Ever have a chapter where the beginning comes together, the ending is easy, but bridging the two just doesn't work? This chapter was like that.

We're approaching an important turning point in this one. I'm very excited to get there. It's so close.

I'm so happy you all loved Bughead bonding time, now with beanie cuteness. It tied so well with the lyrics of that last song. She is literally his queen.

Mad love to every wonderful reviewer, including the epic Em11134 who always leaves the best reviews

Song: A Story About a Girl - Our Lady Peace (a little optimism for Bughead)

Disclaimer: Nothing's mine except my own ideas. Borrowed dialogue is for continuity only. I have no money, so don't sue me.

Ten: A Story About a Girl

"Baby girl, stand up and fight
This is not some paradise
This is just where we live...
Are you waking up slowly
Nothing but lonely
Are you waking up
Holding, holding your breath
Are you looking for something
I promise you one thing
I promise I'll always, always be there"
A Story About a Girl - Our Lady Peace

According to Christopher Booker, there are only seven basic plots. Seven different tales to tell. And we tell these stories, over and over, and are satisfied by it. There's a comfort, I guess, in a universal truth, no matter how you dress it up.

I don't know if Booker's right, but Hollywood wants to prove me wrong with their endless reboots of movies that were either just fine the first time, or sucked then and will suck now. Riverdale, too, wants to prove me wrong. Every carefully manicured corner garden, every pristine storefront, it's all a ruse. The curtain is hiding the sad truth, and no, it's not a wizard we're unmasking. It's the same old stories, the ones where we end miserably, with therapy bills we will never pay off—if we live to tell the tale.

Boy meets girl. Boy hurts girl. Girl blames herself.

Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Riverdale. Ancient grudges break to runaway teens to a body in a river and a teen mother stripped of her children.

The sins of the father and the cycle of abuse.

I could go on, but these aren't the seven stories people want to hear on endless repeat. These are the skips of the record that send you yanking the needle up, shaking your head. You will polish them away, hide them in cookie cutter suburbia. You will dismiss them with the seven stories that let you believe you are different, that it's somehow their fault.

This may not be one of those seven beloved stories, but it's the one I know best. This is a story of a girl in trouble, and the boy who can't seem to save anyone. But he's going to try.

The chirping cell phone alarm at five in the morning hadn't roused him, although his dreamscape shifted to include a chorus of maddening birds outside the window. The panicked voice of Betty Cooper, however? Jughead was on his feet in a heartbeat, rushing across the hall and oddly grateful for the claustrophobic nature of trailer life.

"Oh my god! Oh, she's going to kill me!"

Betty's voice was strained and shuddering. As Jughead pushed open his (her?) bedroom door, he found her scrolling anxiously through her phone.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, Veronica," she murmured, texting what he assumed were those precise words to her friend.

He kept his voice soft, not wanting to startle her. "Betts?"

She startled anyway, the phone hitting the floor. Her mouth formed an 'O' and her almost-anime eyes were particularly wide. He leaned against the doorframe, giving her space.

"Jughead! What happened? Where am I?" She surveyed her surroundings, her breathing shallow. "Wait, is this your room?"

"It is. You fell asleep during the movie, as usual," he added with a smirk. "I tried to wake you, but you were out cold. We put you here to sleep."

"We?"

"My dad?"

Betty flushed, smoothing her rumpled sweater as best she could. "I'm so embarrassed. I must have been so heavy to carry."

Jughead rolled his eyes. "If Veronica and Cheryl can toss you in the air, my dad can certainly carry you without strain. It's fine."

"No, it's not fine," Betty insisted, her panic renewed. "I was supposed to be home by six-thirty to shower and change for school! Veronica was going to send me home in her car. Now, what am I going to do?"

It struck Jughead then that Betty was still wearing his beanie, her curls wild and unruly beneath it. His chest ached at the sight: it was everything he could ever dream of. He wondered if he could snap a subtle photo before she noticed, capture the moment to cling to on nights where the darkness felt thick like smoke, choking his airway until he was gasping beneath tangled, sweaty sheets.

"Jughead, snap out of it!" Betty pleaded.

"Sorry, sorry. It's early, Cooper. I haven't even had my coffee yet." Peeking his head out of the room, he heard a faint stirring from the couch. "My dad could drive you home," he offered.

"And have my mom catch me coming home with a Serpent? Have you seen the articles she writes about them?" Betty grimaced, shaking her head. "You'd think it was personal."

Maybe it is. But there wasn't time for that now. The clock was ticking.

"Can Veronica send her driver here?"

Betty leaned over, reaching for her phone. "I don't know. She was really angry I never came back or texted her. I have a feeling I'm going to get the Lodge Cold Shoulder until I apologize in person, ideally with a gourmet goodie or a coupon for a free mani-pedi." She examined the screen, tossing it on the bed in frustration. "Nothing."

"I could try Archie," Jughead mused, heading across the hall for his phone. "I think he's up getting ready for a run."

Two birds, he added silently, grabbing his cell from the nightstand. Betty was mumbling something about not bothering their friend, oblivious to the quick snapshot he took under the guise of sending a text. Oh, he texted as well—he really thought Archie was a good solution—but the way the sunlight framed her face through the slats of blinds… He had to remember her this way.

"I don't have time," Betty insisted. "Can you call me a cab?"

"I could, but won't Alice question that?"

"I'll just tell her Veronica's driver was busy taking Hiram to a meeting."

Betty's hands instinctively slid up to scoop her hair into a ponytail and made contact with the woven beanie. "Um, Jug?"

"Hmm?"

Her voice was scarcely a whisper. "Please tell me I wasn't rude and stole your beanie?"

"Oh, oh no, you didn't…" Now it was Jughead's turn to blush, his hand running nervously through his own bedhead disaster. "I just… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I crossed a line."

"No, it's okay—"

"I just wanted you to be safe and—"

Her hand shot out, pressing over his mouth. "That was really sweet of you. I know how special it is to you. Thank you."

Jughead turned away, glancing down the hall as FP approached the bathroom. "My dad's officially up. Did you want a coffee? Toast?"

"How about some answers?" she replied in a hush.

"Not sure we have that cereal, but I can check," he deflected quickly.

Betty frowned, nudging his arm. "I need to help her. She needs to know the truth."

Yeah, he knew that. But he also knew his father was struggling, and more importantly, wanted him to back off the Blossom murder. Asking questions that would potentially implicate the Serpents? Not exactly a great way to start the day.

"The timing, Cooper. That's all." Her pale pink lips pouted and he knew he'd give in eventually. "Go call your cab. Give me a minute to think."

Her shoulder brushed against his bare chest, the cashmere soft and warm, and he felt his knees buckle ever-so-slightly. How she couldn't see his weakness, the way his entire world orbited hers now, he didn't know. But he was grateful for her ignorance.

"Oh!" Her hand reached for the top of her head. "Let me give this back."

"Keep it. For now," he clarified. "'Til the cab comes. I don't need it in here, and um, knowing the great Betty Cooper, having every hair on your head out of place is driving you up the wall."

Smooth, Jones. Smooth. But she bought it. He knew her that well.

"I know, I'm a mess. I can't wait to grab a shower and scrub out all the mousse Veronica put in it last night."

Betty meandered down the hall in search of the landline, leaving Jughead to scramble for a t-shirt and mull how best to ask his father about the drug dealings of the Serpents. At least he's sober, he mused. Raging drunk FP would have never taken kindly to Betty's intended line of questioning. Glancing at the bathroom door, he debated giving his father a warning, because who was he kidding? Betty Cooper, heir apparent to the Register, keeping her questions to herself? There was a greater chance of Jughead being crowned Prom King than that.

Pulling on a white t-shirt, he stepped into the hall, nearly colliding with his father. FP cocked his head to the side with a half-smirk.

"If I knew Betty could get you out of bed on time, I'd let her stay over more often," FP teased.

"Funny. Really funny." He could hear Betty on the phone now, requesting her cab. "Dad, I hate to spring this on you, but you know how Betty needed a friend last night? You might be able to help her."

"Me? Not sure how."

I'm not sure, either, but I hope I don't hate what I learn. "She's trying to figure out something. It's important. But you might not like it. I just… She's fragile right now."

FP's gaze narrowed, his eyes black in the dim lighting of the hall. "Get to the point, Jughead."

"Just… If you're going to blow her off, be kind, alright?"

FP contemplated this for a long moment, his features expressionless. There was no reading the man when he recoiled within himself. Jughead had learned that all too well during a raucous poker game with Fred and Archie when he was thirteen.

"I'll try," he relented. "But only because it's Betty. And you better go make me a coffee for this."

"On it."

Betty had settled into a kitchen chair, her phone on the table in front of her. Her eyes widened in anticipation as he set out three mugs on the counter.

"Coffee?" It was a plea, more than a request.

"On it, Betts. Don't you worry."

He'd learned his lesson from the first week home, and had taken to prepping the coffee maker the night before. A quick dollop of grinds into the waiting filter and the switch was flipped on to brew his favourite dark roast.

"Cab said twenty-five minutes," Betty grumbled.

"It's early, Cooper. And some drivers won't come to the Southside."

Betty's brow furrowed deeply. "Why wouldn't they?"

Jughead laughed darkly, doling out sugar (two spoons for Betty; one for himself; a half-spoon for FP). "Because we're a bunch of gang members out to kill them, or impoverished people who'll try to skip out on the fare, that's why."

Betty tugged the front of his beanie over her eyes and slumped forward, resting her head on her arms. "I hate this town," she mumbled.

By the time FP meandered into the living room, Jughead was readying his requested mug of dark roast. Passing it to his father, he doled out Betty's cup next. He placed it on the table beside her with a soft thump. Immediately she snapped alert, smiling to herself and reaching for the handle.

"Coffee!" Her happy sigh and the low-slung beanie nudged Jughead's lips into a bemused smile.

FP settled in across the table from Betty, silently daring her to poke a bear. Betty, having taken a few sips of caffeine, looked to Jughead for guidance. With a shrug, Jughead busied himself with yesterday's paper.

"How's work going, Mr. Jones?"

Ahh, leading with casual chatter. It worked on many people, but FP was not a trusting man. Misdirection required a bit of faith.

"It's tiring, but it pays the bills. Fred's a good guy to help me out." Gesturing to Jughead, FP leaned forward in his chair. "Your parents as thrilled as I am that you're digging into a kid's murder?"

Betty's cheeks flushed scarlet, but to her credit, she kept her chin up and her gaze trained on the weary biker. "I'm pretty sure they'd like to lock me in my room forever, but it would be hypocritical for the owners of the town paper to condemn their daughter for being an investigative journalist."

FP huffed angrily. "Like the Coopers have ever let hypocrisy stand in the way of what they want."

Jughead leaned against the kitchen counter, studying the chess match unfolding before him. Betty had always been persistent and observant, but FP had spent his entire life under a microscope. The law, the North—someone was always watching him, waiting for him to screw up. He could hide in plain sight. Hell, Fred hadn't noticed he was running with the Serpents for over a decade.

Betty paused for a gulp of her coffee, eyeing the clock overhead. "My parents are hypocrites, Mr. Jones. They're cruel and they lie. And it's broken my family. It's broken my sister."

Jughead was intrigued, and also impressed. "Polly was supposed to run away with Jason on the Fourth of July," he chimed in.

FP blanched, his expression settling into one of genuine, deep remorse. "That must have been hard on her. Jason…"

Betty clutched her mug tightly. "Yeah, it was. She was pregnant when he disappeared." Her gaze drifted briefly to Jughead before she continued. "Mr. Jones, I think Jason was desperate to leave town. He wanted to be with Polly, far away from the Blossoms and their money. Polly told me that he had a plan to make money fast… involving drugs."

Jughead studied his father carefully, his stomach rolling as FP's grip tightened on his coffee. He was nervous, maybe even angry at Betty. No, Dad…

"And you assumed that a Serpent would be involved?" FP pushed his coffee away, leaning forward in his chair. "Because of course we're running drugs. Just like your dad likes to write in his paper."

"Dad, calm down," Jughead warned, approaching the kitchen table.

"I only thought that you would know who did have drugs to sell," Betty mumbled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"No, you didn't mean to." FP's hand curled into a fist on the table, knuckles white with tension. "And I wish to God I could tell you how wrong you were, Betty. But I can't."

Jughead's jaw fell open as his father's eyes welled up with tears. Betty, too, was stunned by his words, her hands twisting anxiously in her lap.

"Serpents don't deal in drugs," FP began, his voice shaky and low. "Not that hard shit. It's why we're barely getting by, most of us." He turned to his son, shaking his head. "When things got bad with your mom, I thought maybe, if I could pay off our debts, maybe she wouldn't go."

Jughead tugged anxiously on his hair. "Dad, what did you do?"

"I started doing jobs for a guy. I'm not proud of it, Jug. I'm not." His father was pleading now, his hand stretched across the table. "I just didn't want to lose you. But Fred found out, and he fired me and… I did. I lost all of you."

Jughead was reeling with this new knowledge. His father had not only been dealing heavy drugs—heroin, if he read between the lines—but Fred Andrews had known about it. He'd known about it and fired his dad, pushing him deeper into the darkness.

"Jason came to me before he disappeared," FP admitted quietly. "Showed up at the Whyte Wyrm like he owned the place. He was an idiot to think he could dabble in drug dealing, but he was determined, and I got to thinking. A clean-cut kid like that? No one would suspect him of running. I gave him a number to call."

"You were just trying to help him," Betty murmured. "Maybe… maybe you were thinking he was just trying to protect someone he loved, too."

FP shrugged sadly. "He was supposed to drop cash off the night of the Fourth. When he disappeared, I just thought he'd fucked off with the drugs and the money. And then they found him. In the river."

Betty reached out across the table, her hand covering FP's. "Polly just needs to know what happened to Jason. Do you think the drugs are why he died?"

FP grimaced. "I don't know."

"Tell me you didn't have anything to do with his murder," Jughead blurted out.

Betty gasped quietly, clasping her hand over her mouth. Jughead held up a hand to silence any protests, his attention focused on his father. His expression furrowed, he'd aged years in just moments. The way FP's body trembled terrified him.

"You really think I could do that?"

"I need to hear it, Dad. Please."

A single tear slid down his father's grizzled cheek. "Jug, I'm a terrible father, ain't no getting around that. I've been a drunk, and I've barely supported this family. I let you down. I let Jelly and your mom down. I've spent a long time thinking that maybe that heroin got him into trouble, and maybe if I had told him to get lost… But one thing I'm not—one thing I'll never be—is a killer. I won't cross that line. I didn't kill Jason Blossom."

Jughead believed him. His mouth was ashes and sand, his words scattered in the exhale of relief. He managed a nod as a car honked outside.

"My cab." Betty slid out of her chair, hesitating beside the defeated man across from her. "Thank you, FP."

"I didn't kill him." It was scarcely a whisper.

"No, you didn't," she soothed, heading for the door.

Jughead followed close behind, helping her gather her belongings in a hurry. A cab willing to trek into Sunnyside wouldn't wait long, not even for a daughter of Riverdale's north. Betty tugged her jacket on quickly, poking her head outside and asking for a moment.

"Will he be okay?" she whispered.

Jughead shrugged. "I hope so."

Noticing the small mirror by the door, Betty took stock of her appearance. "I look like I spent the night at a kegger. But I'll have to make do."

His hand reached out to stop her as she stretched to remove the beanie. "One second. Look at yourself in that mirror, Betty. You see that?"

"See what?"

"You. Safe. Brave." He swallowed hard, letting his hand fall away. "The next time you don't feel strong, I want you to remember her. Alright?"

Betty turned towards him, pulling the beanie free of her disheveled curls. "I will. I promise, Juggie." She pressed his hat into his hands and smiled warmly. "See you at school?"

"Yeah. Unless my dad needs me."

Her hand reached out, grazing his arm. "See you soon, I hope."

He stood at the door, watching her slide into the backseat of the cab. The driver reversed quickly, eager to escape, to return to the safety of suburban perfection. Normally, Jughead would feel insulted, but he also wanted the driver to hurry. He wanted Betty far from here, far from a world where teenage boys trying to do right by their girlfriends found themselves running drugs for dirty dollars.

Closing the door, his focus fell on his troubled father. Shame pressed down upon his shoulders, his body slumped in the worn kitchen chair. Jughead had done this to him, and for that, he felt responsibility. But not guilt. His father's track record had created shadows of doubt that cast long and lingered. Trust could only be rebuilt with transparency.

It was clear now that his father's breakthrough that day at Sweetwater River had been about more than a fear of his child being zipped into a coroner's bag. It was the burden of knowing his actions may have set off a chain of events that led to Jason's demise. And maybe they had; there were so many questions left unanswered. But his father was no killer. Jughead knew that to be true.

"You gonna be okay, Dad?"

FP huffed softly. "Yeah. Yeah, I will be."

It was a lie. The coffee he'd made his father remained across the table, cold and murky, like the water Jason had been pulled from. Jughead edged forward cautiously, reaching for his father's hand.

"Should you maybe go to that morning meeting?"

His father batted him away and glared. "I'm still the parent, Jughead."

"And I need you to be okay."

Rising slowly to his feet, FP massaged his temples with callused fingers. "Didn't say I wouldn't go," he muttered, heading for his bedroom.

He didn't make it to Archie's in time to walk with his friends, but Jughead skidded through the main doors of Riverdale High in close pursuit of them. Betty's trademark ponytail was higher than usual, but perfectly centred and smooth. Her clothing jarred him immediately: the blue and black plaid button down was unfamiliar, the black tank top beneath scooping lower than she usually favoured. Her trusty blue jeans were in play—some things never changed—but there was decidedly casual look to her.

He loved it.

"Wait up!"

Betty glanced back, grinning widely. "There you are! I was just telling Archie how this morning's walk was almost like grade school, when we'd all meet on his porch."

Archie stepped aside slightly, making room for Jughead. "You mean, when we'd spend twenty minutes arguing because we could never agree on a topic all three of us wanted to talk about?"

"That's not true!" Betty protested. "We would talk about movies we saw."

"And you and Jughead would throw around film theory while I just wanted to quote lines," Archie countered.

"Dissecting dialogue is relevant to film theory," Jughead chimed in, nudging his friend. "Besides, what about you and Betty talking cars? You'd lose me at spark plugs."

Betty laughed heartily, her backpack clipping down her shoulder. "Oh man, remember the time Jug mixed up a catalytic converter with a carburetor?"

"It's all engine bullshit," Jughead scoffed, much to his friends' amusement.

They'd meandered down the east hall, closing in on Betty's locker, when chaos came in the form of Cheryl Blossom, her blood-red stilettos clicking down the hall.

"Cooper! We need to talk, now!"

Betty froze, clutching her bag tightly. "Polly."

One word, so heavy with meaning. Jughead had no doubt that the grieving, angry sister hiding in the attic of the Cooper home was the reason for this little social call. He tapped his beanie, staring at Betty. Be strong. Be brave.

Reluctantly, Betty turned to greet her cheerleading captain and often, her nemesis. "What do you want, Cheryl?"

"How could you not tell me?" Cheryl whispered, clearly troubled.

Huh. Cheryl Blossom seemed more hurt than hell-bent on rage. This was rare, indeed.

"Tell you what, exactly?" Betty evaded.

A perfectly manicured hand tucked ruby strands of hair behind Cheryl's diamond-dotted ear. "That Polly and JJ had babies? That he was a father? That I was…" Her voice cracked and for a moment, so did her usually hardened veneer. "We're his family, Betty. The Blossoms had a right to know."

"I just found out last week," Betty snapped. "Trust me, Cheryl. Your parents are hardly the only shitty ones in town."

Archie, ever a peacemaker, stepped between them. "Cheryl, hey. I know this must be a shock. Betty's been struggling with it, too. You both should have been told."

"Well, thanks to Sheriff Keller, we know now," Cheryl retorted, refocusing quickly on Betty. "Mommy and Daddy are not happy that Blossom descendants have been sold off to some middle-class couple at the whim of your sister."

"Excuse me?" Betty stepped forward, pressing her chest against Cheryl's. "You have no idea what Polly has been through! How dare you?"

Jughead's hand flew to her shoulder in a gesture of calm. "Betty, she only knows what Keller told her."

"Exactly," Betty growled. "She doesn't know that no one, not even her precious mommy and daddy bothered to tell Polly that Jason was murdered. That she was abandoned and alone."

Cheryl, clearly sensing the landmine she'd spiked with her designer heels, rocked back on her heels. "Betty, I'm sorry—"

"Oh, you're sorry?" Betty sneered. "Sorry that my parents manipulated her into the adoption? Or are you sorry that your hateful parents are the reason Jason and Polly couldn't just be together?"

Jughead's arm flew out, blocking Betty's advance. "Betty, please. She didn't know all that. But she's sorry now, aren't you?"

Cheryl nodded nervously. "I am. I… I just want him back, Betty," she confessed. "And if he has children out there? Maybe that's the way to keep him alive."

They'd gathered a small crowd of onlookers, to Jughead's dismay. He looked to Archie, the one with social clout, and he'd nodded immediately, urging people to move on. Betty and Cheryl were mercifully oblivious to the gawkers.

"If Polly had known he was gone, she never would have let them go."

"But she did let them go. And my parents aren't going to stand for it."

"And what does that mean?" Jughead interjected.

Cheryl hesitated, pursing her painted lips. "They've hired a lawyer and a private investigator. They're going to demand legal custody of the twins."

Betty blanched, leaning against the locker bank. "They're… what?"

"They're going to find the babies. And they're going to demand custody of them." Cheryl edged backwards, shaking her head sadly. "If Polly didn't want to give them up… I'm sorry, Betty."

"Cheryl?"

But she was gone, slipping into the bustling, jarring crowd filling the school halls. Archie shielded Betty from the crowd, keeping their shoulders from connecting with her shuddering frame. The two men exchanged a look, neither sure what help they could offer, if any.

Jughead leaned closer, forcing her to focus on him. "Betts? What do you need from us?"

"Polly. I—I need to tell Polly."

"We have first period together," Archie announced. "I'll tell Ms. Houston that you had a guidance meeting. Buy you time."

Betty embraced him tightly. "Thank you, Archie. I'll probably miss the whole class by the time I run home and back, but she needs to know. They're her babies."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jughead caught a flash of letterman jacket and winced. Here comes trouble…

"Betty!"

In unison—her, with fear; Archie, a curse—his friends announced an unwelcome arrival: "Chuck!"

The coach's son, and Jughead's least favourite person in Riverdale, surged through the crowd and pushed Archie aside. Betty was cornered, and she immediately diminished in his presence.

"I came to pick you up this morning. You weren't there."

"I told you last night, I stayed over with Veronica. Remember?"

Chuck laughed softly. "Oh, I remember. But your mom told me you'd come home this morning to change. And that you walked here, with Andrews."

Jughead seethed as Chuck intentionally shoved Archie, enough to stumble his friend. Clearly, someone hadn't paid attention yesterday. He threw a hand up to keep Archie from starting a fight. If Weatherbee wanted to suspend someone, he'd take the fall. He trusted Archie to keep Betty safe.

"What did I tell you about harassing my friends, Clayton?"

"What did I tell you about minding your own damn business?" Chuck growled. "Betty, we need to talk. Now."

Betty shook her head, edging towards Jughead. "I don't have time right now, Chuck."

"Make time."

"She's not going anywhere with you, Clayton." Jughead stepped forward, and in doing so, offered Betty an escape route behind him. "She said no. Take a fucking hint."

"Oh, do you want to talk here?" Clayton's eyebrows raised, his expression sickeningly smug. "Because we can talk here, in front of your friends and this hallway full of students."

"No!" Betty hugged herself tightly. "Chuck, we can talk at lunch, I promise."

So, it was true. Clayton was actually blackmailing her with a secret, and Betty was clearly terrified of it being spilled. How could he help her flee to Polly? How could he disarm an abusive jackass with a knowledge bomb?

His eyes widened at the realization: defuse it. He turned to her, mouthing instructions: Just go. Because he had this. He could buy her time, and he wouldn't even need a liver shot to do it.

"That won't work, Chuck. Betty told us everything." At the football player's disbelieving look, he repeated himself. "Everything, asshole. You can't hold that over her anymore. Archie and I will always have her back. And you? Maybe you should watch yours."

Jughead had learned one thing from his father's years of alcohol abuse: how to lie convincingly. To teachers. To police. To his parents. To Jellybean. And for him, it wasn't a lie. Whatever secret Chuck lorded over her, he didn't give a damn. He would never abandon Betty. There was nothing she was capable of that he couldn't accept. That truth gave him conviction and thankfully, Archie knew how to play along.

"You think you're gonna catch me with your fancy punch again, Wednesday Addams?"

"That's not the only trick up my sleeve, Clayton. Why don't you try me?" he dared.

Behind him, he heard a soft shuffling of sneakers. He looked to Archie, who nodded slightly. Betty was escaping. Betty would get to Polly. Whatever came next, it didn't matter.

Chuck hesitated, clearly wanting to inflict pain on Jughead, yet unwillingly to make a move. Archie, however, knew exactly what he wanted: in a swift movement, he shoved Clayton across the hall, amused when their foe nearly fell into a garbage bin.

"I've had enough of your macho bullshit, Clayton. And so has the rest of the team. Keep it up and not even your dad pulling the strings will save you." With a nonchalant shrug, Archie gestured down the hall. "Let's get to class, Jug."

Whispers and giggles echoed behind them as they looped around the corner to Jughead's locker. Once out of earshot, Archie asked Jughead what Betty had supposedly told them.

"I don't know. But whatever it is, he's using it to keep her with him."

"I have never wanted to kick someone's ass so badly, Jug."

"Same," Jughead echoed.

Jughead was lying. But he would never tell Archie about him so it didn't matter.

They parted ways for class, but kept in close contact all day. Between classes, they intentionally converged, as if to check on each other—and look for Betty. Archie texted Veronica. Jughead texted Kevin. Lunch came and went, the four of them worried about Betty's absence. More worrisome was the absence of Chuck Clayton, although Kevin noticed Reggie was also not in the cafeteria.

Cheryl, too, was absent from English class. Perhaps she had gone home to confront parental demons of her own. For all of her mean girl posturing, Cheryl did love her brother dearly. Perhaps she respected that in Polly, and in turn, felt empathy for a mother whose children were effectively stolen away. Jughead would reserve judgement on her for now.

During fourth period, a text finally arrived: Mom came home. I'm okay.

You coming back today at all?

Her response was quick. Maybe. Will call you tonight either way.

Alice Cooper, guaranteed to derail the best laid plans. Probably dragged Betty to a lawyer of her own to determine what legal moves the Blossoms could make. Relieved, Jughead focused on his classes, taking notes and struggling to catch up after a week of distractions. If his grades dropped, he knew Weatherbee would remove him from the Blue and Gold in a heartbeat. The principal was already unhappy with his coverage of the Blossom case. Jughead wasn't going to hand him an excuse to silence him.

Archie met him after class, walking him to his locker. "I can't stay long. Practice tonight."

"My condolences," Jughead replied. "At least we'll know where he is for a while."

"I'll keep an eye on him. Ronnie said the Vixens practice ends around the same time. Might go check on them after coach cuts us loose."

Jughead frowned. "Vixens practice? Did Betty come back to school?"

"Ronnie said she saw Betty ten minutes ago, heading to the locker room." A blast of rock music startled him. "That's my phone. One sec." Glancing at the display. Archie frowned. "It's Veronica."

Within second of accepting the call, Archie was clearly furious. His skin flushed, eyes darkened, he began to pace the halls. Jughead's heart began to pound. Betty.

"Where did she go?" Archie demanded, moments later interrupting Veronica. "No, that's not good enough. We need to be sure she's alright…. Okay. Okay, you do that. I'll focus on him…. Okay, keep me posted."

Jughead had texted Betty immediately, but she hadn't responded. Damn it, damn it, damn it! Archie had no sooner hung up his phone before Jughead grabbed his arm, needing answers.

"What happened? Where's Betty?"

"Veronica says they were arguing outside the locker room. When she came around the corner, Betty bolted. She's ditched practice, told Veronica to tell Cheryl she knew why she had to bail. She's not answering her phone." Archie hesitated. "Ronnie says Chuck scared her. Like she thought he would hit Betty."

"I'm going to hurt him."

Jughead spun around, determined to catch himself a predator, but Archie grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "No. We're not giving him the satisfaction. He won't miss practice. His dad will never let him live it down. I'll go there and handle Clayton. You need to find Betty."

Archie's words made sense, but the fury… it was consuming. This was what poets meant by the phrase seeing red. He wanted Clayton to hurt. He wanted him on his knees, begging for Betty's forgiveness. He wanted him run out of town. He wanted him to know her fear. He wanted—

Archie shook him by the shoulders gently. "Jug, she needs us. Find her. I know you can."

"Alright. I'll find her. Keep that bastard away from her, Arch."

"Text me when you find her, alright?"

"I will."

Jughead hurried down the hall, his thoughts scattering like coins in a fountain. Think, Jughead. Think. Did she go home? Maybe, although clearly she'd had her fill and chosen time with Cheryl Blossom over being there. Pop's? Maybe. Very public, which had pros and cons, he supposed.

Wait. Of course.

He doubled back down the hall, veering north. If she didn't want to go home, and didn't want to be seen, she'd go somewhere close. Somewhere nobody else went—except him. The Blue and Gold office was the perfect refuge for her.

He glimpsed her ponytail through the window as he approached and immediately heaved a sigh of relief. She was here. It was going to be okay. They could grab milkshakes, and watch a movie, or hell, just take his dad's truck and drive until the gas ran out.

It was going to be okay—until it wasn't.

His hand frozen on the doorknob, he watched through the window as Betty's fingers dabbed makeup on a purple bruise encircling her left wrist.