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Disclaimer: Archie Comics will never be mine. UNLESS THE CREATORS MYSTERIOUSLY AND CONVENIENTLY DIE.
Jughead's fist was parked in midair, approximately six inches from the dark brown door in front of him. He was immobile. He was paralyzed.
Alright. He thought. I'll just turn around. I'll walk away. He attempted to turn and found himself still unable to move. I'm running out of time. I can't just walk away! He sighed and moved his hand a half inch closer, then pulled it back a good three inches. Sure you can. RUN. He was about to obey himself and high-tail it out of there when a cheery voice called out to him.
"Juggie, what the hell are you doing?" Betty asked. Jug looked up. She was hanging out of her bedroom window, her arms crossed and perched daintily on the sill. She was smiling.
"...I have no idea," he answered truthfully, stepping backwards in order to get a better look at her.
"You've been outside my door for at least five minutes. I think you might want something from me," she told him, lifting her hand to support her chin. She flashed him a toothy grin.
"How long have you been there, anyway?"
"Oh, quite a while, Forsythe. Quite a while." She used her free hand to lift the end of her ponytail for inspection, then she procured a hairbrush from somewhere out of Jughead's line of vision.
"Do you plan on letting me in?" he asked, trying a smile of his own.
"...No," she answered, unsuccessfully stifling a giggle. His smile fell. "Oh, shush. The door's open, you dork." She began to brush her hair.
"Am noooottt," Jug whined, twisting the knob. He stepped inside and closed the door behind himself, his heart beating quite a bit faster than normal. He sighed and shook his head. I like it when it's messy, he remembered with a jolt. He snatched his beanie off the top of his head and ran both hands through the hair, choosing not to replace his hat and to keep it in his left hand instead.
"Where are you?" Betty called from her room.
"Here!" Jughead answered, taking a step into the living room. Her head popped out from inside a door on the upstairs floor, and she waved at him.
"Two minutes. I need two minutes," she told him. Jughead glanced around the immaculately decorated room and took a seat on the white couch. Amazingly, the purple cake stain had disappeared.
"Oh, hello, Jughead."
Jug flipped around quickly, startled by the second voice. Mrs. Cooper was wearing a bathrobe and had appeared from the kitchen. She smiled at him in a maternal way. "I only made breakfast for Betty, but I could throw the rest of the bacon into the pan if you'd like." She held up a full package of bacon and a carton of eggs and Jughead laughed.
"It's alright, Mrs. Cooper. I'll eat later." As much as he wanted that bacon, he didn't want to impose.
"DONE!" Betty called, hopping down the stairs. Jughead turned his head and his mouth opened involuntarily. Today she was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt with a robot on it. The fact that something so simple could look so good on her didn't surprise him. Everything seemed to look good on her. He found himself grinning with the realization that the robot's body was the same color as her eyes.
"Don't I usually come to your house in the mornings?" Betty asked him, cocking her head to the side as they walked. Jughead adjusted his backpack, choosing not to look at her. He wouldn't have been able to speak, he was sure.
"Well, yeah." But I had to ask you a question. "But I--" He looked down at her. Her expression was one of interest and curiosity. "I, uh...I was done early." You are such an idiot. Jughead grimaced. He was getting tired of his own mental chastising. Betty's expression was now dripping with skepticism.
"Uh huh. Are you going to tell me the truth or are you going to make up more falsities?"
"Who says 'falsities'?"
"Don't flip this around on me, buddy," Betty teased, hitting his arm lightly. "C'mon. We're best friends."
Jughead took a deep breath. It was time to plan this thing out. Today was Thursday. The dance was tomorrow night. If he could only ask her today, it would give her enough notice to warn Veronica ahead of time. He just had to ask her early enough.
Unfortunately, all the logic in the world couldn't quite get him to say what he needed to. His words kept getting stuck at the base of his neck.
"Please?" Betty asked, sticking out her lower lip and batting her eyelashes. Jughead melted.
"I--"
"Please?"
"I just wanted to ask you a question," he answered. In his mind, he was attacking himself with a chainsaw. There was a slight pause.
"Well?" Betty prodded. He could hear the smirk in her voice. He wondered vaguely if she knew already the question that he was struggling to ask.
"It--it doesn't matter, I figured it out on my own."
Betty sighed. "Well, fine. Just let me know when you're ready to tell me the truth, okay?" He winced.
"Okay."
Jughead spent the rest of the school day attempting to work up enough courage to invite Betty to the Aviation dance. He failed miserably. He would tell himself that he had forgotten, and then he would ignore his own suggestions and not bring it up at all. It was now 1:38.
"Yoo-hoo! Betty!" Jughead looked up from his paper plate of spaghetti and saw Veronica sliding into the seat across from him. Betty was staring at her with one eyebrow cocked, noodles dangling out of her mouth. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"
"I guess so," Betty answered, swallowing. "Not really."
"Oh, don't worry, dear, you'll have a great time." She shot Jughead a look and lowered her voice. Jug could still hear every word. "Who is he going with?"
"I'm not sure. You could try asking him." Betty smiled at her and impaled a meatball with her spork. Her ex-best friend rolled her eyes and Betty cleared her throat. "Jug," she asked. "Who are you taking to the dance?"
He had planned out an answer to this. It had taken him a half hour.
The only problem was that he couldn't recall anything that he had thought to say. He opened his mouth, reddened, and closed it again. Veronica laughed in her usual, obnoxious way.
"No one, I presume," she sneered. "Well, Betty, call me if you need me to buy you a dress or anything. I'll talk to you later."
Betty was looking at him. "You're not taking anybody?" she asked. "Not even Ethel?"
"Ethel's going with Martin," Jughead answered quietly. He was referring, of course, to the 6 foot tall incredibly skinny varsity-basketball-playing-boy with big, curly, sandy hair that sat in front of him in science class. He wasn't so great. "Joani moved to Centerville. Debbi hates me. I. Have. No one."
Betty's eyes opened wide.
For a moment there was silence.
And then she burst out laughing.
Jughead furrowed his brow.
"You just love seeing me suffer don't you?" Jughead teased. He was smiling. Her laughter always made him smile.
"You're hilarious," she told him seriously, pausing to wipe a single tear out from the inner corner of her eye. "You just don't know how funny you are."
"I don't get it," he told her stupidly.
"I don't know. Just something about you," she told him, slipping a few more noodles into her mouth. She smiled admiringly at him and he felt his cheeks go hot.
"Don't be jealous," he answered imperiously, waving his arm about in mock of a British queen. She laughed again.
"Here," she said, sucking the spaghetti between her lips. She rolled three meatballs onto his plate.
"Wha--?" he began.
"You deserve them, you comedian, you. I'd give you money if I had any." He sneered.
"Common meatballs, I am insulted." He feigned outrage and pushed the plate away from himself. Betty wore a look of mock-indignation.
"Zut alors!" she exclaimed, pouring on a thick French accent. "What would you prefer, majesty?" she continued, bowing a little.
You, going to the dance with me.
He coughed, pushing the thought away. He didn't have the guts to say that. He just didn't.
"...Meatballs are cool," he answered after a few seconds, pulling his plate back to himself. Betty snorted.
"Dork."
"Jerk."
"Poophead."
"GASP! Your language!" Betty stuck her tongue out at him and grinned.
Betty was simply adorable. He hadn't seen Archie all day. And now he had a plateful of meatballs.
Today was looking up.
It was now 2:58.
Jughead glanced to his left. Betty was measuring out five milliliters of liquid nitrate. He had less than two minutes left.
Okay, he thought. Just ask. Turn to the left, and ask. It's exactly the same as this morning. Well, that was almost true. The only difference was that he was in Chem class instead of his room. And he didn't have eight practice tries. And it was Betty he was asking, not Hot Dog. And, unlike Hot Dog, Betty had the ability to say 'No.' And to laugh in his face.
This wasn't helping.
"Betty?" he began. She looked up at him. Even with those obnoxiously hideous protective goggles on, she still looked amazing. He lost his train of thought.
"Yes, Jug?"
"I wanted--"
BRRRINNNNNGG.
He looked at his watch. Dammit. The bells were off-schedule, he supposed.
"Wanted what?" She had to raise her voice in order to be heard over all of the last-minute plans being screeched out over the chemistry room.
"...Nothing," he answered. His ears burned red as he began to pack his bag. They burned even redder, however, when Betty's hand touched the small of his back.
"Wanted what?" she repeated. He couldn't bring himself to look at her and merely repeated his previous answer. She gave an audible sigh. "Jug, what's up? Why won't you tell me anything anymore?"
"It's not of particular importance," he answered. "I'll tell you later or something." She stared at him through her plastic goggles, head tilted slightly.
"Please?" she asked. He glanced up to look at her face, which was purposely more adorable than normal. She extended her lower lip and lowered her head. "Please?"
Now or never.
"Well, I just wanted to know if it was too late--"
"Betty!" Jughead whipped around to see what had interrupted him. Again.
A certain red-headed menace was standing in the doorway, grinning at a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed lovely with wide eyes.
"Guess what Ronnie just told me!" Betty exchanged a knowing glance with Jughead and feigned interest.
"What?"
"She's not coming to the dance tomorrow!" Archie exclaimed, arms extended.
"Er, great," Betty answered, her lips twisting upward in a kind of smile.
"Could you--Would you come with me?"
Betty looked almost genuinely elated for a moment. She had to be a really good actress, Jughead thought, because she had already known about this ahead of time. Not to mention the fact that she didn't even like Archie anymore. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. Then, as if stalling for time, she wrapped her hand around her pencil case and dropped it into her bag. Her knee brushed against Jug's.
It was too late for Jughead, and he knew it. He had waited too long. If only that damned bell hadn't rung two minutes early, he could've invited her. She could've said yes. She wouldn't have had to go with Archie, and they both could've been happy. He was killing himself on the inside. He had had so many opportunities to ask her and he hadn't taken himself up on a single one! Sometimes he could be so stupid. He wondered vaguely if she would have accepted his offer, even though she hadn't wanted to go with Archie.
"I mean, that is...If you don't have a date already, of course," Archie added, his eyebrows knitting together.
Betty looked at Jughead. He looked back.
Archie waited.
Should I say something? Should I ask her now? Should I challenge Archie to a duel?
After an eternity and a half, Betty turned away from him. "Sure."
Jughead could have killed himself.
