Act III

Opening night. Jughead kept nervously peeking through the curtain out at the audience as if he was looking for something. Betty finally came and hauled him away by the elbow.

"Jug, what's –"

"It's nothing." He changed the subject on her rapidly, distracting her. "Is Archie going to be here tonight?"

"Yeah," she said, feeling a little nervous at the thought and grabbing her elbow tightly across her body.

"Hey," Jughead said softly. "It's just you and me up there when it happens, okay? Just you and me."

She nodded. Yeah, that pretty much happened. Everything else dissolved away. Every time.

But would she be able to ignore Archie staring at them from out there in the audience in that moment? Or would her cheeks burn in shame at kissing the wrong boy?

"We've got this," Jughead reassured her.

"Is your family going to be here tonight?" she asked him.

He blanched. "Uh, no. I don't think so. But maybe . . ."

"How do you not know?" she gave him a teasing smile.

"Uh, my dad, he uh works strange hours sometimes."

His hand was frozen on her cheek, thumb mid-circle, and their lips were pressed gently together, just holding steady. And it was just the two of them as he promised. Jughead and Betty. Emily and George.

It wasn't until they broke and headed downstage together triumphantly to the exuberant sounds of the Wedding March did she realize that she hadn't thought of Archie at all. She smiled. She was going to be fine.

But then, as she sat backstage during intermission, awaiting the start of Act III with Jughead beside her, she realized she should say something.

"Jug," she started. "I . . . I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"I . . . oh God, I'm so embarrassed, but I think I'm 'going Method.'" She looked at him with a little bit of fear in her eyes.

"Nothing wrong with that, Betty."

"No I mean it. I . . ." How to explain? "Look Jug, you know the scene, right before the wedding were I say desperately, 'Well, if you love me, help me. All I want is someone to love me.'?"

"Yes."

"Well, in that moment, I've been FEELING Emily's feelings, Juggie. So desperately."

He studied her carefully for a minute before speaking. "Betty, I think that's just your feelings for Archie bleeding over."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's not," she muttered quietly to herself, hoping he hadn't heard what she said immediately after she said it.

What? He almost didn't hear her. What did she mean by that?

There were some parts of this play where he found himself 'going Method' too. Disturbingly so. Like the kiss. He never thought he'd enjoy kissing so much. It seemed like such a girl thing to like. Like romance novels.

But what she said stayed with him as they went into the second show that Saturday, when they got to that scene she had mentioned . . .

Jughead (as George): ". . . Emily, I'm going to do my best. I love you, Emily. I need you."

. . . he found he was actually feeling those feelings for her too.

Betty (as Emily): "Well, if you love me, help me. All I want is someone to love me."

In that moment he found really wanted to help her find love . . . so desperately.

His eyes teared up for a brief moment and then he said (as George): "I will, Emily. Emily, I'll try."

"Whoa, that was intense," he joked with her as they waited out intermission together.

"It always is, Juggie," she said almost nonchalantly. Then she changed the subject. "So what are you guys doing for Christmas?"

"I'll tell you what I'm NOT doing," he said sardonically. "Seeing The Hateful Eight in a proper theatre."

"That really means a lot to you, doesn't it? You really want to see it that way – in Cinerama?"

"Yeah. That's how it was meant to be seen – Tarantino's vision, you know. He's my idol," Jughead said quietly, then shrugged. "But it's not in the cards. Guess I'll just go catch a movie at the Twilight instead."

Betty laughed lightly. "Silly, they're not open on Christmas."

"They are if I'm running the projection booth," he joked and they shared a smile.

Closing night Betty noticed that Jughead was even more keyed up than usual. He could not keep his hands off the curtain. He just kept peeking out at the audience and pacing.

"Jug, you gotta settle down. Mr. Dixon will –"

"Fuck Mr. Dixon. He's not my dad. I don't have to listen to him."

"Jug."

He waved at the curtain dismissively and headed back to the wings. "It's okay, Betty. I'm fine."

But he wasn't – she could tell. And when he did that scene with Reggie . . . ?

Reggie (as Mr. Gibbs): ". . . like she's some hired girl we keep around the house but that we don't like very much."

Jughead's sob rang out into the auditorium at Reggie's fatherly admonishment. The crowd gasped. They weren't expecting such an intense portrayal of remorse from a mere fourteen year old boy.

Reggie hesitated for a minute, not sure what to do. But then he put a hand on Jughead's shoulder and got through the scene.

Reggie (as Mr. Gibbs): "Well, I knew all I had to do was call your attention to it."

Jughead was literally breaking down on stage. Betty was horrified for him.

Reggie (as Mr. Gibb): "Here's a handkerchief, son."

Everyone watching knew that a handkerchief wasn't enough. But Jughead took it solemnly from Reggie's hands anyway and just stared at it pitifully for a beat. Then he started to lose it again as Reggie finished his lines.

"Oh my God, Jug, are you okay?" Betty asked him at intermission.

"Sure, fine. Why do you ask?" In reality, he was spent. And so happy it was closing night. He couldn't take another second of this play. He couldn't wait for the final scene, where he'd be lying prostrate at Betty's feet, grieving for his dead wife, Emily. It would be such a relief - hopefully as cathartic as funerals were supposed to be.

"Why do I ask? Jughead, I'm worried."

"It's nothing, Betty," he said bitterly. "I was just Method acting."

There was so much sympathy swimming in Betty's eyes as she reached out and touched his shoulder. Sympathy for him. Someone actually cared. Imagine that. No one in his family did, apparently. No one had come to a single performance of his.

But he shrugged away from her touch. "I've gotta go get some water."

She called him five days later. On Christmas Day. Not only to wish him a Merry Christmas, but to check in on him that night. She was still so worried and she hadn't heard from him since the play ended that Sunday.

"Hello?" He sounded weary, tired.

"Hey Jughead, it's me, Betty."

"I know. I saw the number." He sighed loudly.

She heard a loud crash in the background and Jughead winced.

"Betty, this really isn't a good time –"

There was a loud booming voice yelling out something in the background that she couldn't make out. She heard Jughead try to muffle the phone with his hand, but he obviously didn't succeed, because she could still hear him yell out in protest a few seconds later, "Dad!"

Then she heard the phone fall onto something hard and even more incoherent yelling. She hung up. She figured Jughead would want some privacy – that he didn't want her to hear any more of whatever was going on. But it didn't mean that she still wasn't worried as hell about him.

As she sped out into the night on her bike she kept trying to talk herself out of all of this. Thank goodness snow hadn't yet fallen in Riverdale – it had been an unseasonably warm winter – but nonetheless, her heavy coat barely provided enough warmth as the cold night air whipped past her. But her nagging intuition was insistent – Jughead would be at the Twilight Drive-In – and she had to go. He had never showed up at Archie's that night – she had kept waiting – looking out her window anxiously. She knew that sometimes he crashed there. But not tonight.

She really hoped her mom didn't bust her for sneaking out so late on Christmas Night.

Jughead was in the projection booth, lost in sorting through the stash of classic movies the Twilight had on hand, when he heard a knock at the door. He was startled and almost dropped a reel. Who could that be?

He opened the door on Betty and gave a sigh of relief. "I thought you might be a Serpent."

"The Southside Serpents are around here at night?"

"You have no idea. It's slowly becoming part of their turf."

"That can't be good for business."

"It's not." He took her in. She looked like she was still dressed in formal wear from her Christmas celebrations earlier that day underneath her red wool coat. "What are you doing here, Betty?"

She shrugged, and looked away nervously. "I don't know."

What is that supposed to mean? Man, girls are weird.

"Here, come watch a movie with me. I'll even let you pick it out."

They discussed a bunch of selections and he gave her his full opinion on each one as he went through various reels for her to pick from. Thoroughly.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to see The Hateful Eight today," she interrupted him at one point.

"Yeah, well, that's just one more thing in a long string of disappointments lately." He sighed with defeat.

"What else has got you down?"

"Well, thanks to Mr. Dixon I don't want to be a director anymore. That's for sure."

"But you love cinema, Jug. Don't let that part of you die just because of one bad experience."

"Okay then, I think I'll try my hand at writing screenplays." He shot her a wry smile.

"You do that. I think you'd be great at it." Intentionally ignoring his sarcasm, she smiled encouragingly and then picked up one of the reels. "I think I'd like to watch this one. I love classic stuff."

"Rebel Without a Cause, eh?" Jughead smiled a bit. "He was a Method actor, you know. James Dean."

"Really?"

"Yup. A Method actor playing an angsty, misunderstood teenage outcast." Jughead said and then smiled and tipped his head, letting her in on the joke. "According to Wikipedia."

"Just like us." Betty smiled back at him.

"Me, maybe," Jughead replied. "But you? No, never you."

Then Jughead instructed Betty on how to thread the film through the projector because she was interested in knowing how it all worked - she didn't want to just sit back and watch him do it all.

"You're a natural," he said at one point, smiling. "I've barely showed you anything, and there you are just threading, locking, and clicking it into place all by yourself."

"I'm a gearhead, Jug. You know that."

"Yeah, but a projector isn't a car."

"Close enough," Betty said and shrugged. When she was finished she flick-flacked her palms together and said, "Well, that was easier than changing out a timing belt, that's for sure."

"I don't even really know what that is," he said, shaking his head.

They settled in to watch the movie from the booth itself, each taking a side. The sound of the film flickering through the machine was soothing, calming. By the time it was over, she was sleepy. She had come out here to check in on Jughead, and he seemed fine – so she figured her work here was done.

"Juggie, I've gotta get home."

"Okay," he said.

"You coming too?" She asked when he didn't make a move to leave himself.

"No, I brought my sleeping bag," he said and pointed to the floor where indeed he had a sleeping bag. And a very full backpack.

"You're going to sleep here? Why?"

"Don't want to disturb anyone, getting in so late, you know." He shrugged, looking away. "It's for the best."

She eyeballed the floor. There was space, but there were also likely creatures. She shivered. "Hey Jughead?"

"Yeah?"

"Let me – let me –" she looked around her surroundings carefully. She saw all the right materials in various forms. Yeah, she could do it. "Let me go get something from my bike. I'll be back in a second."

"'Kay."

"Done!" Betty said with satisfaction and wiped her brow, wrench in hand.

"Betty, I don't know what to say," Jughead said, looking down at what she had transformed into an off-the-floor cot just for him and his sleeping bag.

"Just say thanks." She smiled brightly.

"Uh, thanks."

"Here, let's test this thing. Grab your sleeping bag and get in."

He did as she instructed.

"Looks good, looks good," she said nodding. Then she yawned involuntarily. "Well, I should let you get some sleep before I fall asleep myself on my bike ride home."

"Okay, thank you, Betty."

"No problem. Just so you know, that thing's only temporary – I don't know how long it will hold up so don't make sleeping here a habit, okay?"

"Yes, Mom," he answered wryly.

They laughed together for a bit and then she started to head out. But when she got to the door, she paused and turned around.

"Jughead, I wanted you to know. . ."

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you were my first kiss." She looked away for a bit and did a weird little sway thing before turning back to him and saying, "I think everything worked out the way it was supposed to."

He smiled softly at her and then she turned away and let herself out.

He stayed on the make-shift bed that Betty had built for him just staring at the ceiling, deep in contemplation. They play was over now, he had grieved for her one last time, face down in the cemetery, and they had no more reason to . . .

The corners of his lips drew down. Once he fully realized just how disappointed he was that he would never get the chance to kiss Betty again, he reached for his phone and and sent out a text.

Mom, I think I have finally discovered girls.

FIN