I sit there and let the minutes pass by as I try to process the note I have just received. A love letter? To me? It can't be real, right? No one could possibly be this enamored with me. It's impossible. The feelings in this letter are reminiscent of the love in a Shakespearean sonnet, but I am not a romantic heroine. I am Betty Cooper: boring, blonde, and generic with way too much baggage for any high-school-aged boy to ever take on.
My thoughts cannot linger too long on the letter, though, because Jughead enters the office. "Whatcha got there, Betts?"
I jump a little in my seat, replying with a curt "Nothing" and quickly shoving the letter into my bag, to be dealt with at another time.
"Wow, Betty, that's not suspicious at all..." He takes his spot at the table across from me and opens up his laptop. "I guess, after all of these years of friendship, you really can't trust me. You know what they say: secrets, secrets are no fun..."
"...unless you share with everyone!" I finish. "Yeah, yeah, I know what they say but I also don't understand how a wordsmith like you could possibly agree with a statement that defies the very definition of a secret, Mr. Jones."
"Touché, Ms. Cooper. Touché," he says, nodding at me with his signature smirk.
This is always one of my favorite parts of the day.
For the most part, my school days are pretty routine. I show up early. I tutor or speak with my teachers. I go to homeroom, where I catch up with Archie or get harassed by my darling cousin, Cheryl. Then are classes, where I drown myself in my work and immerse myself in equations and stoichometry. Lunch with V and Kevin follows, where they gossip and I nod along like I can keep up with the drama. More classes. Cheer practice where I try to keep up with the squad. Home to do homework and make dinner. Then I prepare myself to do it all over again.
The only thing that breaks up the monotony is my time at the Blue and Gold. Here I have a purpose. Here I am a leader. Sure, it is a high school newspaper with only one writer besides myself, but it is something that I take pride in.
Plus, Jughead's presence doesn't hurt.
He is funny, smart, and sarcastic. We work seamlessly as a detective duo and when it comes to our editor/journalist relationship, we are a well-oiled machine. He challenges me mentally and makes me strive to be a better editor because I want to make him a better writer. It is his way out of this town and, if anyone deserves a break from the bad hand they were dealt, it is him. His mother left with his only sister a couple years ago and all he has is his dad, who wasn't reliable as an adult, let alone a father for quite some time. He also had to serve his time in prison when his role in the cover up of Jason Blossom's murder was brought to light, leaving Juggie orphaned and forced to stay with the Andrews' for a while.
We have an easy friendship and our time in the Blue and Gold office only brings us closer. He genuinely cares about me and I, him. He makes me smile, even when I am feeling down on myself. He listens to my worries and eases them with the wave of a hand and a warm hug. In return, I am the only person he is able to completely open up to about his home life. We just get each other.
"You okay?" He asks.
"What? Fine! I'm fine. Just zoned out a little." As try to refocus my attention back to our latest issue that goes to print at the end of the week, I remember this morning. "Hey, I saw you talking to Veronica this morning and it looked pretty intense. What was that about?"
The question seems to take him by surprise and he stutters a few times before settling on, "Oh, it was nothing. Just something about Archie she need for her anniversary gift or something." He still squirms in his seat but isn't willing to elaborate, so I let the topic go. It couldn't be that important and I'm not about to push him into being any more uncomfortable than he already is.
We settle into a comfortable silence for a while as he works on his latest expose on the slow shrinking of cafeteria servings and how it goes back to inflation and I play around with the formatting of my letter from the editor and Kevin's monthly gossip column.
I leave school feeling lighter than I did when I came in the morning but the weight of the note making my backpack feel a million times heavier.
I mindlessly float through dinner with my parents and quickly finish my homework before I take residence on my bed and pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of paper that has been in my thoughts since it fell out of my locker this morning.
I read it through a few more times, trying to really direct it, discover any clue about its author before I give up and resolve myself to it remaining a mystery forever.
Then a thought pops into my head. Of course I am having a hard time doing this by myself! I may have a disposition toward being a private investigator after I graduate college, but I work best when I have someone to bounce my ideas off of. I need someone detached from the whole situation. Someone who can take the clue for what it is: a clue. All of my hopelessly devoted friends would see it as an opportunity to set me up.
Except one.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up my phone and open my messages app.
Betty: I need your help.
I wait rather impatiently for it to ding with the tell-tale signal of a response. Within the minute, the screen lights up with a new message.
Juggie:Whats up?
I carefully consider my words before landing on a decisive explanation.
Betty:I got an anonymous love letter in my locker this morning. I want to find its sender so that I can assess its sincerity.
The next response doesn't come as quickly as the first, but it is clear he is carefully considering his words. I begin to regret asking him something so absurd when he sends something back.
Juggie: And I come in where…?
I breathe a sign of relief at his intrigue and send off four messages in rapid succession.
Betty: I can't be objective in this situation.
Betty: And I work better when I work with you. Please!
Betty:Pretty please with a cherry on top!
Betty:I'll treat you to Pop's when we find him!
I guess the last promise does the trick because he agrees and we exchange a few back-and-forths about what I know so far and when we can discuss the next stages in our investigation.
Before I know it, it is midnight and my usual sleep schedule that accommodates a full 8 hours is completely ruined. I note the time and my increasingly-frequent yawns and wish him good night before shutting my bedside lamp and drifting off with thoughts of my beanie-wearing bestie and my newly-realized secret admirer.
I arrive at school with a sugar-filled frozen coffee (that would cause my mother to faint if she knew) and a smile on my face with the gears turning for Project Not-So-Secret Admirer.
(Title in Progress.)
I arrive at my locker and take a cleansing breath before entering the combination and looking inside.
There lies another letter, this time accompanied by a beautiful, fresh gardenia.
To my Juliet,
I don't doubt that you wish to find out my identity and my intentions.
Well, my identity will not be revealed for your own sake.
I do not wish to court you or have you on my arm. You do not need to be on anyone's arm, for your strength and quiet power speaks above even the loudest of voices. I do not possess even a fraction of your intelligence or talent. Instead, I am willing to repress my feeling deep inside the prison of my mind because I lack the courage to even approach this subject with a woman like you. I could never burden you with the difficulties of my own life and I lack the means that you deserve to be provided. You have no need, of course, for someone to provide for you, but you deserve to be taken care of. Unfortunately, the person to do that is not me.
I guess that leaves the explanation of my intentions.
I have seen you deflate recently. You seem to carry a heavy burden on your shoulders and do not possess some of the courage and lightness that once made your eyes sparkle. Your radiance seems to be glaringly apparent to everyone but you.
With these letters, I wish to show you how you look through another pair of eyes. I see just how amazing you truly are and I wish to share my vision of the one and only Betty Cooper with you. I want that confidence to return and mirror the person it comes from.
I love you, Betty Cooper.
I just wish that you would love yourself as much as I do.
Always and forever yours,
Your Romeo
Sorry for the wait! This chapter is considerably longer than the last one, so I hope that makes up for it a little. I hope you guys like it because this one was definitely a lot of fun to write! I am posting this simultaneously on my tumblr and AO3 account (same name), so you can read them there as well, but updates will definitely appear on here first. I loved your comments on the last chapter and they really meant a lot to me. Thank you so much for you positive feedback and I would love to hear how this one measures up! 3
