Dear Diary
I’ve never been so feared. Not because I’m a dangerous person, but because I’m friends with the ones who are.
I’m skipping with the Heathers, when the washroom door bursts open. The smell of berry flavoured vapour floods into Mrs. Dunnstock’s face. Shit. Of all teachers to walk in to washroom, it had to be Mrs. Dunnstock. For some reason, Mrs. Dunstock has this fucked up vendetta against the Heathers. She goes out of her way to single out Heather M. when she’s in her class, always gives the Heathers a sort of death glare, and I’m even pretty sure she started the rumor that the Heathers give out free handjobs. They don’t. Why the fuck would they be free? Suddenly, Heather D. lets out the biggest retch I’ve ever heard from within a stall. Perfect, now we’ve got some pity points.
“Oh my god Heather are you ok?” I ask to Heather D. while trying to hide a chuckle.
“No.” says Heather with a slight quiver.
“Don’t think you’re fooling me with that bullshit, Heather.” says Mrs. Dunnstock with a growl in her voice.
“What the fuck Mrs. Dunnstock! I’m literally as sick as a frog, you bitch.”
“First of all, the saying is “Sick as a dog”, and second of all, I know you’re not sick. You’re just a fatass who can’t lose weight even if you try.” retorts Mrs. Dunnstock with a cleverly evil grin on her face.
“That’ll leave a mark.” Heather C. says with a chortle.
“Oh...” mumbles Heather D. with immense sadness.
That’s fucked up. I knew Mrs. Dunnstock was an asshole, but trying to make Heather think they’re fat? That’s a new level of asshole.
“So, what’s your excuse for breaking the rules this time?” asks Mrs. Dunnstock, almost in a polite manner.
“You know, I happen to have some money that I was gonna use to buy a new coat...” Heather C. says while beginning to look through her purse. Heather C. pulls five or six 100 dollar bills out and holds them out in her hand towards Mrs. Dunnstock.
“But I’d say you need a new haircut more than I need that coat. Why don’t you take this money and go get a trim.” says Heather C. with a seemingly genuine smile. I know, however, that it is not.
Mrs. Dunnstock looks at the money with a puzzling look, as if there are gears turning in head. She grabs the bills hesitantly, then walks out of the washroom with a grumble.
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