Julianne's pov
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. None of us had packed yet, and it was a great rush around all of the hotel rooms we had trying to find objects. We were then running late to the airport, and got held back at security. Finally, we had to rush onto the plane with only a few minutes to spare.
Finding seats was harder this time. I ended up with Brooklyn close to the front, and my grandma was across the way two rows back. Everyone seemed to be spread out like that, randomly dispersed throughout the plane.
After Brooklyn got tired of talking about the trip and decided to watch a downloaded movie forty minutes in, I was finally able to slow down and think.
I stare out the window, mulling things over. My mom is pregnant, I think over and over. Do I want another sibling, though? I had two already, and they were crazy enough for me. It could be another boy, just an extra homework distraction.
If it was a girl, what would the use even be? When I was younger, I wanted a sister to play dress up and color with. I'm twelve now, I don't play dress up anymore. Toddlers would ruin any drawing I make.
I came to the conclusion I didn't want another sibling. Having a screaming, crying infant in the house would break my concentration on homework or any other project I was working on. My mom wouldn't have time to bake with me anymore, because she'd have to watch the baby. She wouldn't have time to do anything with me anymore, like the shopping trips we took every so often or when we would spend the day together, going to get pedicures or walk on the beach and then go to a small café.
Besides, having a pregnant mom was embarrassing. Everyone in middle school knows how babies are made. Aside from Joshua, the weird kid who went around telling everyone he had kidney stones in fourth grade, the whole grade knew what sex was.
And my mom is a teacher. In eighth grade, yes, and I'll be in seventh, but that's hardly any better.
I can't see how my first year of middle school could go any worse.
I've heard all of the stories, from when the older kids came back to visit their old teachers and sometimes chat with us. They all say how much they miss 6th grade, that they do far too much work in 7th, the strict policies on late or missing work.
In most places, 6th is the first year of middle school. But not here. In the small, outdated town of Riverdale, 7th is the first year.
Sixth grade is fun. I'm glad I have two more months of it. I love all of my teachers. And the work is easy. From all I've heard of 7th grade, there will be much more work, partly due to the teachers.
The first one, the one I hear about most often, is Mr. Matthews, who teaches history. He likes to give projects. Lots and lots of projects. Apparently, he used a whole class period just to assign projects once.
The next one is the science teacher, Mr. Briggs. He seems chill enough, from the stories I've heard. Sometimes he'll put on documentaries to watch, or let kids sit on the floor.
Then the English teacher, Miss Daniels. Apparently, she doesn't have a degree in teaching. No one knows how she got the job. A lot of people say she was the only person who showed any interest in the job. She doesn't assign much homework, which seems like it'll be a plus.
The Spanish teacher is Miss Simmons. She's taught there the longest of anyone. She does trips with the students each year, outside of school, that are optional. They go to cool places, like Spain or Finland. I want to go on one of them.
Finally, there's the literature teacher, Mrs. Stanley. She seems to be nice. She was willing to take student suggestions for books to read. She let students give her baby name suggestions when she'd had a baby a few years back.
"Juju," Brooklyn says, tapping me.
"Yeah?" I turn back to her.
"Can we do something?" she asks.
"Like what? Weren't you watching a movie?" I ask.
"I got bored of it. Can we play a game?" Brooklyn answers.
"What game do you want to play?" I ask. I was rather enjoying being able to think for a little.
"I don't know. Tic Tac Toe or something," she says, shrugging.
"Fine," I say. I pull out my notebook and turn to the back of a random page I had already used. I write the grid, and hand Brooklyn the pencil.
"I won!" Brooklyn says a minute later.
"Great. Can I go back to my thoughts now?" I ask.
"I wanna play another game," Brooklyn says.
I sigh. "Which one?"
"Uhhh... hangman!" she says.
"Okay. I choose the word, though," I say, smiling.
I know hangman well. We played it at school sometimes, and I had looked into the best words to use.
After three games where we came up with words each, I was done. The three words I used most often, sphinx, zygote, and jazz, were all I could think of, and Brooklyn was frustrated that she lost every round.
This time, however, instead of looking out the window again, I drew in my notebook.
I got the notebook before the school year started, but ended up using it for whatever I pleased. I drew in it a lot, and sometimes I used it to study Spanish vocabulary, or any challenge I had seen online.
The first thing I drew was rather simple, but I couldn't get the idea out of my head. It was a girl, standing on a hill, holding a big bunch of balloons, with a sun shining on the top. I did it all on pencil; I would add color when we got home, I didn't have my colored pencils or markers in my backpack.
Next, I drew a Ferris wheel from the picture I had on my phone of the Disneyland one. I didn't like this one as much, as there were too many pencil lines I couldn't get rid of.
Finally, and this one was the hardest, I drew a dog with a butterfly on his nose. It took me a while, but once I was finally done, I was very proud of the results.
We got home that evening and stopped at a drive thru to get dinner.
When we got to our house, I ate my dinner quickly and went to my room to unpack. After I put everything in its place, I sat on my bed and began to color the pictures I'd drawn on the plane.
After a little while of peaceful thinking time, someone knocked on my door.
"Can I come in?" my mom asks.
I shut my notebook. "Sure," I reply, setting it next to me.
"Hey," she says softly, walking to my bed and sitting on the end. "How are you?"
"Good," I reply. I meet her eyes and try telling her through my gaze that I don't want another sibling.
"You happy to be home?" she asks.
Her voice is too soft, too... pitying, almost. I look through the corner of my eye at my notebook and nod. "I had a lot of fun, though," I say, meeting her eyes again.
She smiles delicately. "We all did," she says.
Our cat, Lulu, then jumps onto my bed, and my mom pets her, stroking her back lovingly.
"How do you feel about your new sibling?" she asks after a while.
Nerves shoot through me quickly. I shrug, unsure of how to respond.
Mom meets my eyes once more. She opens her mouth a tiny bit, and then shuts it, moving her gaze down. She's still petting Lulu, who's now purring in her soft, high voice.
I watch Lulu for a while, unable to look at my mom. When I finally dare to, I regret it. Her eyes are slightly red, and she's blinking quickly. I swiftly turn my gaze back to Lulu.
I bite my bottom lip, squeezing my eyes shut. Now I'd made my mom cry. Just another thing to add to my list of things I didn't want to happen.
"Sorry," I whisper.
I can tell, even without looking at her, that she's looked up at me.
"No," she says softly.
"What?" I ask gently. I feel that looking at her is now safe, so I move my eyes from Lulu to her.
"Don't be sorry," she tells me. "You have a perfectly normal reaction. I'm just..." Mom trails off, seemingly unable to find the right words.
"I've got a lot of emotions right now," she says finally. "But yours are so much more important. Just know I'm always here to talk about anything, okay?"
I nod. "Okay," I agree gingerly.
She spots the notebook lying next to me. "Have you been drawing?" she asks.
"On the plane," I say tentatively. I don't want to talk to her, suddenly. All I wanted to do before today was spend time with her, and now that's the last thing I ever want to do.
"Can I see them?" she asks.
"I guess," I reply uninterestedly. I open the notebook to the balloon drawing. "This one and the next two" I tell her.
She flips through the drawings, examining them. "These are really good, Juju," she says.
"Thanks," I reply, my voice barely more than a whisper. I feel like crying, and I'm not sure why.
Mom looks up. I think she can tell I want to cry. "Anything," she reminds me softly. She scoots towards me and hugs me.
I break down. All of the emotions, worry, fear, excitement, anger, it all rushes out of me through water droplets in my eyes, which fall onto my mom's shoulder.
"You're okay," she whispers over and over, rubbing circles on my back.
Betty's pov
After Juju had calmed down, I walk out to the living room, where it's just me and Jughead.
"What'd she say?" he asks softly, holding his arm out for me to cuddle into.
I climb and sit next to him, leaning into his body, my head lying comfortably on his chest. I stay silent for a minute.
"She doesn't want a sibling," I finally say.
"No?" he asks smoothly, stroking my hair.
"Mm-mm," I mumble. "I feel bad."
"For what?" Jughead asks.
"Giving her the sibling she doesn't want," I mutter.
"Hey, that's not your fault. It was our carelessness," he says, looking me in the eye.
I sigh. "I thought she'd be the most excited," I confess.
"We both did," Jughead corrects. "And whether she likes it or not, she's getting a sibling, so she'll have to get used to that."
"I know..." I say, trailing off. "I wish I could do something about it."
"I'm sure she'll get used to it eventually. She loves Chelsea," Jughead says.
"I hope," I say, cuddling further into Jughead's chest.
Neither of them heard their daughter's footsteps as she ran back to her room.