hear the bus approaching. I have a hunch that you'll be an important one. Call it a gut feeling. I'll see you in a few hours!

I m p o r t a n t I n f o

【Ｇｕｉｄｅ ａｎｄ Ｎａｖｉｇａｔｉｏｎ】

【Ａｂｏｕｔ Ｖｅｒｏｎｉｃａ】

【ＲＰ ＆ Ａｄｍｉｎ】

Ａｂｏｕｔ Ｍａｉｎ Ｌｉｓｔ

💙 credits to @/pixopix & @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 💙

[imightbebeautiful]

(still) Septemeber 1st, 1989

Dear diary,

That happened. THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED! I still can't believe it! For the first time in years I didn't have to take the bus because I got a ride back home! The absence of screams, paper balls flying around, and the smell of grown teens who avoid deodorant like the plague was really appreciated. It was surreal. I wrote to you about how my first day started, then a single decision I took turned my life around. All eyes were on me yet non held mockery. There was—

Wait.

No.

Pause.

I need to organize my thoughts. I'm a mess right now. Sorry, diary. I ran straight to my bedroom and started writing as soon as my butt hit the chair. I'll grab a shower and cool down.

I'm back. Got a nice warm shower and stole some cookies from dad's secret jar. He won't notice, never has.

Let's get to what you're here for.

Earlier, I told you I was in a bathroom stall. Just as I was about to get out I heard the distinct sound of high-heeled shoes approaching. Not a second later the door to the stall besides mine opened abruptly and someone threw up their guts down the toilet. Then she spoke up, and that's when I knew. It was the Heathers. So of course, being the sane person I am, I carefully brought my legs up to the toilet seat and didn't move an inch.

I've discussed them multiple times in my past diaries. How could I not? For years now they've been everything. They're solid Teflon. Never bothered, never harrassed. I've always said I'd give anything to be like that.

There's 3 of them, each has an attributed color, and yes, they're all called Heather.

Heather Mcnamara wears yellow, her dad is loaded, he sells engagement rings. Heather Duke, green, no discernable personality but well, her mother did pay for implants. Lastly, Heather Chandler, always in red, the almighty. To put it simply, she's a mythic bitch.

I overheard they were skipping class but came to the bathroom since Heather needed to puke. Not even a minute later, Ms. Fleming arrived, threatning to give them week's detention since they didn't have a hall pass. That's the moment a light bulb went on in my head. I silently ripped a page from you (sorry about that) and forged one for the four of us. Don't mean to brag but it was pretty convincing. Heather called it "excellent" once Ms. Fleming went away. Yeah, diary, I left the stall and stepped outside. I didn't let myself overthink it, just acted.

After I introduced myself I gathered up the courage to crave a boon. Was I scared shitless? Definitely, but I took the risk anyway. When else would I have the opportunity to ask them to let me sit at their table at lunch? I specified it was just once, and talking wasn't necessary; can't be too pushy.

I swear all I wanted was for that single public interaction. I'm sure that would've been enough. Yet, the realization that it wouldn't go as I anticipated came with 3 pairs of eyes scanning me down. They said I had potential. Heather ordered the other two to bring makeup, a hairbrush, and an outift change. Where did they even get all that, you might be asking. No clue, better not question it.

I don't remember much of the 'Heatherfication' process. I was waiting for the moment my alarm clock would wake me up and bring me back to reality. Obviously, that moment never came. What did come was the moment when I looked in the mirror to admire their work.

Dear diary, I swear I never thought I could look so... beautiful. I risk sounding conceited but, for once, I liked how I looked. As cliché as it sounds, for a second, I couldn't believe I was looking at myself. Cute hair style, flawless makeup, fashionable mini-skirt, and a lot of blue. They assigned me that color so I better get used to wearing it.

By the time we were done it was already passing period. The minute we stepped out of the bathroom all eyes were on us, which the Heathers are used to. But me? Not at all. I can't begin to describe the feeling. Being looked up to and not down to is something I had only dreamed of, prayed for. Now it's my reality.

Tomorrow I'll go to the mall with my newfound clique. The three of them insist I need to renew my wardrobe, and hey, who am I to complain when they're offering to pay?

Unlike before, I'm feeling quite optimistic about the future. Maybe senior year won't be so bad. And maybe this is just the first step towards change.

[imightbebeautiful]

TW: (!) Brief mention of an E.D. (bulimia). Skip the last 2 sentences about Heather Duke's second paragraph if you wish to avoid it. Stay safe. ♡

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

September 22nd, 1989

Dear diary,

It's been 3 weeks since I became friends with the Heathers. I think friends isn't exactly the right word. It's more like, they are people who I work with and our job is being popular and shit.

I know I gave you a brief introduction to them the day they took me under their wing but I think I should give you the 4-1-1* on them. After all, these past few weeks we've spent together have revealed more than I thought.

Let's get Heather Chandler out of the way. Her word is law. She's the queen bee, admired by all, feared too. Her temperament is quite thin and that's me putting it nicely. If things don't go her way you will be met with her outrage. Personally, I'd rather avoid it. Heather may not be booksmarts but she's clever in different ways. She has charisma, influence, presence, and immaculate intuition. Like a spider navigating its web, nothing and no one escapes her once she's got you.

Her eyes hold power. Being under her gaze is intimidating, terrifying even, but also thrilling, and that's how she keeps herself at the top. She would thrive as a political figure it's all I'm saying. Westerberg's very own Nancy Reagan. However, for the sake of the country, I will never tell her that.

Let's go with Heather Duke next. She runs the yearbook, which means she's the person you want to contact for information on any activity around Westerberg. I've learned that, like me, she also likes to read. I once tried talking about it with her but she just kept dismissing me. We were cut short by Heather anyway, so it didn't go anywhere. It looked to me like she was hesitant to engage in the conversation, not reluctant. Maybe I'll try again some other time.

She can be pretty damn hostile, though. Like, all the time. I called Heather the mythic bitch of the group but Heather doesn't fall behind. She cares about her appearance the most. In my opinion, her style is impeccable but her standards for herself are too high and strict. (!) I guess that goes in hand with her struggles with bulimia, which is unfortunate but not uncommon around here. If you don't have that S tag on all of your clothes you're apparently unworthy of existing in peace.

Can't forget about Heather Mcnamara. She's head cheerleader, and a talented one at that. Each time I've seen the school's cheer team perform I'm left impressed by her abilities. Talking with her is quite the contrast from Heather and Heather. I confess I feel a bit more at ease with her. Like I'm not walking on eggshells each time I speak. Not only that, but she actually listens, goes along with everything others say. Although, I wouldn't claim that last thing is good. Not for her at least.

Despite all her good qualities, she's a willing follower and perpetrator; still a Heather.

Which I guess I am too, although I don't feel like it.

Being a part of their clique has been... something, to say the least.

Okay, I'll be honest, I still don't particularly like them. I've grown to understand them better, yeah. They are people, not just the image of perfection they portray. Still, I mostly joined them to survive my last year of highschool.

Yes, the privileges of popularity are nice, you saw me freak out on the first day of school. However, I won't let myself get blinded by them. I'll enjoy the protection they provide me (also the pretty clothes) and that's it.

Is it bitchy to use them for my own benefit? Kinda? They're doing the same. I say it not as an excuse but a fact. The only reason they (specifically Heather) accepted my request was because of my abilities in forgery. And I knew this from the start. I signed up for it, I planned it. I could've remained quiet, go unnoticed, but I ceased the opportunity. I stepped in and spared them from detention. Our relationship is transactional, I'm fine with that. As long as all of us get what we want there shouldn't be a problem.

Plus, I have faith that I might be able to help now that I'm in this position. Stop them from bothering other students...? That could make Westerberg less of a hell on Earth. I briefly mentioned this some entries ago. I know it's wishful thinking, dear diary, I'm not naive. But if I could at least make them stick to themselves completely, that could bring some illusion of goodness, right?

I'm not sure if that would be enough. Doesn't feel like the correct answer either.

Maybe I am naive. Call me an optimist or even delusional but I know that things can change. No matter how angry and frustraded I get, I remind myself to remain rational. Underneath all the harassment and division lies real people. The Heathers and I became acquainted. As superficial as it may be, that should be prove enough that we could all coexist in peace. It's a matter of finding a catalyst towards change.

Change is impossible to avoid in its entirety, it's a part of the human experience. It's innate. I know I'm getting philosophical but I believe I have a point among all this word vomit. We at Westerberg can never go back to how we were, it's the simple truth. However, if we changed back then, we could change again; for the better.

I thin`–—

Heather came to tell me Heather requests my presence at the cafeteria. How very.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

* Pre-Internet, there were only a few ways to find out someone's telephone number and one of them was by dialing 4-1-1 — the telephone number used in the U.S. and Canada to reach directory assistance.

"Directory assistance" came to be known as "Information," and by the early 1980s, 411 ("four-one-one") was being used as a slang term for just that, information.

— Merriam-Webster