Pigtails

 

Summary: See previous summary. Betty mans up and goes along with Reggie's suggestion.

Reggie tossed his backpack onto his bed once he got upstairs and kicked his door shut, fuming. How the heck did he end up putting his foot into his mouth?

Betty hated him. If she didn't before... sheesh. Fuck. Reggie plowed his hand through his hair and threw himself onto the bed, too, and just stared up at the ceiling.

Two steps forward, five steps back. Every time he felt like he was making a little progress with Betty, he mucked it up. It would help if he even knew what he wanted. The craziest part was, Reggie didn't even remember when he started wanting Betty in the first place. She'd worked her way under his skin.

Being in the play with her was daunting. It was the most time he'd ever spent in close contact with her, which thrilled him and scared the shit out of him at the same time. It was so hard... so hard to keep his cool, when she was right in front of him, playing that role of the adoring shy girl who wanted his attention. It blurred a line between them, because stepping into that role of "Danny" gave him the chance to show off unhindered, and to get a small taste of what it would be like for Betty to genuinely like him.

But she still hated him. Reggie huffed, hating the irony. She was a better actress than she gave him credit for, then, wasn't she?

Her glossy, watery eyes made his gut twist. He wished she wasn't so sensitive, but worse was that she was mad at him for seeing her that way. Reggie hated angry tears. He was used to them by now, certainly. Face-to-face breakups usually earned him tearful tirades and the occasional slap in the face. A flash of memory hit him, bringing back the feel of packed snow in his gloved hands; the tug-of-war with a handmade scarf; the whizz of bicycle wheels over gritty, sandy pavement; red, damp cheeks and blue eyes accusing him of being the most evil boy in the world.

Okay. Maybe she was just a little justified in hating him. Just a hair. Maybe she had reasons not to trust his judgment and to take it just a little personally when he criticized her. Just a teeny bit. Maybe he'd been too hard on her.

For that matter, maybe he was always too hard on her? Reggie threw himself up from the bed, propping his elbows on his knees. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes and growled.

"I'm an ass," he muttered. "She hates me. Hates me. Hates. Me." He punctuated each word with a rap of his fist against his temple. He thought for a moment, hating the silence of his room. His concert posters, overflowing hamper and Jack Skellington bendable figure grinning at him from his computer desk all had no answers for him.

He contemplated the computer for a moment. He didn't have Betty's number. But wasn't she on Facebook? An inkling of an idea launched him from the bed. He dug his iPhone from his backpack and plugged it into the speaker cradle, leaving it on shuffle. The sounds of Floater filled the room as a welcome distraction as he logged on to his PC.

There were ten thousand Elizabeth Coopers on Facebook. He groaned as he skimmed the first page. Great. He tried a different tack. "Blossom," he muttered, letting his fingers fly over the keys. "Jason... Blossom... asshole..." There were a mere handful, three of which had no profile picture, but he expected nothing less than the profile image of Jay fronting, grinning smugly and tugging his shirt up to expose his chest. Yeah. That was Blossom. Reggie clicked on his name, bringing up his basic info. Small blue type told him "You and Jason share 50 friends." Big deal. Reggie didn't want to have anything in common with that guy.

Except maybe Betty. But Reggie wanted her for himself.

He scrolled through Jason's friends' list, surprised that he hadn't locked up his profile more tightly. A person could find out anything about the guy with it being so public.

Bingo.

Betty's profile showed her vamping with Nancy, and he recognized the outfit and fancy updo that she wore to the dance. It looked like it had been taken in a bedroom, probably after they had gotten ready. The image made him smile, even though he still kicked himself for that night, since Jason gained more leverage with her, despite his warnings.

Betty's profile wasn't as public. The most that she'd posted was that she went to Riverdale High, so they shared a network. Interestingly, her profile didn't say "In a relationship."

"Yes!" Reggie fist-pumped and clicked on the link that said "Send Elizabeth Betty Cooper a message." His day was looking up. Now, if only she would send one back...

Reggie didn't think too long about what to say. He kept it safe, even though his stomach was knotted and his palms began to sweat.

Hey.

I meant it when I said I want to rehearse with you. I know you don't agree with me, and I guess I'm on your shit list right now. What else is new?

Call me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like I thought you couldn't act. I'd never say that.

I'm sorry, Betty.

Reggie left his cell at the foot of his message, took a deep breath and hit send. Okay. He'd done it. Maybe she'd still hate him, but at least he threw it out there. At least he'd feel a little less like crap.

He leaned back and stretched in his computer chair, yawning deeply. Reggie was worn out. Play practices, basketball practice, a history report, guitar lessons, all of it weighed on him. That was one of the reasons why he'd broken up with Dolores, he supposed. He just didn't have the time to give to her, and she wanted all of his attention.

He didn't have that to give her, either, when he couldn't keep it off of Betty Cooper. Reggie emptied his backpack, excavating it and cleaning out old, crumpled work that had already been graded, Taco Bell receipts, gas station receipts, his gym shirt and shorts that needed a good wash... phew. Stinky. He made a face and hook-shot them into the hamper, where they cascaded off the pile.

His computer speaker beeped at him. He hadn't logged off yet, figuring he'd bullshit for another few minutes and play Words with Friends before he worked on his report. A message popped up onscreen.

"You have one new message in your Inbox." He scuttled back into his chair and opened it, noticing the one that said "Re: Hey..."

"She actually replied," he muttered. His heart pounded. Betty was online. Now. Right now. He was entranced by the message header flanked by her avatar that smiled at him. His eyes hastily scanned the words, too few of them for his liking.

Sure. I guess.

When?

"When? When... when... shit," he muttered, pondering in a panic. "I don't know. You tell. Me. I'm. Open." He finished typing his reply and sent it off. Pending triumph curled his lips.

Three seconds. Four. Five.

Score.

Tomorrow, I guess. Whatever you want. Meet me by the field house. That's where I park.

"YES!" Reggie winced at the volume of his own voice, hoping his mom didn't hear him spazzing out. Over a text. From Betty.

There was definitely something wrong with him.

After rehearsal.

*

Betty sat back from her computer desk, adrenaline rushing through her veins, hearing her heartbeat all the way up in her throat. What had she just done?

"What am I doing?" she asked aloud. She'd arranged to meet with Reggie Mantle? Her? Betty Cooper? She wondered if gremlins hijacked her brain.

Still... there was something about his note, and the plaintive tone in it. He sounded like he was really sorry. That was new... Reggie never apologized. Ever.

Betty was confused. This wasn't like him. Not at all. It was weird enough when he approached her at her locker, certainly. But for one moment... and she was annoyed at herself for having to admit it, it seemed... like... he was softening up toward her. Yet she almost got pulled in. He suckered her again, didn't he? She didn't want to fall for the old Mantle charm if she could avoid it.

That left one question that Betty wasn't sure she knew the answer to: What if she didn't want to avoid it?

*

There was something charged between them during rehearsal. Betty felt an attack of butterflies when Reggie sat down next to her in the first row of seats. Miss Grundy lectured the cast and laid out the schedule for the next week.

"I want my Marty, Rizzo, Jan and Frenchie here tomorrow for the slumber party and prom scenes. Kevin, we're going to concentrate on your solo for the Beauty School Dropout number on Tuesday. Keep practicing at home." The strawberry redhead beamed and nodded.

"I'm on it!"

"We still on for today?" Reggie asked. He sounded hopeful. Betty cleared her throat and nodded.

"Yup."

"Meet you at the field house?"

"Uh-huh." That was it. There was her proof that she really sent back those emails yesterday; she wasn't imagining things.

"Wednesday, we'll have the Summer Lovin' number. I want to work out some kinks, and I want all of you practicing the choreography. Thursday, I'm working with the Greasers. Warm up your singing voices! Practice makes perfect."

"I'm so nervous," Ethel confessed on a whisper. Betty squeezed her hand.

"You'll be fine."

"I've never been on stage before in front of a big group."

"It's a piece of cake," Veronica assured her as she refreshed her lip gloss.

"Easy for you to say." Veronica was nonplussed. Betty wished she had her best friend's confidence, as usual, and the rigid belief that her shit didn't stink. "I feel like I'm not ready."

"Then you're not," Veronica pointed out. "Keep practicing. If you think you're gonna bomb, then you'll bomb."

"Sheesh," Ethel muttered. She should have known better than to expect empathy from the princess.

"You're gonna look pretty hot in that pink wig," Reggie joked, and Betty was surprised that he didn't sound snide.

"Hey, I like the wig!" Ethel defended, and she smirked back. "I make that look work!"

"Pink hair is the new black," Betty agreed. It was hard to focus on Miss Grundy's droning voice and her friends when Reggie's cologne was distracting her, as well as his arm grazing hers from the other side of the arm rest.

She wished the rest of the rehearsal had gone as smoothly. They worked off book, and while Betty remembered her lines, she missed half of her cues.

"Watch that timing, Betty. Don't come in late."

"Sorry."

"Got the jitters?" Miss Grundy suggested, one eyebrow raised.

"I guess. No. Kinda."

"Right. Jitters." Miss Grundy sighed and clapped her hands for everyone's attention. "Everybody, take five." She pointed to her watch. "I want everyone back when that clock says three-thirty."

"Thank God," Veronica muttered. "I need a Pepsi."

"I second that, but make mine a burger." Jughead popped a Corn Nut into his mouth from a half-empty package.

"I have to go to my locker." Betty excused herself, glad to stretch her legs, and she needed a moment to think. She decided to pack up her gym clothes so she could take them home and wash them, and she wanted to "excavate" her locker to clean out accumulated papers and junk.

She was so rapt in what she was doing that she yelped when a pair of large, warm hands clapped themselves over her eyes. "Boo!"

"Shit!" She jumped and lurched back against her captor. She heard a masculine chuckle and felt his chest bounce against her. Familiar cologne tickled her nostrils.

"You little shit," she gasped as she pried Jason's hands away and turned on him. He grinned down at her halfhearted scowl and tickled her. "Don't DO that!"

"Aw, c'mon," he cajoled, reaching for her. His hands crept around her waist and she gave a little "oof!" as he pulled her against him. She pouted and lightly socked his arm. "I couldn't resist. You made it too easy."

"Brat."

"Why were you zoning out?"

"Nothing. Just figuring out the rest of my day."

"That's easy. Go to the movies with me." Betty's shoulders sagged.

"Can't." His auburn brows drew together, and he held her slightly away from him.

"Why not? What's up?"

"I have somewhere I have to be. I'll call you when I get home."

"Where are you headed? Cancel," he shrugged. Betty toyed with his shirt collar where it stuck out over the neckline of his wool sweater and sighed.

"I don't want to cancel. I have to meet someone."

"Yeah, you do. Me."

"Jason. Sheesh..." She tried to look away from him, but he caught her chin. His expression was less cajoling, more demanding, and she felt the tension in his body.

"Who are you meeting?"

"Reggie. Why?" Jason's hand at her cheek dropped, and suddenly she missed his caress. Instead, his grip tightened around her waist.

"That's what I wanna know. Why? Why are you meeting that loser? Uh-uh."

"What?" She scowled and jerked back.

"No. I don't want you meeting him. Tell him no."

"That's ridiculous. Of course I'm meeting him. I already told him I would."

"For what?"

"To go over our lines again."

"Bullshit. You just rehearsed."

"I want to work with him a little more on the parts I'm having trouble with."

"You sound fine to me. Who says you're having trouble?" Jason accused, sounding more and more defensive. "Tell them they're full of it."

"Nobody in particular," Betty hedged.

"What? Mantle?" Jason scoffed. "What does he know? He's a Travolta wannabe! He's criticizing YOU?"

"He just thought it would help. So did I." But hearing Jason's ridicule, even though it wasn't directed completely at her, made her feel small and awkward. Then a hint of steel crept into her spine, suddenly, as she realized: Why am I letting him boss me around? What am I, five?

"It doesn't matter. I think I could do better, too. I'm going to go meet Reggie. Call me later if you want." Betty pulled away after kicking her locker door shut. Jason hurried after her, dumbfounded.

"Hey... hey! Wait up! Hold on..."

"I'm running late. Bye, Jay." He caught her wrist and refused to let go until she faced him again. His scowl was puzzled.

"So you're meeting him."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't care what I think?"

"I didn't know you were thinking anything out of the ordinary."

"There's nothing 'out of the ordinary' about it. He likes you."

"He doesn't like me like that!" she insisted hotly, throwing up her hands. "Jay, are you jealous?"

"NO!" His reply was too fast and too insistent, and his cheeks flushed. Annoyance made his green eyes spark. "I'd never be jealous of that poser."

"And you shouldn't be. You have nothing to worry about."

"Prove it." Betty shrugged and closed the gap between them. Her fingers hooked themselves in the collar of his sweater, grazing his pulse, and she stood on tiptoe, kissing him with smug aggression. She fought the urge to giggle at his "mmmph..." of helplessness. His large, warm hands settling around her hips and the way his lips yielded to her will filled her with triumph.

Strangely, something held her back. Betty couldn't explain it. It was as though the gloss of their kiss wore off for her. It wasn't that he wasn't sexy, surely... but her mind wandered. Betty had the odd feeling that something was missing in the contact, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She tried to focus on her body's reactions to his touch, his mouth, the heat of his body, but she overthought it.

Jason opened his eyes, faintly drowsy with passion as he stared into her face, then cocked his head at her. One auburn brow rose accusingly. "What's up, Bets? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she assured him cheerfully. "Call me?" she said plaintively.

"Yeah. I'll call you." Jason kissed her temple and let her go reluctantly.

"Bye." He watched her walk away about ten paced before he turned his back on her, heading toward the field house to get his gear from his gym locker. He heard the faint groan of a door hinge across the hall from him.

"Why do you bother?" his sister snorted. "Of all the girls you could pick, Jay... Cooper? Ick..." She made a sound like a cat choking up a hairball.

"Shut your face," he sneered. "Go. Play in traffic. Go shopping. Suck a dick. Just don't bother me."

"I'm telling Mom!"

"Cher," he whined. "God... it's none of your business. Seriously."

"It's none of my business if you want to embarrass us both by dating that gold digger?"

"Betty doesn't care about that."

"Sure she doesn't," Cheryl tsked, folding her arms beneath her ample breasts.

"She's cool. Can't say the same for Andrews, though."

"Get out of here with that shit. Archie knows a good thing when he sees it. It's not about the money with him."

"Cher, he knows a sure thing when he sees it. Archie's a dog. Let Ronnie have him, fer cryin' out loud. Don't waste your time. And definitely don't waste your money. He's broke as a joke." He nodded at her outfit disdainfully. "Raise that skirt hem a little higher, Cher. They can't see your camel toe from the city limits, yet."

"Asshole," she hissed, slugging him. "I hate you."

"I'm heartbroken."

The Blossoms shared none of the fabled closeness that people always assumed twins possessed. Jason and Cheryl were rivals for their parents' attention from the moment they were born, and every waking moment in their household was a chance for a pissing contest.

Jason often hated his sister's wardrobe and constant flirting. If she didn't get her way, Cheryl threw tantrums until their parents backed down. Her Sweet Sixteen cost half a mortgage on a three-bedroom house. Horseback riding lessons, a Mercedes coup, ziplining, safari trips, second row seats at the runway for Fashion Week, you name it; Cheryl whined, pouted and cried for what she wanted, and their parents spared no expense. Jason was more subtle about it, deciding to catch more bees with honey. He often caddied for his father on the golf course, ran his errands, and hung out with his friends' boring kids at garden parties. He often tucked hundred-dollar bills into Jay's hand, with a muttered "Don't tell your sister." Jason knew how to work the system. He didn't deny he was spoiled. He just wasn't a whiner.

It wasn't always that way. When they were younger, Cheryl was at least kinda fun. They beat each other at Monopoly and climbed trees and conducted experiments where they threw various things off the roof to see what would land first. But once she got her braces off her teeth and ditched the pigtails, Keds and gummy bracelets, Cheryl changed into someone he didn't recognize.

"Stay away from her," Cheryl warned him. "I'm serious, Jay. Betty might seem like a goodie-goodie, but she's just using you."

"Using me for what?" he snapped.

"What do you think? So she can make a certain full-of-shit center on the basketball team jealous." Cheryl grinned smugly, green eyes twinkling devilishly.

"Seriously?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "Geez, Cher."

"Not to mention Archie," Cheryl mentioned casually, "not that she has a chance with him, anyway, but she follows him around like a puppy. It's kinda sad. Funny, mind you, but sad." She sounded proud of herself as she examined one of her French manicured nails and picked at it.

"Betty's into me. And anyway, Archie's a tool. And you know what, bitch?" he flipped back, enjoying the way her mouth dropped open. "If Betty were still into Archie, she could take him from you, and you hate that."

"Shut. Your fucking. Mouth." Her eyes narrowed venomously and she jabbed him in the chest with her finger. Jason slapped her hand away.

"Get outta here, Cher."

"Don't ever compare me to your little gold digging, townie piece of trash," Cheryl yelled after him. Jason winced slightly as he retreated, then smirked. He loved getting his sister's goat.

Cheryl fumed and stomped down the hall to her locker, wanting to place a wide berth between herself and her twin. His smug voice made her blood boil, and she wanted to leave her size seven Vivienne Westwood pump up his rear...

She reconsidered. "That'll waste a perfectly good shoe," she muttered while she worked her combination. She gathered up her gym bag, geometry book and her sunglasses to wear on the ride home; the afternoon sun filtering through the trees was exceptionally bright. She set down her books and bag to shrug into her cropped denim jacket, and she almost yelped as she felt a pair of hands taking the task from her.

"Need help?" Cheryl grinned as she turned to meet Archie's friendly face. He picked up her backpack and handed it to her, but held onto her gym bag when she reached for it. "I'll walk you out," he offered. Her demeanor and mood automatically brightened, and when he glanced back over at her, Cheryl's smile was radiant and flirtatious.

"Thank you," she cooed, staring up at him through her lashes. He followed her outside to the field house parking lot, and Cheryl clicked her alarm button as they neared her red Mercedes. "Need a ride anywhere?"

"Nah. I parked my car on the other side."

"I could save you some gas if you let me take you for a ride," she suggested sweetly. Archie's cheeks turned slightly pink beneath his freckles, and he chuckled dismissively.

"That's okay, but that's sweet of you, Cher."

"I try." She decided she would just need to try harder. She picked a piece of imaginary lint from his sweater. "This goes well with your eyes."

"Thanks. Ronnie gave it to me." Cheryl wrinkled her nose briefly, but recovered her bright smile.

"Good choice." The slate blue knit and white turtleneck that he wore underneath set off his red hair and fair skin well, and his lean body, broad shoulders and narrow waist made the look work. She mentally licked her lips and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. She opened her car and was grateful that she'd cleaned it out, not needing to beg him to excuse the mess. "I can take that," she said, gesturing to her pack. He handed it to her, and she exaggerated the effort of bending and leaning inside the car to secure it on the floor, treating him to a perfect view of her back end and long legs.

Archie's crotch tightened violently and his lips tightened. His body temperature ratcheted up another two degrees and he had to back up from her before he did something truly-

A car honking at him jerked him to attention, and he whirled to see Veronica in her silver Lexus, glaring at him with narrowed dark eyes. The sudden blare of her horn startled her rival, and Cheryl bashed her head on the edge of the doorframe as she straightened up.

"Shit! OW!" She jerked around and hissed at her, "Just saying hi wasn't an option?"

"Get bent," Veronica snapped. "Arch, get in."

"I've got my car out there," Archie gestured, completely chagrined.

"I'll drive you to it," Veronica informed him. "Get in. Now." His dark red brows beetled together, conveying his immediate reaction of What the fuck?

"I was just about to take him there," Cheryl cut in.

"My legs aren't broken," Archie muttered, shrugging.

"He wasn't about to go anywhere with you."

"What? He can't?" Cheryl snarled, pulling a face and folding her arms under her breasts.

"He wouldn't go anywhere with you," Veronica corrected her coolly. "I'm saving him from being seen with you in that... thing you're wearing. Skank."

"Heifer," Cheryl hissed. "Fuck off."

"I know you didn't just call me a heifer," Veronica warned her, cutting off the engine. That was Archie's cue to get his ass in the passenger seat.

"Cher? Bye." He darted into the car, slinging his books into the back in one smooth motion and jerking on his seatbelt.

"Sure. Bye, Cher," Veronica told her with a saccharine, hard little smile. Cheryl mimicked her expression, gave her a princess wave, then flipped her the bird as Veronica restarted her car and drove off.

"I hate her," Veronica growled.

Rowrrr, Archie mused to himself. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me. Why were you talking to her?"

"I just walked her out. I was being polite."

"Whatever. You weren't even going in the same direction."

"What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? Are you kidding? She was shaking her ass in your face!"

"No, she wasn't!" he insisted guiltily, and not too convincingly. She narrowed her eyes at him over the steering wheel.

"I know what I saw."

"There wasn't anything to see."

"She's trying to get with you."

"I'm not trying to get with her, so it doesn't matter if she is." Archie bit his tongue too late; Veronica's back was up, and her Lexus jerked to a halt, brakes screeching. Archie felt the bite of the seatbelt and let out a tiny "oof!"

"So you think she is, too!"

"Ron! C'mon! No! Uh-uh. I don't think that at all."

"Yes, you do!"

"She's not my type!"

"She's everybody's type," Veronica challenged.

"You're jealous of Cher?"

"NO!" He kept digging himself deeper, but Archie had a choice.

A) Pacify Ron and spend some money on her. B) Admit that Cheryl was flirting with him and risk a kick to the balls. Or C) Distract her.

He wasn't sure if the distraction he ordered was the one he'd have chosen when he saw a familiar blonde emerge from the field house, accompanied by Mr. My Shit Doesn't Stink himself. "What the hell?" he snarled under his breath.

"What? We're not done here."

"Look." He pointed out the window.

"Okaaaaay... what am I looking at?"

"Bets. With Reg."

"She mentioned they were going to rehearse," Veronica shrugged.

"They already did!"

"So?" Veronica honked her horn and waved; Betty waved back, and Reggie merely nodded a What's up? in their general direction.

A strange flare of jealousy bloomed in Archie's chest, and his mouth tasted sour.

"Here," Veronica told him as they reached his car. Archie was distracted as he watched Betty and Reggie turn onto the main street and stop at the red light. "Call me when you get home." She took his hand and halted him from getting out. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Where's my kiss?" He dutifully leaned over, biting back a sigh of exasperation. But she took charge of the kiss, nipping at his lip and making him yelp. Frustration gave way to a flash of lust. Veronica's fingers curled in his collar, and his crept into her soft hair, anchoring it back from her smooth cheek. They lingered there for a minute, their low sighs and heavy breathing underscored by Veronica's satellite radio and the hum of her engine. Archie felt heat sweep over him, consuming him. Betty was forgotten in that moment, which was typical...

Her breath hitched when she felt a warm hand teasing her breast, and she broke the kiss abruptly. "Quit it."

"You started it," he huffed. She swatted his hand away.

"Just call me."

"What'll I get if I do?" he smirked. She chuckled and shook her head. "No? Denied?"

"You get the profound privilege of my affections." Veronica didn't tell him that seeing him with Cheryl temporarily guaranteed him a place on her shit list.

"I thought I had them a second ago."

"Copping a feel doesn't count." He leaned over part of the way, giving her a mischievous look. She sighed and allowed him another kiss, chaste, then two, three, four before she shoved him back. "Bye."

"Later." He wasn't sure if he was disappointed to leave the lush interior of her car, or relieved. Archie had a raging erection and a ton of homework waiting for him. He climbed into his old junker, and she drove off before he even had his key in the ignition. He saw her manicured hand waving out the window in her wake, and Archie shrugged.

"Whatever." The throbbing heat between his legs twitched insistently and created a bulge that made his distressed jeans feel too tight. "Quit it," he muttered down to it futilely.

*

Betty told Reggie she would follow him, but she wasn't expecting them to head to his house. She frowned but parked in front of his house to avoid blocking him or his parents' familiar Lincoln. "I thought you wanted to meet at the park," she argued as he met her at her car, hands in his pockets. He shrugged nonchalantly and beckoned for him to follow him, waiting patiently as she locked up her car.

"No big deal. It's quieter here, and it's getting cold out."

"I'm warm enough."

"Eh. C'mon. Want cocoa?"

"Ooh. Yes." The thought appealed to her.

"Good. You make it." She tsked, shaking her head.

"Got anything to eat?"

"Let's raid the cabinets.

They headed up the front steps and she waited patiently while he keyed the front lock. "Your mom keeps it locked when she's home?"

"They took Dad's car," he explained as he swung the door open to let her in first. He caught a faint whiff of her perfume and felt a funny tingle run over his flesh. He watched her walk into his living room and peer around, smiling at her surroundings; he felt proud that she seemed to like what she saw.

"It's nice. I see your mom likes blue."

"Not really," he said, keeping a straight face until she shook her head at him. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "Not that much." Every cushion, every art print, every ceramic and glass knick-knack and every stitch of carpeting was some shade of blue. A framed family portrait of them hung over the fireplace, and it looked like it was taken when Reggie was about five.

"Cute," Betty murmured.

"I wasn't cute. I was handsome," he corrected her.

"Humble, much?"

"Hey, I've got self-esteem issues, be nice." She elbowed him, and he rubbed his arm, pretending she'd hurt him. "Don't hurt me again!"

"I said I was sorry."

"Kidding."

"Brat. And feed me, already. Sheesh. Starve a growing girl when you invite her over. Come to think of it, you didn't even really invite me over!"

"Kitchen's this way. And technically, I did. I invited you to rehearse. I just changed the venue."

"Ah. A loophole."

"I take every one I can get."

"I get that about you."

They headed into the kitchen, and Betty finally realized with clarity that they were alone in his house. She hugged herself slightly as he opened the cabinet above the microwave and took down two mugs. He handed her the one printed with pansies and violets, while he kept the one with Ren and Stimpy. "Love that," she told him, nodding to it.

"I have every episode on disc."

"Make me a copy."

"Why? Just watch them when you come here."

"When am I going to come back here?" she challenged, but she grinned at his hurt look. "Kidding."

"You're mean," he mock-sniffled, rubbing his eye with his knuckle. That made her giggle, and his trademark wolfish smile was back. "Seriously. Come over whenever you want. We can run through the scenes again before opening night."

"I'm scared shitless," she admitted, letting out a shaky breath. He rummaged for the cocoa packets and sharply ripped them open, emptying them into the mugs. "I can do that."

"You're my guest. I was messing with you. Chill. Take a load off." He filled them at the sink, and Betty toyed with her ponytail uncomfortably as she listened to the beeps of the microwave keys and the door's thunk as he slammed it shut. "You're that worried?" His dark eyes held sympathy that she wasn't accustomed to as he pulled up a stool, sitting opposite her at the butcher block table. He leaned forward on his elbows and regarded her casually.

"Yeah. I guess."

"You'll be great."

"That's not what you told me before. And what if I suck?"

"That wasn't what I said. I just said that you were good, but could be great. And you won't suck." She sighed heavily. "You won't."

"I don't know," she hedged.

"What? You don't believe me?" He arched one heavy black brow at her, and she giggled nervously.

"I'm not used to believing you," she admitted.

"Ouch..."

"Well, I'm not. I never know what to expect from you sometimes."

"I'm not that bad," he argued. "What?" he demanded when she gave him a dubious look and folded her arms.

"Uh, hello?"

"I'm nice to you!"

"You're a punk!" The microwave interrupted her with a shrill ding, and Reggie turned away from their conversation, annoyed, reaching for an oven mitt. He set the cocoa before her and found two spoons.

"I'm not a punk," he muttered.

"Okay. You have your moments."

"My moments?"

"When you're not leaving frog parts in my science book in lab, or snapping my bra straps like you did in seventh grade, or sneaking up on me at the water fountain to make me squirt myself in the nose..." She ticked off each point on her fingers, giving him a flat look that was only half-sincere.

"What? If I didn't like you, I wouldn't give you a hard time."

"Oh, so that's it." She stirred her cocoa and shook her head at him. "You're something else."

"What the heck does that mean? What do people mean when they say that? 'Something else' than what?" he prodded.

"It means you're a character."

"That doesn't sound any better," he accused with a snort before he took an experimental sip of cocoa, then hissed when he burnt his tongue. "Shit!"

"It's too hot," she chided him. "Be careful."

"Tell me that after I burn myself," he suggested, words faintly garbled as he probed his tongue with finger and thumb. "I hate that. My whole mouth will feel like sandpaper for the rest of the day."

"I know. That sucks." She toyed with her cocoa, continuing to stir it. "Nah. You're cool." His brows rose. "You are."

"That didn't sound convincing. But thanks for giving me an inch."

"Any time," she smirked. He rolled his eyes. She giggled, and that appealed to him. She had a great laugh. Her blue eyes darted away from him bashfully, then peered back up at him in that funny little way that he'd seen her look, occasionally...

... at Archie. Or at Jason.

Geez.

"Food?" she reminded him. "Then let's run some lines."

"Sure. Oreo?"

"Yes, please!" He reached into the pantry and withdrew a half-empty package of Golden Oreo Double-Stuf cookies. They ate a few, dunking, unscrewing them, licking up cream, neither of them standing on ceremony. Betty started to relax in the clean, but slightly cluttered kitchen. She took in small details, like the photo magnets on the fridge with pictures of Reggie at varying ages, in different team uniforms; an overstuffed bill box with a rooster tole-painted on it; a row of various pairs of shoes piled under the coat hooks along the wall by the back door; a shelf over the dishwasher teeming with dry foods; a pile of magazines, recipes and clipped coupons sitting in the middle of the table between them. It still just felt odd, almost disembodied, sitting across from him in his home.

A pang of guilt nagged at her. She never told Jason that she was going to Reggie's house.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she assured him.

"You sure?"

"Jason wanted me to hang out with him."

"So? You have to rehearse," Reggie scoffed. "Mr. Wonderful gonna have pine away for you for an hour or two."

"Am I staying that long?"

"Do you have to hurry home?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"No. Not really."

"Hang out, then." His eyes studied her so intently that her cheeks turned pink.

She looked pretty when she did that. Not for the first time that day, Reggie seriously hated Jason Blossom.

The put away the snacks and ran lines, moving the table out of the center of the room, "spotting" and moving to their usual positions that they assumed onstage. Betty fell back into the dialogue with familiar ease, and it actually felt more natural without having her friends watching her in the auditorium. They ran the scenes from the drive-in and the football field a couple of times each. Reggie exaggerated his lines a few times to throw her off, making her giggle, or ramping up his gestures, turning up his shirt collar, thumping his chest, pretending to comb his hair. He was enjoying himself, and it was infectious.

"Silly."

"So? Nobody said I couldn't be."

"That's why you nail it," she admitted.

"Which you could, too." He closed in on her, edging into her space, making her step back. Every time she retreated from him, he'd nudge her again.

"What're you doing?" she asked, slightly alarmed.

"Shove me," he told her.

"Why?"

"Pretend we're at the drive-in," he reminded her. Don't just shoo me away. Really shove me. Fight me. I'm in your space. I'm up in your grill." She kept feinting away from him, half-convinced he was crazy, but it dawned on her that he had a point. "You're still pissed at Danny for fronting with his friends when you rolled up in the courtyard with Rizzo."

"Because he was acting like an ass," she mentioned.

"So? Show me. Let Sandy give him a piece of her mind." He bumped up against her, and she felt a spark of something unnamable that made her face heat up all the way to her hairline. His smirk was back, and she couldn't stop one from twisting her lips, too. He bumped her again, and she gave him a little shove, tsking.

"Danny?” And with his character's name said out loud, Reggie started channeling Danny again. There was that smug look, one that he owned and perfected after years of practice.

“That's my name, don't wear it out.” He leered at her and chucked her under the chin.

Betty's heart hammered, but she went with it. “What's the matter with you?”

“What's the matter with me, baby, what's the matter with you?” He looked her up and down, making her feel self-conscious, and her body reacted to it violently, to the hint of huskiness that crept into his voice, that little "How YOU doin'?" look in his eyes, cocky and self-assured.

In those intense brown eyes, so quick to change expression, pupils dilating as he stared into hers...

“What happened to the Danny Zuko I met at the beach?” she demanded, rising to the challenge he threw down. There was desperation in her voice. He shrugged, and his voice dripped with sarcasm, something she was so used to him, and she wasn't sure if it was Reggie or Danny asking her the question.

 

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe there's two of us. Why don't you take out a missing person's ad? Or try the yellow pages, I don't know.”

“You're a fake and a phony," she pronounced flatly, throwing up her hands, assuming a defeated posture that made him grunt in surprise, "and I wish I never laid eyes on you!”

"Do you?"

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Do you think I'm fake, baby? You wish you never laid eyes on this?" He gestured, and her eyes flicked over him, taking in his body in one quick, sweeping glance.

"What are you doing?"

"Go with it. Ad-lib with me. Be Sandy."

"How will that help?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "It just will. Play with me. Just go with it."

Her insides twisted at the words Play with me.

"You're... cute, I guess," she sniffed disdainfully. He was affronted, the picture of disbelief. She almost laughed.

"Cute?!"

"Even that's being generous, Mr. Zuko."

"I can be generous, too, babe." She turned from him, but he lurked over her shoulder, and she felt his finger twirl itself in her ponytail, then tugging on a lock of it just enough to smart. "I'll give you what I didn't at the beach this summer..."

Flip-flop. Flip-flop. Her stomach wasn't cooperating, taking a cue from her racing pulse and the erratic beats of her heart. She exhaled a shaky breath.

"You're not the man I thought you were, Danny. And you know what?"

"What, babe?" She turned on him, backing up against the counter and folding her arms, the picture of rebellion. Her chin jutted stubbornly, but her eyes were smug.

"I don't think you're man enough to give me what you tried to at the beach."

Whoa.

Reggie's smile evaporated in a flash, and his nostrils flared. Betty saw a vein in his throat jump, and out of the corner of her eye, his fingers clenched into a snug ball at his side. "You don't, huh?"

"You could never be man enough for m-"

She didn't remember when he closed the space between them, when her world was upended on its ear or when she mysteriously ended up moving away from the counter... right. That was right, she decided, it was when he jerked her to him, abruptly, strong fingers closing around her elbow, and she could swear she felt him shudder slightly when his body crashed against hers.

He was in her grill again, completely. Unapologetically. The kitchen around them fell away and the floor felt like it dropped out from beneath her feet when his hands found her narrow waist, locking around it. "Bets," he muttered.

"Sandy," she reminded him. "I'm Sandy."

"You're sexy," he corrected her hoarsely.

"What?" she squeaked, eyes widening in surprise. Her palm rose to his chest, beginning to shove him away, but he felt... solid. Hot. Firm, and her fingers felt his rapid heartbeat, racing at the same pace as hers.

As hers...

"Just go with it," he murmured, inclining his face toward hers, not pleading, not asking permission, only allowing her two and a half seconds to make up her mind. She licked her lips.

"This isn't ad-libbing..." He shook his head and her voice died off as his breath steamed her lips. When had she let him get that close? she wondered.

"Go with it," he whispered, barely grazing the corner of her mouth; she was craning her face up toward him instead of ducking away from the moment he touched her, not trying to avoid what now felt inevitable, maybe even from the moment that they walked into the kitchen. She smelled cocoa and vanilla cream on his breath, then tasted it on his lips, which were smooth, firm and hot as they caressed hers experimentally. Her blood rushed in her ears and she went up in flames. She had no clue what she was doing, how this was happening, but her body sought his out, pressing into him, hands exploring that hard plane of his chest, even trembling at the low, throaty groan he made as his mouth brushed over hers again, urging her to reciprocate. Hers pushed back at him, and he gently nipped at her full, sweet lower lip until she opened for him. Betty sighed in her throat and her fingers found the lean column of his throat, curled into his rich dark hair, and his hands... they were tearing down her defenses, making themselves at home with her curves, the dip of her lower back, the dent of her narrow waist, and she felt his fingers tangle in her hair... this wasn't the same Reggie who used to pull her pigtails.

No.

This Reggie was a different animal, determined, possessive and insistent. His tongue teased the seam of her lips until she let him in. He felt perfect, tasted perfect, as though his mouth were made for her. Each velvety stroke invited her to sin with him, to focus on nothing but him, to drown in him. It was heady and frightening, addictive, dangerous, insane; use whatever word you wanted to define the havoc happening inside her, screaming for release.

He'd been bursting with tension from the moment she came into the house, completely unsure of himself despite his usual swagger. Every time he opened his mouth, he half-expected her to tell him to fuck off, certainly nothing new. She'd think he was playing with her, he figured; she'd tell him he was full of shit. That he had no game. That she'd see through him, and somehow, just... find him... lacking.

Reggie's conversation from the tryouts came back to her in an unwelcome rush. She remembered it sharply, because it had been so unwelcome and pissed her off so much:

“Bets… just… don’t get your hopes up about that guy.”

“It’s a date. It’s no big deal. He likes me.”

“So?”

“That’s a good reason to go on a date with somebody most of the time."

“That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of guys like you, Bets, and you don’t give all of them the time of day.”

“I guess you know something I don’t, then. No one’s knocking down my door."

“Then pay attention once in a while. But don’t waste your time on Blossom. Or Archie.”

“What the hell? Why are you bringing Archie into this? Is this Stick My Nose into Betty’s Business Day? And why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You still like him.”

“Butt out."

It floored her.

Reggie Mantle had a thing for her. How the heck hadn't she picked up on it before?

And why was she so frustrated that it had taken so long for him to act on it? Why did it thrill her that this was actually happening? Why was he driving her crazy, coaxing those moans from her chest, cradling her face, tracing its contours with his fingertips, lips and warm breath to make her shiver? Why was she clinging to him? Why did his body fit so easily against hers, every slope, every hollow?

Why the hell was she asking herself so many stupid questions?

"Betty," he husked into their kiss.

"What?" she demanded, voice shaking with need, sounding nothing like her.

"Quit thinking so much."

"Okay..." He gradually turned them around and backed her against the kitchen stool until she sat up on it, and her leg hooked itself around his as he urged her to continue, making their embrace more encompassing, more complete.

It was unreal to him, heady, strange, yet perfect. The focus of all his childhood mischief and admiration was straining against him, yielding to him, murmuring his name in a way that he craved, that drove him crazy and turned him on, making the hairs on his neck stand on end. She answered all of his longtime what-ifs, solved the equation of what it would take for them to get this far, how he would reach this bliss, how many turns it would take for him to catch the brass ring.

They came up for air, panting, staring into each other's eyes, questions shining in their depths. Her palm cradled his cheek, gently stroking it with her thumb.

"Why?"

"Why not?" he shrugged, at a loss, coming up empty when he tried to rummage for a suitable wisecrack out of his arsenal.

"Because," she insisted hollowly, unable to hold his gaze any longer. She looked away from him, shamed.

"Because, what?"

"You know what."

"You're not serious about him," Reggie shrugged. His fingertips gently turned her chin, making her look at him. She sighed in frustration, punctuating it with a little growl.

"Don't say that."

"Why not. You're not."

"You don't know that."

"You wouldn't be here." Reggie regarded her thoughtfully, and his eyes pleaded with her. "Would you." He leaned his forehead against hers, and she shivered, closing her eyes against that expression that was undoing her.

Why, her brain demanded. Why not, her body countered.

Jason, they chorused back.

That was why not.

"I shouldn't be. This isn't right."

"Yes, it is."

"No. This isn't cool. This isn't me. I don't do this."

"What? Enjoy yourself with a guy?"

"Reggie, stop it."

"I don't want to," he admitted, toying with her hair again.

"You know what I mean. I don't just run around on the person I'm with."

"How many people have you even been with?"

"That's none of your business. Unless you want to tell me how m-"

"Nah. We won't go there."

"I didn't think so," she told him coolly, but she eyed him knowingly. "You're bad."

"I'm a good boy," he argued. His fingers were busy at the crown of her head, loosening her ponytail holder. She looked puzzled as he unsnapped it and tossed it on the table.

"You are, huh? What are you doing?"

"You never wear it down." He combed his fingers through her long, gleaming sheaves of hair, enjoying its softness and weight.

"I like it pulled back."

"It was killing me. I've always wanted to see it like this." She sighed, and her hands crept around his waist.

"Don't change the subject."

"I like this one better."

"We can't do this." But her body betrayed her, leaning into him as he took from her again, tugging her hair to make her give him access to her throat. "Reggie," she whispered in surprise as the hot, liquid velvet of his tongue traced her pulse and set her on fire.

"We're already doing it."

She was clinging to him again, hands tangling in the hem of his shirt, and he groaned in approval as they crept under it, fingertips teasing his taut abdomen. She couldn't believe she was being that bold, but for so long, she wondered how his skin felt, how it would be to touch him like that. This was the body that filled out a basketball uniform so well and distracted her every time he walked by. She tried to retreat, but he caught her hand and held it there, even dragging it up to his chest, where she felt his heartbeat again and grazed crisp hair. He jerked when she accidentally brushed his nipple, making it stiffen.

"We can't," she pleaded with him, and this time she was insistent, breaking away from him and standing up on shaky legs.

"We can if you say we can."

"Then we can't. I'm with Jason, Reggie." He exhaled heavily and threw up his hands.

"What can I do to change that?"

A key in the front door startled them both. "Shit!" Betty hissed under her breath. She panicked and spun around, searching the kitchen. "Where did I leave my jacket?"

"Why?" Reggie asked, baffled. But two sets of heavy footsteps came toward the kitchen, and Betty caught her reflection in the window, noticing that it was dark outside already, and the kitchen's overhead light showed her how disheveled her hair look, tidy ponytail completely gone. Just as she saw Reggie's mother's low-heeled pump cross the threshold of the door, she made a hasty grab for the ponytail holder.

"What smells like cocoa?" Ricky Mantle wondered as he entered the kitchen just behind his wife. Reggie's mother, Victoria, looked surprised to find his son had company.

"Hello. Have we met?"

"Sure," Betty admitted cheerfully, albeit awkwardly. "Um, you drove us to the museum for our fourth grade field trip."

"Ahhhh," she agreed, nodding. "I knew you were familiar. I think I remember you had pigtails before?"

"Bingo," Betty demurred, absently rubbing her neck.

"You've grown," Ricky teased.

"Dad," Reggie muttered in disgust at his father's corny attempt at wit. Ricky clapped his son's back fondly. "Betty, I went to high school with Hal."

"You did?"

"Yup. We both played football together. Your pop had a mean tackle."

"So he tells me."

"He showed me your photo that he had in his wallet the other day when I ran into him at Pop Tate's on my lunch hour. Looked like it was taken at the semiformal this past fall?"

"I bet it was."

"You clean up well. So does this guy, when he gets a haircut."

"Dad," Reggie whined this time. Betty snickered; parents were a pain, but this time she was grateful that her mom and dad giving her a hard time, especially in front of someone she was interested in.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Victoria asked as she hung up her coat.

"Um..."

"You can," Reggie told her.

"Mom's expecting me home. I should at least call her." Then Betty reconsidered, hating her own decision. "Better yet... I'm sorry. I'd better get home. I have a test to study for." She tried to avoid Reggie's naked look of disappointment, steeling herself against it. "Thanks so much for inviting me, though."

"Any time. Some other time," Ricky offered.

"It was nice meeting you. Again," Reggie's mother quipped, laughing at her own joke. Reggie rolled his eyes.

"I'll walk you out."

"Good night, Mrs. Mantle. Mr. Mantle." She waved, heart still pounding at almost being caught in a clinch with their son. She still had goosebumps, and she had no doubt that her face was still red. Her legs felt wobbly on the way out to the car, from a combination of Reggie's presence and his hand at her back, and their near-discovery by his folks. At least they were nice, she mused. Reggie flicked on the porch light on his way out the door, but halfway down the front walk, he stopped her.

"Bets," he began.

"We can't do this," she told him. "I'm sorry."

"You like me," he said.

"Reggie, it doesn't matter."

"You didn't tell me no. That means you like me, so it does matter." He took her hand and squeezed it, trying to pull her against him again, but she ducked her head away.

"I can't do this. Reggie... I don't know what to say. You like me, but you wait til... it's not fair. It's not fair to me. Why try to start something with me when someone else wants to date me first?"

"I wanted to date you before!"

"That doesn't help now." She squeezed his hand, but let him down when she released it and pulled away from him, unlocking her car. "I like Jason, and he likes me. He told me he liked me a long time ago, and he didn't play games with me." Reggie scowled.

"Who's playing a game?"

"You are, right now. I'm sorry. I just wish... never mind."

"Bets!"

"Good night, sweetie." Betty's throat felt tight and dry as she climbed into her car and closed the door with a low slam. Reggie huffed as he stepped back, and she drove off uncharacteristically fast.

"Shit," he said flatly. "What the hell. What just happened?" He felt bereft, hollow and confused as he walked back into the house.

*

Betty reached her own driveway and put her car in park, fuming. Once the ignition was off, she sat and thumped her forehead against the steering wheel helplessly.

"Why?" she moaned. "WhywhyWHY?" She sighed and scowled at her reflection in the rearview. Her hair was a hot mess. She retrieved her forgotten ponytail holder and quickly fixed her hair, combing her fingers through it and tying it back as well as she could without the aid of hair gel. It would have to do.

She felt petrified in hindsight of what she had done, but also what she almost said:

I'm sorry. I just wish you had told me before. Then we might have had a chance. Because I like you, too, and I'm afraid of what could happen between us, Reggie.

Why were men such confusing animals? Betty's stomach twisted itself in knots as she trudged up the front steps, backpack dragging on the ground.