Fine. Morning after. Thanks, guest reviewer.

Veronica and I must have fallen asleep at some point. It was lucky I hadn't been drinking much, so I didn't have much of a hangover. I was up a little earlier than she was and even had enough time to go downstairs and get some water.

My parents were home, since it was nine thirty on Sunday. "Hey, hon," Mom smiled. "Enjoy the party?"

"It wasn't anything special," I shrugged, "But I should have told you, I brought someone home with me. She stayed over. Her parents weren't expecting her home until today and so we came back when it started winding down. I know I should have said something, but I didn't want to wake you. It was sort of a last-minute thing. She had a…a fight with her friends and they weren't going to let her stay over."

Dad spoke up. "Of course, we trust you to choose the right friends. I understand that it was a last-minute decision. We don't mind if you have someone staying over, but I'd at least like to meet this girl before she goes home."

"Of course," I nodded. "Her name's Veronica Sawyer. I know her because she's been friends with Martha just about forever." Don't you just love it when excuses like that fall into your lap?

At that moment, I heard a scream from upstairs. "Better go," I said. "Sounds like she's just woken up."

Veronica looked shaken when I got back to my room. "What happened?" I asked, starting to remember exactly what she was about to tell me.

"Just a nightmare," Veronica said, starting to calm down. "I have to get to Heather's. You can come too if you want."

Red flags popped up among my mind. Do NOT let her go, my thoughts screamed.

"No, you don't," I said firmly. "First, you are going to get cleaned up and introduce yourself to my parents. They insisted. Then you are going to go over to Martha's and explain everything to her. You know Heather won't forgive you anyway. I need to check with my friends to see if they've dumped me or not, and then I'm going to see if I can do something about the Heather situation. Something tells me she's not the forgiving type with friends or foes."

Veronica still looked agitated. "I mean, it was really nice of you to stick up for me, Ana," she said awkwardly, "But you didn't need to lose all your other friends just for me."

"Martha's my friend, too," I said. "And I know I didn't talk to you till last night, but you proved you were braver and stronger than the other populars. I'd rather have you as a friend than any of the Heathers."

That made Veronica smile a bit. "Well," she admitted quietly, "The other Heathers probably wouldn't drop me if not for their leader. But I think after you stood up for me and then brought me home like that, I would consider you a friend, too. But," she said with a sigh, "I still think I should make a last-ditch effort to ask Heather for another chance."

"Give her a couple hours, at least," I suggested. "I bet she's still wasted. Go talk to Martha first. She's probably still feeling confused. I'll give you my number – call me later and let me know how it went."

"Right," Veronica nodded, "I will. She's a true friend."

"Also," I added, "I know this is annoying, but my parents want to meet you before you leave. It was just good luck that nothing had damaged her clothes – they were still clean, if a bit crumpled. I paused before asking "Apart from social death impending, how are you feeling? I mean, I think you drank more than I did."

Veronica blinked. "Oh. I have a high threshold with alcohol and I've been to a few parties in the last few weeks. I've gotten used to ignoring hangovers." No wonder she'd seemed energized instead of dozy last night. She certainly didn't act like she had a hangover now. After she'd had a shower and touched up her makeup, she looked as well put-together as she did at school.

An hour later, Veronica had gone after she'd given me her phone number and had a quick introductory convo with my parents (they'd liked her, although she'd been a little more reserved than they'd expected, since my friends were usually very open) and I was on the phone, calling each of my friends one by one.

"You were crazy, yelling at Heather!" Holly said, sounding slightly impressed. "I'm not going to stop you sitting with us, but don't expect me to talk to you if she's anywhere near us."

"I don't want to drop you," was Lisa's reply, sounding nervous, "But you can't just expect Heather to do nothing after what you said to her. You said you weren't scared of her. She's going to make sure you are scared within the next few days. She won't forget something like that."

"Give it a few days," Steph advised me. "Don't sit with us till next week. Heather has a long memory, but she'll probably leave you alone as long as you seem like a pariah for a while."

I didn't bother calling the boys. Holly had already called them and they'd both said they were still talking to me but were going to steer clear of me at school for the next few days. Considering Tim was in my geography class, I resigned myself to him looking through me on Monday morning. Standing up to Heather had been fun if scary (I guess like a rollercoaster), but the repercussions were going to suck.

Finally, I made the fourth call. Luckily, he picked up immediately. "Remember I said I wasn't looking forward to the party?" I said. "It's because I knew Heather was going to sentence me to social suicide because I would have to stand up to her. I knew about this prank she was going to pull on a friend and I had to stop it. Well, me and Veronica, who's also really good friends with the girl being pranked. You've probably met Veronica – she passed me just outside the Seven-Eleven last night."

JD chuckled at the other end of the line. "Yeah, I know her. She doesn't even like her friends, and we talked about that. And the party. She was doubtful about it, too. So she fell out with Heather Chandler?"

"Yep," I said grimly. "She wants to go over there and try to suck up to her again. I think it's a lost cause, so I tried to convince her not to. All I want is for Heather to leave us alone and not kill us socially."

JD was silent for a moment. Then he said "Do you know where Heather lives?"

I thought about that. Her address was pretty well known among the seniors. "I think so." I told him where it was. "I'm guessing she's probably home after last night's party. She's probably hungover."

"Perfect. I have an idea that should save both of you, if we get there before Veronica does. I can't stand Heather, anyway, so this is an opportunity for me. Meet me outside the house as soon as you can."

I actually had to park down the street, but at least he was waiting for me. "So what's this idea?" I asked.

JD just grinned at me and said "Patience. I'll work with what I have, but I don't know what I have yet. But I'll let you know when I've found out."

It was the widest smile I'd ever seen on him, and I was starting to think I knew where this was going.

Right on cue, as we were walking up the path, a window slid open and Heather, her hair still mussed from last night and her scrunchie absent, put her head out of the window and yelled "What are you two doing here?"

"Pretty early for yelling, isn't it?" I called back. It was barely twelve, and I was sure she'd have a hangover. "I'm here for patching things up and advocating for the idea that forgiveness is a virtue."

"Hope you brought kneepads, bitch!" Heather called down, less loudly, more projecting than shouting. "Make me a prairie oyster and I'll think about it." Yeah, I'd expected both those lines.

Well, true to movie and musical logic, JD and I were able to let ourselves into the Chandler house and the kitchen. I knew Heather was the only one home. We had free reign.

"I assume we're not making what she wants?" I asked in a slightly hushed voice. JD was already opening and closing cupboard doors, looking around. I knew then that my guess was right, and I braced myself for him to find it.

"You can, if you want. I'm more of a No-Rust-Buildup man, myself," he said casually, pulling out a container full of bright blue liquid. The same thing from both the movie and the musical.

I had to think hard about my answer. I wasn't going to argue that we shouldn't kill Heather since I couldn't think of another way to save myself, but I had a million questions that went unanswered in the musical, and I started asking them all. "Isn't that going to be easy to trace, with our fingerprints on the cup? What if Heather realizes what she's drinking? What if she doesn't drink enough to kill her? If we're going to break the law, I'd rather make sure there's no way anyone will find out."

JD poured it into a ceramic mug. "First of all, she won't notice if we put it in this. Anyway, when she commits suicide, no one's going to be asking where the fingerprints are. This stuff is fast-acting and super-toxic. Anyone takes even a few sips and there's no way they're going to wake up and point the finger."

I paused, thinking one more time. "And," I said hesitantly, "This is your only idea to get Heather to leave us alone? Nothing where she gets to live?"

JD shrugged. "It's a win-win. You don't get ostracized, the whole high school gets a break, and I get to trim away one of the bullies of the world. I know it's a bit extreme, but don't you feel the same way, deep down? Wouldn't everything be easier without Heather?"

Knowing the story, I looked into his eyes. All I saw was the belief that this was the right course of action. "The extreme always seems to make an impression, right? Like you said, it's getting rid of a bully. We're not murderers – we're…cleaning up trash?" The more I heard myself, the surer I felt.

JD laughed out loud, making me giggle weakly too. "I didn't think of it like that, but you're right," he said. "Now let's go get trash detail finished."

Since Heather had already seen us, we both came into her room, although JD never actually said anything – it was all up to me. Heather looked a little more awake than she did in the movie or the musical. That was, she wasn't under her covers. She was sitting up, but she was still in her kimono dressing-gown and her hair was messy. And yet she still managed to look like a model.

"Ana," she greeted me coldly. Her gaze slid past me to JD. "And Jesse James. Quelle surprise."

I smiled, thinking of what I was about to tell her. "Good hangover morning, Heather."

"So?" she said, looking straight at me. "Get to it. Beg."

Now that I knew she was dead, I wouldn't apologize. But maybe I could draw out some reasons she might want to die. Like all the awful things she'd done or caused. If I could make her feel guilty, that would go in the suicide note. Although maybe I could do that anyway.

I handed her the cup and said "Why? I know I said I came here for forgiveness. But I didn't mean you should forgive me. I didn't do anything wrong. I was actually going to say I'm ready to forgive you."

Heather looked gobsmacked. It was hilarious. "For what?" she said, her eyes flashing furiously, She stood up in her indignation, sliding her feet into fluffy red slippers. "What have I ever done to you?"
"Me? Nothing. Except what you're planning to do, like make me the biggest loser in the whole school because I dared to stand up to you. No, I was going to forgive you for the things you did to other people. For treating one of your best friends like crap," I started to list. "For giving her bulimia and no sympathy. For only befriending Veronica so you could use her forgery talent. For making her betray her best friend. For ditching her because she's better than you. For wanting everyone to be scared of you. I'm sure there's more, but I've made my point. Take your pick."

Heather laughed, the sound thin and humourless. "That's so cute! You actually think there's a slight chance I might say sorry for being at the top of the school? Take note from me, new girl. I usually cut new kids a little slack, but you're asking for it at this point. I bet Veronica's not going to be so fond of her new best friend when she hears from me tomorrow." Then she started drinking.

I'll be honest. I closed my eyes the second her lips met the mug. I squeezed them tighter as she started to react. I couldn't stand to watch Heather coughing her guts out, stumbling everywhere. I knew her eyes were popping out, that her mouth was stained blue. The mental image, inspired by Kim Walker and the musical actresses, was bad, but I knew it would be worse I if saw what it really looked like.

"Corn…Nuts…"I heard her gasp out, and then her body slumped to the floor.

I finally opened my eyes. Heather's lifeless corpse was sprawled at my feet. The mug was still clenched in her hand, a bit of drain cleaner dribbling out onto the carpet.

"I think I know what we need to do next," I said shakily, trying to keep the part of me that was scared and nervous out of my tone and failing. I tried hard to steady my voice. "I need a sample of her handwriting, and some paper and a pen."

JD was calmer than I was. On the inside, I was freaking out. I mean, I didn't react so much to Heather's death in the musical. I knew she was going to come back as a ghost and be the same as she was in life. At the curtain call, she'd be back in her blazer and skirt, smiling and taking her bow after her friends. In other words, no one really died. Heather Chandler still didn't feel quite like a real person to me. She was still more of a character, but a dead body right in front of me was not something I had anticipated, just something I'd thought I could handle, in theory.

But JD's calmness was real. It made me feel like I was overreacting, and I tried hard to downplay my real thoughts. He found a little notebook that Heather had written in, tore a free page out and passed over a pen. "You know what to write?" he asked me, looking a little unsure for the first time.

"I may not have been part of Heather's clique," I said, checking a written-on page and writing Dear World at the top of the torn page, carefully shaping my letters just the way she shaped hers, "But I do know a thing or two about the way she might write if she felt sorry enough for all the things I listed that she wanted to die. I was hoping she might admit she was, but of course, that failed."

JD looked a little impressed. "So that's what you were doing. I didn't get why you were listing all her crimes. So you thought she could have felt guilty? I didn't. People like her never do."

I laughed humourlessly. "Yeah, it didn't work, but it was fun. I charged her, you sentenced her. Now it's time I got her epitaph done. I mean, 'I told you I was ill' doesn't quite work for this one."

I didn't write the whole suicide-note song, of course. That would look too suspicious. I borrowed a few phrases from it, things like "I knew about fear" and "no one sees the me inside" and "box up my clothes for Goodwill".

JD read over my shoulder as I wrote, before I placed it in Heather's free hand. "Looks real," he said approvingly. "That definitely looks good enough to fool the cops. Come on, let's get out of here."

I lingered for a moment. "Um," I said uncertainly, "Should we just leave Heather on the floor? I mean, would someone who had intentionally poisoned herself have positioned herself like that?"

JD paused. "I don't want to move her," he admitted finally. "The carpet's already stained next to her, for one thing, so they'll know she was there. She's got her slippers on, so it would make sense that she was up and moving around." I nodded and we walked away.

I barely held my breath as we left the house. "You need a ride home?" JD asked me.

I shrugged. "I have a car. Do you?"

"No, I have a motorbike."

Yep, I'd expected that. "Well," I said, "I don't want to go home yet, but we need to get out of here. Plus we need to talk about the vigilante justice act we just performed. What about I meet you at Seven-Eleven and then we talk in my car?"

So that's what we did.

I wasn't originally going to end the chapter here, but it was getting long. Ana had already resigned herself to the idea that terrible people were going to die, but watching them die right in front of her was a lot harder for her to stomach. Still, I was happy to have her troll Heather first. She doesn't feel guilty for doing it because, at the moment, Heather doesn't feel like a real person to her. Ana sees her as a vague character who could destroy her social life and shouldn't get the chance to.

And yes, I referenced Spike Milligan's epitaph, "I told you I was ill". Ana made that joke for her own benefit, so she's allowed to reference the comedian who died the year she was born and not explain. She might not even know where it came from, but she knows about the epitaph.