Things had seemed so much easier when they were younger.
Back then, they were the three musketeers— the red-headed golden boy, the blonde girl-next-door, and the quiet boy in the grey cap. They spent summer afternoons devouring orange slices after soccer practice, the evenings telling ghost stories in Jughead's treehouse. The orange Kodak photographs that had survived the test of time had always showed them flashing their gap toothed grins.
There wasn't much to smile about nowadays. Jason Blossom's unsolved murder and the fact there was some cold-blooded killer roaming the streets of Riverdale was scarier than any ghost story they could have dreamed of. It was like a dark cloud hung over their once innocent lives.
It seemed like everything had been going up in smoke. Archie's relationship with Miss Geraldine Grundy aka Jennifer Gibson was the latest scandal and the Twilight drive-in was being demolished.
For Jughead, it was time to go to Pop's diner, drown his sorrow in coffee and burgers until closing time and until the realization that he had absolutely nowhere to go fully sunk in. He sat down at his regular booth, pulled his MacBook from his knapsack and tried to type another chapter of his Riverdale murder mystery.
But nothing was coming. His nagging anxiety was creating major Writer's Block. He just stared at his screen, waiting for something. Anything.
"Juggie?"
His head perked up at the familiar voice. It was Betty Cooper, and just like that two thirds of the original gang were reunited.
"Betts," he said with a slight smile. He noticed her enormous blue eyes were red and puffy as if she had just been sobbing. "Everything alright…?" He asked carefully, even though he knew it wasn't.
She collapsed in the seat across from him, gripping the edge of the table. "I feel like the walls are closing in lately. I miss Polly so much and my mother ruined things for Archie. Deep down, I'm sure he hates me. And I'm still…" A couple of tears rolled down her eyes. "I'm heartbroken," her voice cracked, and she pursed her lips, trying to hold back as many of her tears as she could.
He looked down at the table. For a guy who wanted to be a writer, it suddenly seemed as if no words had ever existed.
He had never been great at trying to comfort anyone. What did people even say in situations like this? Everything happens for a reason, there are plenty of fish in the sea, etc. etc.
"Betts, you are…" he began, his mouth running before his mind could catch up.
She looked at him, waiting.
He cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Maybe you're right. Maybe the walls are closing in. But… that's why I write. To make something out of it all. To be something. I don't know if that even makes sense."
"It does," she said softly, nodding slightly. "Thank-you."
"Betts, you are…" He attempted once more. Somewhere deep down he knew what he wanted to say, what he had never been able to say. Brilliant. Beautiful. Honest. Selfless. Kind. Perfect. "Betts, you're going to be fine. That is if you have a milkshake within the next five minutes."
She smiled, wiping the tears from her face.
For a moment, the dark cloud that hung over their lives went away. Just a moment, a fraction of a section, it was as if they were young again.