An extra-long chapter awaits you, dear readers! We have a lot of ground to cover before the next one, so enjoy.
Poor Jughead. His birthday was the literal worst. Don't you think he deserves some happy time with Betty? I definitely do. Let's get a little fluffy with our sleuthing.
Song: What a Good Boy - Barenaked Ladies - YOU CAN FIND THE FIC SOUNDTRACK ON SPOTIFY!
Other songs mentioned in this chapter: Free Fallin' - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers; Love Will Tear Us Apart - Honeyroot
Disclaimer: I own the original spin on this AU, but I'm just borrowing the Riverdale characters, sadly. Any dialogue borrowed is strictly for context and continuity.
Eighteen: What a Good Boy
"We've got these chains hanging 'round our necks
People wanna strangle us with them before we take our first breath
Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same
When temptation calls, we just look away..."
What a Good Boy - Barenaked Ladies
In the opinion of our town's leaders, Riverdale's greatest struggle in the wake of the Blossom murder has been its inability to reconcile the town it once was with the town it has become. The loss of innocence, the cries of this was never supposed to happen here that the elite rally around.
The truth is, Riverdale hasn't changed. Only the illusion of the wholesome American town has crumbled and blown away. As Cheryl so aptly reminded us at my disaster of a surprise party, we are a town of sinners and secret-keepers. We're simply more upfront about it now.
It's hard to relinquish the dream of a bright future, the white picket fence and fulfillment of a good job. We're trapped inside those psychological prisons from the day we're born.
"What a beautiful girl; she's going to be a heartbreaker."
"What a strong little boy; he's going to be fearless."
Our parents tell us we can be anything when we grow up, if we only work hard enough. They tell us this because they want to believe it will be different for us. And we bend over backwards to be that golden child, to embody the failed dreams of those who created us.
There is no freedom when we're folded into impossible boxes, our limbs bent over themselves in ornate origami poses..
If Jason's death teaches us nothing else, it is that the shackles of societal expectation will kill us all, in the end. Until we shed their veneer, we will never be more than a cookie-cutter lie.
Life had been a whirlwind since turning seventeen: his father's relapse and subsequent detox had only been the prelude. By Monday morning, Riverdale High was abuzz over two Instagram accounts: the personal account of Veronica Lodge, and the brand-new, unofficial account for the Blue and Gold.
Sunday Night, 10:45pm
Veronica Lodge (QueenVee)posted 4 photos: Full dark, no stars. That's how badly Chuck Clayton battered my bestie, and that's only the start of his scumbaggery. Ladies, beware! If he doesn't get bored and slut-shame you first, you can look forward to psychological and physical abuse. Hey Notre Dame, is this what you look for on your team?
Monday Morning, 7:32am
Riverdale Blue and Gold (RHSbluegold) posted 8 photos: Our top story tomorrow – what's a "new girl bonus" and why are the female students of Riverdale being scored by the Bulldogs? We have their secret playbook of conquests, real and imagined – see for yourself.
When Betty had decided the school should know everything, she'd unequivocally meant it.
By nine in the morning, the students of Riverdale—particularly the women—were demanding answers from a football team scurrying for cover. By ten, Betty and Veronica had been called down to Weatherbee's office. By eleven, the intercom began calling for each member of the team, one by one. Chuck Clayton was the first and by all accounts, he'd never returned to class. Archie, too, had been called, shortly before lunch; Chuck, they'd learned, had spilled the story of his affair with Grundy in a desperate attempt to distract the school administration, to no avail.
Betty had hidden away in the Blue and Gold offices at lunch, Jughead keeping her company. While the student body was primarily supportive, the commotion and questions were proving too much for her to bear. The pressure only intensified when Kevin messaged their group chat as lunch period drew to a close:
Chuck's being held at the station. Betty, my dad wants you to give a statement after school.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
Betty hesitated, fidgeting with her backpack strap. "No, Jughead. I think I'll go with Veronica, if that's okay?"
He swallowed hard, fighting that familiar insecurity that ate away ate him. "Okay."
"It's not because I don't need you there," she blurted out. "Because I do. I'm terrified, Juggie. I don't want to see him."
He circled the table between them, arms outstretched. She fell into them eagerly, resting her head upon his shoulder.
"I don't understand, Betty. I'm here for you."
"I know you are. But I don't want Keller to harass you, and I don't want Chuck to see you. I don't want his anger fixated on you. Ugh, this doesn't make sense."
In its own way, it made sense to him. She wanted to protect him, even if it caused her pain.
"It's okay, I get it. Sort of." She laughed quietly into his shirt. "But I want to see you afterwards. I don't want you to be alone."
"Are you sure? I mean… how is your dad doing?"
"He's okay. He's actually staying with his sponsor for a few days. He comes home for dinner with me, but that's it. Says he doesn't want his failure to derail my life." Jughead sighed deeply, shaking his head. "I told him it's ridiculous, but this is how he wants it. Long story short, I'm alone after seven."
The warning bell sounded as Betty pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Then I will come and keep you company. Oh! I can bring your birthday gifts with me."
He'd forgotten about the birthday gifts until she'd reminded him. Hadn't his father brought a gift to that ill-fated party?
"Yeah, that's a good idea."
"He says, with the good humor of an undertaker," she teases lightly. "Come on, Jug, we're going to be late for class."
He spent the walk home from school scrolling through the comments on Veronica's Instagram. Ill-advised, perhaps, although they mostly restored his faith in humanity. Jughead suspected the immediate condemnation of the coach's son by Cheryl Blossom had something to do with the masses falling in line. Several students were calling for his expulsion, which Jughead secretly hoped for. To his horror, two other students had come forward with stories of Clayton's temper and "mind games" he'd played with them. While neither had accused him of physical violence, neither had dated him for long (one had mentioned a month; the other had said she'd broken up with him after a few weeks).
Chuck Clayton had a taste for mistreating women, he thought bitterly.
His phone pinged in his palm as a private message came in from Veronica herself. He swiped to open it, and was immediately intrigued.
QueenVee: Might want to swing by this profile.
Clicking the link, he found a locked down Instagram profile for HeyThereJuliet with 8 followers. The profile picture: Betty at age ten, dressed as Nancy Drew for Halloween. Chuckling to himself, he requested to follow and waited no more than a minute for approval. A quick refresh, and he found himself speechless.
Betty had insisted she would reveal everything, but she'd chosen to keep certain things to herself. There were seven posts already, all from the last two weeks. Each was an image of the two of them—a snapshot from Veronica's party; a selfie she'd talked him into at the Bijou; sly shots of them working on the paper that were surely taken by Veronica or Kevin. Two were photos from their childhood years: Betty in a tree, peering down at Jughead; and his personal favourite, Betty baking cookies with Mary Andrews while he and Archie looked on.
Her profile bio, however, left him a grinning idiot. It was a quote from House of Leaves, the book he'd gifted her before moving to Toledo:
You shall be my roots and
I will be your shade,
though the sun burns my leaves.
As much as he loathed social media (he only had accounts to follow certain authors, artists and journalists), he immediately liked every single post.
A knock on the door shattered his reminiscent reverie. Tossing his phone on the couch, he opened the door and found Betty waiting for him. Her eyes were swollen and red, but the jut of her chin was pure defiance. In her hand was a large canvas tote bag, which he immediately took from her and sat aside.
"Juggie," she murmured happily.
"Come in, it's cold," he urged her.
As she stepped inside, he noticed her right hand curling into a fist. Taking it in his own, he gently unfurled her fingers and kissed her palm. Her lips formed an 'O' of surprise.
"He doesn't get to hurt you anymore," he reminded her gently.
"I'm sorry. I-I didn't notice… Can we sit?"
"Of course we can."
They settled into the worn sofa, Betty tucked beneath his arm as she recounted her afternoon at the police station. Between the photos, Veronica's statement and the damning playbook, it hadn't taken much to convince Sheriff Keller of the abuse. It had definitely helped that his own son had seen the bruises in person. By the time she'd left, Chuck was being charged with assault.
"They've suspended him for two weeks, but Sheriff Keller is filing a protection order on my behalf," she explained. "Veronica also requested one, and when we texted Ethel, she said she was considering it."
"So, what does that mean for you?"
"It means that if it's granted, Chuck Clayton cannot come back to Riverdale High. He'd have to transfer to Southside or take online classes. Typically, public institutions can't enforce them, but in a town this small, where we all share classes, it's impossible to honour the order and grant him access."
He rubbed her arm gently, kissing the top of her head. "I am so… proud feels paternalistic, but I'm at a loss for words. I can't imagine how hard it was for you to let Veronica post those photos, let alone talk to Keller."
"It was hard," she admitted. "I just… Is it okay if we stop talking about it? I don't want to think about him anymore."
"Absolutely, Betts. Or should I call you Juliet?"
Her quiet giggle sent his heart into a tailspin. "V and I didn't want to distract people from the more important matters at hand, but I wanted to be able to share things that make me smile in a safe, small circle of friends for now. Is that okay?"
"I admit, it's a little uncomfortable to be the centre of attention, but that's me short circuiting. I assume it's just the usual suspects?"
Betty sat up, reaching for his hand. "Of course. And if you're never comfortable, then I'll never share anything beyond my little secret space. It's just that you're an important part of my life, Jug. You make me happy, and I haven't felt that in a long time."
"I may know a little something about this happiness thing you speak of," he quipped, toying with her ponytail.
"Speaking of happy things, are you ready to open your presents? Because I cannot wait for you to see mine."
"Betts, you didn't have to get me anything," he protested.
"That's the point, Jughead: I wanted to." Retrieving her bag from the front door, Betty skipped back to him. "Here. Let's see what you got."
He began with Ethel's gift, assuming it would be the least personal and logically, the least likely to evoke messy emotions. Inside her gift bag, he found a flash drive resembling a magnifying glass and a coffee mug that read I'm silently correcting your grammar. He laughed approvingly, scarcely noticing the photo Betty snapped of him.
Kevin Keller had opted for a little humor and history, gifting him a copy of Dwight Garner's Read Me. A collection of print ads for books, Kevin had cheekily inserted a Post-It note flag on the page bearing an ad for Truman Capote's Other Voices, Other Rooms. Jughead suspected Kevin had gotten an assist from Betty, but he'd never let on.
Veronica's envelope contained a gift clearly intended for two: a couples package at the spa just outside of town, and a voucher for a one-night stay at the Five Seasons. Betty flushed, furiously texting Veronica as he suggested they hang onto that for a special occasion in the future, perhaps when Alice Cooper was not in town to break his legs.
In keeping with his new passion, Archie had opted for the gift of song: an iTunes gift card, and a copy of Tom Petty's Full Moon Fever on vinyl. "I told him I'd left this one behind with Jelly, but I kind of regretted it," he explained with a smile.
"Do you have a turntable?"
"Dad does, over there." He waved across the room to the far corner. "It's not much, but it does the job."
Betty busied herself with playing the record as Jughead found a package wrapped in silver paper with an ornate blue blow. Free Fallin' began to play softly throughout the trailer.
"This song reminds me of you," he mused aloud.
"Because I'm a good girl?" she scoffed at the lyrics.
Setting aside her gift, he rose to his feet. "Well, yeah. But being around you messes with my head in weirdly good way. Like a free fall."
He took her hand, impulsively twirling her around. Betty laughed and threw her arms around his neck.
"V was right: you are a closet softie."
"I don't know." They began to sway to the music, off beat but neither caring. "I guess you remind me that there's good in the world. That we should kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight, as an old Bruce Cockburn song goes."
Betty pressed onto her toes for a soft kiss. "Maybe we should make that the motto of the Blue and Gold."
"Maybe…"
"And maybe you should open my present now?"
"Alright, alright." Reaching for the package, he gently shook it. "Is it a pony?"
"If it is, I don't think it's doing so well after being wrapped for three days." Betty sat down beside him, bouncing in her seat. "Open it."
Carefully slitting the paper, Jughead unwrapped what felt like another book to him. As he turned the cover over, he gasped. No way. How did she do this?
"Betts…"
"It's the first edition," she blurted out. "I checked it out carefully."
In his hands, he held a first edition of Truman Capote's In Cold Blood.
"It's what brought you back here, partially. It's how we happened. Do you like it?"
"I… I don't know what to say. I love it, Betty." She embraced him warmly, jittering with excitement. "Thank you."
"I'm so glad you like it," she gushed. "It took a bit of work to get it here on time. And now..." Betty reached into the bag, pulling free a familiar box. "There's one left."
"My dad," Jughead remembered.
Betty squeezed his leg gently. "You should see what he got you. I mean, he's good with gifts." She tapped his beanie, smiling warmly.
Drawing a deep breath, Jughead lifted the lid off the box and glanced inside. A lump formed in his throat as he recognized the contents.
"Juggie?"
He gently lifted his familiar friend free of its confines, setting the box aside. "It's my stuffed animal. Hot Dog." He smiled as he made him nod, his shaggy ears flopping about. "He kept him."
Betty snuggled closer, staring at the well-loved toy. "He's so sweet, Jug. Like you."
"I slept with him every night until I was like, eight. We never had a dog of our own, but Hot Dog… he was mine."
They sat there for a long time: Hot Dog resting upon his knee; Betty curled against him; and Tom Petty playing softly in the background. Jughead's opinion of birthdays hadn't necessarily changed—they were pointless milestones that were filled with insincere platitudes—but the kindness he'd been shown this year would never be forgotten.
"Principal Weatherbee is an unreasonable jerk!"
The door to the Blue and Gold office slammed behind Betty as she stormed into the room, startling her waiting group of friends. A concerned Jughead patted the chair beside him and she slumped into the seat, arms crossed.
"What's wrong, B?"
"Oh, nothing, if you ask Weatherbee. Apparently, despite agreeing to it prior to the relaunch of the Blue and Gold and oh, I don't know, charging my ex-boyfriend with assault, Weatherbee won't let me back out of running the Homecoming committee!" Betty tightened her ponytail with a furious tug. "So if I fall asleep in class for the next week, you know why."
Veronica slid a communal bowl of M&M's across the table. "Do you need help? I'm great with decorating for a soiree, as you know."
"Thanks, V, but Weatherbee barely agreed to let me delegate work to Ethel." Grabbing a handful of candy, Betty rolled her shoulders. "So, what did you want to talk about?"
Jughead's hand reached under the table, squeezing Betty's knee gently. She managed a half-smile for him, which he'd accept.
"Let me preface this by stating that this is incredibly uncomfortable for me to speak about, and that anything I tell you? I'm certain of it." Veronica glanced anxiously at Jughead, which unsettled him deeply. "I assume we all know about Daddy's transgressions in New York?"
Betty's notebook was open now, her pen in hand. "We know of it. Riverdale certainly loves to talk."
"Well, Cheryl's little accusation at Jughead's party seems to hold water. More than I care to consider. Do you remember when the drive-in closed down? The final show?"
Archie nodded. "Yeah, we were all there. Except Jughead, of course."
Salt in a wound. Jughead shrugged it off, his only consolation that the final film at the Twilight had been Rebel Without a Cause. Betty's suggestion, from what Archie had relayed weeks ago. He couldn't help but recall her letters from last year, asking about classic drive-in films.
"I didn't understand it at the time," Veronica continued, "but that night, my mother slipped away to the back of the lot and handed this man a bag of what I assume was cash. When I asked her about it, she said it was for construction work the man and his friends had done."
"But you're thinking it was connected to the purchase of the property now?" Jughead mused.
"Yeah." Veronica's hands fidgeted on the table in front of her, her gaze fixed upon them. "The man I saw was your dad, Jughead. I recognized him at your party."
The sinking feeling in his gut? He'd been waiting for it, ever since he'd stepped off the damn bus from Toledo. Gritting his teeth, he pushed aside his feelings of disappointment. Because Veronica had called this gathering to discuss the Blossom case, and right now, he wasn't able to connect those dots.
"Are you sure, Ronnie?" Archie asked.
"Definitely. I wish I was wrong. I'm sorry—"
"Don't be," Jughead dismissed her. "This was, what, a year ago? My father wasn't exactly winning awards for his parenting, or his life choices in general."
"What does this have to do with Jason Blossom?" Betty asked.
"That's where I come in," Archie explained. "Veronica told me about FP and the drive-in, and it reminded me of what I'd seen at the annual Blossom dinner."
Archie quickly recapped the events of that October evening, skipping over Cheryl's advances entirely. The omission intrigued Jughead, particularly as he wasn't sure whom Archie was protecting: Veronica, or Betty. While he'd heard little of what was said between Hiram Lodge and the Blossoms, he'd heard an earful about their role in Hiram's New York arrest and subsequent incarceration.
"I really don't like the fact Polly is still there, even if she doesn't trust that family." Betty looked to Jughead, her concern apparent. "And given what the Blossoms said about Hiram, it gives him one hell of a reason to hate them."
"It gets worse," Archie lamented. "Ronnie did some digging last night."
"My parents were out, so I pulled out a box of their financial papers. The Blossoms were paying Lodge Industries seventy-five thousand dollars every month for decades. Payments that stopped one month before Jason disappeared." The normally cool and collected Latina was trembling. "What does maple syrup have to do with real estate?"
"That's what I've been asking myself since I saw that meeting," Archie agreed.
"And if there's anything I do know about my father's business dealings, he plays dirty. He wouldn't attack Clifford or Penelope if things went south. He'd go after what matters most to them."
"The heir apparent. Jason," Jughead concluded.
Betty rose slowly, picking up her pad of Post-Its. "Veronica, I hate to admit it, but that's definitely the makings of a motive to kill Jason." Scribbling on the pad, she reluctantly tacked up two new names on the murder board: Hermione and Hiram Lodge.
"It's sad, isn't it?" Jughead gestured to the board. "Your parents are the only ones not on the board, Archie. Fred Andrews may be the last decent man in Riverdale."
He noticed Betty and Veronica exchanging glances and raised his eyebrows. Betty shook her head slightly, unwilling to explain. That was fine: his father could explain this to him. Tonight, over dinner.
"Ugh, it's almost time for class and my stomach's in knots just thinking about this," Veronica muttered, reaching for her coffee. "How do you two do this every day?"
Betty glanced over at Jughead, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know. We just have to."
"One more thing: I get the sense that Daddy is looking to buy more property on the Southside, although I'm not sure what or why. I've never had access to the inner sanctum. Maybe that purchase has something to do with the Blossoms?" Veronica suggested.
"We'll look into it. Maybe Mayor McCoy can help with that," Betty wondered aloud, her pen scribbling furiously.
Southside property tied to the Blossoms, Jughead pondered. Payments from the Blossom maple business to a real estate developer not known for clean dealings. FP, collecting cash from Hermione Lodge as the drive-in shuttered down. It wasn't quite adding up, but Jughead could smell the corruption a mile away. Had this been one more terrible thing his father had done while drunk and alone in Riverdale?
Archie and Veronica rose from their seats as the early bell sounded, Archie reaching down to hand Veronica her book bag. Betty paused her note-taking, noticing the giant elephant parading through the room. Her expression was one of curiosity, and it did not go unnoticed by their departing friends.
You're not fooling anyone…
Veronica broke first, her confession tumbling out in a hurried mess: "Archie and I kissed. Twice."
Jughead studied his girlfriend's reaction, unable to fully fight off the lingering insecurities he harboured. Betty, to his surprise, looked… disinterested?
"Okay. Are you two seeing each other?"
"We aren't. Not yet. But we've talked about it," Archie replied quietly.
"But we wanted to talk to you first, B," Veronica explained.
Betty bewilderment caught them all off-guard. "Guys, I'm with Jughead now. I appreciate you both wanting to talk to me, but this isn't last year. If you two like each other, you should go for it."
Betty's hand came to rest on his shoulder, her fingertips massaging away the ever-present knot in his muscles. He exhaled loudly, awash with relief. Not that he should have expected any other reaction, but old fears died hard. Veronica and Archie were happy as well, the latter blushing slightly.
The peal of the warning bell sent the pair scurrying out the door, leaving Betty and Jughead alone in their office. Betty began packing her books up, smirking to herself.
"Were we that obvious after our moment, as you like to call it?"
"Definitely."
"You knew already, didn't you?" Betty prodded.
Jughead shrugged. "I may have caught Veronica doing the walk of shame after my party."
With a toss of her ponytail, Betty zipped her backpack. "I'm not surprised. There was always something lingering there between them. But they're loyal friends. You okay, Jug?"
"With Veronica and Archie? Of course."
"I meant your dad," Betty clarified, reaching out for his hand. "The drive-in… Did you know about that?"
"Not a clue," Jughead admitted grimly. "But I'm not entirely surprised, particularly after what he told us about Jason."
"If you need to talk…"
"I know. Come on, we're going to be late."
His calm façade may have fooled Betty and their friends, but Jughead was consumed by terrible possibilities. So much so that they walked to class, fingers interlaced, oblivious to the whispers spreading through the hallway.
He couldn't ask his father about the drive-in.
With FP still staying with his sponsor, their time together was a scant hour over burgers, club sandwiches or fried chicken from the next town over. For three days, he'd promised himself after the initial greetings and praise for the day's meal, he'd steer the conversation to the bag of cash FP had collected from Hermione Lodge.
For three days, he'd been unable to pull the proverbial trigger.
His father was staying sober, but his emotional state was erratic at best. He broke into tears each night, seldom explaining why. Silences were filled with stories from Jughead's childhood and his father's, the latter far more revelatory. Once or twice, he'd mention Alice Cooper as part of his high school social circle, albeit only in passing.
Jughead sensed in his father a fear of time escaping. His speech was rambling and rapid-fire, scarcely allowing his son a word between stories. It shook him, although he dutifully feigned obliviousness.
Today, however, the topic at hand was his in-progress manuscript for his book on the Blossom murder. Having taken the week off to straighten himself out, he'd spent the afternoon reading Jughead's work. And while he praised the calibre of writing, FP was adverse to Jughead's ongoing investigation with Betty.
"It's excellent, Jug. Me, I can barely string two sentences together, but you… You always had a gift. But why something so morbid? Why Jason?"
"I don't know. It's like he chose me." Jughead stabbed absently at his macaroni and cheese, fork frozen in his hand. "I'm telling the story no one else can tell, from the outside looking in."
"And you're telling it well, but Jug, don't let this be the only story you're telling. It shouldn't even be the most important one," FP insisted. "There are other stories waiting for you."
Like Hiram Lodge's shady business dealings and sudden interest in the Southside?
Jughead's phone vibrated on the table beside him. Glancing down, he noted the call display with trepidation: Riverdale Register.
"You gonna take that?"
"Um, yeah, sorry." Jughead swiped the screen and took a deep breath. "Hello?"
"Jughead, it's Alice Cooper."
"Um, hi Mrs Cooper. Is Betty okay?"
"My daughter is just fine and, from what I understand, being escorted by you to the Homecoming Dance tomorrow. Is that correct?"
"It is. Is that… a problem?"
Alice laughed, but the sound of it… it was off. Forced, somehow.
"No, no. But I do feel that now you're seeing our daughter that we should get to know you and your father better. Perhaps dinner tomorrow, before the dance? I'll make a peach pie."
"Dinner tomorrow? I'll have to ask my dad if he's available. He's been working late this week," Jughead lied.
"For Fred Andrews? I'll take care of that."
"Who's that?" FP whispered.
"Alice, can you give me a moment? My father's just walking in the door."
Placing the call on mute, Jughead filled his father in quickly. He immediately suggested excuses for not attending, but FP Jones waved them away.
"No, we're going. It'll be nice to catch up with Alice and Hal," he mused, in a tone that suggested quite the opposite.
It all felt like a terrible social experiment, but Jughead unmuted the call and confirmed their attendance with a delighted Mama Cooper. The call ended, Jughead slid his phone away from him and studied his father.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah, Jug. Alice is right: if you two are going to be together, they should know you. Now, about this dance of yours… What are you wearing?"
"I'm not sure. I was going to swing by the thrift store in the morning to see what I can find—"
"No, not a chance." FP reached into his back pocket, withdrawing his wallet. "You're gonna go out right now, hit that clothing store near the Bijou. Rick won't rip you off. Grab a suit." His father counted out several large bills, passing them across the table.
"Dad, no way. I can't accept that."
"Every man needs a suit. I pulled a lotta overtime recently, ain't no skin off my bones. Take it."
"Thanks, Dad." Jughead reluctantly slipped the cash inside his wallet. "Will you, um, drive me there?"
"Yeah, boy. Finish up your food and we'll head out."
A dinner with the Coopers. A dance with Betty. Suit shopping. Who was he now? One thing was certain, he decided as he ate the last of his chicken: suit or no suit, he was wearing his beanie.
"Betts?"
"Yeah, Juggie?"
"Can we never do a family dinner again?"
Betty groaned, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "My mother was rotten, but my father truly took the cake, didn't he?"
"Pie," Jughead corrected wryly. "Peach pie. Which I never got to taste, thanks to our parents."
Threading her arm around his elbow, Betty laughed. "Don't tell my mother, but my pie crust is superior. I'll make you a pie of your very own, promise."
The night had started off beautifully, in Jughead's opinion: dressed in the suit his father had picked out for him, he'd rung the Cooper doorbell. To his surprise, Betty had answered the door; to the amusement of his father, his jaw had literally fallen open. Dressed in a silver off-the-shoulder dress reminiscent of a Disney Princess, her hair falling in large, looping waves, Betty was stunning. She blushed at his utter inability to speak, although she managed the moxie to reach out and physically close his mouth with her palm.
His father had shaved his beard for the occasion, something he hadn't seen since his childhood. His eyes twinkled as Alice noted the change, complimenting his cleaned-up look.
Hal was conspicuously absent for the meal, something his father took strange delight in. The conversation had flowed easily, for the most part. It was only when the subject of the drive-in came up that things took a decidedly awkward turn. A seemingly innocent question about Jughead's past employment there became a pointed query about his father's interest in the Twilight and with that, it became obvious that Alice somehow knew about FP's rumoured cash collection from Hiram.
Before a visibly agitated Betty could step in, Hal came home early from whatever function Alice had clearly expected him to be at until late. And then, all hell broke loose.
Passive-aggressive jabs flew in all directions. There was no love lost between Alice and Hal, leaving Betty torn between them, stabbing her half-eaten dinner angrily with her fork. The icing on the cake: his father entering the fray, cheerily recounting his own Homecoming dance.
"Castles in the clouds. Your mom ever tell you about that night, Betty?"
"Just that she and dad were Homecoming King and Queen," Betty had replied nervously.
"Well, let me tell you a fun story. Fred and me, we were all set to play at the dance. While I was loading in our gear, I heard these voices."
At this, Alice had visibly blanched.
"It was your mom and dad," FP had continued. "Arguing about… well, it sounded like life and death to me."
At this, Alice's fork dropped loudly to her plate. "Shut up, FP."
"Happy to oblige, if you are." His father's eyes had narrowed then, the icy stare of the drunk father who'd rage into the early morning hours every weekend. "I don't care if you like me. But don't jerk me around, Alice. Not in front of my boy."
Betty had promptly announced that they were running late for the dance and with that declaration, offered the Jones men an escape route. Her parents remained at the table, animosity lingering as Betty cheerily slammed the door behind them. Jughead had never been so grateful to have had the foresight to solicit his father as their chauffeur.
"You ready for this?" Betty asked, shattering his reverie.
This, as in an official date in the public eye of Riverdale High. Adjusting his beanie, Jughead shrugged.
"As long as you're not expecting to watch me to whip or nae nae, I think I can handle it."
Betty's lips curved into a mischievous grin. "It's a retro theme, Jug. You're even safe from Despacito."
"Sanctuary!"
Stepping inside the crowded gymnasium, Jughead was struck by two observations: the decorations were elegant, to Betty's credit, given the forced blue and gold motif; and half their class was fixated on their entry.
"Are they expecting the Time of My Life dance from us?" he joked nervously. "Because nobody puts Betty in a corner."
Betty scanned the room, reading between the lines. "Ahh. Well, they clearly are jealous of me."
"Jealous of you," Jughead echoed in disbelief.
"Mmhmm. They're wondering how they never noticed those gorgeous eyes of yours. And you look incredible in a suit." Toying with the lapel of his jacket, she winked. "Let them gossip about this."
Her grip tightened on his jacket as she pulled him closer and he crashed into her, a wave to her shore. Shimmering like the moon in her gown, she became his gravity and he surrendered to the taste of her lips and the sinful darting of her tongue. His hands slid around her waist, marvelling at the curve of her hips and the silky barrier between them. A forced cough behind them left them fidgeting and embarrassed before a bemused Fred Andrews.
"Keep it PG-light," he whispered, patting Jughead's shoulder as he passed.
Betty gestured to the dance floor, giggling as they fell into an easy sway to a soft, piano-driven ballad. "Of all the people to interrupt us…"
"I think it was worse than being caught by my father." A familiar lyric caught his ear and he tilted his head towards the DJ booth. "Wait… is that?"
"Joy Division cover? Mmhmm." Betty hummed along, with the verse, singing softly with the chorus: "Love, love will tear us apart again…"
"Since when do you listen to Joy Division?"
"Since you told me you liked them."
How was this real? How was he here, holding onto a woman so full of grace and kindness? Betty's arms wound tightly around his neck and he clung to her, burrowing his face against her cheek. His eyes closed and for a fleeting moment, they were elsewhere—a rooftop patio in New York on a summer's night, perhaps. It was the two of them against the world. The scent of vanilla and lavender dusted her pale skin as they swayed beneath the stars. His heart pounded beneath his ribs, a Morse message for hers to decode.
"Thank you for coming tonight," she murmured. "I know dances aren't exactly your scene."
"Wherever you are, that's my scene, Betts."
Over her shoulder, he spotted Archie and Veronica rushing into the gym. Something about their body language seemed off, although Jughead couldn't quite put his finger on it. He nudged Betty, who frowned at the sight of them.
"They're late! They're supposed to perform in five minutes!"
"Not your problem," he reasoned. "You were decorating committee, not the master of ceremonies."
"Still, what could have possibly kept them? We were an hour late because of my nosy mother. What's their excuse?" An exasperated Betty threw her hands up. "Whatever. You're right. It's not my problem. But that might be."
Jughead followed her gaze, noticing a solitary Cheryl Blossom beckoning Betty from the rear corner of the gym. Where's Polly? The last he'd heard, the two of them were planning on attending as a duo.
"Will you mind terribly if I leave you here to go talk to her?"
Jerking his head towards the refreshments table. "There's a cheese platter and chocolate chip cookies over there. I think I'll manage."
Her lips grazed his cheek as she headed to Cheryl. Feeling his cheeks burning, Jughead made his way to the punch bowl and knocked a cup back. Shockingly, Reggie and his goons hadn't managed to spike it yet. Grabbing several cubes of Havarti and a cookie, he leaned against the wall and surveyed the room.
Betty was right: enormous social gatherings were decidedly not on his list of enjoyable uses of his time. Given his disastrous birthday party, that malaise had only grown. The milling about, the preening, the anxious singles hoping for a Hollywood love connection—it was exhausting and performative. From a writer's standpoint, however, it was a microcosm of student life, and therein lay value. Who was avoiding whom? Who was self-medicating to meet social norms? And why did Cheryl show up alone, keen to talk to Betty? A glance towards them suggested a tense conversation, but not acrimonious.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Riverdale High's Homecoming celebration!"
Jughead's focused turned to the stage, where Mayor McCoy had taken the podium. Rambling on about reunion-related blah blah, the mayor made her overly enthusiastic introduction of Archie and Veronica's performance. Archie, dressed in a red suit jacket, seemed to be soothing his stage fright by deliberately deflecting attention to his clothes. Veronica, clad in a glittering black dress, refused to be outdone—or have her New York pedigree forgotten. Breaking a sweat immediately under the bright lights, Archie tossed his jacket aside and reached for his guitar.
"Alright, this one's a classic," Archie mumbled, nodding to Veronica and the house band.
The opening riff immediately connected with the adults in the room and Jughead, thanks to his mother's music collection. He had to admit, Archie and Veronica had chosen well: Kim Wilde's "Kids in America" was a fitting choice for tumultuous teens. The coy flirting of the duet betrayed the blossoming relationship between the two of them however, and the gossips ate it up.
Taking a bite out of his cookie, Jughead smiled. Archie's jitters were a distant memory. His smile and playful solo evoked the confident showmanship of a star.
It was only when the song wrapped up and the applause deafened him that Jughead realized Betty hadn't returned to his side. Puzzled, he searched the crowd for a glimpse of silver, the warm honey of her hair. Cheryl was also gone, which concerned him deeply. Was Polly okay? His phone had no texts, no missed calls—no trace of his girlfriend.
In fact, the only person he could find was Kevin. Tapping his shoulder and interrupting a dance with the still nameless boyfriend he'd seen at his birthday party, Jughead leaned in to be heard over the music.
"Have you seen Betty?"
"You all need tracking devices, I swear. She went out the east door, chasing after Veronica."
"Thanks."
Huh. Is she really that mad they showed up late for their song?
Winding through the swaying crowd, he pushed through the double doors into the corridor beyond. Voices drifted towards him, a garbled murmuring, but one fragment caught his attention:
"…arrangement with my dad…"
A glance to his right located his missing friends: Veronica and Archie bore guilty looks, while Betty's body was wound taut. Whatever they were discussing, it was upsetting Betty. Given all she'd been through recently, Jughead was not having it.
"What did you two do?" Betty demanded.
"Um, guys? Betty?" The trio pivoted in his direction although none of them could look him in the eye. Edging closer, he thrust his hands into his pockets. "What's going on? Why do I suddenly feel like I'm left out?"
Betty returned her attention to Veronica and Archie. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?"
Maybe he didn't want to know. Maybe he should just turn back around, wander into the gym and listen to another 80s one-hit wonder.
"Tell me what?"
Archie stepped forward, moving past Betty. His hands shook lightly at his sides as he met Jughead's concerned gaze.
"We went to your dad's trailer tonight," Archie began.
"To search it," Veronica chimed in.
"Why?" A loaded question, he knew. "Why would you guys do that?"
"My mom put them up to it." Betty heaved a sigh, shaking her head angrily. "She was convinced he was hiding something about Jason Blossom."
"But we were wrong," Veronica added regretfully. "All of us. We didn't find a thing."
His every instinct was to flee, to storm out of the damn school and never return. This was betrayal.
"Jughead, we only did it to prove—"
"What?" Jughead snapped. "That he's not a murderer? You went behind my back, Archie?"
"Jug—"
"Save it." His tone left no room for debate as he studied the faces of those whom he thought he could trust. "You've known my father your entire life. I would never do this to Fred."
Rocking on his heels, Jughead's mind whirred with scenarios as to how this idea came to fruition. For starters, how had they even known that they wouldn't be home tonight? Unless… Damn it, no.
"How did you know to go tonight?"
"We knew you'd be at dinner with…"
Veronica's voice trailed off as he turned his back on them. No more secrets. No more lies. Betty had promised him that. And yet, two plus two was quickly adding up to four, and her reluctance to speak ironically screamed the truth.
Betty had known this would happen.
He'd taken four steps before the clicking of Betty's heels echoed after him. "No!"
He spun around, willing himself to listen, despite all of the evidence at hand. "Is this why your mom invited me and my dad to dinner? So these two could break into our home while she interrogated him?"
"I knew nothing about what these two did tonight," she protested. "But yes, that's clearly why she invited you."
Her green eyes were misted over as her hands fidgeted at her sides. He wanted to—needed to—believed her, but there was something bothering him. A nagging doubt, poking into his brain, shifting synapses until…
The look Veronica and Betty exchanged in the office.
"You suspected she was up to something. No, you knew there was another motive to that dinner invite, didn't you?"
"There's always another motive with her, Juggie," she replied tearfully.
"Why didn't you warn me? Don't you understand how fragile my father is right now?" Her hands reached for him and he recoiled, shaking his head. "No, we're not done talking. You can't make this go away."
"I'm so sorry." Her voice cracked as she bowed her head in remorse.
He spoke in hushed tones, wrestling with the hurt he felt versus the instinct to protect her. "You told me you believed him when he said he was innocent at our trailer. Wasn't that good enough for you?"
"It was. I told her earlier this week that I had no doubts about you, or FP. Jug, please, please believe me."
"You should have warned me," he emphatically rebuked her, to which she nodded. "I need to go. I need to think."
"Okay." Her hand swiped at the tears tumbling down her cheeks, smudging her makeup. "Can I come with you?"
He would never run away from her. He'd promised himself after their birthday blow-up. But the anger was roaring within him and he needed to shield her from the blast.
"I need to calm down," he whispered. "I'll call you before I go to bed. But I can't be near any of you right now."
Her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she reluctantly assented. "I understand."
"Jughead?" Archie stepped forward timidly. "Don't hold it against her. Veronica and I did this. Not Betty."
"Oh, I know. And I won't forget it."
His hands slammed violently into the crash bar of the school entry doors, propelling him into the cold black of an October night.
Okay, so I was mean to Juggie again. I'm sorry! This is a rough season for him in the show, too.
As always, I eagerly await your reviews and theories on what comes next.
Next chapter: Jughead comes to an important realization; the Jones household is rocked by a revelation; and a cameo appearance you likely won't expect. See you next week!
