The Smell Before Rain // Jughead Jones

Pre-chorus one: Chapter two.

I'll grow old, start acting my age

Later that morning at school (the kind of morning where the sun is actually up)  things were pretty much back to normal for them. Or at least so far.
Him watching her from his locker, angled down the corridor opposite from hers so he could observe her perfectly unnoticed - and her trying to take up as little space and go as incognito as possible.
Sadly, or not so sadly as the case may be, that wasn't possible anymore. She could feel him now. They could see each other. And that day it didn't take long for his friends to see her either.

Neither of them knew the protocol when it came to interacting the next day. Was it alright to say hello in the hallway? Was a smile weird? Would she be expected to sit with his friends? What would his friends even say?
It took almost eight subtle glances from each of them for one  to decide to finally act.
The introvert within her was tapping at her brain like it was a subway service window trying to get the desk attendant behind her conscience to acknowledge that she'd used up her daily social interactions quota early this morning at Pop's. But the fight or flight hit her feet before her brain, and the slight confidence she'd flowered from their early morning discussion made the decision for her.
Before she could stop herself or catch up with her feet the deed had already been done and she was standing by his locker, next to him.
If he was shocked, he hid it well. Surprisingly well, since to him it felt like his heart would fall out of his arsehole if he wasn't careful.
Is it possible to have a heart attack at sixteen? Once again, neither of them are sure but the thought crosses both of their minds.
He makes the next move as usual. She'd already risked too much and as a consequence her brain had shut down again. But it's okay because she made it over to him without falling over her feet as if they'd suddenly grown five sizes bigger, or turning back around to find a quiet hole to pretend she doesn't exist in, both of them knew that was the hardest part. And she'd done it.
The smile he gives her when he faces her definitely makes the uneven heaving of her slightly hyperventilating chest worth it. But the glint in his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks this close almost knocks the rapidly filling oxygen out of her lungs all at once.
When his eyes meet hers all he could think of was the lyrics to a Front Bottoms song he'd sung along to way too many times by himself. He's already making a mental note to show her the song later.

He's decided to play it cool, hit her with a moderately unphased sentence to show how cool and uninvested he is in this interaction, even though the vein in his neck is about to burst from the feelings he's holding back.
And nobody told his face, because the grin across his mouth was, by his generally moody standards, ear splitting.

"What? No uncoordinated entrance? I'm disappointed, Fleetwood."
The nickname he gave her after finding out about how she was named came off his lips so naturally already, she wouldn't mind hearing it everyday.
Her laugh is like a mixture of poetry and silk and he's not too sure any philosophers could solve the mystery of what it's done to him.
He feels enlightened. Is this what a religious experience is? Because, consider him converted. He'd worship at that alter, forever.
He wants to be funny again just to be treated to the sound. He's sure an angel just died somewhere because two such beautiful things can't exist at the same time.

It'll be a brand new day in a life that you hate

"Not today, Pendleton. I'm a new woman."

All he can do is smile at her wider and offer her his elbow to hold on their way to their double Lit class.
She took it too.
Ladies and Gentlemen, please hold your applause.

She's having such a character building day. He wonders if it would be taken as sarcasm if he were to give her a medal, but he wants to even though he knows if he brings it up it'll probably close her off. He thinks she should know he sees her fighting off the second guessing.
She thinks maybe this is growing up. Her anxiety had her feeling twelve forever.