Betty's fingers shook as she turned the ignition of her mother's gray sedan. She stared out the windshield at the darkening pink sky. The parking lot at Pop's was beginning to empty, the nightly dinner rush on its last legs. At least that means fewer prying eyes, Betty thought with a sigh. Her skin immediately prickled at the idea of being watched, still traumatized by the stares from that first horrible week of school. Betty flexed her hands above the wheel to calm down.

Deep breaths, she ordered herself. Don't dig your nails in.

She had come to the diner to see Chuck, after he'd ambushed her in the cafeteria earlier and asked her to meet him somewhere outside of school to talk. She wasn't enthused at the prospect, but she'd been hard-pressed to refuse him with the other Vixens sitting at the table watching her every move.

Betty opened the car door and gingerly stepped out, toying with the knot of denim fabric tied at her navel. It was an Indian summer day for late September, the evening breeze warm against her skin. Still, she shivered. She wished she'd changed out of her A-line brown corduroy skirt into jeans, or at least brought a cardigan to wear over her sleeveless button-down. She was so scatterbrained lately. Not that she'd had much time to think ahead between her Blue & Gold meeting, finishing 15 pages' worth of homework, and pecking at the dinner her mother insisted she eat.

Betty's fingers dipped along the exposed skin of her abdomen as she crossed the parking lot toward the diner's entrance. Her stomach felt flatter than normal, almost sunken in. Betty winced. She hadn't had much of an appetite for anything these last few weeks, even her beloved vanilla milkshakes.

Everything reminded her of him. Food, books, places. Everything.

She missed Jughead more than she thought was possible. She missed joking with him, kissing him, being with him. It was like withdrawal. Her body physically ached for him. It had ever since that ugly night in her room. But what could she do? How was she supposed to approach him after what had happened?

Every day, all through her classes and up to the moment she fell asleep, the words "cool it for a while" played on a continuous loop in her head, taunting her. She didn't blame Jughead for misinterpreting them as a break up. They had been nothing but a flimsy attempt to placate, to weasel her way out of making an actual decision. He was right to call her pathetic.

Sometimes, alone in her bed at night, Betty imagined writing him a long, anguished apology, or, even crazier, showing up at his doorstep with freshly baked cookies and an imploring smile. But she never did. It all felt not nearly enough.

Betty folded her arms around herself, lingering for a moment on the steps outside Pop's. She had hoped she would start to feel better as days slipped into weeks. But even though the whispers and rumors had died down at school, she was as miserable as ever. Confused, too.

She felt like she was seeing Jughead everywhere. On the sidelines when she cheered at Friday night football games. Tearing tickets outside the Bijou in a bizarre yet adorable pair of 3D glasses. Zipping by her house on his motorcycle when she returned from third-wheeling coffee dates with Archie and Veronica. He never said anything, just stared at her longingly, willing her to see him. As if she could miss.

Why doesn't he ever try to talk to me? Is he as ashamed as me? As scared? He has no reason to be.

Betty shook away the thoughts before they inevitably spiraled into yet another crying jag over him, and pushed open the door to Pop's. She flinched as the bell tinkled above her. Relax, she ordered herself. You're fine. You'll be fine.

She waved to Pop and gave a cursory glance around the diner. No Chuck yet, not that she expected him to arrive before her. She was early to a fault, always.

Her eyes narrowed, searching for an empty booth to sit. There was one close to the far left-hand corner. She took a few steps toward it, freezing when the familiar points of a worn gray crown beanie waded into view. Betty's breath hitched. Jughead.

He was sitting alone with his laptop, a dirty plate by the edge of the table. The corners of Betty's lips crept up when she noticed a mushy fry pushed to the side. He'd always preferred them hard and crispy. She swallowed in a breath, her gaze lifting to the tiny moles dotting his cheek.

As if sensing her eyes on him, Jughead slowly tilted his head toward the door. A chill skittered down Betty's spine when he spotted her. His brow creased slightly, but he didn't seem upset, or angry. His lips turned up at her in the ghost of a smile and Betty lost her breath completely. Her body in a trance, she found herself walking toward him.

Afraid he might not actually want her to sit with him, she stood hovering just over his booth.

"Hi," she stuttered out.

"Hey."

Betty fiddled with the key charm around her neck, unsure of what to say next. Jughead's eyes followed her movements. He'd always been fascinated by this particular necklace, she remembered. Her mind flashed to one of their last nights together at his trailer—Jughead tracing his finger along the dainty silver chain as she lay tucked into his side on the couch, whispering over and over how pretty she was. Betty shuddered, her eyes scrunching shut. Every memory was as bittersweet as wine now.

Jughead cleared his throat and she startled, her eyes bursting open.

"How have you been?" he murmured.

"Okay." Betty gnawed at her bottom lip. "You?"

"About the same."

They were both silent for several moments.

"Betty." Jughead's mouth twisted, hesitating.

She glimpsed down at him, her heart beating a little faster. "Yeah?"

"That's a lie." His dark blue eyes penetrated hers. "I miss you."

Betty's eyes glistened as she blinked away tears. "I miss you, too." She placed an unsteady hand on the top of the banquette, her knees buckling under his intense gaze. "I—I didn't want it to be like this, Jug."

Jughead sighed, but it seemed almost half in relief. "Me either."

She gulped down the lump in her throat and Jughead considered her with a careful expression, as if debating whether to rip open the scar tissue between them. A muscle in his jaw trembled, his mouth pursing open.

"I was mad at you, but I shouldn't have left like that, Betty," he muttered. "I shouldn't have said those things to you."

"No." Her head shook in disagreement. "I'm sorry I even suggested we—" Betty's eyes locked shut once again as she exhaled. She couldn't even say the words that had been haunting her for weeks out loud. She opened her eyes with a soft frown. "It wasn't fair to you. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I know." Jughead acknowledged her with a rueful smile. "I got angry. Angrier than I should have. All this shit was going on with my dad and then what you said—"

Betty instinctively touched his hand over the table, and Jughead's mouth fell shut, watching her. Her skin sizzled at the brush of physical contact between them, burning even stronger at the sudden heat creeping into his eyes.

"Is everything okay now?" she asked. "Is he alright? Are you?"

Jughead stared up at her with the same gentle look he'd shot her the night of their first date at the Twilight. His eyes had been filled with affection then. They still were, but now there was something richer, too, vivid, more distinct. Goosebumps ran up Betty's arm.

"Yeah," Jughead relayed, his hand growing warmer under hers. "He started rehab last week."

"That's so good, Jug."

Jughead nodded, swallowing thickly. Betty pressed lightly on his knuckles and their fingers entwined like vines of ivy. Jughead grazed his thumb over the underside of her palm. His gaze found hers.

"I have to tell you something." He looked shamefaced.

Betty braced herself. He's with someone else. He doesn't want me anymore. I screwed everything up.

"Okay," she choked out.

"That night, after—I got drunk." Jughead paused, his eyes lowering to the crumbs on his plate. "I started hooking up with my ex. We didn't do everything, I stopped it—but it was wrong."

Betty's throat tightened. "Oh," she mumbled. The admission stung, badly. She simultaneously felt like he'd spurned her and, worse, that she'd failed him. That she'd driven him to drinking and running straight into his ex's arms. Tears pricked her eyes and she glanced away from him, her gaze falling to the table. Jughead's hand was still wrapped around hers, but she wasn't pulling away. His fingertips were soft, and even despite what he'd just revealed, they cocooned her in a feeling of safety. As if this touch, this tiny scrap of connection between them, were the only thing keeping her fragile heart from shattering completely.

"Can you forgive me?" Jughead's eyes probed hers, his fingers squeezing her hand a smidge tighter.

"It's okay, Juggie," she whispered without much hesitation. "I want us to…" Her voice trailed off, too frightened to say it aloud. They were still so breakable.

But Jughead simply nodded, understanding. "Do you think we could—?"

"Betty, there you are."

Betty instantly recoiled at the sound of Chuck's booming voice reverberating through the diner. Jughead glimpsed up toward the door, scowling when he recognized who she was here to meet.

"Hello?" Chuck continued, his beefy footsteps approaching.

Jughead's hand snapped away from under hers. Betty's legs faltered. She stumbled a step backward, searching Jughead's face. He managed to grant her a crooked half-smile, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes, like the strings to the last bit of possibility between them had been cut and he had lost her for good.

"No, I—" She wanted to reassure him that wasn't true, but she felt like a trapped deer. The words weren't coming out.

"You should go, Betts." Jughead spoke gently but with finality.

It was the first time she'd heard his nickname for her in weeks. That alone was enough to make her want to cling to him. But Jughead didn't waver. He jutted his chin out at her, urging her on.

Betty spun around slowly, forcing herself to slide into the booth Chuck had claimed. He shot her a wolfish grin and thanked her for meeting him. Betty nodded, distractedly. The question of what he'd asked her here for was in the back of her throat, but her mind was moving too slowly. Chuck soon launched into an uninteresting anecdote about that day's football practice. Betty's eyes glazed over, barely able to register anything but her view of the back of Jughead's beanie.

"Want something?" Chuck asked Betty when a waitress arrived to take their order. "My treat."

Betty shook her head, still in a daze. "No thanks."

Chuck asked for a cheeseburger and fries, before returning his focus to Betty. She tried not to squirm.

"You sure you're not hungry?"

"I'm fine." Her fingers began to drum against her knee, wishing he'd get to the point of what he wanted.

"So how are you doing?"

A sporadic clacking of keys broke her limited concentration and her eyes sought out Jughead's. But his attention remained fixed on his laptop. Betty suppressed a sigh and glanced back toward Chuck. "Okay, you?"

"Getting by." Chuck squared his gaze on her. "How's the new boyfriend?"

She peered at Jughead again, but he was sitting ramrod straight, avoiding looking over at them, having clearly heard the question.

"We broke up," Betty said in a small voice.

Chuck sat up with interest. "Was he mean to you? Because I'll kick his ass." His expression grew smug. "I've done it before."

Betty stifled an eye roll. "No, we were just different. That's all."

Chuck raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't say anything. His food arrived and he took a huge bite of his burger. Betty's stomach turned.

"Listen," he said, swallowing. "I owe you an apology."

"Okay," she said cautiously.

"What I did last year was really misogyn—what's the word?"

"Misogynistic," Betty supplied quietly.

"Right, that."

Betty heard a half-smothered snort from Jughead's table, but when her eyes rose in his direction, he seemed very absorbed in his half-empty Word document.

She frowned and glimpsed back to Chuck. "It was."

"I'm sorry about that." He munched on his fries slowly as if to emphasize his regretfulness.

Betty nibbled at her bottom lip, bewildered as to what he possibly wanted her to say. They had hardly interacted since the end of junior year. She wasn't sure what sort of redemption he was looking for from her, unless…Oh. It hit her like a truck. Oh, god. She wriggled in her seat in discomfort.

"But I am changing," Chuck continued, when Betty didn't say anything. "I started going to church with my dad over the summer and I'm taking these art classes. I think I might want to draw comics or kids' books."

She smiled tightly. "Good for you, Chuck."

Chuck's brown eyes lifted straight to hers. "Betty, I really am trying to be better."

"That…that's great." She tried to sound encouraging. What good would it do her to chew him out for something that happened months ago? It certainly wouldn't make her feel any better about her heartache over Jughead.

Betty's eyes prayed once more for his gaze, but nothing. Why won't he even look at me? Doesn't he know I'd rather be sitting across from him, even after everything?

Chuck didn't seem to notice her distraction. He licked his tongue over his lips and appraised her. "I know you're probably still figuring stuff out, but I'd like to take you to homecoming next week." He smiled winningly at Betty. "If you're okay with that."

A chill went through her. She glanced in desperation toward Jughead's booth. His fingers seemed to have stiffened at the invitation. His typing grew stilted and then completely quiet.

"I don't know—"

"As friends is fine, too," Chuck cut in to clarify, but his tone was a touch more pushy than friendly. "Come on, it'll be fun."

Before she could even think to form an answer, Jughead was slamming his laptop shut. She grimaced as she watched him jam it into his messenger bag and storm past them out of Pop's. He didn't look at Betty once as he passed their booth. Her heart sank into her stomach.

"Betty?" Chuck nudged.

Betty wiped away the tears swimming in her eyes. For all Chuck's paeans to having changed, she knew he wouldn't relent until she said yes. And now she had no real excuse not to. Jughead was gone.

"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. She tugged at the knot of her shirt, not meeting his eye. "I'll go with you."

"Oh my god, ribbons," Midge shrieked.

The rest of the girls in the locker room squealed and chased after her, grabbing handfuls of the silky blue and yellow strands to decorate their ponytails and buns.

"B, do you want one?" Veronica asked her.

"Huh?" Betty glimpsed up from studying the wooden grooves of the narrow bench they sat on. Her eyes constricted as she watched the other River Vixens crowding around the mirrors over the sinks to fix their hair. "No, I'm fine."

"Okay, I'll do your face in a second."

Betty nodded, her eyes casting to the square patterns on the floor. She bit her lip and fiddled with the pleats of her cheerleader skirt.

"Sneakers laced tight, girls," Cheryl bellowed. She sauntered around the locker room, examining each girl with a critical eye. "Need I remind you that tripping at this morning's homecoming pep rally is a surefire way to be booted off the squad?"

"Cheer nazi," Veronica muttered under her breath.

Betty offered a half-hearted snicker just as Cheryl approached them.

"Tighten that ponytail, Betty," she scolded. "It looks sloppy."

Betty refrained from rolling her eyes. Her fingers lifted up to her hair, pulling the blonde strands so taut she was afraid the band would snap. "Better?"

"It'll suffice," Cheryl proclaimed with an exaggerated groan. "Ten minutes till showtime." She pranced off to the next girl.

"God, she's on the warpath today." Veronica fluffed her hair over her shoulders. "Scoot over, B."

Betty inched closer and Veronica angled a thin make-up brush toward her face. Betty shivered as the cold bristles grazed her cheek.

Her mind wandered as Veronica carefully drew the letter "B" for Bulldogs in blue and yellow face paint over her skin. After a few minutes, Veronica laid the brushes down on the bench and smiled.

"Voila," she said, handing Betty her engraved silver compact mirror.

Betty stared at her reflection in the glass. The "B" looked good, but she didn't. There were purple circles under her eyes, the rest of her skin ashen. She wondered if Veronica had noticed.

"It's great, V," she murmured. She clasped the mirror shut and slid it back to Veronica, her gaze lingering once again on the bench. It was only 10 am and already she couldn't wait for this day to be over.

Veronica peered over at her. "Are you okay, B?"

"Yes, of course." Betty's lips curled up tightly, but inwardly she sighed. The same fake smile had been pasted on her face for weeks. At this point, it felt like a tattoo she'd never be able to wash off.

Veronica's eyebrows knit together, appraising her. "Archie and I have been worried about you."

"I'm fine, V." Betty winced at how strained the words sounded. She clearly wasn't fine, but what good was dwelling on it going to do? She couldn't go back in time, and neither could Veronica.

"It's okay if you're not, B." Veronica's voice was gentle but probing. "If you want to talk about Jughead."

Betty glanced at Veronica sharply. Except for crying her eyes out to Veronica in her bedroom the night she and Jughead had splintered apart, the two of them had mostly avoided the subject of him since then, each afraid of breaking the fragile truce between them.

"What's there to talk about?"

Veronica toyed with the blue and yellow strands of her pom-poms. "I assume you saw him recently."

Betty bit into her cheek. "Why would you say that?"

"You seem even sadder this week." Veronica offered her a consoling smile when Betty's shoulders twitched. "What happened, B?"

Betty sighed, but kept quiet. As much as she was bursting to share her interaction with Jughead at Pop's, she wasn't sure she trusted Veronica not to become judgmental. It was scary to contemplate opening up to her friend only to be slapped in the face. She'd had enough of that feeling over the summer.

Veronica pursed her lips, but didn't press. She looked at Betty, a different question in her eyes. "Did you know Archie and Jughead were close when they were younger?"

Betty frowned. "No."

Jughead had never mentioned to her he was friendly with anyone else from the Northside, let alone her childhood friend and next-door neighbor. She wondered why he'd kept it a secret.

"Apparently, their dads were buddies in high school. Mr. Jones helped Fred build up Andrews Construction. He was the foreman." Veronica grimaced slightly. "Well, before he got fired for drinking."

Betty felt herself getting dizzy. "Oh."

Veronica's gaze met hers. She spoke softly. "Archiekins said Jughead is a really good guy, though."

Tears unconsciously pricked Betty's eyes. She swallowed. "He is."

"B, I—" Veronica hesitated, reaching for Betty's hand. "I know I haven't been a good friend to you. I misjudged him, and it was unfair. I should have trusted your instincts."

A lump wedged in Betty's throat. She inhaled to keep from crying.

"I'm so sorry." Veronica held her gaze. "For what it's worth, I promise to support you now if you want to be with him."

Veronica squeezed her wrist for emphasis and Betty nodded, a small but wistful smile gracing her lips.

"Thanks, V." Betty sniffled, releasing her hand from Veronica's grasp to wipe at her nose. "But I think it's a lost cause."

Veronica's brow furrowed. "Why? If you love him, you should be with him."

Betty bristled at Veronica's choice of word. But is it so far off? the voice in the back of her head mocked. What are you feeling now but lovesickness?

"I mean it, B. Invite him to the dance tonight."

Betty gnawed at her bottom lip. She appreciated the sentiment, but it was too late now. Jughead was finished with her. He hadn't tried to catch a glimpse of her since they'd run into each other at the diner. And every time Betty started to type out a message to him, she stopped herself, afraid he didn't want to hear from her. His stomping out of Pop's had seemed like a pretty final nail in the coffin.

"It's done, V. I really hurt him." Betty wound her arms around herself, her voice falling. "I'm going to homecoming with Chuck anyway."

Veronica gazed at her skeptically. "Is that really what you want, B?"

Betty wringed her hangs together but didn't respond. Of course it isn't.

"Ready, Vixens?" Cheryl boomed. She trotted over to the end of the bench, quickly picking up on Betty and Veronica's serious expressions. "Oh, are we moping again, Betty? Did you forget this is a pep rally?"

The other girls began to cackle like hyenas, Josie the loudest of all. Betty flushed bright red.

Veronica glowered at Cheryl. "Give it a freaking rest, Blossom."

"Aw, don't you make an adorable guard dog, Veronica," Cheryl cooed.

Titters sounded around the room as Veronica's nostrils flared dangerously.

Cheryl shot them both a triumphant sneer and something inside Betty snapped. She didn't deserve this. Her whole life she'd been doing everything for everyone else. Everything to be perfect. The perfect friend, the perfect student, the perfect cheerleader. But at what price? Losing the boy she adored? It wasn't worth it.

It had never been worth it.

Betty glanced between Veronica and Cheryl, her green eyes flashing. Maybe it was time she learned to stand up for herself.

She placed her hand on the crook of Veronica's elbow. "It's fine, V."

Clutching her pom-poms in her fists, Betty rose to her feet and stepped a bit too close into Cheryl's personal space.

"You're right, Cheryl, I am moping again." Betty took a deep breath and continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You probably would be too if you'd been heartbroken for weeks and your so-called friends were a bunch of conceited jerks."

The locker room grew eerily quiet, enough to hear a safety pin drop. No one but Veronica ever dared to talk back to Cheryl.

"Get yourself in line," Cheryl spat, after recovering from her double take. "Or I'll kick you off the Vixens."

Betty swallowed nervously, but when her initial bout of panic subsided, she realized she didn't actually care. There was only one thing she cared about right now—one person—and it sure as hell wasn't some dumb high-school cheerleading squad she'd probably forget about in a year.

Channeling Jughead's trademark smirk as best she could, Betty fixed her narrow gaze on Cheryl. "Don't worry about it. I quit."

Without another word, Betty whirled around and tossed her pom-poms onto the floor. She pushed open the double doors that led to the football field and stalked out, ignoring Cheryl's insistent screams that she get back this instant.

Betty sprinted toward the chainmail fence surrounding the empty field, slumping against it and laughing until her chest hurt. Only when she heard the flash of a motorcycle whipping by in the distance did she go still.

Her heart pulsed, thinking of Jughead. She wished it were him, racing over from Southside High to come barging into the pep rally with his leather Serpent jacket to claim her. Betty's lips rose up for a moment, imagining the commotion, before slipping back into a frown.

God, she was so stupid. Going to a silly school dance and getting dressed up in a pretty gown Jughead wouldn't even see wasn't what she wanted. She'd give anything to spend tonight in a pair of sweatpants on the lumpy couch in his trailer, eating Chinese takeout and cuddling through an old black-and-white movie, Jughead mumbling in her ear about the meaninglessness of their fortune cookie messages.

Betty let out a soft sob into the cool autumn air. Screw the game and the dance. She was going over to Jughead's place as soon as school let out. She would beg for his forgiveness if she had to. She needed him and she was done pretending otherwise.