I've heard of lucid dreaming. It's actually really interesting. When you become aware during slumber that you're in fact asleep, alerting your mind that you're in a dream. Then anything is possible. The world is your oyster. You can go swimming with sharks, date the class hottie, or jump into a burning vat of acid and escape completely unscathed. Though my imagination doesn't stretch that far. Instead, when I lucid dream, which is weirdly common, I like to fly. Once my mind is aware that I'm dreaming, my feet lift from the floor and suddenly I'm floating high above, soaring over my house in this hyper-realistic version of the real world that my mind has painted.
Though...I've never really tried to make anything else happen. It's always been flying. I've never wished to be in the body of a classmate. That was just strange. I never think that, even when I'm asleep. The thing is, I can always wake myself up from dreams when they get too freaky. When the wings I'd magically sprouted disappear and I find myself plummeting towards certain death, I simply scream. I scream in the dream, and my sleeping self also screams. Which wakes me up. But I've been screaming for what feels like forever with a scream that isn't even mine. It's too deep, too low. I almost feel like Kevin from home alone. Except Kevin was staring at himself. I'm not.
Instead I'm staring wide eyed at Jughead Jones who gapes at me in the mirror. The boy who I've said like, three words to, since Freshman year, is in crumpled pyjama pants and a sweatshirt. His forehead is covered with a thick sheen of perspiration, his golden skin looking greasy enough to fry an egg between his eyes. Inky black curls are tousled and knotty, still hanging in sleepy green eyes that narrow at me, as if drinking me in. Surely I'm now having a nightmare. Because when I widen my eyes, he copies, his lip curling in disgust when I scowl. It's time to wake up now, Betty. I tell myself. Slightly hysterically. I can feel the start of a panic attack grasping hold of my chest, squeezing my lungs.
This isn't real. I say it out loud.
But to my amazement, Jughead's lips form the words in my throat, dripping off my tongue. Then when I bring a shaking hand to my face, he copies. When I run it through my hair, he does too. My hair. It feels- damp. I can't feel my usual tangled blonde curls hanging in my face. Instead there's greasy strands sticking to my forehead. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm not dreaming. This isn't a nightmare, and I'm definitely awake.
Just to check, I slap myself. Twice. Jughead copies, and we both howl in pain. Then I'm running my hands down my arms. He's pretty good at matching my moves. So I take a shaky step forwards until I'm face to face to face with the boy in the mirror. He doesn't disappear in a cloud of smoke, only frowning at me, confusion written all over his face.
It's my expression. It's what I'm feeling! So how...?
This can't be happening. Tears fill my eyes when I press my hand against the cool glass of the mirror. I'm not looking at Jughead Jones. My heart stammers in my chest.
I am Jughead Jones.
I'm Jughead Jones! Before I can help it, I'm screaming- and the deep male cry that thunders from my throat startles me so much I slam my hand over my mouth.
"Get it together Betty." I hiss. But my legs are shaking. I slip on something on the floor and crash to the ground before springing back to my- his feet.
"No." I say softly. Then again, louder; "No...no...no..."
But it's his voice!
Grabbing fistfuls of his greasy locks I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
"Oh god, no. This isn't happening."
But it is happening.
For a moment, all I can do is stare at myself. Or rather him. His room is a mess of books and clothes strewn everywhere across a carpet that is barely visible underneath all the clutter. How had I not realised? My bedroom is pastel pink while his screams lonely gamer dude. It's like my brain is refusing to register the fact that I'm Jugehead Jones.
Me. Elizabeth Cooper, president of the school news paper. Everything about me is girly, pink or pastel. And my mind has been shoved into Jughead Jones. The pretentious asshole in most of my classes.
Jughead was the type of kid who argued with you until you were breathless, until he proved his point, or that you were wrong. I've said two words to him since the beginning of freshman year; "No thanks." when he'd offered me a blunt under the bleachers. I've just begun my senior year, the most important stage in my academic career, and I've woken up inside the body of him of all people.
When I smell myself, or rather him, I catch the distinct odour of BO clinging to his shirt. He doesn't even wash.
"Jug!" the voice startles me, and for a moment, I freeze, still standing in front of the mirror. FP Jones. Jughead's dad. "You coming down for breakfast, boy?" I can smell the distant aroma of crushed coffee beans, but my stomach twists at the thought. I love coffee. I can't start my morning without it. But when I think of pouring myself a cup, bile rises in my throat. Jughead's body doesn't like coffee, and I groan, before slamming my hand over my mouth. His voice! It's so deep. "Uhhh..." I take my time answering his father, trying to rack my mind for a Jughead response. "Sure, dad!" my yell sounds far too high pitched and girly, and I want to hit myself. Or rather, I want to hit him.
My stomach- or his- stomach growls, and suddenly the thought of food is heavenly. My mouth waters, even when I try and stop it. Jughead's body is hard to control.
His hunger, and an itch I'm most definitely not going to scratch is driving me crazy. Time ticks by as I stand there completely paralyzed for a moment. How am I supposed to go to school like this? The idea of facing school in the boy's body makes my head spin. But then I wonder about my own body. Was it some kind of Freaky Friday bullshit? Was Jughead Jones in my body?
My stomach growls again, and I feel the urge to hit it to shut the damn thing up. The first thing on my mind; my outfit. When I stumble over to the boy's closet and open it, there's an array of black's, blue's and navy's. No colour whatsoever. Though it's not like I don't expect it. I find the boy's usual S shirt, some jeans, and his jacket slung over his bedroom door. After a long moment of staring at a pair of underwear, I grab them too and carry them to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and lean against it. Wake up, wake up! Slapping myself again, the world doesn't dissipate around me.
Oh god, this is all real.
The Jones bathroom is tiny, compared to the one at home. There's a toilet, basin and shower, a discoloured towel hanging off the rack. There's a mirror above the basin, and I avoid it all costs while I scrub at his face with warm water, dragging a comb through his thick hair, and after wincing at the state of his toothbrush- rinse it thoroughly in hot water before brushing his teeth. When I'm done, or when he's done, I find my hand subconsciously moving towards... oh god. Right now, I don't need to pee. But at some point I will, and it's going to mentally scar me. The thing is, it's not like I'm unfamiliar with male genitalia. It's just- I really don't want to look at, never mind touch Jughead Jones' dick. I cringe at the thought of changing his underwear.
"What's taking you so long? Jug!" FP shouts upstairs when I'm pulling off Jughead's shirt, rolling on some ancient looking deodorant, and replacing it with a clean, crisp one.
"Give me a second!" I yell back, hoping my voice doesn't sound too- me.
When it comes to dealing with Jughead's bottom half, I squeeze my eyes shut and pull down the boy's pyjama pants, quickly stepping out of them and kicking them away. I pull on fresh pants and button them up, before neatly combing the boy's usual scruffy mop into a manageable state. When I lean against the basin and stare at myself- or Jughead- in the mirror, he frowns back at me, as if he's pissed that I've made him look more human.
Before FP starts yelling again, I pull on some scuffed up looking sneakers, grab the boy's bag and the beanie he never takes off, and rush down a hall with dim lighting and peeling paint on the walls. The wooden stairs are rickety, and I take my time walking down them on shaky legs.
"There you are!" I can't help flinching when FP Jones jumps out of nowhere holding a plate of bacon and eggs. Jughead's father looks friendly enough. He's clean shaven with a mess of dark curls, still in his robe. Though when the man lumbers closer, I can smell the stale alcohol on his breath. It's well known that Jughead's father is an alcoholic ever since he lost his job with Fred Andrews in the Summer. Now he's barely recognisable, his skin an unhealthy pallid white, and dark shadows underlining half lidded eyes.
The man laughs at my reaction. "What's gotcha jumping about this morning?" he chuckled, shoving the plate of food in my face. Jughead's stomach growls again, his mouth watering. But I'm conscious of the time already. "Uh, thanks, but I'm good." I manage to sputter, and FP reels back with a chuckle. "My boy refusing breakfast?" he shrugged before turning and heading into what I presume is the kitchen. "Who are you and what have you done with my son?"
He has no idea how right he is. I laugh nervously and head to the door, desperate to make my escape. "Bye dad!" I say cheerily, before stepping out of the trailer, and into the cool fall chill. The sun is shining in the middle of a blue sky, and I can't help smile at it, before remembering that I'm Jughead Jones and he smiles like...once a year.
The walk to school is short. Normally I catch the bus, but Jughead only lives a few blocks from Riverdale High. As kick golden leaves across the sidewalk, I try to figure out how I'm going to impersonate Jughead. He's pretty much invisible, so I don't need to worry about anyone becoming suspicious. I keep my head down when I join the mound of kids heading towards school. Suddenly my stomach twists at the thought of walking into class in Jughead's body. But if I'm going to figure out why this is happening, then I need to find him. Which is crazy, because who the hell do I look for? I am him!
I'm staring at the sidewalk, trying to will myself to sink through the ground, when someone calls my name -or his name. "Jug!"
Spinning around, my heart in my throat, I scan the crowd. Before I spot her. Veronica Lodge is pretty much teen royalty. The girl has golden skin to die for, and she's the captain of the River Vixens, able to end your reputation with one tap of her glittery nails on her iPhone. Her Twitter and Instagram posts are infamous for calling kids out. In Sophomore year she posted a picture of my new pastel blue bag-back with the vomiting emoji. For a week straight I was a laughing stock and I never used it again.
I have to blink to see if her voice matched the girl fumbling towards me, tripping over herself.
Veronica laughs at girls with bad posture and walks like she's in an overrated teen movie. She doesn't fall over herself. But my eyes do not deceive me. Veronica, dressed in baggy jeans and a light grey sweater, her hair unbrushed and no trace of makeup on her face, is barrelling towards me like an out of control train.
She's attracting stares. Of course she is. She looks like she'd just had a mental breakdown and then been dragged through a bush backwards.
For a moment, I'm speechless. But I'm not sure what to question. The fact that the girl looks like your friendly neighbourhood hobo, or that she's coming over to me.
Veronica Lodge and Jughead Jones barely crossed paths, and if they did, she would make a snide comment about his appearance, and he would retort something equally offensive.
But here she was, standing in front of me. Elizabeth Cooper in the body of Jughead Jones. I can already feel my cheeks going scarlet. But the girl barely notices, instead grabbing me by the arm and dragging me back down the path, words tumbling out of her mouth like word vomit.
"Look, I know we don't talk anymore, and honestly, you're the last person I'd want to talk to about this-"
"What?" I can't help myself. The girl narrows her blue eyes, her lip curling. "You're gonna..." she trailed off. "Jesus fuck, Jug. You're going to think I've lost the plot."
The girl's words hit me suddenly, and shivers tingle down my spine. Veronica barely even swears. She says it's apparently bad for the skin which firstly makes no sense, and yet now here she is, acting like her and Jughead are recently broken up besties, spitting out swears like an animal.
"Try me." I say without hesitation, and the girl groans and steps back, arching an arm over her shoulder. "Okay, so I know this sounds crazy, and believe me I've hit myself enough times to know that I'm not," the girl absently rubbed at her left cheek, wincing. "Jughead, I'm-" the girl stumbles over her words, and suddenly I know what she's going to say. It's been staring at me in the face. The way she's looking at me, her hands shoved in her pockets- the outfit and her language...there's only one explanation.
"I'm not Veronica." she says softly, and I have to swallow a scream building in my throat. Suddenly the world is spinning, and my heart is pounding. The girl grabs my shoulders, and I struggle to keep my balance. "Dude, it's me." she says softly. The breath catches in my throat and sweat starts to bead down my forehead. Ugh, Jughead sweats so much.
"It's Archie." Veronica says. And it's weird, I can almost believe it. The lost puppy look plastered on the girl's face is not Veronica Lodge.
I struggle to comprehend the girl's words.
Archie Andrews pops into my head. Also my neighbour. The boy next door. He's a broad shouldered, six-foot-something kid with red curls usually plastered to his forehead with sweat. Archie is captain of the Bulldogs, though I'm not sure why. He falls over every day without fail, whether it's him slipping in the hallway or walking face first into someone's locker. It's hard to imagine the boy inside tiny ice queen Veronica Lodge.
But I'm stuck inside Jughead Jones. This isn't a coincidence.
My chest clenches. Whatever phenomenon that has struck me has happened to him too. Somehow, Archie Andrews has woken up inside of the body of Veronica Lodge. The boy stares through Veronica's icy blue eyes. I've never seen this expression on her face. Fear. Archie is terrified. When I take too long to reply, he steps back with a shaky sigh. "You don't believe me." he muttered. His words sounded strange through Veronica's lips. The boy bit his lip. "Jug, please say something."
I suck in a breath. I need to tell him. If it's happened to the both of us, then there must be some kind of link. Why have Archie and I swapped with Jughead and Veronica?
In the end, all I can say is "Wow." and Archie lets out a harsh laugh, which sounds like a witch cackle bursting from Veronica's lips. He turns to leave, with a Veronica Lodge style huff, and before I can hesitate, I'm grabbing the cuff of her - or his- sweater.
"You're not crazy." I manage to say softly. Veronica's eyes nearly pop out of her head.
"Jug, how can you possibly-" he trails off, slamming a well manicured hand over Veronica's lips. I only smile softly before raising my hand and waving awkwardly.
"Hey, It's- uh...It's Betty." I say it as calm as I can, even when my heart, or Jughead's, is threatening to explode out of his chest. "I'm stuck inside Jughead." I say with a shrug. As if it's completely normal. He reels back with a frightened squeak.
"Betty?" he gasps. "As in Elizabeth Cooper?"
I only nod, and Archie purses Veronica's lips. "Holy fucking shit." he mutters. After a moment, he frowns. "Is it... weird?"
I can only nod. "Very." I mutter, and he chuckles. "I felt like a pervert this morning, so I put the first clothes I saw on her floor over her pyjamas."
That's actually a really smart idea. Why didn't I think of that? Instead of subjecting myself to Jughead's naked body. Ugh.
"We should get to class." Archie says softly. I nod, but none of us move. After a moment of silence, he lets out a shaky breath. "I think I'm still dreaming."
"Believe me, you're not." I retort, before turning away from him. I may be Jughead Jones right now, but Betty Cooper's obsession with getting to class on time is still very much alive inside of me. When all Jughead wants to do is lounge around outside.
Archie, in Veronica's body, hesitates before following me. He keeps to my side, ducking his head. Straying kids around us turn and stare as we hurry up the steps and head straight into reception. When Veronica reaches for my hand, I snatch it away with a hiss.
"What are you doing?" I can't help scowling at him- or her...my head hurts. "Do you realize what people will think if they see Veronica and Jughead holding hands?"
Archie smiles sheepishly, dragging a hand through unbrushed strands of Veronica's hair. "Sorry," he murmurs. "Ronnie's hands are always itching for someone else's touch. I grabbed her dad's hand this morning and he looked at me like I'd grown a second head."
I'd always seen Veronica holding hands with a boyfriend, or a best friend. Back then I thought it was some kind of cute best friend thing the cheerleaders did. "So, wait- do you get urges to grab people's hands?" I ask as we climb the stairs to class. The first bell has already gone, and I'm conscious of the time. Kids still dwell on the corridors, so for now we're okay. Archie shrugs. "I guess?" he murmurs. "It's a weird feeling."
I nod. "That's like with me and food," I say. "Jughead is always hungry, and I can't stomach food at this time. But it's like his body is demanding it."
Archie snickers. "Yeah, Jug has an insane appetite. One time-" he's cut off abruptly when the Bulldogs barge past him yelling about the upcoming game. Archie's expression brightens and he opens his mouth to yell to his friends, but then seems to stop himself, letting out a frustrated hiss. "Where am I?" he murmurs, scanning the crowd of kids rushing to class. He turns to me, his eyebrow cocked. "I mean, if I've swapped with Veronica, then surely I'm somewhere, right?" I only nod, my stomach jumping into my throat. It's only a matter of time before I come face to face with...myself.
I keep walking, but it's like my legs are refusing to move. Something settles in my chest and my breathing quickens. Jughead's body really doesn't want to go to class.
"Get out of my way!" the voice is like a slap in the face. All too familiar, but I've only heard it a few times. Only in the midst of football cheers. Archie in Veronica's body freezes, his head snapping up.
"Oh fuck." he mutters. All I can do is stare as the crowd in front of me seems to part, making way for someone clearly out for blood.
"Urgh! Move!" Archie's voice booms before he finally turns the corner, and my cheeks flush scarlet. Archie Andrews is well known for his Letterman jacket. It's practically iconic. But when my gaze finds the boy, he's instead in a tight white shirt and skinny jeans. His normal messy mop of red curls is gelled back and he has a face like thunder. It's strange seeing him strut, what with his puffed out chest. But he still manages it. When Archie catches my eye, his widen almost cartoon like. His gaze slides to Veronica standing next to me, and I have no doubt that it's Riverdale High's ice queen that is currently occupying the boy's body.
"What did she do to me?" Archie moans. "I look like a mannequin!"
I can't bring myself to reply to him, because the girl in his body opens his mouth as if to start screaming, before having seconds thoughts and storming over.
"Andrews!" Archie spits at Veronica. "What in god's name are you wearing?"
Archie in Veronica's body scoffs. "You can talk! What did you do to my hair?"
"It's an improvement," the girl hisses, before grabbing Archie's arm roughly. "Okay, you're coming with me. Both of you."
"Hey!" Moose Mason is bounding over. Because in his eyes, Archie Andrews is trying to forcefully drag Veronica Lodge down the corridor. "Andrews, get off her!" When Moose shoves him, Veronica in Archie's body let out a shrill squeak. "Did I say you could touch me, asshole?" He hissed, before winding Archie's fist back and slamming it into Moose's nose. The boy staggered back with a howl of pain, but Veronica in the jock's body doesn't seem fazed. With his hands on his hips, Archie Andrews with a Very Veronica Lodge scowl on his face, glares at me. "I presume that's Betty Cooper in there?"
I find my voice. "How did you-"
The boy scoffs. "It's not hard to tell."
"Andrews, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Moose, with blood pouring from his nose, staggers off. The three of us are left staring at each other. Veronica in Archie's body is beyond pissed, her hands still planted on her hips. While Archie in the girl's body looks like he's about to burst out crying. After a moment, I allow myself to speak.
"If I'm in Jughead's body, then is he in mine? Where is he?" I ask Veronica, who only pouts, rolling her - or Archie's eyes. "How should I know? I don't associate with that weirdo."
"Thanks Blaire Waldorf." I'm pulled out of temporary reverie, when the voice registers in my mind, and suddenly it's hard to breathe.
My own voice sounds alien to me. Cringing, I turn to find - myself. Betty Cooper stands awkwardly, one leg crossed over the other. Her hair is tied into its usual ponytail, and I can just about make out an attempt at makeup. I'm wearing a pale blue shirt and overalls. When I catch my own eye, the girl's lips curls into a small smirk. "Elizabeth Cooper, what did you do to my hair?" my- or I guess- his voice is teasing, and I'm having a hard time grasping the situation. It feels a lot like I'm flirting with myself.
"I brushed it." I mutter in reply. It's all I can say without freaking out. He nods. "Yeah, but why did you brush it? I keep it like that for a reason, Cooper."
Ignore him. I tell myself.
Veronica in Archie's body lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "So is anyone going to like, tell me why this is happening?"
"Allow me to explain!" a high pitched squeak catches me off guard and I spin around with the others. There's a vaguely familiar blonde girl standing a few feet away from us, grinning expectantly. Sabrina Spellman. She's in a bunch of my classes. The girl usually spends time on her own. Last year Cheryl Blossom spread a rumour that she was a witch.
"You have something to do with this?" Jughead murmurs. He's absently playing with his- or my- ponytail. It's a habit I have, and somehow he knows about it. I find myself watching him, or- myself. When he catches my eye, he curls my lips into that stupid smirk he does, and I glare at him.
"Ew, did you do some like, creepy voodoo ritual on us?" Veronica squeaks. From Archie's lips it sounds ridiculous.
Sabrina giggles. "Something like that."