It wasn't the oddest thing, living in FP's trailer with Jughead and Cash. It felt like home. Like we were all one little family. Jughead and I took turns walking Cash to school or making breakfast. Cash had never been happier. Her two favorite people under one roof, acting like her parents, with Killer always within arm's reach. It was her own personal paradise. I liked living there, too. But most of my free time was swallowed by my new job.

My third day at work, wiping down empty tables at Pop's. The uniform of velvet shorts and a small t-shirt wasn't too bad. Neither was the pay. The only problem I had with it was the foot traffic. Most of the kids from school traveled through here at least once a day, if not more. Either them, or their parents. I couldn't tell which was worse. I'd lost count of how many remarks had been made about me or my association with FP, or how many scowls I'd received.

But Pop kept me on. For some reason, he didn't feel the need to fire me over some stupid comments, and I was forever grateful for that. I finished wiping tables and headed back toward the front counter. Halfway there, the bell of the door rung with the sound of new customers. Except they weren't new. They were Serpents. Sweet Pea and two other younger looking Serpents walked in. With a grin, I whistled, causing all the Serpents to look right at me.

Sweet Pea's lips curved into a smirk as he started for me. "Hey, gorgeous," he greeted me with a kiss, hands sliding around my waist to my lower back as I rose on my toes to sling my arms around his neck. "How's work going?"

"Better than yesterday, now that you're here," I smiled up at him.

He chuckled at my words, "Good, because I brought a couple friends I want you to meet."

"Oh?" my eyebrows cocked, my smile remaining as we parted. "And who are these 'friends' I'm meeting?"

It was then that the two other Serpents with him—a boy of average height with tan skin, and a girl maybe as tall as my shoulder with darker skin and pink hair streaks—stepped over toward us. The boy wore a cautious look but the girl smiled at me with an unreadable light to her eyes. "This is Toni and that's Fangs," Sweet Pea said, his arm around my waist as he pointed to the girl and boy respectively.

I held my hand out to the girl, Toni, who happened to be closer. "Hi, I'm Diana," I smiled, giving a singular nod. She shook my hand a second before I moved to hold out my hand to Fangs. "It's nice to meet you guys." Fangs shook my hand, too, smiling a bit more now.

"Yeah, likewise," Toni nodded. "We were wondering how long it was going to take Sweet Pea to let us meet you."

My eyebrows rose in surprise and curiosity, and I twisted to look up at Sweet Pea. He gave her a narrowed-eyed expression with a hard scoff. Like she'd just said something he'd told her not to. "Can it, Topaz," he quickly warned, to which she only sighed.

Fangs narrowed his eyes, leaning to the right to see around me, down the aisle of booths. "Who's the kid?"

I'd twisted to glance behind me, but I really didn't need to. I had to bring Cash to work with me this time. She sat in a booth near the back, by the window, colored pencils and markers strewn about the table. Her coloring book planted firmly between her arms. "That's my sister," I answered, turning back toward the others. "My brother's busy, so, I get to work and babysit today. Joy."

I said it with a mock enthusiasm that was overly sarcastic. In a kind of shoot me now expression. "We can hang out with her for a while," Toni offered, casually. I moved to shake my head, to decline. But Fangs made a similar comment, agreeing with the pink-streaked Serpent. I didn't know how exactly Cash would react to sitting with Sweet Pea and two strangers. Then again, Cash was always sweet on any Serpent that wanted to walk in the door.

So I shrugged up one shoulder, "I mean...if you want?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Toni waved it away, like the notion of not wanting to was ridiculous.

She and Fangs started toward Cash's table, walking down the aisle, and Sweet Pea turned to me. "Don't worry, I'll make sure they behave," he assured, before placing a kiss on the top of my head. He parted from me then, following the path the others took down the aisle. I watched for a moment. Gauging reactions, temperaments. Cash only seemed more excited at a third guest joining her table. Toni sat to her left, Fangs and Sweet Pea across from her.

I couldn't tell what they were talking about but, whatever it was, Cash seemed pretty emotionally invested in it. Chuckling to myself, I went to the front counter. The dining room was only peppered with the occasional guest. It allowed for a lull in needing to move. But I still had to go to tables every now and then, check for needs, fulfilling them if need be. Mostly, it was just completing transactions at the register. Pop would wander out from the back every now and then.

Check up on me and the other various staff members. See how we were doing, if we needed a break. Pop Tate was the last genuinely decent person in Riverdale. I knew it working for him for only two and a half days. "Hey, Diana," he said, coming back from making his rounds down the aisles. I'd perked up from behind the register, in the middle of printing a receipt. "I see your sister's made some new friends."

I tore off the receipt from the machine and placed it on the small tray with the credit card used, smiling with a nod. His next words surprised me a bit, when he walked up to the counter in front of me, speaking in a hushed tone. "You know them, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's okay, Pop—it's just my boyfriend and a couple of his friends," I assured, to which he nodded, sighing in relief a little.

"Oh, good. I didn't know if I needed to kick out some delinquents," he chuckled, walking behind the counter.

Yes. Pop Tate was the only remaining decent person in Riverdale. I was sure of it then. It was like working for a genuinely caring grandfather. I took the credit card and receipt out into the dining room, down the aisle past Cash's table, to the customer that paid with it—Kevin and his dad, Sheriff Keller. "Here you go, guys," I smiled politely, putting the card and receipt on the table near the Sheriff. "Have a nice night."

Sheriff Keller thanked me, being polite as usual. Kevin seemed his usual chipper self as well. But the sight of the Sheriff got me thinking about FP. How terrible the case looked. It would seem a part of me was still refusing to let it go. How could I, with Jason's Letterman jacket tucked under the couch I slept on every night?

When Cash and I got home, Jughead was already there. Cash had eaten already—way too much, if you asked me—so she went straight to bed. Passing out as soon as her little head hit the pillow. But I dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, opposite Jughead, from where he sat behind his open laptop, typing away. I crossed my arms with a deep sigh, and Jug glanced up from his screen. "Get any good tips?"

"It's not that kind of job," I narrowed my eyes at his smirk.

"Relax, you know I'm just joking," he chuckled, before sitting back in his seat. "Seriously, though—how was it?"

"Fine. Sweet Pea and a couple of the Serpents hung out with Cash for a while, so she's going to sleep pretty happy right now. But, Jug...I think I need to tell you something. Or- show you. It's been messing with me all night."

His eyebrows drew together, one rising. I got up from the table and tip toed across the room to the couch. Underneath it was the dark duffel bag holding Jason's jacket. It was smashed under there, but I tugged it out and brought it to the table. Jughead sat up in his seat, more concerned than curious at this point. "What's this?" he questioned.

"Evidence," I answered. My fingers worked the zipper open, and I pulled out the jacket. "Joaquin said this was his and FP's contingency plan. I didn't know what to do with it."

Jughead stood now, eyes wide, "So you kept it?!"

"It was Jason's. And this would only further incriminate dad," I pointed out. I pulled the jacket out all the way, giving it a single shake in a gesture. "This jacket, and the fact that FP had it, proves that he killed Jason—without a doubt." My hands began to wad it up to fit it back in the bag while I sighed. A sudden clanking sound caused me pause, and I glanced down.

On top of the table, beneath the wad of a jacket I held, was a small silver flash drive. Jughead and I were both silent. Neither knowing just how to respond. But we both held wide eyes of surprise. Jughead was the first to speak, glancing up at me, lifting a bony finger toward the drive, "Did you know that was-"

I quickly shook my head. "No."

"What do you think is on it?"

"I don't know...more evidence?"

"Only one way to find out." Jughead tipped his head toward his laptop in a gesture. Plugging in the flash drive and seeing what was on it sounded like a normal thing to do. But not if you thought about what could be on it. Something more incriminating? Something completely unrelated, but still bad? I didn't know if it was such a good idea. Jughead grabbed the flash drive and stuck it into the USB port on his laptop, and I moved to stand beside him.

It allowed for a better view of the screen. Sitting back down in the chair, he clicked to open the drive's files. It was empty except for one mp4 file. Jughead didn't hesitate to click on it, but I'd been holding my breath since he plugged it in. "Jug, are you sure this is-" my voice caught in my throat as the video began to play. The scenery wasn't hard to place—the basement of the Whyte Wyrm. It was Jason, tied to a chair, with a Serpent up in his face.

That Serpent was Mustang. Jughead glanced up at me at some point, but I couldn't look away from the screen. My inability to move worsened when Mustang left the room and was replaced by none other than Clifford Blossom, Jason's father. I'd clutched the Letterman jacket to my chest as my muscles tightened in anticipation. On the screen, Clifford took the ring from Jason's pocket. Then he took three steps away, turned toward his son, and held up a gun.

A revolver—the one found in the lock box in FP's trailer. The very trailer Jughead and I stood in, watching that video. What happened next I will never forget. Clifford Blossom put a bullet in his own son's forehead. With an unwavering resolve and placid expression, he didn't even blink. But I'd startled hard, dropping the jacket, shuffling back a step. Tears were pouring from my eyes as it all finally started to make sense. As it settled in two simple facts—Clifford Blossom was a murderer, and my father was not.

FP had confessed but—obviously—he didn't kill Jason. Jughead closed the lid on the laptop, ending my two minutes of torture. But it only opened up a whole new set of pain. How could a father kill his own son? Fathers were supposed to be guardians, protectors of their families. Not the ones that put them in the ground. "Jug...dad didn't do it," my voice was barely audible, but Jughead stood, turning to face me as I spoke. "We have to tell Sheriff Keller."

We told the Sheriff that night that they'd arrested the wrong man for the crime, showing him the video on the drive as evidence. But it wasn't going to change much for his case. Jughead was in a yelling match with Keller over it. And Keller had said there were still too many charges to release FP. Obstruction of justice, tampering with evidence, perjury, mishandling a body—and probably many others. I'd guessed that's what happened when you didn't commit the crime, but instead covered it up.

It wasn't until later we'd learned why. Clifford Blossom had paid FP a visit the night he was arrested, and told him to confess to the murder or he would hurt me and Jughead. When comparing the two—Clifford and FP—it wasn't hard to spot the real father. But it still didn't help FP. Nothing seemed to help at this point. In the morning, I made the decision to visit him. Considering how the last one went, I didn't expect much.

But I knew now. I knew everything. So there wasn't much he could lie to me about anymore. When I walked in, FP was sitting on the edge of the cot, his head in his hands. The deputy that escorted me in promptly stepped out, leaving me with at least some privacy as he closed the door. I took in a deep breath, "Rough morning?"

His head lifted almost immediately, a look of surprise coloring his worn features. I'm sure I looked just as bad—considering I didn't sleep last night. I'd waited in the lobby all night. Too anxious to sleep. FP's eyes became downcast as he exhaled, but he didn't speak. I slid my hands in my pockets, taking steps toward the bars, and stopped a foot from them. "You're a good liar when it counts, I'll give you that," I said. "But I saw the video myself—I know it wasn't you.

"You watched it?" he stood up from the cot then.

"Who do you think brought it to the Sheriff, dad? I've been sitting in the lobby all night waiting to see you," I replied. He'd walked to the bars, and hung his head as he sighed, leaning his palms into them as I continued. "You were trying to protect us. I can't really hold that against you."

"Diana, you know I never..." he stopped himself a moment, his lower lip quivering as he took in a deep breath, and my eyebrows drew together with worry. "I never wanted you to go away. I wanted you to stay with us, but Ben had other ideas...I should've fought harder for you. But I'm fighting now—that's the only reason I agreed to confess-"

I shook my head, stepping forward. "Dad, it's okay."

My fingers gripped the bars just below his, almost close enough to touch. I'd wanted to hug him then. Wanted to bury my face in the leather of his jacket and breathe in his scent to calm myself like I'd used to. But I couldn't. Clifford Blossom made sure of that. FP sighed, hanging his head a bit. "So, what am I missing out there? You and your sister doin' alright?" he asked, changing the subject on purpose.

It was hard to keep a straight face. Honestly, Cash had never been better. But I'd been slipping again. It was becoming my super power—crying. FP's eyes swept up to meet mine upon my following silence, and his face changed to a concerned awareness. He stood up a bit more. "Did something happen?" he asked, genuinely worried now. "Talk to me, kid. What's going on?"

I took in a deep breath, and cleared my throat. "Cash and I are living with Jughead at your trailer."

"Why? What happened to living with Ben?" his voice was risen in curiosity and concern.

"Well, dad, Mr. Perfect thinks it's okay to hit teenage girls," with my words, FP leaned his forehead into the bars, closing his eyes through a deep sigh. It was obvious he was trying to calm himself, but his knuckles were only whitening where they gripped the metal bars. Reluctantly, I continued. "I'm working at Pop's to keep us above water, trying to manage it with school. But I'm transferring to South Side High as soon as Ben gets around to signing off on it."

FP shook his head, looking up now. "No—Diana, no. I don't care where you live, you're going to Riverdale High."

"Why? I don't live on the North side anymore and, frankly, I'm getting tired of walking."

"Then take the truck. That high school is no place for you. Or Jughead. But at least I know he could take it, if need be," FP said, seriously. His words caused me to cross his arms, cocking an eyebrow, but deep down I knew he was probably right. Given my history, I understood why he didn't think I could handle it. Even though it smarted to hear it out loud. The stubbornness in me refused to except it as truth in that moment, and I was determined to correct him.

So that's exactly what I did. "Dad, I know I'm not the most emotionally strong person in the world. But I can do this. I want to get my life back to where it should be—and this is the way to do it. Out of respect for you, if Ben doesn't sign off, I won't go. But if he magically decides to be descent, I'm going."

His eyes remained the same for a long, quiet moment, where they focused on mine with a thoughtful seriousness. He was weighing his options. Trying to find a way around this—around me and my hard head. But he was seeing in me exactly what I saw in that moment—himself. Finally, he gave in, exhaling. "Fine. But you stay close to the other Serpents," he said. "If someone starts to push you around, tell Sweet Pea I told him to kick their a-"

"I will," I nodded once, interjecting before he could swear unnecessarily. "But I have a feeling he'll already have it covered."

It was morning. What time specifically, I didn't know. But the post-rain morning light was peering in softly through the little window, letting me know it was probably time to get up, even though I didn't dare move. It was too perfect. He was too perfect. On his stomach with his hands beneath his pillow, a good portion of his face smashed into the pillow case, his hair sticking up at all ends, eyes closed with a soft expression of relaxed features.

I didn't want to be the one to ruin such a beautiful thing. So, against my better judgment, I didn't. I readjusted my position to relieve the ache in my shoulder, letting the blood flow back into my arm, and sighed in contentment. Absentmindedly, my fingertips ever so gently trailed a slow line along the contour of his arm, following the line of muscle until it disappeared beneath the pillow. To think that this man truly existed was unfathomable.

To think that he was mine? Impossible. I never thought we'd get here. The first relationship that was truly a relationship was Archie. And you all know exactly how that ended. So to say I had low expectations when we started dating was an understatement. But this was so different. It wasn't full of anxiety. It was peaceful, laying there in his bed, waiting out the morning beneath the covers. It was one of the most relaxing things to watch him sleep.

When he stirred, I'd quickly retracted my hand. He settled after readjusting his position on his pillow with an exhale and I let myself relax again. Then the unthinkable happened. My cell phone vibrated violently against the nightstand in one strong, solid buzz. I reacted quickly—turning over and grabbing the phone to remove it from the wood. But the damage had already been done. Sweet Pea flopped onto his back, throwing an arm across his face to block the light.

I sat up against the pillow behind me, pulling my phone into my lap. "Whoever's calling you this early needs to be shot," Sweet Pea grumbled, his voice a bit deeper than usual in his groggy state.

"It's just a text message—and, actually, most people in my address book are awake and getting for school right now. Like we should be," I corrected, grinning softly at his still covered face. He only blew air through his lips in a huff, a kind of snort, and I turned back to my cell phone. It was text messages from Cheryl. Of all the people I'd expected it to be, she was the last. But I opened the messages regardless, without hesitation out of sheer curiosity.

AT 7:09AM

CHERYL: Are you awake?

AT 8:37AM

CHERYL: Can we talk?

AT 8:52AM
CHERYL: I really need to talk to you
CHERYL: Please text me back

My eyebrows drew together reading the messages, a small part of my consciousness keeping track of the dip in the mattress, the jostle of the springs as Sweet Pea got up. The urgency in the words made me anxious. "Babe? I'm gonna take a shower," Sweet Pea's voice caused me to glance up, my eyes landing on the frame of his face in the bathroom doorway.

I pushed a smile onto my face, "Okay."

There was always a slight slant of a smirk to his lips, even half asleep, and it never failed to make my stomach flop. He disappeared behind the bathroom door and I slid off the bed. My fingers plucked the first article of clothing on the floor—which happened to be one of Sweet Pea's t-shirts—and I pulled it on over my head before treading to the kitchen on my toes, cell phone in hand. The t-shirt was more than large enough to fall below my boy shorts.

But it was only made more comfortable with his scent still lingering on the fabric. I walked straight to the fridge and pulled open the door, reaching in for the box of pizza from the night before. I'd tossed the box on the counter, then hoisted myself up to sit beside it, lifting the lid only enough to sneak a slice out. With the pizza slice hanging out of my mouth, I typed a reply to Cheryl. I told her we could talk before school if we met at Pop's—leaving out the bit that it was more convenient for me because I could pick up my paycheck at the same time.

She's responded almost instantly with an agreement and I'd set my now quieted phone beside me, but something still didn't sit right with me. Why was she texting me so early? Why did she seem so urgent? If it was an emergency, surely she would have told me. Wouldn't she? I sighed, leaning my back into the cupboards behind me, and ran my free hand through my hair. Even short, my hair was a rat's nest. Something magical happened when I slept to make my hair get so tangled that I would never discover.

"You better not eat all of that."

My head instinctively turned in a loll against the cupboards. Sweet Pea was taking steps into the kitchen from the bedroom, his dark jeans the only article of clothing on him, drying his shaggy hair with a towel. I cocked an eyebrow. "You want pizza? You're gonna have to take it," I taunted, before taking a bite from the slice I held.

"Alright," he tossed the used towel on the back of the dining chair and turned to me with a mischievous grin. "But remember you asked for it."