Chapter Text
The first time Iris entered the small town of Riverdale, she thought she had just stumbled upon the most boring place on earth and gave a desperate look to her dad as soon as she saw the ridiculously low number of people who lived here under the Welcome to Riverdale sign.
A great deal of arguing happened when her parent broke the news to her that they were getting a divorce and then ensued a fight about who Iris would live with. The choice ended up being a practical one: after selling their house, her mom moved to a small apartment in Chicago, and her dad decided to go back to his hometown, in his childhood house. A house big enough for Iris to live in with him, big enough for her to keep sulking about being torn away from her life and friends and to keep avoiding her dad to silently punish him for destroying her life.
That's what she thought about when she saw the old looking but huge house with a white fence surrounding it. Iris was hyper aware of being dramatic, but nobody expected her to react any other way: she was at the age where every little change in her habits felt like a personal attack against her.
For the first month she mainly stayed in her room. It was the beginning of summer break, it was a shame to waste her holidays like this, but she was content with being on her own despite the boredom that came from this constant isolation. After a while she began to wander the streets early in the morning or late in the evening, to discover the town freely, without having too many people around to wonder how the hell she was – because it was the kind of small town where everybody knew everybody.
Riverdale didn't have the same holiday vibes than Chicago, Iris found herself appreciating the lack of sun and not having her air stick to the back of her neck or worrying about getting a sunstroke. Still, it was nicer to walk around before sunrise and after sunset. She gradually discovered what would later become her favorite spots in the town – the drive-thu, the public library, the gazebo in the park and her latest find: that 50's looking diner at the edge of the town.
It was way past 10pm the first time the saw the red neon sign that read “Pop's” and Iris wasn't going to deny herself a milkshake. Besides, she had been looking for a place to sit down and work a little the whole day, and the park was full of screaming kids today. If it gave her an excuse not to go back home before her dad went to bed, then it was all the more better.
A bell rang when she walked through the front door of the diner and Iris took in the interior, looking at the black and white floor tiles, the red seats of the booths and the jukebox sitting at the far end of the room. A little smile cracked her severe looking face and Iris couldn't help but nod appreciatively at what she saw. The man behind the counter greeted her and gave her a warm smile when she ordered her milkshake, before telling her that it would come right up and to take a seat.
Her bag hanging off her shoulder, Iris slowly walked down the row of booths – all empty, except for one. Curiosity took the best of her – she might not want to be looked at like she was some sort of curious animal but she wasn't asocial in the least – so she approached a little closer to have a better look. It was a boy who looked to be around her age, probably going to Riverdale High – since it was the only High School in a fifty miles radius – so this must be her first encounter with a potential classmate. His eyes were fixed on his computer screen and it seemed like he hasn't noticed her at all, despite the ringing of the bell when she opened the door.
For a couple seconds or so, Iris fumbled with the handle of her bag and hesitate, but she took a deep breath and stepped closer. The boy stiffened and his eyes slowly drifted from the computer to her, though he didn't move a muscle, his fingers frozen over the keyboard as though he was waiting for her to walk away before continuing.
“Hi,” Iris said. “It is okay if I sit with you?”
His brows shot up and he sat straight up to look around him, seeing all the booths were empty and they were the two only clients at this time of day.
“Why?” He asked.
This less than polite answer took Iris aback and she mimicked the boy's surprised expression upon hearing those words, though her determination didn't falter. She took in his appearance before answering and realized that while she might not be asocial at all, it might be his case. He looked tired – suitcases under his eyes kind of tired – and his disheveled head and creased shirt was a testimony of the fact that he obviously didn't plan on seeing anyone today, let alone a perfect stranger.
“I work better when I'm not alone,” she finally said, not waiting for his answer to sit down across from him. “I won't make conversation if that's what you're afraid of.”
The boy huffed, as if he was offended by her choice of words.
“I'd be surprised if you could handle a conversation with me,” he grumbled under his breath, not clearly not making any effort to not be heard from her.
“Are you always this rude or am I just lucky?” Iris asked, clicking her tongue inside her cheek.
She grabbed her laptop and set it on the table, seeing the way the boy's features went through surprise at first, then resignation and acceptance. She wouldn't leave this booth.
“Sarcasm,” he observed, giving her a pointed look. “Now you have my attention.”
“I don't want your attention, I want silent company and a white chocolate milkshake,” she replied as she began to type.
She just spent a month not talking to anyone but her reflection in the mirror, maybe she was just a little rusty? Iris didn't remember ever starting off a conversation this badly and yet there was something about this guy that made her stay where she was sat and not storm off to an empty booth at the other end of the diner.
The man brought her her milkshake, giving the boy a knowing smile when he walked away and went back to cleaning the counter.
“Who's being rude now?” Grumpy pants asked her.
“Who's making conversation now?” Iris said, merely sparing him a glance.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing, isn't it obvious?” She answered.
“Did you just sass me?” He asked, seemingly puzzled.
His dark wavy hair fell before his eyes and the screen light of his laptop emphasized his pale complexion and the circles under his eyes. He had blue eyes. Suddenly Iris realized she was staring a bit too hard if she managed to notice the color of his eyes.
“Evidently,” she laughed. “You're not very good at social interaction, are you?” She sighed in a way a teacher would when trying to get a difficult pupil to understand something.
“So much in common already and you haven't even introduced yourself,” he snickered.
“I'm-”
“I know who you are,” he cut her off. “I merely pointed out the fact that you haven't told me despite inviting yourself at my booth.”
“Your booth?” Iris repeated. “You haven't told me your name either, but maybe I should just look and I'll see it written on this booth?”
The hell was she going to let him make her feel bad about herself! She might not have displayed her good manners tonight, but he obviously didn't have any.
“Touché,” he said. “Name's Jughead.”
“What kind of name is that?” Iris asked in a chuckle, momentarily forgetting to make an effort and be polite.
“Mine,” he said, clearly not amused.
“Sorry,” Iris apologized and swallowed down, taking a sip of her milkshake and focusing back on her screen.
Five solid – though seemingly endless – minutes passed before either of them said anything, and Iris was surprise to hear the boy – Jughead – talk again after her rude question. She had to admit this one was on her, she should have kept her mouth shut.
“It's a nickname,” he said. “You're not asking how I know your name?”
“I'm the new girl in a small town, I would expect people to talk,” she simply answered and shrugged.
“Well, aren't you humble,” Jughead scoffed. “And out of all the people here, I'm the lucky one who gets to be insulted by the new girl.”
He was so blatantly trying to get rid of her while simultaneously enjoying himself very much that Iris wanted to grab the book in her bag and smack it on his head to make him swallow back his pride. How could this stranger awaken such violent impulses in her? The best way to get back at him was to not play along.
“You know, this is the most entertaining conversation I've had in weeks, if you're trying to ward me off and prevent me from coming here to bother you again, this is a bad strategy,” Iris simply told him, not looking up from her screen and continuing to type as though he wasn't bothering her in the least.
Jughead looked angry – or maybe he was hurt in his pride? - that she wasn't falling for it and kept opposing him with such force. After all, the idea that he misjudged her remained in the realm of possibilities. The new girl might be more interesting than he first thought and far more complex than what she looked like. From the outside she was another beauty queen who would no doubt end up member of the Vixens within the first week of school. Her ashy brown hair was tied back in a ponytail for purely practical reasons it seemed since it was quite messy and it looked like she had tied it without using a mirror. A few strands of hair framed her scarcely makeup-ed heart-shaped face. With her shorts and top she looked like an Cheryl Blossom number two, even though it was unlikely she knew her.
His lack of answer apparently didn't bother her whatsoever, and her fingers kept skillfully typing away whatever she was writing on her laptop – Jughead wanted to know, curiosity took the best of him. He noticed how she sucked in her cheeks when she stopped typing to think – about a word probably – and how her left eyebrow twitched when she deleted a sentence and rewrote it.
Time passed unevenly this evening. Neither of them had any idea what time it was when she eventually closed her laptop with a satisfied sigh and smiled, as though their entire conversation had been a figment of Jughead's imagination. She paid for her milkshake and wish him good luck with whatever he was writing himself before walking out.
It wasn't until much later, when Pop told him that it was time to leave that Jughead realized she had forgotten something. On her side of the booth he spotted a card lying on the seats and when he picked it up, he saw it was her ID. Must have fallen from her bag. He shrugged and shoved it in his pocket – he had no idea how or when he would return it to her, but he didn't want to leave it to Pop in case she came back. For some reason he wanted to give it back to her himself.
Iris Cecilia Graham from Chicago was the first interesting thing happening since Jason Blossom when MIA last month, and the fact that she arrived around the time of the boy's presumed death was just another reason for Jughead to see her again.