Chapter Text
When Jughead and Archie arrive at the skating rink, Betty’s already on the floor busting out some kind of disco moves. Jughead isn’t exactly a girl-watcher like his best pal, but he can’t deny Betty looks good in her shorts, knee socks, and ponytail. She sails over to the wall, bounces against the rim, and bursts out laughing.
“Hey Coop,” Jughead says. “Where’s your sequin halter?”
“Left it at home with my Bay City Roller pants.” She sneaks a look at Archie. “You guys want to join me for a few spins? Play tag?”
“Yeah, definitely.” Jughead hates the vague tone of Archie’s voice, because he knows what’s coming: Arch skates onto the rink, pulls a few smooth moves, and sidles over to another girl in a flippy skirt. Jughead’s been ditched, again. Worse, Betty’s wearing that bright, determined smile she slaps on her face whenever Archie disappoints her, which is all the time.
The place hasn’t filled up yet, but Jughead feels like a giant has poured a huge vat of sticky syrup inside the roller rink and he and Betty will drown if he doesn’t say anything. “I thought you mentioned tag a second ago?”
Too smart to let him see her disappointment, Betty doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re it, no givebacks.” One pink fingernail pokes his side, and Betty’s off on her custom skates, a present for her last birthday or something.
Jughead wears ancient green and brown rentals, but years spent on the streets in his old key skates gives him enough wherewithal to jump in after a certain snippy ponytail. He catches her, she tags him, he tags her back, and way too soon their hour’s up.
Archie’s on the carpet-covered seat, one arm around little missy’s waist. “Should we get some pizza? And should we…?” Betty’s voice trails off.
“No. I mean yeah,” Jughead answers. Yes to the first thing, no to the one she didn’t say.
#
Jughead walks her home with a full belly and a distinct lack of Andrews Junior, but it’s okay because he and Betty sing Bond film themes at the top of their lungs. Of course it leads to another chase, this one through Weatherbee’s yard and into her tree house.
She’s breathless and rosier than ever in the tiny room. “Thanks, Juggie,” she says, and leans forward.
He has a confused impression of lips on his, of peppermint and warmth, before she breaks away and pats his arm. “I better go work on some summer reading. See you tomorrow.”
#
The summer before high school might be his best one ever. Betty and Jughead go to fish at the river, watch the cheesiest horror films they can find at the Twilight (“Swamp Thing, Jug! We have to go”) and hang out at the beach. She brings him with her family to watch fireworks and drags him to the library so he can get the required books for high school. They bicker over endless games of Monopoly and Mastermind and Consequences.
Archie spends June and most of July with the flippy-skirt girl, who shows up at the beach in a yellow bikini and heart-shaped sunglasses. Betty wears a blue one-piece and that same determined grin Jughead has learnt to dread. It gives him a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he drank too many milkshakes.
And each time he walks her home or leaves for his messy trailer, she gives him a kiss. Each one is quicker than the shooting stars they watch from her back stoop.
Those kisses also make Jughead’s stomach hurt, but in a completely different way. He has no idea why she does it. They certainly aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. After all, he chases her with earthworms, and she threatened to feed him bug sandwiches as payback.
He gets into a long argument with Betty over the summer reading. She says Wuthering Heights is a good book, while Jughead believes Emily Bronte isn’t worth Bram Stoker’s toilet paper. They get to the “Is, Is Not, Is Too, Is Not” stage of their fight before she stalks off with her nose in the air.
The dust swirls on the road back to FP’s trailer. Sweat pools under his beanie. Jughead mutters a few curses and wonders, Should I run back? Swallow my dignity and say sorry?
A flurry of footsteps, one hand on his shoulder.
Betty’s brief, peppermint kiss on his mouth, a bit longer than usual. “Is too,” she adds, and runs back the way she came.
#
Jughead’s deep in the middle of Heathcliff’s confession to Nelly when someone bangs on the door of the trailer, making the novel drop on the floor. He scrubs the tears off his cheeks with both sleeves. Betty can’t see him emoting over her book, she just can’t.
But it’s Archie, who’s arrived with big plans and a sack of burgers. “You, me, tent by the river. Tonight, whaddya say? And bug spray, Juggie, because we’ll get eaten alive otherwise.” He finishes with his usual grin, big eyebrows slightly raised as he waits for an answer.
“You ditched us all summer,” Jughead declares.
Archie plops on FP’s old couch. “I know. I was such an idiot. Fiona was really pretty, though! Huge brown eyes, guess I just couldn’t say no to that girl.”
Jughead stashes Wuthering Heights under a pillow and wraps both hands around one knee. “Camping, huh? How about Betty? You ditched her too in case you forgot.”
Archie rocks back, as if he surprised. “Oh. I forgot about – I mean, her mom would never let her camp, but I guess she could come with us for a while. Maybe she’d bring hot dogs! Or remember those ‘smores she made us one year over a campfire?”
There was a time when Jughead would have enthusiastically joined in and planned to get Betty at the campsite to take advantage of her cooking skills. Hot dogs, after all, are not to be taken lightly.
But now it’s all different, since he’s tasted Betty as well as her ‘smores, and he tells Archie no way.
#
Their compromise is movies on Archie’s dime. Betty sits between the two boys, leaning forward to watch a fight scene. At one point Jughead feels something warm brush his shoulder and looks over to see Archie has snuck his arm around Betty. She seems oblivious, rapt on Kubo’s story.
Jughead slumps back in his seat with a scowl. He tries to lose himself once more in the movie, but his concentration is shot. Everything’s different. It’s all Archie’s fault, for ditching them in the first place, or perhaps it’s Betty’s fault for being so…Betty. She’s the one who's right about Gothic novels, who jokes with him about bugs and worms, who tastes like peppermint gum.
He can’t just sit there next to Betty while Archie tries to make a move. “Hey,” Jughead snaps. “Popcorn.” He repeats it until Archie gives in and says he’ll be back with snacks.
Betty shifts closer. “You’ve tortured him enough over the Fiona thing,” she whispers. “I mean, no camping? Making him pay for our tickets and snacks? Let it go, Juggie.”
“But…” He doesn’t know how to finish. Instead he asks her what she thinks of the movie, and when Archie returns with drinks and a huge bucket of buttered popcorn, Jughead concentrates on glorious movie theater food.
#
They walk home, and Jughead remembers why Archie is his best friend. The kid, after all, has a great sense of humor. He makes fun of himself going in for a first kiss with Fiona and having the family dog wedge its nose up his crotch instead.
“I mean, the thing was going to town, and I was all, nice doggie, get lost doggie but trying to be chill, you know?” Archie shakes his head. “It was pathetic.”
“At least it didn’t hump your leg,” Jughead comments.
“Au contraire. Her pooch saved that sweet move for later when I tried to say goodnight.”
Betty launches into an impression of Archie fending off a dog mid-flirtation, and their conversation devolves into a stupid game of push and chase. Jughead forgets all about the time until, before he knows it, they’re at her house and she’s saying goodbye.
“Bug hunting tomorrow, don’t forget!” sBetty yells at the top of her lungs. “Bye, boys!”
And then it hits him. No kiss.
“Hey,” Archie says. “Why so glum? I know I acted like a douche, but…”
Jughead raises a stern forefinger. “Douche?” he asks. "Is that all you have to say to me?"
“Okay.” Archie darts him a look. “I meant to say I went full Massengill on you and Betts.”
“And?”
“And I should be in a misty film of two girls talking spring fragrance versus vinegar and water as they walk on a beach, carrying their shoes.”
Jughead is starting to relent, but he can’t resist one final shot. “I have an old 8mm camera and Vaseline for the lens. We could make that happen.”
#
He only gets to the next block before he stops dead, full-body sighs, and turns around. The sun has started to slip over the horizon and Jughead will be late, but FP probably won’t notice.
Archie’s house is quiet. So is the Cooper place, except Jughead sees a ponytailed silhouette in an upstairs window. He finds a few pebbles and chucks one against the glass.
He’s about to throw another when Betty pops her head out. “Juggie? I thought you went home.”
“Meet me in the treehouse? Just for a minute?”
The silhouette says Okay and disappears. Heart pounding, Jughead dashes to the tree, climbs up the nailed slats, and slumps in one corner.
What is he going to say to her? Oh, hi, Betty, and why didn’t you kiss me tonight like you usually do? It smacks of the worst kind of patriarchy.
Maybe he can sneak out, run home, and claim she must have dreamt his reappearance. Or he has a doppelganger who coincidentally threw rocks at her window. It could happen.
Jughead nods decisively, get up, and starts down the steps. Instantly someone pokes him in one butt cheek. “Move, silly,” Betty giggles. “I can’t get in if your skinny buns are in the way.”
There’s no other choice. He has to climb back up.
Betty hauls herself into the treehouse, plops on the old crate she’s covered with a towels, and kicks her heels against the box. For a long and dreadful moment, the two stare at each other in silence.
“Betty,” Jughead croaks. “Sorry. I. Just.”
She leans forward in that earnest way she has, as if every cell in her body is intent on what he says. “No, I’m sorry. I should never have kissed you without asking first. Gosh, I wanted to tell you that all day! But I never got a chance with Arch around.”
“Why did you?” The question bursts out of him, like Athena being born from Zeus’s head.
Betty crosses one leg over the other, settling in. “I just thought it was people did when they liked each other. Because they were friends. Let’s just say Wuthering Heights made it really clear there’s more to it than that.”
A twisted tangle in Jughead’s chest is starting to unravel. “Well, it wasn't awful,” he mutters. “Don’t have to stop. Especially just because Archie realized he’s a douche.”
“Oh, did you have the Masengill talk already? Wow, things move quickly in Riverdale.” She laughs, breathy and low. “And it had nothing to do with him. I like you, and I like being with you, and I was so silly, thinking that’s what people do. So dumb, right? I’m such a dumbo.”
He doesn’t wait to hear anymore. Jughead launches out of his slump and catches her mid-speech with a firm smooch on the corner of her mouth. He lets his eyes close and breathes in her mint gum before breaking away. “Bets, is this okay?”
“Oh.” Betty’s breathless. “Yes. Yes. It’s okay.”
“Maybe this is a kinda sorta thing we do now.” Jughead’s throat clicks since apparently his own body is trying to kill him.
“All right.” Betty puts her arms around his neck, and holy cow, they’re going to do it again. “This is what we do now.”