DISCLAIMER: This story contains abusive language which does not reflect the views of the creator. Viewer discretion is advised.

November 5, 1985

Once again, Heather Duke shot a nervous glance at the queen of Westerburg High's freshman class, hoping against hope that she would divert her attention from her perfectly manicured red (not a shock, since her entire wardrobe consisted of either red or, in the case of her skirt, plaid) nails back to Duke. Accepting a temporary defeat once again, Duke turned back to her Civics worksheet, ignoring her flaky teacher's droning in the process. It was kind of pathetic really; Heather had wasted the better part of not only every other Civics class that semester, but two consecutive school years trying to get this girl to notice her.

Part of Duke said to herself that she should've known better. She was Heather Duke - nerdy, short, flat-chested and flat-assed (was that a word?) yet still a bit plumper than most of the popular girls (for a cheerleader, Heather Mac was pretty damn fat to be honest), and 'friends' with that fat pig with the glasses Martha Dumptruck and her equally lameass friends Bitchy Finn and Vagina Sawyer.

Duke didn't care; she was going to be friends with Heather Chandler - the cool Heather, according to Kunt and Ram (she snickered to herself at her totally funny and original joke) - no matter what.

Martha Dumptruck - the fucking traitor didn't deserve to be called by her stupid ass name; and judging by her three chins, she was probably like 50 pounds overweight anyways, so it wasn't entirely unwarranted - had told her again and again, over and over, that it was hopeless. "Heather Chandler doesn't care about people like us." "She's too busy just noticing herself." "You'll always be considered a friend to us."

Jesus Christ, she could write a cartoon for fucking four year olds with that bullshit! This wasn't fucking Kindergarten anymore; it was time to grow up and make some grown-ass friends for once. Bitchy and Vagina took Lardplanet's side, as per goddamn usual. "C'mon Dukey, we've been friends with you through the worst of times; what has Heather Chandler ever done?"

Heather gripped her pen more tightly as the memories of that fight washed over her. She didn't care that little drops of ink were soaking her fingernails, or that she was crumbling her paper with her other fist. How dare they try and guilt trip her with that cliched "friends till the end" bullshit? Bunch of fakers ...

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNGGGGGGG

With that, the student body got up, packed their worksheets, and headed to various locations. This wasn't a problem for Heather Duke: she shared lunch with Heather Chandler, and all that sitting around in class helped her come up with an idea. She followed the tall, attractive strawberry blonde up the stairs to the cafeteria.

While Chandler was distracted, Duke would have Fatbitc - er, "Martha" - walk into her royal bitchiness and knock her lunch tray to the floor. One quick tongue thrashing and BAM! Instant popularity; even if Chandler didn't take Duke into her inner circle immediately, it was definitely a step in the right direction. Especially since the hambeast was such an easy target ...

"Are you staring at my ass?"

...

...

...

Oh God. This whole time that Heather Duke was daydreaming about her plan, she'd been absentmindedly looking forward. She didn't realize that Heather Chandler's swinging butt was in the way. The owner of said butt was now glaring her down from the top of the stairs, arms folded against her chest and golden eyes flashing.

She had been caught (unintentionally) staring at another girl's ass. And, as Heather Duke looked around her, she saw more than a few other freshmen barely containing snickers.

'Welp, I guess being a giant AIDs joke for the rest of my life is better than being Martha Dumptruck,' Duke thought as Chandler began to tap her foot impatiently.

"N-no," she stammered out, her cheeks burning a bright red and her eyes watering. The laughing became louder and more obnoxious. "I'm not gay. I'm serious. I-I was just super distracted, is all ..."

Chandler raised an eyebrow, but stopped tapping her foot.

"Next time you're 'distracted,' keep your eyes off my ass," she snarked. "Even if I was a fag like you, I'd have better standards for a girlfriend than you, Pancake, so don't even think about it." And with that, she spun on her heel and headed towards the cafeteria.

Duke sucked back half a gallon of tears, slowly walking up the rest of the stairs. She had blown her one chance to become popular; who knew when the next one would come again?

"You okay, Dukey?"

Duke looked up to see Martha Dumptruck looking at her with concern. Stupid lardball, getting in her business.

"Did the other Heather hurt y-"

"Shut up, Martha," Duke snapped back, fists clenched and eyes flashing. "Just. Shut. Up."

Hoping that Dumptruck would get the message, Duke started to walk a little faster and ...

"C'mon Heather," Dumptruck whined at Duke's retreating back. "Veronica and Betty and I, we know what it's like to be burned by the popular girls. We've all been -"

"Save it, Dumptruck," Duke snapped at her friend, ignoring the little yelp of hurt Martha gave. "I'm sorry if you're too stupid to understand this, but I want something better than to be the popular kids' butt monkey."

"But Heather Chandler wants nothing to do with you-"

"Martha. Fuck. Off. NOW." Stupid Martha, wasn't smart enough to know when to shut her goddamn mouth.

"I'm going to become friends with Chandler," Duke hissed to her former friend, "whether you like it or not. Capisce?"

For a moment, there was silence in the hallway. Then, Martha gave a teary nod and walked off.

Thank. Fucking. God. Hopefully, this time the truth got through Martha's thick skull. Duke made her way to the cafeteria, more than a little less pissed due to possibly shaking Martha off her tail.

Ignoring the judgmental stares and half-hidden laughs from a few freshmen who had caught her inadvertently checking out Chandler's butt, Duke sat down with her lunch tray (a few tables away from Heather Chandler, of course) and began to eat, one ear open for any opportunity to have a proper conversation with her. Maybe she could even get Chandler to forget about the ... let's call it, "The Incident."

Chandler appeared to be deep in conversation with Kurt and Ram. Which, yeah, was a total oxymoron (again, Duke quietly laughed at her very clever, very funny, and totally original joke).

"Hey Ram, know anyone who's good at Geometry?" Chandler said to Ram. "And don't say you'll do it in exchange for a blowjob; same goes for you Kurt."

Duke's ears perked up: she had aced every Math class she'd been in since fifth grade. Now was her chance.

She stood up from the table and walked to Chandler's, ignoring the puddles of sweat soaking her armpits and Kurt and Ram's dimwitted, whiny response to Chandler denying them oral.

"I can do Math," Duke blurted out. Chandler and the two idiots turned to look at her.

"What do you want, a fucking medal dyke?" Chandler said with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic smirk. Kurt and Ram chuckled to themselves stupidly.

Ignoring the blush creeping up her face and neck, Duke continued, "I-I heard you say you were struggling with Geometry ("Fuckin' stalker," Chandler deadpanned under her breath), so I thought that, if you let me sit with you and your friends, I could help you?"

Chandler snorted. "What's your angle?"

Duke swallowed nervously. "I-I wanna be popular like you." Jesus Christ, that sounded corny as hell. No wonder Chandler and the two idiot jocks started snickering.

"Alright Pancake", Chandler said once she had gained control of herself. "Here's the deal: you do all my math homework through senior year for free, and I'll let you hang out with me. Hell, I'll even forget about the whole 'checking out my ass' thing."

Duke's face burst into a gigantic smile, doing her best to keep from jumping up and down in joy. "T-thank you so much! I-I don't know what to say!"

"That's nice," Chandler said, dismissively waving her hand while returning her attention to her food. "My homework's in my bag, so hop to it."

Ignoring the strawberry blonde's rude behavior, Duke sat down right next to Chandler. She quickly realized that Kurt and Ram were looking at her with more than a bit of surprise.

"You checked out Hot Heather's ass?" Ram blurted out, his tiny eyes narrowed into confused slits.

"N-no I didn't; she was just making a -"

"Yep," Chandler answered, stabbing at the weird paste on her plate with a fork. "If it makes you feel any better, you're not the first girl to check me out. Anyways, you're probably smart enough to not pull that shit a second time, right?"

Realizing that there was no winning with Chandler, Duke nodded her head affirmatively.

"Oh and by the way," Chandler began again, "if you're gonna hang with me, you'll have to fix two things."

"This - " she poked a finger into Duke's rounded stomach.

"And this," she pulled that finger out and used it to tap Duke's almost completely flat chest.

Duke shrank back a little, face scarlet once again. How could she be so stupid as to think Chandler would let a pot-bellied girl with no boobs hang with her?

"That's fine," Duke said back. "I'll bug my mom to get me implants, and I'll stop eating sugar and crap."

The implants weren't a problem. Giving up junk food, on the other hand, was; it provided a strange comfort to Duke when she was depressed, even if she struggled to keep it down most of the time. It was a weird cycle: popular kids who bully her, she'd eat thirty wings to feel better, bloat up and gain a pot belly, get bullied more, vomit half her weight out until the belly was gone, rinse and repeat.

"Good," Chandler said with a self-satisfied smile. "Oh, and one more thing: ditch the jeans. If you're with me, you wear a skirt; if you wanna look like a dude, go fuck off and hang with those bitches who wear army boots and overalls."

Cue Kurt and Ram snorting in perfect harmony.

"I have a cute black skirt at home," Duke said, eager to please her new 'friend'. "A-and I can combine it with this killer green blazer and white shirt! It'll look really -"

"What's your name, fat body?" Chandler asked, completing ignoring what Duke was saying.

"H-heather Duke," came the reply.

"Shut up, fatter Heather, I can't hear myself thanks over your goddamn rambling."

That one sentence summarized their relationship almost through their junior year of high school.