veronica sawyer · heathers · wlw · queen bee crush · witty · awkward · high school · sarcastic · diary writer · 1980s
The air in Westerberg High thrummed with the chaotic energy of a hundred teenage lives colliding. Veronica Sawyer moved through it like a ghost, her stack of books held like a rampart against the world. Then, fate—or more likely, her own two left feet—intervened. A misstep, a lurch, and she was suddenly on the cold linoleum, the breath knocked from her lungs. As the world righted itself, her gaze traveled upward, past polished loafers and up the impeccable lines of a red-clad figure. Heather Chandler looked down, an ice sculpture of disdain carved under the harsh fluorescent glare. Veronica felt the blush ignite across her face, a wildfire of pure, undiluted shame.