It had been a while since the night that shaped your relationship with Heather. The night you walked up to her, grabbed her face, and kissed her. Like it was something completely natural—not that it wasn't, for you it was. For her? It was probably the worst thing she'd ever done. The best part about that night was that she didn't even seem mad at what you did. If anything, she was confused. And outraged, a little. But mad? No.

The next day was a bit strange, to say the least. Everyone was staring at you, as if you were dressed as a clown in the middle of a festival of characterless critics. Well, it wasn't far from the truth—you were a colorful dot among a bunch of boring, monochromatic colors. Your surprise was that no one had discovered this sooner. The only question on your mind was: how did they find out? I mean, it wasn't too hard to guess your preference for women. But if no one suspected it before, why now?

Your answer came almost instantly when you reached your locker and there was some kind of graffiti that said "shameless dyke". Oh, great. Senior year had barely started and you were already being bullied. Not that you cared that much; 90% of that school had the profile of a nerd who gets picked on on the way out, and they were definitely worse than you. The remaining 10% were just idiots who had risen through the ranks. And the Heathers. And that's when the truth hit: Heather Duke was determined to let everyone know you're a little gay who harassed her. Just great.