mcnamara

——✍;;{ ✉ }

             Veronica was so used to Heather’s touchy-feel-y hellos               that she didn’t even have to turn around to know the girl               perched haphazardly on her shoulder was none other               than the tiny head cheerleader. Heather McNamara was                practically dwarfed, with her 5’4” curly blonde head coming               up only to Veronica’s shoulders. She crossed her arms and                side-eyed the girl, hiding a secret grin in the corner of her                mouth.

                       ❝ Heyyy, Heather. How was cheer practice? ❞

♚ ;; ℋℳ ——

        ❝  We perfected a new lift. It's, like, the grand finale              of our new routine. Just you wait until next week's              pep rally when you get to see it ! ❞ 

           With her gently chipper tone, it was easy for her to conveniently            leave out the fact that perfected only meant found the balls to            salvage a final shred of trust in her team-mates not to let her            f a l l                                        ( again ).    

it's a true christmas miracle

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                             ;; astatistic

               Veronica wrung her hands, fingers tying and untying                 themselves in and out of nervous knots. Heather was                 thanking her again. Thanking her for what-it didn’t even                 really matter. It was just the idea of being appreciated                 when she deserved no sort of appreciation that gnawed                 at Veronica. It ate at her slowly, until she felt she had no                 other choice but to tell the bright, bubbly, happy friend                 next to her the truth. The entire truth, even if it would                 take that sunshine out of her life for good.

                        “——Stop. Heather—don’t talk about me like that.                                   You don’t—you have no idea—”

                                   Veronica swallowed her words and blinked.                                    Once. Hard. Then exhaled.

                  “I killed Kurt. I shot him. It was me, not Ram.”

♚ ;; ℋℳ ——

            She had been doing better. With Veronica standing as her             protector & crutch, she had built herself back up from her             scared & rickety state of mind, regaining the pep in her             step and lilt in her voice. Heather was grateful. Every ounce             of her being was owed to Veronica, and she had grown             into the habit of expressing her ongoing gratitude, over as             little as company or a smile.

            But the admission causes her cheerful disposition to waver,             blue-eyed gaze shifting quickly to fixate upon her guilty             companion. No --- she couldn't have heard that right. The             very last thing Veronica Sawyer could be capable of was             murder. Brows knitted together, the small girl shrank in             anxiously upon herself, jaw clenched.

            "Veronica --- everyone knows it was a suicide. There was             the note and . . . "

            A handwritten note. Gaze falling to Veronica's hands, her             heart sinks, dubiousness draining away at an alarming              rate. Master of forgery --- Heather had witnessed first-             hand just how dead-on Veronica's take on the deceased              football players' writing could be.

     Can you come over after school ? I have        a date, & I need outfit advice.

♚ ;; ℋℳ ——