Chapter 26

It was the last day of Helga's suspension. Later that night she'd put on her dress and Arnold would pick her up for the dance.

Instead of being ecstatic and preparing, however, her mind had been in a fog all day. She'd had dreams that kept her tossing and turning all night, but every time she tried to remember what they were about she only saw an image of hands, and felt a sense of uneasiness wash over her.

She decided to take a walk to clear her mind, throwing on a slouchy pink sweater over grey leggings and combat boots. She crept down the stairs, careful not to wake her mom on the couch, and closed the door gently behind her. It was brisk that afternoon, so she bought a warm cup of coffee and carried it to her and Arnold's bench in the park.

She sat down and thought about the dance, wondering why she wasn't as excited to go. She wanted to be excited. She had every reason to be excited. But all she felt was a cold sense of dread.

She watched the steam roll off her styrofoam cup in waves. There was only one couple in the park, with a toddler bundled up in a fluffy coat. They were throwing a ball between them, which the little girl would hold out each time and walk back to her parents. Helga smiled. Then the mom picked the girl up and held her close. Helga froze. She remembered now.

In her dream, she'd been two or three years old and was sitting on the floor. Her hands were reaching up and out, searching for someone to hold onto and coming up empty. Her dad's feet stomped by her, followed by the slamming of the front door, and her mother's feet dragged by her and collapsed on the couch. She remembered crying the whole time and long after, wondering why no one heard her, wondering why no one's arms found hers. The vastness of the world around her and the fear inside her collided, and her screaming had woken her up.

Helga inhaled sharply, her eyes wet. It wasn't that she didn't want to go to the dance. It was that she didn't want to remember what it was like, being around people who saw her and didn't reach back, who saw a glimpse of the real her in middle school and reacted the same way her parents did.

She looked down at the burn on her hand, the marks now faded to three tiny scars on her fingers. She clenched her fist. She'd learned from an early age that being angry was easier than being sad. Being angry made everyone pay attention, while being sad only left her alone and wondering what she'd done wrong to not be loved.

Being angry and bullying everyone, including someone she loved deeply, had been easier than being vulnerable and risking rejection. Being angry and hitting Rhonda had been easier than questioning her worth.

She didn't want to be angry or sad or scared anymore when she saw that look in someone's eyes that told her they didn't want her there. But she also didn't know how to be anything else either.

During his last period class, Arnold got a text from Helga asking him to come over after school. When he wrote back, Don't you need to start getting ready for the dance?, she didn't answer.

He frowned. Something was wrong. As soon as school was out, he tried calling her. She didn't pick up. But when he reached her house, she answered the door immediately.

She pulled him upstairs and as soon as she'd closed her bedroom door, she blurted out, "I can't go to the dance."

"What? Why? What happened?" he asked in a worried tone, taking a step toward her.

She crossed her arms in front of herself protectively. "I don't want to go," she said, trying desperately to put into words why that would be so bad. "I don't want to go there and have it feel like middle school. I don't want to go there and feel, and feel…"

"Feel what?" he prodded gently. She felt something click inside her.

"...unwanted." The word hung in the air between them, correct and heavy on her heart.

Arnold took her hand. "Helga, I want you. I love you." He tilted her chin up and held her gaze. "I'm your safe place, remember?" He held his arms open, and she thought back to her dream. How long had she been waiting for a counterbalance of someone honest and kind to show her the truth about herself, when she didn't know who she could trust? How long had she been waiting, arms open wide, for someone to say those words?

She collapsed into his arms and felt held, held enough to know the ground wouldn't swallow her up if she told the truth about herself. She started crying, and he took her to the bed and pulled her into his lap like a child, holding her close and listening to her spill how much she wished her parents loved her, and how angry and sad she was at the self-doubt and fear she felt around other people. She said how she wanted to be brave and lovable and good enough like other people were.

And when she'd exhausted every fear and desire in her heart that had risen to the surface, Arnold held her closer, his strong arms reassuring her that the void inside her wasn't strong enough to swallow her up. She was held. She was safe. She could sit with these things and not be swept away by them.

Arnold wiped her tears away. "It makes sense now, your safe places," he said. "I love that I'm one of them." He kissed her forehead gently. "I just hope you can be a safe place for you, too."

"Fat chance," she mumbled.

"I'm not saying it'll happen overnight," he said. "But Helga, I think if you heard the truth- the real, wonderful, actual truth about yourself, from people who care about you- maybe eventually you'll start to believe it."

She sighed, trying to imagine such a reality. "I mean, I want to," she said.

"Do you believe I love you?" he asked.

"Yeah, but you don't know," she said, waving him off.

He ignored her attempt to make things light. "Don't I? Haven't I gotten to know you, the real you, through your writing, through our conversations, through everything we've gone through together?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then I'm saying that maybe if you trusted how I see you, you might see you are wanted, and loved," he said firmly.

Helga crossed her arms defensively. "And what if you don't love me tomorrow? What if you wake up one day and you don't feel the same way about me anymore?"

Arnold sighed. "Helga, that's not going to happen." She opened her mouth to speak, and he said, "But, even if it did, do you want to use everyone's opinions as proof of how worthy you are? You'd be questioning it all your life. People are unpredictable, and hurt, and insecure in all sorts of ways. Why trust them with you?" He sighed. "You're too precious. Don't throw yourself away."

Helga looked down guiltily. No one had ever told her not to throw herself away, like she was trash. She couldn't deny that that was exactly how she treated herself sometimes.

Arnold's voice softened. "Helga, we don't have to go to the dance. But if we don't go, I just don't want it to be because of your fears. I want it to be because it's actually what you want." He looked in her eyes. "What do you want, Helga?"

She took a deep breath. What did she want? She thought of seeing all her old classmates at the dance and her heart shrank at the thought. But then she thought of Arnold- dancing with him, being held by him, feeling safe with him, and loved by him, and her heart bloomed, bigger than her fear.

"I want to go," she said firmly. "I want to go with you."

He smiled. "Then let's go."