A Werewolf in Riverdale by Caleb Roehrig

Author:Caleb Roehrig
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

THREE WEEKS EARLIER, LESS THAN seven days after the gruesome remains of what had once been Pop Tate were found inside the Chock’Lit Shoppe, Jughead was hiding in a bathroom stall at Riverdale High waiting for the hallways to empty. The school had finally reopened that morning, and his mom had refused to fall for his too-sick-to-go-to-class act. He would rather have been anywhere else, but if he skipped and she found out, Mrs. Jones would swiftly replace the Riverdale Ripper as the scariest creature in town.

The Riverdale Ripper.

He was the Riverdale Ripper. A deranged laugh bubbled up his throat, but when he coughed it out, it turned into a whimper. He felt like he was losing his mind, and he didn’t know what to do anymore. He had killed Pop Tate.

He had eaten Pop Tate.

A flat tone sounded, signaling the one-minute warning, and feet began stampeding in the halls outside. He waited until there were only thirty seconds left—just enough time to get to class, where he could sit with his head down and not talk to anyone. All week long he’d avoided his friends, ignoring their texts and pretending to be asleep if they stopped by his house; and today, he’d skulked around corners, ducking through doorways, and acted like he didn’t know his own name when Archie shouted it from the other end of the corridor. He couldn’t face them. He could barely face himself.

Peeking out of the bathroom, making sure the coast was clear, he dashed down the hallway. There were still a few people hanging out by their lockers, but no one he knew well enough to talk to, and Jughead thanked whichever last one of his lucky stars was still functioning for that. He barreled around a corner, thirty feet from his classroom door—across from Grundy’s, which was now closed and locked for the foreseeable future—and ran straight into someone wearing a letterman’s jacket and heading in the opposite direction.

“Whoa! Sorry, I—Jughead?”

Even before his brain caught up with his eyes, Jughead froze solid, a bottomless pit opening up beneath his hopes as he found himself face-to-face with Archie Andrews for the first time since he’d learned the truth about himself … and what he’d done. For a long moment, he couldn’t remember how to speak. He wanted to shove past the guy and flee—maybe just head right for the door and keep running until he hit the state line. The funny-because-it-was-sad fact of the matter, though, was that if he ducked Archie now, after ghosting him for a week, it would only invite questions he couldn’t answer. And he had enough of those already.

“Hey, man, where’ve you been all week?” Archie asked when Jughead didn’t say anything. There was something in his tone that sounded an awful lot like suspicion, and the hallway shrank a little around them. “I’ve been texting you.”

“Yeah, sorry, I—” Jughead’s throat closed in a sudden panic, and it took him a beat to find his voice again. “I haven’t been feeling well.

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