Poster Girl.
Original - Heath Whitish - Poster Girl - PG13.
Heath didn't think she was that kind of girl at all.
She's short for her age, and is a little overweight; she wears guys' clothes because girls' jeans cling to her thighs and make her feel fat. Granted, she's kind of, sort of, definitely loud and obnoxious, but she's a massive vinyl nerd and prefers the company of older guys to girls her age, and she just. She never thought she'd be that kind of girl.
She tries not to think about it, mostly. When she's at home, or at the record store, or with Marc, she doesn't have to be the same Heath Whitish the rest of the school thinks she is. She loses herself in dirtyhot guitar solos and throbbing bass lines, lets the snare crack through her head and the piano tip her off her feet.
Marc gets her stoned and they lie on the floor of his bedroom listening to Rancid and Green Day, Blink-182, Pennywise. (Marc is a pop punk connoisseur, hailing from the Bay Area in California, who smokes the happy tobacco and plays acoustic along with his favourite albums.) When Heath's with Marc she doesn't have to dress up. He doesn't care if she's pretty or popular.
(Really, popularity is what it all comes down to; rather, she didn't have it, and then she did. When she was in middle school, Heath sat in the back of the class, head down, mouth shut. She preferred to be ignored - nothing good came out of people noticing her, then.
The summer before high school began, Kurt Williams invited her to a bonfire his older brother was having by one of the lakes. She made up disaster moments in her mind, steeling herself for the inevitable, but somewhere - she thought that maybe, something might go right for once.
Kurt kissed her, and something funny happened in her chest.
It wasn't a good kind of funny. It wasn't her heart flipping over, or fireworks, or any of the things she'd read about. It was - it was more like someone had just reached in and pulled her heart out, leaving her chest hollow and cold. She didn't think as he lay her on the ground a little way down the hill. When he unzipped her jeans, she didn't stop him.
She thought about the French exchange student, with her dark eyes and blunt bangs. She thought about the marks on her cousin's wrists. She thought about the doll her grandmother gave her when she was six, and how pretty the swirls of the Milky Way were, and what she wanted to do when she left school. When it was over, she ran a mile down the road to throw up where no one could see her, but by the time school started everyone knew.)
Her boyfriends ask her to concerts, but she always refuses - music is special, it's not for the Heath she is to everyone else. With them, she goes to the movies, or parties, or the beach, and at the end of the night she gives them what they want. Instead, she goes with Marc. She gets drunk and hits the moshpit, fists clenched and arms thrashing.
She never sees anyone from school at the shitty punk-pop bands and bad hardcore gigs she sees with Marc. Sometimes, they go to see national bands, and she sees a couple of guys from school there, but loses them in the crowds that come with fame and infamy.
Heath supposes that maybe she should be thankful for her notoriety - better to be known than not known at all, that sort of thing. Heather Whitish is a slut appears in sharpie marker on the wall of the girls' bathroom at school, and it's not like it's untrue, so Heath doesn't mind.
Heath is the kind of girl who can stay up all night with her guy friends and not be sleepy at all the next day, but feign tiredness as soon as her boyfriend's pants are re-zipped. She's the kind of girl who won't tell you she can play bass until your band's bassist drops out. She's the kind of girl who looks for love in all the lonely places.
She's just that kind of girl.
Heath didn't think she was that kind of girl at all.
She's short for her age, and is a little overweight; she wears guys' clothes because girls' jeans cling to her thighs and make her feel fat. Granted, she's kind of, sort of, definitely loud and obnoxious, but she's a massive vinyl nerd and prefers the company of older guys to girls her age, and she just. She never thought she'd be that kind of girl.
She tries not to think about it, mostly. When she's at home, or at the record store, or with Marc, she doesn't have to be the same Heath Whitish the rest of the school thinks she is. She loses herself in dirtyhot guitar solos and throbbing bass lines, lets the snare crack through her head and the piano tip her off her feet.
Marc gets her stoned and they lie on the floor of his bedroom listening to Rancid and Green Day, Blink-182, Pennywise. (Marc is a pop punk connoisseur, hailing from the Bay Area in California, who smokes the happy tobacco and plays acoustic along with his favourite albums.) When Heath's with Marc she doesn't have to dress up. He doesn't care if she's pretty or popular.
(Really, popularity is what it all comes down to; rather, she didn't have it, and then she did. When she was in middle school, Heath sat in the back of the class, head down, mouth shut. She preferred to be ignored - nothing good came out of people noticing her, then.
The summer before high school began, Kurt Williams invited her to a bonfire his older brother was having by one of the lakes. She made up disaster moments in her mind, steeling herself for the inevitable, but somewhere - she thought that maybe, something might go right for once.
Kurt kissed her, and something funny happened in her chest.
It wasn't a good kind of funny. It wasn't her heart flipping over, or fireworks, or any of the things she'd read about. It was - it was more like someone had just reached in and pulled her heart out, leaving her chest hollow and cold. She didn't think as he lay her on the ground a little way down the hill. When he unzipped her jeans, she didn't stop him.
She thought about the French exchange student, with her dark eyes and blunt bangs. She thought about the marks on her cousin's wrists. She thought about the doll her grandmother gave her when she was six, and how pretty the swirls of the Milky Way were, and what she wanted to do when she left school. When it was over, she ran a mile down the road to throw up where no one could see her, but by the time school started everyone knew.)
Her boyfriends ask her to concerts, but she always refuses - music is special, it's not for the Heath she is to everyone else. With them, she goes to the movies, or parties, or the beach, and at the end of the night she gives them what they want. Instead, she goes with Marc. She gets drunk and hits the moshpit, fists clenched and arms thrashing.
She never sees anyone from school at the shitty punk-pop bands and bad hardcore gigs she sees with Marc. Sometimes, they go to see national bands, and she sees a couple of guys from school there, but loses them in the crowds that come with fame and infamy.
Heath supposes that maybe she should be thankful for her notoriety - better to be known than not known at all, that sort of thing. Heather Whitish is a slut appears in sharpie marker on the wall of the girls' bathroom at school, and it's not like it's untrue, so Heath doesn't mind.
Heath is the kind of girl who can stay up all night with her guy friends and not be sleepy at all the next day, but feign tiredness as soon as her boyfriend's pants are re-zipped. She's the kind of girl who won't tell you she can play bass until your band's bassist drops out. She's the kind of girl who looks for love in all the lonely places.
She's just that kind of girl.