A/N: Um, not much to say. So, here's chapter three. It's a bit longer, so enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold.
Where to Begin
Chapter 3 – The Nightmare Begins
Helga collapsed on her bed, exhausted from the day's events. Practice had been especially tough since it was defense and she had to run thirty laps on the track above the gym because she was late, one for every minute she was late. Actually, she had to sprint. Her legs killed. Defensive drills and thirty laps (which was about two and a half miles) was a lethal combination, and to top the day off, she was in that stupid contest. She picked up the phone and dialed Arnold's number.
"Hello?" he said, picking up the phone after the second ring.
"Hey, it's Helga. How was your day off?"
"Awful. I spent most of it lying in bed with a headache. And there is nothing on television after school."
"That sucks."
"Yeah, I guess. So, how are you feeling?"
She paused. Thankfully one good thing about having to run until you nearly collapse is that it takes your mind off of other things. She had not really thought about the pageant since the meeting with Ms. Stanely. "I don't really know, to be honest. I haven't had a chance to think about it."
"Because of practice? How did that go?"
"Ugh. We had defensive drills today. And because I was late I had to run thirty laps. I nearly threw up twice."
He laughed. "That's the best news I have heard all day."
"Arnold!"
"I didn't mean it like that! I mean, that reminds me that I got a day off from that sort of torture."
"Yeah, yeah, rub it in."
Arnold laughed a little. "Are you sure you are going to be okay?"
"Yeah. I have been through worse practices before. I'll be able to walk in a day or two."
"That's not what I meant."
"Arnold, give me some credit. I've been in worse situations before and lived to tell the boring tales. I'll manage to survive. The real question is, will any of those bimbos manage to survive?"
"What does that mean?"
"It means if they drive me insane, which they will, I might kill one of them. Namely Miss Perfect. Hopefully she's got enough sense to stay away from me." She stopped. "My God, Arnold, there's going to be eighteen more just like her!"
"Well, if worst comes to worst, murder could a thing or two for your image. You haven't shaken that up for a while now."
Helga laughed. "Thanks, Arnold. I can see it now. My press statement as they are hauling me off will be, 'Well, my best friend Arnold told me it would be good for my reputation.'"
Arnold smiled. He had a feeling Helga was going to be all right, that is, as long as she had someone else around. "What time do we have to go to that thing, anyways?" The two had to go to a meeting at the Omni Theater to discuss the pageant and meet the other contestants and tech crew members.
"We have to be at the theater at six-thirty. I'll drive us there."
"Great. I can barely wait."
She laughed. "See ya tomorrow, Football Head."
He rolled his eyes. "'Night, Helga."
She sighed as she clicked the phone off. The winner of the Miss Hillwood Pageant received a $10,000 scholarship, which could be used every year for up to six years. It money she needed since she wanted to be free of Bob and Miriam once she graduated, physically, emotionally, and financially; thus she was determined to pay for college on her own. If she had to though to Hell (or in her case, a beauty pageant, laughingly called a display of academic achievement) then so be it.
The pageant, she supposed, was not that embarrassing. It was one of Hillwood's major events and was very popular. It consisted of an interview, talent competition, and, of course, a final question that was usually answered with something relating to world peace. Basically nothing too challenging, but it was in a month and that was not a lot of time. The interview and the final question she could handle (if she got there, it was only for the top three people) she could handle, but what was she supposed to do for her talent, juggle basketballs?
Helga pulled her comforter over her head. Maybe the answer will come in a dream, she thought. At least Arnold will be helping me out. Helga smiled. Though she stopped had loving Arnold as more then a friend in seventh grade, he was still her best friend and a big part of her life. Yes, with Arnold near her, things would be okay.
¤ ~ ¤ ~ ¤
"Hey Arnold! Hey Arnold! Hey Arnold! Hey— "
Arnold unplugged his alarm clock, smiling at the thought that at sixteen he still used his potato-powered alarm clock (though the potato had been changed a few times over the years). It gave him a feeling of security, that no matter what, some things remain the same. "Morning, Mom. Morning, Dad," he said to the photograph of his mom, his dad, and himself at age one as he got out of bed like he did every morning, a tradition he started in seventh grade after his parents long-time friend, Eduardo, returned from San Lorenzo and ended his hopes of ever seeing his parents again. Eduardo confirmed that Arnold's parents died when their plane crashed during a freak storm on their return flight, and that they received a great burial in thanks for all their help and their sacrifice. Though he was devastated, Arnold found some comfort in finally knowing the truth about his parents and no longer having to live on a false hope. Though he had been able to move on (at least as much as you can move on), he felt closer to his parents when he greeted them every morning and when he bid them goodnight.
Arnold groaned as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was not looking forward to school. By now most people would know he was involved in the pageant, and he did not want to think about that they would say to him, especially his teammates. The phone rang as he finished brushing his teeth, and Arnold only needed one guess to answer who was on the phone. He swallowed hard before he picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Arnold? Man, what the hell were you thinking getting mixed up in a thing like this? Do you know what people will say?"
Arnold sighed. He knew exactly what people would say. Sports and theater (he supposed this was a type of theater) didn't exactly go together at West Hillwood High. Jocks normally avoided the theater students (or was it vice versa?). Basically, the two did not mix. Separately they were fine, but when mixed can sometimes cause other people to doubt one's sexuality, and Arnold was not in the mood to deal with teammates who thought he was gay (not that there's anything wrong with that. . .). "Look, Gerald, I didn't have a choice. Well, I might have been able to get out of it, but Helga said she needed me for support and to help her maintain her sanity."
"The things you do for that girl," Gerald mumbled.
"Yeah, well, I know what they will say. I'll just rationally explain—"
"Rationally explain? The kids at our school don't think rationally and don't try to understand anything that even borders it."
"What do you suggest I do then?
"I dunno."
"My point exactly." Arnold sighed. "I know it's lame, but it is my only option," Arnold glanced at his clock. He was running late. "I got to go, Gerald. Meet me at my locker."
"Right. Good luck, man."
"Thanks," Arnold said, hanging up the phone. It was going to be a long day.
¤ ~ ¤ ~ ¤
"Arnold, you have got to be the luckiest mother-fucker in this whole school."
A surprised Arnold pulled his head out from his locker and looked at Matt Gordon, an enormous senior wrestler who liked to add a random form of fuck into every sentence. "What?"
"Arnold, you are fucking clueless, I fucking swear. You get to hang out with not only mother-fucking hot girls, but mother-fucking hot girls with emotional issues."
"Gordon, this isn't a normal beauty pageant. These girls excel in academics.
"So they're fucking ugly?"
Arnold was barely able to subdue the urge to shut his head in his locker door. "No, they just aren't as insecure. At least not how you want them to be."
"Oh. That fucking sucks," he said. Arnold looked for an out. Gerald had left mid-way through the conversation to talk to Phoebe. "At least you get to hang out with Lila Sawyer. Man, that chick will sleep with anybody."
"I don't usually like to hang around girls like Lila," Arnold said, desperately trying to block out reminders of the year before. "I usually like to make it a little challenging, you know?" he said in an attempt to change the subject.
"Yeah, I guess. I mean, who hasn't fucked her?" Arnold said nothing, and Gordon continued on. "But you hang out with that Helga chick. She's in it, right? Man, that bitch is fucking hot."
This one statement sent half a dozen thoughts through Arnold's head in about two seconds: 1) Helga was right, cursing every other word made you sound common. 2) Gordon's a major pig. 3) How dare he talk about Helga like that? 4) He needed to find Helga. 5) Where was Helga? 6) Why did Gordon's comment about Helga make him, a normally calm and easygoing person, want to beat the crap out of him? Yes, it should bother him, because Helga was his best friend, but was it supposed to make him nearly lose all rational thought and want to beat up a kid that was twice his size? Whatever it was, he had to get away and fast. "I have to go," he said, slamming his locker shut, which narrowly missed Gordon's hand. "Watch it, you asshole!" he called after Arnold, who ignored it and searched for Helga.
"Oof," Arnold muttered as he ran into someone as he turned the corner on his way towards the main doors to look for Helga, knocking him on the ground. "Where's the fire, Football Head?" Helga asked as she helped him up. "Please tell me there is a fire. I could use an excuse to get out of here."
Arnold smiled at the tall blonde in front of him. Helga was completely predictable, no matter how hard she tried not to be. "Sorry, you're stuck. No fire."
"Damn," she whispered. She looked disappointed and sadness filled her dark brown eyes. He watched her as they walked to their first class. "Helga, why don't you want to be in the this? I mean, I know you don't like the whole pageant idea, but it is still an honor to be in it. Why do you hate it so much?"
Helga looked up at him and sighed. She pulled her agenda book out of her bag and pulled out a piece of paper. "This is what Bob gave me this morning when I told him the news," she said as she handed him the paper. Arnold looked at it. The paper was a photocopy of a newspaper article from twelve years ago. The headline read, "Pataki Triumphs Again," and the sub headline said, "West Hillwood High junior wins Miss Hillwood pageant by widest margin ever." A large picture of the elder Pataki daughter was featured with the article. "Olga won it by that much?"
"Yep."
"Your dad has copies of his lying around?"
"Of course. He enlarged and framed the original."
"So this is why? Because Olga won it?"
"Yeah, pretty much. I've hated that thing ever since she won it. That and the usual women shouldn't be put on display like that sort of thing, but this pageant doesn't have a swimsuit competition, so it doesn't bother me as much." She took the paper from Arnold and stared at it. "It's just like that stupid spelling bee," she said, causing Arnold to blush slightly, "and other stupid things like that. I have to win it because Olga won it. They're probably planning a way to use this to sell beepers as we speak." She opened the door to their U.S. history class and sat down in her seat. Arnold followed in suit, seating in his seat beside hers near the back. "Arnold, they are expecting me to win. But in reality, even that's not enough. To be noticed, I have to top Olga, which means I have to win by a margin even larger than hers," she finished.
Arnold noticed that the paper was becoming wrinkled from Helga's tightening grip. "Helga, I though you said were done trying to impress them, that you were going to live for yourself and yourself only."
She squirmed in her seat. "Yeah, but," she sighed. "I guess a part of me still hasn't gotten that memo."
Arnold eyed her carefully, trying to completely absorb everything she was saying and doing. Helga still did not open up that often or easily about these things. "Helga, don't worry about them. Just do it for yourself. Don't tell me you don't want that scholarship money."
"Arnold, it's not that easy. I can't just ignore them."
"Sure you can. You ignore what I say a lot, just pretend they're me."
She smiled slightly. "I don't think I can do that."
"Why not?"
"Because for some odd reason, I actually sort of like you."
"Sort of?" he cried, pretending to be hurt. "Is that all I mean to you?"
"What? Oh, you thought that I really liked you? Sorry, bucko, but it was all an act," she said, laughing. "Thanks, Arnold. I appreciate it."
"That's what I am here for."
She smiled. "What would I do without you?"
"That's something I don't really like to think about. The things I imagine you would do are too violent and frightening."
"Shut up," she said as their teacher walked in. Mr. Phegley reminded Arnold of Mr. Potato Head. He had a large, round body, big feet, skinny little arms, large beady eyes, and he was balding. The man was in his early fifties and was extremely boring, though once in a blue moon he stumbled upon something interesting. Arnold listened as Mr. Phegley blandly lectured about something in the Civil War. After fifteen minutes, Arnold gave up on taking notes and began to daydream about the Concordia game again, and he smiled as he again made the buzzer-beating shot.
¤ ~ ¤ ~ ¤
"So, Helga, are you feeling more comfortable about being in the pageant?" Phoebe asked during their French III class. They were working on worksheets, or they were supposed to be, but the two girls had finished long before the rest of their classmates, most of whom had stopped working to talk to each other. "I guess. The only reason I am doing it is for the money."
A loud scoff was uttered from behind Helga. She turned and was only mildly surprised to discover that Lila and her friend Jana had been eavesdropping on her and Phoebe. "Is there something you want to say to me, or do you always listen to other people's conversations and then act like they are beneath you?"
Lila wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I think its wrong to be in the pageant just for the money," she said in a haughty voice. It was Helga's turned to scoff. "Like you are doing this because you care about representing our school. And besides, I am not choosing to be in it, I was forced into it."
Lila glared at Helga. "Well, you shouldn't really worry about it, because I am going to win, and even if for some crazy reason I don't, you still won't get the scholarship. Face it, Helga. It will be a cold day in Hell before you win.
"According to Dante, Hell is cold," Helga retorted. She eyed Lila carefully. "Why do you even want the scholarship? Your daddy and step-mommy can easily pay for your school no matter where you go."
Lila smirked. "I never turned down money when it is just handed to me, and this is practically is. And besides, my parents can give me the extra $10,000 they save each year for clothes, vacations, and other various things."
"Do you ever stop thinking so selfishly?"
Lila sneered. "You're not exactly dirt poor either."
"I have my reasons for needing the money," Helga said coldy.
"And I have mine." The two girls continued to glare at each other, and then Lila turned away and began talking about a new purse she had just bought ("Real Italian leather, the very best,").
Phoebe, who had been listening to the argument silently, finally spoke, choosing her words carefully so Helga would calm down and refrain from snapping at her. "Are you ready for your game against Lincoln High School on Friday?" she asked cautiously.
"Ugh," Helga muttered, running her hands through her blonde hair, a sign she was frustrated. "Lincoln is the worst team we play, but coach is acting like we are playing East Hillwood." East Hillwood was West Hillwood's biggest rival in all sports. "Are you coming?" she asked.
"I wouldn't miss it, Helga," Phoebe said, causing Helga to beam slightly. Phoebe usually made it to every game to support her best friend. "Gerald's taking me, and Arnold's coming with us." Helga beamed even brighter. She loved it when her friends were at her games supporting her. It made her play better. "Thanks, Pheebs," she said. Now she just had to find a way to make it through the week.
¤ ~ ¤ ~ ¤
Helga finished towel drying her hair. She had just taken a quick shower after her practice and had thrown on a pair of sweats and a Washington University hooded sweatshirt. Content with her reflection in the mirror, she shoved her stuff into her practice bag and left her locker room to go meet Arnold at his. She glanced at her watch. It was already 6:15. "Shit," she muttered as she jogged across the gym. She was about to bang on the boy's locker room door when it suddenly opened, and she barely stopped herself from pounding the exiting boy in the chin. "Geez, Pataki, a little late to be looking for people to beat up, don't you think?"
Helga was momentarily speechless. Jake Richardson, the very attractive senior who was also the starting shooting guard for the varsity team, was grinning at her. She quickly recovered. "I always say there is no time like the present."
He laughed. "I agree. What are you doing over here?"
"Waiting for Arnold." He looked at her questioningly, so she continued. "He got roped into helping out with the pageant so I am driving him over to the theater," she said, trying not to sound like a dork.
Jake nodded and yelled into the locker room, "Hey Arnold! Helga's waiting." He smiled at her. "You know, Helga, I'm kind of jealous of Arnold."
"Why?" she asked darkly. She waited for an answer that was along the lines of, "Because he gets to be surrounded by beautiful women." His smile widened. "Because he gets to work with you."
At that precise moment, Arnold opened the door and found an astounded Helga standing opposite Jake with her mouth hanging open. What the heck? he thought as Jake began to leave. "Bye, Helga. Don't beat too many girls up, though most of them probably need it. Later, Arnold."
"Bye, Jake," Helga said breathlessly. Arnold was floored. He had never seen Helga act like that. It did not seem right. Arnold smiled as an idea replaced the disturbing thought in his head. "Bye, Jake," he said in a high, breathy voice, and he batted his eyes for extra effect. Helga turned to him with her mouth still open, but for a different reason this time. He grinned. "Hey, Helga, can you either shut your mouth or find some Listerine, please?" Her eyes narrowed and she swung her bag at him, hitting Arnold him hard in the shoulder. "Hey!" he cried.
"Hurry up," she snapped as she walked towards the exit. "We're already late."
"Well, maybe we would be on time if you weren't making googlely eyes at Richardson."
She spun around, her dark eyes mere slits. "Do you want to be able to play in the Concordia game, or do you want to be beaten to a bloody pulp by a girl?" she threatened. She clinched her left fist tightly, then continued to the door. She turned to him again. "Googlely eyes?"
Arnold shrugged. "I didn't know what other word to use. I don't look at people like that too often."
She glared at him again and growled. Arnold smiled. Helga was back to normal. He left her alone as they walked to her car.
Arnold threw his bags into the back of Helga's Honda Accord, which she had bought last summer after she won two poetry contests in Teen Scene and Ab Fab (short for Absolutely Fabulous) magazines, and climbed into the passenger's side. Helga turned the car on, and Linkin Park immediately blared out of the stereo system. "Do you have to listen to it so loud?" he asked as he reached for the volume knob.
"Touch me radio and die, Football Head," she growled as the sped towards the theater. Arnold decided to remain silent the rest of the way. Helga was just one more comment away from completely snapping, and it was hard telling what she would do if that happened.
They arrived at the Omni five minutes late. Helga walked like a madman towards the entrance, and Arnold found it difficult to keep up. Helga pulled the doors and marched up to the office area, Arnold right behind her, breathing heavy.
"Miss Hillwood pageant?" the lady at the desk asked.
"Yes," they said simultaneously.
"They're in the theater," she replied with too much perkiness for Helga's mood. She pulled the large double doors open and entered the theater. Helga glared as she looked around, receiving equally unwelcoming stares from the other girls who were waiting at the back. She was well aware that she looked disgusting to them, but what did they expect after a two and a half hour practice? The nineteen other girls were from various schools throughout the city. About fifteen were looking at her as if she was the scum of the earth, two were so caught up in their own problems they ignored her (one was crying while the other was trying to console her. Helga guessed boy trouble), one was putting on her makeup, and the last girl was reading. Helga groaned. What had she done to deserve such a cruel and unusual punishment? Arnold, who was standing beside her, looked the way she felt. However, the girls were looking at him with interest, not as if he should be banished from their presence because her hair was not bouncy enough. Helga's scowl deepened, and the headache between her eyes worsened.
"So this is who we will be dealing with for the next couple of weeks, huh?" he said, making a pathetic attempt at conversation. The two were close friends, but not even being with her best friend could make the next couple of weeks seem bearable. Helga nodded. "Yeah, 'cept you also got your own little crowd." She pointed towards the front section of seats. Fourteen kids were sitting there, most looking like prima donnas. Arnold groaned. Ms. Stanely had nominated him to be crew chief, which meant he had the happy task of telling the wannabes what to do. "Great," Arnold mumbled as Ms. Stanely walked up to them. "Good, you're here," she said, leading him towards the stage. "Helga, you better join the others," she said to Helga as if she was talking to a two year-old. Helga promptly flipped her off when she turned around. She did wave at Arnold, who waved back as he was lead into Hell. Or maybe it was just Purgatory, since it would not last for all eternity. She stopped him in front of the group, against the wall between the pit and the seats. Fourteen pairs of eyes stared at him, none of which were welcoming.
"Can we start now?" said a boy who was dressed in all black and was wearing black sunglasses.
"Oh, yes. Everyone, this is Arnold, from West Hillwood High, and he will be your crew chief. How about everyone say his or her name and their school so we can all get to know each other.
The first boy was dressed in a tie and khakis. "Louis, Concordia High School."
The next girl was blonde and very enthusiastic. "My name is Genevieve, and I am from Jefferson High School, home of the Raiders!" The girl beside her shot a dirty look at Genevieve. "Nadia, New Prairie High School," the girl said.
The boy in black took off his sunglasses. "Julian, East Hillwood High."
"Mara, St. Vincent High School."
"Taryn, Arlington High School."
"Adam, Carter High School."
"Allison, Marion Central."
"Adam, Homestead."
"Chloe, Bishop Chatard."
"Luke, Marion South."
"Reese, Franklin High School."
The last girl had actually been painting her nails. "Oh, sorry. Kathryn, St. James High School." The boy beside her rolled his eyes, and she glared back at him. He sighed. "Ryne, Marietta High School."
"Good, good, very good," Ms. Stanely said as she crossed names off her list. She paused and put a hand to her mouth. "Oh dear, we're missing one."
"No, I'm here!" A boy was running towards them, dressed in a cut-off shirt, basketball shorts, and flip-flops. "Sorry, practice ran late," he said, stopping beside Arnold.
Taryn wrinkled her nose. "Did you shower? Or even change?" she asked in a snotty voice that reminded Arnold of Lila. Like I need that now, he thought.
"Hey, you are lucky I put on some deodorant before I left," he said, glaring at the girl.
"Now, now, let's not fight," Ms. Stanely said. Nearly everyone rolled his or her eyes. "What's your name, son?" she asked the boy.
"Josh Whitman. I'm from Reagan High."
"Good, good. That's everybody then. Again, Arnold is your crew chief." She placed her hands on Arnold's shoulders, causing the boy to cringe. "But that doesn't mean he will be doing all the work." She smiled and continued in her kindergarten school teacher voice, "Now, the tech crew from the theater won't be working with you until nest week, so just brainstorm today about what you want the stage to look like, lighting, things like that."
"Excuse me, excuse me," Kathryn interrupted.
"Do we get paid for this?"
"Well, actually you are volunteering, honey. So you can put on college applications and such."
"Oh."
"Well, I think that is about it. I'll see you all later." She left, and instantly the group began to make fun of her. Arnold swallowed hard. "Well, I guess we should start just throwing out ideas."
"I can write them down," said Chloe, a small girl with mousy brown hair. She gave him a small smile as she pulled out a pad of paper.
"Well, I was thinking that we could do something like Paris. You know, very romantic with an Eiffel Tower Backdrop," Genevieve said, her enthusiasm causing her to speak very quickly and very loudly.
"Wow, Genevieve, that's a really great idea," Kathryn said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But how 'bout we try something that is a little bit creative and hasn't been done to death?" Genevieve looked away. "Well, I don't see anyone else coming up with any ideas."
"You were the first person to say anything! Of course no one else had said any ideas!" shouted Julian. The rest got into the argument. Someone would pitch an idea, and five others would criticize it. Poor Chloe was stick trying to copy everything down. "Some crew, huh?" Josh asked Arnold.
"Yeah. The next couple of weeks are going to be a blast."
"I was going more towards a riot, but whatever." He smiled at Arnold. "So, chief, what is your next course of action?"
"Please don't call me that. I didn't even want to do this."
"Really? Well, you are the man with the plan, brother man. What's next?"
Arnold looked at the boy. "Did you just say 'brother man'?" Josh was white, so it seemed very geeky.
"Yeah. Why?"
"No reason."
"Anything you want me to do, oh great and powerful leader?"
Arnold grinned. "I do have power, right?"
"That's what the crazy lady said, basically."
"Great. I am naming you my co crew chief."
Josh's face broke out into a large smile. "I don't know if you are sharing the power or giving me a taste of my own medicine," You forgot wanted to get rid of all this responsibility, Arnold thought. "But it's cool. You're all right. Most of these guys would be completely power hungry. But you share the love. You're all right."
Arnold's grin grew. Maybe Josh was a bit dorky, but he was too, and it was nice to have someone in his corner. Maybe he could survive this after all.
¤ ~ ¤ ~ ¤
Helga was desperately fighting the urge to tell everyone to get a life and go home. She sighed. Stephen Soares, president of the Marion County Scholarship Foundation, and Marianna Chadwick, president of the Hillwood Women's Club, the two groups who were the main sponsors of the pageant, had been explaining the pageant and what was expected of the contestants. Apparently she not only had to be in the actual pageant, but she had to attend a brunch with all the sponsors, the preliminary judging, where the judges evaluated the girls by their interview and talent and then chose the top five contestants, who would to it all over again during the pageant, and attend an awards banquet where the girls would be presented with their scholarships and awards. Furthermore, the contestants had to perform two dance numbers during the pageant. Great, Helga thought, another chance for me to make a fool of myself. The upside of if she did not make it in the top five was that she would only have to perform in the pageant; she would no longer be a contestant.
"You will not have to pay anything. All the dresses are being provided by Hillwood's top designers," Ms. Chadwick said. Most of the girls squealed. The girl who was sitting beside Helga merely turned a page in her book. Ms. Chadwick continued. "You will have training sessions with expert trainers who have done numerous pageants, and your dance numbers will be choreographed by professionals. We will also have hair stylist and makeup artists if you choose to use them while you are in the pageant." She paused for dramatic effect. "Girls, this is an opportunity of a lifetime and it is a honor to be a part of it, no matter how far you go in it." Most of the girls applauded loudly. Helga clapped politely, and the book girl did the same. "That's all for now. We would like you to come here again tomorrow, same time, and we will start training. Now if you have any questions, please come ask Mr. Soares or me now." All of the girls except book girl and Helga ran up to Soares and Chadwick. "Some shindig they're planning, huh?" she said to the girl.
"Yeah, great," she said. "You would think people as rich as our wonderful sponsors would have bought a clue by now and realized that there are better ways to give out scholarships, especially since this is supposed to be for girls who have excelled academically. And, I guess, have been involved a lot with their school and the community, but I still think this is completely ridiculous."
Helga smiled. "I couldn't agree with you more. Helga G. Pataki, West Hillwood High."
The girl returned the smile. "Callista Hayeworth, St. James High School. Don't ever call me Callista, and we will get along fine. I go by Callie."
"What are you reading?"
"The Catcher in the Rye. It's my third time through it. I love how Holden talks about all the phonies. I feel like him at the moment."
Helga nodded. "I always liked that book. I could relate to him. I am surrounded by phonies at West Hillwood." She grimaced. "One of the biggest is right over there," she said, pointing to Lila.
"Yeah, the princess goes to your school, doesn't she? I can't believe she's in this. But I guess that her stepmom had a lot to do with that. She's a member of the Hillwood Women's Club."
"You know Lila?"
"Yeah, unfortunately." She glared at Lila. "I met her at a party over the summer. She was all over my boyfriend. Well, she tried to be, at least. He shoved her away and humiliated her in front of everyone." Callie laughed. "She hasn't been to any parties thrown by someone from St. James ever since."
"Sounds like he's a keeper."
Callie laughed again. "Yeah, he was really sweet, but he was dumber then a box of rocks. I felt bad when I broke up with him, but I wanted to date someone who knew a little bit more then his name."
"I understand completely." Helga was grinning from ear to ear. She had actually found a girl here who hated the pageant, hated Lila, liked politics, and liked The Catcher in the Rye. "Callie, I think you have become my single favorite person here."
She smiled at Helga. "Well, if that is the case, I think we are going to get along just fine, Helga." She and Helga then began to make fun of the other girls. Maybe this won't be some bad after all, Helga thought.
A/N: Wow. That really was a long chapter (for me, at least), and my brain and fingers hurt. Hopefully I will have the next chapter up soon, but I will probably take a little break. Later Days.