"Cheryl, we're here," Veronica called.

Betty shivered beside her. No matter how many times she'd been to Thornhill before, a chill always ran down her spine when she stepped through the arch-top wooden double doors. There was something actively disinviting about the gothic mansion's dark, mahogany-paneled walls and pristine marble floors.

To temper the cold feeling in her bones, she fiddled with the top button of her floral-printed blue dress.

She felt nervous for some reason, on pins and needles, like something inexplicable was headed her way, just out of reach, and she had no control over it.

It scared and excited her simultaneously.

"You seem in a better mood," Veronica said, glancing over at her.

Betty hid her blush, swiveling her head to examine the stained glass patterns on the interior doors. "I guess so."

"Not upset about Chuck?"

She scoffed. Chuck was the last thing on her mind. Especially not after the series of heated looks she'd exchanged with the cute, dark-haired stranger at the swimming hole. She couldn't help but wonder about him, even several hours later. He had seemed so familiar, although Betty hadn't been able to place him. She knew he didn't attend school with her, but maybe he was from a different part of Riverdale, or a neighboring town? Did that mean there was a sliver of a chance he'd show up at the party tonight?

"Hello, earth to B," Veronica spoke up, breaking her reverie.

Betty looked up, a little dazed. "No," she told Veronica. "Good riddance."

"So you're going to be alright with him here?"

"V, I promise I'm fine."

"Okay." Veronica reached over to squeeze her hand. "But you find me the minute that changes."

Betty squeezed back. "I will."

She smiled at Veronica, giving her appearance a closer once-over in the dusky chandelier light. Veronica hadn't been kidding—she was dressed in a green and blue plaid mini-skirt and a navy lace-up cropped tank top that Betty was sure Archie (and half the boys in their class) would salivate over. For Veronica's sake, Betty hoped her usually clueless friend and next-door neighbor would finally make his move.

"You look incredible by the way. Arch won't know what hit him."

"You think?" Veronica asked girlishly.

A loud "ahem" interrupted them, and Betty glanced up to find Cheryl gliding across the landing of the imperial staircase in a figure-hugging scarlet bandage dress. She gripped the wrought iron and wood bannister, slowly descending the plush burgundy-carpeted steps.

"Veronica, Betty," she greeted. "Are you going to lollygag there all night? Come."

"When's everyone else arriving?" Betty asked, as Cheryl steered them into the Blossom family's mausoleum of a living room.

"Soon."

"And you asked us to arrive early, why?" Veronica questioned. She smoothed down her tight skirt and sat daintily on a gray chaise lounge. "I know it couldn't possibly be to help you plate the canapes."

"The maid's doing that," Cheryl tutted. "And to admire my gorgeous ensemble, obviously."

"It's a skintight red dress, Cheryl," Veronica dismissed. "Not exactly new and different for you."

"No, because your schoolgirl pastiche," Cheryl sneered, waving her hand contemptuously at Veronica's silhouette. "That simply screams original."

"Whatever, Ginger Barbie."

Betty failed to stifle her giggle, and Cheryl turned her judgmental glower onto her.

"And you, Betty, whatever are you wearing?" Her lips twisted up in a grimace. "Why must you insist on dressing like an unsexy poodle for every function? At least put on some lipstick with a hint of color."

Betty looked down at her dress and shrugged. She was used to comments like these. Cheryl made no secret of sneezing at her casual, classic style, labeling it too simple. But if Betty was going to attend a party that would likely involve dodging her ex-boyfriend's drunken attempts to make a pass at her, comfort was paramount. A relatively loose but still feminine button-up dress would do the trick.

"She looks gorgeous, Cheryl, stop it." Veronica wiggled her thick, manicured eyebrows. "Although, I agree, B, bright red lipstick would really pop with that dress."

"Cool it, Frida Shallow. Everyone knows red is my signature color."

"You didn't invent it," Veronica retorted.

Betty sighed. "Guys, come on," she said, playing her usual role of peacemaker. "Can you at least pretend to get along for five minutes?"

Cheryl huffed, but turned to assess Veronica's outfit approvingly. "Fine. I will begrudgingly admit you don't look heinous this evening, Ronnie."

"And I will willingly ignore the back-handedness of that compliment, Cher."

"Happy?" Cheryl asked, arching a brow toward Betty.

"Good enough," she muttered.

The front door banged open and a masculine voice rang out. "The party is officially here!"

Cheryl stood up on her sky-high stilettos, her face tensing when she spotted Reggie and several other Bulldogs depositing a giant keg onto the floor.

"Reginald," she barked. "Don't you dare think for even one moment I'm letting you leave that monstrosity in the foyer."

"Na na na, I can't hear you, Cheryl," he called back, wandering off in search of food.

"I will pummel you," she screeched, chasing after him into the dining room.

In only a matter of minutes, it seemed, their entire grade had filed into the house. Loud music erupted over the speaker system, and Betty winced as an explosive bass quickly filled her eardrums. This was the part of house parties she could most do without.

"Come on, I see Archie," Veronica said, pulling her up from the couch toward the living room's entranceway.

Betty dutifully followed, when an obviously buzzed Chuck cut off her path.

"Hey there, Betty," he slurred, reaching for her waist. "Come to your senses yet?"

Betty darted out of his grasp. "Goodbye, Chuck."

His eyes glinted angrily. "Whatever," he spat. "Keep being a frigid bitch."

Chuck brushed past her before a flustered Betty could respond, beelining straight for Josie. He draped his arm around her skinny frame and licked his lips.

"Hi Jos," he drawled loudly, clearly for Betty's benefit. "I was hoping to run into you."

Betty rolled her eyes, not bothering to strain her ear for Josie's ingratiating response. If Chuck thought she'd be rattled by him immediately trying to sink his hooks into another girl, even one of her friends, he was as brainless as he was sexist. She couldn't care less.

Her eyes roamed the room, catching sight of Veronica now murmuring with Archie. His hazel eyes were blown wide, as if wondering how he'd struck such gold. Betty smiled to herself, her mind floating back to images of the boy from earlier.

She couldn't explain it, but something inside her had fluttered when she caught him looking at her. Like a leaf falling gently to the ground. A feeling, at first small and insignificant, then so strange she could hardly contain it.

It surprised her how little it bothered her to find him staring at her. Maybe because his gaze seemed so smitten, and not at all creepy. He didn't leer at her body like Chuck always did, but really looked at her. As if trying to penetrate underneath, to understand something unseen about her, while still admiring the view.

Yet another thing different about him, Betty intuited, in addition to the book he was toting and his odd lack of a bathing suit. Not that she'd particularly minded his outfit. His arms had looked surprisingly good in that tank top. Lithe and strong, but not too brawny. Her cheeks burned now, wondering how they would feel wrapped around her.

Then there was his hat. She'd never seen a beanie quite like it before, with the brim folded up and crocheted into triangle points to resemble a crown, a red button and white patch sewed into the knit fabric. It felt unique, like something so quintessentially him. Her fingers had itched to run along the points, to smooth back the errant lock of inky black hair that had fallen over his brow. Even from afar, his hair looked as soft as silk.

Of course, his face under that hat hadn't been so distasteful either. Heat unspooled in Betty's stomach just picturing it. Those piercing blue eyes, curious eyebrows, and full pink lips turned up in a smirk. An expression not smug, but mischievous almost, inquisitive. Life a whiff of cigarette smoke curling in the air. It had mesmerized her; she couldn't look away.

He was beautiful. Betty had never thought of a boy that way before, but the description suited him. She wished he'd gotten up to talk to her. He had seemed about to.

"Betty, there you are!"

She looked up with a start to find her friend Kevin skipping across the living room toward her.

"Hi Kevin."

"Do you have temporary amnesia?" he sputtered. His eyes motioned to the mantelpiece, where Chuck was still cozied up next to Josie. "How are you so calm? And how could you not tell me you dumped Chuck!?"

"School's over, Kev," Betty teased. "I didn't think you needed fodder for the Blue & Gold's gossip column anymore."

Kevin placed his hands over his heart in mock hurt. "Not because of that, silly. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm fine. It happened earlier today," she told him, feeling no desire to elaborate on why. Chuck wasn't worth the breath. "It was a long time coming, so I'm good, I promise."

Kevin lifted his eyebrows. "Are you sure? That doesn't bother you at all?"

They both watched as Chuck dragged his fingers down Josie's arm. A bit of nausea rose up in Betty's throat at the image, more from pure disgust than envy. Mostly, she couldn't believe she had ever enjoyed those beefy hands touching her. It seemed preposterous now.

Betty looked to Kevin and firmly shook her head. "He's an idiot. Trust me, I'm over it."

Kevin's expression turned pensive. "A smoking hot idiot—"

Betty groaned. "Not you too."

"But an idiot nonetheless," he finished with a grin.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Amen."

"And now that I know for sure you're okay, I'm going to get us drinks to celebrate your newfound singledom. Don't move."

Kevin bolted for the kitchen, and Betty let her gaze wander toward the entranceway.

Her breath hitched in her throat. It was him. The boy with the beanie. He was standing next to two other guys she didn't recognize by the round antique table in the foyer. He looked disgruntled, like he already wanted to leave. No, the voice in her head pleaded, stay. She tried to take a step forward, but her legs felt like jelly, frozen in place. That was when he spotted her.

The boy's expression softened, his eyes flickering with happiness. She bit her lip and he chuckled, his gaze traveling down the length of her body, before lifting back up to meet hers. His lips pursed open, mouthing a word in her direction. "Pretty," it seemed to say. A blush crossed over Betty's cheeks and she lowered her eyelashes. He's here. He's here. He's here. When she looked up, though, she was momentarily distracted by the sight of Chuck's tongue rammed down Josie's throat. Her face immediately transformed into a scowl. She was far from jealous, but she had expected her so-called friend to at least wait a little more than six hours before making out with her ex for all the world to see.

Betty blinked hard and exhaled. Her lashes sprung open after a moment and she scanned the foyer for a sign of the dark-haired boy, but he seemed to have vanished. She sighed in frustration.

"Bet you could use your Nancy Drew volume seven right about now."

Hot breath tickled her ear, and Betty trembled, any other pesky, lingering thoughts instantly fading away.

"Could I?" she asked, suddenly feeling lightheaded.

"Yes," the person behind her murmured. "It looks that way."

His voice was deep, husky. Betty's eyes fluttered shut, captivated by its warm, confident timbre. Tentatively, she turned around to face him. He was staring at her intensely, his blue eyes even more striking up close. She blushed yet again, her gaze falling to his arms. They were folded casually over his chest, straining against the rolled-up sleeves of his denim button-down shirt. God, he looked good. She hoped he wouldn't notice her knees buckling.

"Favorite of yours?" she breathed.

"Clue in the Diary? It's a classic. The introduction of Ned Nickerson."

"I see." Betty gathered up her wits, deciding to test him a little. After all, given the day she'd had, she had every reason to be wary of potentially cocky, chauvinistic boys. "So that's what you liked about it? A man gets involved?"

The boy's eyes glistened. He seemed ready, eager even, to accept her attempt at a challenge. "Hey, I think Nancy is completely capable on her own. But even a girl genius could use a companion every once in a while."

Betty tilted her head, pondering his answer.

"You don't agree?"

"No, I do." Her green eyes shined back at him. "But I wonder if you feel the same about your precious Sherlock. Since he's the very definition of solitary."

"Ah." He absently fingered one of the suspenders strapped to his belt. "Well, I've always been partial to him and Irene Adler. They could have done great things together."

"She is iconic," Betty agreed, her voice tightening a little as she imagined those fingers toying with the buttons of her dress instead. Snap out of it, Betty. She lifted her eyes back up to his. Safer ground, somewhat, though his gaze on her was intent. "So, it doesn't bother you that she outsmarts him?"

"I think it adds to the appeal."

Betty snickered, her head shaking in wonderment. He seemed to have a ready quip for everything she threw at him. It was actually rather enthralling.

A smirk played on his lips. "What's your name?" he asked.

Her face broke open into a smile at how earnest he sounded despite his sly grin. "Betty."

"I'm Jughead."

Her nose wrinkled curiously. "Nickname?"

"Something like that."

"Jughead," she repeated, testing his name out on her tongue. "I feel like I may have seen you somewhere before?"

There was a wry gleam in his eye as he answered. "You mean besides today at the swimming hole?"

She nodded. "Do you live nearby?"

Jughead leaned closer, as if he were about to whisper in her ear again. "Well, Betty, I know the Southside probably feels a million light years away for a girl like you, but it's really only a few miles."

Betty felt her cheeks blaze, her skin reddening in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"I know. I'm teasing you."

He smiled to reassure her, and she could feel the goosebumps rising on her skin. Even with the undertone of resentment Betty had sensed in his voice, there was something deeply flirtatious about his sarcasm, too. It made her feel bold, uninhibited.

She appraised him, her hands resting on her hips. "Have you seen me before?"

Jughead didn't hesitate. "At Pop's."

Her brow furrowed, thinking. It came to her after a few moments. "You're laptop and coffee guy!"

He quirked an eyebrow up at her. "I'm what?"

"I know, it's silly, but I've seen you there a few times before, at night. You sit in one of the booths farther back, hunched over your keyboard with a cup of coffee." She paused her rambling, as if suddenly realizing how stalkerish this sounded, but Jughead's amused expression goaded her on. "I always wondered what was keeping you so absorbed."

His lips curved up. "And what did you assume?"

"Honestly? I imagined you were one of those internet sleuths who'd fallen down a Reddit rabbit hole."

Jughead laughed. "Not quite."

"What then?"

She expected him to continue to play coy with her, but then his voice lowered, as if to ensure only she could hear. "I write," he revealed. "Short stories, mostly. But I'm actually working on a novel right now."

Betty's breath caught, her stomach tingling at the knowledge he had shared something personal with her. He didn't seem like the type to let his guard down so easily, but then maybe he sensed there was little point in trying to deny the spark between them. He stared at her, rapt, anxious for her to respond, and in that moment, Betty grasped just how besotted with her Jughead was, because she felt exactly the same.

She smiled at him, shyly at first and then more eagerly. "Maybe I can read it sometime?"

Jughead grinned back. "And subject myself to your stinging critiques? I don't know, Betty."

A pink flush spread across her chest and up her neck. She liked the way her name sounded on his lips. There was an easy familiarity to how he pronounced the two soft syllables, as if he'd known for years, but still with that warm, humorous lilt.

"I've been told I'm a good editor." Betty offered him her best doe eyes. "And you already know I have excellent taste."

Jughead pretended to think about it. "True, but I've never liked editors. I prefer complete freedom."

"You mean you're overly sensitive," Betty baited him. "You're afraid I won't like your writing."

There was a twinkle in his eye when he murmured his response, as if she'd read right through him. "I'm very fragile."

She shot him a conspiratorial wink. "I'll be gentle."

"Even with my vomit drafts? I won't show them to anyone else."

Betty's lips curled up in a giddy smile. "Even with those."

"Alright," Jughead conceded, grinning. "You can read it. As long as you don't red pen away my semicolons."

"Oh, no, those will be the first thing to go," she said stubbornly.

Jughead chuckled. He took a step closer to her, his face leaning in toward hers. Betty shivered in anticipation. Was he about to kiss her? To offer yet another confession? She was greedy for either. She sucked in a breath, and Jughead smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He opened his mouth to murmur something, when, over his shoulder, Betty caught sight of Chuck skulking their way. She blanched, noticing the vicious look in his eye. She recognized it too well, like that of a hawk about to swoop down and pounce on a defenseless rabbit.

Before she could warn Jughead, Chuck had his hand clamped on his shoulder, forcing him around.

"Why don't you get the fuck out of here, man?"

Jughead scoffed at Chuck, looking deeply unimpressed. "Why don't you?"

He shrugged out of Chuck's hold and glanced back to Betty with an unbothered smirk. She tried to return his smile despite her uneasiness over Chuck's still looming presence.

"What did semicolons ever do to you?" Jughead joked, his gaze once again glittering with amusement.

"Too many people misuse—"

Mid her sentence, Chuck jerked Jughead by the buckle of his suspenders and whirled him around. Before Jughead's reflexes could kick in, Chuck swung his arm forward and suckerpunched him in the face.

Betty yelped, stumbling sideways, as Jughead toppled to the floor beside her.

"What the fuck?" Jughead snarled. He staggered up angrily, one hand clutching his cheek, the other balling into a fist.

As he prepared to take a retaliatory swing, Moose and Reggie materialized, bending Jughead's wrists behind his back and disarming him.

"Get him out of here," Chuck bellowed.

"Chuck, come on," Betty shrieked. "Quit it."

But he ignored her pleas, pointing to the two dark-haired guys she had seen Jughead standing with earlier. They looked furious. They shoved their heaping plates of food back onto Cheryl's dining room table and barrelled toward the living room.

"That other scum, too," Chuck ordered.

Several Bulldogs grabbed them, dragging them to the foyer alongside a struggling Jughead.

Betty watched, stupefied. She wanted to chase after him, to stop this lunacy somehow, but her feet felt rooted in place, too horrified to react. It would have been useless anyway, she knew. It wasn't like she could fight off a bunch of drunken football players on her own, especially not with Chuck orchestrating the scene like some sort of ridiculous, testosterone-fueled movie bit. She squeezed her eyes and shook her head back and forth. Please let me wake up and this all be a nightmare.

A loud chorus of "fuck yous" sounded from outside. They snapped her out of her daze.

Betty glanced up as the mansion's double doors slammed shut. Chuck was strutting back into the living room, looking overly pleased with himself. He ambled toward her, the smirk on his face broadening.

"Don't worry," he told Betty, smugly wiping his now discolored knuckles against his chest. "That creep won't bother you again."

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "You're unbelievable," she fumed.

Betty pushed away from Chuck and rushed to the casement window next to the front door. She caught only a glimpse of Jughead before he and his friends disappeared down the voluminous driveway, stalking off toward Thornhill's imposing wrought iron gate. He didn't look back once. Her heart sank in her chest.

She stood there for a few minutes, waiting for her breathing to settle, until finally she sighed. Her tight grip on the window sill loosened and she slowly turned around. The party seemed to be continuing as normal, the disruption already forgotten. She felt sick picturing how her classmates would excuse the night's events, if they ever thought of them again. Just another crazy party, they'd laugh. Just Chuck being Chuck. Bile rose in Betty's stomach. She wanted to leave. She couldn't stand being here for one second longer.

With Veronica apparently nowhere in sight on the first story, Betty elbowed her way up the crowded stairwell in search of her.

"V," she called when she reached the landing. No answer. She crept down the long hallway, her eyes narrowing in the dim light. Her voice rose to a shout. "V, are you up here?"

The door to Jason's old bedroom clipped open and Veronica poked her head out. Her usually glossy jet-black hair was askew, her mauve lipstick almost completely smudged off. Despite Veronica's attempt to keep the door open only a crack, there was no mistaking the flash of bright red hair in the bed behind her. Archie.

Betty couldn't help but snort, despite the irritation still flooding her body. Cheryl will have a field day with this one.

"B, is everything okay?"

As desperate as Betty was to get the hell away from this party, she also didn't want to intrude on her friend finally sealing the deal with her crush. One of them ought to at least enjoy herself tonight.

"No," she answered, truthfully. "But, whatever, it's fine. I'll go find Kevin."

A crash sounded from the room, and Veronica let the door slip ajar as she glanced behind her.

"Oof," Archie muttered. He was standing by the ornate wooden bed, his fingers rustling under the red plaid pillow cover for his shirt. "Sorry, uh, I'm not listening."

Veronica tried and failed to suppress her giggle, shooting Betty an apologetic grin. "Are you sure, B?"

"Yes, don't worry about it. Have fun."

"I'll text you tomorrow," Veronica promised, easing the door closed.

Betty trudged back down the hallway and the stairs, making sure to avoid Chuck's gaze as she hunted for Kevin. She found him in the kitchen, somehow having been corralled into preparing fruity mixed drinks for the masses.

"Kevin," she said, her voice urgent.

"Oh, Betty," he squealed. "I promised you a toast, didn't I? What'll it be?" He glanced down at the assortment of glass and plastic bottles littering the marble kitchen counter. "Vodka party punch or cherry cola and rum?"

"Neither." Betty tapped her foot against the floor's dark granite tiles. "Can we please, please, leave?"