A heavy, black, and pendulous cloud of awkward seemed to float above Deacon Sawa's car as the Hillwood Community Center got smaller and smaller before turning the corner altogether.

As Helga impassively stared out the window, the Heyerdahl girl squirmed in her seat as the city limits came closer and closer; and the feeling of guilt writhed furiously in her stomach like a cranky octopus. Kyo and Reba bought their daughter's yarn hook line and sinker that she and Helga were assisting Deacon Sawa with delivering food to less-than-fortunate members of the St. Seraphim parish…and technically it was true (as Wolfgang had been attending Liturgies and Vespers there for a substantial time). Nonetheless, visions of elderly shut ins danced in the adults' heads as they gave their blessing to Phoebe, gushing over what a mature and socially responsible girl they were raising.

In a similar vein, Wolfgang Toran wrestled with his imagination as it played out all the hypothetical hell-scapes he and his female companions could find themselves staring down once they reached his home. Bringing him and his thoughts crashing back to Earth was a vocal objection from Helga as she watched Hillwood became more and more of a dot in Deacon Sawa's rearview mirror.

"Hey Deek. What gives? Isn't Wolfgang's house kinda, sorta, maybe that way?" She said jerking her thumb backwards.

"And you kinda, sorta, maybe would be right, except for the fact that Wolfgang moved." Deacon Sawa replied unfazed.

"Moved?" The two girls said in shocked unison.

"Yeah, last September." Wolfgang said.

"We all thought you got expelled." Phoebe said. A reply to which the Toran boy chuckled sadly.

"Look, I know it's a little hard to believe but-"

"No Wolfgang." Helga interjected. "'A little hard to believe' is being kidnapped by river pirates in San Lorenzo. 'A little hard to believe' is thinking beepers will somehow make a comeback. 'A little hard to believe' is surviving a daredevil jump over a blown-up overpass in a tin can of a bus to expose a phony urban development corporation headed by a bitter sociopath with ancestor issues. Between stuffing a generation of fourth graders into garbage heaps, exploiting a kid's addiction for your personal amusement, monkeying around with emergency equipment, you leaving PS 118 without so much as a police escort defies ANY AND ALL conceivable sense of logic!"

"Speaking of San Lorenzo." Wolfgang replied in some hope of changing the subject. "I know that Football fa—err, Arnold won a contest from some humanitarian thing last June-"

"Yeah." Phoebe replied suspiciously. "Seeing you at our get-together for him was…odd. Like the time you crashed his 'cool party' back in fourth grade."

"To be fair, the criteria for showing up was if the kid left and impact on your life." Wolfgang began defensively before continuing quietly. "And…I guess…looking back, Arnold did kind of get me for a moment with that whole Trashcan Day speech about me being the one to end it all and start a new chapter in the lives of-"

Helga lets out an exaggerated snore, which earns her a sharp elbow to the rib from Phoebe.

"Huh…oh, sorry. This much baloney usually makes me sleepy."

"We're almost here."

Deacon Sawa's car turned onto Walker Street and began to slow down near a pleasant single-family brick house that almost looked frozen in a simpler and prosperous time. The lawn was tidy and trimmed; a flat expanse of green, save for two bushes which had begun to block the window and a little flowerbed sandwiching the area by the steps leading to the front door. A little chime hung by the awning, clanging gently as a quiet autumn evening breeze passed through.

"Move over Oliver Twist." Helga said sarcastically. "Surely behind these doors is a hell no mortal can comprehend-"

"I hope not." Deacon Sawa said. "This is my house."

As the girls grab Wolfgang's leftovers and drink in their surroundings, the men make their way toward the large vehicle covered in tarp jutting out of the house's woefully small garage (the only thing that looked out of place in this idyllic domicile). The meaning of this detour becomes clear once Wolfgang reemerges in his trademark cobra t-shirt and jeans, and assists Deacon Sawa in pulling the canvas off the automobile. As it falls to the ground and gets tucked away by the two men, Helga emits a large nervous gulp as the first real sense of dread drops into her stomach like a stone into a pond; a feeling which only grows as the sound of the engine turning gut-punches the otherwise Halcyon evening on the avenue.

Backing into the driveway wasn't so much a large pickup truck as it was a wheeled shrine to masculinity at its most campy, shallow and toxic. As it stood the red white and blue behemoth already began to block the walkway once it had been fully backed out of the garage. But if size and color scheme didn't make Wolfgang's ride a tacky eyesore already, the décor did the rest; plastered across the rear window was a decal reading Khe Sanh School of War: Class of '67, and a plethora of stickers and decals capriciously plastered along the rear bumper conveyed the similar messages of a nature. Some that stuck out to her included:

My Dog is Smarter Than Your Gender Studies Professor.

Uncle Sam's Misguided Children.

I Don't Believe the Liberal Media.

Honk 1776 Times if You're a Patriot.

I Work Hard to Support the Welfare State.

Topping the display off were a set of Confederate Flag mud flaps upon which a woman with an hourglass figure sat, leaning back on her hands, with her hair being blown in the wind. Beneath her bore the message Feel the South A'Rising.

"Look, you don't have to do any of this." Wolfgang said pleadingly as he opens the door. "And don't get the wrong idea… It's my dad's ride."

Helga gives herself a crisp slap across her face.

"Oh, like this rolling Freudian complex is supposed to scare me?" She said getting into the car. "My dad has said half this garbage in one form or another. Pheebs, you with us here or what?"

To Helga and Phoebe's surprise, Wolfgang was a conscientious and vigilant driver for someone without a permit. Then again, it wasn't like they had all that far to drive. They followed Walker Street to the end before turning onto LaMarche Street, Hack Ave, Bucille Lane, and Osment Street before coming to a cul-de-sac by name of Butler Circle. Of course, the only house on the block that lacked any light was the one Wolfgang called home. With the truck parked, Wolfgang took all the leftovers and lead his reluctant guests to the door. As he reached the threshold, he stopped and turned to Helga and Phoebe. He wore a face of deep contrition and stammered in his attempt to articulate how loath he was to inflict this upon them.

"I just want to apologize for what-"

"Just open the door already!"

Turning the doorknob slowly, the trio could feel a chill as the entranceway swung open and they entered the house proper.

"DAD! I'M HOME!"