The Day Before

by Micol Ostow

  “Recycling is that way,” I reminded him, pointing toward the various trash chutes built into the wall off our eat-in kitchen. So odd; Smithers was older, but not senile-older.

  “Of course,” Smithers said. But he continued on in the opposite direction—toward Daddy’s study.

  It didn’t make a lot of sense, but it also didn’t exactly worry me. Honestly, with the party tonight and Nick’s visit, I had more than enough on my mind, as it was.

  ARCHIE

  From Geraldine’s, I had two quick stops to make—and all before Dad realized I was even gone. He believed me when I told him I went running—mostly because I did, most mornings; Coach Clayton made it very clear we had to keep in shape over the summer—but it was still better not to be noticed in the first place.

  Even if I did hate keeping things from Dad.

  First up was Riverdale High. The tall, redbrick building looked just like the first Google image you’d find if you searched “typical American high school,” with a wide, curving staircase and bright red painted front doors. Those doors are locked in the summer unless there’s a special event going on. Mostly.

  But the back entrance, out by the football field? That one always stays open.

  It’s one of Weatherbee’s worst-kept “secrets.” Coach Clayton holds drills toward the end of summer as we get closer to the first day of school, and he wants his team to have access to the gym for practice and training, even if we’re gonna do it on our own. So it started as a perk reserved for Bulldogs. But this is a small town, and everyone knows everyone else’s business—for the most part—so of course, students know how to get in if they need to. And more than a few take advantage of that, now and then.

  The good news is, there aren’t a lot of students trying to get into school over summer vacation. So my own secrets were safe for that much longer.

  It’s easy to joke that Ms. Grundy—I mean Geraldine—is, you know, teaching me music, like, with the sarcastic quote marks and everything. But like I said, she is, and we wouldn’t even … well, we wouldn’t even be doing anything in the first place if it weren’t for the music. She’s the one person in the world I trust with my songwriting. And she’s the one person in the world who takes it seriously. Who takes me seriously.

  So anyway, Ms. Grundy had said there was some blank sheet music in her desk in the music room, and I was going to grab some so we could bring it with us when we went camping. Geraldine says you never know when and where inspiration will strike. She tends to be right about these kinds of things. So out in nature, with her at my side … it seemed pretty likely I could get inspired. I mean, just Geraldine herself for sure had that effect on me.

  The halls were dim, even though the sun was up by now. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in the school after hours (or did summer vacation count as before?), but it was still a little eerie how quiet and still everything was, like someone watching over us had pressed “pause” on a giant remote. The music room, too, was completely empty, with no signs that anyone was ever there except for Josie and her crew’s setup. They sometimes rehearsed here. (Like the Bulldogs, the Pussycats have privileges of their own. Look, no one ever said high school was a totally even playing field. Even if it bothers me, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it.)

  I found the sheet music easily—it was in the top drawer of her desk, along with some different-colored sticky-note pads, and a pot of lip stuff that looked fancy-ish, like it didn’t come from the drugstore. The label said “rose,” and I made a note of it: She liked roses. Like, just in case there was ever a time when I would bring her flowers. This could be some kind of clue, something to tell me what she preferred.

  I don’t know, thinking like that got my stomach twisted up. I mean, I couldn’t imagine a future time without … me and Geraldine. But I’m not dumb, either. She’s my teacher. I couldn’t exactly see where this was all going to end. Or maybe I could see it … but I didn’t want to.

  I shut the drawer and closed the door on those thoughts, too, for now.

  With the sheet music safe in my backpack, I made sure to leave the room exactly the same as I found it, scooting one or two chairs I’d jostled back into place. I was deep in my own head, in my thoughts, when I walked back out into the hallway …

  … and smack into Cheryl Blossom.

  She looked as startled as I was, and dropped whatever she was carrying, but she recovered quickly. That was Cheryl for you. She has reflexes like a cat. And she’ll scratch if you catch her off-guard.

  “Archie Andrews,” she said, flipping her perfectly waved red hair over one shoulder. “Aren’t you the stealthy one. What brings you to the hallowed halls of Riverdale High so early on this picturesque summer morning?”

  “I, uh, left something in my locker,” I said. It was the first thing that came to my mind. It was none of Cheryl’s business why I was here, of course. But that wouldn’t stop her.

  “Hmm.” She pursed her bright red lips together. “A likely story. Except, you were coming from the music room. Your locker is down the south hall. So, I’m thinking, you must have ulterior motives.” She tapped a fingernail—also cherry-red—against her chin like she was turning it over in her head.

  “Cheryl, calm down,” I told her. “Not everyone is always scheming like you are.” If only she could hear my heart thudding in my chest. So far, no one knew about Geraldine and me—and we were going to keep it that way, no matter what.

  “Touché,” she said, bending down to pick up what she’d been carrying. “Fair enough, even if thou doth protest just a wee bit too much. Aren’t you the good boy, always giving the general public the benefit of the proverbial doubt?”

  Good boy. People liked to say that about me. I wondered what Cheryl would think if she knew the truth—if everyone knew—about who I really am. Lying to my father, second-guessing Coach … and, of course, Geraldine …

  “Wait, you’ve got … Jason’s varsity jacket?” I didn’t even mean to pry—I wasn’t exactly in the best position to snoop, even if I wanted to—it just came out when I realized what she had in her arms.

  “So observant.” Her voice was defiant enough, but … Was it me, or did the slightest hint of guilt cross her face, now?

  I didn’t know what Cheryl had to feel guilty about.

  But I didn’t know why she’d need that jacket, either. She and Jason were so close they were practically conjoined, but still.

  “Just doing a favor for Jay-Jay,” she said, reading the expression on my face. “He needs it now, god knows why, and he’s busy with … well, let’s just say my darling brother has quite a lot on his to-do list today. So hashtag twinning to the rescue.”

  It still felt like she was hiding something, but I had to hand it to her: She was a master of spin. And I wasn’t going to push things. Not when I had my own to-do list for the day to take care of.

  She fixed her deep brown eyes on mine. “Family is everything, Archiekins.”

  “I agree,” I said, a little shaken by how intense she was. I mean, intense is basically Cheryl’s default mode. But still. “Actually, speaking of family, I’ve gotta get to Pop’s. I was going to pick up some coffee and some breakfast for Dad and some of the crew.”

  “Funny, I’m just coming from there. It was practically hopping, given the predawn hour. You just missed your own surrogate brother—and his father, too, for that matter. Though I don’t think their paths even crossed.”

  “Jughead was at Pop’s?” I don’t know why I was surprised; Jug practically lives at Pop’s. I felt a twinge of guilt; I didn’t know all the details, but I knew things weren’t great for Jug at home, these days. And I knew that once upon a time, I would have known all the details. And didn’t we have a plan or something for the holiday? Shoot, I’d forgotten all about that once Geraldine and I started making plans of our own. I’d have to text him soon. Just one more way the “good guy” was falling down on the job lately.

  Then the rest of what she’d said hit me. “F
P was at Pop’s earlier?” Jughead’s dad wasn’t exactly known for being an early riser. More like the textbook definition of a night owl.

  Cheryl shrugged. “I heard a motorcycle; I saw a jacket. I didn’t exactly stop to investigate. I was only there to touch base with Jay-Jay. I was preoccupied; it was quick. Anyway, doesn’t he work for your dad?”

  “Yeah.” FP and my father had started what was now Andrews Construction together as partners. These days, FP was part of the crew. Dad had never given me the full story on that.

  Maybe he and I keep more from each other than I liked to think.

  Cheryl’s phone blared, interrupting us. (Blondie’s “Rip Her to Shreds” was her ringtone—the choice was so incredibly Cheryl, I wanted to laugh, but the look on her face when she saw the caller ID stopped me.) Cheryl didn’t bother to do more than toss a wave over her shoulder as she went searching for, I assumed, a more private place to talk. The hallway threw echoes like Moose Mason throws a perfect spiral.

  It felt like football was always lurking at the back of my mind—that moment that I knew would come just as soon as practice started up again, that moment where suddenly my music would become public—because it would be a conflict. A distraction. I hated thinking about that moment. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  And then I was leaving again, out the back door, same as I’d come in, out by the—you guessed it—football field, so it really felt like that part of me was something I’d never, ever forget.

  (It wasn’t that I wanted to forget it, not completely. More like I was tired of football being the one thing that defined me. And I was more than tired of feeling like I personally had no say in the matter at all.)

  But—Riverdale is a typical American town, and there’s no forgetting high school football in a typical American town. Not high school football rivalries, either. So the first thing I noticed when I walked outside—the sun blazing overhead in full now—was our field. Our wide green field, the one I knew so well I could practically recognize every blade of grass on the turf from touch alone.

  Someone had covered the field in plastic forks.

  White plastic forks poked handle-side-up into the air all across the field, spread in two-inch rows like tiny plastic soldiers. It was insane. I blinked to be sure I wasn’t seeing things.

  (I wasn’t.)

  It must’ve taken hours to stick these into the field so precisely.

  It would take hours to pull them out again.

  I knew, right away, who was responsible. There was only one group that could be: the Baxter High Ravens, aka the Riverdale Bulldogs’ number-one rivals.

  My heart sank, staring out at those rows of forks. The Ravens sure were organized. And thorough. When Coach Clayton found out about this, it would be all hands on deck to clear the field. We’d all be recruited. And when Reggie heard about this? It would be all hands on deck to devise a retaliation prank against the Ravens. We’d all be recruited for that, too.

  But truth was, I just didn’t have the time—or the interest—in either of those things.

  Maybe “good guy” Archie would have let Coach know about the field right away. Maybe he would have clued everyone in, acted like a real, literal “team player.”

  So maybe this was proof that I was getting further and further from being the “good guy” I thought I’d always been. Because I wasn’t going to do that. Not if it meant being forced to deal with the fallout so soon.

  I didn’t even know myself anymore.

  I was so spun out thinking about the field and my dad and the secrets it felt like we were all keeping from each other, I almost didn’t notice the second thing going on outside. At the edges of the field, where the bleachers came up against the scoreboard …

  Somebody—somebodies—were moving out there.

  Maybe I was seeing things, maybe I was too caught up in the millions of thoughts elbowing for space in my own brain. But it looked like … Kevin Keller was out there, leaning against the aluminum struts? It definitely looked like Kevin. And he definitely wasn’t alone.

  Does Kevin have a boyfriend? I didn’t think so, but there was someone else out there. Someone else I thought I recognized. I mean, the guy who was with him was pretty recognizable.

  You’d have to be, with a name like Moose.

  From: JJBlossom@MapleFarm.net

  To: BombshellC@MapleFarm.net

  Re: Sister

  I needed to write, to leave a note and thank you, again, for all your help in planning my escape. You speak of our “twintuition,” and yes, we know each other’s minds almost as well as we each know our own, but you can’t imagine how much your steadfast support has meant to me during these endless, stressful stretches of scheming, plotting, and preparing.

  I couldn’t leave without a proper good-bye, one that would hopefully paint a fuller, truer picture of why, exactly, it is that escape feels like my sole remaining option.

  You’ve been frank in your disapproval of my relationship with Polly; you’re not the only one. If only you knew how much your displeasure affected me—so much more painful than Mother and Father’s rejection. Perhaps your reasons for distrusting Polly were purer than theirs? I can only speculate—perhaps the way she encroached on my affections, my priorities, was stressful for you.

  But sister, I deceived you. I suppose we can’t know everything about each other; you didn’t realize that my breakup with Polly was only a ruse. One we can’t maintain any longer …

  [DELETE]

  NOTICE OF INTENT TO FORECLOSE

  (Mortgage Loan Default)

  Date of Notice: June 30

  Name of Borrower(s): Manfred Muggs, Sr.

  THIRD AND FINAL NOTICE

  This Notice is Required by Rockland County Law (Real Property Article, S7-105.1(a), Annotated Code of Rockland County).

  You are at risk of losing the property described in this Notice to foreclosure. You are in default on your mortgage loan and if you do not pay what is owed, or otherwise cure your default, or enter into a loss mitigation agreement with us (such as a loan modification or other loss mitigation program) we may file a foreclosure action against the property upon the later of 45 days after we sent this notice to you or 90 days after your default.

  You may be eligible for certain programs to avoid foreclosure, but you must submit the enclosed Loss Mitigation Application and required documents to your lender or servicer.

  To obtain the exact amount needed to bring your loan current and cure this default, please call us at the toll-free telephone number. If you are unable to cure the default, please contact us immediately to discuss loan repayment options or other possible foreclosure avoidance options, or you may fill out the enclosed Loss Mitigation Application and send it to us along with the required documents in (or at the address on) the preprinted envelope provided.

  HAVE A NICE DAY!

  BETTY

  WOOD WORKS

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  Dear Diary:

  I’d run out of ways to say wallpaper and woodworking puns that weren’t borderline PG-13, but after a working lunch, some blood, sweat, and tears (and caffeine!), my first piece for Hello Giggles was officially filed and in the proverbial bag. I didn’t know if I wanted to do a touchdown dance or collapse in a puddle under my desk from exhaustion. Possibly both.

  (But not at the same time. That sounded tiring.)

  No, it wasn’t Pulitzer material. It was barely even People magazine material. Maybe a notch above Us Weekly if I was being generous with myself. It was temporary wallpaper, over and over again. But there it was, my name, Elizabeth Cooper, as a proper byline. And that meant something.

  No—it meant everything.

  I sighed, exhausted and satisfied (curling up under my desk was looking more and more appealing). I loosened my ponytail for a moment, rolling my neck out and thinking about the piece on Veronica Lodge still left to write. Miles to go. She hadn’t responded to any of my texts or calls. I strongly doubted email was going to be the winning effort. Was I supposed to Twitter-stalk her or “slide into her DMs?” That seemed … unprofessional. And very not me. Not even LA me.

  My phone buzzed against my desk, the alert making it jump. Polly again.

  Sis! the message read. Leaving me hanging! The urgency behind her words was real. But I was fried … and also crazed—the worst possible combination.

  I grabbed my phone. Sorry! Busy day! 1st (and 2nd) assignment/s! Talk later? I knew Polly’d appreciate me getting a crack at a byline. She knew how much that meant to me.

  There was the briefest of pauses before the phone buzzed again. OMG! So huge! SO excited for you! Promise you won’t forget me when you’re a famous author.

  I knew she’d get it.

  Duh, I typed. Sisters forever. Couldn’t forget you if I tried, wouldn’t want to.

  She Bitmoji’d me a thumbs-up, blond and smiling like a cheerful anime heroine. TTYL but PROMISE you’ll call TONIGHT.