“Yeah, you’re not the only confused one. Maple-flavored marshmallows? Syrup on the graham cracker, underneath the chocolate?” Betty shrugged, bringing me back to other urgent concerns, like snacks. “I wish I could tell you, Juggie,” she said, “but I think we’re just going to have to wait and see.”
“Either of those interpretations sounds potentially delicious,” I decided. “I’d try it.”
She grinned again. “Okay, but is that really saying so much? I mean, I love you, but when it comes to food, you’re not exactly known for your discerning tastes.”
I smirked. “Fair.” I leaned in for a quick kiss. “Thank goodness the same can’t be said for my choice in romantic partners.”
“Thank goodness,” she agreed, laughing again. “There’s something we can both agree on. And you’re such a charmer.” She snuggled in closer, so I could smell the deep floral tones of her shampoo and the vanilla-laced bite of her perfume. “It’s just … you just got home from Stonewall. I wish I didn’t have to turn around and leave town the morning after you get here.”
“You and me both.” Why had I left all this—her—behind for Stonewall Prep, again? Was I genuinely insane? Sometimes it felt that way.
A world-class education, I reminded myself, trying in vain not to breathe in the nearness of Betty as we walked. The chance to be the first Jones ever to go to college. An opportunity for something bigger, something better.
I wasn’t leaving Betty behind, not in the long run. That was what I had to keep telling myself. Taking a once-in-a-lifetime chance to succeed in ways I previously hadn’t allowed myself to dream? Well, that would only make me more worthy of someone as amazing, unique, and insanely smart as Betty, wouldn’t it? It would be a good thing for both of us. Eventually, that is—in some sort of vague, ephemeral future that I had to keep reminding myself still lay in wait for the two of us. It would be great. It would make us stronger.
Wouldn’t it?
“Where’d you go, Jug?” Betty burst into my thoughts with another kiss of her own, which I eagerly reciprocated. “I lost you there for a minute. If this is the only time we get together this weekend, we can’t afford to waste it.”
“I’m here,” I promised, giving her arm an extra squeeze. “Just … sad we’re not going to get to have our Netflix-and-chill tomorrow like we planned.”
“Me too,” she admitted. “But I think the retreat is a good idea, even if it weren’t for this new coach. Some bonding time for the Vixens.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, we keep saying we want to get back to ‘normal,’ just do, you know … dumb high school stuff … That’s what this retreat is, after all.”
“The same could be said about a good binge-watch with your significant other,” I pointed out, “but I totally hear you. I support this decision, and I can’t wait to hear all about it. Ooh—” I started, a thought occurring to me. “Do you think you’ll do trust falls?” The idea of it made me briefly yearn for a Kafkaesque metamorphosis into a fly on the proverbial cabin wall.
“That would require Cheryl to have a drop of trust in any of her fellow squad members,” Betty said. “Which … seems unlikely. But I will be sure to let you know. And I promise to take notes on the recipe for maple s’mores, and any other interesting snacks that come up.”
“That’s my girl.” My stomach growled again, and we both laughed.
“So, what do you think you’ll do tomorrow night while I’m away?” Betty asked.
“Other than lock myself in my room and listen to angsty eighties new-wave sorrow-pop, staring at your picture?” I teased. “Just get my brood on?”
“Obviously. Other than broody angst.”
“No idea. I mean, you just dropped this on me, so I haven’t had a chance to come up with a plan B. I’ll call Archie, see what he’s up to.”
“Good idea,” Betty said. “Veronica’s worried about him. I am, too, if I’m being honest. He’s still grieving, even though he tries not to show it.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I replied. “That he’s having a hard time and putting on a brave face for us.”
“So maybe some male-bonding time will be good for you,” Betty said. “Even if he doesn’t want to talk about it, just, you know, being with you. It might help.” She kissed me. “It always helps me.”
“I’ll see what he’s up to, figure something out,” I promised. “I should maybe make some time to write, too. Read, for sure. Catch up on homework—this prep school thing is no joke. And, I don’t know—check in with Sweet Pea. See what’s new with the gang. That is, if there’s any time left before I have to head back to Stonewall on Sunday.”
“Ah.” She paused. “How are things with the Serpents?” she asked, careful.
“You mean, how’s our low-key civil war with the Pretty Poisons progressing? Despite our temporary cease-fire when we came together to defeat the Gargoyle King on prom night?”
“Well, yeah,” she admitted. “But I think you just answered my question,” she said, rueful.
As Betty knew, Toni Topaz and I had temporarily aligned our respective gangs at the end of last year so that the Pretty Poisons and the Southside Serpents could work together toward common goals rather than waste precious time—and valuable resources—with petty infighting. The Gargoyle King was gone now—but continued collaboration and cooperation were still a work in progress. It turned out everyone wanted their own gang to be number one. It was hard to make that math work all the time.
“We’re, uh, getting there,” I said, trying for optimism.
“That bad, huh?” Betty made a sympathetic noise.
“It’s not that bad, honestly,” I said. “Everyone’s intentions are good. Mostly. It’s just … people are used to what they’re used to. And some of what they’re used to is, you know, power.”
“No one wants to give it up,” Betty surmised.
“Can you blame them? When is anyone ever looking to relinquish control, especially when it means buddying up with your rivals? Exhibit A: the whole, entire history of mankind. It’s just one long, bloody, endless power grab.”
Betty shrugged. “Touché. But I don’t know …” Her pace slowed as she considered her words. “Sometimes I feel like I spend so much of my life trying to keep every little flicker of emotion under control. If you told me I could just let go? I don’t know if I’d fight it.”
Now I slowed to a full stop and turned her so we were face-to-face. I put my hands on her shoulders. I brushed a strand of hair that had wriggled free from her ponytail back off her forehead. She gazed at me, her eyes piercing right into my core.
“Betty Cooper,” I said, my voice low, “you know that if you ever need to let go, I’m here for you.”
“I know, Juggie,” she said. “And that’s why I love you.”
We stayed like that for a few beats, forehead to forehead, breathing the same fall air. Neither of us wanted to move, to break the spell, I knew. But the buzz of my phone in my back pocket shook me and reminded me that there was actually a reason we’d come to the library in the first place.