Chapter 35

"Another round of shakes?" Archie suggested. He seemed eager to prolong the evening, and Betty couldn't blame him. Tonight had been magic. Pure magic.

The town Jubilee itself, which she had been dreading ever since Mayor McCoy and Principal Weatherbee had strong-armed her into speaking, had felt like a breakthrough for her. She'd known exactly what they wanted her to say – the mayor, the principal, her parents. She'd known just how to please them, and everyone in the audience too, with some feel-good Rah-Rah-Riverdale. She could have done it, both easily and well.

But, knowing what they wanted and what was expected of her… she still hadn't given it to them. She'd told the truth instead. For once in her life she'd let go of her fears about what people would think, what they'd say, and had spoken her mind… said exactly what she thought.

It had felt incredible. Exhilarating. Powerful.

And the world hadn't ended. In fact, she'd seen heads nodding all around the auditorium as she spoke, had heard the thunderous applause as she'd finished. She'd been congratulated by more than a few people as she and Jughead made their way through the crowd on their way out of the school, too.

Not everyone, of course. There had been a few dark glances cast their way. And neither Mayor McCoy nor Principal Weatherbee had spoken to her at all.

Still, she'd come away from the experience feeling… powerful… capable… worthy. It was, without a doubt, the best night of her life.

And that was before the hours she and Jughead had just spent at Pop's with Archie and Veronica, laughing and talking, easy in one another's company. All the shadows, big and small, of these past months had been dispelled, at least for this golden moment in time. Jughead was his best self, wry and sardonically funny, yet warm and affectionate and engaged. There was no sign of his grim detachment, his fatalism of the past few days.

Whatever had been behind Archie's strange glances and awkward pauses lately seemed to have blown over, too, as she'd hoped it would. He was again the relaxed, uncomplicated, undemanding friend of her childhood, with the new dimension of a very visible fascination with Veronica.

And Veronica seemed to have shaken off the weight that had settled over her as she tried to uncover the truth about her father's business interests, and his ties to Riverdale. Instead, she was sharp-tongued and acerbically funny, a much-needed blast of New York electricity in the midst of Riverdale's small tone fog.

It had been a perfect, shining evening, the hours speeding by with laughter and the comfort of long familiarity. By some alchemy, the four of them seemed to balance each other perfectly and spin out hours of pure gold that flew by too quickly.

But, much as she could appreciate Archie's desire to prolong the evening still further, Betty had plans still for the night, and another milkshake wouldn't help to put them into motion.

"Are you insane?" she asked Archie, laughing across the table at him as Veronica and even Jughead groaned and put their hands up, as if to ward off his suggestion. "My body is, like, 42 per cent milkshake already! If I attempted another one, Pop Tate would have to donate whatever was left of me to science!"

"I never thought I'd say this," Jughead agreed, his arm comfortably slung around Betty's shoulders, "but even I have hit the point where another milkshake would be unwise… possibly even excessive."

"If Jughead Jones has exceeded his milkshake threshold, Archiekins," Veronica added, "then there are two obvious conclusions to be drawn. First, I too have reached my limit for lactose-based joy. And second, we should all stay alert in the parking lot. I can only assume there are some apocalyptic horsemen at large."

"I just don't want this night to end," Archie admitted.

"Well then, Mr. Andrews, how about you walk me home?" Veronica purred. She and Betty exchanged a quick glance, pregnant with meaning, along with goodnight hugs. Betty embraced Archie, too, giving him a peck on the cheek before he strolled out of the diner, his arm loosely around Veronica's waist.

Betty and Jughead sat in companionable silence for a few moments more, appreciating the sudden quiet and basking in this unaccustomed sense of well-being.

At last, Jughead stretched. "I don't especially want the night to end either," he confessed, "but I suppose I should get you home, too, before Mama Cooper sends out a search party and finds me a cozy cell next to my dad."

"Good night, Pop," Betty called, and received a smiling nod in reply as she and Jughead walked out of the Chock-Lit shop, hand in hand.

The air was cold, but brilliantly clear, the stars looking almost close enough to touch. Jughead started walking, but Betty hesitated, tugging his hand to draw him back to her side. It was now or never.

"Jug," she said, and then stopped. Why was this so difficult to say? Jughead was looking at her inquiringly, but patiently, and she felt a renewed rush of affection for him, somehow reminding her of the power, the agency she'd felt when she spoke out at the Jubilee. She took a deep breath.

"I told my mom… that I'd be staying over at Veronica's tonight," she told him. "So no one's… like… expecting me at home."

She held her breath, as Jughead froze for a moment, his eyes searching hers intently. Silently, she begged him to understand her unspoken message, not to make her say it aloud. Taking the whole town to task was one thing, but there was only so far Alice Cooper's carefully reared daughter could go in propositioning a man, no matter how in love with him she happened to be.

Whatever Jughead read in her eyes seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded once, decisively, before speaking.

"Well then," he said, his gaze still so intense, "it looks like the night's not over yet."