Dear Diary,

Heather told me that she teaches people real life. She said "Real life sucks losers dry. You want to fuck with the eagles? You gotta learn to fly."

I said "So you teach people to spread their wings and fly?"

She said "Yes."

I said "You're beautiful."

A sharp kick to her side distracted Courtney Sawyer from where she was scribbling in her diary, seated at the bottom of a staircase in the first floor hallway of Westerberg High. She hurriedly removed the monocle from her right eye and looked up at her assailant: black skirt, yellow blazer, white shirt, blonde hair. Lindsay McNamara, the third most popular girl in school, after Heather and Courtney herself.

"God, come on, Courtney!" was all Lindsay offered as an explanation for the violence. Courtney glared right back.

"What's your damage, Lindsay?!" she snapped. Lindsay wasn't the kicking type normally; which meant that someone must have sent her with a message. While Lindsay McNamara excelled at gossiping, cheerleading and scoring dates, she did not have a stellar memory, so all messages had to be delivered as quickly as possible.

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "Don't blame me, blame Heather. She told me to haul your ass to the caf, pronto." She glanced at the shorter, dark-haired girl hovering next to her. "Back me up, Gwen."

Gwen Duke nodded, straightening her own green blazer. She was a tiny, dark-haired waif of a girl, clutching a tattered copy of J.D Salinger's The Catcher In The Rye as if it was some sort of talisman. "Yeah, she really wants to talk to you, Courtney." Her voice was scratchy and quiet. If Gwen was here, Heather must have been in one of her moods – either grumpy or malicious. Gwen tended to take the brunt of Heather's moods, no matter the nature or cause.

Courtney snapped her diary shut and gathered her belongings, tossed carelessly onto the step next to her. "OK, OK, I'm going," she groaned. "Jésus."

When they entered the cafeteria, there was no need to search for Heather; she was instantly visible standing in the middle of the room with her back to them. Her fitted grey plaid blazer, red shorts, white tights and black shoes weren't couture; they didn't need to be. Heather Chandler had all the power she needed just from her presence alone. She was the sort of girl that everyone loved and feared at the same time, the kind your parents were afraid you'd get mixed up with, a lamp that drew in every moth for miles around. Even if the outfit wasn't instantly recognisable, her long black hair tied back with a huge red scrunchie was.

Courtney rolled her shoulders back and walked calmly over to her. She didn't fear Heather Chandler, but she was still in awe of her control over everyone. "Hello, Heather."

Heather turned, the malice glittering in her slanted grey eyes suggesting that she was vindictive rather than grumpy. As always, she didn't bother with pleasantries, but got straight to the point. "Courtney, I snagged biology notes off Brady Sweeney. I need you to use them to forge a hot and horny yet realistically subtle note, and we'll slip it onto Beth Dumptruck's lunch tray." She patted her red-lacquered clipboard for emphasis.

Courtney winced. Even though it had been her amazing forgery skills that had won her a place in Heather's little Alliance, she hated using them for this kind of thing, and she said so: "Shit, Heather, I don't have anything against Beth Dunnstock."

Heather narrowed her eyes. "You don't have anything for her either! Come on; it'll be very. The note will give her…" she giggled, "shower-nozzle-masturbation material for weeks."

The brunette pressed her lips together. "I'll think about it," she conceded.

This clearly wasn't good enough for Heather, who gave her a sharp look. "Don't think."

Courtney sighed and glanced over at the lunch line, at Heather's chosen victim, who was currently guiltily sneaking a second pot of cafeteria jelly onto her tray. Beth Dunnstock wasn't massive, per se, but she was un-skinny enough that she was an easy target for Heather. Poor kid. High school was designed to tear girls like Beth to shreds. Courtney turned back to her master, eyes passing over Brady Sweeney fist-pounding his right-hand man, Scott Kelly. Both of them were football players who kept their brains in their underwear. Disgusting. Doubtless they were discussing something unsavoury to do with Heather. Or Gwen, or Lindsay, or even Courtney herself. She'd been forced to go out with Scott more than once, when Lindsay didn't want to be alone with Brady, and it was always a dreadful experience.

Heather was still waiting for an answer, and Courtney knew she wouldn't stop until she got what she wanted, so at last she nodded. "Fine."

Satisfied, Heather grinned at her lackeys. "Courtney's going to need something to lean on. Bend over."

It was unclear who she was talking to, and Lindsay and Gwen both bent over obediently, making Heather unleash a burst of violent laughter.

"How nice," she sneered. "Two assholes: no waiting."

Gwen and Lindsay both snapped back upright, flushing scarlet with embarrassment, and Heather glanced between them, deciding who to humiliate – or rather, pretending to decide. Everyone knew who she would choose.

"Gwen, back down. I'll dictate."

Gwen bent over again, offering her back to Courtney, who took the clipboard from Heather and checked Brady's Biology notes as Heather began speaking. "Dear Beth, you're so sweet…"

Over at the jocks' table, Brady himself was unaware that someone had stolen his notes and was currently listening to Scott rhapsodising about how "righteous" it would be "to be in a Courtney Sawyer-Heather Chandler sandwich. Punch it in, Brady."

Brady bumped his fist against Scott's with a nod and a grin. "Hell yes. I wanna set one of them on my Johnson and just start spinning her like a fucking pinwheel." He made a spinning motion with his index finger to underline his point.

Courtney had finished the note. As Gwen stood back up, cracking her back into place, the brunette tore the page off the clipboard and handed both back to Heather, who gave the handwriting an impressed look. Lindsay, meanwhile, was hawkishly watching their victim in the food line, and tugged excitedly on Heather's sleeve as Beth paid and left the line. Heather gave a tranquil smile, folded the note, and handed it to Lindsay, who sauntered between tables, chairs and students until she reached the slow-moving Beth. Reaching under Beth's arm, Lindsay wedged the note between the two pots of jelly and a paper plate nearly overflowing with food. She turned and jogged back to her friends, beaming as Heather nodded approvingly at her. The four girls headed over to their own table, passing Cody Anderson and Noah Dawson, who were working the Foodless Fund stand beneath a red banner that read 'Westerburg Feeds The World!' in black bubble lettering.

"Come on, people!" Cody was currently preaching. "Let's give that leftover lunch money to people without lunches! Those tater tots you threw away today are a delicacy in Africa! They're Thanksgiving dinner!" Noah looked thoroughly bored behind him, nose in a thick Agatha Christie novel and one hand protectively on top of the cashbox.

Lindsay sat down and tilted her head confusedly at the stand. "God, aren't they fed yet?" she asked. "Do they even have Thanksgiving in Africa?"

"Oh, sure," Courtney said sarcastically. "Pilgrims, Indians, tater tots. It's a real party continent." Gwen huffed in amusement from behind her book, but judging by the way Lindsay's eyes widened and how she looked genuinely interested, she hadn't picked up on the sarcasm. Courtney groaned internally, then groaned externally when Heather tapped her perfectly manicured French tips on her clipboard.

"Sawyer. Guess what today is?"

Courtney made a face. She knew exactly what today was. "Ouch….the lunchtime poll. So what's the question?"

Gwen marked her page and leaned forwards with a smile. "Yeah, Heather, what's the question?"

Heather's mood changed from gloating to pissed in a millisecond. "Goddamn, Gwen, you were with me in Study Hall when I thought of it!"

Gwen gave her a doe-eyed look of hurt. "I forgot."

Heather tutted, her good mood returning with the opportunity to insult Gwen. "God, you're such a pillowcase."

Gwen retreated to her book as Heather and Courtney both got to their feet and left the table. It was Friday, which meant that instead of sitting down to lunch like normal, Heather and either Courtney, Gwen or Lindsay would spend the period asking the preps poll questions with topics that ranged from the obvious to the downright bizarre. There was normally no way of telling what it would be, as Heather never revealed which of her sources it came from. However, Courtney thought she might have an idea, and she said so. "Hey, this question wouldn't happen to be that bizarro thing you were babbling about over the phone last –"

"Shut up, it is," Heather snapped. "I told Noah that if he gave me another political topic, I'd spew burrito chunks."

Courtney rolled her eyes, and in doing so, made eye contact with a boy she didn't recognise sitting in the corner of the lunchroom. He had messy black hair with green tips, and wore a dark gunslinger coat that seemed to be a little too big for him. He raised his eyebrows at her, fluorescent light glinting off a little barbell piercing on the left brow.

Transfixed, Courtney stopped paying attention to where she was going and promptly tripped over someone sitting down at a nearby table. She hurriedly caught herself as the girl apologised.

"Sorry, Courtney."

Courtney looked up, recognising the voice. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "Zoey Finn. Gosh…"

Zoey had red hair and freckles, and wore oversized horn-rimmed glasses. Her clothes were about 30 years out of date, but wouldn't have been out of place in a 50s Malt Shop. She and Courtney had been best friends once upon a time, but had been forced to drift apart when Courtney had begun hanging out with Heather. They still tried to maintain a sort of long-distance friendship, but Zoey was making far more of an effort than Courtney. Courtney felt bad, but Heather didn't like her hanging out with people she hadn't approved. And Zoey's taste in clothes meant that she would never be approved.

That didn't mean Courtney had to be rude though, and she smiled at Zoey now, a little apologetically. "Hey, I'm really sorry I couldn't make it to your birthday party last month."

Zoey gave her an understanding smile. "That's OK. Your Mom said you had a big date. Heck, I'd probably skip my own birthday party for a date."

Courtney chuckled, a little sadly. The date – a double with Scott and Lindsay and Brady – had been awful. "Don't say that."

Zoey's brown eyes brightened. "Oh, Court, you have to look at what I dug up the other day!" She rummaged in her purse, carefully removing an old photograph. Courtney practically glowed with fondness; it showed the two girls, aged about eight, in Halloween costumes: Zoey an angel, and Courtney a witch. It was adorable – which was probably why Heather yanked her away a second later. The photograph fell onto the floor, and Zoey hurried to pick it up and put it away as Courtney hissed angrily at Heather.

"I was talking with someone!"

"Colour me impressed," Heather snarked. "I thought you grew out of Zoey Finn."

They were approaching the prep table, and were near enough to hear the conversation there, which was rapidly dying down with their imminent arrival.

"Oh great," one of the girls – Staci – said sourly. "Here comes Heather."

"Shit," muttered one of the boys – probably Justin.

Maybe the preps didn't know it, but Courtney knew Heather could hear them. And she also knew that Heather didn't give a shit. No matter what the preps said when they thought Heather couldn't hear them, they would practically trip over themselves to fawn over her when she spoke to them.

Heather opened this conversation with a wide smile that to the untrained eye looked friendly, but to those who knew her, was instantly recognisable as her 'you'd better do exactly as I say' look. "Hi, Staci," she said sweetly. "Love your sweater. Ooh, let me snare a tater."

Staci looked delighted at receiving a compliment from Heather Chandler herself, and pushed her lunch tray in Heather's direction. Heather delicately took a tater tot and turned to face Courtney, sticking out her tongue and pointing down her throat before popping the tater tot into her mouth. Her meaning could not have been clearer: blegh. Courtney huffed an inaudible laugh as Heather turned back to the table, where Staci was telling everyone about her black-and-white-striped sweater. "Thanks, Heather! I just got it last night at the Limited." She giggled and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Totally blew my allowance."

Heather raised her eyebrows and her clipboard. "That's pretty very," she commented, before turning business-like. "Now, check this out. You win five million dollars from Publishers Sweepstakes, but on the same day what's-his-face gives you the cheque, aliens land on the Earth and say they're going to blow it up in two days. What would you do?"

The entire table looked stunned at the question, and Courtney didn't blame them. She herself was hovering somewhere between 'what the fuck' and 'thank you for allowing me to see their faces when you asked this question'.

Justin was the first to move. "That's easy," he replied with a smug grin. "I'd just slide that wad over to my father. He's, like, one of the top brokers in Canada."

Courtney snorted. "Wake up. In two days, Earth's going up like a Roman Candle. Crab Nebula city." She'd forgotten how much she hated talking to these kids. They had bigger egos than Heather herself – but then again, Heather's ego was understandable. She had the power to back it up; these kids didn't, which was what made them so insufferable.

Justin continued to prove her point, flicking a dark fringe out of his eyes. "Man, in two days, my dad could double my money. Triple it."

Courtney was about five seconds from walking away when Staci dealt the final blow. "If I got that money, I'd give it all to the Homeless," she announced piously. "Every cent."

Courtney shook her head almost imperceptibly. "You're beautiful," she said flatly, before turning on her heel and hurrying away. Heather was finishing copying down Staci's answer, but caught up to Courtney about three tables away, grabbing her arm and yanking her to a halt.

"If you're going to openly be a bitch…" she trailed off, leaving the threat unfinished.

Courtney laughed submissively. "It's just… shit, Heather," she shook her head again. "Why can't we talk to different kinds of people for once?"

Heather's perfectly drawn-on eyebrows shot up so quickly, Courtney was a little scared they might fly off her face. "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw!" Heather snarled. "Do I look like Mother Theresa to you? If I did, I probably wouldn't mind eating lunch with the Geek Squad." She pointed at a group of unfashionably dressed boys who all wore some combination of glasses, braces, suspenders and bowties. As if to underline the statement, one of them spat out a mouthful of cafeteria-brand milk.

"Did you guys see that?" he was whispering excitedly to his friends. "Heather Chandler just looked right at me!"

"It must be love," one of his friends snarked back.

Courtney tilted her head, surveying Heather through lowered lashes. "Doesn't it bother you that everyone in this school thinks you're a piranha?" she asked softly.

Heather's reply was equally soft, but twenty times more threatening. "Like I give a shit. They all want me as a friend or a fuck. I'm worshipped at Westerburg, and I'm only a junior."

"Pretend you're a missionary saving a colony of cootie victims," Courtney suggested, almost pleading. She couldn't face talking to any more preps; at least talking to other kinds of students might give them some interesting answers.

Heather's perfect face pinched in distaste, but to Courtney's surprise, she nodded. "Whatever," she said in response to the wide-eyed look of shock Courtney gave her. "I don't believe this. We're going to a party at Remington University tonight, and we're brushing up on our social skills with the scum of the school."

The geeks seemed oddly fidgety when the two girls approached them; apparently unsure of how to act in front of the alpha predators of Westerburg. They froze up the second Heather opened her mouth though. It was always the same, everyone hanging onto her every word.

"This is what's called a lunchtime poll. We ask a question, you answer. You win five million dollars from Publishers Sweepstakes, but the same day the guy gives you the cheque, aliens land on the earth and say they're gonna blow it up in two days. What do you do?"

Once the naturally shocked reactions were out of the way, the geeks actually thought about the question. It was a pleasant change from the self-assured attitudes of the preps.

The same boy who had spluttered milk down himself earlier was the first to answer, straightening his tiny round spectacles. "No, seriously, I'd probably go to Egypt. With a girl."

His cynical friend snorted. "Taking a hooker to the Pyramids on the last day of mankind. You sentimental old fart."

"Geez, forget it."

Courtney turned to another boy, a red-haired twig with spaghetti limbs, thick glasses, and a whispy teenage moustache. "What about you, Harold?"

Harold's eyes lit up and he muttered something to his friends that sounded suspiciously like "Told you she knew my name," before answering her. "I'd change my life, I guess. New clothes. New haircut. New house. New me."

Heather almost cackled with contempt. "How sad! Blowing all your cash on two days of trying to be hip!"

Courtney yanked the guffawing girl away from the geeks' table, glaring. "If you're going to openly be a bitch…" she repeated Heather's earlier threat. Heather shook her head, a smirk playing around her mouth, and Courtney again caught sight of the boy with green hair. He wiggled his eyebrows, and she raised her own in response, but her attention was caught by Lindsay excitedly tugging her sleeve.

"God, scan on Beth Dumptruck!" she giggled. Courtney followed her gaze. Beth looked flustered, glancing between the note and Brady at the jocks' table. She was somehow doing this while continuing to shovel jelly into her mouth, and Courtney suddenly felt very sorry for her.

Heather had finally got her giggles under control, and she tutted in Beth's direction. Not in pity, but in impatience.

"This is the part I hate," she sighed. "The waiting. I'd say we're, like, twenty minutes from major humiliation." She spun on her heel. "Come on, Courtney."

Courtney followed her out to the parking lot, hating herself for going along with Heather. They were approaching a group of heavy metalers, who were lazily leaning against the hood of a battered pickup truck. Heather repeated her spiel and waited for them to answer the bizarre question.

One of them, a tubby boy with greasy brown hair to his shoulders grinned at the question and nudged his friend in delight. "You get five million dollars but some Martians are going to zap you in two days. You hear that, Rock? That's got to be the most spooky-ass question I've ever heard."

Rock nodded in agreement, grinning as well. "If you want a good way to go out before the aliens land," he started, and Heather readied her pen and clipboard, "get a lion from the zoo. Put a remote-control bomb up its butt. When the lion starts tearing you up, press the bomb button. You and the lion die as one."

The other two leaning against the hood – a boy and a girl, who seemed to be a couple – nodded in agreement. "Cool."

"Thank you," Heather trilled, before dragging Courtney back inside. Courtney was too disturbed to respond.

Next they headed back into the cafeteria, where they approached Zoey Finn's table again and repeated the question. Zoey raised her hand like she was in class, and Heather nodded at her, giving her permission to speak, with an air of bizarre delight. "I think we should use the money for an End-of-the-world get-together," Zoey smiled sweetly. Her cheeks coloured. "We could invite guys."

The jocks' table was next, and the two girls approached it with some apprehension – and with good reason. A few seconds after Heather finished her introduction and question, Brady sputtered out some chicken to bellow, "I'd pay Madonna one million dollars to ride my face like the Kentucky Derby." He swallowed and considered it for a moment, before adding, "She should be paying me, though."

Thankfully, Heather dragged Courtney over to the Foodless Fund stand before she could curse the linebacker out for his disgusting sexism. Cody listened with interest, and carefully considered the question before beginning to answer. "This is important… with taxes, I'd only be getting 3.5 million, and…" Courtney tuned out.

When Cody had finished his longwinded reply (or perhaps been cut off by Heather), Courtney found herself being led into a dimly lit corridor full of smoke. The two girls coughed their way towards a group of stoners wearing tatty jeans and bomber jackets, and once again, Heather asked the question. Thankfully, this group's answer was short:

"…what?"

As they made their way back to the cafeteria, Heather admired her list of answers, which was far longer than usual. "Look at all the answers those losers gave me," she purred. "So pathetic. Makes me feel almost sorry for them… almost. Cody's not changed a bit, and as for Zoey Finn? A party with boys! Or, as normal people call it, a party! Ha!"

"Damn you, Heather," Courtney spoke out loud for the first time since leaving the geeks' table. "Deep down all teenagers are the same. Didn't you see The Breakfast Club?"

Heather didn't even look up from her clipboard to snort derisively. "Look at me. I look great. I'm the girl in the commercials and the videos. I'm the babe in the bikini on the horse holding a Pepsi can. I'm the princess being spanked on the throne by Billy Idol's guitarist's guitar." She finally looked up, giving Courtney a cold, pitying look. "What do I get out of being friends with losers? I give them a piece of a winner and they stain me with loserness. Just imagine somebody like your quasi-fat, goody-goody friend Zoey Finn doing a Crest commercial. No one would buy Crest."

"Don't tell me. Crest would be stained with loserness."

"Yeah, and who wants that on their teeth?" Heather laughed. They'd arrived back at their table, and Lindsay was practically squirming with delight. Gwen had even looked up from her book in interest.

Lindsay pointed over at Beth's table. "Oh God, here we go…"

Beth was getting up. She was stumbling over to where Brady and Scott sat in their bastion of vulgarity. She was mumbling something unintelligible in Brady's direction. She was showing him the note…

Brady scanned the note, his laughter detonating with a terrifying cackle. Scott peered over at it and joined him, and soon the entire table was in hysterics. Beth looked ready to cry as she hurried out of the cafeteria. Heather, Gwen and Lindsay were laughing too, but Courtney turned away in disgust. Once again, she caught the green-haired boy staring at her, and could make out the same disturbed look on his face that she knew was currently adorning her own. She turned away, lurching towards the Foodless Fund stand and leaning against it. Cody was still hollering away.

"A dime increases the time! A buck brings good luck – oh, hi, Courtney. A five keeps the neighbourhood alive! A ten and you die without sin!"

Without her noticing, Heather had prowled over to Courtney with an unreadable expression on her face. She winged a twenty into the cashbox, and dragged Courtney away from the stand, clearly not wanting Cody to hear what she had to say.

"You wanted to become a member of the most powerful clique in school," she reminded Courtney, who scowled at the memory of allowing Heather to mould her into the pseudo-Goddess everyone apparently viewed her as. "If I wasn't already the head of it, I'd want the same thing."

"I'm sorry?" Courtney feigned ignorance, but she knew exactly what Heather was getting at. "What are you oozing about?"

Heather rolled her eyes, but answered anyway. "That episode with the note back there was for all of us to enjoy, but you seem determined to ruin my day."

Courtney let out a burst of fake laughter that made the nearest students turn around in curiosity. They immediately turned away again when they noticed who had let loose the laughter, though. No one wanted to be caught in Heather's tunnel vision when Courtney undoubtedly pissed her off. "We made a girl want to consider suicide. What a scream. What a jest."

Heather rolled her eyes, already grabbing her by the arm to drag her somewhere new, just as she had been all lunch. "Come on, you jerk. You know you used to have a sense of humour."

They joined Lindsay and Gwen in the bathroom, lining up in front of the mirror to brush their hair. Lindsay and Heather were delighting in doing impressions of Beth speaking to Brady.

"Brady, let'th pa-arty!" Heather cackled, and Lindsay joined in.

"Brady, I ne-ed an orga-th-m!

Gwen hadn't joined in, instead retreating into a stall. Her gentle voice sliced through Lindsay's giggles: "Courtney? Could you come back here for a sec?"

Heather and Lindsay paused in their laughter. "Gross!"

There was a lot about her friendship with these girls that Courtney hated, but nothing made her feel as bad as this task did. She raised her eyebrows at the two girls next to her and wiggled her right index finger. The nail was cut noticeably shorter than the rest. "A true best friend's work is never done," she quipped as she joined Gwen in the stall and locked the door.

Heather's voice rang through the bathroom. "Grow up, Gwen. Bulimia is so '87."

"Colour me nauseous," Lindsay gagged.

Gwen looked ashamed, and Courtney winced. "Maybe you should see a doctor about this."

"Yeah, maybe." She looked a little less embarrassed, but then Heather spoke again.

"Come on Gwen, we want another look at today's lunch!"

"Jésus, don't listen to them," Courtney murmured, but Lindsay interrupted her.

"Did she have the pie or the ice-cream for desert?" she laughed. The cheerleader put on a game-show-host voice. "And for thirty points, the answer is…"

Gwen ignored her, lifting her battered book and smiling almost defiantly. "Yeah, you know Holden Caulfield in The Catcher In The Rye wouldn't put up with their bogus nonsense."

"Yeah, well, you'd better move Holden out of the way or he's going to get spewed," Courtney muttered. Gwen nodded, putting down the book and opening her mouth, and Courtney took a deep breath and stuck her finger in.

When they emerged from the bathroom, Courtney's gaze was once again caught by the James Dean-esque guy sitting in the corner. He was staring into space, and Lindsay jabbed an elbow sharply into Courtney's side.

"God, Courtney, drool much?" she laughed. "He's new, in my Canadian History. His name's Danny Dolittle, or David Dawson, or something like that."

Courtney nodded, coming to a decision. "Heather, give me the clipboard."

Heather raised an eyebrow, relinquishing her grip on her precious clipboard, and Courtney began walking towards the boy's table, seemingly in a trance. Her friends gazed after her, Lindsay oinking out an amused sexual groan.

As Courtney reached the table, the boy looked up at her. He had teal eyes that glittered with both attraction and apprehension, and she gave him her best politician's smile. "Hey there."

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Greetings and salutations. You wouldn't be the infamous Heather Chandler I've been hearing so much about?"

Courtney laughed – she was genuinely amused, but her laugh still sounded fake from faking laughter for so long. "No, I'm Courtney. Courtney Sawyer." She glanced down at the clipboard to gather herself – something about his eyes made her want to keep staring into them forever. "Uh, this may seem like a stupid question…"

The boy raised his eyebrows, making the barbell-piercing glitter. "There are no stupid questions."

Courtney raised her eyebrows right back. "You inherit five million dollars the same day aliens land on the Earth and say they're gonna blow it up in two days. What do you do?"

The boy furrowed his eyebrows and chuckled incredulously. "That's got to be the stupidest question I've ever heard," he said suavely, making Courtney giggle again.

Brady and Scott glared jealously over from the jocks' table as Courtney grinned warmly at the boy in the trench coat. "Who does that new kid think he is with that coat?" Brady snarled through a mouthful of potatoes. "Bo Diddley?"

Scott leaned back with a scowl. "Courtney's into his act, no doubt."

"Let's kick his ass!"

"Shit, we're seniors, Brady," Scott rolled his eyes, yanking Brady back into his seat from where he'd half-risen to his feet. "Too old for that shit." He smirked a little. "Let's give him a good scare, though."

Duncan looked intrigued as he laconically answered the question. "Probably just row out to the middle of a lake. Bring along my Fender, some tequila, and some Bach."

Courtney felt her cheeks flush a little. "How very," she murmured, copying down his reply before looking up. "Hey, I didn't catch your name."

The boy grinned widely. "I didn't throw it."

Fuck. Luckily, Heather appeared at Courtney's shoulder before she could do something stupid, like melt into a puddle or ask the boy to marry her. "Come on," she said sharply, and Courtney smiled dreamily at the boy.

"Later," she breathed.

The boy looked her up and down with a very attractive half-smile. "Definitely."

"Courtney!" Heather hissed, and Courtney obediently followed her, somehow unable to wipe the grin off her face. The second she was out of sight, Brady and Scott moved into her place, staring down at the new kid with narrowed eyes. Brady stuck his finger into a piece of pie the boy hadn't started on yet.

"You going to eat this?" he said softly.

Scott leaned in with icy eyes. "What did your boyfriend say when you told him you were moving to Muskoka, Ontario?"

The boy was silent, and Brady glared. "Answer him, dick!"

Scott grinned, turning to his partner in crime. "Hey, Brady, doesn't this cafeteria have a 'No Fags Allowed' Rule?"

Brady grinned back. "Sure does."

The boy leaned back in his seat, jutting his chin up confidently. "Yeah, it seems to have an open-door policy for assholes though, doesn't it?"

Both jocks' jaws dropped open in shock. "What did you say, dickhead?" Scott spluttered. He looked and sounded genuinely confused that someone had answered back.

The boy smirked. "I'll, uh, repeat myself." He stood gracefully, reached into his coat and pulled out a .357 Magnum, lifting it to point directly at them. Brady and Scott stepped back in shock, and the boy grinned and fired twice.