The first time JD meets Heather Duke, she's bent over behind a 7-11, puking her guts out.
He doesn't recognize her as one of the Heathers at first (would it have made a difference if he did? probably) and he feels something like pity or empathy or some shit like that, so he holds her long auburn hair away from her face until she finishes. Then he lets go and steps back.
She turns to face him. She has streaks of makeup running down her face and vomit on her lips and the front of her blouse, but she still sniffs proudly and steps away from him.
He offers her his shirt since hers is gross and stained with vomit (those were his exact words: "Do you want my shirt, 'cause yours is gross and stained with vomit?") and she raised one eyebrow and replied. "I'd rather wear my own intestines around my neck than flannel, thanks."
Then he remembers where he's seen her before.
"You're a Heather, aren't you?"
"And you're that weird kid who likes Veronica Sawyer." She offers her hand to him and he takes it, shakes briefly. They both wipe their hands on their jackets afterward.
"Heather Duke."
"Jason Dean."
"Wish I could say it was a pleasure."
"Same here."
He offers to buy her a slushy or some corn nuts or something to fill her up, and she weakly laughs and declines. "Too many calories," she says with a sheepish grin.
"You dropped your book," he says, and offers it to her. Her cheeks flush, as if she's embarrassed that some nobody saw her reading The Catcher in the Rye, and she snatches it back hurriedly.
"No need to be embarrassed," he says mildly. "It's a good book."
"Wow, Bo Diddly approves of my choice in reading," Heather deadpans. "I'm flattered."
He smirks and walks her back to the parking lot.
"Shit," Heather swears. The lot is empty except for his motorbike.
"Your date ditch you?"
"Not my date, just Heather. Chandler. She was supposed to wait until I was done…taking care of myself. I guess a better option showed up."
He has no idea what prompts the next words out of his mouth (maybe because he really doesn't like Heather C, maybe because he's bored, or maybe because he feels like fucking with the cosmic alignment of high school stereotypes) "You need a ride home?"
"What, on that?" she raises a scornful eyebrow.
"I'll let you drive."
"Seriously?"
He shrugs. "We're all just specks in a giant maelstrom and everything's meaningless, so who cares if we die in a fiery explosion by the side of the road, really?"
"Ugh, Nietzsche."
"Don't ugh Nietzsche. He was a brilliant man."
She elbows him in the side and makes her way over to the bike. "You're such a pillowcase."
"What does that even mean?"
She swings her leg over the side of the bike, brushes her hair away from her face, and puts his helmet over her head. "It means shut up and get on the bike, freak."
He does, keeping his hands at awkward waist level as they speed away.
(Heather wouldn't tell anybody ever, but she appreciates it)
She drives them to Heather M's house.
"Sometimes, I don't like my friends," Heather confesses suddenly as she gets off the bike, hands him back his helmet.
He lights a cigarette. "I don't really like your friends either."
"Except Veronica."
"Exception noted."
Veronica comes out then, spots the tear, makeup, and vomit stains on Heather, and runs to her. "Heather? What's wrong, what happened?" She turns to glare at JD. "What did you do?"
"He just gave me a ride," Heather mutters, giving an apologetic look to JD. "Don't tell Heather."
"I promise I won't." Veronica hugs Heather again. "When Heather came back without you, we were all really worried."
Heather snorts. "Yeah right."
"Well, I was," Veronica amends her statement. "Then Heather Mac spiked the lemonade, so…"
"Yeah."
Veronica lets Heather go to lean over and kiss JD on the cheek. "Thank you for helping her."
JD fights down a blush. Veronica doesn't notice, but Heather Duke does, and her grin is a beautiful and evil thing to behold.
"VERONICA!" comes a familiar shout, and tipsy Heather Chandler is standing at the doorway. "If it isn't Heather Duke. You finally dragged your ass back here. Hurry up, Heather's on top of the chandelier and I can't get her down by herself."
"Hi, Heather," Heather groans. She turns to JD. "We will not speak of this. You. Me. Anything you saw in that parking lot. Ever."
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
"Don't we all."
"So long, Salinger."
"See you never, Nietzsche."