Heather Chandler's funeral was today.

I was a bit surprised to know that I was invited, but Veronica explained that it was an open thing. I thought that was a bit disrespectful, considering that her horde of ex boyfriends would attend - before concluding that Heather would want all the attention anyway. Wanted people to mourn over her, even if they loathed her.

And here they did. Everyone inside the Westerburg halls seemed to mull over her death.

Each period was the same: The bell would ring, the teacher would stand in front of the class, and provoke a detailed analysis of Heather Chandler's suicide. I even got to have a little face-to-face chat with Heather McNamara again.

When Mrs. Lockwood let us lose, the blonde spun around and pulled her chair closer to my desk. Her brown eyes flickered with grief as she frowned at me. "You know, for a second, I thought you were joking," she murmured, tears bubbling in her eyes. "You really weren't."

"Don't cry," I asserted, resting my chin in my hand. "Heather wasn't your friend anyway."

Heather froze, cupping her mouth. "She was my best friend!"

People were staring at us now, their whispers reiterating almost chant-like comments. Did he just say that? Holy shit - he just pissed off a Heather.

I leaned over my desk, my face inches away from hers. "What's the nicest thing Heather did for you?"

"She let me borrow one of her scrunchies," she offered.

"A scrunchie. For what, a day?" I snarled. "Is that really what you'll base your friendship on? A fucking piece of fabric?"

"I," Heather stuttered, her face deadpan. She sank into her seat, crossing her arms. "You're right."

I almost felt bad for her.

Mrs. Lockwood - mainly out of pity and boredom - halted the discussion. She clapped her hands together, calling the class to focus. "That's enough. We need to wrap up this unit."

o00o

"You live near Heather McNamara?"

I glanced back at Veronica, her gaze intent on the powder blue house.

"Unfortunately."

I ambled into the living room, plopping on the couch. I turned on the tv as Veronica joined me.

"What's with all the boxes?" she queried.

"Like I said, I move around a lot. No use in unboxing everything," I replied, looking around. "It's just a bunch of books and old photographs anyway."

She kept looking at the multitude of house plants and odd trinkets surrounding her.

A razor-thin smile creased her mouth.

"All right. Let's see how Sherwood is handling the downfall of Heather Chandler, shall we?"

Veronica laughed softly, wrapping her arm around me. "I can't wait."

Heather Duke's face was displayed on the screen. She rehashed fake reports of their relationship, her emotions dull. With a flick of the remote, I changed the channel.

"I remember I won her a rhino at the 4H Club, for - "

"Oh, you're an asshole," Veronica murmured. "Mute him."

I changed the channel.

Duke's face appeared again. "You know, we liked the same kind of clothes - "

"Heather, how many networks did you run to?" Veronica blurted out. She glanced towards me, running her fingers through my hair. "Jesus, it's the same thing every time. Change the channel."

I changed the channel again.

It was interesting to watch Veronica rant on and on about her classmates. In these few moments, her voice went from silvery to orotund. Her hair glistened in the sunlight like a single firefly on a summer's night, her eyes the color of black pepper.

She was perfect.

A perfect girl for a imperfect boy. A second-rate, miserable type of imperfect. The kind you put back on the shelf after a quick glance. You hide it behind newer and unbroken models, hoping that no one would notice it.

Until someone does, and it's thrown away without a thought.

What is she doing here?

"It's not going to be the same here without her - "

What am I doing here?

"What're you talking about? You hated her, she hated you!"

What am I?

" - Every English class, I looked forward to seeing her -"

Three questions I could never answer.

I turned off the TV.

A reality I couldn't face - can't face to this day.

Veronica grimaced, covering her face with her hands. "I thought her death stopped all this bullshit."

"Heather Chandler has always been top dog, Veronica. Westerburg can't leave go of her image just yet - her clones will make sure of it."

Veronica peeked out of her hands. "Maybe we should get rid of them, too."

"What?"

She only blinked.

A creak of the door startled both of us, and I recognized the big, echoing footsteps.

Big Bud Dean.

He threw a bag towards the fireplace, staring up at the ceiling.

I could hear him bitching under his breath.

"Hey, Son, I didn't hear you come in."

"Hey, Dad, how was work today?" he imitated, strolling over to a treadmill.

He waited for a reply. I simply glanced at Veronica, pausing. "I think you should get going, darling."

Dad rolled his eyes, grunting.

"It was miserable," he answered, scowling. "Some damn tribe of withered old bitches doesn't want us to terminate that fleabag hotel. All because Glenn Miller and his band once took a shit there. Just like Kansas - remember fucking Kansas?"

I nodded. "Yeah, that was the one with the wheat, right?"

"'Save The Memorial Oak Tree' Society. Showed those fucks."

Veronica shifted closer towards me, avoiding my Dad's cold gaze. She caught my attention, mouthing is he always like this?

"Yeah - 30 of those 4th of July fireworks attached to the trunk. Arraigned, but acquitted," I explained lackadaisically. Veronica seemed to almost chuckle at my tone, nuzzling closer into my neck.

"Gosh, pop, I almost forgot to introduce my girlfriend."

"Veronica, this is my dad. Dad - Veronica," I clarified.

She held out her hand, her smile fake. "Hi."

He ignored her.

"Why don't you stay for dinner?" my dad asked, glancing at her. "Jason here -"

"JD."

" - JD here invited the McNamaras over. We could use someone less batshit to balance it out."

Veronica grabbed her purse, jumping up. She backed away nervously, collecting her demeanor. "I can't, my mom's making my favorite meal tonight. Spaghetti - lots of oregano."

"How nice," I commented, glimpsing at the photo beside me. "Last time I saw my mom? She was waving from a library window in Texas. Right, Dad?"

He stepped off the treadmill. "Right, Son."

"Right," Veronica repeated, inching away.

Thanks for reading!

Anyone find what Veronica said interesting? She's still pretty much herself, but I think she's changed a little bit. Also, are you excited for Heather Chandler's funeral? What do you think will ensue?

As of now, this fanfiction has 15 followers and 11 favorites! Thank you so much, guys! I'm still up for the offer on the forth chapter.

By the way, I'm still active on my Tumblr ask blog. Drop by and ask a question if you'd like.

Responses to Reviews

Nap Team Captain - Ahh! Thank you so much! :)

SweetRiceball20 - I do too. It might be a little while before they have a chance at friendship, but I think its possible.

Have a wonderful day.