AN: Well, hello everyone! Can't believe it's been a year; time to finish this story.

I also can't believe it's been almost ten years since 2007! The last Harry Potter book came out, Twilight was all the rage, and One Direction were in playschool (maybe not, I have no idea). Kids, in ten years you'll be looking back thinking 'fuck, I can't believe that was ten years'. It's the circle of life, or something.

Helga picked at her skirt as she walked. Godammit, why had she worn this dumb outfit? She looked like a Barbie. And why was there so much fluff?

"Helga, there won't be any of your skirt left," Phoebe said gently.

"GGRRRR!" Helga yelled in frustration and dropped the hem she had been tearing at. "I just...! I should change." She turned around to start walking home, but Phoebe caught her elbow firmly.

"Helga. You look lovely. I don't think your anxiety is due to your choice of outfit."

"I'm not anxious!" she said automatically. "I'm just...anxious." She hung her head in defeat.

Her shorter friend smiled up at her with those sympathetic eyes. "It's perfectly natural to be anxious. But postponing meeting him won't make it any easier. I'm sure it will go fine."

Helga looked back at Phoebe's encouraging face, not even trying to hide her own vulnerability. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and straightened up. "You're right, Pheebs. You're right." She felt some of her courage returning. "I'm a Pataki, for crying out loud! He's a boy, not a monster."

Phoebe smiled. "Precisely".

And so they marched on.

Helga did feel a little self-conscious about her outfit choice, though - it was out of the ordinary for her. These days, she tended to be more about the jeans and combats than skirts and dresses, but she had made an exception for tonight. She wore a black, velvet skirt which she was now feeling was sluttily short. Good thing she was also wearing black tights. On top, she wore a pale pink jumper in the shade she knew he liked on her. To add a bit of edge to the ensemble, she was at least wearing some of her favourite black knee-high boots.

One notable absence from the outfit was her pink bow. She normally kept it under a cap on her head, or wore it on her wrist or around her neck. But Arnold knew the significance of that bow, so it wasn't an option tonight. It would be like wearing a necklace that said, 'Arnold, I'm still in love with you, that's cool right?' Helga smiled darkly at the thought, but felt that smile slip off her face when she realised they were at his block.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god. And now they were actually walking up his steps. Oh god oh god. "Pray for me, Phoebe," she entreated, as her friend lifted her hand and banged the knocker.

The door opened, and the tall figure of Rhonda appeared, in her trademark red. "Helga, darling! I wasn't sure if you would come."

"Hi, Rhonda," said Phoebe and Helga, in very different tones. The stepped into the hallway and unzipped their thick coats, Helga pulling at her skirt in an effort to avoid showing Rhonda her ass.

"Why Phoebe, you look absolutely marvelous in that dress; blue is so your colour. And Helga!" she exclaimed, giving her outfit a pointed look up and down. "Still have the hots for Arnold I see?"

Helga growled. "Can it. I can wear a skirt whenever I damn well feel like it."

"Oh, of course," said Rhonda, with a giant smirk. "And you always seemed to feel more like it when a certain football head was around."

Helga growled again and threw her coat on the rack. "Come on, Pheebs," she ordered, and marched into the sitting room.

Her eyes did a rapid scan of the area, looking for the one person who may stop her heart dead. Gerlad, Nadine, Sheena, Sid... Almost all the old PS118 crew, in fact. But no Arnold. Where the hell was he; it was his house.

Her question was answered when he appeared around the corner from the kitchen, holding a tray of drinks. Helga hated clichés, but time really did seem to slow down in those seconds. Every moment held so much feeling and import that it seemed to take a year. "Anyone want..."

His eyes met hers, and they seemed to share an electric shock. But he recovered quickly, "...drinks? Orange soda, anyone?"

He looked... Well. Wow. Being seventeen really suited Arnold. He looked to be around her height now, 5'10". His shoulders were much broader than when she had last seen him, and of course he was tanned from his time in San Lorenzo. He looked...like a man. A handsome man. Oh God, we really are almost grown up, aren't we. The stakes were going to be higher this time around than they had ever been in the past. They would get higher with every passing year. No more games.

She tried to stop staring at him. "Oh my god, Phoebe!" she said quietly, desparately. "He's so handsome I can't even stand it! Typical Arnold, always has to be perfect." She couldn't help the bitterness.

Phoebe was prevented from responding by the appearance of Gerald. "Hey, babe!" he said, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek. "Lookin fly, as always."

"Oh, thank you Gerald," said Pheobe, somewhat distractedly.

"Hey, come help me decide on the tunes, would you?" he asked enthusiastically, and started to pull Phoebe away by the arm. He never normally wanted to let anyone interfere in his choosing of crappy music.

"Uhm, wait just a second, Gerald..." She had promised not to leave Helga.

"Hey!" Too late.

Helga turned to see those green eyes looking into hers. Gerald had clearly been sent to remove Phoebe.

She tried to remember how to speak.