Forsythe (Jughead) Jones,

We are happy to announce that we have selected you as the winner of the Presidential Scholarship Award. You will receive a full tuition of one year to New York Academy of the Arts acting and directing program. Classes start at 8 a.m. Tuesday September 5tth, 2017. Please be sure to create an account at .edu. There you can register for classes, browse extracurricular activities and create friends in a safe, online environment.

Welcome Week begins the week before classes. All new students are invited to join in on the fun and get well acquainted with the campus. We hope to see you there.

If you have any questions or concerns please do not hesitate to contact us:

Email: studentservices or

Phone: 918-555-1267

Sincerely,

Sierra McCoy

Sierra McCoy

Headmistress

New York Academy of the Arts

Jughead can recite the whole acceptance letter by heart he's read it so many times. It's 3 a.m. and he's on a bus to Queens. The knuckles on his right hand are covered in dried blood and beginning to bruise. He winces as he attempts to open and close his fist, ultimately giving up, the pain too much to bear.

Jughead wasn't supposed to leave school until the day after next, but like always, something had to go wrong in the Jones family.

His dad had come home from the bar that night reeking of Tennessee whiskey an old ashtray. Jughead lay awake and bed, listening to the disgruntled voices of his parents arguing in the kitchen. "Not again," he murmured, glancing at the clock on his night stand. It was midnight and his dad, FP Jones was annihilated.

Jughead turned off the video games he had been playing and pulled on a pair of pajama pants. Walking down the hall he stopped in his tracks at the sight that welcomed him in the kitchen. FP had his mom up against the wall with a thick hand wrapped around her neck. She was struggling against him, but too weak to fight him off.

"Get the fuck off her!" Jughead yelled, making his presence known.

FP whirls around, giving his mom a chance to escape. "Go to bed Jughead, this doesn't concern you."

His words were slurred to the point Jughead could barely comprehend what he said. He shook his head, his lips tightening, curling his right hand into itself. "Don't fucking touch her again."

"Are you threatening me? My own son threatening me? I can't fucking believe this." FP slams his fist on the countertop, causing the silverware drawer to clatter. "I said go to bed."

"No."

FP came for him, a mess of heavy limbs. His reaction time was reduced due to his blood alcohol level, giving Jughead just enough time to react. He swung his fist, knocking his dad to the ground out cold.

Jughead's mom ran to him, tears streaming down her face. "You need to leave Juggie." She blubbered through her crying. "Before he wakes up." Jughead wrapped his arms around his mom and kissed her on the forehead, terrified of what would happen once he left.

"I love you mom," he whispered into her hair.

Quickly, he grabbed his duffle bag, already pre-packed for the trip to school. Before departing, he tip toed into his little sister's room and hugged her goodbye. "Stay safe JB. I love you." He wished he could've brought her along to school, to protect her from a life she didn't deserve.

He fled into the night, taking his bike to the bus station in town. He bought a one way ticket from Jersey to Queens, the road in front of him much brighter than the darkness behind.

Jughead relives the memory over and over on the four hour trip into the city. When the driver signals that they're nearing the end, he finally allows himself to be excited. His knee doesn't stop bouncing and he clutches the letter tighter in his good hand. He is one step closer to achieving his dreams.

For as long as Jughead could he remember he wanted to produce and direct movies, like Steven Spielberg or Quentin Tarantino. To create a cinematic masterpiece that would test the ages of time. He started crafting scripts when he was 8 and for his 13th birthday his family scrounged up all money they had to purchase him his very own video camera. Every class project he was able to convince his teachers to allow him to turn in homemade videos instead of papers, and when he did write papers he wrote them as playwrights.

His mind was whirl wind of concepts, constantly thinking up new plots. Whether they are thrilling and chilling or dramatic and romantic, he wrote them down. He had notebooks full of old napkins, receipts and ticket stubs for brainstorming new ideas. No matter when inspiration struck he always made sure to write it down and save it for later, never knowing when one may strike gold.

That's how he landed himself here, on this bus. Jughead had gotten word of New York's most prestigious art school offering up a scholarship to one lucky winner. He was in his junior year of high school and figured what the hell, why not? He flipped through his notebooks, searching for a story. Something with the perfect hook that would grab the school's attention, slap it in the face and say, "We need Jughead Jones." Little did he know his life was about to change forever.

The bus comes to a whining stop and Jughead grabs his duffle bag, eager to stretch his legs and explore the new opportunities New York had in store for him.

New York Academy of the Arts is centered in the heart of the city. Jughead is taken aback by the sprawling green lawns and towering buildings. The sight leaves him breathless. He arrives just in time to see the sun rise on the horizon. He checks the time on his watch, both cursing and thanking himself for arriving so early.

Nothing is open so he finds a bench to sit on near the library. Jughead pulls out one of his many notebooks and begins to write, losing himself when he brings his pen to the paper.

More than an hour passes and Jughead is pulled from the new worlds he's created by the sound of an enchanting voice. He looks up and a pretty blonde girl is descending the steps of the library, singing from sheet music clutched her in delicate hands. He recognizes the song but he doesn't know where from. Realizing he's staring he quickly diverts his attention back to his most recent work of genius, before the girl has a chance to call him out.

Once she passes Jughead checks the time on his phone. He'd been writing for longer than he thought. He shoves his notebook back in his bag and studies the campus map provided to him with his invitation letter. Zeroing in on the Admission's Office he jumps to his feet, ready to collect the keys to the dorm and his new home.