WHIPPED [Sprousehart]

two

Betty Cooper. When I was casted as that iconic blonde chick, I was totally ecstatic. And so were the people around me; suddenly everyone was my friend. Suddenly, everyone has my back. It wasn't always that way. Funny, how people go on, congratulating me, and telling me how they always believed in me. A big fat lie. Because I never really felt their support, when I was drowning in my disappointment and fears, they weren't there. Except for an anonymous boy, I met that night.

Everytime I close my eyes, I can still picture the place when I try. The beat was getting louder and louder with each passing second, steams of neon flashes, the pandemonium, the smell of sweat. Everything was almost muted to me, in a place of loud music and drunken teenagers.

I watched them in the back, alone. I felt out-of-place, uncomfortable and maybe, a little scared. I knew I didn't belong– funny, how I came here because I wanted to feel like I do, but there I was.

"You're not from around here, are you?" A boy sat besides me. His hair was disheveled, and his clothes were so plain, it was almost as if he doesn't want people to notice his presence. But it's almost impossible, because as he sat down, a few women stared at him. That's what he is; a head turner. He's the type of guy who makes people turn their heads and stare.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I already saw him somewhere, because he looked so familiar. But I was still cautious and untrusting, I looked at him coldly, hoping he'd get the hint that his company is unwanted and leave.

Despite the fact that I was ignoring him, he still looked at me expectantly. "Dance with me."

"No." I snapped.

He shrugged, as if he was expecting the response. "Why?"

"Leave me alone."

"Why?"

"Because," I started, crossing my arms and scowling at him. "I don't even know you."

He grinned, looking amused. "Pardon me, shall I introduce myself? I'm–"

I raised my hand. "I don't care who you are."

"Then let's keep it that way." The boy shrugged. I thought he might be leaving but he raised a finger to a waitress who was carrying a dozen tall wine glasses and handed me one. "Why are you here then?"

I looked at him. "I don't owe you any explanation."

He grinned. "Fair enough," He said. "But I still want to know why."

I scowled. "Annoy someone else, I'm not going to talk to you."

"It's what you're doing now," He said smugly.

"Go away."

He tapped his chin. "If you tell me why, I'll leave you alone."

I glared at him. "To forget. Okay? Done. I answered your question now-"

"Ah... the typical to forget excuse." He said, amused. "What are you trying to forget?"

"I auditioned for a role on this Netflix series, okay? And they rejected me." I said, giving in. "Well ... not yet. They told me to wait for their call, but that's what they always say."

"Stop being a pessimist."

I took a deep breath. "You don't understand. I don't even expect you to. You don't know how it's like, you don't know how much this role means to me." I paused. "This is it, okay? This is the big break I've been waiting for and if I don't get it ..."

"What?"

"It's over. I'm not going to try again. Maybe ... just maybe, this is what I want but it's not meant for me."

He watched the party go on. "What makes you think so?"

I gave an exasperated sigh. "Because," I start. "I'm just me. And there's a lot of girls out there who are so much better. Hell, I wouldn't even pick me."

"Don't, even for a second, compare yourselves to them," he said seriously. "If I were given the chance, I'd choose you."

"You're just saying that." I whispered.

He stared at me. "You have to believe in yourself so you won't need other people to."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's being rejected."

He stared at me, as if the idea was so ridiculous, it amused him. As if, he knew something I didn't. "Let's just say, I've had my own fair share of disappointments." He slowly stood up and gave me a parting smile, as if he knew the conversation wouldn't last. "When you come back in this place, remember the first boy who believed in you."

I stared at the drink first, gripped it tighter and looked at the anonymous boy. I wasn't dizzy anymore when I spoke the next sentence. "You're the first boy who ever wanted to dance with me." I whispered. I suddenly remembered what how people talks about strangers who come into your life, sending us stumbling deep down, and never coming right back up.

"That was quite a number but we don't have the entire night, haven't we? Let's not make things last accordingly, it's just midnight." He cocked his head and smiled at me. I glanced at the unending party, the wine that never ran out.

I smiled. "I suppose." I took another
sip. "Goodbye." I said, and I didn't understood how one word put a hole on my chest. How it felt so empty.

"No."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"I'm not saying goodbye to you." He grinned. "Just see you soon."

I scowled. "I doubt it, I'm not coming back here."

"You're right," he shrugged and gave me an expression that meant he didn't really believe me. "Take care, Reinhart." He said, before walking away, and then he was gone.

I closed my eyes. In the morning, when I would be sober; the lights and the music will be gone, but atleast they were real. I thought of how he might still be there, somewhere, dancing and forgetting the time.

Reinhart.
My eyes flew open. How did he know?

My thoughts were interrupted when I received the phone call that changed my life; my phone rang, and it didn't stop for days.

Turns out, he was right. I did meet him again, but not in that club. Definitely, not as an anonymous boy– but a man with an identity. My co-star, Cole Sprouse -the Jughead to my Betty.

"Hey there, Juliet."