Veronica's Kisses Transformed People?

"Hey, Heather?"

All three Heathers turned, though only Chandler stepped forward to answer. "What now, Veronica?"

"H-how does it feel to be kissed by a boy?" Veronica shifted under their gaze.

There was a moment of heavy, judgemental, silence which was broken by them bursting into laughter. "You mean you don't know?"

"That's rich!"

"She's ugly, **** and alone," sneered Duke, looming over Veronica until she was shoved out of the way by Chandler.

"Well, you're one of us now. And we can't have a Heather that's inexperienced with boys now, can we?" She stepped up, forcefully grabbing Veronica's shoulders and pulling her towards herself. "I'll teach you."

Well, this is a trap, Veronica thought. Either I kiss her badly, and she tells the whole school I'm a virgin, or I kiss her well, and she says I'm a lesbian. Which is only half true, but still.

Heather clicked her fingers, glaring at Veronica. "Well? Are you gonna kiss me or not? I need to assess whether you're worth my time."

I guess this isn't the worst way to go. Dear diary, if I am dead tomorrow, tell the world I went out kissing Heather Chandler.

And then, she pulled Chandler in tight and pressed her lips against hers.

The kiss wasn't gentle, or loving. It was a fiery burst of passionate fury, an **** to the senses that would have made any lesser girl collapse. But Heather stayed strong through the conquest of Veronica's tongue, even pushing back against her, biting her lips and letting her own tongue stray back into Veronica's mouth to explore. Though time seemed to disappear in the kiss, it was only ten seconds before the two girls broke away panting.

Before either could react to what they had just done, and all the feelings they had just experienced, Heather Duke stepped in and slapped Veronica. Hard. "What the hell were you thinking? You looked like you were enjoying it, pervert."

Chandler waved her away. "Shut up, Heather. I asked her to." She stared through Veronica, something foreign held in her eyes. Unknowingly, her tongue darted out to lick her cherry-red lips, to trace the lingering sensation and phantom pleasure. When she finally bit back, her words were unusually lacking of heat. "She's a surprisingly good kisser, for someone so inexperienced."

"Maybe she practised kissing with Martha Dumptruck on the oval," Heather McNamara suggested halfheartedly, still shocked at the show that went down and trying desperately to cover the rising flush on her cheeks, or the warm dampness in her underwear.

Heather Chandler didn't speak. She simply walked forward, not the predatory prowl or overconfident strut, but the soft-heeled, hesitant walk of someone still unsure of themselves. For the first time, Veronica felt herself stare into a crack in Heather's facade, and into the **** little girl beneath. She startled at the hand placed on her shoulder, and the gentle, brown doe eyes staring into her own. Her breath was hot on Veronica's ear as she leaned in close.

"I may have kissed a thousand boys," she whispered. "But you kiss... you're better than all of them. Y-Your kiss... it changed me."

And then, she really began to change.