Principal Honey leaned in at that. “Any time that you’re not expected in class, that is.”
The girls all gave an obligatory chuckle.
“Absolutely,” Coach Grappler echoed, nodding solemnly. “I take cheer very seriously, but there’s one thing I take more seriously than cheer. And that’s your academic performance. I expect excellence from my girls in all areas of their school experience. And I don’t believe that extracurricular activities should ever be prioritized over grades.”
Even Veronica had to arch an appreciative eyebrow at that—historically, our school could be a wee bit Friday Night Lights with its good old boys, giving our football team a little more leeway with non-football-related pursuits than might strictly be considered appropriate. To hear a coach emphasizing the importance of academic excellence was rare enough to be refreshing and quite worthy of respect.
I put my hands on my hips. “And that’s not all, ladies. I hope you’re all prepared to clear your social calendars for this weekend—if they’re booked, that is, which I suppose is not necessarily a given.”
“What’s this weekend?” Veronica asked, still skeptical.
I gave her my most saccharine-sweet grin. “I was just getting to that, obvi. Coach Grappler has arranged for a special ‘Camp Vixens’ retreat this weekend at Sweetwater Pines.”
Sweetwater Pines was a sleepaway camp about three hours north of Riverdale, nestled deep within the sprawling extended woods of Fox Forest. It tended to attract campers from farther away—people who didn’t have as much access to nature as we did on such a regular basis—and as such most Riverdale kids didn’t know it well, beyond it being an exit on the interstate one drove past en route to Niagara Falls or similar tourist locales.
Another rush of whispers reverberated across the room as the girls took in this information. No doubt the idea of a cheer retreat was far more exciting and action-packed than whatever sad-John-Hughes-movie plans they’d already made for the weekend, but it was short notice, given that today was Friday. That, I could admit.
Betty, in particular, looked gobsmacked. “Cheryl, I mean, that sounds great”—she turned to Coach Grappler, earnest—“and normally, I’d be totally up for it—”
“And what, pray tell, is abnormal about this situation, then?” I cut her off.
She shrugged, a helpless expression on her face. “It’s just, I had plans with Jughead. We were hoping to do a Hitchcock double feature.”
I shot her my most withering gaze. “Quelle yawn. Remind me why exactly I should care? Isn’t that what you and your sad-tramp love interest do every weekend? What’s the urgency? Surely your fifteenth screening of Vertigo will keep.”
She shook her head. “It was The Lady Vanishes and North by Northwest, but that’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” Tina asked, ever the faithful minion. She’d left her post at the door to Coach Grappler’s office to stand at my literal side like the ride-or-die sentinel I’d trained her to be.
“The point,” Betty went on, “is that with him boarding at Stonewall Prep during the week now, weekends are our only chance to hang out.”
I felt a prickle of sympathy. But only a prickle.
“Come on, Cheryl,” Veronica chimed in. “I know there’s a heart buried somewhere inside that ice-princess facade of yours. How would you feel if you and Toni were doing the long-distance love thing? Wouldn’t you want to spend every possible moment with her that you could?”
Another small flicker of guilt pulsed in my stomach, but I swallowed it down. Rules were rules, after all—especially rules that I created myself. Cheryl Blossom had never deigned to be denied, and she certainly wouldn’t start now.
“I’m sympathetic, naturally,” I said, hands still on my hips. “But only to a point. Whatever misguided attempts at self-betterment your beau has made that have carried him far from our hallowed Bulldog halls, it’s no concern of mine. This weekend is a command performance. Coach Grappler pulled strings to get us access to the camp, and we’re not going to let her effort be in vain.”
Coach Grappler gave an uncomfortable smile. “Well, it wasn’t too much effort,” she countered. “I know the owners of the camp. It’s the off-season, but they’re letting us use it for our retreat.”
I nodded. “And who are we to turn away this VIP opportunity?” Honestly. Sometimes people could be such hideous ingrates.
Betty shifted in her seat. “But—”
“But nothing.” I held up a hand. “Truly, Betty, you should be looking ahead and grateful for the opportunity to have some bonding time with your cohorts. Once your beloved Jughead is gone, the Vixens will be all you have left.”
Betty flushed, and Veronica grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Okay,” Veronica said, rising. “You can put the dire warnings away. You don’t have to prey on Betty’s nonexistent relationship insecurities just to get her—to get any of us—to participate in this retreat.”
“Good to hear,” I quipped. “It’s going to be a sheer delight. I promise.”
“Cheryl and I have cooked up a lot of fun,” Coach Grappler added. “Trust games, cheer drills, campfire stories. All that good stuff.”
“I even had a brilliant idea for maple s’mores, as an homage to our hometown heritage.” I smiled.
“Um, yum,” Toni said, grinning. She glanced around the bleachers, drumming up similar smiles from the rest of the group.
“I know.” I clasped my hands together tightly and squealed with barely contained glee. “Vixens! I’m just so beyond excited to kick off this school year with a bevy of new Bulldog traditions.”
Veronica sighed. “I mean, technically, it’s not a ‘tradition’ if it’s new,” she said. “That’s literally the whole thing about traditions. But your point is well taken, Cheryl. Like I said, I’m in.”
“Me too,” Betty echoed with a tight smile. “It’ll be great. Maple s’mores sound amazing.”
Around her, the other Vixens rose to echo the sentiment, smiling and chattering with excitement.
“It will be great,” I said, beaming broadly. “Just you wait and see.”
JUGHEAD
“I’m sorry—tell me again what maple s’mores are? I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. Maybe even more than intrigued. Possibly hungry, to be honest. But also slightly confused. Definitely.” My stomach grumbled loudly, punctuating the sentiment.
Betty laughed and linked her arm through mine. We were walking from Riverdale High to the town library, a quiet, picturesque stroll down Main Street, to pick up JB and walk her home. When I’d made the plan with her that morning, she insisted she was way too grown up to need her big brother walking her home. But I decided that, in this case, my needs trumped her own—me being the older and arguably wiser big-brother figure in the situation. And I, for one, needed her to have a little bit of normalcy in the absence of anything resembling a stable mom who, you know, hung around and stuff. And anyway, wasn’t a big brother being all overprotective and embarrassingly infantilizing sort of peak “normal” for the tween set?