Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wolfgang Toran knew this day would come.

One does not simply spend years turning a school into their personal fiefdom of fear and escape some possibility of comeuppance. Yet he could feel all sense of emotion leave his body like water down a drain upon the sight of Helga and Phoebe consorting with his mentor. Conversely, the Pataki girl felt a sudden and new burst of fire as her eyes crossed with those of Wolfgang standing sheepishly in the doorway carrying five full size aluminum trays and a bag containing two Styrofoam clamshell containers.

"Woah, woah, woah, Nicholas the Saintly." Helga Interjected. "I'm sure there's a starving child or twelve who could use some of that food you're hogging."

Deacon Sawa looks at his pupil. He pursed his lips in deep disappointment as if to tell the lad 'she's not wrong'. With a sheepish retreat back to the kitchen, Wolfgang drops two trays and the bag onto the counter before gingerly strolling toward the trio.

"Give me five minutes and I'll be back around with the car." The Deacon said tonelessly. "In the meantime, I assume the three of you have some catching up to do."

Wolfgang could feel the guilt grow in his body with each step his teacher took away from the group and out the community center's door. With a deep breath, he breaks the ice with his former peers.

"Um…hello Helga, and Phoebe."

"'Hello'." Helga shot back icily after she and Phoebe stole a skeptical glance between each other. "This is how the Big Bad Wolfgang greets people now? 'Hello'?"

"Yeah, about that…" Wolfgang stammered as he cleared his throat. "I... uh…I want to apologize to both of you…and well, everyone at PS 118."

"You know what Wolfgang." Helga interjected. "Drop the act."

"Act?"

"Yeah, this whole song and dance about how you've allegedly seen the error of your ways? I don't buy it. In fact…(she takes two steps towards him, closes her eyes)…just get it over with; punch me, kick me, Hell, there's a dumpster out back. Call some fifth graders over and mentor them about how to have a good trashcan day or whatever. My last request is just that you make it snappy."

Upon finishing her speech, Helga stood with outstretched arms as if to surrender herself to whatever torment Wolfgang would dole out. Instead, after a pause which felt like eons, the only response she got came not from the musically inclined ex-miscreant but instead her friend.

"Um, Helga…I think you can open your eyes."

To the Pataki girl's surprise, the Toran boy continued to remain where he stood in an attempt to decline the offer she set before him. Phoebe meanwhile watches Wolfgang's face as a small and hopeful smile begins to slowly replace the look of deep contrition he had worn in some attempt to further drive home the shame of inflicting all the years of turmoil and terror upon them and their immediate peer group. Like an open book, she could read in his soul the sense of hope that they were buying his reformation.

"That. Said." The tiny brunette continued as she shot Wolfgang a look that could freeze the sun. "I reserve judgement for the time being. Getting a haircut and playing oboe for an hour (even for the benefit of the homeless) erases not the years of hell you inflicted on us and our friends."

"I don't expect it to-" Wolfgang began with a ripple of desperation in his voice.

"Well, the good news for you is that we don't." Helga said. "Especially given that you've almost walked away with enough food to feed half the continent right as Father Flanigan over there was crowing about you playing Santa."

"Correction. Deacon. Priesthood is a whole separate rank of clergy Miss Pataki."

All three heads turn as Deacon Sawa enters the community center foyer.

"And you." Helga continues with a point in the clergyman's direction. "Some man of the cloth you are, allowing this yutz to waltz out of here with half the leftovers. But no, humor me; perhaps the two of you have an encore performance at the local retirement castle, or are visiting a family of shut-ins, or…"

Wolfgang let out a sad sigh as the blonde girl facetiously lobbed charitable hypotheticals. Casting a look at his mentor, he cleared his throat and admitted the (intimate) nature of why he was bringing home the food.

"No. The food is for me." He began slowly. "I don't talk about it all that much but my home life isn't exactly what you'd call…stable. I live with my dad-"

Now Helga saw red.

"Screw. You. Wolfgang." She said in a slow but livid voice as Phoebe held her back. "You will not walk away a winner if you want to play that game."

"Oh?" Wolfgang replied.

"Now Helga…" Phoebe began as she struggled against her friend's furious frame.

"'Now Helga' nothing. I'm done playing secret keeper. For the past year I have lived in the deepest pits of ignominy; calling 'home' a crumbling shrine to antiquated technology alongside my alcohol sponge of a mother (peppered with occasional visits from my emotionally stunted and over-achieving older sister). And why? Because my pig-headed father, for reasons no sane man can fathom, spent my entire life tying every aspect of his identity in being tEh bEEpUR KiNg-"

"At least your father worked for a living!" Wolfgang shot back suddenly feeling his temper match hers. "At least he bought in a steady paycheck."

"At what expense? Everyone knows the story of how Bob Pataki almost sold out the city for a superstore. Isn't there something in that book of yours Padre about building bigger barns and storing treasure for yourself being a bad thing?"

"And even with that, your mother still stuck with him."

"Where else was would she have gone Einstein? The drunk tank?"

"Better there than prison."

"Now you're just making things up. Just admit it. You're looking for sympathy and validation for using us as punching bags because we didn't eat up your whole 'Boys Town' act at first glance."

"Yeah, well maybe you'd sing a different tune if you'd met him!"

A shrill whistle from Deacon Sawa brings Helga and Wolfgang's argument to a halt. All three heads turn in his direction as he purses his lips in deep thought. Time seemed to stop as he felt an ugly idea beginning to foment in the recesses of his mind.

"You know Wolfgang." He began. "Even with what you returned, that is still quite a bit of food for you to carry. Perhaps Helga and Phoebe would be more than happy to assist you bringing it home."

Horror constricted Wolfgang like a hungry snake as the Deacon's proposition slowly dawned on him. He could feel his body going limp as the blood rushed to his feet and his eyes dilated in unfiltered fear.

"Deacon Sawa. You can't be serious. No. I…I can't…that's…no!"

But as Helga relieved the Toran boy of two food trays, one of which she promptly saddled on to Phoebe, the determined look cemented on her face said it all: the race to last place for father of the year was about to commence.