Chapter 22

A man in a penguin suit stared down at Helga, taking in the sight of her combat boots with obvious distaste. "Yes, can I help you?" he asked, as if it were the last thing in the world he wanted to ask.

She cleared her throat. "I was wondering if Rhonda was home? I'm a- a friend from school," she said, almost choking on the word.

He looked at her as if he very much doubted this, but consented. "Right this way." He stood aside to let her in then took long strides across the marble floor.

"Nice digs," she said, admiring a floor-to-ceiling living wall bursting with jungle greenery and dotted with red passion flowers. The man didn't answer, and she realized she'd fallen behind. She walked faster, and when she rounded the next corner she found herself standing in an open area with a fountain in the center set in a shallow pool of water. There was a grand staircase that wrapped around each side, and looming hallways that stretched beyond that.

For as big and magnificent as the house was though, there didn't seem to be a soul around to appreciate it.

"This way," the man called from the end of one of the hallways. She hurried by the fountain, careful not to step in the water. She felt self-conscious about how loud her boots were on the floor and remembered how Rhonda had called them clodhoppers. I guess anything sounds loud on this floor, she thought.

When she caught up with the man, he led her out a side door that opened onto a massive courtyard. Perfectly manicured hedges stretched along the outskirts of a long, rectangular pool. At least twenty lawn chairs were lined up poolside, and she could see Rhonda lounging on one toward the middle.

"I can take it from here, Jeeves," she said, waving him off.

"I'm sure," he retorted, happy to be free of the task.

As Helga walked along the side of the pool, she caught sight of her reflection in the water. She'd worn a magenta tank top and white skirt with her combat boots, and as she approached Rhonda, she wished more than anything that she'd worn her security blanket of a jacket.

Rhonda looked like a swimsuit model posing for a magazine cover. She was sporting a skimpy bright red bikini and a pair of thin black cateye sunglasses, lying back on a lounge chair with her eyes closed. When Helga stood next to her, she made no move to indicate she knew she was there. She cleared her throat, not knowing what else to do.

Rhonda slowly pushed her sunglasses down to narrow her eyes at Helga. She waited to be yelled at for showing up at her house uninvited, but all Rhonda said was, "You're in my sun," before closing her eyes again.

Helga took a deep breath and sat down on the chair next to her. "Look, Rhonda, I know the last time we saw each other wasn't exactly...great," she said, noticing that behind Rhonda's sunglasses her black eye now looked patchy purple and faded yellow.

Rhonda scoffed. "If you're here to apologize, you're wasting your time," she said. Probably, Helga thought, her brows furrowed.

But then she thought about when she was four years old and her parents ignored her cries to go to preschool. She remembered how she had to walk there alone, and how scared she felt walking into school. Every kid there held the possibility of being like her parents: they could wish she was someone else, they could reject and ignore her, they could make her feel unworthy of being who she was. It's why she took control of the narrative by bullying everyone in the first place. If she was mean and scary, everyone would be too afraid to ignore her. No one could hurt her. And she wouldn't be scared anymore.

"Rhonda-"

"You already got me suspended from school and the dance, and you took Jake and Arnold from me and Lila. You couldn't fix this if you tried," she said lightly.

"I told you already, I don't know why Jake put my name on that note," Helga said, knowing Jake's secret wasn't hers to tell.

"Ha!" Rhonda said, as if it were the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Helga rubbed her arm self-consciously. She didn't want to tell Rhonda this, but didn't know how else to prove that the person in Jake's note was absolutely not her. "It's true. I-I hadn't even had my first kiss until last week, and it wasn't with Jake."

At this, Rhonda removed her shades and her eyes widened. "Don't tell me. The Eunuch kissed you? Of all people. Oh, that's rich. Lila will just love that." She looked at Helga in utter disgust.

Helga took a deep breath. "Rhonda, I love Arnold, and I have ever since we were kids," she said.

Rhonda stared at her, as if waiting for her to suddenly admit she was joking. When she saw she was serious, she stood up. "Is that supposed to make everything you've done okay? Am I supposed to just up and forgive you, waiting for the next time you fucking stab me or one of my friends in the back? I'm not stupid, Helga. I have some self-respect."

"You're right. You have no reason to trust me. I'm not asking you to. I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry- for everything," she said. She held the letter out to Rhonda, an offering of her real self and real feelings within. She felt as vulnerable as on her first day of preschool. "I wrote this for you, to apologize."

Rhonda stared at the letter for a moment then up at Helga. She snatched it from her hand and tore the page into a dozen pieces, letting the wind carry the scraps away. "I'm not interested in a single goddamn thing you have to say, you stupid bitch," she fumed.

Helga felt her heart twist in pain. This was the feeling she'd avoided her whole life, the feeling she had when her parents ignored her in favor of Olga, or when her classmates had heard her poem and laughed at her. She watched the remnants of her letter land in the pool and float on its clear blue surface.

"You can leave now," Rhonda said coldly. She slid her sunglasses back on and lay back on the chair.

Helga turned and began to walk away, feeling a numbness settling over her.

But then she realized something. She was going about this all wrong. She was acting as though she were a do-gooder, like Arnold, or scared and small, like the mask she'd worn since middle school. But she wasn't either of those things.

She was bold. She was clever. She was passionate. She was Helga G. Pataki, dammit. And she was done playing games.

She stalked back to Rhonda and put her hands on her hips. "Okay, listen up, Princess. We've established that you and I are not gonna be best pals. That's fine. What I'm wondering is if you'd be interested in a little business proposition." She paused, waiting for Rhonda to speak, and when she opened her mouth she wagged her finger and said, "Ah ah ah, you haven't heard it yet. Now look, you want to go to the dance, right?" She didn't wait for an answer and continued, "Well, if you and I present a united front to that bureaucratic moron of a principal, saying that we love each other and all that crap, then maybe she'll agree to lift our suspension long enough to where we can both go to the dance." Rhonda made to say something but Helga said, loudly, "And, if this doesn't pan out, you'll only have lost an hour or so of precious tanning to bone up on your acting skills. So, whaddya say? Are you in, or are you out?" She smirked at Rhonda, whose face was cold as stone.

"I think we're done here," Rhonda said.

Helga, unperturbed, said, "Meet me in front of the school tomorrow at noon, if you decide it's worth your while."

Rhonda didn't answer, and Helga began to march back toward the house. Then she stopped. "Oh, and Rhonda? You might want to change that little nickname you have for Arnold. It's all wrong," she said, as though Rhonda had committed a terrible faux paux.

She stood tall and continued walking. When she was far enough away, she breathed deeply, reeling over what had just happened. Despite the show she'd just put on, her heart had been in her throat the whole time. She'd been afraid to confront Rhonda, even with a well-intentioned note to apologize.

But in facing her and being rejected she'd had an epiphany: the world hadn't ended. She wasn't liked, she wasn't forgiven, and the world hadn't ended.

And even though Rhonda's words had hurt, they had hurt because they were mean, not because they were true. In fact, her words only made her think of Phoebe's words, of Jake's words, of Arnold's words - people who had not only not rejected her but who had embraced and loved her for who she was.

As far as she was concerned, whether or not Rhonda ever forgave her or showed up the next day was irrelevant. She'd gotten something far more valuable from the visit.