Chapter 6: Friday
Peace that passeth all understanding...
The most important commandment is this: that you love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind. A second is like it: that you love your neighbor as yourself.
Drip
She could barely hear what was being said, but she didn't care too much, anyway.
"I just think that it couldn't have been an accident! I mean, kids fight. Maybe it got out of hand. You should've seen the look on her face when she left. She was so pale, I knew something had to be wrong."
Drip
The faucet was leaking. It was just a few feet away, in her bathroom. She wished someone would tighten the faucet.
"Dear, there's no telling what happened. She says she doesn't remember, and Helga didn't say anything about a fight, so why don't we just leave it at that?"
Drip
Peace that passeth all understanding. Peace. That's what she wanted. Stupid faucet. Shut up.
"Well, regardless, I think we need to sit down with Helga, find out what happened. We won't blame her or anything, just tell her we want to know what happened."
Drip
It was too bright outside. She didn't want it to be bright. She wanted darkness. Darkness to hide her. Darkness to cover what she was thinking.
"Fine, we'll sit down with her. Tomorrow, though. Tonight's the prom, remember. She won't be home this evening."
Drip
The prom? That's right. The prom. Tonight. The prom. She wished the faucet would stop dripping.
"That's true. Well, either way, I'll call her. Ask her to come over tomorrow. It'll be good for Phoebe to have company, don't you think? I don't think she asked anyone to the prom. I wish she'd get out there and started shopping around a little, don't you?"
Drip
She stood, grabbed a rod from her headboard, and proceeded to smash the faucet. Water sprayed everywhere, drenching her. She stood still, enjoying the feeling. She barely noticed as she was dragged away.
...
"Gerald told me that... well, he told me that I shouldn't have said anything about me and Phoebe... I mean, I honestly didn't know anything. She only told him because, apparently, he knew anyway. But he kept it a secret. Until now. It's too late, anyway."
Helga sighed. She couldn't be mad at Phoebe anymore. She was in the wrong. She had come to understand this fact last night, as she lay, tormented, in bed.
"Don't worry about it, Arnold. I should've told you myself. I should've been bigger about it. Phoebe deserves better than the way I've treated her. I'm sorry for dragging you into all this."
"I don't feel like I've been dragged into anything. It's my own life, in any case. I doubt you'd make me keep a relationship a secret. ... I mean, that is ..."
"I know what you mean. I'm not expecting you to fall head-over-heels in love with me, just because I'm head-over-heels in love with..." She cut herself off, but it was too late. There was an awkward silence, followed by yet more awkward silence.
Arnold broke it with a cough. "Anyway, so I'll be there around seven, okay?"
"Yeah, that's fine. And where are we eating? I think we keep accidentally dropping that subject."
"What sounds good?"
"Erickson's is really good. See if Gerald minds going there."
"Aren't they a little on the... expensive side?"
"Don't worry. I've got it covered. I'll pay for you, you pay for me. So you can order whatever you want, okay?"
"Thanks, Helga. We'll see. But Erickson's sounds good. Alright, well, I'll see you tonight."
"Bye."
"Bye."
She needed to talk to Phoebe. But what could she say? There was nothing she could ever say that would make up for the way she'd acted, and what she'd done. She didn't expect Phoebe to forgive her.
Regardless, she needed to say she was sorry. Then, and only then, could she move on. With Arnold? Maybe. Hopefully.
...
"She's home! Thank God, she's home!" Bob ran out the front door as fast as he could, literally knocking it off the top hinge. Miriam followed, and then Helga.
Olga opened her door, slowly, deliberately. She stood in much the same manner. And she glared at her parents, as hatefully as was humanly possible.
"You know what? I loved him. Did you know that? I loved him a lot. More than you. More than life. And you know what? I still chose you over him. And now he's dead. Did you hear they found his body, hunched over his desk? He'd slit his wrists. They were kind enough to let me identify him. At least I got to see him one last time."
They were dumbfounded. She'd never talked to them like this before. Finally, Bob spoke.
"Sweetheart, we were only looking out for your... well-being. I mean, you've got to understand where we're coming from. We have high hopes for you, and..."
"And he wasn't a comfortable enough fit for you, was he? I should've known better. You're not even human; you don't know what love feels like! Just look at the way you treat Helga!"
Helga nearly fell over, she was so shocked. Bob and Miriam turned to face her, and she promptly turned her gaze to her feet.
"Now we both hate you. It's unanimous." Olga stomped into the house, slamming the door as she did. Helga was about to follow her, then thought better. She needed to give Olga some time to herself. She'd be better able to talk later.
Helga ran upstairs, nearly as devastated as Olga. She'd never met Thomas, but if she knew anything about Olga, she bet he was wonderful. And he must've really loved her, too.
She needed something to take her mind off of things. So she decided to call Phoebe; apologize, try to make things right again.
"Hello? Hi, this is Helga. Is Phoebe there? Can she talk?"
Her mother sighed, sounding strangely disappointed. "No, I was just about to call and ask if she was there. We can't find her anywhere! She must've snuck out while we were in the backyard... I'm worried sick. She was really disturbed this morning. She broke her faucet with a ... Well, suffice it to say, something's very wrong with her. I think something may have happened when she fell down the stairs."
"Gosh, that's weird. That's totally not like her. She's usually so reserved... and considerate."
"I know. Look, Helga, will you call us and let us know if you hear anything?"
"Definitely. Bye."
Now here was another problem. Phoebe probably ran off because she was so upset. And this was all Helga's fault. She decided the best idea was to go out and look for her.
Bob stopped her before she could get out the door. Miriam was standing next to him.
"H-Helga...?" he asked, trying to avoid making eye contact with her. "Can we talk to you for a minute?"
"What is it, Bob? Phoebe's missing, I need to go find her."
"O-oh, okay. We can talk to you later." They stood aside and Helga threw the door open, nearly tripping over the threshold in her haste.
And she returned home at 3:00, defeated. Phoebe wasn't at the park, she wasn't at school, she was nowhere to be found. Helga was still worried, but she knew Phoebe was a big girl. She could take care of herself.
But what if there was something seriously wrong with her? She didn't normally act this way.
...
Seven o' clock. Go time.
She checked her face again. She was glad to see that she still had one, under all the makeup she'd put on. Actually, though, she had used relatively little, compared to a lot of girls. She wanted Arnold to see her the way she really looked. In all honesty, she would've prefered to go without makeup, but she didn't want to be talked about.
She had finally decided to leave her hair down. She'd probably regret this decision later, but it was a decision that needed to be made. Just as she was about to spaz and redo it, she heard a knock at the front door.
Her mother opened it, apparently, as she was the one who came upstairs to tell her. "He's here, Sweety," she said, then shut the door again.
She wondered if it would be good etiquette to keep him waiting for a few minutes. That was the common practice, wasn't it? Nah, she decided it was best to be herself. Even if she wasn't the greatest thing on two legs.
Remembering her practice runs, she made her way slowly and (somewhat) gracefully down the stairs. Arnold was waiting at the bottom, smiling, though a little nervously. He looked great; she'd never seen anyone look better. She returned his smile and slapped him lightly on the shoulder.
"Wow," she said, winking. He just laughed nervously, then said, "Wow yourself."
Bob and Miriam were nowhere to be found, so she and he simply left, shutting the door silently behind them. Gerald and Alison were waiting in the car. Alison was in the front seat, which left Arnold and Helga the back. He opened the door for her, awkwardly, then sat next to her.
"'Bout time. So, Erickson's, then?"
"Yeah, that's the plan. And I've got enough money for both of us, Helga. Grandpa gave it to me. Thanks anyway, though."
She smiled. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure. ... Besides, I'd be a pretty lame date if I made you pay for me."
"I wouldn't think so..."
A look crossed his face, ever-so-briefly... he looked... happy? Flattered? She couldn't tell. Maybe it was her imagination.
"Alright, if you two love-birds are done making googly-eyes back there, we're here."
Arnold jokingly slapped Gerald on the back of the head, then climbed out, helping Helga to her feet as he did.
"See, Arnold knows how to treat a lady," Alison said, as she stood to her feet and shut her door.
"Aw, come on, Alison! I was on my way over there to open the door!"
"Mmhmm. Anyway, so we'll see you guys after dinner then. By eight-thirty, right?" Alison asked, grabbing Gerald's wrist and checking his watch.
"Yep. See you guys then, I guess," Arnold said, nervously. Perfect: she thought she'd have to share the conversation with the other two, but now she had him all to herself. This was going to be good. She hoped.
The food was ordered, and the entrees had arrived. Helga reached over and grabbed one of his shrimp. "Yeah, looks like they gave you too many. I'll help you out."
He laughed, playfully smacking her hand. "Shame."
She joined him laughing, then sighed.
"What?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing," she answered, smiling. He smiled back at her. Just then, a thought crept up on her, overtaking her just as she was about to sip her soup. "Say, Arnold, can I ask you something?"
He smiled. "Yeah, what's up?"
"Did you... Are you only going with me... to get back at Phoebe? I mean, I'm not doubting your honesty or anything, I just want to make sure. It's... it's okay if you are. I'm just happy to be going..." She wanted to say 'with you' but she couldn't get the words out.
He shrugged. "We broke up six months ago. It's time to move on, you know? She wasn't the one for me. I'm not bitter at her or anything. Angry, maybe, but not bitter."
"I don't know if I see a difference," she said slowly, realizing she herself couldn't tell if she was angry or bitter.
He picked at his shrimp a moment, then licked his lips. "I don't know... I guess I mean... that, like, I'm not thinking about her all the time, thinking about how much she hurt me. Sure, things pop up from time to time, but... I don't blame her. I understand now where she was coming from. I don't think it excuses it, but I'm not so hurt now that I know the truth."
Helga nodded. "I guess I understand what you mean. ... I mean, I'm pretty angry at her right now... for obvious reasons... but... I mean, even knowing that she gave you up, for me, helps. It shows that, really, she is my friend. I don't think anyone else would do something like that for me. At least, no one else ever has.
"And she tried so hard to stop me from knowing. At least she was concerned about my feelings. She was just following her own, too. I'm sorry, Arnold. I mean, it's my fault that you broke up. It's my fault that things didn't work out."
He was silent, turning this idea over in his mind. Was it her fault?
"Look, Helga," he said after a moment, "I don't blame you. You didn't know what was going on. If she really loved me, she wouldn't have had a problem telling you. She would've told the world. I broke up with her because... I felt like she was embarrassed to be seen around me. I know that isn't true, now, but still, if she really loved me...she would've told you."
She nearly confessed that Phoebe did, indeed, really love him. She nearly told him about "Jeremy," and about the way she would talk about "him." But, selfishness taking control, she decided that, after all, loose lips sink ships.
"Well, anyway, I'm glad we're here now," she said, trying not to sound too bubbly. "This may not mean much to you, but this is a dream come true for me."
He raised his eyebrows, surprised, then smiled. "That does mean a lot to me. Thank you."
She looked down at her plate, embarrassed. "Hey, Helga? Your face is red... did you... um, want something to wipe that off with?"
It was a lame joke, but it was just what she needed to lighten the mood again. She laughed, then threw her (clean) napkin at him.
"You're mean. And give me back my napkin."
...
It was noisy, but that, she supposed, was what dances were supposed to be like. The music was blaring, and none of it was any good. She commented about the choice in music, and Arnold said that everyone had overruled his sensible music choices. She laughed, then followed him into the gym.
After awhile, Helga was simply to antsy to stand around. Boldly, she grabbed Arnold's hand. "Let's dance."
It was a slow song. This was going way to fast for him. He'd hoped they could, at least, jump around to some of the crazy hip hop first. Not that he particularly liked hip hop, but he prefered anything to the idea of slow songs.
And it wasn't that he had anything against Helga, either. He just had a definite, real fear of slow dances. It was crazy, and unfounded, he knew, but it was real nonetheless.
However, he allowed himself to be dragged out, and awkwardly placed his hands around Helga's waist. She didn't seem to notice his goofy movements, as she was making plenty of her own.
Finally, however, they got situated, and she held him close, unwilling to ever let him go again.
But let him go she did, as she fell to the floor, in unimaginable pain. It took a minute for anyone other than Arnold to notice, and then screams began ringing out throughout the entire gymnasium. The music screeched to a stop, and security was hurrying to the center of it all.
There, in Helga's back, was planted a knife, it's shiny surface reflecting the redness of Helga's blood. And standing there, her eyes closed, was the backstabber. Or maybe, the backstabbed.
