Hiya! Another chapter! Yay! Thank you everyone who reviewed, and dramagirl310, again. you honor me with your reviews.
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"That was wonderful," Helga complimented Phoebe.
Helga is so screwed up. I understand that, knowing her parents, her family, and her environment. She has her secrets, I mine. She isn't aware that I was her "study buddy" in tenth grade. I was always Julian; I needn't change my name, because I was unnoticed, except by Rhonda. Well, after I came I was, after Christmas in eighth grade. I was in Helga's graduation, salutatorian in fact, still unnoticed. Or at least not remembered. Rhonda was the girl I mentioned; she wanted a brother. We were like siblings; she didn't want to ruin that. I don't blame her, neither did I. If not for what I know.
"Can I have another slice of pizza, please?" Helga said.
"Uh-huh," replied Phoebe. He moved his foot so it was more comfortable. He shifted his gaze, so he could she Rhonda pull her knees up to her chin, and wrap her arms around her legs. She was repulsed by the amount of grease, a sign of her sheltered existence. She was trying not to throw up. He tried to mop off the extra with a paper napkin so he could eat it, but it wasn't working. He pushed the triangle of take-out grease around his white paper plate, so not to look rude. A large tablecloth was sitting on the floor, with twenty or so people crowded at the edges. Take-out pizza boxes littered the center with many two-liter bottles of pop. Rhonda daintily sipped pop from a paper cup. Helga ate the food hungrily, but ran to the bathroom right after.
Age has done so much for Helga, and against her. She prettier, gorgeous in fact, and is more knowledgeable, but thinks her childhood was useless, unneeded. Rhonda stood there, like a shadow. She led such a secluded life; her life is alone, she and Helga. Helga, I don't know what to think of her. I know she likes me, more than I'd like. I shouldn't have gotten so mad at her earlier, I guess. I don't want her to love me; it would make things so much more difficult. Arnold's life is full of people, as is Phoebe's and most of her old schoolmates, except me. I am still lonely, an artist. I note suspicion in her eyes, when they fall on me. Insecurity and isolation mark her thoughts.
I didn't know her until seventh grade; we were in middle school together. Those first days she was like a firecracker, always ready to burst, then it did, near Christmas that year. Then she did, for a week, nothing, except mope. Now, I know then her Arnold dream shattered. Arnold just kind of covered everything, he was a secret light for her, and now she had none. Arnold was never going to like her, and she just gave up. I think that helped her, but then, what did she have left? Phoebe was absorbed in popularity; she really wasn't Helga's friend anymore. Helga absorbed herself in work; her life was homework, paperwork, and writing. By high school she had more awards than her sister, only hidden, away in an alley. I always liked her, for some weird reason, maybe because I felt I understood her. I now feel that is foolhardy, but then I wanted to understand something, Rhonda was my sister. Now I don't think I can understand her, I don't want to. Something about her makes me repel against her intimacy. She wants to love me, or she already does. I was always paired with Helga in school because of our work was similar in advancement. We knew each other well enough, yet she forgot me, all these years. Maybe that is why, and because of Rhonda. I love Rhonda, in a not very brotherly way. She just never was exactly like my sister, maybe because I know something.
"Julian, Julian," Helga mumbled. "The same Julian who was always my partner in high school. He knows more about myself, than I do."
She does remember. Oh.
"I know less," he muttered back. Helga smiled meekly, and bent down. She dug around in her skirt pocket. She pulled something out of her pocket, and slid it into his hand. Her hand lingered on his hand, and then pulled away sharply.
A letter? Okay, it dates back eight years, our graduation day. She was seventeen, I 18.
Julian,
I never admit to anyone that I notice you there. I lived on Arnold, I bet my good will, my happiness on him. Seventh grade could be a new beginning, a new life. P.S. 118 was gone, to me. I didn't want to be the same person, that two-sided girl. Then there was you. I wanted to leave crushes alone. I didn't know what to do. So I did nothing. I'm sorry, I didn't ignore you, I was always aware you were there. In high school, when we were always paired together, we were so close. Yet we were never close, I wished we were, yet I tried to rebel against my traitorous thoughts. Well, it's over; I can forget everything.
-Helga
Helga wrote this? I was different? She moved from one secret situation to another.
"Helga? What is this? This letter, what was it for?" Julian asked. He looked quizzical. He secretly passed the note to Rhonda.
"Well, I wrote it that morning of our graduation, and I wanted to give it to you before I left. Instead I made a fool out of myself, and worked up forgotten memories. I should have let the past be," clarified Helga.
"Would you like to have lunch with me sometime?" he blurted.
I just don't understand her. I also want to paint her; she'd make a beautiful painting. She'll take this all wrong though. I don't want to have any romantic connection with her, just a painting, to stash somewhere in a storehouse. I'd give it to Rhonda, but even her walls are filling up.
"Sure, except I can't on Mondays and Thursdays because of photo shoots," she said.
"I can't on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, because I can't."
I don't want to explain that often I have to go to stupid meetings of my mother's, and then I often eat lunch with Rhonda. Or that Tuesdays and Wednesdays I often listen to Rhonda's newly composed music. Helga wouldn't understand.
"Hmm?"
"No, I have to help run a family business."
It's almost the truth. It's close enough.
He stared, then continued to eat in silence. Talk surrounded them.
She wouldn't understand. Different in appearance and actions, but similar in outlook. I sound like a commercial for a television show, excited, making you want to watch the show. Helga is so different now. So am I. She doesn't obviously hate me, yet. Arnold was never right for her, especially now. He was too perfect. Too wise, wiser than his years, for anyone except himself. He didn't understand anyone else, because he was too special. He understood them only to an extent, for a friend, he was too above everyone else. Arnold would make her happier. She doesn't understand me, nor could I ever marry her. Yet, I can't let Helga see that. Nor can she see that her love is wasted.
