Chapter Text
When Mrs. Haight announces that the kids of room 16 are going to be getting a class pet, every one of her 14 students is thrilled, no more than Betty Cooper.
She nearly vibrates out of seat, rocking her heels against the ground. She’s been dying for a pet, having been disappointed on two consecutive birthdays (a toy kitchen is not fluffy and snuggly, and Betty spends enough time in her real kitchen). The room 16 pet won’t be her pet, but she can still watch it squeak or squeak or purr or whatever it does.
Swinging her pigtails, she peppers the teacher with questions. What kind of pet? When will they be getting it? Where will it live? Will it be a boy or a girl? Who will take care of it? Mrs. Haight smiles and does the best she can to fill in a group of excited kids on the furry friend that will soon join their classroom.
Jughead Jones, smiling next to her, likes the sheepdog who roams his trailer park, but Hot Dog is not officially anybody’s pet. He’s an entity who loves each of them the most, collection scraps and glugs of whatever wherever he can find them.
Jughead would hope for a pet of his own, but pets require food and vet trips and toys—things that take money—and he can’t fathom a pet that would enjoy the predictable chaos of his trailer. He spends enough time hiding with his toddler sister under his bed.
It’d be cruel to expect a pet to wait out the screaming, too.
The kids discuss the pet at recess.
“What do you think it’s gonna be?” Archie asks excitedly.
“A dragon,” Reggie says confidently, making a grab for Jughead’s hat and falling in the mud.
Betty stifles a giggle and smiles smugly at the clots of dirt in Reggie’s hair.
“Too hot,” says Archie. “Mrs. Haight might catch on fire.”
“Then what do you think, Andrews?” Moose wants to know, affronted by the very idea that first graders can’t properly contain and care for a dragon.
“A dog,” Archie says, as if such a thing is obvious. He’s thinking of his own puppy, Vegas. He’d love to run in the park with another dog.
“Too furry?” says Ethel, as if she isn’t quite sure. “They shed a lot.”
“I know,” says Cheryl imperiously, pushing into the center of the circle. Jughead is is surprised she hasn’t done it sooner. She flips her red hair like a cape.
“Well?” Jughead loses his patience.
“A snake, obviously. We can keep him in a nice, big tank right by Ethel’s desk.” She smiles maliciously. Everyone knows Ethel is terrified of snakes. She fled the classroom halfway through Snakes Have No Legs.
But it turns out she isn’t the only one. As Cheryl is describing having a python wrap around her arm like a bracelet, almost all of the class runs off screaming, including Reggie, who’s wiping mud out of his eyes.
Left with his two friends, Jughead nudges Betty.
“What about you, Betts?”
Betty chews on her lip thoughtfully in a way Jughead loves.
“I want to say a kitten, but our classroom is probably too loud.”
Archie giggles.
“Especially with Moose in it!”
“Something small…”
“Like an ant?”
“Not that small, Juggie!” Betty laughs. “A gerbil or a hamster. Mrs. Haight says we’re gonna know on Monday!” She claps her hands and offers Jughead her cookie.
When they file into class the following Monday, they find a small yellow-orange hamster snuffling its way around a pile of wood chips.
Betty gasps in delight, and all the other kids crowd the tank to tap on the glass. Despite the din, Betty speaks softly to the hamster, telling him or her how glad she is to make their acquaintance. Jughead is pretty sure he’s the only one who can hear her. Jughead squeezes in next to her and watches the hamster’s nose twitch.
The hamster is a girl, and Mrs. Haight spends the morning explaining hamster care duties, and how they’ll be splitting them up.
Betty looks delighted at the thought of cleaning out dirty wood chips.
“I’ll get to feed her, Juggie!” she whispers, her eyes light with the thought of dropping hamster food into her cage.
“What’s her name?” Moose booms, startling the unmade hamster.
“She doesn’t have one yet.” Mrs. Haight smiles. “I want you kids to name her.” An entire class of first graders starts shouting in one cacophony of suggestions.
Jughead can’t make out too many, but he thinks Archie’s Megatron suggestion isn’t too bad, and Reggie’s Football suggestion is awful. He can only guess what Chuck Clayton would do with a hamster called Football.
“A lot of great suggestions!” says Mrs. Haight, who is either lying or going deaf.
“I have a suggestion.” Betty puts her hand up as the din dies down.
“Yes, Betty?” Mrs. Haight looks relieved.
“Maybe we can vote on her name. We could spend recess today talking about our choices, and then vote after lunch.”
“We do have an election coming up.” Mrs. Haight drums her fingers on the desk thoughtfully. “We could have our own little election here.”
The kids love the idea, although Reggie doesn’t look like he’s going to be giving up on Football any time soon.
As soon as they finish math, Betty pushes her paper aside decisively, addition forgotten.
“What names do you like, Juggie?”
“I don’t know.” Jughead can only imagine the reaction to names like Burger or Taco, so he thinks it’s best to keep quiet. “What about you, Betts?”
“Well.” Spots of pink appear on her cheeks. “I do like one name.” She leans over to whisper it in his ear.
“That’s a super great name. I love it,” he whispers back.
“Will you help me talk to the other kids?”
Jughead starts a bit. He’s hardly the most popular kid in class, and it’s not like the other kids come to him for advice. But he’s reasonably clever. Maybe he can devise a scheme to get Betty’s name over the top.
So, he agrees, because he agrees with almost anything Betty says.
Also, her name is really good. He thinks about being married, something he’s never done before. Not with the example he sees at home, how he has to dodge points of glass in the carpet and cradle baby Jellybean, singing songs over the screams.
But marrying Betty—that feels warm and safe and stable. A little, clean house, with food in the fridge, and someone who smiles when he comes in the door. He gets few smiles now, mainly indifference and pity.
Jughead scrubs the image blank as quickly as it formed in his mind.
No way would bright, shiny Betty Cooper ever be interested in a grubby kid who has to find hiding spaces in a trailer.
He can’t give her everything, but he can give her this.
Betty gives him a pep talk during lunch, discreetly sliding half a sandwich and an apple his way when she notices his almost empty lunchbox. An expired yogurt and the rest of a box of stale crackers (three) aren’t much of a lunch.
“You’re my campaign manager, Juggie!” Archie leans in to listen too. He’s eating a bowl of applesauce.
“What’s that?” The sandwich has ham on it, his favorite.
“I heard my mom talking about it when she worked on the paper. If you run for something, like dog catcher—”
Archie’s eyes grow to sauce size. “They have people who catch dogs? And they get to play with them?”
He’s clearly pondering his future career options.
“Don’t know,” says Betty, wrinkling her nose. “Anyway, if you want people to vote for you, you gotta have a campaign manager to talk ‘em into it.”
Usually, Jughead spends recess chatting with Betty and Archie. It’s rare for him to engage with the rest of his classmates.
But for Betty—
He joins Reggie’s kickball game, and Reggie is so surprised he can’t even come up with anything insulting. He sneaks in chats with the other kids in between turns, and none of them like the new Football, either.
“Betty’s name is awesome,” he says, and they nod.
Then he muscles in on Cheryl’s foursquare game.
“I didn’t you knew how to bounce,” Cheryl says, and she’s kind of right.
“I’m trying something new.”
Cheryl looks dubious.
“What name do you like? For the hamster?”
“Well, I’m not voting for Football.” Cheryl sniffs. “Give me the ball.”
“Betty has a great name,” he says carefully. Cheryl’s relationship with Betty is tenuous at best. Jughead isn’t sure if Cheryl hates her today.
“What’s the name?”
Jughead holds his breath and tells her.
Cheryl looks thoughtful. “That’s not bad. Better than any of those other stupid names people came up with. I like it.”
And of course if Cheryl likes it, than Tina and Ginger like it.
Jughead endures one more round of Foursquare and bolts.
Ethel and her pals are an easier sell, and Jughead is less terrified to approach them. Ethel looks up from the friendship bracelet she’s making and smiles.
“Hi, Jughead.”
“Hi. Mind if I sit?”
“Do you want to make a bracelet?” Val asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Uh…I was just wondering what names you guys like? For the hamster?”
Josie shakes her head. “None of the ones.”
Melody and Ethel agree.
“Betty has a good one.” They nod when he shares it.
“It’s really cute,” Ethel says.
He finds Archie and Betty under a leafy tree, settling next to them with a happy sigh.
“I think you’re gonna win, Betts. And Archie…”
“Betty already talked me outta Megatron.”
Jughead will never admit that he was briefly swayed by Archie’s suggestion. He loves Transformers—Betty even got him one for his birthday. Besides the one his dad picked up from the thrift store, Jughead now has two, so he can have battles.
He takes them to Archie’s, and it’s an all out brawl.
Sometimes he pictures himself as a giant robot, besting all the kids who laugh at his jeans that are too short, or the way he sometimes has to miss field trips because his family can’t come up with $10.
But then Betty widened her green doll eyes and thanked him “so, so, so, so much for the very best help!” and Jughead decided he liked robots a lot—and Betty a lot more.
“Megatron is a boy’s name,” Jughead reminded Archie, and his friend nodded seriously.
“Betty picked a good girl’s name. I’ll vote for that.”
Betty holds her fists tightly as Mrs. Haight tallies the votes. In the end, Football has gotten only one vote—Reggie’s—and only two people like Moose’s Mr. Hamster.
Betty’s choice wins in a landslide.
“Welcome to our new class pet, Carmel!”
Betty beams and the class cheers softly.
Betty and Jughead are the last two in the parking lot after school, which happens sometimes when Alice Cooper is busy at the Register and Gladys Jones needs extra tips at Pop’s.
They settle under a slight overhang to avoid the cool drizzle.
Betty is chatting about the Boxcar Children books she’s been reading, with Encyclopedia Brown up next, and Jughead works up the nerve to ask if he can borrow one.
With a grin, Betty unzips her backpack and whips out two books, careful to avoid the rain as she passes them to him.
“You gotta tell me what you think!”
And Jughead agrees, because he’d do anything for Betty Cooper.
(This will be become a recurring theme in his life, although he doesn’t know it yet.)
Betty is incredibly excited about Caramel. She’s been researching the best food and woodchips and water bottles.
“And her name is perfect!” Betty squeals.
Betty’s eyes are enormous and shining as she hugs Jughead and plants a kiss on his cheek. She smells like strawberries. Jughead’s cheeks glow red.
“And all ‘cause you helped! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I won, Juggie!”
But as Jughead feels Betty’s arms tighten around him, he’s sure he’s the winner.