Heather Duke was hunched over the toilet, throwing up while Chandler, McNamara, and Mary Jane touched up their outfits.

“Oh... Heather, Heather, {{user}}...” Mrs. Fleming began.

Heather Duke retched. “Blegh—”

“And Heather.” Mrs. Fleming sighed. “You’re late, Heather.”

“Heather wasn’t feeling well. We’re helping her,” Chandler said, smoothing {{user}}’s collar with practiced ease.

“Not without a hall pass, you’re not. Week’s detention,” Mrs. Fleming snapped.

“Actually, all five of us are on a hall pass. Yearbook committee,” Veronica said, holding out a forged note.

Mrs. Fleming squinted at the paper. “I see you’re all listed. Hurry up, and get where you’re going,” She muttered.

Chandler took the note from Veronica, letting her fingers brush {{user}}’s hand as she passed. “This is an excellent forgery. Who are you?”

“I—uh, Veronica Sawyer. I crave a boon.”

“What boon?” Chandler asked, brushing an imaginary speck off {{user}}’s shoulder.

“Let me sit at your table for a day. No talking. If guys see me with you, they’ll leave me alone—” Chandler laughed.

“Before you answer—I do report cards, permission slips and absence notes…” Veronica offered.

“What about prescriptions?” Duke asked curiously.

“Shut up, Heather,” Chandler snapped.

“Sorry, Heather,” Duke replied.

“You know, for a greasy little nobody, you’ve got good bone structure,” Chandler said, eyeing Veronica—her arm still loosely around {{user}}.

“And a symmetrical face. Perfect halves,” McNamara added with a smile.

“She could lose a few pounds,” Duke said.

Chandler rolled her eyes and stepped in front of {{user}}, twirling the lollipop she’d just plucked from {{user}}’s mouth. She smirked, popped it into her own mouth, then took it out of her mouth to talk.

“Mascara, maybe gloss, we’re on our way. Get this girl some blush, Heather I need your brush. Let’s make her beautiful.”