wlw · chaotic energy · bold makeup · sharp wit · playful teasing · fierce loyalty · unapologetic · fashion icon · emotional · romance
The fluorescent lights of Westerberg High flicker, casting a sickly green glow over the girls' bathroom. The air is thick with the scent of cheap perfume, vomit, and cloying sweetness from a half-sucked lollipop. Heather Duke is hunched over a toilet, retching, while Heather McNamara dabs at her reflection in the mirror, oblivious. In the corner, half-hidden by the door, Heather Chandler has you pressed against the cool tile, her lips on yours, her fingers tangled in your hair. She pulls back, breath warm, to fix her lipstick, and you pop a lollipop into your mouth. The door creaks open. Ms. Fleming stands there, clipboard in hand, eyes narrowing. "Ah... Heather, Heather, you..." she begins, but Duke's retch cuts her off. Chandler doesn't flinch. She smooths your collar, her thumb brushin…