xoxo, Betty and Veronica: In Each Other's Shoes

by Adrianne Ambrose

“Hey, Ronnie. What’s up?” she asked as her best friend pulled her to one side.

  “Look,” Veronica whispered, nodding toward the school’s main hallway. “Ginger’s campaigning.”

  Betty squinted in the direction indicated. “Wow. She must have stayed up all night making those posters.”

  “And she’s handing out buttons.” This caused her best friend to giggle. “What’s so funny?” Veronica asked.

  “I was just wondering how she got buttons so quickly. I mean, does she have a boxful in the back of her closet in case she decides to suddenly run for something or what?”

  Veronica folded her arms and glared down the hall. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  Jughead Jones wasn’t a fan of hard work. He was more of a fan of snacking, relaxing, napping, and just plain taking it easy. A life of extreme leisure was fine by him. But in a school like Riverdale, where everyone was always participating in everything, Jughead found it hard to maintain his status as a low-profile loaf. People were always trying to get him to join teams and sign up for clubs. Jughead found it very stressful. Still, as a student, he had an obligation to participate a little bit. And it was always a good idea to have at least some activities to list on college applications.

  So Jughead kept his eyes open for lowimpact activities that wouldn’t heavily impede any kind of snacking opportunities that might arise. Monitoring the ballot boxes during a school election was right up his alley. The gist of the job was just sitting at a table that was covered with boxes. Ostensibly, he was there to keep people from cheating or answer any questions they might have. But it was only a minor election, so the chance that anyone would be desperate enough to cheat was minimal. And there were the names of each category taped on the lid of each box, so the voting procedure was pretty self-explanatory. The only thing that bothered Jughead about the whole process was why anyone would go out of their way to run for a school office in the first place.

  “How’s it going, Jugglehead?” Reggie asked, sidling up to the ballot boxes. A small line had formed as Riverdale’s students dropped by at the end of the school day to cast their votes.

  “Not bad,” Jughead replied. “Just taking her easy.”

  “How are the elections going? Anyone tried to stuff the ballot box yet or anything?” Reggie asked, sliding a ballot in the box labeled NEW FOOTBALL UNIFORMS. Seeing that Reggie was on the team and always keen to impress the girls, it was no mystery as to how he would vote.

  “Not yet,” Jughead replied. He had his feet propped up on the desk and his ever-present crown-shaped beanie pushed forward to keep the glare from the overhead lights out of his eyes. “Ginger Lopez has been by here, like, a dozen times to ask me how I think the votes are going, but I always have to tell her that as Ballot Master, I can’t reveal that information.”

  Reggie chuckled. “That’s what this job is called? Collecting ballots makes you a Ballot Master?”

  After giving it some thought, Jughead replied, “I don’t know what the official title is, but that’s what I’ve been calling it. I thought Ballot Overlord sounded a little too intimidating.”

  Reggie worked his way through the eight ballot boxes, systematically casting his votes. “I’m surprised you volunteered for this, Juggler. Especially today.”

  “Why’s that?” Jughead wondered, not particularly interested.

  “Because of the library bake sale. I mean, don’t you usually like to get in on those things?”

  Jughead sat up. “The library is having a bake sale?” He abruptly dropped his feet to the floor. “Today?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t you know?” Reggie exited the voting line. Smoothing down his shiny black hair, he used his reflection in a trophy case to check his appearance.

  Jughead suddenly felt very, very unsatisfied with his position as Ballot Master. If he had realized there was a bake sale conflict, he would have never, ever volunteered. “Were you by there? Is Ms. Crouton there? Did she bake her chocolate doughnuts?”

  “Sure.” Reggie licked his lips. “I had two. Wow, are those things good!”

  “Good?!” Jughead yelped. “They’re the most delicious things on this planet! They’re maybe even as good as hamburgers!” He got to his feet and began pacing back and forth behind the voting table. “Were there any left?”

  Reggie shrugged. “Sure, there were some left. I mean, not a ton, but there never are.”

  “How long is the bake sale going to last?”

  “I don’t know,” Reggie told him. “How long do bake sales usually last?”

  Grabbing the front of his friend’s shirt, Jughead all but pleaded, “Reggie, you’ve got to do me a favor.”

  “Easy, Jughead,” Reggie said, shaking him off. “Nothing’s that important.”

  “Oh, yes, it is!” Jughead insisted. “You have to watch the ballot booth for me! Just for five minutes so I can go get a doughnut.”

  Reggie was reluctant. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got kind of a date, and I don’t want to be late or anything.”

  “Please!” Jughead whined. “Five minutes. All I’m asking is for five minutes!”

  Rolling his eyes, Reggie gave in. “Okay, fine. What do I have to do?”

  “Do? Nothing! You don’t have to do anything!” Jughead took off running down the hall toward the library. “All you have to do is sit there!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  A couple of students were walking away as Jughead ran toward the bake sale table that was set up outside the library. He gave them a quick scan to see if either was enjoying baked goods. “Ms. Crouton!” Jughead gasped as he made it up to the table. “You’re helping with the library bake sale!”

  The home economics teacher gave him a quizzical look. “Of course, Jughead. Didn’t you get the e-mail I sent to remind you?”

  “You sent me an e-mail?” Jughead asked, adjusting his beanie and catching his breath.

  “Of course I did.” The teacher smiled. “You’re our best customer for these things.”

  “Oh. I haven’t read my e-mail in a few weeks,” Jughead admitted. “I can’t remember the password.”

  “Don’t you just hate that?” Ms. Crouton shook her head ruefully. “I usually write some clues to myself on a piece of paper to keep around for the first few weeks in case I forget.”

  “Yeah, I do that, too,” Jughead agreed. “But then I forget where I put the piece of paper.”

  Ms. Crouton couldn’t help but laugh. Gesturing toward the baked goods piled on the table, she said, “So, Jughead, what can I get you today?”

  Jughead felt around in his pockets, pulling out a movie stub, a crumpled dollar bill, and some lint. “Three of your extra special chocolate doughnuts, please.”

  The teacher looked dubious. “Doughnuts are seventy-five cents apiece,” she informed him. “You know that.”

  “Yeah,” Jughead said sheepishly, “but I was kind of hoping I could get a little credit.”

  “Oh no. Not after last time.” Ms. Crouton was adamant. “No credit, no collateral, no barter system. You want a doughnut, you pay for a doughnut.”

  Jughead’s reputation as a mooch had obviously extended even to the faculty of Riverdale High. “That’s disappointing,” he said, forking over his dollar and grabbing a doughnut dripping with chocolate glaze. “How much longer is the bake sale going on?” His words were slightly muffled because he’d already taken a giant bite out of the pastry.

  “We’ll go for another twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.”

  “But I’ve got to watch the voting booth for another twenty minutes,” Jughead wailed. “I’ll never be able to deliver the ballots to the office, find someone to lend me some money, and get back here in time. And these doughnuts are the most perfect food on earth!”

  Ms. Crouton was flattered. She knew her doughnuts were good, but no one had ever called them the most perfect food on earth. “Tell you what,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll definitely keep the booth open for the full thirty minutes. But after tha
t, I’m leaving. Teachers have lives outside of school, too, you know.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Crouton!” Jughead called over his shoulder. He was already running back toward the voting booth. Reggie usually had money on him for such dire emergencies.

  But as Jughead approached the voting booth, scarfing down the last few bites of his doughnut as he ran, it was very clear that Reggie would not be inclined to lend him a few dollars. “I thought you said just five minutes!” Reggie barked.

  Jughead feigned innocence. “Isn’t it just five minutes now?”

  “Try ten.”

  Squinting at the clock in the hallway, Jughead argued, “Sorry, Reggie. I think you’re confused. It’s absolutely been only five minutes. Six at the most.”

  “Okay, whatever.” Reggie stepped out from behind the voting table. “I’m out of here.”

  “But wait!” Jughead shouted at his friend’s back. “You have to help me carry all these boxes to the office after the voting.”

  “Find another sucker!” Reggie called over his shoulder.

  “Well, then can you at least lend me a couple of bucks?” The plea didn’t even warrant a verbal response. Reggie just waved him off. “Great.” Jughead slumped back into the Ballot Master’s chair. There were at least a half a dozen chocolate doughnuts left at the bake sale, waiting to be devoured—and he was stuck being Ballot Master. Jughead wailed to himself, “This is a nightmare!”

  Chapter 4

  “How’s it going, Jughead?”

  He looked up to see that a blond pursecarrying savior had appeared before his eyes. “Betty!” he shouted. “Can you help me with these ballot boxes and lend me five dollars?”

  Betty gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Jughead. I don’t have any money on me at all, and I can’t help with the ballot boxes because I’m on the ballot.”

  “You’re kidding.” Jughead’s face fell. “You don’t have any money on you at all?”

  “Not a cent.”

  “How are the elections going?” Veronica asked, joining them in the hallway.

  “Hey, Veronica,” Jughead said, swinging around on her. “Your father’s Mr. Money Bags. Can you lend me five dollars?”

  Veronica rolled her eyes. “Well, only’cause you asked so nice.” She delved into her designer purse and pulled out her wallet. “Let’s see . . . um . . . hmmm . . .” She looked up. “Can you take a credit card?”

  “No.” Jughead shook his head. “I don’t think the bake sale takes credit cards.”

  “You know,” Veronica went on, “I lent Archie ten dollars this morning so he could get some lunch. I bet you he still has change.”

  “Archie?” Jughead lit up. “He’ll lend me some money. But where is he?”

  Betty piped up with, “I saw him near the science lab a few minutes ago. I think he’s trying to get some extra credit.”

  “Science lab. Got it,” Jughead said, quickly trying to devise a plan. “Let’s see. Voting’s just about to end. Veronica, will you help me get these ballot boxes to the office?”

  “Um.” Veronica looked at the boxes and then at her silk blouse. She had a feeling the two shouldn’t go together.

  “She can’t,” Betty informed him. “She’s on the ballot, too. It’s against the rules, and neither one of us wants to be disqualified.”

  Jughead groaned. “Okay, can you at least keep an eye on some of the ballot boxes while I get these others to the office?”

  “Sure,” Betty told him. “I mean, I seriously don’t think anybody is going to try to mess with the boxes.”

  “Great!”

  A few last people slipped their votes into various boxes, and the election was over. Jughead gathered up six of the boxes and started loping toward the office.

  All of a sudden—wham!—Jughead collided with something in the hallway. The boxes went flying, and Jughead went sprawling. “Ouch!” a female voice cried out in pain.

  “What happened?” Jughead asked, staggering to his feet. Among the boxes, he saw Brigitte Reilly lying on the ground. “Brigitte! Are you okay?” He knew he should fight his impulse to yank her to her feet in case she was really hurt, so instead he just crouched down by her side to check that she was all right. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  “And you didn’t hear me, either.” Brigitte groaned, rubbing her hip. “I called out to you, but that just seemed to make you head right for me.”

  “I’m so, so, so sorry,” Jughead insisted. “Are you hurt? Do you need me to get you some ice or the nurse or anything?”

  “No, that’s okay.” Brigitte gathered her legs under her to stand. “Why were you in such a hurry?”

  Jughead put his arm around her waist and gently helped her to her feet. “I’ve got to get these boxes to the office and then find Archie to borrow some money and then go buy some doughnuts at the bake sale, which is closing in, like, seven minutes.” He stopped to draw a breath. “Say, I don’t suppose you could lend me a couple of bucks?”

  “Sorry, Jughead.” Brigitte gave him an apologetic smile. “I don’t let guys crash into me and then borrow money.” She looked around at the boxes on the floor. “But I will help you pick up this stuff. What are they, anyway?”

  “They’re the ballot boxes for the school election. I’m pretty lucky none of the boxes spilled. Then I’d really miss the bake sale.”

  “Uh-oh,” Brigitte said.

  Jughead cringed. “I don’t like that sound. What’s wrong?”

  “The labels fell off two of the boxes,” she told him. “I don’t know which one goes on which.”

  “Oh.” Jughead looked down at the two labels. One read SCHOOL PAPER and the other read FASHION SHOW. “Um . . .” He looked at the two blank boxes. “I think this one goes on this box,” he said, tentatively sticking the label to the top. “And this must go on the other.”

  Brigitte shook her head. “How can you be sure?”

  Shrugging, Jughead said, “I’m pretty sure. Besides, the office can figure it out.”

  “If you say so.” Brigitte handed him the rest of the boxes.

  Jughead glanced at a clock in the hallway. There were only five minutes left until the end of the bake sale. “Sorry about running you over, Brigitte, but I’ve got to go.” With that, he dashed off down the hall.

  Careening into the school’s office, Jughead shoved the boxes toward Ms. Phlips, the school secretary. “Here!” he shouted. “These are from the school election.”

  “Don’t even think you’re going to dump those ballot boxes on me, Jughead Jones,” she snapped at him. “Those have to be officially delivered to Mr. Weatherbee.”

  Exasperated, Jughead swooped the boxes off the secretary’s desk and hurried toward the principal’s office. “Mr. Weatherbee?” he called, rapping on the door. “I have the ballot boxes.”

  “Come in,” called a friendly voice.

  Jughead flung open the door and charged into the office. “These are from the election. Where do you want them?”

  “On the table by the window should be fine,” the principal said, getting to his feet. “Wait a minute. There should be eight boxes.”

  “I know,” Jughead said, panting. “I couldn’t carry them all. I’ll be right back with the last two.” What he didn’t tell the principal was that he was planning to make a short detour to the science lab.

  “You didn’t leave the boxes unattended, did you?” the principal asked, concern registering in his voice.

  “No, of course not.” Jughead tried to act like the mere idea was absurd.

  “Well, bring them back here immediately,” Mr. Weatherbee said in his strictest administrator’s voice. “We don’t want any tampering with school voting.”

  There were only three minutes left until the bake sale was over and the opportunity for delicious chocolate doughnuts would disappear. Jughead’s heart was beating wildly in his chest. “I’m on it!” he shouted, madly dashing for the door.

  The principal looked after him, impressed. �
��Well.” He chuckled to himself. “I guess I really motivated the boy.”

  Jughead flung himself down the hall, briefly stalling as he decided between the science lab or returning for the ballot boxes. But the call of the chocolate doughnuts was too strong. He sprinted for the lab. “Archie?!” he called, flinging open the door.

  Dilton Doily looked up from where he was hunched over several bubbling beakers. “He’s not here, Jughead.”

  “Well, where is he?”

  Dilton shoved his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. He just left. I’m sure he’s still on school grounds somewhere.”

  “Thanks !” Jughead took off, tearing down the hall. It was only after he was twenty steps from the science lab that he thought maybe he could have asked Dilton for the money. But he had a momentum going, and it was too late to turn around. Only one minute left until the end of the bake sale, and Jughead was running out of steam. He’d run farther in the last ten minutes than he had in the last ten days. Finally, he had to slow to a jog and then to a walk.

  The clock ticked forward another minute. Jughead let his shoulders sag.

  The bake sale was over.

  Jughead dragged himself back to the voting booth, his head hanging so low he was staring at his shoes. “Hey, Jughead! How’s it going?”

  Looking up, Jughead caught sight of red hair and a smiling face. His brow furrowing, he exclaimed, “Archie! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in the science lab?”

  “Uh.” Archie was caught by surprise. He glanced furtively at Betty and Veronica. “I finished up my extra credit and thought I’d see how the voting was going.”

  “Oh . . . ,” Jughead groused. “It’s going horribly.”

  “Well, then this should cheer you up. I was going by the library, and I saw there was a bake sale.” Archie pulled a stack of three chocolate doughnuts out from behind his back. “I thought you might miss it because you were helping out with the elections, so I picked you up a few.”

  “You’re kidding!” Jughead straightened up, the sight of the doughnuts dancing in his pupils. “Thanks!”

  “Jughead,” Betty interjected, “don’t you have to deliver these two final ballot boxes?”