feelin' alive, a teenager
“Maybe we could go to Pop’s today?”
“Not today, Juggie.”
Working with Betty is blissfully easy.
His novel, the one he’s been working on since freshman year, is resting in a doc he hasn’t opened in months. Inspiration hasn’t been coming easy to him but working with Betty has provided him with a muse. A stunning one, at that.
Conversation between them flowed seamlessly. They had spoken sporadically throughout the years after Betty moved, so he’s glad they can still hold a conversation
He’s grateful to be talking to Betty daily. Not just for his persistent, never ending crush, but he also misses her as a friend. Having Betty around will always be a highlight in his life.
“Cheryl told me you guys have a game next Friday?” Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts as he grabs the papers that she’s handing him.
He nods, clicking open his highlighter. “Yeah. Against Baxter, I believe.”
“Don’t tell me cheerleading has turned you into a football fan?” She teases, trapping her pen between her lips.
Archie’s sweaty socks, he repeats like a mantra in his head.
“As if. Are you thinking of coming?”
The words slip out of his mouth before he can think. She’s never been to a game in all of her years of high school. He would know; he always keeps an eye out for blonde curls falling over leather clad shoulders.
Over the weeks they’ve reconnected, he’s been working up the nerve to ask her out. Maybe after the game, maybe before the game. Maybe during the game if she wants to skip. He’ll do just about anything for her.
“Perhaps,” she replies slyly.
The thought of Betty watching him at the game makes him work even harder than usual at practice. Maybe he does it unconsciously because he’s startled when Cheryl snaps her towel at him.
“Jug take a break.”
He looks up from his pushups, panting heavily. Unceremoniously, he drops to the ground, the lack of movement prompting the pain to course through his body.
“Shit.” He groans.
Veronica comes to join them, fiddling with the hem of her yellow and white raglan shirt. She’s got a look in her eye, one that Jughead knows all too well.
“What did you do?” Her eyes wander to the bleachers. "What makes you think I did anything?”
“I know you, Ronnie. Does it have anything to do with Betty? Because I told you specifically to not meddle-”
“Who,” Cheryl cuts him off, “is that?”
Jughead follows her line of sight to a short pink haired girl, one he recognizes as Toni.
“That’s Toni Topaz. One of Betty’s best friends.”
“Oh,” Cheryl says simply.
Toni is standing by the gym doors, waving to someone on the other side. He walks over to her, uncomfortable in his sweat soaked t-shirt.
“Hey, Toni.”
“Jones,” she greets.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to get Betty to come in here,” she says.
“Betty?”
“Yup! I think Veronica invited her to watch you guys, but she’s getting shy all of a sudden.”
“I am not shy.” Betty comes into view, stepping into the gym. “I was busy with the Blue and Gold.”
“Right,” Toni teases. “I’ll be in the bleachers, appreciating the creation of women and spandex.”
Toni walks away, leaving him and Betty alone. He’s suddenly aware that he must look severely unattractive, but he refuses to waste one on one time with Betty.
“I should probably go join her,” Betty says, awkwardly shifting the books in her arms.
He hopes the disappointment isn’t evident on his face as he nods. He’s left watching her retreating form, just like he’s done hundreds of times before.
Veronica and Cheryl appear on either side of him, gently pulling him back to the mats. “Looked like a quality conversation,” Cheryl quips.
He chances another glance at the possibility she might be looking at him, but she’s in deep conversation with Toni, flipping mindlessly through the pages in her book.
“You can’t even get mad at me when I drop you today,” he says, bending down to let her step onto his waiting hands.
He’s running on three cups of coffee and typing up an article in his usual booth at Pop’s when Betty slides in across from him. Her hair is damp from the storm outside, and her cheeks are rosy. She’s panting softly as if she ran here. Still, Jughead thinks, she looks as beautiful as ever.
“Betty. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
It’s then that he notices her red rimmed eyes, her pink nose. She’s sniffling quietly, wiping her nose with the ends of her flannel.
“Betty, what’s wrong?”
She picks her head up, glossy eyes meeting his, and bursts into tears.
He closes his laptop quickly, moving to the other side of the booth. Without a second thought, he wraps his arm around her, gently guiding her head to his shoulder. He runs his hand through her blonde curls tenderly.
“It’s alright, Betts. It’ll be alright.”
Her sniffling ceases minutes later, though it feels like hours. She keeps her face buried in his hoodie, mumbling incoherently into the cotton.
Eventually, she moves herself somewhat off of him, but still enveloped in his arms.
“It’s my dad,” she croaks out. “He left, and he took Polly with him.”
Afraid she’s going to start crying again, Jughead tightens his hold on her. In a different situation, Jughead would be beyond thrilled at their proximity, but he’s concerned about Betty; she’s never cried in front of him before.
“What do you mean, he left?”
“He’s gone. All his clothes, his CDs -- even his toolbox! And Polly-” a tear slips down her face, “Polly’s gone too. Her room is stripped, everything is gone. Even her sheets.”
He’ll be the first to say he leads a privileged life. He’s a white, upper middle-class male, and he’s straight (as far as he knows). He lives on the Northside of town, with two ideal parents and an angel of a little sister. Sure, his father has a drink or two more than he should at parties sometimes, and yeah, his sister gets into her fair share of trouble at school, but he’s never had to worry about his parents splitting up, or his dad leaving.
“I’m so sorry, Betty,” he says. It’s all he can say. He’s not the best at comforting people (as Cheryl tells him all the time), but he’ll try his damn best for Betty. “Is there anything I can do? We can go for a drive if you want. Head down to Sweetwater River.”
She shakes her head. “Can we leave Riverdale? Just get out of here?”
“You want to go to Greendale? Centerville?”
“Let’s just drive.”
She cracks a smile when they pass the trailer park, and she lets out a tinkling laugh when the Riverdale sign comes into view. Rolling the window down, she pops her head out, and waves her arms around. He thinks she looks beautiful.
“Jug- Juggie, stop! Stop the car!”
He pulls the car over to the side of the road, just in front of the sign. She opens the door right as the car comes to a halt, jumping out and slamming the door. He exits his own side, following her movements with his eyes. She walks to the front of the car and places her arms down on the hood. He realizes what she’s trying to do, and rushes to hop on top of the car, using the arm strength he’s gained from cheerleading over the years to gracefully push himself up. After sitting himself on the car, he reaches a hand down to help her up. She accepts it gratefully.
Jughead pulls his phone out, handing it to her. She accepts it wordlessly, unlocking his phone and going to the music app. Soft piano and guitar play from the phone and he fairly recognizes the tune as the acoustic version of some pop song that Jellybean always blasts in her room. She lowers the volume to background music, placing the phone between them. She places her hands on the back of her head, lowering herself down onto the car. He joins her, stripping his jacket off and laying back.
The sky is painted pink and orange, hardly any clouds adorning the blend of colors. He’s spent many days watching the sun come up, but not many watching it set. He decides it’s something he wants to do more often, hopefully with Betty by his side.
In a movie, this would be the time he would tell her how he feels. He should turn on his side and tell her that he thinks she’s the only thing keeping him sane in their crazy world, and how she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. He should slowly grab her hand in his, and they would both secretly smile at the sky.
But it’s real life, and real life comes with uncertainty and insecurity. Betty is so far out of his league. There’s such a small chance that she could be into him as much as he’s into her, that she loves him like he loves her. The only way he could ever possibly know is if he tells her but even the thought of voicing his emotions creates a lump in his throat.
“Are you going to Archie’s party tomorrow?” Her voice snaps him out of his thoughts.
He nods in confirmation and says, “yes” just in case she didn’t see. Archie has been bugging him for days, asking him if he’ll be attending his celebratory party for getting all B’s this grading period. Jughead isn’t really one for parties, but Archie had the most pleading eyes.
“Cool. Should be fun.”
“Oh, you’re coming?”
She nods in his peripheral vision. “I think Sweet Pea wanted to go, so he’s dragging me along.”
Sweet Pea?
“Cool.”
He doesn’t want this moment to be ruined. He’s sitting with Betty, the girl he’s practically in love with, under the dimming sky. But now his thoughts are tainted with Betty wrapping her arms around a pea-headed man’s neck.
Unfortunately for him, word got around about Archie’s party, and now there are kegs placed around the house, and a tall tally of broken items that he’s sure Fred Andrews is going to miss.
His head is spinning, vision blurry. He had succumbed to peer pressure tonight, downing many a number of red solo cups that have mysteriously made their way into his hands. He had never seen the appeal of alcohol; why would anyone ever want to feel this out of control? But as he throws another cup back, the bitter liquid scaling the back of his throat, he realizes that it isn’t about feeling out of control. It’s about not feeling at all.
He’s supposed to be forgetting about Betty and her pea friend, but even with the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed, she is still the only thing on his mind. She is always the only thing on his mind.
Inevitably, he pushes his way through the crowd of people in search of his best friends. They had left him, excusing themselves to use the bathroom (together?) but hadn’t bothered to find him again. His eyes scan the top of the crowd for a bright red head, instead finding blonde.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he tells himself that this is a bad idea. As he makes his way towards Betty, he searches his mind for an ounce of soberness. He’s sad to say he finds nothing.
“BETTY,” he yells. “IT’S ME! IT’S JUGHEAD!”
She’s in deep conversation with someone and doesn’t hear him over the loud music. The man she’s talking to is muscular, with a large serpent tattoo on his neck. He definitely doesn't have a pea shaped head like Jughead had hoped.
Jughead bounds over to Betty, vaguely aware of the pounding headache he has. In an attempt to make it stop hurting, he knocks the side of his fist against his head repeatedly.
“Woah, man.” The guy that Betty was talking to rushes over to him, Betty trailing behind. “Dude, chill.”
“Sweets let me talk to him,” Betty’s soothing voice says as she steps in front of him.
It all comes to him in a wave, like a crash. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn’t be talking to Betty intoxicated; nothing good will come out of this.
Betty places a soothing hand on his bicep, but he recoils, taking a step back. He bumps into someone, knocking their drink onto his back, soaking his shirt.
“Shit,” he says. “Sorry, my bad.”
“Uh, yeah, your bad. Now I have to get another drink!” A petite girl with dark hair complains. He’s never seen her before. Or maybe he has. He’s too drunk to see properly.
“Sorry,” he repeats. His words are slurring, and he can feel Betty’s presence by his side, but he just wants her to leave. He needs to get out of here.
“Jughead, how many drinks have you had?”
His t-shirt is sticking uncomfortably to his back, so instead of answering, he swiftly pulls it off. The cool evening air that’s drafting in from the windows hits his skin, and he shivers, goosebumps erupting all over his body.
“Jughead--”
“Where is Cher? And Ronnie?”
“I’m not sure, but we should--”
“Bettyyyy,” he coos. “You have really pretty eyes.”
He’s not sure if it’s the major body heat from the party or his words, but Betty’s skin turns a bright shade of pink.
“Thanks. Can we go outside?”
He ignores her, turning to her friend who’s watching him, amused. Sober Jughead would be polite and introduce himself, but drunk Jughead doesn’t want anything to do with this smirking, neck tattooed, son of a bitch.
Whoa.
“Stop smiling.” Jughead pushes a finger into Sweet Pea’s chest forcefully. “You’re not allowed to smile.”
“Dude, you need some bread.”
“I don’t like bread,” Jughead says. “Actually, I love bread. Just not your bread.”
“Coop, is there any water around here?”
Coop.
“I don’t need any water,” Jughead insists. “I’m fine. I’m probably more sober than you are, you...unsober person!”
Betty giggles. “Juggie, can I please get you out of here? I can get Sweet Pea to find Cheryl and Veronica.”
He nods hazily, letting Betty pull him out of the room. His eyelids flutter closed, but he forces them open. He sees flashes of colors, bright reds, and yellows. He becomes aware of his headache once again, and he feels it in the tops of his eyelids.
Betty’s arm is around his waist, resting above the waistline of his jeans, touching his torso. She didn’t appear to be intoxicated, or at least as intoxicated as he is, meaning she would remember tonight. She would remember their skin on skin contact. Subconsciously, he flexes, hoping he worked off the three muffins he had for breakfast that morning during practice.
She snorts. “Jughead, stop flexing. I’ve seen you inhale more than your weekly calorie count for lunch and still have the same body you do after practice. I really couldn’t care less how many abs you have.”
He should be glad that she’s not sexualizing him, but is it wrong for him to want her to want him?
Maybe now that he’s drunk, he’ll admit that he's thought about Betty at night more than once. She’s not wearing her leather jacket tonight, something that Jughead’s not sure whether he’s happy or sad about. On the plus side, the leather jacket made her look badass, but without it, he can see the creamy skin that she hides underneath. The flowy tank top she’s wearing has thin straps that go low on her back.
He’s snapped from his thoughts by Veronica's worried voice. “Jughead, what the hell happened?”
“He got hammered,” Betty says with a grimace.
Cheryl rolls his eyes. “We should really take him out more, Ronnie. He’s such a lightweight.”
Jughead throws himself onto Cheryl, forcing her arms around him. “You’re so mean to me,” he whines.
“God, you are such a baby. Let’s get you home.”
“No! Not home.”
“I meant the Pembrooke, obviously.”
Veronica turns to Betty. “You can join us if you want? Cher and I were planning on watching a movie and gorging on junk food while this child sleeps.”
Betty laughs, removing her arm from Jughead’s waist. He shivers at the loss. “Sweet Pea’s waiting inside for me, but maybe next time. Tell Jughead to text me when he’s sober?”
Veronica nods. “Of course.”
Raising an arm in a wave, Betty retreats to the Andrews’ house. “Bye!”
Cheryl shifts his weight, beckoning for Veronica to help her. Once he’s settled between them, they lead him to where Veronica’s driver is waiting.
“Sweet Pea?” Cheryl asks curiously.
Jughead promptly throws up