Three sharp raps on the wooden door made Jughead jump in his seat. He was used to the constant background noise of students passing in the hall, his fingers tapping on the well-used keyboard in front of him,the ping of an incoming email notification jolting him out of his thoughts. Nobody else ever entered the office of the Blue and Gold; only Jughead spent his lunch hours in here.
Jughead turned slowly, his eyes first landing on the dainty ballet flat-clad feet.
"Hi," A voice chirped. "Do you run the school newspaper?"
He swallowed and pulled his gaze upward. She was smiling at him. "Mr. Kandinsky oversees everything we print," he said as he looked down at the paper cup filled with coffee next to his worn, second hand cellphone.
"Is he around?" He could hear the slap of her shoes against the ground. He looked up as she pulled out the chair next to his and plopped down.
Jughead grabbed his coffee and looked her in the eye. "Do you see him?" He replied, motioning around the room, empty save for the two of them. "He would be in the teacher's lounge," he murmured, cocking an eyebrow. He knew he shouldn't be so short with her but his defences were always up. He looked at the computer screen and saved his work.
"Oh," she smiled at him again and tucked one leg beneath her, as if she were getting comfortable. "Every school seems different. It's my first day."
"Well, I hope you find the other cheerleaders very welcoming."
"Cheerleading?" She burst out laughing, and Jughead stole another glance at her - eyes crinkled in the corner, perfectly straight white teeth, an ethereal sound filling the room - before he pushed back his chair and stood.
"I'm not a cheerleader. I was actually interested in writing for the newspaper." Betty laughed. The monotonous ring of the warning bell sounded loudly, causing students to flood the hall outside. They had three and a half minutes to get to class.
Jughead shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he stood behind his chair. "Why? I mean -"
Betty turned, letting her leg drop to the floor. "Are you always so friendly to new students?" She mused, a smirk playing on her lips.
Jughead sighed. "We don't get many new students - we get even fewer who want to be a part of the Blue and Gold. And because I'm the only one who contributes, I take new recruits pretty seriously. Sorry to disappoint."
She stood and crossed her arms. "I was editor of my last school's paper, and my parents ran multiple news outlets upstate. I take my writing seriously. Give me a chance."
Jughead grabbed his cellphone from the table and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans. He took his backpack from the floor and slid it over his shoulder. "Okay," he nodded.
Why was he being so ridiculous? Of course the Blue and Gold should have other writers, and this girl had given him no reason to distrust her. "I'll talk to Mr. Kandinsky tomorrow morning."
"Thank you," She smiled and extended her hand. "I'm Betty Cooper."
Jughead gave her hand a short shake before adjusting his backpack. "Jughead Jones - nickname, don't ask." He made his way toward the door, intending on dropping his backpack off at his locker before his next class.
"Jughead?" She repeated, following him out of the office.
He sighed, but before he could answer, another bell sounded, signaling the start of class.
"Shit," he muttered. "Shit, shit, shit." He picked up the pace until he reached his locker, Betty trailing behind him. His hand was shaking as he spun the padlock.
"What's wrong?"
"We're late for class," he explained as he wrenched his locker open.
"Just tell them you were helping the new student," Betty offered, a soft smile playing on her lips.
Jughead shook his head as he grabbed a textbook off the top shelf. "Won't matter, I have Mr. Howitzer next and he's - it won't matter." He slammed his locker door closed.
"Hey, that's my next class, too. Just stay with me, the new student excuse works on all the teachers." She adjusted the backpack that was slipping from her grip. She put all her textbooks in her bag, content on lugging the weight around with her until she had her schedule memorized.
Jughead laughed, but it was a dark, humorless sound. He shook his head. "You try it and see what happens." His long legs carried him down the hall quickly as Betty struggled to keep up.
Moments later, he opened the classroom door, his head down as he made his way to his desk.
"Jughead Jones!" Mr. Howitzer barked. "You're late."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Howitzer."
"And you," the teacher's voice boomed. He turned to Betty, who was lingering in the doorway. "You must be Elizabeth Cooper, our new student."
"That's me," Betty smiled, stepping further into the room.
"Don't look so pleased with yourself, Elizabeth. Are you sure you're in the right classroom?" Before she could open her mouth to speak, he continued. "I know it's your first day, but it's not that hard to read the school map. Only imbeciles are confused by maps, Elizabeth. This isn't the right class for imbeciles. Are you an imbecile?"
"No," she murmured, looking down at her feet.
"We'll see." Mr. Howitzer shuffled the papers on his desk. "Take the empty seat next to Mr. Jones. I'll see you both after school for detention."
Betty made her way past the half pitying, half smirking stares of her classmates.
"Mr. Howitzer, I-I can't stay for detention, I-" Jughead protested.
"Do you want to make it a week's worth instead, Mr. Jones?"
Betty saw him shake his head as she sat, taking her textbook out of her backpack as she set it at her feet.
"Now that our interruption is over, everyone can get back to page sixty-three," Mr. Howitzer turned to write on the chalkboard.
"I'm so sorry," Betty whispered as she turned her book to the right page.
"It's fine," Jughead muttered. "But the punishment for talking in class is even worse."
Betty nodded tightly and focused on the information in front of her as Mr. Howitzer continued to bleat monotonously at the front of the room.
"Nice going, Uncle Fester, getting the hot new girl in trouble," she heard a whisper from behind her desk.
She saw Jughead stiffen next to her. He kept his eyes glued on the notes he was furiously scribbling into his binder. Betty, however, straightened her spine and sat a little taller. She turned in her seat to put a face to the voice. He gave a nod which she didn't return.
After the excruciating hour under Mr. Howitzer's glare, Betty was relieved that her next class was one of her best - AP English. She was early to class this time, and stood in the doorway to observe her surroundings.
"Middle row, second from the front." A voice came from behind her.
She turned to see a short brunette smiling at her. "Hi. Veronica Lodge." She extended a hand. "The seat next to mine is free."
"Betty Cooper," she shook the outstretched hand and smiled. "And thanks. I sat in someone's seat first period and she wasn't very nice about correcting me."
Veronica grimaced as she guided Betty to their shared desk. There were a few students milling about the classroom, checking their phones and taking out their notebooks. "That could be half the girls on the cheerleading squad, unfortunately. Most people have lived in Riverdale their whole lives and don't seem to know how to roll out the welcome mat. Hopefully the rest of your day has been more pleasant. It's your first, right?"
Betty nodded as she sat. "It hasn't been too bad, except I got detention."
"Mr. Howitzer?" Veronica guessed.
"Yes! What's with that guy?" Betty exclaimed, pulling a pen out of her bag.
Veronica rolled her eyes. "He's still got the drill sergeant mentality. Don't worry, Ms. Haggly is much nicer. She's been a teacher here since the day they opened the school, apparently, but she never seems to get tired of dealing with teenagers."
"Thank God," Betty laughed. She looked up as more students entered the classroom. "Who is that?" She hissed towards Veronica.
"Who?"
"That," Betty exaggerated the word as a tall brunette gave her a head nod.
"That's Reggie Mantle." Veronica whispered as Ms. Haggly walked into the classroom and shut the door behind her. "Why, do you think he's cute? He's single."
"No, I think he's a jerk. I just wanted to put a name to the face."
"That's a common opinion around here."
"Is he a friend of yours?"
Ms. Haggly began to write page numbers on the chalkboard. Veronica scribbled something on her notepad paper, then ripped it out and passed it to Betty.
Don't want you to get in trouble! Text me later, it read, followed by Veronica's phone number.
By the end of the day, Betty was exhausted. The last thing she wanted to do was go back to face Mr. Howitzer, but she knew it would be much worse if she didn't show up.
Jughead was already seated at the front of the classroom, a pen and paper in his hand, his backpack at his feet.
COMPLETE SILENCE was written on the chalkboard in large block letters.
"Ms. Cooper. You sit there," Mr. Howitzer instructed, pointing at a desk. It was at the front of the classroom, the same row as Jughead. There was one empty desk in between them, and nobody else in the room.
Betty sat.
"You must work on a project, on homework, or write lines. You will not just sit there and stare at the ceiling. You will not talk, text, or eat in my classroom. You must be productive. Understood?"
Betty nodded and pulled out a notebook, then set it on her desk. She thought about starting her math homework, but instead wrote poetry.
After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Howitzer stood. "I'll be back in a moment. The rules still apply."
Betty waited a beat after he walked out the door, then put down her pen and turned toward Jughead's desk.
"I just wanted to apologize again, Jughead. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be stuck in here."
Jughead stopped writing in his binder and turned to face Betty. "It's okay," he sighed. "I'll still talk to Mr. Kandinsky in the morning." He gave her an attempt at a smile.
She smiled. "I appreciate that, but I'm still sorry you're stuck in here. You seemed pretty upset about it earlier."
Jughead let his eyes drop. "Nobody likes detention."
"What are you writing?"
Jughead paused before answering her, keeping his eyes on his paper. "We're going to get in shit if he catches us talking."
"Right." Betty picked up her pen.
They were both silent until Mr. Howitzer let them go an hour later. He left the classroom before either of them could stand up.
"Which way are you going?" Betty asked as she shoved her notebook into her bag. "Maybe we could walk together?"
Jughead pulled the cellphone out of his pocket before muttering under his breath. He looked up at Betty, his eyebrows furrowing, before scooping his binder into his arms and grabbing his backpack from the ground. "I have to get home," was all he said as he scrambled out of the room.
Jughead cursed himself the whole way home. He was walking as quickly as he could, one earbud in his ear, head down.
The pretty new girl was being nice to him and he had barely spoken to her in return. Then again, she distracted him to the point of being late for Mr. Howitzer's class and everyone knew how easily he gave out detentions. He knew better.
Jughead lived on the border between the Northside of Riverdale and the Southside. His mother moved them out of the trailer park once she made enough money. His father was a trucker and was constantly on the road; he sent them money twice a month to help with rent and groceries.
He saw his house come into view and slowed down just a little. He took a deep breath and shoved his hands in his pockets as he tried to mentally prepare himself for what was to come. The sun was beating down on him and he couldn't wait to get inside and take off his sweater. He could see his mother pacing in front of the window as he got closer to his house.
As he ascended the steps of his rundown house, the door swung open. A hand wrapped around his forearm and pulled him inside with such force he fell into a table in the hallway.
"Where the hell have you been?" Her eyebrows were furrowed as she slammed the door closed. She peered down at him, her eyes narrowing until they became slits.
"M-mom, I'm sorry, I got detention. I-" Jughead stammered as he pushed himself off of the table.
She shook her head, interrupting him. "Just how stupid are you, Jughead? You know my shift starts at three o'clock sharp! If you're late, I'm late!" She closed the distance between them once again.
He scrambled backwards, but his mother grabbed his arm again, digging her long, red fingernails into his skin. "Don't turn your back on me when I'm talking to you!"
"I'm sorry, Mom, I won't be home late again."
Gladys stared at him until he dropped his gaze. "That's right. Now go to your room, I'm sick of looking at you." She released her grip on him and picked her purse off a knob next to the door. "You better hope I don't get fired because of you." She muttered.
Jughead closed his eyes after the door slammed closed and counted to ten. He took a deep breath and walked over to right the table he had knocked over.
He stripped his sweater off, then his shirt as he made his way to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, knowing very well that his mother wouldn't be coming back for seven hours, but he did it anyway - just in case. He unbuckled his pants and slid them off, then stared at himself in the full length mirror.
Dark purple bruises littered his skin, decorating his flesh. There were small fingernail shaped marks on his forearm, and he was sure there would be a bruise to match when he woke up tomorrow. His back was sore from where he fell into the table, a bright red mark screaming against his pale skin, indicating where he met the corner.
There were old, fading yellow marks on his sides from last week when he forgot to do the dishes. A fading scratch on his leg when he tried to get away on his bike.
He tore his eyes away from his reflection and pulled his beanie off his head, dropping it onto the pile of his clothes. He turned the knob on the shower until steam filled the room. He sighed as he stepped into the stream of water, relaxing as the hot water hit his tense muscles. He turned into the moisture, letting the hot water wash away the tears that slipped from his eyes.