Heathers Page #3

HEATHERS' TABLE

The Girls reach their table with HEATHER MCNAMARA and HEATHER

DUKE sitting themselves down first.

HEATHER MCNAMARA

(looking to the stand)

God, aren't they fed yet? Do they

even have Thanksgiving in Africa?

VERONICA:

(low key sarcasm)

Oh sure, Pilgrims, Indians, tater

tots; it's a real party continent.

HEATHER CHANDLER draws up a clipboard.

HEATHER CHANDLER

Sawyer. Guess what today is?

VERONICA:

Ouch....the lunchtime poll. So

what's the question?

HEATHER DUKE:

Yeah, so what's the question?

HEATHER CHANDLER

God-damn Heather, you were with me

in Study Hall when I thought of it.

Such a pillowcase.

HEATHER DUKE:

(hurt)

I forgot.

ANOTHER ANGLE:

VERONICA and HEATHER CHANDLER briskly bop away from the table

as a wounded HEATHER DUKE retreats to The Catcher in the Rye.

VERONICA:

Hey, this question wouldn't be that

bizarro thing you were babbling

about over the phone last......

HEATHER CHANDLER

Shut up, it is. I told Dennis if he

gave me another topic that was

political, I'd spew burrito chunks.

VERONICA shakes her head and looks off. She's suddenly

captured by the sight of a JAMES DEANESQUE GUY sitting stark

in a long, tan gunslinger coat, behind a Rebel Without a Cause

lunchbox. They make eye contact.

Transfixed, VERONICA crashes into seated BETTY FINN, a

slightly overweight, unstylishly dressed sweetie surrounded by

clones.

BETTY:

Sorry Veronica.

VERONICA:

Betty Finn. Gosh.....

VERONICA crouches down, embarrassed and rueful.

VERONICA:

I'm really sorry I couldn't make it

to your birthday party last month.

BETTY:

That's okay. Your Mom said you had

a big date. Heck, I'd probably skip

my own birthday party for a date.

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