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Go-To Girl	By : CeeCee Category: Comics > Archie & Co. Views: 2558 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the Archies fandom. The Archies are owned by Archie Comics. I make no money for writing this piece of sh- I mean, fiction.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
Concessions
Summary: Ethel rethinks her efforts at school spirit, and two boys begin to see her in a different light.
Disclaimer: I don't own any quotations made by Len Goodman from Dancing with the Stars.
Author’s Notes: This fic doesn’t have that many readers, so I won’t make too many apologies about not updating it lately. Real life has been nuts. I haven’t written any fic in weeks, with the exception of a DeviantArt-only Weird Mysteries fic that I only managed to add five meager pages to, and a RoLo fic snippet that keeps eluding me, making me fear that it will suck. Happy writing, friends.
Ethel pulled down the lever on the Icee machine, dispensing it into two tall paper cups. “Ethel, we need two more pretzels without salt,” Trula nagged from the window. “Hurry up with those drinks!”
“Give me a minute, please.”
“Don’t add salt.”
“I heard you the first time.” Ethel wasn’t fond of the gossipy brunette, even though they were both on the booster committee and in French Club. Trula Twyst wrote the entertainment section of the Riverdale Gold and Blue school newspaper, something Ethel figured gave her the authority to get up in everyone’s business. Ethel envied her looks; she was almost as tall as Ethel, but she stopped at “supermodel,” not “Jolly Green Giant.” Trula had naturally curly, chestnut brown hair and a rosy complexion; Ethel’s own skin was milky-fair and threatened to turn into bacon if she went out the door in any SPF under 50 during the summer. Her hair scoffed at curlers, leaving her with uneven waves. She gave up on long hair after middle school; it looked lank framing her long, narrow face. Her characteristic short bob gave it some character, at least, just long enough to pin back from her face with some cute barrettes.
It wasn’t a secret that Trula was also one of the only other girls at Riverdale who had a crush on Jughead Jones. Unlike Ethel, Trula was fond of nagging and heckling the dour drummer, taking a playground approach to flirting with him. She didn’t bake him anything, didn’t fawn, and she didn’t beg for his attention. Jug and Trula bickered constantly, always seeming to compete at things like disc golf, billiards, bowling or Xbox games; she constantly beat him. Jug always demanded a rematch.
Ethel wanted to smack her with her shoe.
She fixed the pretzels, zapping them in the microwave and placing tissue paper liners into two white cartons. Ethel waited for them to “ding” and handed the snacks to Trula along with a handful of napkins. Trula told the customer cheerfully, “That’ll be five dollars.” She handed Ethel the crumpled ten-spot, and she dutifully made change. Ethel was getting sick of the odor of French fry grease and needed a break.
“I need to take ten,” she told Miss Beazley.
“Go for it, kiddo,” the geriatric cook offered. “You get a free snack; don’t forget.”
“I’m fine, for the moment.”
“Some cocoa might warm you up.”
“Maybe before we close.” Ethel shrugged into her heavy down vest, knotted her delicate crocheted scarf around her neck and braved the chilly night.
“Don’t take too long!” Trula called after her.
“I’m just taking a break,” Ethel tossed over her shoulder. “Sheesh,” she added under her breath. Ethel stalked down the short, grassy slope that led toward the field. She bypassed the crowded bleachers, deciding to hang out off to the side. A shrill wind snuck under her collar, and Ethel shivered, shoving her hands into her pockets to keep them warm. It was a typical Riverdale October night, promising a brittle winter in a matter of weeks.
It was halftime, and Ethel watched the Blue and Gold cheerleaders take the sidelines, performing all the cheers that she now knew by rote, for all the good it did her. Ethel wasn’t bitter; it was freezing out, and she was thankful for her warm jeans and heavy, merino wool sweater. Just seeing Betty, Nancy and Veronica in those short gold skirts made her feel even colder. Over the racket of the gale winds and chatter from the crowd, Ethel heard the blare of horns and a staccato drum roll, meaning the marching band was warming up. She allowed herself a smug grin; Jughead would be out on the field, maybe even before she was due back at the snack shack.
Ethel liked volunteering through the booster club to work the concession stand. She got to see the football games for free, it was warmer in the shack than it was on-field, and Jughead usually stopped by to stock up on goodies once the halftime show was over. Ethel still relished opportunities to make small talk with him, despite Archie’s advice. It was hard to break the habit of just… knowing where he was. Jughead was her eighth wonder. Her eyes still searched for him in crowds and darted toward the classroom door every time it opened, begging for a glimpse of him. It was painful.
She watched the football game with moderate enthusiasm. Riverdale had a good varsity team this year, having won six out of eight games since the beginning of the season. Ethel listened to the thudding of cleats and the shrill whistle blast as it signaled the snap. She recognized Archie’s lean build as he darted back with the ball couched firmly in his grip. He looked for his running back, blue eyes scanning for Reggie’s gold number “16.” He didn’t disappoint him.
“C’MON, ARCH!” Reggie’s sharp baritone cut across the swell of noise from the crowd. He waved his hands over his head in the universal gesture of Over here! Archie jerked briefly, startled as Moose narrowly blocked a tackle meant for him. Archie heard the crush of muscle and bone and harsh thud of Central’s offensive tackle biting it. He found a clear pocket across the field and aimed for Mantle.
“C’mon, Archie!” Ethel cried, cupping her hands around her mouth. “PASS IT!” She clapped along with the crowd. “WHOO! GO!” At least she could still cheer for him as a fan, she decided; pompoms weren’t necessary.
Archie’s ear picked up the sharp, feminine voice from the sideline, heeding his ego’s instincts. Nothing appealed to him more than hearing a girl call his name, but it surprised him that he didn’t recognize the owner.
“ARCH! OVER HERE! NOW!” Reggie barked. Archie juked, evading another tackle, and he found the pocket again.
“GO, ARCHIE! YOU CAN DO IT!” Ethel encouraged.
“Huh?” There was the voice again, and Archie missed his moment. His blue eyes zeroed in on the source, and widened when he saw Big Ethel on the sidelines, cheering for him.
“ANDREWS!”
“Shit!” he hissed, and Archie winged him a clean pass.
His world turned itself on its ear as pain exploded through his ribs. His breath was crushed from his lungs and he landed hard, eating the cold earth. The whistle blasted over the crowd’s roars and boos from the home side of the field. “Shit,” Archie muttered miserably. “Ow…”
Archie mercifully blacked out. He had a faint impression of Ethel looking horrified where she stood, a blur of green wool and dark jeans, covering her mouth in embarrassment.
She was embarrassed for him.
*
What felt like moments later, Archie blinked up into Coach Kleats’ face, squinting and groaning in pain. In the bright stadium lights, he could almost count the pockmarks across his nose. “Anyone… get the number of that truck?”
“You okay, Andrews? Just take it easy. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two,” he offered hopefully.
“You took a bad hit,” Floyd Clayton volunteered grimly. “What happened out here?”
“Don’t… know,” Archie admitted. “Guess I got distracted.”
“Reggie was right in the pocket,” Kleats remarked. Archie groaned, and he recanted. “Don’t move yet. How’s your neck?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“The rest of me’s not so good.” Archie felt the stings of myriad scrapes and new he’d have new additions to his bruise collection in the morning. The crowd was hushed; he heard only faint murmurings and the band had stopped practicing in the lowest rows of bleachers, the strains of the school anthem conspicuously missing. Coach Kleats nodded toward the sidelines.
“He’s okay!” he informed Mr. Weatherbee.
“That’s a relief,” he breathed. Miss Grundy had abandoned the snack shack and stood beside him with the first aid kit.
“Can you get up?” Kleats inquired. “Let me help you. Slowly.” Archie rolled carefully up onto his elbow, and the ground began to spin.
“Ooh…”
“Take it easy, boy. Give it another minute.”
“We don’t want to move you if it means you could collapse,” Floyd added.
“I can manage. I think…” Archie sighed. “Did I make it?”
“Not this time, son.” Archie groaned again, this time in disgust.
“They’re gonna hate me…”
“Uh-uh. It’s not them laid out on the ground. No one’s got any business giving you a hard time if you gave it your all, Arch. Let’s go. It’s cold, I don’t want you out here like this.”
“It’s not any warmer on the bench.” Archie got himself up and began hobbling toward the edge of the field, and he heard a low wave of applause. He saw his teammates, first and second string alike, lined up neatly in a row and kneeling on one knee, watching him expectantly. Coach Kleats shouldered himself under Archie’s arm and helped him the rest of the way. Archie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he was relieved when they got up and ringed him protectively, even Reggie.
“You okay?” he demanded. He sounded legitimately worried, gripping his arm.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Good. You suck.” Reggie slapped his back and moved on. Archie glared.
“Sheesh…” Chuck gave Reggie a hard shove.
“Quit being a douche,” Chuck warned the smug running back. “C’mon, bro.” Archie shucked his helmet and chucked it on the ground, sinking gratefully onto the bench.
“I do suck,” he admitted miserably. “I missed my moment.”
“You stood stock still for a sec,” Chuck pointed out. “What was that about?”
“Just… nothing. Guess I zoned out.”
“And they tell me the lights are on but nobody’s home,” Moose quipped as he chugged down a paper cup of Gatorade. Miss Grundy stopped by and solicitously checked him over, cleaning and bandaging a scrape on his arm. Coach Kleats retrieved Archie’s Riverdale letter jacket and draped it over his shoulders, protecting him from the chilly night as his sweat began to cool over his flesh.
You can’t win ‘em all…
“Archie?” A timid, girlish voice beckoned to him, and Archie craned his neck around, meeting Big Ethel’s worried gray eyes. She held out a Styrofoam cup that released thin plumes of steam. “I… just wanted to bring you this. Maybe it’ll help.”
“What is it?”
“Cocoa.” She held it out to him shyly. “You okay?”
“You’re not supposed to be down here,” Chuck reminded her dryly. “Unless you brought more?” Ethel made a face at him, but brightened briefly when Archie took the cup.
“Thanks, Bee.” She didn’t scold him for the use of the hated moniker.
“Sure. Sorry, Archie.”
“Why?”
“Just… I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“Go back up to the stands, please, young lady,” Floyd Clayton urged before Archie could form a reply.
“Right. Going.” Ethel’s cheeks burned. She hurried away, trying not to meet the other players’ eyes. Archie’s eyes followed her retreat, and he huffed in confusion. Ethel made her way back to the snack shack, stopping briefly at the sound of a familiar tenor.
“Ethel?”
“Oh… hi, Dilly.” Dilton pushed his glassed back up onto his nose and adjusted his Nikon lens, smiling warmly up at her. “Get any good shots?”
“Yup. Sucks that he missed that pass.”
“I’m just glad that he didn’t get too hurt.”
“Just his pride. Poor guy. If that was me, I’d be a grease spot out on the field.”
“No! Please,” she chided him. Ethel hated it when Dilton was self-deprecating because of his stature. Dilton never grew past five-foot-five, which always meant being in the front row of every school photo, but being picked last for every team. Ethel could relate to the second part, with the exception of track.
“Then again, I’d never be out there,” he mused. “I thought you were taking a turn working in the snack shack for boosters tonight.”
“I was. And I took a break.”
“Trula up there with you?”
“Yup.” Ethel made a face.
“You don’t sound too thrilled.”
“Right in one.”
“She seems okay to me.”
“She just… rubs me the wrong way. I don’t know why. Wait. I take that back, I do know why. She’s annoying. And pushy. And just… annoying.”
“And she likes Jug.”
“And she likes… wait. What?”
“She’s not that subtle, Ethel.”
“Oh. No. She’s not. Not at all,” Ethel hedged. In the back of her mind, she admitted, Neither am I, huh? Dilton adjusted his glasses again.
“Don’t let her give you a hard time.”
“I know, I know…”
“Are you headed to Pop’s after the game?”
“I hadn’t planned to. Why? Who’s going?”
“Well, I am,” Dilton said, smirking.
“Oh…pffft! Right. I was just wondering if it was going to be a group.”
“Probably. Usually is.”
“I don’t know… maybe.”
“I’ll look out for you if you go,” Dilton offered. “Moose mentioned it earlier. You can hang out with us?”
“I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
“Nah. You’d be a fourth wheel. Moose wouldn’t show up without Midge.” That comforted Ethel – slightly. She got along fine with the petite brunette for the most part, even though she envied her curves, small feet, and the fact that she didn’t have any trouble finding pants that were long enough.
“That’s fine, I guess.”
“Why not? What else have you got to do on a Friday night?”
“Don’t rub it in.” She elbowed him playfully. “I’ll look for you there.”
“That’s fine! Later, Ethel.”
“Bye, Dilly.” Ethel headed back to the steamy interior of the shack, grateful to shake off the chill. Trula gave her a harried look as she craned her neck around from the service window.
“Ethel, we need more pretzels!”
“I’m on it.” Ethel busied herself, warming up more nacho cheese, assembling cartons of chips and placing more mini pizzas into the microwave. She slid warmed pretzels into their paper sleeves and lined them up in the rack, and Ethel allowed herself to look forward to the trip to Pop’s. Who knew? Maybe it would be fun for a change, since she had an actual invitation. Going there after school and running into her girlfriends was one thing, but going at nighttime was different. Having a boy ask her, even if that boy was just one of her buddies, put a new spin on it. At least someone finally thought of her. It felt great to just be included.
“Excuse me,” Jughead called in through the window, “can I order?” Ethel snapped out of her reverie and almost dropped the nacho cheese bucket.
“Sure, Juggie! What can I get you?” Trula grinned back at him, hand on her hip. “Come to buy us out already?”
“That depends on whether you made the food. I don’t want ptomaine,” he quipped, smirking.
“Oh, ha-ha,” she tsked.
“There’s no ptomaine in my snack shack!” Miss Beazley snapped, waving her serving tongs at him.
“Ah, what the heck. You only live once. I’ll take some nachos and a corn dog.” Behind Trula, Ethel hurried to assemble his order into a snack box. “Let’s throw on a couple of mini pizzas while you’re at it.”
“Watching your girlish figure?” Trula accused.
“Jealous?” Ethel rolled her eyes and made a sound of disgust. Trula glanced back at her.
“Hurry it up with that order, Bee!”
“Don’t call me that,” Ethel muttered. She came up to the window and elbowed Trula out of the way when she tried to take the box from her hands. “Here, Juggie. Anything else? Want a hot cocoa?”
“I didn’t even know you were in there,” he remarked as he took the box. Jughead dug into his pocket and handed over a ten-spot, sliding it over the ledge. Trula reached around Ethel and snatched the money up quickly, fanning the flames of Ethel’s annoyance.
“I’ve been here since the game started.”
“Not the whole game. Ethel had to take a break,” Trula interjected as she counted out Jug’s change from the register. Ethel huffed as Trula reached around her again, practically shoving her aside as she gave him the change.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t know I helped out at all…”
“Can I still get that cocoa?”
“Sure, Jug.” Ethel dutifully filled a cup with the sweet brew and snapped on a white lid. She evaded Trula’s grab for the cup and handed it out to him herself.
“Why aren’t you with the band tonight, Jug?”
“I joined concert band. I didn’t feel like marching or carrying the gear. It’s a pain.”
“Aw, where’s your school spirit?” Trula nagged.
“I’m showing my school spirit. I support the boosters club,” he shrugged as he bit into a mini pizza. Ethel smirked, catching his eye. Jughead smirked back.
“Sounds pretty supportive to me,” Ethel agreed simply. Jug smiled and tipped his hat to them.
“Thanks for the cocoa, Ethel. I needed the warm-up.” He began to leave, but Trula called after him.
“Juggie, are you headed to Pop’s tonight?”
Drat. Drat, drat, drat that Trula! Darn it! Why???
Why did she get to ask him first?
Then Ethel reminded herself, because Archie’s advice was still ringing in her ears. She was trying too hard, and it wasn’t helping her case any to chase Jughead if he didn’t want to be caught.
“Pop’s?” Jughead mumbled around the rest of the pizza that he’d shoved into his mouth, wrongly assuming the conversation was over.
“Yes, Pops! Everybody’s going,” Trula scoffed. “Duh.”
“I’ll probably head over with Arch, if he even feels like it. Think his pride’s a little bruised. Come to think of it, he’s a little bruised all over.”
“What?” Trula demanded. “What happened?”
“Didn’t you hear? Archie got sacked, hard.”
“Oh, no! That was Archie?” Ethel squirmed uncomfortably behind her, busying herself with refilling the cocoa dispenser.
“You saw what happened, didn’t you, Ethel?” Jug pointed out.
“Er…”
“You didn’t say anything,” Trula accused.
“I just… figured you knew. Sheesh. Don’t sound so thrilled that he got hurt, Trula.” Ethel decided her best defense was to turn the nosy heifer’s game against her for a minute. “Why? Are you going to print it in the sports section of the paper, or your little column?”
“What? No! Please,” Trula mocked. “Don’t be dense, Bee.”
“It’s Ethel,” she reminded her dryly. “You’re the one sounding so thrilled that Archie got hurt, like it’s some big news flash. Get bent.”
“Girls! That’s enough,” Miss Beazley snapped, scowling. “That’s no way to talk. You’re working, so act like it. Take your argument away from school grounds.” She removed the paper receipt roll with its steadily widening pink ink streak from the cash register. “Or just don’t argue at all, that’s an option, too,” she grumbled under her breath. School spirit and tenure were her only reasons for volunteering to be the booster club advisor for a tenth year in a row. Chastened and fuming, both girls went back to their tasks.
“Catch you at Pop’s, Ethel,” Jughead tossed over his shoulder as he took his leave this time.
“HEY!” Trula protested, but the gangly junior’s grey beanie disappeared into the crowd. The buzzer and whistle for the third quarter blared, and people began milling in the bleachers, making their way toward the snack shack, and suddenly, the three women were swamped with orders for hot cocoa and nachos. Bingo, Jinx, and a couple of other second stringers made a Power-Ade and hot dog run, forking over a couple of crumpled ten-spots.
“Hey, Ethel,” Bingo called into the window. “What’s shakin’?”
“Nothing new. Did you see Sam at halftime?”
“Heck, yeah!” he grinned. “She’s the best part of halftime!” Silently, Ethel wished Bingo’s cousin would pay her that kind of attention. What was it like to have a boyfriend who was proud of you? “I’m meeting her at Pop’s.”
“That’s nice.”
“Go,” he encouraged.”
“Yeah. Why not?” Jinx chimed in.
“I guess,” she murmured. “Just the hot dogs?”
“Yup. Saving room for a burger.” Ethel chuckled, marveling that Jughead had no concept of “saving room.” Obviously, Bingo didn’t have his cousin’s iron gut.
“See you at Pop’s,” Bingo decided for her.
“I don’t know, yet.”
“Just go,” he shrugged.
“C’mon,” Jinx added.
“Ethel never goes to Pop’s on Friday night,” Trula teased, as though she would even know. Ethel was ready to dunk her curly head into the cheese sauce.
“You going, Trula?”
“Jug told me he was going,” she said matter-of-factly, as though that explained everything.
“Enough gab, more snacks,” Miss Beazley prodded as she removed the hot dogs from the rollers.
“Bye,” Ethel offered, giving the boys a weak wave.
“Later!”
The rest of the night was busy but uneventful. Ethel wished she had volunteered to work at the ticket booth, instead, where she would have a better view of the field. She wondered how Archie was faring, and she felt guilty all over again for his sack. Ouch… Suddenly, the prospect of going to Pop’s lost his appeal. If Archie showed up, would he blame her for distracting him? Ethel weighed her options, and the slight glow she felt at having an after-game gathering – among the sort of popular crowd who usually ignored her – faltered slightly when she thought of the missed touchdown. Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot.
Ethel sighed in exasperation. Miss Beazley peered at her over a steaming tray of mini pizzas as she removed them from the microwave. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing.” And that, Ethel realized, was the problem. No one really cared what was up with her, did they?
Not really.
*
Riverdale squeaked by with a narrow victory, 25-24, thanks to Moose’s punt. The marching band broke into one last, uneven, blaring rendition of the school song in the bleachers as the teams left the field. Ethel and Trula finished packing up the remaining food supplies and bagging up the garbage. Miss Beazley counted up the earnings in the register and nodded approvingly.
“Good job, ladies. We practically sold out.”
“I can’t look at another hot dog,” Ethel admitted.
“Me, either,” Trula agreed. “I want a sundae!” That made Ethel fume all over again, but she said nothing.
“You girls can go ahead,” Miss Beazley told them, shooing them off. “You were a big help. Don’t stay out too late and worry your parents.”
“That’s never a problem,” Ethel muttered under her breath.
“What was that, sweetie?” Miss Beazley inquired.
“Nothing. Just… nothing. See you later, ma’am.”
Ethel hurried out toward the parking lot, her mind brewing with possibilities. On the one hand, she could go home. Change into her Hello Kitty footie pajamas and curl up with a roll of cookie dough and Smallville reruns on Netflix. She could enjoy the brief moment when Jughead paid her some attention, a fleeting moment, and victory, if you looked at it that way. It was a harmless, safe plan. It was comfortable. She’d be in by curfew.
On the other hand…
She could go to Pop’s while she was still decently dressed and groomed. She might run into Juggie again… and it wouldn’t be premeditated, would it? If he mentioned it to her directly that he was going to Pop’s, that didn’t count as “stalking” if she actually showed up, did it? Didn’t he actually say “Catch you at Pop’s?”
That put a different spin on things and made up her mind. Ethel keyed the ignition of her tiny car and followed the long line of headlights out of the parking lot. With a feeling of anticipation fizzing in her gut, Ethel noticed that a lot of them were turning left at the Elm Street intersection, more than likely heading to Pop’s.
She only lived once. And, realistically, she scoffed, she would probably still be in by curfew.
Ethel ended up driving around the block twice when she got to Pop’s, trying to find a decent parking spot, but the crowd was already there, and a quick glance in the windows told her that three quarters of the tables were already taken. She saw a lot of blue sweaters and letter jackets, but she didn’t see any sign of a familiar gray beanie. Ethel made one more pass through the parking lot at the rear, and she managed to spot a senior citizen couple getting into a sharp Lincoln Navigator. She waited patiently, waiting for them to back out. The man at the steering wheel waved to her over his shoulder, and she waved back, grateful that he gave her a crack at that spot. Just as she inched her way into the space, she heard the loud blare of a horn and blinked at the onslaught of high beams. Ethel glared back at the jackass that was set on blinding her.
“THAT WAS MY SPOT!” Reggie bellowed out from his window. Ethel made sure he was watching and flipped him the bird before she could stop herself. She heard him crowing at her, “Whoa! She flipped me the bird! Ooh, I’m so scared! ETHEL FLIPPED ME THE BIRD! I’M TELLING YOUR MOTHER, BEE!”
“Jackass,” Ethel muttered. “Up yours.” She still wasn’t surrendering her parking spot, no matter what stupid thing he said, so who really won this round? He blinked his high beams at her just to annoy her, and she turned off her engine just to stake her claim.
“BITCH!”
“Dumb ass,” she informed him from the driver’s seat as she dug in her purse for her pink lip gloss. Ethel combed her hair in her rearview mirror and painted a neat pout with the tiny stick, screwing it back into the tube. Part of her almost wanted to flee, but she realized that it wasn’t up to Reggie Mantle to decide where she spent her Friday night. Let him be an ass. Ethel was, for the most part, invited to be there, or at least informed of where everyone would be. That was good enough for her.
Reggie abandoned his efforts at haranguing her for the moment, still circling the lot for a place to park his convertible. Ethel made good her escape and headed in through the side entrance. Ethel’s risk paid off. As she scanned the room, she heard Betty’s familiar chirp. “Ethel! Over here! Come sit with us!” Betty, Adam, Nancy and Midge were at a circular booth in the corner. Ethel felt unsure for a moment. Wherever you found Midge and Nancy, Chuck and Moose usually weren’t far behind, and that meant that Ethel was essentially a third – well, seventh wheel. There would just barely be room for her.
“Are you waiting for anyone else?” she fished. She scanned the restaurant, but she didn’t see Dilton yet, or Brigitte, who would also welcome her easily enough without judging her for not being half of a couple.
“Moose isn’t here yet,” Midge explained. “Come hang out. Sam’s here with Bingo and they’re waiting on a another couple of people. You can always sit with them when Moose and Chuck get here, or you can stay here.”
“It’s no big deal,” Betty agreed. “Hang out! Ronnie’s on her way here, too. She decided to go home and change. She said she’d probably come with Reggie.”
“He’s already here,” Ethel said sourly, pulling a face.
“Oops…” Betty chuckled. “What did he do now?”
“Act like a jackass when I took the parking spot he wanted.”
“Tough noogies. He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it,” Nancy assured her, rolling her eyes. “That boy isn’t right, sometimes.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Reggie’s just Reggie,” Midge explained. Ethel sighed. Midge was a nice enough girl, but she sometimes wondered if she knew how she sounded when she defended him. Reggie hadn’t done the best job of concealing his attraction to the petite bombshell, and the fact that she was taken made her even more appealing to him. “Just ignore him.”
“That won’t make him go away,” Ethel deadpanned. Nancy and Betty crowed, reaching up for high fives. Adam grinned as he stirred his vanilla malted with his straw.
“Don’t feel bad, Ethel. Mantle is a jackass. You’re not in the minority.”
“He’s always been that way,” Betty mentioned. “He used to pull my pigtails when I was a kid. He knocked over my snowman once, too.”
“Small man complex,” Adam suggested.
“Oh, ha-ha,” Betty snorted. Then, “Maybe.” Ethel grinned. Slowly she began to feel better. She wasn’t at home by herself, or at a table by herself. That meant something, didn’t it?
Then the thorn in her side had to come in and ruin it all. Reggie swept in through the front door with Veronica on his arm, and Ethel noticed that she hadn’t changed out of her cheerleading uniform, after all; Ethel decided she probably wanted to show off her position on the squad with everyone else, especially the captain’s pin on her sweater. What else would you expect? Ethel shrank back into the cushioned seat of the booth, silently wishing they both would go away.
Too late. Reggie caught her glance and smirked. “You took my parking spot,” he announced loudly.
“You snooze, you lose,” Ethel retorted.
“Guess you snooze all the time, then!” Reggie jeered, laughing at his own joke. A few onlookers stared at Ethel with amusement, and suddenly the sugar container and napkin dispenser became very interesting to her. Ethel toyed with the tines of her fork. “Why don’t you give us a cheer? We won! You should have been on the squad, Ethel! Sorry you didn’t make it!” Reggie imitated the cheerleader’s halftime dance while Veronica stood by, laughing behind her hand, occasionally sneaking glances at Ethel to gage her reaction.
“Reggie… God, you’re so embarrassing,” she prodded, but she was enjoying the spectacle. That made ten of them, or perhaps fifteen, at Ethel’s count. Her cheeks burned and she lost her appetite. But deep inside her being, a tiny voice nagged her:
Are you really going to let him treat you like that?
Heck, no, she nagged back. Give me a chance, here.
“He’s just embarrassing himself!” Ethel snapped. Pride stiffened her spine and she was leaning on the edge of her seat now. Her earlier bravado from the parking lot came back. The restaurant began to fill up, and she saw more familiar faces milling around. The Blossom twins held court in the center of the shop, having moved two tables together, and they turned toward the commotion near the door. “Maybe you should have gone out for cheering, Reggie. You can’t run to save your life.”
“Shit,” Nancy muttered beside her, covering her mouth with her hand. “Nice one,” she whispered.
“I can’t run… I CAN’T RUN? You’re gonna tell ME how to play football? Maybe YOU should have gone out for football, since everybody calls you BIG ETHEL!” he jeered. Reggie’s smile was cruel. “Except you’ve got two left feet! Go ahead and show us your cheers! Show everybody what they missed at halftime!”
“Get bent!” Ethel’s eyes grew dangerously warm, the threat of tears making them spark, but anger simmered in her veins. Reggie didn’t care, wound up as he was in entertaining the crowd at her expense.
Unnoticed, Jughead bit into his second hamburger at the far end of the counter. If Ethel had scanned the crowd a bit longer before taking up her spot at the booth, she might have noticed him and spent her time hedging and arguing with herself about how to approach him. Like everyone else, Jughead paused at the sound of the commotion above the clatter and clink of glasses being loaded into the dishwasher in the kitchen and the sizzle of meat on Pop’s grill. Was that Ethel? And why did her voice sound so heated?
Jughead could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever seen Ethel lose her temper and still have fingers left. The first time was pretty legit, when they were in freshman year, and Moose ruined her yearbook. A passing truck driving through a huge puddle and soaking her to the skin on the way to school before she got her driver’s license was justifiable. Accidentally burning a batch of caramel for some apples she was about to dip was a pretty good reason. Jughead could appreciate all of them.
But Ethel was raising her voice, and it held a defensive note, like she was being ragged on. By Reggie, no less.
Right. There was no sitting still for that noise. No one deserved to have that loudmouth up in their grill. Jughead set down the sandwich and abandoned his stool. As he passed, Trula looked up from her menu and tried to tug on his sleeve. “Juggie! Pull up a chair.”
“I’m good.” He ignored her pout and headed toward the circular booth. Jughead watched Reggie from the back, making a fool of himself as usual, but he sopped up the attention like a sponge. Jughead cleared his throat and barked, “DULL, DULL, DULL!” in his best Len Goodman voice. Everyone was startled from Reggie’s spectacle, but no one was surprised at the source.
Jughead and Reggie’s rivalry was longstanding and legend. Where Reggie lacked subtlety and discretion, Jughead was his polar opposite, lacking patience for bullshit artists. “If you’re not in the bottom two next week, I’ll show me bum in the supermarket! Ding, dong Donny!”
“Oh, no,” Betty murmured. Now Reggie had done it, and Jughead looked calm, but she knew he was loaded for bear. That was part of his charm, even if it was limited when it came to girls.
“Take a chill pill! I tried judging with me eyes shut, it wasn’t much better! Gettin’ on my nerves, y’are! It was consistent, it was terrible from start to finish! Did I tell you you’ve got the guns, but not the ammunition?”
“I’ve got the ammunition,” Reggie argued smugly, flexing a bicep. Jughead shook his head.
“You’ve done all the right steps, but unfortunately, they were all at the wrong time! Terrible!” A ripple of laughter greeted his impersonation, complete with the gruff expression and gestures.
“Tell Ethel,” Reggie shrugged. “I’m just copying her moves! She taught me everything I know!” Ethel fumed but wisely kept her mouth shut.
“It needed a bit more Welly,” Archie piped up from the doorway. “You can’t just come in here, shaking your wobbly bits! Your feet were all over the place!” Archie’s British accent needed work; Jughead was the better mimic. “Your posture’s a little bit bizarre!” Ethel was stunned. She’d stressed so much over how she would handle seeing Archie after her mistake… yet, was he defending her? Her brain couldn’t process what she was hearing. Nancy and Midge giggled, but Betty sighed in annoyance. Then Ethel remembered that her bestie was still mad at him for standing her up.
“You’re the one that got sacked. Don’t give me that ‘bizarre posture’ shit.” Archie was nonplussed. But Ethel took it personally on his behalf.
“Leave him alone!” she cried.
“That’s enough! I won’t have fighting in my shop,” Pop’s boomed. The burly soda jerk stared them all down, arms crossed over his white apron. “Everybody better be ordering or eating. If not, get out!”
“Eating’s fine with me,” Jughead shrugged.
“Sure. Go stuff your face,” Reggie told him. “Guess you’re done defending your girlfriend, Needle-Nose.” Jughead paused and narrowed his eyes.
“Shut your hole.” Ethel paled, and she couldn’t watch him anymore.
“Why does she need defending?” Archie cut in. “Why did you need to get up in her face in the first place?”
“Pfft… you’re sticking up for her now?” Reggie’s tone suggested that it was a likely story.
“No one needs to stick up for me,” Ethel reminded them both. She pushed her way out of the booth, shoving Reggie out of her way as she darted for the door. She’d had enough for one night.
“She did me a favor,” Reggie told no one in general. But he hurried after her, standing outside the shop and cupping his hand around his mouth. “Thanks for leaving me a parking spot, Big Ethel! Let me move my car!”
“Bastard,” Nancy tsked.
“Wow,” Midge agreed. “What was he thinking?”
“Adam, I’ll be back,” Betty told him, excusing herself. He slid out to let her out of the booth, and Betty hurried out the door. “Get out of the way, Reggie!” she snapped as he tried to tug on her arm.
“Aw, Bets! Let her go! Who cares? It’s ETHEL!”
“She’s my friend, asshole. I care, that’s who. Just go back inside!” Betty took off across the parking lot, where Ethel fumbled with her keys and jerked the car door open. “Ethel! Wait!” Behind her, Reggie threw his hands up in defeat.
“Leave me alone. I’m going home,” Ethel told her miserably. “That sucked. This whole night has sucked SO much.” Her gray eyes were bloodshot, and Betty gently wrapped her arm around her shoulders.
“It’s okay. Don’t go, kiddo.”
“I’m so done,” Ethel whimpered. She sagged out of Betty’s embrace and sank into her driver’s seat. “Why did I even come?”
“I was glad to see you,” Betty offered. “Sorry about what happened back there.”
“Why does that always happen?” Ethel wanted to know. “Can I just go out once in public without someone like Reggie embarrassing me?”
“Why be embarrassed? He was the one acting like an idiot.”
“Everybody was laughing.”
“At him. Not with him.” Betty knelt in front of her and took her hand. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. That was humiliating. I just want… I don’t know, Betty. I just want people to stop bagging on me every day. I don’t talk about anyone or treat anybody like dirt the way they treat me. What makes Reggie so hot?”
“Ethel, trust me, Reggie’s shit does stink. Badly. You think that guy’s not insecure?”
“He’s definitely insecure,” Archie agreed gruffly. Betty craned her neck around to stare up at him and sighed.
“I think we’re okay here.”
“I just wanted to check on her,” Archie told her. “You all right?”
“No. Not really.”
“I’ve got this, Arch.”
“Bets… give me a minute. Go back inside. I want to talk with Ethel.”
“Why-“
“Go,” he urged impatiently. “Go back inside. Adam’s wondering when you’re coming back.”
“Adam’s a big boy,” Betty reminded him sharply, her blue eyes sparking indignantly. Ethel winced.
“I’m just going home, guys. You can both go inside.” Betty had to move aside as Ethel pulled her car door shut.
“You don’t have to leave, Ethel,” Archie reminded her.
“There’s no way I’m staying,” she argued.
“You’re sure?” Betty urged.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Ethel assured her. Betty leaned into through her car window and gave her a quick hug, kissing her temple.
“That’s fine.”
“Ethel, wait a minute.”
“She just said she’s leaving, Arch.”
“I know that. But not yet.” Archie took a different tack, circling her car and opening the passenger door.
“What the…? Okay.” Ethel looked confused as the redheaded quarterback buckled himself in and closed the door. “What’s the deal?”
“You said you’re leaving. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Isn’t Ronnie waiting for you inside?” Ethel reminded him.
“News flash, Ethel: She came in with Reggie. Oh, right. You missed it.”
“Oh. Oops…” Ethel automatically felt bad about even mentioning it, and Betty’s look of disgust found its target. Archie had the decency to look embarrassed.
“G’night,” Betty bade them both.
“Night, Betty,” Ethel told her. She watched the swish of Betty’s blonde ponytail retreating across the lot until she disappeared, then closed her eyes, bowing her head to the steering wheel. “It just gets worse…”
“Can we talk now?”
“Sure. Why not?” Ethel forced herself to look at him. “I have no idea why, Archie, but go ahead.”
“Thanks for the cocoa. I don’t know why you did it, but it was nice.”
“Yeah, well… you’re welcome. Not much consolation for me screwing up your play.” Archie was taken aback.
“How did you screw up my play? I got sacked. We missed a touchdown. It’s not the end of the world. Well, it kinda was when it happened… Bee, don’t cry. Shoot.” Archie scanned the interior of the car, looking for anything that could be used as a tissue. He found a handful of crumpled fast food napkins in the console and handed her one.
“I didn’t mean to distract you.”
“Well, it was just a bad moment. So my timing was a little off.” Ethel blew her nose and dabbed her eyes miserably.
“I shouldn’t have been right out there where I’d get in the way.”
“You weren’t on the field. You weren’t in the way. Central’s tackle, THAT guy was in the way. So, to me, it sounds like you don’t have to be sorry. And for the record, Ethel, that wasn’t the first time I ever got distracted by a cute girl during a game. At least you brought me cocoa. Which was nice, I might add, since it was cold out tonight.”
“I can’t look at another cup of cocoa,” she admitted. “I was in the concession booth all night. All of that food loses its appeal after three hours.”
“But you still came to Pop’s for a burger?” Archie smiled disarmingly. Ethel snorted.
“Not really. Look, I’m headed home. Do you want to get out of my car already?” Ethel emphasized her point by turning the key in the ignition. Her car radio blared Maroon 5 and clicked the car’s auto-locks at him.
“Well… no.” Ethel paused, then did a double take. Archie’s face was serious.
“Wait… whaddya mean, no?”
“What part of ‘Veronica came with Reggie’ did you miss? Here are my options. Go hang out with Jug while he eats his weight in burgers. Watch Betty glare at me while she’s cozying up to Adam. Watch Reggie and Ronnie acting all kissy-goo-goo. Watch Nancy and Chuck acting kissy-goo-goo. Watch Moose and Midge acting kissy-goo-goo. Or leave with you, get some fresh air, and get the skinny from you about why you’re so obsessed with my best friend.”
“You’re not right in the head.”
“And?”
“Fine. But we’re not going to my house,” Ethel decided. “You’re buckled in.”
“Yup.”
“You’re buying.” Before he could protest, she backed out of the space, telling him “Pick a station. My CD player’s broken.”
*
Archie couldn’t remember the last time a woman had driven him anywhere, except his mom, before he got his own license and car. It felt odd being tucked snugly into the passenger side of Ethel’s tiny car. Her seat was pushed almost all the way back to accommodate her long legs, a fact that silently amused him.
“You sure do like Hello Kitty,” he pointed out. He flicked the little pendant dangling from her rearview. Ethel chuckled.
“That’s how I roll. Don’t diss Kitty.”
“I did no such thing! Kitty and I can hang.” Her car was so girly, but he chided himself that ol’ Betsy wasn’t exactly a Rolls-Royce. Veronica never failed to let him know that.
They drove down Main Street at a leisurely pace. Ethel was a careful driver, and she hummed slightly with the stereo. “Archie? Where are we going?”
“You’re the one at the wheel,” he shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride.”
“You’re the one who wanted to talk.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. That. Okay. Hit Palmer’s store. They’re still open.”
“For what?”
“You said I’m buying,” he offered. She peered over at him, and his smile just… puzzled her.
“Oookaaaayyy… Palmer’s.” They sat silently, watching the street lights glance over the windshield as she drove and counting intersections. Ethel had about another hour til curfew, and it felt strange to spend it with Archie, of all people. Not bad… just odd. How did they end up here?
They pulled into the lot of the mom-and-pop shop, finding it nearly empty. In the back of of the store, they saw a middle-aged, balding man in a Family Guy tee shirt playing the old Galaga arcade game, feeding it from a towering stack of quarters. Archie and Ethel eyed each other in amusement as they made their way to the hot foods counter. “Hot dog?” Archie offered.
“Ugh.”
“Nachos.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Hmmm… taquitos?”
“They’re never good after they’ve been sitting out.”
“You’re killing me. How about popcorn?”
“I can deal with popcorn,” she allowed.
“Churro?”
“Only if they’re fresh.”
“They’re fresh!” Mr. Palmer called over to them from the register, where he was thumbing through a copy of USA Today. “Just made ‘em.”
“Right. Two. What else?”
“How hungry are you, Archie?”
“Ethel, I just finished playing football; I’m starved. I could chew my own arm off right now.”
“Aww… then why did you leave Pop’s?”
“It was crowded, anyway. That’s not the only place that I can eat. Pick us out something to drink.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Doesn’t matter. What’s your favorite?”
“Root beer.”
“Grab a liter of it.”
“I can chip in if you want something else.”
“Don’t worry about it. I like root beer.” He looked mildly annoyed at her for suggesting she pay. Ethel shrugged and helped him pile the goodies on the counter. Archie added on a foil-wrapped hot dog and bag of Chee-Tohs at the last minute, and Mr. Palmer rang them up.
“What are you kids doing out on a cold night like this?”
“Game,” Archie explained simply, nodding down at his jersey.
“Don’t stay out too late. All the nut jobs come out at night. Stay safe.” Archie handed over a twenty. “Watch out for your lady, here,” he warned Archie gruffly, before he winked at Ethel.
“I’ve gotta watch out for him,” Ethel teased, winking back.
“Hey!” Archie poked her side, making her giggle and squirm away, before she poked him back.
“G’night,” Mr. Palmer told them.
“Bye!” Ethel told him cheerfully. As they left the store, she asked Archie, “Where now?”
“Somewhere with a view.” Ethel frowned.
“This is Riverdale. It’s after ten. There’s not much of a view.”
“Sure there is.” Ethel and Archie buckled up, and as she backed out of her space, Archie pointed and told her, “Left. Get on the freeway.”
*
Ethel drove mostly one-handed, occasionally dipping into the Chee-Tohs. Archie folded down the wrapper of her churro to make it less messy and handed it to her. “I’m still gonna have to drive you back to your car.”
“No big deal. I’m enjoying the ride. I trust you.” Ethel pulled a face.
“If Ron was there with Reggie, who were you meeting?”
“Eh. Jug. Actually, everybody, I guess. I was planning to go. It wasn’t like I had a date. You were there,” he pointed out.
“I wasn’t even planning on it. Dilton mentioned it, and I didn’t even see him.”
“He had to head home. His mom needed him for something.”
“That’s too bad.” Ethel wondered if her problems would have been solved hanging out with Dilton at a low-visibility table, instead of right in the middle of the “in-crowd.”
“Jug being at the Chok’lit Shoppe didn’t help you make up your mind?”
“Shut. Up.”
“It’s no big deal if it did.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. I really am. Where are we going, again?”
“Turn right.” Ethel was puzzled.
“This looks like the golf course.”
“Smart girl. Park over there.”
“Are we even supposed to be here?”
“Dunno. I just like hanging out here once in a while. It’s quiet.”
“You’re not a ‘quiet hangout’ kinda guy.”
“Says who? Are you gonna eat the rest of that churro?”
“Probably not.”
“Hand it over, then.” Ethel complied and helped herself to some Chee-Tohs. She turned off the engine and unbuckled her seat belt, leaving the radio on. Archie turned down the volume and opened up the soda, offering her the first sip. Their fingers touched slightly as he passed her the root beer; Ethel flushed, but Archie didn’t seem like he noticed.
“Are you and Ronnie on the outs?”
“I didn’t think we were,” he admitted. “Guess we are.”
“That kinda sucks.”
“It happens.”
“Why does it happen?”
“Sometimes she can’t make up her mind.”
“Hello, kettle? Meet pot. Are you listening to yourself?”
“What?”
“You can’t make up your mind, either. Why do you keep ending up with Ron? Betty’s so much cooler, Arch.”
“I know she’s cool, Ethel. I’m not saying she’s not, but…”
“Uh-uh. No ‘buts.’ Betty’s a nice girl. Ron’s a pain in the ass.”
“She has her good qualities.”
“Cross looks off the list, and what do you have left?”
“Aw. C’mon. What, I have to make you a list? She’s funny. She likes to have a good time. She’s fun to take out. We like the same music. She can play an instrument.”
“Okay. Okay. Okay.” Ethel agreed as he ticked points off his fingers. “But you have to admit… Archie, she has a mean side.” He sighed.
“Maybe.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Ethel dug out a handful of Chee-Tohs. “Betty likes you a lot. A lot,” she emphasized. “She tries hard to please you.”
“I know she does. She’s sweet.”
“And talented. And attractive. Good at sports. A good cook. Generous. Patient. Won’t kick you when you’re down. Loyal. A great friend.”
“Bingo. That last one.”
“Huh?”
“A great friend. That’s part of the problem.”
“Why is that a problem?” Ethel said incredulously.
“I can’t even explain it. Betty’s just… Betty. I’m crazy about her.”
“You’d be crazy not to be.”
“I know.” Archie took a long pull off the soda and stared out into the darkened course, watching the trees sway in the strong breeze. “Sometimes, she’s just… too good.”
“Too good. Like, too nice?”
“No. It’s just… I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“Sometimes it seems like you love disappointing her.” Archie scowled and poked her again.
“That’s not what I mean. Betty’s awesome. She’s great. I just feel like… she builds me up so much, that when I mess up… I’ve failed her. I fall off the pedestal.”
“That doesn’t happen with Veronica?”
“She never puts me on the pedestal to begin with. There’s no room for me on it when she’s standing there already.”
“Oh. I guess, huh?”
“Yup. And you know what? That’s your problem, Ethel.”
“How is Veronica being a pain in the ass my problem?”
“No. Goof. You’re… too nice. When you’re around Jug, you throw yourself at him.”
“Geez… not this again.”
“I’m just saying…”
“I know. It’s embarrassing. Can we not do this?”
“Okay. Ethel?”
“Yes?”
“What do you see in Jug?” She sighed.
“Everything.”
“Jug’s just… Jughead.”
“I know. I like that about him. He’s smart. Funny. He says whatever’s on his mind and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. I like hearing him play. He’s easygoing.”
“Okay. I guess you could call him that. I guess a guy who can burp the alphabet and stick his whole fist into his mouth would have to be ‘easygoing.’”
“Okay. So he’s not exactly the polished gentleman, but I like him. It’s kind of how you like pistachio ice cream. The nuts get in your teeth, but it has that special something to it when you eat it. No other flavor’s as satisfying.”
“Maybe that’s my problem.”
“What is?”
“Betty’s too vanilla. Ow!” he yelped as she swatted him.
“You’re not right in the head.”
“I never said I was. Have some soda before I finish the rest of it.” She obeyed, noticing it was half gone. Archie shoved the second empty churro wrapper into the bag and scrubbed his fingers with some of Ethel’s leftover napkins.
“You’re not giving Betty enough credit.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t know. And now she’s hanging out with Adam.”
“I know they’re hanging out.”
“She really likes him.” That darkened the mood in the car, and Archie turned from her, staring numbly out the window. He combed his fingers through the back of his coppery hair with a sigh.
“Yeah. I figured that.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“No.”
“Do you want her back?”
“Yes. No. Yes!”
“Right. That sums up your problem in a nutshell.”
“It’s not even a problem. I like Betty. I like Veronica. It wasn’t a problem until a few weeks ago.”
“Archie… it kinda was. I guess… that’s what I don’t get about you. Girls like you.” That got his attention. Archie glanced at her and smirked. “News flash!”
“Okay! You don’t get why they like me?”
“No. Goofball… you know what I mean. Betty likes you. Ron likes you. But you can’t make up your mind which one you want to be with more.”
“Lots of guys feel that way. We play the field.”
“What if someone gets hurt? What if someone really nice gets hurt?”
“Well, I guess it’s just time to end it, then,” he shrugged. Ethel shook her head. Poor Betty.
“I sure wish I had the problem of two guys liking me,” she told him. “Must be nice to get that much attention.”
“Guys pay attention to you,” he argued.
“Excuse me, but what planet have you been living on?”
“You’re not exactly invisible. You stand out. You’ve got that ‘little something,’ Ethel.”
“Okay. Where’s the real Archie, and what did you do with him?” she deadpanned. Archie laughed outright, and she threw a Chee-Toh at him. “No guy notices me.”
“They do. You don’t think they do.”
“I’d know if they noticed. My phone would be ringing if they noticed. See this?” She took her little smartphone with its Betty Boop case out of her purse and showed him the display. “Zero new messages. I have no life.”
“Guys notice you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“You look nice tonight,” Archie mentioned. Ethel crossed her arms beneath her breasts and ducked her head. Archie admitted to himself that she looked good in her olive green sweater, with her hair softly pulled back with little barrette clips. There was something vulnerable about her that appealed to him. She had such a slim silhouette and an irregular profile, but she looked prettier with her hair and skin softly lit by the glow from passing traffic.
“I do not.”
“You do. I like you better without all the makeup.”
“Oh… that. Yeah. It… saves me time in the morning when I don’t bother putting it on.” But she wouldn’t admit to Archie that his advice still rang in her ears from that awful afternoon. She glanced at her stereo. “Ten forty-five. I need to get you back to Pop’s. My folks’ll ground me if I’m out too late.”
“That’s fine.” The music cut off for a moment until she put the car in gear, then blared back to life. Her hand accidentally brushed Archie’s shoulder as she wrapped her arm around the back of her seat to look at the rear windshield. Archie flushed, wondering at the small tingle that ran through him.
“Thanks for treating.”
“Sure.”
“Arch?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I just so sorry. I lost you that play.”
“There’s other games. You didn’t lose me anything.”
Ethel felt weird and unsure of what to say. I had fun? Let’s do this again? If she said either, he’d think she’d lost her shit. Archie stewed in the same uncertainly on the other side of the car. They found Pop’s in the same state it was when they’d left it, noisy and crowded. Ethel saw that Reggie still held court in the front booth; she wasn’t sorry she’d left it. When she pulled into the lot, she noticed he hadn’t wasted time in taking her parking spot. Ethel tsked.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing new. See you at school.”
“It’s a date,” he quipped.
“Wha-huh-wha???” Alarms went off in her head. What???
“See you at school,” Archie echoed, staring at her funny. She recovered quickly.
“Right. G’night. It was… fun?” He huffed, and his lips curled in the little, lopsided smirk that Betty often said she loved.
“It was.” He squeezed her hand, and Ethel blushed to the roots of her hair. “G’night.”
She heard him whistling to himself as he made his way to his car. Ethel stared numbly at her steering wheel, wondering what the heck had just happened.
“What the heck just happened?”
- 4
- 5
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Go-To Girl