August 2nd, 2019

"What do you remember? About the end?"

That's how all the interviews began.

Some people would squirm on their chairs, dredging up uncomfortable memories, stumbling through horrors upon horrors that Betty herself was no stranger to. Some would admit that they didn't recall the finer details, and then ask if that was absurd. You should remember, right? The day everything went up in flames, so why couldn't they tell you about it? And some would sit ram-rod straight, looking Betty right in the eye and almost clinically recounting how everything went down, a surefire sign that they too had gone over every piece, wondering what they could have done differently.

Sweet Pea fell into the first category. He didn't like talking about the 'before'. He didn't like recalling a time when Betty was a stranger, an annoyance to him.

Jellybean was the second. She picked at her nails and her face blushed as she admitted everything was sort of foggy for her. In fact, it was like one day it was okay, and then it wasn't and there wasn't an in-between. Betty had a theory her brain was blocking out memories, but that was fine. Jelly didn't need to have those.

And Betty fell into the third category. When she had Sweet Pea dictate her notes, she looked right into the camera and retold how it all went down, moment by moment, like a historian talking about the fall of Rome.

That's how it felt to her, anyway.

She wasn't sure who or what spurned the idea into being, but at some moment, Betty figured she ought to be the one to record their histories.

She wasn't sure anyone else would.

Perhaps she felt the spirit of Jughead on her shoulder, whispering that if he couldn't, she should. Perhaps her journalistic cravings had gone beyond what she could do and had been doing.

Or, perhaps she was, for the first time, so sure of the future that she thought it worth marking any sort of commentary. She recorded everyone on a camcorder and also took notes, unsure which method would be the best for longevity - plus, she liked the sense of a backup.

She spent weeks in thought about what questions were worthy contenders. If she wanted to do this like a journalism piece and not like a novel, there needed to be cohesion and unity among the questions. Not every subject would want to sit for hours on end, if anyone agreed at all! She needed a carefully curated list of questions for every sort of person…a list for those who wanted to participate, but not too much. A list for those who would linger as long as it took to finish a meal, and those who wanted to sit and divulge each day in detail.

She needed a way to weave all these experiences together after it was done.

If it ever got done…because that's the thing…no two experiences were alike.

Sure, they all shared a few unfortunate details (loss, angst, hope, light), but to say that the end of the word was a 'one size fits all' experience was dreadfully narrow-minded.

Betty thought that the first question was a good way to start. It's what people were interested in, anyway.

She remembered back in grade school, her teachers had asked kids to pose a question to their parents; 'what do you remember about 9/11'.

And everyone had very different experiences but all could answer.

Betty wondered what her life-defining moment would be, the question that everyone would know where they were or what happened.

Apparently, 'Apocalypse' was it.

Because even if people like Jelly were fuzzy on the finer details, they still remembered where they were and what they were doing.

Everyone had an answer to this question, as harrowing as it may be.

Bree talked about how she'd been in the middle of a presentation in school, one she wasn't prepared for, and she wished that something could interrupt her so she could finish it.

"Of course, all things considered, I feel like God went a little far in granting that request," She'd said with a shy, almost fox-like smile.

Jelly talked about how she'd been on vacation the days leading up to it; she described in vivid detail everything about her hotel room and the resort pool.

One of the girls, someone just passing through, talked about how she'd been on a train. About how bizarre it was to get on in normal life and get off in ruins…she almost felt like she'd died somewhere in between, and walked out into the underworld.

After that question, a good grounding question because everyone had something to say, Betty would ask one that was…best described as bittersweet.

"What is your favorite memory from the before times?"

Sometimes people's eyes lit up, sometimes they shadowed a bit in a regretful ache. Sometimes, it was a mixture of both; their eyes gleaming as they wove the best moment they could recall, with thick tears running down their cheeks.

So far, everyone she'd asked that question to, had cried.

Betty didn't think it mattered reporting whether the tears were gleeful or sorrowful…they felt like two places meeting in a circle, didn't they?

When she asked Sweet Pea, he mulled over it for a long time.

Most did.

It felt like a weighted question…choose your favorite memory. Whether it was difficult because they were so few or so many, it seemed no one wanted to answer quickly.

Finally, Sweet Pea replied; "When I was a freshman, Toni found $50 on the ground. It was the twins ' birthdays - Vade and Jedi - and we decided to spend it as a group. We went to Pop's together. When Pop learned it was a double birthday, he baked a cake for them. And he wouldn't take our money. We took every seat at the bar seating; little Serpents lining up and down. Orca had quarters and we took turns picking songs on the jukebox; I remember that Toni yelled at me because I spent too much time flipping through the options. We spent the $50 on some candy and a new movie- I don't even remember what it was, but we all went back and piled into Joaquin's trailer to watch it. There must have been like twelve of us. That's what I miss; my friends, Pop's diner, stores with movies…." He tilted his head, "I don't really think about them much, not if I can help it. I think I also just miss…small moments of human kindness," His eyebrows drew together as he spoke carefully, "Like Pop giving free food to a bunch of disenfranchised youth. Or…paying for the person behind you at McDonald's…giving a big tip to a waitress, just to make her night better…offering to take someone's picture so they can get the entire family in…that sort of thing."

When it was Betty's turn, she had rolled his question around in her brain more times than she could count.

"I don't know if mine is a real memory or more of a feeling…" She admitted, "It's me, my mom, and my dad. Archie and his dad. My dad and Mr. Andrews are cooking on the grill. My mother was playing tag with the three kids. The sun is warm, the grass tickles our legs, and there's the sound of cicadas in the trees. It was just…care-free…" She looked at Sweet Pea, "I think sometimes I miss not having responsibilities." She whispered quietly.

Betty would continue down her list, asking her questions. Sometimes it led to unexpected avenues. Oftentimes, it gave her a better sense of the women who passed through here.

She would ask, "What is the one thing the apocalypse has given you?" Not that she expected anyone to be grateful, but you didn't wake up on the other side of it the exact same person as when you went in.

She would ask, "What is something that everyone should know to survive in a place like this?" and the answers would vary from learning some intangible quality to girls explaining how to butcher a deer or make a fire when you had no supplies.

She would ask (if they would answer), "Did you start out traveling with anyone and what happened to them if they aren't here?"

She would ask, "Who is one person you hope to see again?"

She would ask, "Who is someone you think survived, despite the odds?"

And, usually around this question, people would just talk…freely.

The biggest thing Betty learned was that in the absence of therapists, people just needed to be heard. For someone to acknowledge that, despite it all, they were still here.

And Betty, of course, would listen.

August 8th, 2019

"Well…what about this one?" Bree held up a dress, "It's only burnt a bit at the bottom; basically nothing!"

"Ooh, I love the lace on that one!" Amanda said, clapping her hands.

"I dunno-," Betty winced, "It looks like…" She examined the wedding dress, standing in the ruins of a trampled bridal store, "I think I'd look like Ariel in that."

"C'mon, put it on the hanger," Jelly urged, "Just try it on. For fun!"

"I got another one!" A more recent semi-permanent addition, Angela, said, pushing through the ruins, "This one's more simple; like you said, right?" She offered the dress to Betty.

"Except there's blood on the hem," Bree scrunched her nose.

"Right…" Angela tapped her chin, "Erm, how do you feel about a non-white wedding dress? We could probably hit up a Hobby Lobby and get some dye."

"Yes," Mandy snapped, "Non-white dresses are totally 'in'. Plus," She added with a flirtatious wink, "We know you're not a vir-,"

Betty gave a heavy cough, jerking her head toward where Jelly was doing her best to fluff down the few dresses they'd found.

"Fine," Mandy snorted behind her hand, "We know that you and Cadmus…well…" She grinned.

"I dunno," Betty winced, "I just liked the idea of a traditional dress. As traditional as I can be, considering the circumstances."

"Who would have thought that a bridal store deserved to be trashed?" Angela huffed, shoving ruined dresses to the side, "Who is on the run for their lives and goes, 'Wait, babe, you know what stores is going to be totally unguarded?"

"Wedding dresses are hella expensive. I wouldn't blame a gal." Bree said, eyes wide, "Like this one…yeesh! $3,000," She said, reaching down to check the price of a dress that was mostly just rags at this point.

"I don't think it was ransacked, I think it was ruined. Probably by teenagers that thought it was 'fun' or something," Mandy pointed out logically. Everyone hummed in annoyed agreement.

"Well, we have five dresses," Jelly called from the side.

"I just don't know if any of those are…mine…" Betty said, picking at her fingernails nervously, "I know I can't really be picky, but…" She blinked back tears, surprised at how emotional all this was making her, "I guess I always thought-,"

"You'd get to choose from more." Mandy finished.

"And her mom was rich!" Jelly broke in, "She could have afforded a dress like that."

"Well," Betty gave a dry laugh. Thinking of her mom made her emotional too, which was wild, considering her mom was never a very good person, "If I was really marrying Cadmus, she certainly wouldn't pay for the wedding. Same with your brother too."

"Who would she have approved of? Archie?" Jelly asked.

"God, no! Honestly, I think the only man she would have been happy with was a straight-laced boring accountant she picked for me," Betty said with a roll of her eyes, "And I would have hated it. And never agreed, obviously. Well, I know how batshit she went when my sister and Jason got engaged…" She frowned, "I mean, I guess they were…" She glanced around, "Erm… never mind."

"Oh, please, Ari!" Bree said, "Just try them on? For us?"

Betty relented, "Fine. Just because I loved watching 'Say Yes to the Dress' as a kid."

As expected, Betty hated all of the dresses.

Of course, the choices weren't exactly winners.

"There's a reason these were left," Mandy said, blinking in shock at the most recent one Betty was sporting.

"You look like a housewife from the 80s," Angela said with a hard wince.

"Or a-," Whatever she was about to say, Bree quieted, glancing at Jelly. Jelly was staring at Betty with a scowl.

"You look like a prostitute."

"Jellybean!" Betty gasped, absolutely scandalized as the rest of the girls collapsed into giggles, "Where did you learn that?"

"I'm a pre-teen in the apocalypse. You learn stuff," Jelly said unapologetically.

"Well," Betty groaned, reminding herself to have a talk with Sweet Pea about this moment later at home, "I don't think any of these are 'yeses'."

"So what are you gunna do? Go down the aisle naked?" Angela asked.

"Firstly, there is no aisle. Second, of course not!" Betty yanked herself out of the dress, "I'll…I'll…" An idea crossed her mind, "I'll make it myself!"

She saw the four girls exchange looks and she nearly tripped to turn around, "What?" Betty demanded.

"Have you ever sewed before?" Angela asked.

"Well, no, but how hard can it be?"

Mandy snorted into her hand, "Oh, girl. A wedding dress isn't the place to start."

"Well…" Betty didn't like being told she couldn't do something, "I have all the time in the world to learn, basically." She pointed out.

"You probably want it out of silk or shit, right? That's not a beginner's fabric," Angela looked stressed, "I would know-,"

"Wait," Mandy turned, tilting her head, "You sew?"

"Yeah. Casually. Hobbyist," Angela said, "Before."

"Look, you can teach me then," Betty waved away the worries, "It's better than any of these."

The girls wordlessly looked at the pile of tulle and crinoline.

"How about this…as my wedding present to you, I'll help you sew it," Angela said, "Just so you aren't wearing scraps on your wedding day."

"I can embroider!" Mandy bounced a bit in her seat, "You said you liked that look, didn't you?"

"Ooh, I can do beading!" Bree said, her eyes light, "And surely other girls at the house could too."

"You guys don't have to-," Betty began.

"You invited us into your home, Ari," Anglea said, "And we're all so grateful. Let us."

Betty chewed on her lip.

Finally, she nodded, a grin cracking over her face. All four girls sitting celebrated.

"Next stop- a craft store!" Jelly said, jumping on a table, and throwing her fist up.

August 18th, 2019

Betty awoke to a crash and the door jingling. She opened her eyes in time to see Jellybean break into her room, out of breath.

"Happy 18th birthday, Betty-,"

"Uhm, thanks?"

"Suck it, Sweets!" Jelly spun around, "I got to say it first!" She teased in a sing-songy voice.

"No fair," Sweet Pea said, stumbling into the room, "I have a baby attached to me and…and…do you know what this child did, Betty?" He demanded, "She kicked me in the fucking shin!"

Jellybean stuck out her tongue at him.

"You guys are fighting? To say happy birthday first?" Betty said, a bit groggy still.

"Well, duh!" Sweet Pea said, "The big 18! It's a huge deal, even at the end of the world."

"Oh," Betty blinked, "Doesn't feel that way."

"You're an adult," Jellybean whispered in an awe-filled tone, "Do you feel older? More wise?"

"Uhm, just hungry."

"I can fix that!" Jellybean threw up a finger, pushing past Sweet Pea, "Wait there!"

"You can relax with all the pomp and circumstance," Betty tried to insist, attempting to get out of bed.

"No way, Jose." Sweet Pea said, shoving her back down lightly, "18th birthday." He said, as though that would change her mind.

"Yeah, and it's just a meaningless day now," She said with a roll of her eyes.

"Awe, c'mon? You don't feel legally of age?" Sweet Pea teased.

"No. I think I grew up a while ago." Betty said, scowling, "Probably the day the world ended, yeah. Or the day Jason was shot. It doesn't matter, anyway."

"Blashephy!"

"What's blasphemous?" Jellybean asked, reappearing with some fruit covered in honey.

"Betty says her 18th birthday doesn't matter."

"Alright-,"

"Betty, c'mon! Just please?" Jellybean begged, "If birthdays don't matter anymore then…then…"

Betty felt guilty, "I mean, yours can still matter-,"

Sweet Pea sent her a furious look.

She relented, "Fine. Happy 18th birthday to me."

"I'll show ya," Sweet Pea said, rocketing up, "Being 18, even now, is awesome!"

"Where are you going?" Betty called after him, but he was caught up in his idea, too excited to reply.

By the time Betty stumbled out of her room, Sweet Pea had gathered the 'troops'. Which is to say he was conferring quietly with a whole gaggle of girls, nodding and writing down things on a paper and crossing them off too.

"Uh…"

"Ari!" Mandy jumped up, "There you are!"

"What are you doing?" Betty asked suspiciously. Sweet Pea showed the list to Angela, who gave a firm nod before he came and cleared his throat dramatically.

"You, Miss Arinhood, believe that turning 18 is not significant by any means. But take note, that we strongly disagree!" He said, throwing his finger up, "Therefore, we have compiled a list of all the things that you can do once you turn 18 and thus you will be spending the day completing them."

"And you're saying I couldn't do any of these things before today?" She asked suspiciously.

"Well, no, but, play along," Bree said with a shrug.

She locked her jaw, "Fine."

The entire group whooped and cheered and Betty wondered what the hell she was getting herself into.

"Okay, what's number one?"

"Number #1: Legally get married. Which, okay, that one's for later," Sweet Pea said with a lascivious wink.

"Oh, goodie," Betty chuckled, 'Good to know that even if my mom showed up tomorrow, legally , she couldn't stop me from marrying you."

"Well, she could probably stop him with a shotgun," Jellybean snorted.

"Hey, now," Sweet Pea scowled, "Happy thoughts, kid."

Betty shuddered at the idea of her mother crashing her wedding and killing her groom on sight, "Let's move on."

"Right," Sweet Pea smacked the list, "#2 - lottery ticket!"

"Bah-duh-duhm…" Mandy pulled something out from behind her back, "Ta-da!"

"Is that a real lotto ticket?" Betty squinted, trying to reach for it.

"Yes. One of the girls had it in their knapsack, don't ask why. Luckily for you, they're more than willing to give it up."

"A meaningless scratch-off paper? Gee, that must have been hard to part with," Betty said dryly, trying to reach for it.

"Uh-uh. Being 18 means you can buy one." Sweet Pea jumped between Betty and the ticket.

"How?" Betty asked, "Shall I go about doing that?"

Mandy went behind the counter, setting the ticket down, and clasped her hands. Then, in her best customer service voice; "That will be one penny, Miss."

"You're going to make me scrounge around for a penny, huh?" Betty asked. At Mandy's earnest smile, she shrugged, "Okay. Cool. Gotta be one somewhere."

The entire house scoured every drawer to find the now-defunct currency, eventually culminating in someone finding a dime.

"You know what? Keep the change," Betty said, pressing the dime to the counter and sliding it with two fingers to Mandy.

She exchanged the lottery ticket.

Using her fingernail, she scratched away the metallic cover.

"Well?" Sweet Pea finally asked, too impatient to wait.

"Uhm…I netted…" She examined the icons, "Ten dollars."

"High-five!" Jellybean said, "For ten cents, pretty cool, huh?"

Betty grinned, "Yeah, okay. My ten imaginary dollars." Still, she was almost charmed. She'd never scratched off a ticket before, and she knew that most barely broke even. Even in this fake world, it was pretty cool to gain something. Too bad it couldn't be where this could be legal tender to buy her, she didn't even know, like a McFlurry or something.

"Great! Number Three is…buy fireworks!"

"Oh god, don't tell me someone has convenient fireworks in their pack too?" She groaned.

"No," Sweet Pea gave a little 'pff', "But we sent one of the girls down the road to that stand that used to sell them, so, you have options."

Betty sent Sweet Pea a sharp glare, "You're not going to set them off, are you?" She asked sharply. There was no better way than to draw every walker and survivor to your location than fireworks.

"We're not stupid," Sweet Pea said, "And you just gotta buy them, not set them off."

"Shall we search for a penny again?"

"You can use the ten lotto dollars. We'll swap," Angela said.

Someone had set up all the fireworks in a shed in the back, and Betty took her time perusing the choices until she finally settled on some sparklers.

"These we actually could do," She said, "Safely, that is."

When Sweet Pea made an audible mark on his page with a sharpie, the girls clapped for Betty.

"Number Four: Vote!"

She was shuffled over to an area where two girls were sitting across from each other, one in red and one in blue.

"Oh, god. Politics. That's one thing I'm okay with dying out." Betty groaned.

"I don't want to tear each other apart," Sweet Pea said, eyes wide, "We're voting on something equally as important though…what's for dinner tonight." He waved his hand, "Defending the 'red' will be soup, and defending the blue will be lettuce wraps. But here's the thing…everyone here over 18 also gets to vote." He said with a grin, "But first, the debate."

The whole group sat like they were watching TV as Jellybean played mediator for the two, who both defended their choices with precision and passion.

After it was done, Betty realized that Sweet Pea had set up polling booths. Out of everyone currently, at the house, nine were over 18, and each took a turn in the 'booth', dropping slips of paper into a box.

"Well, who wins?" Betty asked.

"Impatient," Sweet Pea huffed, "Polls aren't counted immediately, darling," He teased, bopping her nose, "We'll tune in later for the results. Where were we? Oh, yeah," He crossed out 'vote', "Number Five and Six sort of go hand-in-hand and you can choose which one you want to be…either 'sue someone' or 'be called for jury duty'."

"Are we about to stage a courtroom?"

"We totally are!" Sweet Pea grabbed a girl named Mona, "Did you know that Mona was pre-law before it all went down?"

Betty didn't.

Mona seemed jazzed to give the entire house a crash course on the legal system, as well as the roles everyone could play. But of course, if Betty could get up there and gush about journalism for an hour, wouldn't she? Didn't everyone maybe want to feel like all that time learning stuff meant something, even just for a brief second?

Betty hoped that Mona would still be invaluable one day…that the world would be able to crawl back to needing a set legal system, and not just the 'wild west' as it seemed to be currently.

When she was done, everyone looked at Betty expectantly.

"Well?"

"Do I want to…sue someone…or decide someone's innocence…" Betty sucked in, "I don't want to offend anyone here…"

"Totally fine. Jury duty it is. I took the onus to go around and ask people what minor gripes they have, Judge Judy's style. And I think the case of the Missing Twizzlers is good enough. Amanda here is suing Norma for the Twizzlers that were suspiciously missing from her pack and suspiciously ended up in Norma's."

"Can't two people have Twizzlers?" Norma asked, exasperated.

"Ay!" Sweet Pea clapped his hands, "Save it for the jury. We'll prepare tonight and put it on tomorrow. I mean, you don't do everything the day you turn 18."

"Only nearly everything?" Betty asked dryly.

"We're nearly done…erm, next. Tattoos."

Betty's eyes brightened, "Am I finally getting my Serpent tat?" She asked for something she'd wanted for a long time, "Is someone here a former tattoo artist? Please say yes!"

"Well," Sweet Pea grimaced, "God if I'd known that…" He sheepishly pulled out a pack of temporary tattoos, "Best I could do on short notice, but believe me, I'll see what we can do."

Betty took the sheet.

"There's a snake there," Sweet Pea added, tapping the page.

Betty snorted, "It has heart eyes."

"So?"

She chuckled, "Fine, Cadmus. Hit me."

The girls spent the night pressing the tattoos all over, even those under 18 (and even if it was a real tattoo, who cared much anymore, as long as kids weren't getting 'em).

After that, Sweet Pea dramatically read the results of the poll.

The winner? Lettuce wraps.

"While we're cooking, everyone is going to do the last one." Sweet Pea produced paper and pens, "Wills."

"That's morbid," Angela said.

"Sure, but we're in a morbid world. I promise I won't peek. And be serious; whatever final wishes you have, put them here. And when you move on, you can take them with you. But we'll honor whatever you want us to do with your body to the best of our ability and your things…" His smile was tight, "It's the world we live in that is a necessity to require such things."

Despite how much Betty had faced death, she'd never thought about it, not really.

All her worldly items would go to Sweet Pea and Andy, naturally.

But what about her body?

In this moment, she longed for home. Her childhood home. The one that smelled like her mother and was always bursting with her sister's radio songs and felt like her father's warm hugs. She missed their picket fence yard and the flowers along the gravel and their mailbox with both her and Polly's tiny handprints in it.

Once, all she had wanted was to get out of Riverdale, but now…now it clung to her heart, pulling it down.

If I die, bury me - ashes or full- in Riverdale, under the old oak tree in my childhood backyard, next to the grave I made for my cat when I was six.

Then, like everyone else, she folded her will,l glued it shut, and dropped it in a box, hoping she'd never have to use it.

She wondered what Sweet Pea wrote on his, but didn't ask.

She hoped it would be a long, long time before she would ever have to read it.