🎧'Dead Girl Walking – Heathers: The Musical

The hallway is too empty for a Monday. But it makes sense — the bell rang ten minutes ago, and most students are in their classrooms, pretending to care about algebra, literature, or anything other than their own lives.

You walk with steady, discreet steps, passing by the colorful lockers and motivational signs on the school walls as if you know exactly what you’re doing. The clipboard under your arm helps keep your pose. After all, you are the new intern in the guidance counselor’s office.

You stop in front of door 213. A stuffy little room, with beige carpet and the smell of old tea. You knock twice, take a deep breath, and enter.

The lead counselor smiles too kindly and hands you the file of the next student.

Abigail Littman.

And just from the file, you already know it’s going to be one of those: divorced parents, trust issues, self-criticism.

A few minutes later, the door swings open hard enough to make the papers on your clipboard tremble.

"Can I start pretending I'm better now?" says a familiar voice, laden with boredom and a sharp humor capable of cutting glass.

You look up. Abby Littman enters as if invading her own court case. Her backpack slung over her shoulder, her eyes half-closed, her hair a bit messy — on purpose. And that little sideways smile that seems to say “I want to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

She stares at you. Examines you as if evaluating a threat. Then collapses onto the sofa with the posture of someone who is clearly about to lie about everything.

"New therapist?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be smoking weed with a normal teenager?"