So, one more week of this, let's see what Stephanie does. Thanks for reviewing, Sideshow Cellophane 26 (I understand, midterms are the worst), and I have mentioned Izzy ("Someone's Island" for those of you who haven't read it), who I claim no ownership to.

Advice about "talking" to people was all very well, but it hadn't helped, had it? It certainly didn't make my weekend any easier. I'd emailed my friends about the situation, but none of them had really given me any good ideas on how to get through the last week.

I missed Springfield a lot throughout that second weekend. Sure, we always had stuff happening to us, but it wasn't like this. Lisa used to say that something always happened and then we'd wind up back where we started, "ready for another wacky adventure". Now, by moving, we'd broken the chain of events, and now I was going on one whole line of events that made up one adventure.

It didn't help that it felt like the whole school was laughing at me. I suspected that even if people hadn't seen Curly making proclamations of love to me, Rhonda would have told everyone she could find.

I tried to spend the weekend keeping my mind off Curly. I wanted to finish the painting I'd been doing of Helga writing in one of her little pink books in front of her Arnold shrine. Besides, I figured, I wanted to get her take on it, once it was done.

It took me ages to get Helga's face exactly right. I'd never seen her properly smile, but I knew from reading her poetry that she'd have this goofy lovestruck expression. But I finished on Sunday, and first, I showed it to Lisa (I would've shown it to Mom, since she was an OK painter herself, but I wasn't going to let her know Helga's secret). My sister admired it, as I'd hoped.

"I've seen a very similar look on Helga's face a few times." she admitted. "Sometimes in class, when she's not throwing stuff at Arnold, she's staring at him with a lovestruck look on her face. I'm warning you, though, if you show that painting to her, you won't be getting it back."

I shrugged, and after looking at the streets, ventured over to the Pataki house with my painting rolled up so no one passing would see it.

Bob was home on a Sunday, and when I asked if Helga was home, he called her, again calling her "Olga".

I fought the urge to remind him that his daughters didn't share the exact same name as Helga called back something she'd obviously said billions of times; "It's 'Helga', Dad!"

"Hey, Hells." I greeted the younger girl. "I've got something I painted recently, and I thought you might want to keep it. Don't worry, only Lisa has actually seen it. You might want to look at it in your room, though."

Then I left. But as I walked down the streets, I heard a call. "Hey, you! Goth!"

Helga was leaning out of her window.

"Yeah?" I called back.

"It's a pretty good picture! But you draw me again without asking, and..." she made a strangling motion.

I waved a hand nonchalantly. "Sure, I won't." I called back.

But on Sunday night, Curly decided to stop over again. Let me say, it wasn't easy to remind myself of why this was so wrong and act like I was his girlfriend at the same time.

I wasn't expecting him to stop by, especially not coming through the door, so I was unprepared. At that moment, I was idly flicking through old articles on my computer of the time I was shipwrecked – that was when I had that island boy stalker – and when we were finally rescued. I was in the centre of the picture, holding Maggie and smiling as if my life depended on it. I smiled back, remembering how happy everyone had been. Dad had swept Mom, Maggie and I into a massive hug, and had kissed Mom. Bart and Lisa had been much the same.

Poor Cecil had been left out in the cold with the Terwilliger reunion (Bob and Francesca were let out of prison for the occasion after another failed attempt to kill Bart), but oh well, the only thing he and his brother had in common was their homicidal tendencies and I really did not want to see them argue. But it was amazing to see Gino Terwilliger, mature and occasionally homicidal Gino, run to his parents just like any little kid. Francesca was in tears with happiness. Even Bob seemed nearly moved to tears to have his mini-me back. I smiled as the memories washed over me.

"Hey, beautiful."

I jumped, coming back to reality. The door to my bedroom opened and Curly stepped in. "Bart let me in and sent me up here." he said by way of explanation. "Hey, what's that you're looking at?" Before I could exit out of the internet article, he was reading it.

"Wow...you were shipwrecked last year? Hey, who's the little kid with the pink hair?"

"Izzy." I muttered. "She was on the island before we got there."

"Who's the boy with the red hair?"

"Gino. He's Maggie's BFF. Not easy, since Gino's father has this vendetta against us, specifically Bart – although once his whole family attempted to kill all of us, and that was partly why Gino got shipwrecked with us.." I exited out of the internet. "Enough of that. Seriously, that part of my life is over."

Curly shrugged. "Whatever. Anyway, I saw your quote. So...who was that Phantom of the Opera jungle boy you were talking about?"

"No one." I said quickly. "He killed himself, anyway." Then I grinned. "Don't worry, kid. You're the only wild child still in my life."

It seemed like this was the right thing to say, because Curly grinned and said "Child? Not so much now. Wild? Most definitely." He gave me his most manic grin. "Wanna see just how wild I can be?"

I forced myself to return his smile and reply "Only when you quit with the creepy pick-up lines."

"Oh, come on, my sweetheart, you know you love it." he teased.

"What I love is when we hang out." I corrected lazily. "And when you're not talking like some internet guy that's trying to pick up innocent young girls."

Curly reached up to cup my face in one hand. "You're the only girl I'd ever want to pick up." he whispered in the most serious tone I'd ever heard him use, before he kissed me.

The dizzy tingly feeling that let me know I was losing it was creeping over me, and I forced it away. "No!" half of my mind screamed. "Remember what you know about him! He's a nine-year-old psychopath who's obsessed with you! He's too crazy to form a relationship with, and it's not even really legal!"

But a little part of me started to argue. "Liking the kiss isn't wrong. What harm can it really do? It's just for a few more days."

Roxy talked to me about it that night.

"Steph, I know it's tempting, but if you don't want to be me, don't listen to the voice that tells you to endure and try to enjoy. It's a defence mechanism called Stockholm Syndrome. If you listen to it, eventually it'll control your whole mind and you'll struggle to remember why you ever wanted to escape in the first place."

"I don't know how to do it!" I protested. "It's easier said than done. You of all people know that."

Roxanne's gaze diverted to the floor. "I know, Steph, I know. But I don't have any other ideas."

"Well, let me know when you do." I told her. "Until then, why don't you just get lost?"

Roxanne's green eyes blazed for a moment, then she turned away.

I'd admit that I was a little too harsh. Roxy was only human, after all. But I wasn't in the mood to be tactful. Monday morning came, and I counted down the days.

I'll skip to Friday next chapter. Please review!