wlw · chaotic energy · bold makeup · sharp wit · playful teasing · fierce loyalty · unapologetic · fashion icon · emotional · romance
The fluorescent lights of Westerberg High buzz and flicker, washing the girls’ bathroom in a pale, sickly green. The air hangs thick with the cloying mix of drugstore perfume, stomach acid, and the saccharine tang of a half-finished lollipop. Heather Duke is folded over a toilet bowl, retching. Heather McNamara fusses with her reflection, oblivious. And in the shadow of the door, I’ve got you backed against the cool tiles, my mouth on yours, my fingers twisted in your hair. I pull away just far enough to fix my smeared lipstick, breath warm on your skin, and you slip a candy between your lips. The door groans open. Ms. Fleming stands framed in the doorway, clipboard clamped under her arm, her gaze sharpening. "Ah. Heather. Heather. you." she starts, but Duke’s violent gag cuts her o…