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Pigtails	By : CeeCee Category: Comics > Archie & Co. Views: 11153 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the Archies fandom. This is a work of fanfiction for entertainment only, and I'm not making money from it.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Summary: It’s a pun. A pun! *ducks*
Author’s Note: I didn’t mean to let this lag as long as it has.
“Betty? How soon can you get over here?”
“Hey,” Betty greeted as she flopped back against her mattress and propped her feet against the wall. “What’s up?”
“I’m having a crisis. Bring over those black pumps you just bought.” Betty snorted.
“Why?”
“I can’t make up my mind. I need a killer pair of shoes, stat!”
“So go buy a pair.” It wasn’t rocket science.
“Can’t. Daddy cut me off. He just got the credit card statements and threw a shit fit.”
“Which ones did he take away?”
“Macy’s. Victoria’s Secret. Neiman Marcus. Nordstrom. Everything except Target, Betty. This sucks,” Ron said sourly. Betty heard her take a bite of something and smirked.
“What’re you eating?”
“Shortbread cookies. Gaston made them.”
“Oooh.”
“Doesn’t that sound good?” Veronica plied. “You could stop over and have some.”
“You just want me to bring my new shoes.”
“I just wanna try them on.” Betty knew when she was being conned.
“What do you even need them for? You’ve got so many shoes, Ron.”
“They’re not the ones you just bought!” Veronica argued.
“I know. I just bought them. Hello?”
“They’re perfect for the dress I just bought. We wear the same size,” Ron cajoled. “C’mon. Just once. I jut wanna try ‘em on. They’d go with my dress. Pretty please?”
“Pfffft… no.” Betty already felt herself faltering. But she was curious. “What dress do you need them for?”
“Homecoming. Hello?” Veronica sounded appalled that Betty had to even ask.
“Oooookay,” Betty retorted. “I’m wearing my shoes for homecoming.”
“Come on! What are you wearing them with?”
“My blue dress. The one with the black belt.”
“Oh.” The pause on the other end of the line was loaded. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
“Uh-huh.” Betty was proud of it. Miss Haggly let her work on the dress after school in the home ec sewing room, and she spent every waking minute slipstitching, hemming, buttonholing, basting and topstitching the dress to perfection.
“Aren’t those shoes going to be a bit ‘much?’” Betty lowered her feet and rolled to her stomach. She blew her bangs out of her eyes in exasperation.
“No. They’ll be perfect.”
“I don’t know. I’d have to see the dress again with the shoes. I’m just not feeling it.” Veronica gloated silently as she pictured Betty’s expression.
“Ron, the shoes go fine with the dress!”
“They’re not too dressy for it?” Veronica hedged, playing devil’s advocate. “You could almost get by with that pair of open-toed pumps your mom got you last year.”
“They’re last year’s shoes, Ron,” Betty said in disgust. She felt slightly guilty. They were a perfectly nice pair of shoes, if she was going to church. They had a modest little one-and-a-half inch spool heel and were open-toed, just this side shy of a “comfort” shoe.
Her mother spent good money on them. Betty had only worn them a handful of times, so they were in good condition.
Veronica knew she was wearing her down. “The dress is cute,” Veronica assured her. “But it’s kinda casual.”
“It’s not that casual. Duh. I made it for homecoming.”
“I know you did. It looks like a homecoming outfit. It’s just not dressy enough for those shoes.”
Betty fumed. Suddenly her vision of her look for the dance lost its luster. “The shoes my mom bought will dress it down even more.”
“No, they won’t!” Ronnie assured her cheerfully. “They won’t be too much for the outfit the way the new ones will.”
“What are you doing with your hair?”
“I might wear it down. I’m thinking about a wash and set.”
“I might sleep on rollers the night before.”
“That’s old school. Why not just hit the hairdresser’s, or just have one come over to your house? That’s what I’m going to do.” Betty rolled her eyes again.
“Every shop’s going to be booked solid. I’m going to have to be my own Paul Mitchell for the night.”
Ron tsked. “That sucks. Oh, well.” She didn’t sound very sympathetic.
All the easier for her to impress Archie. Bitch.
“I’m going to get some earrings to go with my dress,” Veronica bragged.
“You’re cut off.”
“I can work around that.”
“Let me know what you end up with.”
“You too. Good luck with the shoes. Later, Betty.” Betty glared at the handset after Ron hung up, then cradled it in irritation. Then she automatically got up and pulled her dress from the closet. She took out the box holding her brand new heels, and she stepped into them for a moment, sashaying around the room. They pinched a bit, but she had time to break them in.
She held her dress up against her self and stood in front of her full-length mirror. She stuck out her foot for emphasis. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Then she tried on the old pumps with it. Hmmm… grrrr.
“Phooey,” she muttered.
Ron was right. The lower pump did look better. Betty tossed the new shoes into the box and sighed.
Veronica never left her phone. Two minutes after they hung up, it rang again. She grinned as she said, “Hello?”
“What time do you want me to bring them by?” Betty asked sourly. Ronnie squealed.
“Now, now, now! YAY! This is awesome! You rock!”
“Don’t scuff them,” Betty warned. Then she smiled to herself.
She wouldn’t have to tell Ron that the shoes pinched a little.
*

“You’re so lucky,” Ethel groused. She slumped back against the bank of lockers while Betty dug her geometry book out of hers. “No one ever nominates me for anything. It’s awesome that you might get to be the sophomore attendant for homecoming.”
“So you’ll get in next year,” Betty shrugged. She patted her fondly and grinned. “But you’ll be all over the yearbook.”
“I guess.” It wasn’t much of a consolation to Ethel.
“C’mon, kiddo… 4-H? Home Ec Club? Chess Club? Student government?”
“And spring track,” Ethel chimed in. “I wanna beat my own record this year. I’m already the fastest miler in gym.” She felt slightly encouraged, but she envied her friend.
“I almost joined Chess Club. I didn’t have enough time this quarter.”
“Maybe when cheerleading’s over.”
“Basketball season next,” Betty pointed out.
“Gotta shake those pom-poms,” Ethel muttered.
“No, goofball. Gotta shoot those baskets. I’m going out for the girl’s varsity team.” Ethel squealed and jumped up and down.
“Omigosh! We’re gonna kick butt! I can’t wait til we play Central and Pembroke.”
“They’ll show you blue-and-gold girls how it’s done,” Jason sneered as he walked in on their chat. He leaned against Betty’s locker as she closed it and insinuated himself into her space. He smirked as he gave her the once-over.
“Dream on. Show us how not not to make it to regionals?” Betty tossed back. She planted her hand on her hip and laughed. “Please! And you play for us now, anyway.”
“You can take the man out of Pembroke, but you can’t take Pembroke out of the man. So, Bets, how about it? Wanna Pembroke man in you?”
“Ew,” Ethel grimaced, wrinkling her nose. “No.”
“No one asked you, Q-Tip. No one would ever ask you.” Betty’s amused smile evaporated.
“No,” Betty added. Jason slumped briefly, but he flashed a megawatt smile.
“C’mon, Cooper!” He followed her as both girls walked away. To his credit, he looked nice in a bottle green sweater that matched his eyes and some Sean John baggy jeans. “Who’s taking you to homecoming?”
“I was just gonna drive my dad’s car,” she sniffed. “Guess I’ll see you there.”
“I rented a limo.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Just for homecoming?”
“No. For the pre-party AND the afterparty. He grinned at her again. “What’re you wearing, Cooper?”
“Why? Wanna compare notes?”
“Give me a hint. If you look hot enough, I might let myself be seen with you.”
“She wouldn’t herself be seen with you,” Ron interjected. She gave him a fake smile. “She’s too good for you, wannabe.”
“You’re a wannabe,” he sneered, eyeing her up and down. Veronica was decked out in Seven jeans and a red Dereon shirt lettered in gold glitter. Veronica made a “talk to the hand” gesture.
“My dad’s renting me a stretch Hummer. Fuck off.” Betty frowned, but Veronica practically shoved her best friend behind her, all the better to get up in Jason’s face. Ethel sighed, unnoticed and amused. “Betty’s not interested in you, anyway, Howdy Doody.”
“You’re just pissed that no one’s interested in you, Snookie.” Betty’s shoulders quirked and Ethel turned away to swallow a laugh behind her hand.
“Please. That’s the best you’ve got.”
“I don’t have to waste the effort on you. You think you’re worth it, princess?”
“I know I am.” Despite her smug smile, Betty heard the indignant note in her voice, and the exchange grew more heated. Her stomach clenched nervously; she hated when her friends argued. Worse was when they ignored her in the process.
“Who are you taking to the dance? Your sister?”
“We can double date with you and your daddy.”
“I wouldn’t let myself be seen with losers like you two, so no thank you.”
“Then you missed the point.”
“You had a point?”
“What’s going on?” Ethel and Betty each turned toward the sound of Dilton’s voice as he rounded the corner, nearly slumping from the weight of his Jansport backpack. Ethel blushed.
“Hey. Nothing new.”
“Same old,” Betty chimed in. “Got some light weekend reading there, Dilly?”
“Taking home a couple of references for my biology project. Mom didn’t want me staying too late in the library after school.” He shrugged sheepishly.
“So you’re taking the whole thing with you.” Ethel reached over and experimentally hefted his backpack. “Sheesh. Feels like it’s full of rocks!”
“I can manage it.” It was a comical sight, in light of how short Dilton was, but he took the strap down from his shoulder and proceeded to do arm curls with it, making both girls chuckle. They ignored the drama continuing behind them as Ethel pretended to fawn over his muscles.
“He’s the whole package, Betty, smart AND ripped.”
“Of course he is!” Dilton snickered and bumped Ethel playfully, and to Betty’s amusement, she bumped him back.
Aha… Betty glanced from one to the other expectantly. Both of her friends cleared their throats and moved away from each other. “Gonna jet,” Dilton offered, excusing himself. Betty felt momentarily guilty that she’d interrupted something important.
“…at least my hairdresser isn’t blind. That look doesn’t work for you or Bieber; you look like a twelve-year-old girl.”
“Skank.”
“Asshole.”
Betty stepped in before Miss Grundy could intervene on their exchange, grabbing Veronica and pulling her along behind her by the elbow. “Math class,” she sang. “Bye, Jay.”
“Later, Bets.”
“Much later,” Veronica fumed, rolling her eyes. Betty winced at Jason’s loud tsk and muttered profanity in their wake.
“Why did you do that?”
“Don’t blame me.”
“You didn’t have to let your claws show. He was talking to me.”
“And now I’m talking to you, so what’s the problem? You’re my friend.” Veronica made it sound like Jason Blossom was jumping her claim. “And don’t tell me you like him, Betty. He’s pond scum.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He’s not that good.”
“How would you know?” Betty pressed, but she smirked.
“A woman knows these things, just like telling a Fendi bag from a knockoff.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without your guidance and expertise,” Betty deadpanned.
“What time are you coming to my house today?” Ron set her book on her desk as she sat and immediately swiveled around in her seat, craning over the edge of Betty’s desk to keep her attention.
“I can’t stop by til after basketball.” Betty’s hamstrings were still sore from the day before after a grueling day of suicides and lay-ups.
“Skip it. We can head to the mall.”
“No,” Betty scolded, making Veronica pout.
“C’mon! Just once,” she whined, giving Betty puppy dog eyes.
“I don’t want to miss practice. I haven’t yet this season.”
“She looks pretty good out there,” Archie interjected from over Ron’s shoulder. He winked at Betty. “Could work on those three-point shots, though.”
“I am,” she told him indignantly, but her cheeks flushed. He’s been watching me!!! Ron snorted.
“She should be cheering with me instead of getting all sweaty on the court.”
“You don’t mind sweat,” Archie reminded her as he reached out to tickle her side. Ron giggled. Betty almost gagged.
“Get a room…”
“I second that motion,” Jughead offered from Betty’s left, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You’re making me sick over here.”
“Crawl back into your hole, it isn’t spring yet,” Ron suggested.
“Says the girl who’s shaking her pom-poms instead of playing a real sport. Great lay-ups in that game with Central, Bets.”
“Thanks!”
“Still didn’t beat my high score,” a smug voice intoned from above her. Betty twisted herself around and scowled up into Reggie’s grin.
There he was, right on cue, just like ants to a picnic… Betty sighed.
“Stick with pom-poms, Cooper.”
“When you learn how to rebound, Mantle.”
“Oooooo!” Jughead muttered. “Nice…”
“Go back to sleep, Needle-Nose.”
“Gladly.” Jug yawned and leaned back in his seat, tipping his cap over his eyes. He was fine with not getting involved, even though he still couldn’t stand Reggie. Betty was a big girl, and she could take care of herself.
“I don’t have to rebound when I’m already making all the shots.”
“You hog the ball!”
“No shit,” Archie chimed in.
“Then learn how to steal,” Reggie shrugged.
“Maybe your mom can teach me,” Archie shot back with a grin.
“Your mom already taught you how to suck!” Betty winced. Why did boys always take things too far?
“Sit!” Miss Grundy snapped. Reggie doubled back to his seat in the row to Betty’s left, one desk back. “You two know better than that. Don’t make me write you up, Reggie.” Archie smothered a snigger. “That means you, too, Andrews.” The class chorused back with a low “Ooooooo!”
“Get out your homework!” Grundy barked, and she immediately wrote the page and problem numbers on the board, chalk flying rapidly with loud clicks. “I hope you did the odd numbered proofs. If you did the even-numbered ones and just copied the answers out of the back of the book, say hello to a zero.” A few muted groans greeted her, and Betty smirked when she heard Moose “Damn it!” from a few seats back. Poor guy.
They were halfway through with reviewing the assignment, and Betty rapidly checked off her correct answers, then stopped when she felt something lightweight hit the back of her elbow. She watched Miss Grundy working on the board with chalk, drawing out a parallelogram and hash-marking the sides, deciding it was as good a moment as any. Betty reached down for the crumpled up piece of paper. She sighed; it was a ritual. She could just let it go and ignore it, but he’d just throw more.
At first she could figure out what he’d thrown her a gum wrapper, until she unfolded it and ready the un-shiny side. You suck.
“You wish,” she hissed back at him. She heard his muffled snicker, and she hid her smile when Miss Grundy turned away from the board again to glare at them both.
“Save it for after class, you two.” Betty’s cheeks flushed. Jerk. No need to let him get her in trouble, too.
She was tempted to ignore the second note, which sailed neatly over her shoulder and landed in the seam of her open text. She snorted in disgust. Really?
You’re a worse shot than Andrews. Betty fumed. That was going too far. She wanted to stab him with her pencil. She felt indignant enough at him talking smack about her, but he had to tear down Archie, too, which was a bigger crime in her eyes.
She took diligent notes on graphing a slope when y equaled five, but she could feel his dark eyes on the back of her neck. She shivered, wondering why he was riding her so much lately; she hated his scrutiny, the kind that made you wonder if you had something on your chin or if your underwear was showing. She heard the low click of something plastic opening behind her, and she wondered if it was his box of Tic Tacs that he couldn’t seem to live without.
She didn’t want to turn back, even though the urge to glare at him was strong. She tore her attention away from her notes and turned her face a few degrees until she could almost see what was over her shoulder with her peripheral vision. She saw a familiar trace of red before she jerked herself back around to face the front of the class. No. She wouldn’t let him get the best of her. Miss Grundy chose random victims to call on for each answer to the homework, and she found her own assignment in her thick binder, scribbled neatly in blue ink.
As soon as Miss Grundy turned her back to the class again and began sketching out two parallel rays on the board, a tiny object landed in her book again. Betty was about to go back and whoop up on him, until she noticed the projectile was a tiny, mint green capsule.
A wintergreen Tic Tac. She huffed.
“You’re welcome,” she thought she heard him mutter.
“Thanks,” she murmured over her shoulder, before she chanced a glimpse back at him. She smiled at him, knowing she’d regret it later. He smiled back. It almost made him look handsome…
You still suck, he mouthed.
Betty growled under her breath. “Something wrong, Betty?” Miss Grundy stared at her accusingly. Betty’s cheeks turned scarlet.
“No, ma’am.”
“What’s the answer to number eleven?”
“Hold on, let me look…”
“It helps if you pay attention. Forsythe, can you tell me the answer to number eleven?” Jughead rattled it off, surprising everyone around him, since he didn’t even open his eyes from his nap. Betty volunteered the answer for the next problem, and Miss Grundy was slightly pacified. She still wanted to kill Reggie; he was such a distraction.
The real question was, why? Did he just get up in the morning, pee, shower, eat his cornflakes, look in the mirror and say “I’m going to stick a bug up Betty Cooper’s ass today?” Why was she his favorite target? Why couldn’t he get a life?
It wasn’t like he didn’t have one. What she hated about him most was that… he just seemed to have everything. He didn’t have any need to pick on anyone else. He was well-off, good-looking, drove a nice car, was athletic, relatively smart, and everything seemed to come easy for him. He was horrible as a boyfriend, though, from all of the rumors she heard whispered in the girl’s room or the locker room. Reggie was known for not calling girls back after the fourth date. That always seemed to be his magic number for suddenly blowing someone off.
What annoyed her just as much was that he always seemed to go for the unattainable girls. Just like a rooster ruffling his comb, he always seemed to puff up around girls like Midge, who was off-limits thanks to Moose, or Ronnie, who cheerfully kept Archie wrapped around her finger. What was it about guys who did that? They never knew how to treat a nice girl who wouldn’t play with their minds.
Betty thought about Jason Blossom, briefly. Who knew what his deal was? Reggie had money, and he flaunted it, but he didn’t talk about it. Jason was blatant about his admiration, but it just felt… off. He was attractive. Very attractive. He could have any girl, but he was singling her out, making her wonder why. Betty knew it was almost unfair to compare the two of them, but they reminded her of each other, the only exception being that Reggie elected her as his favorite victim from the moment they met, where Jason just wanted to show off to impress her.
It occurred to her as the bell rang: Why on earth was she still thinking about Reggie? Math class suddenly became forty minutes of her life that she wouldn’t get back. Mantle was lower than the dirt beneath her feet, a demon dressed in Abercrombie and Fitch. She popped the Tic Tac as an afterthought, almost not wanting to accept his generosity, but why not?
Why did he have to be such a jerk?
*
Betty Cooper was still too easy.
It was fun to watch her blush. For a moment, he felt a little guilty when he saw her smile. Damn. She was fine. He didn’t know why he had to get her goat that one last time, every time, why it was so tempting to get a rise out of her.
It always had been. It was even more fun when she was trying to ignore him and she failed. Once in a while, he’d bring her down to his level. He liked it when she snapped, unless things got too personal. Betty knew he liked Midge, that flirting with the brunette was one of his weaknesses, the shiny apple hanging from the forbidden tree. He hated it on those occasions when Betty saw Midge shoot him down, giving him that smug look, catching him when he failed. She didn’t look mean, but she did look pleased.
That was the other thing about Betty that tickled him. Around Archie, she was sweetness and light, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Reggie shook his head at the mental image. That wasn’t the Betty he wanted to see. When he teased her, she brought out the sass. He loved the way her brows drew together when he’d pissed her off, making that funny little divot between them. When Betty was irritated with him, she was real. She wasn’t trying to be someone else.
That “someone else” was the antidote to Veronica. Where Veronica wanted Archie to spend money on her, Betty was the one baking him cookies. She lent him her notes and hovered over him when he looked like he was having trouble in biology, whether he was her lab partner or not. It sickened Reggie. Girls always acted like Archie was “the nice guy.” Sure, he was easygoing, probably wouldn’t hurt a fly. Carrot-Top hung out with the “in crowd,” just like Reggie did, except he didn’t act like it was a big deal. Of course it was a big deal, what the fuck was wrong with that guy?
But under the surface, Carrot-Top was a user. He had a roving eye and kept looking out for the best opportunity to come around, no matter which one he already had in his hands. If Betty made him cookies, Veronica invited him over to a seven-course dinner made by a personal chef. What made it worse, though…
…was how he swept Betty Cooper under the rug. He was blatant at how he chased Veronica around. But with Betty, he was furtive. Sneaky. Subtle. He took her aside or he snuck up on her when she wasn’t expecting it. He’d taught her how not to expect it.
As much as Reggie wanted to pity her, he couldn’t. She had to snap out of his spell all by her lonesome.
So, in his own unique way, he was helping her. Wasn’t he?
If she kept jumping to Archie’s defense, and if he didn’t give her enough reason to keep doing it, she’d get tired of him. So, Reggie pranked Arch. It was fun, not matter what the reason. And he teased the seemingly innocent blonde, mocking her obsession. Would she think he was a dick? Probably. But girls were always intrigued by the bad boy.
In the meantime, she looked good. Basketball season was agreeing with her. Her body was leaner and more muscular thanks to rigorous practices and running endless laps, and her high, firm breasts and flat belly looked good in her snug raglan-sleeved blue jersey. Betty was no-frills, wholesome beauty poured into a pair of low-rise Levi’s. Her customary ponytail irritated him. It was too bland, too safe. He almost missed her braided pigtails from second grade. The pulled-back look was an offense to her long, thick, honey-blonde tresses, even though it let Reggie see her face, oval-shaped with classic, small features.
She hissed in surprise when he appeared by her elbow while she was at the water fountain. “You’re welcome.” The stream of water zapped her in the nose and she straightened up immediately, glaring at him.
“*ptuie* For what?”
“The Tic-Tac.”
“Along with a bunch of nasty notes. I’m supposed to thank you for that.” She flicked away the droplet of water from the tip of her nose and found herself between him and water fountain, leaning in and snickering at her condition.
“That and for helping you wash your face. Fresh breath and squeaky clean.”
“Asshole.” She narrowed her blue eyes at him, but he saw a hint of amusement teasing the corner of her mouth.
“Going to homecoming?”
“What do you think?” She was nominated for the court, but she didn’t want to remind him.
“What’s your mom dressing you in this time? Your old Holly Hobbie costume?” She fumed; that was what she wore to the third grade costume parade at Riverdale Elementary, and he’d teased her for weeks.
“None of your business. But I hope you remember to wear your Spanks under your suit.” He huffed as she lightly brushed past him, leaving a whiff of her light perfume in her wake. The brief contact made him tingle.
“Ouch,” he whined, clutching his chest like he was wounded.
She knew that wasn’t fair. Reggie was ripped. It didn’t matter. His trademark grin was still in place as he dogged her steps.
“Can I borrow a pair of yours?” he countered. “Since it’s a special occasion, Betty, is Mommy letting you wear your training bra?” Her eyes went round for a brief moment, and Reggie mentally pumped his fist. Score one for Mantle! Ding, ding, ding!
Until she raised her geometry notebook ominously, revenge writing itself across her features. Her cheeks were flushed again, but this time, she was out for blood.
It was time to beat feet. He neatly ducked her attempt to swat him as he ran through the corridor, dodging the crowds of students trying to beat the next bell. Reggie couldn’t contain his low snickers at her expense.
He wasn’t expecting the rush of sneakered footsteps so close behind him, or angry, feminine gasps that were practically stirring the hairs on his nape…
Right. She’d been running laps.
His adrenaline spiked as he felt the rush of air when she narrowly missed swatting him with her spiral notebook. She was aiming for his ass! What the hell? Wasn’t Cooper supposed to be the nice girl?? She went for him again, but he ducked, forcing out a frantic laugh. “MISSED!”
“Ass…hole…!” she gasped.
“Still too slow!”
“I hate you,” she hissed as he evaded her again, turning around a corner toward the field house.
“Missed me! Missed me! Now you’ve gotta- OWWW!” He didn’t see Moose coming through the double doors ahead of him, shoving open the handle bar from his side as he was reaching for the one to pull. Before he could put on the brakes, Reggie was clobbered by the door. Pain exploded across the left side of his face and his hand, jamming back his middle two fingers.
To add insult to injury, Betty wasn’t expecting him to stop short. “Shit!”
Normally Reggie wouldn’t have minded a pretty girl running into him, but perhaps not quite so…literally. Painfully. Betty caught him inadvertently, but the momentum made her stumble backward.
“Ow,” Betty winced.
“Fuck,” Reggie muttered.
“Watch it!” Moose snapped, not the last bit apologetic, since he was running late to gym class.
“You! Detention! You, detention, too! No running in the halls,” Coach Kleats barked. “And you! Watch where you’re going next time!”
“I was,” Moose argued, throwing up his hands.
“Want detention, too?”
“Sorry,” he amended, nodding to Reggie. Instead of just offering him a hand to help him, he hoisted him up by the arm. “Wow. Aw, man, look at your face, dude.”
“Never mind my face,” Reggie groaned. “Ow. Ow, ow, ow…” he hissed as he cradled his hand protectively. Moose automatically looked more contrite than before, but he wasn’t expecting a light hand at his lower back, patting him comfortingly.
“Reg, let me see…oh, no,” Betty cried, covering her mouth with her hand. “It’s my fault! Oh my God, Reggie, I’m so sorry!”
“That’s what you get for rough-housing,” Coach muttered, but he sounded sympathetic as Betty reached for Reggie’s wrist, urging him to extend his hand. Her touch was gentle, but his fingers throbbed. “Wiggle ‘em.”
“Ow! OW!” Betty cringed.
“C’mon,” she told him. “Let’s go.” Moose dutifully followed them, retrieving Reggie’s math text from the floor.
*
“Simple sprain. Follow up with your doctor or the prompt care, young man,” the school nurse advised. “But no sports.”
“Aw, man!”
“Be compliant. If you hurt that hand again, it could mean a fracture.”
“We’ve got another six games this season!” he moaned. He banged his good fist against his knee. “That’s not fair!” His visions of a flawless record on his first year of varsity evaporated.
His cheek throbbed where his face hit the edge of the door, and he’d been too distracted by the nurse tending to his hand until she came back with a second ice pack. “Nasty bruise you’ve got.”
“Geez…” One little tussle with Betty left him looking like he’d been creamed!
“Rest that hand. Avoid carrying your backpack and books with it. No sports. Here’s a note to get out of PE if you need it, but the ice pack should be proof enough.” His fingers were still swollen and turning purple. Reggie sighed in disgust. “Go ahead back to your class. It’s sixth period.”
“Thanks,” he muttered sourly as he left, tucking the medical note in this pocket. He cradled his affected hand against his chest, carrying the math text in the crook of his arm, until he felt someone’s fingers prying it away from him.
“Here. Let me,” Betty ordered. Her blue eyes were contrite, and to his surprise, red-rimmed.
“I don’t know if I can trust you, Killer.” She winced.
“Reggie…I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Do they look okay?” He held up his hands and gave his fingers a brief, stiff wiggle. Her face crumpled.
“Oh, no!”
“Happy, now?”
“NO! I’m not! I didn’t mean for you to get hurt!” She knew how lame it sounded, when she booked after him, ready to clobber him not even twenty minutes before.
“Don’t you have to be in class?”
“I’ve already got detention,” she told him. That was the icing on the cake; he’d forgotten already that he did, too.
“Yeah, by the way, thanks.” It was laughable, though. Squeaky clean Betty Cooper? In detention? He snorted, more amused than irritated.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“Yeah, yeah…” It was weird and awkward, letting her carry his book. He took it from her as soon as he reached his sixth period class. “Why’re your eyes all red?”
“No reason. You’re gonna be okay?”
It dawned on him: She’d been crying. Reggie frowned.
Fuck. Now he felt like a heel.
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. See you in detention.”
She gave him an awkward wave and backed off. “Bye.”
Both of them felt guilty and frustrated.
*
Detention passed one torturous minute at a time. Betty was grateful, in a way, to see Jughead there before her, and he saved her a seat near him, nonplussed. He’d been caught eating in Flutesnoot’s biology lab again, which made Betty slightly sick.
Reggie studiously ignored her, a first. He was pissed enough not to even waste any more notes or other projectiles on her. She felt hot and tingly with shame, the sour emotion still sharp in her chest. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Why couldn’t I let it go? Her miserable thoughts kept her company for the next hour. She ended up skipping a trip with Ron and ended up missing her practice anyway; the day was a bust.
His poor fingers. They were still purple. His mom collected him from eighth period, took him to prompt care, and he came back with two stiff, gray splints lined with light blue foam. Betty shrank in her seat. I did that.
Technically, Moose helped, but still…
Why wasn’t she happy? Wasn’t she trying to hurt him? Well, not really. A swat with a notebook didn’t count as homicidal instincts, did it?
Reggie fumed. This was a fine pickle.
He was out for half the season. That was killing him, anyway. But what had turned into a simple taunt went completely out of hand. He wasn’t expecting her to go after him like that; she hadn’t chased him since middle school, when he’d certainly given her reason to. But a remark about a training bra? Please. What was the big deal? Had he really offended her that much?
He sighed. Eh. Women. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made digs like that at her before. Like the time at the lake… he smirked at the memory. Or her “snow woman” that he helped re-decorate. Or tucking her ponytail into the slat of her chair so she was jerked back into her seat when she got up. Or “accidentally” making her spill a soda on her white tee shirt, so that it ended up transparent…
His fingers throbbed at him, interrupting his musings. For a one hundred-twenty pound cheerleader, she packed a wallop. Okay. Maybe he had it coming. Like, forever.
He glanced at her from across the room while she stared up at the clock. Yup. She looked miserable. Fuck.
She really didn’t mean for it to happen. In a way, this was karma. Karma sucked.
And as much as Reggie would never admit it, he hated seeing her cry. It kinda sucked that he ruined her perfect record of no detentions and made them both miss practice, when you thought about it…
He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind took him in unwelcome directions.
*
Reggie made himself scarce when the final bell rang. “You’re free to go,” Mr. Wetherbee informed them crisply. “I don’t want to see you back here tomorrow.” Muted groans and mutterings greeted him as seats scraped back and backpacks were scooped up from the floor. He sailed out the door first, leaving Betty staring in his wake. She sighed.
I’m not supposed to be in the wrong. He’s the one who’s usually the asshole, she pondered. What the heck happened?
Ever the good girl, she longed to make it right, but Betty had no clue. She fell back on her old standby, something that always worked when Veronica was in a snit: Groveling.
Betty darted out into the hall and shuffled through the small group of students making their way back toward their lockers in an attempt to catch the late bus. She caught sight of his sweater and black jeans, noticing his arm was tucked snugly against him, no doubt still cradling his bad hand. She half-trotted, half-ran after him, still not sure what she’d say to him.
The words chose themselves. “REG! REG, wait!”
“What?” he muttered, turning just as he reached the double doors that led into the courtyard. He looked annoyed as she caught up to him. “Don’t try it again, I need my other hand to pick my nose and scratch my ass, Cooper.”
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “Let me help.”
“You’re not picking my nose or scratching my ass. Thanks, anyway.”
“No, doofus. Give me those.” She took his backpack and beat his grab for the door handle, pulling it open and nodding for him to go through it. Reggie’s brow arched, but he obeyed.
“God, you’re weird.”
“Says a lot about you that waste your breath telling me what’s wrong with me every day, I guess.” She struggled to keep up with his long strides. “Where’s your car?”
“In the back. I can get it from here.”
“You’re okay to drive?”
“I can manage.” He knew his mom would have a cow when he got home, but he wasn’t in the mood to pacify her. Betty’s blue eyes looked guiltier than before, and he was tempted to cut her some slack. A little.
Very little.
But she kept up with him, and when he fished his car keys from his pocket and began fumbling with them, she took those from him, too, and unlocked the driver’s side. “What next? Are you going to sit on my lap and drive me home?” She flushed but tsked, giving him a “yeah, right” look.
“Hell, no. You wish.” She’d said that when he told her she sucked. She proceeded to set his backpack in the front passenger seat after she moved his sweatshirt and some envelopes out of the way.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. What did you think I meant?”
“Whatever. Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know, already. Sheesh.”
“Even if you did piss me off.”
“It’s not my fault you have a bad temper,” Reggie shrugged, but there was a glint of devilment in his eyes, and a smirk toyed with the corner of his mouth.
“Oooo!” She looked ready to slug him, but she threw her hands up in the air. “I give up. Never mind.”
“You give up? What were you trying to do? Apologize? I can kiss this year’s season goodbye.”
“So go shake pom-poms with Veronica,” she snapped. “That’s the only reason you play basketball, anyway, so you can hog all the attention.”
“Are you saying your best friend hogs all the attention?” Reggie said, surprised. Betty only realized what she said after the words hung between them.
“No. Yes. NO!”
“Sounded like it to me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Say what you mean.”
“You think your shit doesn’t stink.”
“It doesn’t,” he shrugged again. “And?” He watched her in confusion as she continued neatening his car, throwing out a used fast food cup and empty paper bag, two gum wrappers and Tic Tac box with the labels peeled off. “Quit messing with my crap!”
“You’ve got too much crap. And yes it does.”
“Does what?”
“Your shit does stink, Reggie Mantle.” She waved the empty cup at him accusingly before she stuffed it into a plastic bag in the back of his car. “I’ve never so much as breathed in your direction or looked at you funny, but all you do is get up in my face and on my back. Does that make you feel big and manly?”
“Please,” he sneered, but her words stung. “Ya wanna add insult to injury?” He held up his fingers as a reminder. “Nice job, Bets, but go for a broken arm next time, I want a sling to go with my outfit. It’ll look good when I’m on the bleachers.”
“Sure.” She threw up her hands again and backed away from him. “Fine.” Her tone was resigned, like she ran out of steam. She didn’t know what she wanted at that point. Her choice wavered between two extremes: Tearing Reggie Mantle a new one, or letting him throw rotten tomatoes at her with his good hand until he got tired. He couldn’t just accept her groveling. She snatched up the plastic bag before she left.
“Hey!”

“It’s trash. Clean out your car.”
“I meant the trash can’s over here,” Reggie reminded her. She stopped short, pissed at having her exit ruined, and she doubled back, giving him a little glare, and shoved the bag into the swinging lid. “Thanks,” he muttered after her. Reggie shook his head.
What the hell was that all about?
- 6
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