A/N: Ok, people. I have always been extremely wary of song fic, though I'm not certain why. But it struck me as I was listening to the Dance With Me soundtrack that an interesting one-shot story could be derived from the Machalena track. I'm not sure that you can actually call this a song fic, because there are no words that need typed to make the story flow along like the stories I've read that were written in tune to Butterfly Kisses. This is just some awesome music that, when heard in ones head while reading this, just really makes it a great story. So, if you've never heard the Machalena dance song, I suggest you download it or something and listen to it before reading this.

Spring Break:

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea, Phoebe." Helga said pensively as she followed her friend down the brightly lit hallway. Spring break, and the senior trip that it entailed, came upon the blond haired girl more swiftly than she'd expected. It was a long-standing tradition at Hillwood High School. Each year, the graduating students of said school went on a trip to some far-off destination that was almost always somewhere beyond the borders of the United States. Of course, an urban legend foretold of once trip that only went as far as Florida, and the dark happenings that ensued among the students rumored to be present on that trip.

That was just a legend, though.

Helga shuddered, wishing once again that she'd taken the offer previously made to her to move up a grade and graduate a year early. Last year the seniors went to France over spring break. Oh, how she'd kicked herself for not moving up and going with them. This year the seniors went to Guadalajara, Mexico. Of course, the country was beautiful, and upon arriving Helga was glad she'd decided to come. Her anger over missing out on France almost made her choose not to come, but Phoebe's insistence persuaded her.

Now it was her friend's persistence that was making her regret her decision.

"Trust me, Helga, everything will be just fine." Phoebe said reassuringly as she slipped a thin, crocheted poncho over her head, coving the thin shoulder straps of her dress. Both girls wore dress, not over fancy, but fit for a night on the town and, against Helga's better judgment, fit for dancing.

Helga didn't say anything more until they crossed the threshold of the hotel lobby and exited through the front door, joining the jumble of seniors standing on the sidewalk. Girls and guys alike jabbered on excitedly, dressed and in the mood for a night on the town. Helga stopped and took Phoebe by the arm.

"Phoebe, I don't want to do this-"

"Helga, just relax! You don't have to dance if you don't want to, but I refuse to let you sit in the hotel room by yourself-"

A low whistle interrupted the Asian girls speech, for Gerald and Curly had just walked up to them. It was the former who had given the complement.

"Man oh man, I don't think I've ever seen to better lookin' ladies!" He said with the suave bravado that was his trademark. To his credit, he complemented both girls, but it was Phoebe he was staring at. The shorter girl, in turn, only smiled. She had grown a little more personable through high school, and so was not immediately swept off her feet by the young mans comment. But when he took her hand and kissed it with all the air of a gentlemen they knew he wasn't, Phoebe couldn't stop the heat that rose to her cheeks.

Helga watched this exchange from her place beside Phoebe. Where once upon a time she would have made some cynical crack about Gerald's false bravado, she now said nothing. Somehow, through the course of the years, as Phoebe gained more backbone, Helga's decreased. She was not unable to fend for herself by any means, she was simply more mellow. She rarely threw punches or biting remarks anymore, and before she realized it she was not feared by half the student body. What really surprised her, though, was that she didn't mind this change in the least.

"You look great, Helga. I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress like that." Curly said casually as he stood before her, 6'3" and almost skinnier than Helga.

"That's because I've never worn a dress like this." It was a simple statement, not a sarcastic stone throw, and Curly read what she meant in an instant.

Somewhere along the line, though neither party could remember when, the two young people had become somewhat like buds. They'd even dated once, but immediately decided they liked each other better as friends.

"I dancing dress, you mean?" He asked, for that was indeed what the dress was. It was much the same as Phoebe's, with spaghetti straps and a full, wide skirt that barely reached her knees. It was the longest dress she could find when Phoebe insisted she buy one. It made her uncomfortable. She rarely wore shorts that went higher than her knees, especially during this time of year when she hadn't had a chance to get a decent tan. The nylons she wore helped, but did little to ease her mind. She thought they clashed horribly with her white arms and shoulders.

When she nodded to Curly's comment, he smiled reassuringly at her. "Don't worry about it, babe. You've got better legs than half the girls here."

Such comments were normal coming from Curly. They had yet to win him a steady girlfriend, but they usually made Helga smile.

And smile she did, but nothing more.

"What!" Helga said loudly to be heard over the loud music and boisterous crowd of the dance club. They'd found a small corner where they wouldn't be thrown into the crowd, but it didn't shelter them from the noise.

"I said I'm going to get a drink, do you want to come?"

"No thanks, I'll wait here."

Phoebe looked as though she wanted to protest, but didn't. She nodded and turned, elbowing her way through the crowd to the bar.

While she waited, Helga stood on the tips of her sandaled toes to watch the dancing and see if she could spot anybody she knew. Harold's huge from was instantly recognized, but she couldn't see who his partner was. Not only had the boy grown to be about 6'5, but he literally lost all of his baby fat, giving him a rather decent look. Not a football star like they'd all expected, but well-proportioned nonetheless. Helga assumed that is was Lila he danced with, for they'd been dating steadily for two years. Lila, unfortunately, had stopped growing in the fifth grade at a petite 5'3", just a quarter of an inch shorter than Phoebe.

Much to her own relief, Helga had made it to an even 5'9", not too short, but not too tall. Unable to make out any other familiar faces, Helga glanced over at the bar counter where she caught Phoebe waving to her. Without thinking, Helga plunged into the crowd and started in that direction, but it would prove to be her undoing.

One moment she was moving toward her friend, the next moment she'd been knocked into the rambunctious crowd. A slight wave of panic seized her when she almost lost her balance. The last thing she needed was to fall on her face and humiliate herself, as well as possibly get trampled upon. She wondered briefly how they all managed to dance in such closed quarters.

The back strap of her sandal was slipped loose and she tried to pull it back over her heel, half bending down and half standing on one foot. She slipped it into place just as she was jostled to one side, then backwards. The world spun for one horrible moment as she fell, her only thought being that she wished she were in France, when she was suddenly seized beneath the arms mid-fall.

For a split second, the room stood still before Helga realized that her body hadn't impacted the dirty dance floor. In an instant she was hoisted back onto her feet by an unknown outside force, a force that didn't let her right away but carefully turned her around, where she came face to face with Arnold Brody.

Though she couldn't hear him, she saw his mouth form a question: Are you alright?

She nodded, still a little dazed by the near fall.

Suddenly Arnold was jolted foreword, bumping into her just slightly as he took hold of her arms to steady them both.

"Sorry…" She faintly heard him say. He was looking around, presumably trying to find a path out of this mess, but all Helga could concentrate on was the fact that he was barely an inch away from her, and he still held her in a firm but gentle grip. A strange, husky smell seemed to wrap itself around her senses, and she was immediately returned to her childhood. How many times had she gotten close enough to smell that smell before she began to let this boy slip away from her poems and dreams? A sudden longing, buried long ago, flared up in her and rendered her speechless and tense. The smell of his body so close to hers was nearly overwhelming, and she knew that in a moment she might very well faint.

"Are you all right?"

She heard him ask, his voice raised but barely audible, and Helga realized that she'd been staring up at his face, drinking in the texture and shape that she'd long denied herself. His sea-green eyes stared back down at her from four inches higher than her head.

It was then that the song ended. Through the cheers and clapping of the crowd, another song began, and with it another round of dancing.

For a moment there seemed to be a question in Arnold's eyes, but he didn't voice it. Instead, he took one of Helga's hands in his and let the other hand rest on the small of her back. Her eyes widened slightly, but Arnold smiled confidently at her.

"Just follow my lead." He said, and her head nodded without her brain telling it to do so.

Arnold stepped back with one foot, and Helga's foot followed it, stepping foreword. When those feet were back in place, he lifted his other foot to move foreword, and Helga's foot went back, retreating from it. At first, this was done without Helga's knowledge, but the moment she realized she was dancing, her head bent and her eyes watched the pairs of feet intensely to be sure she didn't screw up. Here she was, in one of many dreams she'd flushed from her mind years ago of dancing with her childhood crush; the last thing she wanted to do was step on his toes.

But when a strong hand lifted her chin, her eyes met with his once more, and she knew she was lost.

"Try not to think so much." He said, though whether he was talking about the dance or something else, she didn't know. Just like her dreams, her feet magically did the moving on their own and she began to feel confident as they stepped back and forth to the music. After all, it was a simple step, right? But she felt her sandal strike the tip of something other than the floor, and she cringed. Arnold only smiled. Had he just pulled her a little closer?

Once again, her feet took over, and Helga surrendered to the dancing experience they seemed to have gained without her knowledge.

There is was again, Arnold pulled her a little closer. To anyone else, in any other situation, Helga would have been throwing a punch. Not to Arnold, though. Helga was doomed to discover that her affection for his boy-turned-man had never really faded, but perhaps had matured into a deeper, more understood attraction than that of her grade school days; one that had remained hidden until this moment.

Still locked eye-to-eye with him, Helga was sure that his eyes laughed in merriment, holding a sweet secret that yearned to be let out. In all her years, he'd never seen such a clear look in those eyes. But then, she hadn't looked into those eyes in a long, long time.

From somewhere nearby, Phoebe was watching her friend in shocked pleasure. She was so sure that Helga was over Arnold, and it was stunning to realize that maybe she didn't know her friend as well as she thought. Or perhaps Helga didn't know herself. Beside her, Gerald was grinning from ear to ear, much like an idiot. Only one word crossed his mind: Finally.