Chapter 24

With the dance scheduled for the next night, Helga still hadn't heard anything from Rhonda indicating she was up for the plan to lift their shared suspension. In all honesty, Arnold hadn't expected much to come out of the apology either, but he was proud of her for trying to make things right and wanted to show her they could still have fun without going to the dance.

That's why that day while he was in class he texted Helga asking if he could take her somewhere after school, anywhere she wanted to go. He watched the three dots indicating she was typing, and wondered if she'd send a sincere or sarcastic response.

Will we be taking your private jet to Paris? she wrote. Sarcastic. Of course.

If you mean driving my grandpa's Packard around Hillwood then yes, he texted back.

I'll ask my other suitors what their plans are and get back to you.

He smiled. I'll pick you up after school then.

Can't wait, she said.

He sighed. He loved this language they spoke that was at once sarcastic and sincere, teasing and loving. It was more fun than he'd had with anyone, and it brought out a side of him he'd always known was there but no one had seen but Helga. Helga was the only person who had ever seen his playful side and stirred him up so he could embrace that side of himself. He was still his peaceful, daydreaming self, but he also felt more alive and more clearly himself than ever.

Even Gerald had noticed the change in him, telling him over lunch that he seemed different, but in a good way. Happier.

When he was halfway to Helga's house, he got a text from her asking if he could pick her up from the park. He drove the twelve or so blocks from her house and spied her walking along the outskirts of the park. He tapped his car horn, and she turned around. He rolled down the passenger window and she leaned in.

"Hey, sexy, you looking for a good time?" she asked in a fake sultry voice.

He rolled his eyes. "Get in."

She laughed and hopped in. "What? I was actually serious!" She winked, then crawled seductively across the front seat on all fours. He swallowed hard. She was wearing a loose grey button-up shirt and a white skirt, and her hair was down and wildly swept to one side. She put one hand on his chest then slid it slowly up and around his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

When she pulled back, he smiled. "You're beautiful."

She sat up and crossed her arms in front of her self-consciously. "Really?" she asked.

He grinned. "I mean, why do you think I pulled over to pick you up?" She punched him lightly in the arm and he laughed.

"So where do you want to go?" he asked.

Helga looked out the passenger window and suddenly realized what part of town they were in. Her face lit up. "Pull in over there," she said, pointing to the movie theater a block down.

He obliged, and parked in a spot close to the marquee. They both got out of the car, and Arnold stared up at the marquee to see what was playing.

"We already missed the matinee," he said, and when Helga didn't respond he looked around. "Helga?"

"Over here," she called from the side door.

He looked around. "What are you doing? We could get caught."

She rolled her eyes. "Relax, I do it all the time." She pulled his hand and tugged him inside, then put a finger to her lips. They ran breathlessly down an empty corridor and around a corner, only to see an employee sweeping up popcorn outside one of the theaters. They slowed to a walk, and when they reached the end of the hallway and turned the corner they started running again.

Once they reached theater twelve, she stopped. "This is the one," she said. Arnold looked up at the sign above the door. It didn't read what was playing.

She opened the door and they stepped inside. It was quiet. The lights were dim, but no one was there and the screen stared blankly out at them.

"Why this one?" Arnold asked.

Helga smiled. "The projector has been broken forever so they don't use it," she said.

She ran up to a small stage below the screen, which held nothing but an empty panelist table used for movie Q&As. Once she reached centerstage, she blew kisses to each side of the room and gestured to an invisible audience. "Thank you, thank you! I love you all!"

Arnold chuckled and sat in one of the seats in the middle of the front row. She stepped down off the stage and joined him.

"Also, this is one of my safe places," she said quietly. "One of those places where I can just be myself without thinking about it."

"And open mic?" he asked.

"Yeah, and my room, and Phoebe's house," she said. "They're places I can trust."

"Are there any others?"

She smiled. "Just one."

"Which is?"

She stood up and pulled him up, stepping into his arms. "You. You're my safe place." She lay her head against his chest and he sighed, holding her close.

"You're my safe place, too, Helga," he said softly. He thought about how he'd let go of the past version of her so recently, and how it seemed like a lifetime ago. How could he have known it was so he could hold the real version of her now, the one that named him a safe place in the world?

She shuffled against him and looked up vulnerably. "Did you mean it, what you said in the car?" He looked at her questioningly, and her eyes darted down in embarrassment. "When you said I'm beautiful."

He looked at her. Had no one ever told her before? "Of course I meant it."

She fiddled with her hands. "It's just that I know I'm not pretty like Ruth, or Lila, or any of the other girls you've dated before," she said, cursing herself for how much she was rambling.

Arnold stared at her. He realized her whole life had been full of comparisons. Her family compared her to her sister and made her feel like she wasn't accomplished or interesting. Rhonda and the other girls compared her to girls in magazines and found her lacking because she didn't choose to be like everyone else. It all added up to her not feeling like she was good enough- for her or for him.

He thought back to the other girls he'd dated. He remembered when he'd been kissed, by girls who by everyone's standards were beautiful.

But they hadn't been beautiful to him. They didn't make him feel alive like she did. They didn't see into people the way she did, or make him want to be the person he really was. Not like her.

He took her hand and kissed it, then held it to his cheek. "Helga. You're beautiful. And you're beautiful to me."

She smiled at him, but he could tell she was still flipping through pictures in her mind, categorizing flaws that caused her to doubt herself.

Suddenly he thought of something and smiled. "Hey, Helga. Do you still have that poem you read at open mic?" he asked. "The sexy one?"

She blushed and nodded. She'd actually memorized it since that night. "Yeah."

"Read it to me?" he asked.

"Right now?" she asked, looking around at the empty room.

"Yeah. There's a stage, and you have a captive audience," he said, smiling.

"O-okay," she said. She didn't know why she felt so nervous. She recited poetry on stage all the time, in front of dozens more people. But this felt different. This was her, reading to him and only him. And she wanted to say it like she'd always meant for him to hear any of her written words.

She backed up a few steps until she was centerstage in front of the panelist table, and started reading:

"In my dream your kiss wakes me up,

opens me like a book,

and you map my body with one long look

I'm pressed between your pages,

you run your hands along my spine

Mine, all mine,

A universe to examine and define

Your lips bookmark me in warm breath along my skin,

a trail to shake me open, a spot for hands to pin

And at the very peak of this story our souls finally meet,

the pages burn up as your hips press into mine,

and our final strain of music writes the final line."

When she finished she was blushing, and stared down at her feet, too embarrassed to look at him. She heard his footsteps approach, and when his toes were aligned with hers she looked up. He kissed her, a slow, deep, passionate kiss that made her feel warm and dizzy and wanted. Then he surprised her by taking her hand and slowly moving it across his thigh, until she brushed against his erection. He whispered in her ear, "You're so beautiful."

He let go of her hand, freeing her to make the next move. She placed her hand back on his thigh and traced her way back to his groin again, feeling his hardness through his jeans. She realized she was holding her breath. She firmly pressed her hand against his arousal.

He inhaled sharply and stepped back, and for a moment she thought she'd done something wrong. But his eyes said differently. They were half-lidded and as intoxicated as she was.

"Say it again," he said.

She looked confused. "Huh?"

"The poem. Say it again." He said it not like a command but rather as an invitation.

Curious, she began, "In my dream your kiss wakes me up-"

His lips were suddenly on hers, hungry and electrifying her to her core. He grabbed her legs and lifted her to sit on the table, his hands slipping under her shirt and caressing her bare waist as he kissed his way slowly down her neck. He sucked at her pulse, causing her to moan. He nipped at her neck and she gasped. "Keep going," he whispered in her ear.

Her mind, already foggy from pleasure, grasped for the next line. "Opens me like a book-" He took his hands and pushed her knees apart, pressing himself against her. She gasped again and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in closer. "And you map my body with one long look-" He gazed at her, all of her, and she felt him undressing her slowly with his eyes. Her breath caught, and she stumbled, "I-I'm pressed between your pages-" He thrust against her and she cried out in pleasure.

"More," he whispered in her ear. He sucked on her pulse and she writhed against him. "You run your hands along my spine-" He raked his fingers down her back and she arched up, her chest rising with it. "Mine-"

"All mine," he said, burying himself in her neck.

"A universe to examine and define," she mumbled, feeling her body move with his. "Your lips bookmark me-" He planted hot kisses along her jawline until he met her waiting lips, brushing against them lightly while his eyes told her to keep going. "-in warm breath along my skin-" He dragged his parted lips down her collarbone, his breath ending above her breasts. "A trail to shake me open-" His hand slid up her bare side, his fingers stopping beneath her bra. Her brain was so foggy she forgot the words. He moved his fingers back and forth, waiting for her to continue. She squirmed, trying to remember. "A spot for hands to pin," she said, and his hand slid up under her bra. He cupped her breast, then ran his thumb over her nipple, causing her to cry out.

"Um, ah, the pages burn up as your hips press into mine-" He grinded against her until he found a slow rhythm, and she moved with him, unable to keep herself from moaning between words as he continued to touch her. Then, as a pool of warmth built inside her, she said in a high-pitched tone, "And our final strain of music-" He thrust against her, hard, and she felt herself unravel with a loud cry of pleasure that echoed off the empty theater walls.

"-writes the final line," he finished, grinning wickedly at her. She lay back on the table, trying to catch her breath, her legs still wrapped around his waist. He stayed pressed against her, staring at her chest move up and down as she breathed heavily. She stared up at the ceiling, feeling secondary waves of pleasure hit her. She bit her lip. She'd imagined her first orgasm with Arnold so many times, in so many ways, but the real thing topped anything she could have ever come up with. She had obviously not taken into account his level of desire matching hers.

When she regained some level of composure, she said breathlessly, "So you think I'm beautiful?"

Arnold chuckled. "And sexy," he said, replaying her "final line" in his head.

Helga shook her head, still in disbelief over what had just happened. "I need to write more poetry."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead sweetly. "Yes you do."