There were things in life that came natural to literally everyone. Like breathing. Then, there were things that came natural to only a few people—like drawing, or dancing. But there were a lot of things that didn't come natural anyone at all. Sometimes things just didn't come natural to me. Being a mother was supposed to be one of those things that came natural to a few people—those on this planet with a uterus, anyway.
All I'd been doing is using the Wyrm's WiFi to research pregnancy. Anything and everything having to do with it, to be exact. I'd clicked on article after article, related search after related search, and I'd found myself on a few odd websites. But I'd found out some things I didn't know before, at least. I sat at the far corner of the bar with my computer on the counter top in front of me, my back facing the wall to ward off peepers, while I snacked on oyster crackers and drank Seven Up.
Finally, a meal I could keep down. Though it wasn't much, it still offered more than the exact sum of zero that I was getting before. Toni was behind the bar, working, while I clicked away. Occasionally she would come over and ask for an update on info. We had to keep whatever conversation transpired hushed for fear of being overheard. I was at the Wyrm under the disguise of hanging out while Sweet Pea and Tall Boy played pool.
The pool tables were a good length from us, but I still made Toni keep her voice down just to be safe. "So? Anything new?" Toni asked, stepping over to me behind the bar, leaning into it on my left with her folded forearms beneath her chest. She seemed more neutral than anything, but she was still more—dare I say—excited about all of this than I was.
I blew a puff of air through my lips. "It says you can start really showing as early as twelve or thirteen weeks. If I did my math correctly—which, I'm confident that I did—I'm at twelve. I only have a minimum of a week before someone's going to ask when I started getting so fat. At least now I have a bona fide reason for the inability to wear my skinny jeans right now."
"Please. With as thin as you are, it probably won't even turn out to be that big of a bump," Toni assured, pushing off the bar to stand upright.
My eyes darted up from the laptop screen. "Have you seen my stomach? It's already bigger than it was just last week."
"Girl, seriously, don't stress over it. You can wear baggy t-shirts for a little while longer. Use the time you have left to work up the nerve to tell Sweet Pea."
I pulled my eyes from the computer screen once again to look at her as I sighed. "Honestly, I just...I don't know how I'm supposed to do all of this. Keeping this to myself is smart but, even though it's only been three days, I feel like it's been a year. And at the same time I'm still trying to keep a job while going to school and taking care of my sister."
Toni's lips drew to one side. "Maybe you're not supposed to do it all? You have friends, family—people that care about you. Lean on them. You're not breaking any rules by asking for help."
She gave me a knowing look before heading to the other side of the bar. Toni had a point. The question was, who was I going to ask for help? Jughead had asked me what he could do to help out with my full schedule just days ago. And I trusted Jughead with my secrets more than anyone probably should trust anyone with such important things. Why not trust him with this one?
Cash and I sat at the kitchen table eating dinner. Actually, she was eating, I was sitting there with her for moral support. The whole purpose of sitting there was to talk to Jughead as soon as he got back from the high school. He texted me earlier, said he was going to be there late. Being at South Side High at night was never a good idea. It was the exact opposite. But I tried to keep an open mind. After all, there was nothing I could've done about it.
I'd gotten take out from Pop's for Cash and Jughead. Cash was almost done with her burger, moving onto her french fries now. "How was school today?" I asked her, resting my forearms on top of the table. She didn't bother swallowing before answering. Instead, she spoke around a full mouth of fries.
"Great! Mrs. Baker took us to Fox Forest to find leaves," she answered, eyes glued to the french fry she swirled in her pool of ketchup. "We found really big ones that we took back to school and painted. Mine got hung up on the art board. Gina's did, too, but then she ate glue and Mrs. Baker had to call her mom."
My head nodded slowly, my chin resting on my knuckles as my elbow braced against the table. "Wow. Sounds like your day was eventful?"
"It was! What did you do today?" Cash asked, suddenly perking up as she looked at me.
"Well, after school I went to the Whyte Wyrm with Sweet Pea," I replied.
She sucked in an abrupt gasp of air as her eyes widened, and I paused in anticipation of her next words. "Can I take him to show and tell next week?!"
"Uh...Cash, you want to show Sweet Pea? What about your dog, or...something less threatening?"
Cash slumped down in her chair, but her lips tightened, eyebrows lowering in a defiant expression. When she really wanted something I wasn't giving her, she always gave me that look. Even when she was a baby. That was always a look we got. Only now, when she was older, did we know what it meant. "He's not threatening! I would have a better show and tell than Sabrina Green—she's been voted most popular for two years!"
"I can't really answer either way. You'll have to ask him yourself," I resigned, sitting back in my chair.
She seemed content with that answer, giving a singular nod and grabbing another french fry. I couldn't help chuckling a little at her behavior. It was so innocent. Cash honestly had no idea about the hateful things said about Serpents—or the hate carried toward them in everyday actions. It was like we were the plague. But not to Cash. No. Cash believed we were some new brand of superhero. And maybe that was for the best?
Maybe it was better that she believe the fairy tales than become acquainted with the harsh reality? I'd gotten Cash tucked in on her couch. There had still been no word from Jughead. My mind had been racing all night with possible outcomes for what I was going to say. I hadn't even decided on what to say yet, actually. I didn't have time to think all of it through. Not when an echo of a sound caused me to instinctively sit upright on the bed.
I'd been draped across the width of it, thinking. But the sound was familiar. It was human. The curiosity mixing with concern in my chest pushed me to slide off the bed and walk out to the front door of the trailer. My eyes caught the clock as I walked through the kitchen. Just before midnight. With the recent incidents of injury, you could say I was a little nervous when I unlocked the door. The masked man—the Black Hood, as the papers called him—could be anywhere.
So I pulled it open slowly, with caution. It was open all of about four inches when my heart skipped. And not in a good way. "Jughead," the name rolled off my tongue in a melody of anxious concern. He stood just at the base of the steps. An arm across his middle, another on the railing, with a grimacing expression marked by red scrapes and purple bruises. I flicked on the porch light before stepping out, rushing down the steps to him. "What happened to you, Jug?"
I wrapped my left arm around his back to help hold him up, and we moved up onto the first step as he replied through a mild groan. "A couple Ghoulies jumped me when I tried to leave the school," he explained, pained by the steps and the speaking. "They locked the doors."
"Pea warned you. Why did you stay so late?" I asked, out of pure concern.
We made it to the top of the steps and I helped him inside, closing the door and locking it behind us. Cash was still sound asleep. Completely oblivious to Jughead's current condition. And it was probably the best thing for this scenario. Jughead moved his right arm around my shoulders to lean on me, holding his left arm to his ribs instead, and I helped him through the kitchen. "You know me. I'm a night owl, Diana. I do my best work after dark," he finally answered, when we reached the bedroom.
He sounded his usual level of sarcasm. But it was masked by a veil of a painful rasp. My hand groped the wall for the light switch as we passed through the doorway. The light only brought more awareness to the marks on his face, when I got him sat on the end of the bed. "Oh, Jug..." I bit down on my lower lip to keep from making a panicked sound.
"It looks worse than it is," he tried.
I slowly shook my head, my eyes shifting to his from the bruise near his left temple. "No. I'm pretty sure it's about the same."
With an exhale, I pattered into the bathroom. The first aid kit was always under the sink, to the right, and near the back. It was right where I left it when I pulled open the cupboard doors. I grabbed the plastic box with a cross on it, closed the doors, and hurried back to the bed. Easing myself onto the end of the bed beside Jughead, I popped open the box. "You look better, at least," Jughead noticed, eyes scanning my features. "Are you still feeling sick?"
My fingers tore open an antiseptic Q-tip. "Yeah. But I am feeling better."
"That's good. Statistically speaking, at least one of us has to be in good health at the same time."
"Jug, we need to talk," I gently dabbed the Q-tip on the cuts by his temple closest to me, and he hissed, flinching away a second with a grimace. "-I'm sorry."
He shook his head, leaning toward me again. "No, it's okay. What do we need to talk about?"
Carefully, I resumed rolling the antiseptic across the cuts. I could tell he was only intrigued because he needed an escape. He needed something to distract himself from the unbearable sting spreading across the skin of his face. You could tell by the way his eyes remained narrowed and how his fingers gripped the comforter beneath us. On the inside, I was screaming. It was always easy to talk to Jughead. But getting good at keeping my other half a secret from him tarnished that ability a bit.
My heart felt like it was moving too fast. Like I was breathing faster to keep up, running an imaginary race I would not win. I took a deep breath and discarded the Q-tip, my hand moving for the tube of antibiotic ointment next. "Well...it's about me and Sweet Pea," I started, failing to hide my nervousness.
Jughead's eyes shifted to the left, landing on mine through his grimace. "Did you guys break up or something?"
"No, no—we're fine," I quickly shook my head, reaching up to dab the medicine on the worst of the cuts. "It's just...it's more about me, but it still involves him-"
"Diana, you're not making any sense. Whatever it is—just tell me."
His expression was still contorted in mild pain, but his tone was a deep shade of understanding that urged me to get to the point on the premise of unconditional acceptance. It was too much when I thought about it for too long—the prospect of saying it out loud. But I drew in a deep breath and blurted it out, before I could change my mind. "I'm pregnant."
Those two words. They meant a million things. And they felt heavy, pulling the weight from my shoulders as I breathed them out. Jughead didn't move. He didn't speak. Not for a moment. It would've worried any normal person. But I could tell he was thinking about it, considering how to proceed. Finally, after a little longer, he asked, "Are you sure?"
"I took three tests. Toni was the one that suggested morning sickness. Otherwise, I'd probably never notice."
Jughead exhaled, eyes downcast as he shook his head. "Of course. That's why you've been sick without any other symptoms," he was thinking out loud, as it clicked. Then he lifted his eyes to meet mine as I worked the package off a small bandage. "Do you know how far along you are? Or- can you tell? I'm not quite sure how this works." He'd said it like it was an apology. Apologizing for offending me with the question. But I shook my head with a small smile.
"It's okay. We were only unprotected once, so, it's pretty easy. I'm twelve weeks," I answered, placing the bandage on the deep cut above his eye.
"That long? Wow. Are you guys going through with it?" he asked, curiously. My eyes fell to my hands as they dropped in my lap, crinkling the bandage wrapper. There was no need to respond. My silence said it enough. His shoulders dropped, "You haven't told him."
I shook my head. "It was hard enough telling you, Jug."
"Why?" his eyebrows crinkled.
"Because I'm sixteen. I'm sixteen years old and my mother's dead, my father's going to jail, and the guy that knocked me up is in a biker gang. Not to mention that it's just...it's a big deal. A baby is a big deal. It's so much pressure and I'm not even that far into it," I vented, dropping my shoulders as I finally moved to meet his eyes. "I mean—we talked about kids once. He was drunk, so, I don't know what to do with that information. But I can't just tell him whenever."
Jughead's features softened a bit, "You think he'll get ticked off?"
"I don't know, but I don't want to bring it up when he's already mad."
"Right," Jughead's eyes moved downward again, plunging into deep thought. "That's going to be kind of difficult, considering he's always mad..."
I sent my knuckles into his upper arm in a half-hearted poke, "Not helping!"
"I'm sorry, that was inappropriate timing," he apologized, with a slight slant to his lips in a tiny grin. But it did pull a small chuckle from me, seeing his humorous expression. There was no way of telling if it was the stress or the humor causing the laughter for sure but, either way, I needed it. It felt good. "Anything else about this I should know?"
My lips pressed into a thin line in an expression and I tugged up the hem of my loose sweater. "I'm already showing. Feel this."
I grabbed his hand, and he quickly mumbled a few words in protest, but I'd pulled his fingers to my stomach before he could form a coherent sentence. Jughead had always been a tad squeamish when it came to feminine issues. This was a combination of a feminine issue and a violation of personal space. So he was a bit squirmy. But I didn't care at that moment. All I wanted was to share this with someone. To talk about it with someone.
Who better to share it with than my brother? My hand guided his slowly over the slight slope of my skin below my naval. "Wow," Jughead sounded a mixture of things. Surprised, amazed, grossed out, and terrified. But his eyes were blank, resting on my hand over his. "It's definitely in there, isn't it?"
"It had a heartbeat about six weeks ago," I nodded, with a small smile. "It'll be kicking in six more, according to the internet."
His eyes moved to meet mine, raising a brow. "When do you find out the gender?"
"Another week or two, I think. But I am officially a three-D printer."
"That's one way to look at it."
I dropped my shirt hem and closed up the first aid box before taking it to the bathroom. Putting it right back where I got it. That night, I'd slept in the bed with Jughead. Tucked in beneath the covers, arms wrapped around each other, like we used to when we were little. Of course, back then it was a sleeping bag. But, even with the extra space, it felt wrong to split apart.
The way the town had changed could be felt in a physical density everywhere you went. The air was thick with fear. You couldn't go anywhere without hearing someone talk about changing locks, hiring protection. But no one was talking about the obvious. The police still had no leads on whoever the Black Hood was. It seemed like nothing was being done—because nothing could be done. Yet Archie Andrews and the Riverdale High Bulldogs found a way.
It was on a flier. It was on a million fliers, stamped all over town. The Red Circle. It was the football team with a solution to the public's terror. Offer protection, they'll relax. Though the idea had a million different potential failures, it was successful. Until the video. I only saw it because the young Serpents were talking about it at school. The worst part was watching the video.
I sat between Sweet Pea and Fangs, watching the video on the laptop on the table. Archie was the only one not wearing a mask. The other members of The Red Circle stood or sat around the shot, shirtless, wearing red hoods that mimicked the Black Hood's. "D, don't you know this North sider?" Sweet Pea asked, turning his head to look down at me.
"I used to," I replied, my eyebrows drawn.
I couldn't understand it—the logic in making a video to call out the Black Hood. After one more second of it, I pushed myself up from the table, and pulled my cell phone from my back pocket as I exited the Serpent area of the cafeteria. If anyone would have the answers to my questions, it would be Archie himself. Get it from the horse's mouth for the most accurate information, right? I dialed Archie's number and held the phone to my ear as I listened to it ring.
It rung three times. Then, finally, he picked up with a simple, "Hey."
"You promised me, Andrews. You promised you wouldn't get too deep—and that's exactly what you're doing," I chided, halfway to my locker. "What even are you doing? Baiting a masked murderer with a hero complex? This needs to stop. Before you or any of your Red Circle buddies get hurt."
"Diana, I don't expect you to understand—but this is important. Someone has to step up and do something, someone has to fight back. We're getting picked off and we're not doing anything to stop it."
I scoffed. "So you're going to make the guy doing the picking angry?"
"We have to draw him out," Archie explained, like it should've been obvious. "Look, I need your help. Mrs. Cooper thinks the Black Hood is a South sider with an ax to grind—and it makes sense, looking at his victims. I'm going to go to the South side to try and draw him out. I need you to come with me."
