Kill For A Drink

Chapter 3: Tip the scale

Jughead's life was never a straight line. It escalated between blessings and curses and everything in between. He knew happiness. But he also knew that most of the time he was trying so hard to keep his world from imploding.

It was a blessing when his little sister was born. Her perfectly round face, her chubby little hands reaching for him while in her crib, her cute incoherent noises...

Jughead saw her and swore she was the most precious thing in the whole world. He made a promise to himself that night. To always care for her and protect her. Give his life for her if he had to. Destroy anyone who would dare to even think of hurting a hair on her head.

The second blessing happened a bit earlier. He was a child still when FP came home from work holding a book. His first book. By that age, his parents had already taught him how to read and write. His father with his 'New York Times' and 'The Sun' and his mother with her 'Cosmopolitan' and the 'Ladies Home Journal'.

His mother thought it was important to know these skills as they could prove useful later in life. That way when Jughead went to school he'd be ahead of the rest. His dad just thought it was fun. Jughead always loved to learn new things. And he had an insatiable hunger for words.

He devoured every written text they had in the house. Much like a dog, he would wait on the door for the newspaper to arrive and then rush to his father. He'd sit on his lap and they would go over the pages together. At one point FP didn't even have to read. He'd just sit back on his chair and listen to Jughead excitedly narrate the stories from the outside world.

He had to be more patient with Gladys. She wanted to read the magazine herself before going over it together, which could take from days to weeks. When they would finally get to it, it was more of a lesson than a pastime.

His mother was more concerned with the technical aspects of reading like grammar and syntax. FP snorted on their first lesson.

"He's three Gladys. He doesn't understand any of it"

"FP stay out of this. You two can have your little newspaper readings but this is where the real groundwork begins"

FP would shake his head and Jughead would pipe in, sensing whenever a fight was in toe.

"S'alright Papa. I'm real smart and big. I can figure it out!"

He always had that uncanny ability to predict a disagreement between his parents and prevent it before it even started. Always knew what to do or say to keep both his parents happy with him and with each other.

And his mother had been right. It was through their lessons that he learnt the correct way to write and by extension speak. And by the time he was old enough to go to school, he could rival his own teachers in terms of speech and written text.

But it was in those early years, that he actually read his first book: "Old Sleuth"
It was a dime novel that FP had brought home. Someone at work had misplaced it and FP happened to come across it at the work site.

"Don't show your mom, okay? I'll bring you more when you finish it" He had whispered winking and Jughead agreed enthusiastically.

That afternoon, when Gladys went to the market, FP removed two floorboards under Jughead's bed. "You can hide it here"

"Why can't mama know, papa?"

FP sighed. "Well, let's just say that these kinds of books are not very... It's not the kind of stuff your mom wants you to read"

"Oh. Why?"

FP sighed. "They are not very well-esteemed"

Jughead tilted his head to the side. "Why?"