The Firebird
by Apocalypticism
In a certain far-away Tsardom not in this Empire, there lived a Tsar...
The Tsar had a walled garden, so rich and beautiful that in no kingdom of the world was there a more splendid one. Many rare trees grew in it whose fruits were precious jewels, and the rarest of all was an apple tree whose apples were of pure gold, and this the Tsar loved best of all.
One day he saw that one of the golden apples was missing. He placed guards at all gates of the garden; but in spite of this, each morning on counting, he found one more apple gone. At length he set men on the wall to watch day and night, and these reported to him that every night there came flying into the garden a bird that shone like the moon, whose feathers were gold and its eyes like crystal, which perched on the apple tree, plucked a golden apple and flew away.
–
Helga Pataki was unattainable. At least, that is what everyone claimed, and most believed it to be true, because overall, she was very unapproachable. It seemed like no one could penetrate her defences. She was a true loner, bristling at any attempts to become her friend.
It was somewhat of a sport here among the guys at school to ask her out on a date. She was treated as the ultimate trophy: a beautiful trophy that was made all the sweeter with every failed attempt. So when I was finally dared to take part in that game, I said of course. Who wouldn't want the glory that came with winning the unwinnable game? Because let's face it, my social standing was on par with being the pariah. I wasn't exactly one of the poor freaks always singled out by everyone else, kept on a close leash of faux popularity, but I wasn't the most liked kid out there in the supposed high school jungle.
So, like I said, I jumped at the chance of being one of the guys to participate in the Helga Pataki game. It was a simple game, to tell you the truth. Each semester, several guys from each grade got together and decided that one of them was going to finally be the one for Helga.
One of my friends got the bright idea that he would really like to have Helga for his girlfriend. I told him that it was a bad idea, considering he was of the more sensitive persuasion. But he got angry and told me that if I knew so much about Helga Pataki, then I should try too. I'm one of those people who gets easily riled up and because of that, I agreed on the spot. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I decided that I would go with the methodical approach, you know, slow and steady wins the race. I would be the one to finally win the game. I would be the one to get Helga to say yes. I would be the one to have the beautiful, fiery Helga Pataki. And most of all, I would finally be popular. No more social rejection. No more working alone on partnered projects just because no one wanted to work with me. No more not being invited to parties, and especially no more being made fun of behind my back. It would be great.
It truly would be great until I realized that I had fallen in love with Helga Pataki, the unattainable.
–
"So you're not going to straight ask her out?" Allen, my friend of the sensitive persuasion, asked me.
We were at lunch and most of the table we were sitting at was filled up with guys discussing how they were going to be the ones that broke through the defences of Helga Pataki. Allen and I, of course, were crammed in the very middle of the table, right between the kid who loved chili but really shouldn't and the kid who probably should see a doctor about his body odour problem.
"No, how many times have guys tried that to be turned down and be kicked out of the game? I'm going take it slow, I mean, has anyone ever said there's a time limit on the game? Nope. I'll take it nice and easy, I'll get to be her friend first, and once I'm sure that she feels something, because I'll be the perfect gentleman, I'll ask her out, and she's got to say yes. How many guys have tried being her friend first? They all just ask her out hoping that they're good looking enough for her or something," I said, taking a sip of soda.
"I suppose it makes sense... maybe I should try that too," Allen said.
"Hey! It's my idea," I said angrily. "I need the status that will come with winning this."
"I need it too, man! People think I'm gay," Allen made a face.
"Just ask out any girl, problem solved," I waved him off.
"Yeah, right," Allen muttered.
The bell that signalled lunch was over rang, so Allen and I — along with the masses of other students who had C lunch — got up and trudged back to the class that had been so mercifully interrupted. Instead of focusing on biology (a class I had spectacularly failed last year), I was making detailed notes of how I could go about becoming the friend of Helga Pataki.
I didn't have any classes with her. She was on the fast track to success, all AP and Honours and Advanced classes, while I was on the fast track to a janitorial job at the local McDonald's, considering I had passed my sophomore year by the skin of my teeth and this year wasn't looking any better. So, to talk to her, I would have to approach her outside of school. That could be risky. I couldn't go the clichéd route of having her tutor me either, as she had been kicked out of the peer tutoring program even though she was probably the most brilliant kid in there.
I laid my head down. I knew that I couldn't just rush into it, but the idea of taking it slow was looking much harder because I realized that there was no way I could approach her without her suspecting me of being "in the game." Maybe that's why she never had any boys for friends. Or any friends at all. She could be so paranoid that she suspected the girls too. I don't blame her, because she did have a few girls participate in the game (but sadly for those girls, Helga doesn't swing that way, even though that would be awesome).
"Mr Gifaldi."
Think of all the possibilities if she did swing like that and I could get her to be my girlfriend. That would be pretty boss... you gotta say. Because she's one of those chicks that would probably be crazy enough to do it. She just has that look, like, I like to live on the edge, I like to do crazy things. It's that look her fierce eyes.
"Mr Gifaldi."
She has really pretty eyes. Okay, I sound like some kind of fruit saying that, but they're really nice eyes. They're big and blue and they have this sort of spark and fire in them that I've never seen in any other girl. They almost glow. I guess that's something about her. Her whole body seems to glow, if you get what I'm saying. Like, have you ever seen someone who has such a vivacious personality that everyone flocks to them like they're a light? It's almost like that for Helga. I wouldn't call her personality vivacious though. Bitchacious, maybe. But it makes her seem mysterious. She's just full of life, in a strange way. Like she feels everything strongly. Of course, it seems like anger is the emotion she feels most often —
"Mr Gifaldi! If you want to take a nap, I suggest you take one in the office!"
My head snapped up and I was looking into the angry eyes of Mrs Yves. She had her arms akimbo with her hands on her hips. I hated seeing her wrinkled, old face with that same shade of lipstick on it as she wore everyday. She must have about 20 tubes of the stuff, or she wore the shade so much that it stained her lips that colour forever. You know, it really wasn't even the right shade for her. It was a bright fire engine red, but she would probably look better in a more muted coral...
"Well, Mr Gifaldi?"
"You know, I'm not really all that tired. I'll just stay here and listen to your fascinating lecture on Punnet Squares for the second time," I said.
"I'm tired of your mouth, every day..." Mrs Yves marched back to her desk and pulled out a detention slip.
"Great, I could really use another one of those. I'm one away from being able to wallpaper my room," I remarked.
Mrs Yves glared at me while the class snickered. She marched back to my desk and dropped the detention slip on my desk, then walked with what she probably thought was assurance back up to the whiteboard to continue her lecture. Mercifully, for the rest of us students, the bell rang. Everyone gathered up their things and was out of the classroom in a flash.
"Mrs Yves really hates you," Allen said as we stopped by our locker.
"She's going to love me next year," I said, shoving my biology book right between my rancid gym clothes and shoes. "Because I'm failing again. Boy howdy, am I thrilled that I'm probably going to have to take the class again next year."
"Well, the school year's still pretty new. It's only October, you should be able to get your grade up by then, right?" Allen asked as he pulled out a travel sized bottle of cologne.
He went on to vigorously spray my rancid gym clothes. I repeatedly told him that that only made it smell worse, but he insisted that it helped and that he wouldn't have to do that if I would just man up and take the damn things home to be washed, to which I usually replied that I was going to see if they grew mould, and then use them for a biology project.
"Of course I could, I just don't feel like it. I could pull A's in all my classes, but I've got better things to do with my time."
"I don't feel any sympathy for you then, if you have to take it a third time," Allen said, coughing slightly from the over-abundance of cologne.
"But I deserve it. I'm the most sympathy-deserving kid in this whole school. I mean look at me," I put on my most miserable face, "I dress like a loser, in all black, so I must be miserable! Look at how big my eyes are and how my lip wobbles, don't I look pitiful?"
"Don't give me that look, Sid, people really will think I like it up the ass," Allen shoved me.
"But you do! From the whole football team!"
"Shut up," Allen whacked me repeatedly with his English book while I laughed. "You see how much you like this book up your —"
"Hey, I gotta go, see you in gym," I grinned at Allen and walked off, leaving him fuming.
I had just gotten sight of Helga Pataki. I decided (pretty rashly, really) right then and there that I would go and talk to her. If I wasn't able to make any advances without her thinking that I was only trying to win the game, then it didn't really matter what I did to be her friend, right?
So I followed her all the way until she slipped out a back door that lead somewhere I didn't know. I waited a minute or two before pushing it open. It was a fire escape that was flush with the building next to the school. You probably couldn't see anybody on this particular fire escape unless you looked up from the alley. Very sneaky.
Helga whipped around as soon as she heard the door open. She gave me a look like I had walked in on her rubbing one out or something. Then I saw the cigarette in her had and got a whiff of the smoke. Huh. Didn't know she smoked. Suppose that's kind of on par with masturbation for things teens don't want their parents to find out they do.
"Oh, er, hi! I didn't know you came out here too," I said sheepishly. I then proceeded to feel around my pockets for a pack of non-existent cigarettes. "Shit, I guess I forgot my pack today. Can I bum one from you?"
"Fine, if you promise never to come out here again... and never tell anyone I smoke," Helga pulled a pack out from her jacket's pocket and handed it to me.
I pulled out my own lighter (I suppose being a pothead had its upsides), then took a cigarette from the pack and lit it up. After taking a drag, I looked down at the cigarette. Oh, God, it was a menthol. God, that was disgusting. A regular one I could smoke, but not menthol.
"Uh, is this menthol?" I asked.
"Does it taste like one? Answer your own question, doi," Helga blew smoke in my face.
I took another drag. "Just asking. I'm not fond of menthols. Hey, didn't we go to school together?" I felt like the biggest idiot in the world. This was the stupidest conversation I had ever made, even counting when I was high.
"We're going to school now, Einstein," Helga said, staring intently at the brick wall of the building beside the school.
"I know, duh, but I mean, like, before this. Weren't we together in 4th grade or something? Mr. Simmons?"
"Probably, what's it to you?"
"Nothing, I just was trying to be friendly is all," I shrugged.
"Look, buddy, Sid, isn't that your little name? I know what you're doing, and let me tell you, all you guys are dime a dozen horny fuckers. No, I will not go out with you. No, I will not date you, or blow you, or whatever it is you want me to do, now buzz the fuck off," Helga said.
"I wasn't going to ask any of that stuff! Okay? That game's stupid, of course you're more than an object, it's sick how they treat you like a trophy." What the hell was I saying? Jesus, was I spinning some big motherfucking lie.
"Like you really believe any of that," Helga turned her back on me.
"It's all true, Jesus, you really can't believe me? Okay? I'll do anything to prove to you that I'm telling the truth," I said desperately.
"Drop out of the game."
I thought about arguing that I wasn't even in it, but I decided against it because I suppose I wasn't really thinking clearly. It could have been because I was talking to Helga Pataki and her beauty was even more stunning up close, or it could have been because I smoked some dope that morning. But it sounds better if I say it was the first reason.
"Okay, done, I'll drop out," I said.
"You know how to officially do it, right, stupid? Then do it!" Helga commanded.
"Fine, fine! Helga, will you go out with me?" No! What was I doing? There goes my chances of winning, fucking shit! No! No! But there's a small chance that she might say...
"No,"
Dammit.
"Okay, see? I don't care about the game," I said, trying not to sound defeated.
"Yeah, whatever. Now go away. I want to enjoy my fix in peace," Helga told me snappishly.
"Well... I hate menthols anyway!" I chucked the half-burned cigarette at the brick wall, then stormed back inside.
The next thing I did once inside was text Allen to meet me in the bathroom, so I could tell him what just happened and get some sympathy for blowing it big time. I trudged to the nearest bathroom and hid out in a stall until I heard the door open.
"Sid?" Allen's voice called.
I burst out of the stall, "I... I talked to her!"
"Really? You talked to Helga?" Allen looked surprised.
"Yeah, I... I saw her and I followed her and she was out on a fire escape sm — uh, reading, and I talked to her."
"What did you say? How did it go?"
"Well, I told her that I thought we went to like, elementary school together, which we did, and she was like, yeah," I was leaving out big, giant gaps of information now. One lie leads to another I guess...
"Really? She didn't snap at you or anything... or think it was creepy that you followed her?"
"Er, I guess not, I made the excuse that I went out there for a smoke, but I had to be all, 'oh, damn, I forgot my cigarettes, shit!' and all that," I said.
"Well, fuck, maybe I should try that. You're closer than anyone else has been before," Allen admitted.
No one had to know. No one had to know! I could still pull this off! This would be great!
"Hey, man, I told you, just ask out any girl..."
"Then it would look like I'm desperately trying to get one to prove that I'm not gay,"
"Well, isn't that what you're doing anyway?" I laughed, feeling pretty good.
My plan would work out and I would have Helga Pataki for my girlfriend, and all the social benefits that came with winning the game to boot. Life would be perfect. At school at least.
–
Well, sweet, here's another story that will probably dry up when I go back to school.
Anyways, I'm of the shipping school of thought that any pairing is cool as long as it's well written, so I thought, well, hey, I'll try to stick my two favourite characters together. Sorry to those of you who can't see Helga with anybody but Arnold.
I can't decide if Save Yourself is over or not. I feel like it shouldn't be, but if I continue it on, then I'll have to make a decision if Sid lived or died, and right now I like it ambiguous, because I don't know myself.
Anyways. Let's see if I can write a non-depressing story! It'll be a fun challenge!