The Festival - A Bughead Story

Part One - The Ballroom

She looked over the room.

From where she was standing, she could see the entirety of the town's oldest families. The Andrews, with both parents throwing angry glances at the other, while their son happily chatted with his cousins and uncles and aunts and other family members. The Mantles, showing off their football prodigy of a son to their own family members. The Masons, all big and meaty, chatting and laughing loudly, standing close to the bar. The Doileys, having some sort of contest to know which one was the smartest. The Lodges, which consisted of Hermione and her daughter, both looking extremely good in designer clothes and exquisitely applied make-up. The Coopers, the parents looking particularly sneaky, writing notes on little notebooks as they cruised the room and listened to the conversations, acquiring unhappy glances from their family. The Blossoms, redheaded marble statues beautifully judging every other person in the room. Even some of the Jones stood awkwardly in a corner, unsure of how to proceed in a social event.

She knew almost every one of these families like the back of her hand.

Riverdale's annual festival was an excuse for every founding family member to come back to its birth town and butt in in their relative's house. She knew that for a fact – she was currently sleeping in her basement living room with two of her younger cousins. And the opening night was a sort of ball where everyone dressed in their finest clothes and tried to show everyone else how successful they had become. Without fooling anyone.

It was the start of the night. The start of a night that would end up being one to remember.

"Bets, what are you doing?"

Veronica had joined the blonde, who was overlooking the room from her spot on the balcony, where the speeches were given. There were two gorgeous staircases twisting from the middle of the room to the walls and up to the balcony. Those staircases were the main attraction of the old room, used primarily during the festival. It was a beautiful ballroom, designed during the nineteenth century, with heavy tapestries, dark wooden floors and golden embellishments.

"Bets?"

Betty jumped, lost in her train of thoughts.

"Oh, sorry, Ronnie. What were you saying?"

"I was just asking you what you were doing here."

"I don't really know. I just wanted to see the room, before going in."

"Admiring family rivalries?"

"Amongst other things."

Veronica let her eyes follow the gentle curve of the right staircase, her lips pressed together.

"We could make a hell of an entrance."

Betty chuckled lightly. "Nobody would look at us."

"We could stop the music."

"We don't want that, Ronnie."

"We don't? Are you sure?"

"Yes. We don't want to make a hell of an entrance."

As she was denying her friend' s idea, Betty couldn't help but feel somehow interested by the idea of entering the room while making such a scene. She would never agree to it, but it did seem more agreeable than she would admit to her best friend.

"You're no fun."

"I know."

The sand-haired girl had just finished her last word when she felt a hand replacing a misplaced strand of hair.

She turned around, her heart increasing in rhythm.

"Juggie." she breathed.

Her friend grinned, mimicking a small bow.

"Yes?"

"What... How are you here?"

"Well, I don't know if you've heard, but there are those things, really helpful, called stairs..."

She gently slapped his forearm. "I know what stairs are, idiot! I was asking how you've found us."

"Archie saw you."

He pointed behind him. The redhead was hanging on the balustrade of the balcony beside Veronica, both making light conversation as they stared at the room.

"Reggie just told us he knew where the booze was."

Betty frowned and stared at Jughead.

"The booze?"

"Well, you know, the alcohol."

"Yes, I know, I was just wandering why you cared."

"I don't. Archie does."

"Ah."

Betty walked over to stand beside Veronica. "I heard Reggie knows where the booze is."

Veronica titled her head and threw a look over to their red-headed friend. "Yes, Archie was just telling me that."

"Do we want to go get drunk with him?"

Betty frowned when she heard Archie's question. "I don't want to get drunk, period."

"I know that, Bets. That was mainly for Veronica."

"And what makes you think that I want to get drunk?"

"Nothing. I just thought you'd prefer that to standing here all night listening to people you hate talk about things you hate."

The raven-haired girl sighed. "You do have a point."

Jug shook his head. "I'd prefer to be with drunken teenagers instead of hypocrite adults."

"But..." Betty tried to protest. She didn't want to be around alcohol. She heard about what was happening with intoxicated teens and wanted to be as far away from them as possible. But at the same time...

Jughead had a point. The entire room stunk of hypocrisy and jealousy. Betty was sure to suffocate if she stayed too long in it.

"But nothing, Bets." She dived her eyes in her dark-haired friend's. "Come." He gently bit his lip, and Betty felt her stomach to gymnastics. "Please."

"Okay."