Any other day I would call and you would say Baby how's your day But today, it ain't the same Every other word Is "uh-huh" yeah "okay" Could it be that you Are at the crib with another lady If you took it there First of all, let me say I am not the one To sit around, and be played

I know you say that I am assuming things Something's going down that's the way it seems Shouldn't be the reason why you're acting strange If nobody's holding you back from me 'Cause I know how you usually do When you say everything to me times two Why can't you just tell the truth If somebody's there then tell me who

Betty Cooper's shining, aggressive bulldozer of a roommate and self-appointed best friend, Veronica Lodge, had appeared in her doorway with a gleaming head of raven hair and an armful of shimmering, too-short dresses. Betty knew her evening was already planned out in stone when Veronica made her appearance. Even her laptop, which was displaying a sorrowful blinking animation, appeared to be aware that it was going to be a lonely night.

She'd tried to register a few objections—assuring Veronica that she really did want to stay home and read on New Year's Eve, with a blanket on her legs and a cat in her lap, then protesting that she really didn't want to meet some oiled-up, sneering athlete friend of Archie's—but her attempts to circumvent Veronica had been half-hearted. She'd tried to stay home and read on New Year's Eve with Even though she had a pile of coursework, she hadn't even tried to come up with an explanation to explain why she wasn't there. Veronica was adamant in her conviction that extracurricular activities should take precedence over academic work, and she pushed that Betty do the same.

Veronica's black eyes had a naughty sparkle, and the mound of spangled garments had said all that needed to be said.

"He couldn't be a better match for you!" Veronica had expressed her excitement, but she had forgotten how many of her "ideal boys" Betty had already turned down throughout the course of only this semester.

Veronica had flown into the room and began humming as she held dress alternatives up to Betty's sighing and sagging figure. Betty had finally settled on a fringed pink one, and Veronica had then pulled in a variety of shoes, hair, cosmetics, and accessories.

And Betty had put up with the entire embarrassment because she had known Veronica was acting out of kindness, and because she was acutely aware of the futility of stepping into the path of the Veronica train once it had started moving. Moreover, Betty had a strong sense that Veronica would never intentionally hurt her.

Betty's hair was pinned into a riot of golden curls by Veronica as she sprayed, collected, and smoothed it. Veronica had promised, as she did so, that this man was different from the other brainless meatheads that she had put in Betty's path in the past. This gentleman was kind, unassuming, and very reflective! He enjoyed the same things that Betty liked.

Either Veronica had lied about not paying attention to the intricacies of Archie's friend's personality, or she was too preoccupied with her desire to consume Archie in its whole to pay attention to those nuances. Because this man was not kind, quiet, or considerate. He was rude, noisy, and shallow all at the same time. And now Betty was trapped with him, her body poured into one of Veronica's elegant inventions, listening to Reggie Mantle talk about his little achievements and ogle at her chest and then her legs in fast succession, as if he couldn't decide which part of her he wanted to creep on more.

It didn't help that the pub had everything Betty detested—her initial reaction as Veronica was dragging her through the door was that it seemed like a place where up-and-coming trendsetters went to show that they'd been there. This was Betty's first impression of the bar.

The lights were extremely intense, and she had the impression that she was going to undergo an autopsy. She was afraid that the floors were too slippery, and that if she fell, she would expose her derriere while wearing Veronica's five-inch heels. The tables were excessively high and too narrow; they could hardly hold any food. However, this was not a major worry considering that the menu seemed to consist mostly of alcoholic beverages and air. The only thing that was offered to eat were a few deconstructed appetizers that seemed more appropriate for Instagram photos than for eating, and she had to put up with her date bumping her elbows with his meaty ones the whole night.

Even if Betty hadn't been forced to go out on a date with a narcissistic and insecure jerk, which she was, she still would not have enjoyed her time at this establishment. Reggie, as was to be expected, cherished it, and he gushed about its many virtues right into Betty's ear, which he came dangerously close to licking.

Betty pulled back her chair with a squeak and marched towards the bar as she glared at Veronica, who was probing the inside of Archie's ear on the other side of the table. This was all Veronica's fault. Betty glared at Veronica as she was doing this. Betty could not take any more of Reggie's descriptions of the environment, no matter how complimentary they were. Reggie did not live up to his reputation of being "bitchin," "f***ing fantastic," or "hot as sh*t," and neither did this establishment.

She didn't bother to glance at the bartender, instead directing her ire onto the uncomfortable shoes with the straps that she was wearing. It was the hearty laugh that came from the bartender that caught her attention. "That horrible, huh?"

Betty was unable to control herself and accidentally smacked her open hand on the bar. "Somehow, a poor date on New Year's Eve is much more awkward than usual! It's crazy because we're meant to be celebrating fresh beginnings, but instead I get to listen to some jerk boast about his glory days playing football in high school. What does it have to do with a fresh start?"

And then she glanced up to the bartender to apologize for boring him with her account of her misfortune, but she was rendered speechless by the sight in his eyes. Suddenly, she questioned whether or not she had ever really seen a pair of shoes before.

They were hooded and shimmering beneath the bar lights; they were the darkest shade of blue she had ever seen. At that same moment, the thought came to her that the term "blue" was not an adequate descriptor of the hue, but that it was required nevertheless since no other word could do them credit.

It dawned on her that she was looking openly and that she had a spot of drool on her chin at the same time. As soon as she took stock of the black curls that were desperately trying to break free of his woolen beanie, the angled lines of his cheekbones, the hint of bicep peeping out from beneath his t-shirt, and the crooked grin quirking one side of his lips, words did not flow any more readily.

She could feel them squeezing her and putting pressure on her lungs.

Betty endeavored to help, despite the fact that her own eyes seemed like saucers. "I am inconsolable! I am certain that the very last thing you want to do is to listen to me complain, especially on what is probably your busiest day of the year! And I'm so sorry that my inconsequential problems have bored you to death! It's just—the date is so awkward, and this isn't the first time that—not that it matters to you—but it's New Year's Eve, and—"

She became bright pink all over, starting at the top of her head and working its way down to her skin. "Okay, I'll stop talking now.Could you make me a whiskey sour, please?"