Ugh, I cannot tell you how happy I am now that I've finally finished this one. This has definitely been the hardest to keep focused on and I dunno if that's because I haven't stopped listening to folklore (10/10 btw, defs recommend :3) or it really is that bad, but yeah, definitely my least favourite. Still, two POV changes in this so yay!

Thanks to curiousitykills314, Darkeiko and PerfectlyStrange for favouriting and following this story! Welcome to the team!

Also, just found out that over 10k people have read this story! That's so awesome, ohmygawd!

"How about this one?"

"No, too bright."

"This?"

"Too tight."

"This?"

"Why would I want my tits out?"

"Because." was all Eugene said, pretty forcefully actually. His teeth were clenched tight and his face boiled over with red. Which looked ridiculous, considering how bright red his hair naturally was. It rose from his scalp in wild, scorching ringlets, only the air in here was so warm that it had a frizzier appearance than usual.

I could see the slight beads of sweat forming on his brown and cupid's bow, which he had wiped over several times already. I myself had pulled off my blazer and rolled up my sleeves to my elbows. My skin was sticky and wet, soaking the back of my neck, face and armpits. The fans above us worked as hard as they could, but the heat still clung to the brick walls in thick waves.

So, the look on Eugene's face was of pure vexation and exhaustion, but the kid was almost less than half my height, so I was unaffected by it.

"Nup. Next," I told him with a shrug.

He whirled around to clap the hangar back onto the rack then looked up to the roof and groaned. The sound was loud, reminiscent of a hurricane, and I felt myself flush. Which had become pretty normal, considering how hot it was in here, but for once, it was with mortification. The space in here was small, pressed tight together, and easily, I could sense when eyes snapped in our direction, flicking from me to Eugene. And because I stood almost a foot taller than Eugene, they mostly lingered on me.

"Why're you so—" Eugene cut himself off before he could finish and pinched the bridge of his nose. He lowered his face and shut his eyes, releasing a loud breath. I watched, mildly fascinated, as the red slowly drained from his face, leaving behind white, damp skin.

"I'm half tempted," he murmured, still with his eyes closed, "to let you go back in those jeans and hideous jacket."

I glared at him. "Oi, paws off the hoodie."

I waggled my finger at him and when Eugene opened his eyes, he merely sighed and muttered, "Wouldn't dream of anything else."

I didn't know how I should take that, but before I could say anything, he turned me in another direction and pulled out another cropped shirt. The redness came back when I rejected it, along with another dramatic groan.

Faces flickered back in our direction and I flushed again. The store wasn't large, so it was easy to recognise the noises were coming from us—well, Eugene, at least. The gazes, mostly belonging to middle aged women with their preteen daughters, were hard to ignore, even as I glued my attention to Eugene's back. The heat was obviously getting to him, the sweat that spread over his back were like dark wings, making his white shirt appear grey.

The redhead seemed oblivious to the attention we were getting—that, or he just didn't care—and waddled over the next rack of clothing.

The Groove and Go, which was the name of the shop we currently resided in, was a lot smaller than I'd assumed. It was wedged between two larger buildings, located in the heart of the city. The building was old, some of the pain had begun to peel and chip off, but the windows were clean and displayed colourful clothes that hung from the mannequins.

The inside was longer than it was wide; it was stacked back to front with dozens and dozens of racks. The rails were golden and spiralled out like curved branches, but they were practically invisible beneath the large amounts of hanging clothes. They were tightly squished together and you could barely even move the hangars, which Eugene had really been struggling with.

The air was so toasty in here and I rubbed my fingers against my wet neck. It was like August had exploded in here; the air in here was sweltering, like a summer breeze was pushing past, and though the fans were trying their hardest, all they did was push around the heat. The women that surrounded us fanned themselves with their hands and papers while their daughters abandoned their jackets, tying their sleeves around their waists, and shuffled around to ease their discomfort. Even the lady at the cash register, who looked close to passing out, had unbuttoned her shirt, revealing a skinny tank top beneath, and held a small, electric fan as she rung up people's orders.

And the butterscotch that hung above us only made it feel hotter. I shuffled my weight, unsure of how much longer of this I could take. I wasn't a fan of shopping to begin with, but this heat was making it unbearable. And it definitely was having an effect on Eugene, who's skin glistened like he was from a Twilight movie. It was obvious that he was more sensitive to the heat then I was, hence why he was getting snappier with me.

Or that's what I chose to believe, at least.

"I can't do this anymore!" he exclaimed after I'd rejected another radical ensemble. You see, Eugene's taste was a lot more, erm, let's say adventurous then I was comfortable with.

I could feel people turning to stare again and was about to tell him to hush up when he suddenly shoved something into his hands. "Go change."

My jaw dropped. "What, but I—"

"Go. Change."

Something zipped up my spine. The V between his eyebrows was deep, eyes shinning slightly darker with a grimace that honestly reminded me of Nel when she was yelling at me. I gulped and jerked my face into an obedient nod.

"Um, right," I said then spun around and ran straight into the closest changing rooms.

I shut the mahogany door with a loud thud! and slammed myself against the hard wood with a sigh. The silence rushed over me and I wrapped my fingers tight around the plastic hangar. The remnants of that folk–sounding song were muffled and barely reached past the thick walls.

My heartbeat pressed against the wall and I raised my eyes to the pastel walls surrounding me. A thin, rectangular mirror hung from across the room, but the light was unflattering and highlighted every flaw on my face.

I twisted my mouth to the side, feeling my stomach turn. It was disappointing, how I looked in the mirror, but not unexpected.

I glanced at the clothes Eugene had forced into my hands. The first thing I noticed was the blue—it was such a pop of colour. Looking at it, I felt like I'd been slapped with sapphires or doused with lake water.

It was a sweatshirt, one with baggy sleeves and a hoodie. Relieved, I sighed and felt the adrenaline leave my body. Honestly, I'd been expecting Eugene to pick something revealing out of revenge for pissing him off for so long. Or something that was wildly not my taste. Which, granted, this sweatshirt wouldn't have been my first pick, but purely for it's bold colouring more than anything. The leggings, on the other hand, were a little more frightening. They were just so tight and I had to quickly remind myself that I wasn't modelling them for the entire school or anything. It was just Eugene and, depending on how long this thing was going to last, the rest of the class.

Oh.

Right. I'd forgotten. This was all temporary. It wasn't actually like I was joining or anything. I still had my role as Blue Jay. Not only that, we still had to find our other members and fight Acantha.

I tried not to let it bother me. It's not like I would've been good at this anyway. I'd already screwed up today, why did it matter that I wouldn't be coming back?

There was a loud knock at the door.

"You better be trying them on!" came Eugene's angry voice.

I groaned, coming back to earth.

Right, right—I was still here, holding this ridiculous getup. I glanced at the clothes again, sighed, and dropped my school bag to my feet.

The air was warm in here but thankfully less than what it was out there. It wasn't sweltering and the sweat was soaking back into my skin. The skirt flopped around my feet and I shakily stepped out, unbuttoning the front of my shirt.

I kept my eyes down the entire time I changed, unable to meet my reflection. I started with the leggings first, ignoring how my heart pounded the entire time. They were difficult; the fabric kept clinging to me and I had to move into different poses to make sure the crotch was sitting where it should be, but the end result actually wasn't bad. The fabric wasn't restricting, but it definitely was sculpting.

There was a soft panic when I pulled on the sweatshirt, however. I hadn't realised until now but, while the sleeves were oversized, the actual shirt wasn't. As in, it was cropped. The hem barely skimmed my ribs and in turn, revealed a large patch of my stomach.

Eugene, you little rat—I was going to kill that boy. That was the conclusion I'd reached as I tried tugging the leggings higher than they would go. That I was gong to ring that little redhead's neck, fuck whatever truce we had going on.

And, as expected, the legging refused to move any higher so I was left with my stomach hanging out. I looked up with bared teeth, ready to swing around to the door to give him a piece of my mind, when my eyes caught onto my reflection.

I blinked.

I . . . didn't look bad. Like, at all.

The sleeves were large, ballooning around my arms and almost covering my hands, but the high cut of the hem emphasised the flatness of my stomach, which I hadn't noticed until now. It was definitely from the hours of fighting and even more hours spent training, but there was a firmness in my abdomen. And the leggings were sleek against my legs and—I gasped, turning around.

Jiminy cricket.

It actually gave me a butt.

I mean sure, it was small, but it was there.

I turned back around, the air nothing more than a wisp in my chest. It shouldn't have been that big of a deal, but the fact that this suited me, that I actually looked good for once, it made me feel . . .

I shook my head.

It didn't matter, I decided and spun around to open the door.

"Eugene, how abo—" I froze.

He wasn't alone.

Eugene looked up from his conversation with Chloe and when their eyes flashed in my direction, a shocked silence fell over them.

My temples pounded and the words curled up and died in my throat. I couldn't drag my eyes away from Chloe. Her eyes were wide, but not like Eugene's, more in a way that she just hadn't been expecting it—whatever it was.

The racks of clothing stuck out against her and Eugene, so the pair of them were pushed closer than either were comfortable with. Eugene seemed to curl up inside himself, not because he was shy, but so he could maintain some type of distance from her.

Chloe had one hand propped on her hip and the other around her large duffle bag. Her clothes were different from before; she wore a large sweatshirt, which she had rolled to her elbows, and a pair of baggy jeans. Not the type I preferred to hide away your shape, but the fashionable kind. The kind where the bagginess was intentional and somehow made to be flattering.

Her hair was long longer in a tight bun. Instead, her curls bounced around her face in small, brown corkscrews that each defied gravity. They were so thick and reminded me of caramel, fluffy clouds. But now that she had turned in my direction, I could see that the left side of her hair was slicked down against her scalp in tiny braids.

I glanced at Eugene, feeling slightly betrayed. It's not that I disliked Chloe or anything, but I thought it was just going to be us.

"Oh, hey Helga," she said, eyebrows raised. I balked, surprised she even knew my name, and she let out a low whistle. "Love the new outfit. Didn't know you had abs."

"I, uhh," I stuttered, feeling my face heat up. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a skittishness and couldn't locate my voice. Whether it was from what had happened last time I'd seen her or the intense wave of heat crashing over me, I didn't know. But either way, it delayed my brain a second too late and made me feel like even more of an idiot. "Thanks."

Eugene stepped forward with an impressed look.

"I didn't know you were in shape either," he noted, unable to look away from my stomach. "What's your workout plan?"

I was slightly peeved at him, so I crossed my arms and when he looked back at me, I sent him a dirty look.

He merely gave me a cheeky grin.

"Well, regardless, you're welcome," he said teasingly. "Turns out there's a colour that suits you and surprise, it's not black."

"Oh, buzz off."

Chloe suddenly dropped her bag gently to her feet and moved over it to get closer to me. Her skin wasn't damp like Eugene, who at this point resembled Niagara Falls, but a radiant sepia, like there was golden glow in her bones. She reached out for my hair and immediately, I slapped her hands away.

"Whoa, what're you doing?"

She didn't even bat an eye.

"Just shut up and let me fix you up," she said in a way that I felt like I had to obey her. I clamped my mouth shut and froze as Chloe reached for my ponytails. She was much taller than me so I had to tip my head back slightly to watch her.

Her eyes were hard, a frozen shade of rust, and she tangled her fingers in my hair to tug them free. I opened my mouth to object when I felt the strands tumble down my back but she shushed me, rustling them slightly before stepping backwards.

"That's better," she decided with a small nod. "Those kidding ponytails weren't suiting you."

Eugene poked his face around, grinning. "Oooh, yeah, I knew that something was off," he agreed, nodding frantically. "Now you actually look your age."

I frowned at that and looked over my shoulder at the mirror. I paused, shocked at the difference this new style seemed to have. My hair was tousled as it fell down my shoulders and back. The volume was thick, strands coming down in wavy rolls, having been teased by Chloe's fingers.

But Eugene was right—I actually looked older. I hadn't realised how many years those ponytails seemed to shave off my face. I guess it was inevitable since I'd been wearing them since preschool, but seeing my hair out while wearing clothes like that . . . it made me feel kinda hot.

"Oh," was all I said.

I was so overwhelmed with the glimmering whooshes of emotions sweeping through me. Any words of gratitude were jammed stuck in my throat. But when Chloe smiled over my shoulder, I turned back around. The corners of her mouth were quirked up in amusement as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"So, you're staying then?"

"Excuse me?" I said dumbly.

"Are you staying in the class?"

Suddenly, I couldn't look her in the eye.

"Erm, maybe," I murmured and glanced at my bare feet. It was still hard to convince myself that I wanted nothing to do with this dance thing. I hadn't danced in so long, even longer with people watching, and a part of me longed for that. To live a life that wasn't wracked with so much danger every passing second. To finally do something that I wanted. I could barely convince myself I didn't want that, doing so to others was becoming overwhelming.

Chloe made a soft noise and I looked back at her.

Her face was blank, but her eyes were firm as they scanned my face. Tiny beads of sweat were beginning to form over her forehead, but she paid it no mind and clucked her tongue.

"May I give you some advice if you decide to?" she asked. "You seem like you really care."

"Care?"

"Yes, about people," she nodded. "How they perceive you. Eugene was telling me about how you quit dancing because you wanted to be taken seriously."

She gestured at him and Eugene quickly looked away, feigning interest in a nearby cropped sweater. I wrapped my palms around my elbows, shifting my gaze away. I didn't know how I felt—it wasn't angry, but it was slightly hot. Like a fresh douse of shame was washing over me now that someone else knew. Someone as talented as Chloe. For all I knew, that probably had offended her since she seemed to love dancing so much.

"But if you keep doing that," she continued and when I looked back, her eyes were rich, stained with a newfound warmth. "This . . . quitting things you enjoy because you're worried about what everyone's gonna think when they see you, how are you ever going to find happiness? There's always going to be someone who disapproves of something you do. I can't tell you the amount of times someone's called me a slut or a whore for dancing how I do. But you know what I always say?"

Intrigued, I shook my head.

"Fuck them," she announced with such boldness that a middle aged woman looked over with disapproval. "Fuck everyone. Fuck everyone but me. I've only got one life and you can bet damn well I'm going to spend it doing what I want. I'm making up my own rules. Fuck what everyone else thinks. Their words only have power when you allow them power. Dancing isn't about looking nice—it's about letting go. It's about throwing yourself headfirst into music."

She paused, allowing her words to sink in, and stared at me. My skin prickled but I didn't allow myself to look away.

"You hesitate too much. You're aware of what everyone thinks, to the point that you're making it all up. You're too cautious, too worried of looking foolish," she said, then smiled. "You need to blast some music and just dance. Get comfortable with yourself. Throw yourself into whatever lyrics you can find and let your body take over. Stop hesitating."

I hadn't realised until now that she had moved forward until we were standing at an arm's length and I had to reel back my head to meet her gaze. She looked down with rich eyes; her face was blank, yet her eyes swirled with something that reminded me of Lila. There was a glow, a soft gleaming that swirled in majestic sepia tones.

Her lips twitched.

"And trust me, you can have the whole world whispering nonsense about you, but—" she glanced over her shoulder at Eugene, who looked up just in time to catch her soft smile. "—the only ones who matter are the ones who are happy when you're happy. The ones who are sad when you're sad or mad when you're mad. They're the only ones who deserve that space in your mind."

A softness suddenly curled in the air, one that muffled out the heat for a moment, and Eugene's lips rose into a sheepish smile. I glanced between them, knowing that there was something I was definitely missing, but not understanding what it was. But there was something I did understand and it was that whatever bond these two seemed to have, it was strong. They weren't best friends like Sheena and Eugene, but they seemed to understand something about each other that no one else did.

It reminded me of Lila and I.

Chloe suddenly blinked, like she was awakening from a daze, and looked between the pair of us before sighing.

"Guess it's time for me to head out," she decided and tugged her bag onto her shoulder, throwing me a backwards smiling glance. "Seeya kid."

She tucked a hand into her pocket, rubbing some of the dampness from her skin, and headed for the door. Eugene and I were quiet as we watched her move, taken by how effortlessly cool she was.

The sun was hot and bright outside, shinning through the window like a stoplight. And when Chloe neared the glass, the light twisted around her like golden ribbons. She wrapped her hand around the handle and pushed down, opening the door and stepping outside. The bell rung melodically as the door shut behind her and the pair of us were left in a brief silence.

"She's, um—" I could barely construct a sentence. "She's something."

"She's Chloe," Eugene said, wistfully staring at the door.

I felt stupid, but a part of me couldn't help wondering if Chloe had any potential to be a Guardian. I'd only met her twice—and one of those times, neither of us had even talked to each other—but there was something so damning about her that reminded me of Lark.

Eugene suddenly turned to me with a large grin. "Now—shoes."

The room smelled of peaches.

It was the first thing I noticed—the dance hall smelled of peaches and without the stampede of music, the air rung with a hollowing silence. Oh, and that it was empty. Apparently, no one was interested in borrowing the space at before 8:30 on a Wednesday morning.

I breathed a sigh of relief, pushing the door open. It creaked loudly and I shuffled inside, glancing over my shoulder again. The hallway was the same as before—empty. I didn't know whether that was because of the early hour or because this was the east wing—not many people hung around the creative arts area.

The door shut with a thud and I glanced around. There had been a pale breeze outside, but the air in here was smooth and warm. It nestled up to me like a Christmas morning and I couldn't help sighing with appreciation. It had been freezing outside; the moment I had untransformed from Blue Jay to Helga, the chilliness had snuck under my sleeves like a ghost and I quickly had to dash inside before I began shaking like a feral chihuahua.

So, coming here was a welcoming change. It didn't surprise me how warm it was though since the dance hall was position in a spot that always managed to catch the first signs of daylight. The light as pale as it poured through the windows and swept across the room, washing over the floorboards.

Stepping into the white patches, the shimmering strands sunk deep into my pores and wisps of dust spun around me. The air was so warm but my skin was still pink and I had to rub my palms up and down to get some type of heat.

The floorboards creaked as I crossed the room, crawling closer and closer to the desk against the window. The sky behind the glass was still silver from last night's rain; thick clouds drifted lazily in the breeze without a destination. But there were growing patches of blue, gaps that widened and closed as pale sunlight squeezed through the hazy screen.

I glanced down at the desk, reading the brightly coloured CD covers spread out across the surface. Most of them were names that I didn't recognise—Dark & Wild, k–12, Ungodly Hour—but there were a few titles that rung familiar.

I sighed, ignoring the tightness in my chest, and swung my bag from my shoulder. It made an echoing noise when it plopped onto the ground, slumping against the desk legs, and I spun around on the balls of my feet. I tried swallowing to ease the tension, but my throat was strained and salvia was struggling to get down.

I gnawed on my lip, wrapping my palms around my elbows. It suddenly felt a lot colder in here, like the sun wasn't burning a hole into the back of my neck. The courage I'd felt minutes ago had left me and now I was a stuttering mess, unable to tear her eyes away from her reflection.

I stopped. Somehow, I looked different from yesterday afternoon. I was wearing exactly what I had before—the cropped hoodie and tight leggings—but the image wasn't the same. I was slumped forward, like someone had clapped their large hands over my shoulders and folded over like I wanted to disappear.

The circles beneath my eyes were like bruises; dark halos wrapped around my eyes like smudged liner. I didn't know if they were actually that dark or if it was my skin appearing paler than usual. I hadn't slept much last night, which was unsurprising at this point. But it wasn't because I was thinking about Blue Jay, or Acantha or Serec, or any of that.

It was because of Chloe. More specifically, what she had said yesterday.

"You hesitate too much."

I wrapped my fingers around the back of my neck, glancing at the ground. I had never been a patient person; I could never stand there and wait for something to approach me. If I felt something, I felt it like a tidal wave and could never control my impulses. Nel was always giving me crap for jumping straight into things and never giving myself time to think everything through. It mostly applied to our training sessions, but it was beginning to bleed into my actual fights as well. And, until now, I thought she meant it to me as Helga, that these impulse issues were something that plagued me in all areas of my life and, sooner then later, I was going to have to learn how to control them. But I realised last night, as I'd been staring up at the shadows sprawled across my roof, that it only applied to Blue Jay.

I knew by now that there were differences between us; not just in our abilities, but in our actions. She didn't have my face and therefore, she didn't have the same consequences I did. Generally, if I had an impulse to do something, I could do it without it being a guarantee failure.

But when I was Helga, hesitation was my best friend.

As a child, my impulses were strong; they coursed through my veins like electricity and tingled in my palms. The emotions that fuelled me were like fire, raging and passionate, and I let them decide my actions. But that had led me to making extremely bad decisions, ones I regretted more then anything, and when I'd gotten to high school, I had decided to block them out. Not just for myself, but others as well.

Those impulses were what led me to becoming a bully that everyone hated, a bully everyone was afraid of. And though everyone still thought of me like that when we had left elementary, I didn't want to keep thinking that of me. So, I had made the conscious effort to block them out; not just my impulses, but everything.

Everyone thought of me as scary, so I stopped being scary. Everyone thought of me as overemotional, so I stopped being emotional. I stopped being and hid myself away from everyone. Hood over your face, keep your eyes down. That had become my mantra; keep to yourself, think before you act and stay out of people's ways.

You're your own burden, Pataki.

Then, I'd become Blue Jay, someone who had to fight for people's survival. I was thrown into this world with no prior training and, from that, I had to act quick if I want to save everyone. I had to trust my instincts, my impulses—I had to be me again.

"Please, who are you?"

I was given a new face, a blank canvas, one that wasn't stained with a past that still followed her.

"Blue Jay—my name is Blue Jay."

I was judged for the actions I performed here and now, not seven years ago. I was no longer Helga the Bully, but Blue Jay: The Superhero.

And in a weird way, all this new stress had been the thing to free me from my shackles. Because now I was thrown headfirst into this whirlpool of emotions, it was inescapable to not feel anymore. And my impulses could be the difference in me saving someone's life. I had clapped shackles around my wrist's years ago, not allowing me to feel so I couldn't be what I was a kid, but now, I couldn't outrun it anymore. I needed to feel to get through all of this.

"Stop hesitating."

And when Chloe had said that, I realised just how much I'd lost of myself over the years. I'd buried myself so deep beneath the surface, covered myself in a layer of unfeeling, that I barely even knew myself anymore. There were so many parts of me I wasn't familiar with yet. I kept surprising myself everyday with what I could do as Blue Jay. Not because I had superpowers, but because I was allowing myself the chance to do new things.

"Throw yourself headfirst into whatever lyrics you pick and let your body take over."

Which led me here—standing in the middle of an empty studio. The sun's rays were weak as they stretched across the air, but they burned deep into my neck. I was frozen, unable to drag my eyes away from the girl staring back in the mirror.

Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail that glided down between her shoulder blades. Her eyes were wide with fright, dark shadows circling those sockets, and her forehead had crinkled into a frown. Her lip was caught between her teeth, which were too large for her face, and distraught shimmered like sweat on her skin.

I forced myself to look away with a sigh.

Initially, I was going to do this in my room, but Nel was more than likely to burst in. The cat had been coming back at random hours recently and I wasn't comfortable trusting my instincts when it came to her. She said the coming and going's were because she was scouring the city for any suspicious activity, but I knew she was also looking for the next Guardian.

She hadn't said anything, but I could see the stress that crept into her eyes as the days slipped by. It had been a week since she'd found Lila, and even longer before when it had just been me. I didn't know the plan she was forming in her mind, but I could tell that this was too long of a waiting period.

But anyway, I wasn't comfortable with the idea of dancing in front of her—or anyone. It had been years since I'd done something like that. But I couldn't let go of Chloe's haunting words and decided to arrive here earlier in the morning. I figured that the dance hall would be empty so I had at least twenty minutes before I'd have to leave to get to class.

A part of me realised that this was stupid, but I tried shutting that down. I wanted to do this. And it was beginning to dawn on me how doing things I actually wanted to was becoming a rarity.

My fingers shook as I shoved the buds into my ears and hit a random song on the playlist I'd made last night. I eased a sigh out between my lips and slipped my phone into the waistband of my bands.

The beat that pumped into my ears was hard and fast. My heart jumped into my throat, but I squeezed shut my fists and tapped my feet to the beat. This song was much more up my alley then yesterday's, and before I was aware of it, I'd slowly draped the hoodie over my head.

You keepin on a holdin',
A-holdin' on a-keepin

Something snapped in me and I suddenly flowed into a gliding set of movements. I spun around so quick that my hair snapped around my shoulders and caught between my teeth. My joints were frigid, but I flicked my hair and rolled my wrists above my head. I rolled the weight back and forth in my feet, jolting my hips from side to side.

No giving into taking more but still still feedin',
You're clearly disturbed,
All you want is allegiance

The warmth that ran over me was exhilarating. The peachy aroma was striking, washing over me as I moved, and my shadow zipped across the floor. The song continued in waves and though I stumbled, I couldn't fight against the smile that spread across my face. The notes filled me with such an airy feeling that I hadn't felt in years.

You seem so dark to cry.

The hoodie fell against my back as I threw back my head and punched the air. My eyes flew open—I hadn't even realised they'd been shut—and my reflection was the first thing I saw.

The girl looked different now; her face was flushed, not with humiliation, but exhilaration. The smile was wide, aching her cheeks, and her chest heaved up and down with dry pants. The air was warmer, soaking into her skin like warm breath, and there was a slight dampness sliding beneath her clothes. Her abdomen was bare, the hem of her sweater so far up it almost revealed the bottom of her bra, but not a single care stung her mind.

She was happy.

Then I noticed the slow clapping.

I spun around on my toes, yanking the buds from my ears. The music blared from them, muffling when I crunched my hands over the speakers, but my attention was on the person I hadn't noticed until now.

"C–Chloe?"

She was propped against the wall, looking like a cool, leather–wearing kid in a melodramatic high school drama. Her foot was tucked beneath her high, arms slung across her chest, and a teasing smirk curved her thick lips. She was wearing the same shorts as yesterday's class, paired with an azure T – shirt. The sleeve had slipped off her shoulder, revealing a black strap beneath the fabric, and the hem was tied into a knot at her abdomen.

"Looks like you can let go, Pataki," she said with a small nod. There was a ring of teasing in her voice but she genuinely seemed impressed. But when she didn't receive a response, her smile disappeared with a sigh and she pushed off from the wall.

The floorboards creaked as she walked across the room. Her steps were evenly paced and she swung a hand into her back pocket, rustling her hair with her other one. I gulped, feeling like her stare was a little too focused, and awkwardly shuffled my weight.

"Don't let me stop you," she said, stopping when she was in front of me. "Keep going."

Her words oozed with challenge, but all I could do was stare back at her. She had such an intense stare that it was hard to look away. Her eyes were a deep sienna with a mischievous glint that seemed to reflect the corners of her mouth, which were fighting a smile.

I forced my eyes down to my shoes, rubbing the back of my neck.

She sighed.

"Right, I guess letting go wasn't your problem," she said, stepping back, and like that, the tension seemed to just disappear. Temporarily, at least. "It's letting go in front of others."

There it was again—her catching onto my inner workings. I hadn't even really had a conversation with her yet she seemed to quickly catch on. I didn't know whether it made her observant or me predictable. Both felt like a lose–lose situation to me.

She moved her hands to her hips, nodding at my earphones. "What're you listenin' to?"

I slightly jumped, only now remembering my phone was still playing music. I scrambled to pull it from my waistband and flick it off before answering. The air became silent and I tried ignoring the semi–disappointed look on Chloe's face.

"With you in my head," I answered and forced a shrug. "Unkle."

She nodded but it was obvious she didn't recognise either of those titles. I considered telling her it had been in one of the Twilight soundtracks, but the words quickly became stuck in my throat.

She held out her hand with a raised brow. "May I?"

I hesitated, curling my fingers over the screen, and examined her face. Her brows were sharp and strong, the shape Rhonda was always trying to replicate with her makeup. But they weren't pressed, her forehead wasn't crumbled with impatience or annoyance. If anything, she seemed amused; her lips were quirking up into that impish grin, and her eyes seemed to twinkle.

I decided she passed the vibe check—which I hadn't even known I'd been conducting until I'd decided she'd aced it—and shrugged with surrender. Unplugging the earbuds, I slapped the phone into her palm and watched as she spun around and headed for the desk.

The seconds rolled by like minutes as she slung her bag around and dumped it right next to mine. She leaned over the desk and plugged a cord into my phone. There was a loud pop! noise before the speakers were pouring out a familiar song.

You keepin on a holdin',
A-holdin' on a-keepin,
No giving into taking more but still still feedin'

She spun around with raised eyebrows, surprise clouding her face.

"Nice pick. Think I heard this from somewhere before," she tapped the corner of her mouth and I had to bite down to stop myself from laughing. "Anyway, have you stretched?"

"Er—a . . . little?"

Why was I suddenly so shy?

"Better start with that, hadn't we?" she cocked an eyebrow and walked back across the room again. Her fingers tangled with the collar of her shirt, tugging it up higher, but it just slipped back down her shoulder again. She gave up with a shrug and sunk down to the ground, gesturing for me to follow. I was jittery but obeyed, and we were both left sitting inches from one another.

A seriousness spread over her face, smile disappearing, as Chloe stretched out her legs. Her eyes firmed as her back straightened, and I quickly copied her movements.

"Stretching is probably the most important step, y'know."

I nodded, despite my scepticism. Stretching was just so boring and even when I used to dance every day, I skipped over that step.

"Why did you join?" she asked, reaching her arms across her legs and wrapping her fingers around her shins. Her eyes were down on her hands, but I could hear the earnest curiosity behind her casual delivery.

"I, uh—" it suddenly became hard to lie. "I don't know."

I didn't know why it was getting harder to stick to that story. Realistically, it should've gotten easier. To keep repeating the same words any time someone asked me, like I was an actor running over my script. Yet every time I had to utter that false reason, it felt more and more wrong.

She nodded, unaffected. "That's okay. Not like we're a super exclusive club or anything."

Nodding, I mirrored her position, wrapping my palms around my shins. A burning sensation burrowed into the back of my waist and spread to the back of my legs. It was nothing I couldn't ignore considering how hard I'd been training, but it still made me grimace.

"Why did you join?" I found myself asking.

She glanced up, surprise in her eyes.

"Because I . . . I enjoy dancing," she shrugged, then shifted her gaze back down to her hands. "It's actually my dream."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Ever since I was a little girl," her lips twitched into another smile. "I wanted to be one of the greats, like Paula Abdul or Ciara."

I nodded, despite not recognising those names.

"Do you dance often?"

"I used to," I answered and this time, my voice slightly rung out against the mirrored walls. I glanced up and met her curious gaze. Chloe cocked an eyebrow, tilting her head in a way that I took as a sign to continue. "I used to take lessons when I was a kid but stopped after a few years. Then I got used to dancing alone in my room. But I . . . recently haven't been able to do that."

Those last few words were a lot softer then intended and I hoped she didn't notice and ask. I didn't have it in me to find another lie so early in the morning. Especially regarding dancing. It had been one of the rare things I'd enjoyed since I was a child. Well, aside from writing. They were both the only things I felt like I'd actually been good at. But at least I'd gotten to keep my writing throughout the years; I'd unfortunately married myself to the notion that I had to give up dancing, despite wanting to keep doing it more than anything.

Obviously, I was nothing in comparison to Chloe, but I wasn't that half bad. I used to do it every afternoon after school. Coming home, I would lock my door, put on a heavy based song and just let go. Miriam was always passed out and Bob had work, so I was free to be as loud as I wanted. But with everything that was happening now, I hadn't found the time to do it anymore.

"I can tell," Chloe eventually said and when I glanced back, her eyes were warm with understanding. "That you used to frequently dance, that is. You're good at doing it when it's just yourself. There's minor errors but mostly it's pretty good."

". . . Thanks."

She cracked a grin, earning a similar response from me, and I could feel the frostiness between us begin to melt. The next few minutes that passed were quiet, but not like how it had been before. It wasn't awkward where one of us felt the need to say something just to fill the voice. It was . . . nice.

Nothing was said until the song was a few seconds shy of ending, when Chloe clapped her hands together and announced we were done with stretching. I breathed with relief and followed her as she stood back onto her feet. She dusted her hands off a few times then turned to me looking like she had something to say when a new song started playing.

On the floor of Tokyo
Or down in London town to go, go

Her eyes lit up and she swept her hands into another excited clap. "I love this song!"

I grinned. "Yeah, it's pretty cool."

"Appropriate for what we're about to do."

"Which is?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Dance."

With the record selection
And the mirror's reflection
I'm dancing with myself

She gave a sly wink then flowed backwards. Her feet shuffled against the floorboards and her limbs moved into a constant motion. My jaw dropped as I watched her glide into a dance, not an ounce of shame hanging from her. It wasn't the same way she'd been dancing yesterday—where everything had been sharp and professional—but instead, it was all smiles and twists. She wasn't swinging her arms like she was in a dance studio but like she was mindlessly dancing in her room.

When there's no-one else in sight,
In the crowded lonely night,

"C'mon, Pataki, shake that white bootie!" she laughed, cheeks puffed from her smile. "I know you have this song for a reason!"

The sunlight melted behind her, entangling in her curls and rolling down her body in silver waves. She twisted her wrists and jingled her hips, swaying to the beat of the music. She laughed again, and a rush pushed through me, sweeping the air from my lungs.

Well I wait so long

The music rushed over me, swirling around my body, covering me like a cocoon. The notes filed me with a soft glow, shinning brightest in my chest and tangling in my ribs. I hadn't heard this song in so long, but it used to be my go to I'd hit before dancing in my room. And the way Chloe danced—without a care in the world—reminded me of myself. Of what I had seen in the mirror; fists pumping the air and hair sweeping around my face as a pink smile tugged up my face.

I released a breath.

For my love vibration,
And I'm dancing with myself,

And joined her.

Oh dancing with myself

Well, I tried too. Every part of me was shaking, like someone had dragged their fingers up and down my spine, and my mind was scrambling to direct my limbs. My back was to the mirrors so I couldn't seem my movements, but from the look on Chloe's face, I looked like a major dork. The music was pumping true and strong around me, but none of it was sinking in.

Failure slammed into me, in bold, red ink. I tried not letting it bother me, but it was disheartening, and I could feel my chest pounding so hard I felt it in my toes. Surprise, surprise—even the things I enjoyed doing, I was failing at. This was exactly why I didn't want to dance in front of anyone; at least when it was just me, I didn't have to worry about how I looked. Now I—

"Oi," there was a gentle shake on my shoulder and when I looked up it was to Chloe smiling at me. Her eyes warm with kindness, reminding me of Lila's when she had to calm me down. "Just copy me, m'kay?"

I barely even nodded when she moved back and swung her arms in smooth arcs around her hips, moving her knees. I gulped, heart frantic in my chest, but followed her motions.

Well there's nothing to lose
And there's nothing to prove
I'll be dancing with myself

She shifted into newer, more sporadic movements and I hung onto them. I wasn't as talented as her, but I couldn't deny the burning in my stomach from this. It pushed into my chest and through my limbs, melting the frigidness from my joints and smoothing out my movements.

And when I looked up, I was back in my room.

If I looked all over the world
And there's every type of girl

I could the red sunlight shinning beneath my fingertips as the last of the sun sank further and further into the horizon. I could hear the cars that drove past, their engines roaring so loud I could hear them stuttering through my closed window. I could see my turquoise walls, wrapping around me like ribbons as I spun around on my tip toes.

But your empty eyes
Seem to pass me by

Chloe grinned—crashing through my daydreams—and pumped up her fists, shaking her head. I copied her, only my hair flowed around me and covered my eyes. I hacked and spat out the strands and Chloe laughed, covering her mouth with her hands.

Leave me dancing with myself

I laughed along with her and for a moment, the bright glimmering in my chest was so strong that I spun around on my toes. The music was all around me like a summer breeze, travelling from the nape of my neck to the bottom of my heels, and I let the tune carry me.

So let's sink another drink
'Cause it'll give me time to think

The elation that rushed through my arms were like fierce ribbons. They floated and twisted while my feet scattered against the floorboards. My hair whipped around my shoulders in a golden hurricane as I moved, snapping my chin up and down with every swoop of the melody.

If I had the chance
I'd ask the world to dance
And I'll be dancing with myself

Chloe stopped to watch me with wide, impressed eyes as a grin slowly pushed up her cheeks.

"That's it, Helga!" she cheered, punching the air. "Just let go!"

Oh dancing with myself
Oh dancing with myself

I smiled and felt the earlier nervousness shattering into pieces as a warmth glided through me. It was like an electric current that fit perfectly in my chest, pumping hard against my ribs. I kicked my leg up, but my foot slid from beneath and I lost balance. Chloe yelped and tried catching me, but it was all too fast and we both ended up falling back onto the ground.

If I had the chance
I'd ask the world to dance

We crashed against the wooden floors, and a throbbing pain rung deep in our bones, but when we glanced at each other, all we could do was laugh. The music was lost beneath our snickers, which got so hard that I had to wrap my arms across my stomach as I laid back onto the ground. It was strange that something so small earnt this type of reaction, but the nostalgia for this song and how fun dancing was just left me in a much happier mood than usual.

Not to mention, Chloe was wickedly cool.

"What the—"

Our smiles vanished and we both froze, whipping our gazes to the door. The voice had come from—I blinked—Eugene, who stood with his palm pressed against the open door. I was slightly befuddled, not having heard it open, and his expression seemed to reflect my feelings.

"Oh, hey Eugene," Chloe grinned at him, apparently not sharing my thoughts, and moved to sit back up. She crossed her legs, facing him, and the silver light that washed over her sprawled across her face. Eyes still wide, Eugene glanced from me to her then back to me again. A blush burnt my cheeks and I looked down to avoid him, scratching the back of my neck.

"What were you two doing?" I heard him ask, moving slightly, and the door let out an echoing creak. Chloe made a small noise before standing back to her feet. I gulped and followed, keeping my face hidden, and wrapped my hands around my abdomen, as if that would cover all of my bare skin.

"Letting loose," Chloe simply said before spinning around. She crossed the room back to the desk and when I glanced back up, Eugene and I were left staring awkwardly at each other. He blinked a couple of times, like he couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, while I gulped.

He wasn't dressed in the dance clothes he'd worn yesterday—he was in his uniform. Which meant he had no intention of coming here to dance like Chloe and I had. He must've been passing by when he heard the music, or even Chloe's yelling.

I wanted to shrivel up and die. How much of all of that had he seen? This was so embarrassing.

The music abruptly disappeared with another pop! and I looked back to Chloe unplugging my phone. She glanced back with a smile, swinging her bag onto her shoulder, palming mine, and headed back to me. She handed me back my phone then slapped my phone into my open palm.

"But it's almost time for classes," she said, tugging on her bag strap and looking between us. Eugene's face twisted with what appeared to be confusion and he looked ready to say something when the bell suddenly rung.

The grin stretched wide on Chloe's face and Eugene sighed, defeated. "How do you do that?"

She merely chuckled.

"Well, I have to bounce," she announced with a wink and moved around me for the doors. She stopped in front of Eugene, who blinked a few times before realising he was in the way and quickly moved. She chuckled and pulled open the door. "English essay won't write itself. Seeya, guys."

She tossed us a wave over her shoulder, eyes glimmering, then disappeared out the door. There was a split second of her walking down the hallway like a cool anime character before the door slammed shut with a thud! and Eugene and I were left in an awkward silence.

Nervously, I rubbed my wrists. I didn't know why I suddenly felt so uncomfortable around him again, or even Chloe. It was like with the dawn of a new day, everything had reverted back to its default settings.

The peachy scent suddenly became overwhelming, and I cleared my throat.

"So, uhh, what do you have?" I forced myself to ask.

He turned around, lifting a brow, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "English. Why?"

"I can walk you," I told him, moving across the room and slinging my bag over my shoulder. Truthfully, I wanted to walk with him in case something popped up. There was still a Wraith loose, after all. "After I change . . . I mean, obviously."

"I, uhh—" he blinked, somewhat hesitating, then nodded anyway. "Yeah, I—sure."

It was quiet as Eugene and I walked down the hallways.

It was unnerving and made my blood cold. It was like all of the noise had been pressed into a small ball and gulped down the throat of an invisible monster. The only noise in here was our footsteps, echoing crisply from the lamented floors and bouncing from the mint green walls.

The floors were normally packed with brown, buckled shoes, squeezing together as they raced for their classes, but now, they were empty. The doors were shut and the area was abandoned. Classes had begun more than five minutes ago, which left only the two of us.

I gulped against my rising guilt. I'd really underestimated how long it would take to change back into my uniform. Specifically, my stockings. Normally, I didn't like wearing them, but had decided as I'd gotten ready this morning that maybe I wanted to try something new. I'd completely regretted my decision when I'd tried changing back into my uniform in the stalls. The stockings were clingy, not in the way the leggings were, but in the sense that they just wouldn't move no matter how much I tugged on them. And if I tugged to hard, then obviously the fucking fabric would tear (which happened at least three times, by the way).

I had to hop up and down on one foot just to pull them on properly. And unsurprisingly, I had lost my balance completely and slipped on the tiles, ending with me sprawled out on my back against the floor. My bones had been ringing when Eugene asked through the door what the noise had been and, flushing red, I'd shouted back for him to go without me.

Stupid idiot insisted he was going to wait.

"So, have you made up your mind yet?"

I jumped, not expecting him to say anything, and glanced at him. "Excuse me?"

He was already watching me, eyes pressed like glowing embers. His hair was like curled fire, a stark contrast against the cool–toned wall behind him, and he had to tip his head slightly back to meet my eyes. He pressed his lips together, scrunching them to the side, and waited a few moments before repeating himself.

"Are you going to be staying in the, erm, class?"

But this time, it was more nervously. He dropped his gaze, cheeks staining pink in a way that made me feel as if I'd caught him stealing cookies from the jar. He rubbed the tip of his red ears and shifted his face away from my direction.

I frowned, about to ask what he meant, when he glanced at my bag. It was swollen against my back, stuffed with my rolled up dance uniform, and instantly, the dots connected.

"Oh! Well, uh," Here it was again—questions. Only it wasn't about why I was signing up, but if I was signing up. "Not sure yet."

His eyebrows raised with surprise. "Mrs. Fournier . . . she's gonna wanna know by the next session."

He looked at me again, but I turned away, staring at the tips of my shoes. Eugene hadn't meant anything by it, but the pressure was already stacking up high on my shoulders. It dug sharp and deep into my skin and made my bones groan. It was a reminder that I still had to do this, that there was a time restraint. The next session was a Friday which was two days from now.

I'd have to do what I needed to tonight.

"Your hairs back to normal," he suddenly pointed out, and when I looked back, the pink had faded from his cheeks. It left behind pale, freckled skin as his sepia–toned eyes went from one ponytail to the other.

"Um, yeah," I wrapped my fingers around one, suddenly feeling self–conscious. "It just keeps it out of my face."

I mean, yeah—duh. That was the point of most hairstyles.

"Is that really why you like it so much?" he asked, not taking notice of my dumbness. His face was blanketed in innocence, but there was caution that crept into his voice. Almost like he was being more careful than usual. "You're really attached to them."

"I . . ." I paused, that observation surprising me, and glanced down to my hands. They were already in their usual spot, wrapped around my elbows and pressed deep into the fabric. "Someone once told me they suited me."

A heaviness plagued my chest.

Arnold . . . I hadn't even thought about him since yesterday. I'd been so busy. It felt like what had happened had been weeks ago. That letter Savannah had mentioned hadn't even sunk in until now.

". . . wanted to give you the letter instead."

The thought made my chest quiver. There was something inherently sweet about that, him writing something so personal and raw for me. The idea of him being so affected by this that he had to put a pen to paper just to get it everything out, it was honestly sweet. At this point, I was used to overthinking and analysing every miniscule detail when it concerned Arnold, so to find out that, for this instance anyway, that it wasn't just me doing that, it was relieving. Thinking about it made the tightness in my chest crack like ice, but it didn't shatter completely. Because it felt too soon to be forgiving him right now, especially when he'd—

"You're a bully, Helga."

He had been angry when he'd said it, but he had still said it. I couldn't forget the venom he'd poured into those words nor the fire that burned in his eyes. He may be regretting them now, but he hadn't in the moment and apparently, not even the day after. It was a bitter pill to swallow but it was true, and it made it harder to accept anything he may have written down.

"You aren't her."

As unfair as it was, I knew that if it had been Lila or Nel or even Phoebe who had said something like that, I wouldn't be so stubborn. I would've taken them back with open arms, not because I valued them more but because they weren't Arnold.

He was usually so patient and kind–hearted. There were times when he sometimes lost his temper, but those were rare and reserved for monumental–level disasters. Normally when he was backed into a corner and had no other option but to just let loose. So, the fact that I had been the one to trigger that type of reaction, one where I thought I was doing the right thing, it really hurt. It almost hurt more then what he had actually said.

His eyes, usually rainbows amongst storms, burnt like ice into my own and his teeth had grounded with indignation. I couldn't rid myself of the image, no matter how much I tried. It was singed into my memory, how angry he had looked. His words had hurt me, but it was his feelings that had left behind scars. And those feelings were perfectly captured in those eyes.

Which made me realise, would a letter even be enough of an apology?

"You've stayed the same."

It wouldn't erase what I already knew—how little he thought of me. How much he seemed to hide behind that smile. Those words may have been said in anger, but they weren't born from nothing. Feelings like that didn't just appear, they were planted over time, sprouting from tiny seeds into burning red flowers.

All these years, did he still think of me as I was when I was a kid? Did he still see me as a bully? He tolerated me then—didn't like me, didn't hate me, tolerated me. Had all those smiles, those whispered words of encouragement, had they all being because he was Arnold, too polite to say anything? Was he still only tolerating me?

"Like a delinquent!"

It should've enraged me, that he had possibly been faking it this entire time, it should've seared me so much with hurt that I wanted nothing more to do with him. But it didn't and that was the most infuriating part of it. Here I was, realising that the guy I'd been in love with for seven years may have been faking every ounce of friendliness and concern over the past few weeks, and he still had a hold on me.

I wasn't ready to forgive him, but I felt rotten without him. I wanted his warmth, his smiles, his sunshine. My fingers twitched at the thought of him, I wanted to wrap them around his collar and pull his lips onto mine. It frustrated me, it felt like I was stuck in some cruel type of loop. One that was wrapped tight around him without an end in sight.

I touched my hair again. "Do they look bad?"

"No—not bad," I felt Eugene shake his head frantically. "They just—you don't look your age. You've been wearing them since . . . well, yeah, so you look a lot younger. But hey, it's not about what I think, but how you feel. It's your hair, after all."

How I felt.

Eugene had clumsily tried skipping over mentioning it, but it was unavoidable the real reason I'd kept my hair like this. And it wasn't because of how I felt, but because of how it made Arnold feel.

Shit, Pataki.

It really was hitting me how much I'd changed myself to keep Arnold's eyes on me. They had always been beautiful, sweeping me up in emerald waves that smothered me until I was drowning in their warmth. And I had done so much to keep them on me, I had picked him over myself just to keep dancing in his light. And now, there were still so many versions of myself buried beneath the surface.

Keeping my hair like this was only the beginning, I'd been wearing a mask for years.

"Right," I murmured, numb.

It became quiet after that.

We were soaked in an awkward silence which made my stomach twist. I was still so lost in my thoughts, but I didn't know why it was suddenly so hard to talk with Eugene. It was like there was a wall between us, making it hard to connect like we had yesterday. It was so strange and, for a moment, I worried it was my fault.

"Thanks for the walk," he softly announced when we reached his classroom. He had one hand wrapped around the door handle and the other his bag strap. His face was still blank, but there was a heaviness in his eyes, a confusion. Like he couldn't figure out why I had even walked him in the first place.

"No worries," I shuffled my feet. "I–I'll leave you to it . . . then."

But despite that, I didn't turn around. Instead, I reached out in Eugene's direction just as he pressed down on the handle.

"Um, actually—" he paused and glanced back at me surprise. But when his autumn coloured eyes snapped back to mine, I nervously drew back and shoved my fingers into my hair. "I just wanted to say . . . sorry about the milk."

He stared at me.

"When I spat it at you . . . and the water."

His eyes lit up with recognition.

"Oh—right," he turned around to fully face me, crossing his arms. But there wasn't a smidge of anger or irritation that crept into his expression. "Nah, it's fine. Stuff like that happens to me all the time."

Relief swept through me and I sighed, which made him crack a smile.

"Okay," I said with a small grin, stepping back. "Cool, um, I'll just—"

"Helga."

I stopped. Looking back to him smiling widely at me.

"Shopping was fun yesterday," he said, tilting his head. "We should do it again."

I stared at him before grinning. "Yeah."

Phoebe couldn't look away.

The conversations around her were loud, like crashing waves, but her focus couldn't be wrenched from the phone clutched tight in her pale hand.

Are you free to hang out this lunch?

She had sent it more than an hour ago, while she had been in Biology. Sheena had been yapping about something in her ear (probably the Guardians again), but her voice had melted into the background.

Phoebe knew Helga didn't check her phone often. She always kept it in either her back or blazer pocket, depending on what she was wearing, and locked on silent. Helga wasn't very social and even less so when it concerned the online world. So truthfully, she knew not to expect a response before her fingers had even left the screen, but still, her heart had sunk when her class had ended without one.

And she didn't get one until her next class—U.S. Government. She had been thoroughly wrapped up in Mr. Berglund's teachings when her phone buzzed with a notification. She had left it on in hopes hat Helga would message back but had forgotten about it the moment she'd sat down. Instinctively, she had reached to switch it off when she'd noticed the name of the sender and quickly scrambled to open it.

Can't. Busy. Sorry.

"What's wrong, Phoebe?"

She jumped, glancing up at the concerned voice.

Arnold sat across from her and immediately caught her with that look in his eye. The one he reserved only for her.

The two of them had grown close over the years, which was inevitable considering she was practically dating his best friend. Gerald and Arnold were practically brothers, and by extension, that made Phoebe look at Arnold like a brother. He was always so protective of her and read her like an open book. Not because she was easy to read—well, she hoped not—but because Arnold was very perceptive. His smile was like diamonds, but it was his eyes that held the real value. They were careful, detailed, and could recognise small signs that suggested when she was distressed.

Sort of like now.

"I think Helga hates me," she admitted and shoved the phone back into her pocket. There wasn't much of a reason to lie to him. He was too smart for that.

Arnold frowned. "What?"

Even Gerald looked over from his conversation with Sheena.

"Pheebs, we've been through this," he said, sliding a hand over her shoulder and up the nape of her neck. She tried schooling her face, keeping everything under control, but her heart raced from the intimacy. Her skin was doing the thing where it got all hot and tingly from his touch. "She doesn't hate you, it's probably just a miscommunication."

"Why does she keep blowing me off then?" she asked defensively, despite leaning more into his touch. Her heart was racing but she couldn't deny the annoyance she felt that Gerald had brushed off her concerns. She knew he didn't mean anything by it and thought he was helping, but it was clear that he didn't see how much of a big deal this was to her.

But that apparently surprised him. "Whoa, again?"

She sighed, pressing her chin into her fist, and leaned against the table.

"Yes, which makes this the second day in a row and the fifth in the past few weeks," she glanced down to avoid both of their stares. "If this were baseball, I would've been exiled to the bench."

That may have been an exaggeration. Truthfully, she didn't know how baseball worked. She had never been into strenuous activities such as sports. But the boys seemed to understand what she was getting at as they both traded concerned glances with each other.

Phoebe peeked through the gaps in her bangs, well aware they were doing that thing again. The pair of them were so close that they often didn't words to communicate certain feelings. Sometimes if they looked at each other in a type of way, the other immediately recognised what it was they were trying to say. Honestly, it made her jealous. She wished she and Helga had something like that.

Gerald sighed, looking down at her and trailing his hand from her shoulder to her hand. A warmth burrowed in her skin when he wrapped his fingers around hers, moving closer so his breath hit her ear and rustled her hair.

She breathed in his scent—cinnamon. She recognised it as his favourite cologne, one that she found intoxicating. It lingered in soft waves from his skin and shirt collar, intermingling with the aroma of chocolate flames from his hair. She knew he would fight tooth and nail to hide it, but Gerald had a weakness for outlandish yet intoxicating scents. He was very particular about the brand of hair products, colognes or even soaps that he used, which often led to the pair of them spending way too long in the toiletry's aisle.

"C'mon, Pheebs, surely it isn't that bad," Arnold said, but there was a slight waver in his voice. One that sounded like awkwardness. It made her pause, wondering whether it might be because Gerald was so close to her. But when she looked up, Arnold wasn't even watching them. His eyes had shifted to the side and his fingers were nestled in the nape of his neck, like they always were when he was nervous.

She arched a brow. Was there something going on between Helga and him?

"Yeah, Pheebs," Gerald said, gently squeezing her hand, and looking at her with warm, settling eyes. "What else could Pataki have going on?"

She really doubted what he was implying.

A loud scrap echoed from Arnold's side of the table, startling the conversation between the three of them, and they all glanced over to Eugene. The redhead had pulled out his chair beside Savannah, dumping his bag on the floor, and was settling into his seat. From the corner of her eye, Phoebe caught Sheena, sitting next to Gerald on the other side of the table, looking at Eugene with bewilderment.

"Helga?" Eugene repeated, glancing up dully as he plopped into his seat. "Oh, she's joining the dance team."

The conversations around the table—mostly from Savannah, Sid and Stinky—suddenly seized and everyone looked over with alarm. Everyone's eyes popped wide open as they stared in Eugene's direction, who hadn't even noticed the change in mood.

"Um—" Arnold blinked. "What?"

He said it so flatly, almost deadpanned, that Eugene paused. The redhead had been digging through his bag for his lunchbox, but when he looked up, his face took resemblance of his hair colour. Everyone's eyes had latched firmly onto him like silver hooks, which made him the centre of attention.

"Um, I—y–yeah," he stammered, tugging on the collar of his shirt. "S–She showed up yesterday afternoon . . . she was pretty nervous at first—well, a lot nervous actually. But she loosened up later in the bathroom and when we went shopping afterwards—"

"WHAT?!"

Jaws around the table suddenly dropped. Hell, even Phoebe's dropped. She knew Helga better than anyone—at least, she assumed so—which made her very much aware of how much Helga hated shopping. She despised the very idea of it with a burning passion. It sometimes took hours of hounding and promises to endure the next wrestling match with her just for Helga to tag along with Phoebe.

And now she was going with Eugene?

"Uh, yeah," he dropped his gaze to his freckled hands, which had folded shakingly in his lap. That usual anxious fear had stricken his face, almost like he was afraid of misspeaking. "She didn't have any clothes for the sessions, so we went out and then Chloe ran into us and gave us—well, her—this pep talk then she took out Helga's hair from those nasty ponytails and—"

"Chloe touched Pataki's hair?!" Gerald repeated, dropping Phoebe's hand to shove his fingers through his own hair. The expression he wore was so extreme, pulled tight with his shock, and Phoebe probably would've laughed had she not been feeling similarly. "And lived?!"

Eugene blinked.

"Um, yeah," he said slowly then stared at him. "Are you okay?"

"Helga's joining the dance team?"

It had been soft, barely above a whisper, so Phoebe hadn't expected anyone to have heard it. But Arnold glanced back in her direction and she could see the way his face fell as he watched her. And there it was again—those emerald eyes, probing into her soul. The empathy was already working its magic beneath his skin as he slowly began to gather everything she was feeling.

Phoebe wasn't sure if she liked this about him or hated it.

"Maybe," Eugene shrugged, having apparently heard her. "She's not sure yet but if this morning is to go by—"

"What happened this morning?" Arnold's eyes snapped over to Eugene and his expression changed. The openness in his face as he had studied her left, and he snapped his mouth into a hard line. His expression hardened, feeling strangely guarded, and the sparkling nature in his eyes slightly dulled. Even Phoebe couldn't decipher what exactly was racing through his mind.

Gerald, on the other hand, had snatched his bottle, screwed off the cap and chucked his head back to hungrily gulp down his water.

"She and Chloe were dancing together in the studio," Eugene told him. "Then they fell over and were laughing their heads off when I enter—"

Gerald suddenly spat out his mouthful and the water flew across the table in a wild flurry. Phoebe felt her eyebrows dart up across her forehead as the silver droplets smacked Eugene in the face, and everyone around him jumped back with surprise.

"Oh, c'mon!" Eugene cried, and beneath the water sliding down his face, his skin was burning red. His eyes became distressed as he shook his hands around, flinging out little droplets that made everyone grimace and hop out of the way.

Gerald was hacking into his elbow at this point. His face was a dark red, matching his watery eyes, and water trails were slithering from his nose and mouth.

"Pataki c–can laugh?!" he forced out through his coughs.

Sheena reached across and started whacking his back, which made him squawk, telling her to cut it out and then choking even more on his salvia. It should've made her laugh, but Phoebe felt too downtrodden.

The disappointment was vivid and sharp, wedging through her like a knife. She turned back and accidentally hooked her gaze onto Arnold, who was watching her sympathetically again. The hardness had melted from his expression, and his eyes had softened into that green ocean again. It made the emptiness pound harder in her chest.

"Well, at least we know where she's been all this time," he offered in that gentle voice, trying to sound encouraging. But she could see the relief swelling in his eyes; not just for her situation, but something else. Like he himself had just gotten an answer to his question.

Phoebe nodded but couldn't buy it. She couldn't explain it but there was something about this that made it hard for her to believe this was why Helga had been acting so strangely. Maybe it had been her reason for yesterday but certain not the past few weeks. Helga had been desperate before, but not because she wanted to rid herself of Phoebe like a dead weight, but almost like she was forcing herself to do it.

Phoebe wasn't blind, nor was she stupid. She knew Helga like the back of her hand and not because of her intellect. As much as Helga would deny it, she was actually very predictable. She had her habits, her patterns, her mannerisms, and they each made it easy to learn and predict her actions. She tried hiding everything behind a blank face so people would leave her be, but she hadn't yet perfected it for those she knew and loved. And though she was stubborn, Helga was not a good liar.

So, when she had remained adamant in maintaining a distance between them, Phoebe knew it wasn't because of those excuses she kept giving her. But she also knew Helga wasn't doing it because she wanted to. Helga sometimes had her cruel moments, but she was the most loyal person Phoebe knew. There would have to be a really good reason for her to suddenly want to stop hanging around her.

It wasn't over something like a dance class. Helga had been carrying herself differently for a while now and even put away the hostility towards Lila, which had been a shock to everyone. It had been so sudden, like someone had snapped their fingers and boom, now the two girls were friends. And Phoebe couldn't deny it, her chest tightened whenever she saw the two of them hanging onto each other. It was like they were both in on some type of secret, one that no one outside of their little duo was aware of.

There was something happening with Helga. Something that wasn't as simple as a class.

"Yes," was what she said instead. Because she didn't have the evidence to back up her feelings. Phoebe preferred to back up her theories with proof, something that would prevent her from feeling and acting crazy. Otherwise, she would probably approach Arnold with her thoughts.

"Maybe you can ask about it later," Arnold suggested after a beat. The way his eyes searched hers, Phoebe knew that he knew she didn't believe his earlier suggestion. Like her, Arnold was anything but stupid. "You have your afternoon session today, right?"

She frowned with confusion but nodded. "I do."

He forced his mouth into another smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. It was a ghost of a smile and his eyes were haunted with something. It left her wondering if maybe something really had happened between him and Helga.

"Well, maybe you might run into one another," he said. "She might be in one of the classes this afternoon."

Ah, right.

Yes, she supposed she could do that. But somehow, she felt that Helga would still be reluctant to talk with her. There was a heaviness sinking in her chest that convinced her nothing truly would change today.

But regardless, she sighed and agreed. "Yes, maybe."

I sighed with relief.

It was 1:18 in the afternoon, which made this next class the last one for the day. I was booked with plans that involved that stupid Wraith, but it was nice to know that the school day at least would be coming to an end. It was getting harder and harder to keep up with all of these activities when so much was going on in my head.

Everything had hit me in third period French, like a tidal wave. Ms. Franke had been arguing that the French flag was actually blue, white and red, rather than red, white and blue, when a drowsiness sunk through me. My vision was no longer filled with Ms. Franke's pink, scrunched up face, but now with swirling patterns and curling colours that didn't make sense. My eyelids got heavier and heavier as the minutes scraped by and by the time I'd gotten to Algebra, I was practically a zombie.

So, I decided that for the last class of the day, I was pulling a total skip.

I shoved my last book into my locker with a determined frown.

I didn't care what Lila said, I was exhausted and probably wouldn't be sleeping until later tonight again. Not only that, but I would have to be up early again tomorrow for school. And this stupid Wraith was my mission so I'd probably be the only one fighting it. So, I was going to skip P.E., find a broom closet and crash there. It worked out last time (mostly), and it was the end of the day so it wasn't like I could exactly sleep in and miss anything else (technically).

Besides, Lila was always going on about the importance of selfcare—this was my version of it.

I shoved against the door but the minute it clanged shut, Phoebe's face popped up next to mine.

"GAH!" I jumped back and slammed a hand onto my frantic heart. "Fuck, Pheebs, I—"

"I met Blue Jay."

I paused.

"Uhh—yeah, I . . .know?" I blinked, more than certain we'd had this conversation before. Quite recently, in fact. "No offence or nothin', but you . . . already told me that?"

At least, I hoped so. The drowsiness was still heavy and I wasn't completely certain that I hadn't just made it all up. Or hell, maybe I'd run into her again as Blue Jay and just forgotten it. Granted, I hadn't been Blue Jay last night but still, I could never be certain anymore.

"We should have milkshakes."

She said it firmly, so matter of fact, and I was left speechless for a moment.

"Um, I . . ." I trailed off, searching for an ounce of that usual hesitance. But Phoebe was resolute, fixing her gaze on mine. Her eyes had hardened, like polished shards of armour, and her lips were pressed into a firm line. "I'm not following your line of thinking here, Pheebs."

"I met a real life superhero. Someone who defies many, many laws of physics and fights inexplainable creatures on the daily," she said, raising her chin to seem more intimidating. It didn't do much since she was so short, but the point was still there. "I think that—no, we should celebrate. With some milkshakes. Like old times."

Her words quivered as she quickly forced out those last few words. Like up until then, everything had been perfectly planned out and run over hundreds of times in her head. Which honestly, knowing her, it probably had. But she still held onto my gaze, not allowing an ounce of softness to show.

But her words brought a sigh from me.

I slumped against my locker, pinching the bridge of my nose, and tried pushing the tired blurriness to the side. "Right," I said, glancing up at the roof and wrapped my arms around my stomach. "Celebrate."

This made a small flash of panic scatter over Phoebe's face, grey eyes softening until they resembled ash in a dying fire.

"Yes," I caught her nodding from the corner of my eye, stepping closer. "I mean, it . . . it's just been so long and I . . . I met her, H."

H—the name only she used for me. And her voice, it was turning into a plea. It made me seize up, digging my fingers into my arms until my skin was pinching and burning. I thought the text I'd sent today would be enough to push her away, but I guess it was stupid to think. For whatever reason, Phoebe had been clinging harder onto me.

The exhaustion whirled thick and I struggled to keep my composure. All of my efforts were just making her run harder for me.

"I'm sorry, Pheebs," I didn't look at her, "but I don't think I'll be able to."

"Again?"

My chest tightened. "Don't do this, Pheebs."

"Do what?" she suddenly quipped and when I turned back, she was glaring. "It's you who won't make time for me."

"Well, you're not exactly a saint when it comes to making time for people," I snapped without thinking. But when Phoebe's jaw dropped, I realised that it had been too harsh. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just super—"

"Busy? Yes, I'm aware," her eyes hardened. But it wasn't with resolve—it was with anger. Which irritated me, considering she was the one who wouldn't leave me alone. "Why, Helga? What are you doing that keeps you so occupied?"

My fingers sank further into my skin.

"It—just—" I was cut off when the bell suddenly blared through the hallways and sighed with relief. Saved by the bell, indeed. But when I turned back to Phoebe, her face had fallen, an expression so ghostly with defeat transforming her features. "Listen, Pheebs—"

"No, it's okay, Helga," she said, and when she used my actual name, it hit me like nails. I might've done it, I might've finally . . . pushed her away. "I, uhh, I was busy today anyway. I just wanted to . . ."

She was smiling, but there was no warmth behind her eyes.

"I'm sorry for bothering you."

My ribs clenched. There was such a sadness in her eyes, fresh and raw, and it made me feel like a major asshole. I wanted to say something—anything, but . . . there was nothing more I could do. This was the decision I'd made weeks ago. Even if it involved her thinking I hated, Phoebe needed to move on without me.

A heaviness burrowed in my bones. It was like a crack spreading down my chest and shattering everything in its path. I bit my lip in an attempt to hide any sound that wanted to escape.

She couldn't get caught in the crossfire.

Her eyes were clouded with disappointment. I knew that she had been hoping that maybe I would say something to convince her otherwise. But I didn't have that luxury anymore. She lowered her face, hair brushing around her temples, and slowly sunk away. She curled into herself like she had when she was a child and squeezed in between the crowd.

My heart tightened, but I was powerless to stop her.

I had to let her go.

My heart sank.

I'm sorry, Phoebe.

Arnold had been laughing with his friends when she'd found him.

The air was thick with heat, but when her stare pressed into his, it was like an icy bolt jolted through his chest. Normally, Arnold was more than happy to see Lila and instinctively, he raised his hand in greeting. But her face was hard, etched from stone, and as the sun shuffled over her face, her eyes burned an ache into his ribs.

Oh, boy, he was in trouble.

She stood at the edge of the crowd, the iron gates coming down in stripped shadows over her, and when she spotted him, Arnold felt his heart freeze. Her lips dipped and then she moved, twisting through the surrounding student's bodies to get to their little group.

Shakily, he raised a hand as she neared him.

"Hey, Lil—"

She slapped her palm against his, and wrapping her fingers around his, she pulled. He stumbled, exclaiming his surprise, and only then did Gerald and Sheena glance up from their conversation. Their eyes widened and Gerald opened his mouth when Lila shot him a dirty look over her shoulder. His warm, glowing eyes suddenly flashed and his mouth snapped shut. He then shot Arnold, his best friend, an apologetic glance paired with a shrug.

Arnold scowled as his friends watched him with resignation. Thanks, guys.

"Yo, Lila," he said, turning back to the redhead, who was shoving through thongs of people much taller than her. He cleared his throat, ignoring the sudden lump. "What the—what're we—"

She tugged on his hand, cutting him off, because a surprising amount of pain ran from his fingers to the crook of his neck.

Arnold shut his mouth, slightly dazed. Lila was a small person, she barely even reached his shoulder, and she carried herself in a very ladylike manner. Her back was always straight, her touches soft like wisps of air and when she smiled, her lips curved like pink satin. It made warmth twist through Arnold, and when those smiles and eyes were directed at him, the warmth slipped down his arms and curled in his palms. Buzzing, like he could spread his limbs and just fly.

He loved that look on her. It was like watching a spring flower open its petals.

It was nothing like the look on her face now. She wasn't smiling, she was angry—no, furious. Arnold gulped. He was dead.

Giggling students flew by them as Lila pulled him. Supposedly, everyone stood in lines as they waited for their buses, but they more closely resembled clumps. This always happened when teachers weren't paying attention; students left their lines to chat with friends, then would quickly scramble back when their buses arrived. Unless for some reason, Ms. Aisnley was one of the teachers watching them, then everyone stood in lines that reminded Arnold of soldiers in war movies.

The sun was hot, it burned a hole into Arnold's neck. Surprisingly, he felt powerless to stop Lila, he hadn't realised how strong she was. Her grip was like iron, and the sun in his back felt like nails keeping him from flight. So, as she tugged, he let his mind wander and tried to figure out what it was that had set her off so badly.

His stomach immediately curled. There was certainly something he could name, but it couldn't have been that. Lila had shortly confronted him about that when he'd stormed off the bus. She had been angry, but in a way that was different to this. She had folded her hands in her lap, eyes glued to his, and let Gerald take over, who had demanded what that had been about. She'd been holding back, moreso in favour of hearing his side of the story.

Lila could be nosey, but usually it was within reason. And though she had let him know how she felt about this—this thing between him and Helga—she had made it clear that it would be up to him to fix it.

So, what was this about?

Arnold blinked, coming back to earth when he could no longer hear the grass crunching beneath their shoes. They were replaced by soft claps as their feet slapped against the cement. It suddenly registered that Lila was taking him back into the school.

The bus lines were on the front lawn, behind the gate, but Lila was marching them across the front court. A round field of white concrete, fringed with fluffy trees and wooden benches. In the middle stood a long pole where their school flag waved in the air, an ugly combination of crimson and white.

"Stupid—" she suddenly stopped and flung him so hard that he rammed hard against the front glass doors. The planes rattled, echoing harsh against his now throbbing shoulder, and Arnold blinked, once again stunned with her strength. "What's this I hear about a letter?"

Surprise rammed into him like the glass. Letter?

Lila had her fists buried deep into her waist, feet shoulder width apart. There wasn't an ounce of warmth in her gaze, Arnold realised when he turned around to face her. Her eyes were narrowed, burning. Ice that had been set on fire. Looking into them, Arnold knew that he had royally fucked up.

"I . . ." and he softly hissed as he rubbed the pain away in his arm. That knock had really hurt. He briefly wondered if Lila had taken up a new sport. He remembered hearing Helga had joined the school dance team—something he still could barely process. Maybe Lila had as well, and that's where this strength was coming from? Wait, could you even get stronger from dancing?

"Who told you that?" he eventually asked.

Her brows snapped together.

"Not relevant," she said but from the way her eyes momentarily ducked, immediately he knew—Savannah. Traitor. Lila then stepped forward and, alarm shooting through him, Arnold stepped back, which was pointless since he was already pressed up against the door. "Letter. Explain. Now."

He frowned, wanting to point out that this wasn't letting him 'fix it', but quickly thought better of it. Lila was not someone to mess with when she was this angry and, in her own way he supposed, she was trying to help him. Possibly.

His stomach curled and he crossed his arms, reluctant to tell her. Not because he didn't trust her but because he hadn't opened up about this to anyone, not even Gerald. He knew he was wrong, he could feel it like iron hardening in his blood. Tension seized his lungs and he glanced away, rubbing his burning neck as he examined a random tree. Breathed in through his nose. The problem hadn't been realising that he was in the wrong but admitting it. He had never been good at that.

But Lila didn't look like she'd be taking no for an answer.

"I wanted to give it to Helga," he relented with a sigh and slumped against the window with defeat. He had hoped it might cool his skin but apparently the glass had soaked up the heat. It seeped into his skin, buzzing down his arms, and he pulled his sleeves down to his fingers.

Lila pressed her lips together and raised an eyebrow. Arnold recognised it as a silent invitation for him to continue, so he did.

"Savannah, she . . . she suggested I write it—get out my feelings, you know?" he admitted and glanced at his hand–me–down shoes. They were his Grandpa's; they were what he wore when he was Arnold's age, and then he passed them onto his son, and now Arnold. Apparently, anyway. Arnold knew Grandpa had just picked them up from the thrift shop and had simply told him that so he could feel closer to his father.

"But I . . . the more I wrote, the more I wanted to . . ." he sighed, chest cracking open. "I don't know. I just—I know I hurt her."

"Yeah," she agreed.

He frowned. "Not helping."

She held up her hands. "I was just agreeing. You really did hurt her, Arnold. In more ways than you can understand."

He had an inkling as to what she was referring to but chose to ignore it.

"You're makin' me feel like an ass, Lila," he murmured, wrapping his arms across his chest again. He'd lowered his voice this time and hoped that it didn't come across bitter. He knew how he felt about the situation, but he didn't want her finding out. He didn't want to burden her. But it was definitely a possibility that Lila could find out considering how good she was at paying attention to details.

He felt her scrutinising glare; her eyes slipped up and down his face, trying to find something he couldn't place. Arnold held his breath and tried braving his face into something more presentable, trying to beat her at her own game. Tension swelled in his chest and he closed his mouth, feeling an ache twist painfully in his throat. He hated doing this—lying. Pretending to feel things he didn't really feel. But he didn't want her to discover something. He didn't want to be read so clearly and openly, not just by Lila but everyone.

They had their version of him in their head, he'd decided years ago, and he wanted to live up to that.

She then sighed, and silently, he released a breath. His chest pumped heat back into his body and he released that he'd become so stiff, his limbs felt like they could snap. He rubbed his mouth, working the bones in his jaw, then swept back his palm to curl around the back of his neck.

He looked up in time to catch the anger evaporating from Lila's stance. Her hands fluttered to her sides and the heat melted from her face, although her eyes still seemed set.

She tucked a fiery strand behind her ear and gave him a nod. "Alright, alright—I'll try not to be so hard on you."

"Appreciated."

Her lips twitched. "Plus, I can admit, Helga wasn't completely in the right either. She shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

Although he didn't allow it to show, he was a little relieved when she admitted that. For the most part, Lila had a good sense of judgement and to hear something like that from her relieved him of some of the burden. But only a little. He still felt like a massive asshole if he thought about it for too long. It just brought up memories that he'd been trying to block.

"Remember George?"

That night was still fresh in his mind.

He could remember turning around and realising that George was no longer there. It had felt like someone had wrapped him in barbed wire, poured ice into his mind. He and his friends had looked for George, but honestly, Arnold couldn't remember most of it. Black had smoked the edges of his vision, pooled his sight like dark lakes that got bigger and bigger. Everything had tilted, his breath had become shallow, and eventually Horowitz insisted that he sit down.

The guilt still burned; white and hot, it never went away. It seeped into him, like tears, and turned into never fading scars that scalded him whenever he thought about that night. Gerald tried convincing him that it hadn't been his fault, that he'd been the one to convince Arnold to come out and that it was fine, Blue Jay had been there to set everything right. But that still hadn't changed the fact that George had almost . . .

When Helga had thrown that in his face, it had really cut deep. Everyone had been so delicate around him regarding the situation; treading around eggshells if it was ever brought up. It was like his role in the incident had been glazed over, if they heard someone ask about Blue Jay appearing that night, they made sure to dance around his involvement. No one ever said it was his fault, even if he knew it was. But it was a little relieving to not have someone look down on him for it. Her words were fresh in his mind. Helga hadn't thought twice about them, but those words—those two little words—had rifled from her mouth and lodged deep into his chest. And to hear it like that, so unabashed and without thought . . .

"You're a bully, Helga."

The regret came later. The words were heavy in his thoughts, slipping through any and everything else until they were at the front of his mind. And suddenly, he was back in front of her, seeing that pain flashing across her face. Raw, unavoidable.

Helga liked to compose herself like she felt nothing, but he wasn't blind. There was always a split second where you could tell exactly what she was feeling, where the windows to her soul weren't clouded. The hurt in her eyes glistened like copper rain, swimming in waves that burned him like acid. And then, they had soured, her lips curled shut, and before he knew it, those windows had been boarded up.

And Arnold knew that whatever she had said after that, she had resorted to because she wanted to hurt him like he had her. It had happened that day and repeated itself on the bus; same script, different fonts. He didn't know exactly what it had been to set her off but whatever it had been, it hurt enough for her to lash out.

This was what happened, he realised, when he wasn't careful.

"Is she . . . was she alright," he asked in a low voice. He knew the answer but he needed to be sure. "After I called her . . . that. Last week, I mean."

Lila sighed.

He glanced up, feeling his chest tighten, and rubbing her eyes, she moved to stand next to him. Leaning her back against the glass, she looked up at the sky. The colours were soft, dewy; an endless sea of blue and the last of the day's light cutting through like a sparkling knife. Suddenly, Arnold didn't feel so different from the blue; the pain that lanced through his chest, it too was sharp, he could feel it crackling between his ribs.

"No," she eventually said and when her hand fell from her face, she seemed so much older. Her stare didn't seem so bright anymore; shadows were beginning to pool beneath her eyes and her lids suddenly seemed too exhausted to stay as open as they usually were. He noticed concave arch to her shoulders, like she'd been trying to lift a very heavy weight for far too long. He couldn't help wondering if it had anything to do with Helga, or perhaps something else. "She . . . I won't go into it, but Helga was going through a lot that week. You wouldn't know if since she keeps so much to herself but . . . when I found her, she was in a really bad state."

You made her like that.

His throat was burning. He tried shoving those thoughts to the shadowed corners of his mind—this wasn't about him, damnit. The same corners he moved everything that he found uncomfortable, to ease the burdens he'd been carrying.

Turning away from those thoughts, he was suddenly overtaken with an overprotective urge. Standing next to her, seeing her so distress, he suddenly wanted to pull her close to him. But not in a way he normally did, where he could feel his pulse race in his damp palms, but in a way he used to when he was younger. He wanted to just be there for her, as a friend, and let her know that she wasn't alone.

But, he supposed, he was what got her into this mess in the first place.

"Was . . ." he hesitated, feeling the words claw their way up his throat, and Lila suddenly looked up at him, eyes soft. "Is she alright?"

Another question he already knew the answer to. But he wanted to understand. Helga wasn't good at hiding her feelings but she was an expert at keeping secrets. She held so much to herself, but it was obvious that there was something going on with her. Something that even though he couldn't figure out, he knew it wasn't small.

His chest suddenly felt pinched. There was so much mystery surrounding her, so much he didn't know, he felt like he was referring to a stranger with a familiar face.

Lila lifted her gaze to the trees. They surrounded the school like a cage and roared as their leaves rustled with the breeze. Lila's hair scattered across her face and again, she tucked it behind her ears. Heat swam around and between them, yet despite that, Arnold felt himself begin to shake.

"Currently, yes," she eventually said and wrapped her palms around her elbows. Face solemn, she pressed her lips together, a new weight in her eyes. He realised that his strongest impulses had been woken up—to help people. To lighten the burden plaguing their gaze, bring a smile back to their faces. "But no, she's . . . she's got a lot on her plate."

He'd already been bracing himself but when she said it, the guilt swelled up like a bubble. It curled in his stomach and pushed up his throat, so firm that he wanted to vomit.

A sharp wind crossed his cheek and he glanced away, staring at a random spot in the sky. It wasn't surprising, what Lila had told him, but it hurt. There was something Helga had been going through and, without any thought, he had gone and made it worse.

Again, her eyes flashed back in his mind. That split second where her eyes, normally glowing like polished mahogany, had melted, collapsed like a pair of finely crafted buildings. The memories had ripened with age, he was tied up in her pain. It hit him in the throat, the way her face had crumbled before a thousand of invisible restraints had popped back up, flashing silver like a shield.

You made her like that.

He clenched his fists. "I just . . . I wish I could—"

"Arnold, no," Lila was suddenly glaring at him, turning to fix him with a hard stare. "I've told you before—you can't save everyone."

He felt himself frowning. "I'm not trying to save anyone, I just . . . I want to help."

"You want to help?" she repeated then pushed against the door to stand up straight. "Then you'll do more than send a letter."

He sighed and rested his head back against the glass. "Back to the letter?"

"Yes, back to the letter. I dragged you off about that, not Helga," she snapped and when Arnold glanced back, the warmth in her gaze had long disappeared. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly had happened between her and Helga to have formed this close bond. "Arnold, you said those things to her face. It's nice that you decided to put your feelings down for her, but if you want her to forgive you, you're going to have to put in more effort."

"How?"

She stared at him like he was stupid. "By talking to her?"

He felt himself curl inwards at that.

For some reason, the idea of being the first one to approach with an apology still felt funny to him. He had hoped that maybe it was because he still felt guilty and the awkwardness of the situation was just making it hard for him to swallow. But the longer that he had pondered on it, the harder it became hard to deny that a part of him was still angry.

He knew it wasn't fair. He was in the wrong but it was hard to deny that there was a tiny part of him that harboured some resentment towards Helga. She had not only used George against him, but in front of everyone. She had thrown it in his face without regret and he found it exasperating that this wasn't being called out.

A lump rose in his throat when Lila suddenly sighed.

"Well, I tried," she muttered and crossed her arms. "I have to get going now but—" her hand touched his arm and when he looked at her, he felt the air sweep from his lungs. Light shimmered down through the trees and beaded against her skin like pearls, highlighting her cute freckles and the bewitching pull of her lips. "Please Arnold, think about what I've said to you."

She gave him a look that made his chest flutter. Her eyes shimmered, the perfect shade of coolness, and Arnold suddenly remembered that the hottest fires always burned blue.

She gave him another smile, tucking her hair behind her ear, and left her spot beside him. Arnold had to resist watching her go, gulping as if to suppress the hammering in his chest. His lips moved silently as he instead stared at the rustling trees, repeating the words she had told him.

You're going to have to put in more effort.

"Oh, and Arnold?" he looked up as she spun around, skirt flapping around her pale knees. A wide smile lit up across her face, one that Arnold recognised immediately. It was the stunningly gorgeous type, the one that felt like sunshine beaming in his chest. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Helga isn't a project and you're not a martyr. Your inclination to help people is admirable but . . . I don't like seeing you hurt when it doesn't always work out."

She pressed him with another meaningful look, which made the weight shift uncomfortably in his chest.

And then she was gone, spinning on her heels and trotting away. His heart was racing in his throat as he watched her go and he couldn't bring himself to look away. It was like his chin had been locked into place.

Clouds suddenly shifted and when the sunlight came down, it swallowed Lila's figure. But as it glanced over him, it was like ice. It drenched his skin until it was numb and stung his insides like shards of broken glass. He knew what she was referring to—how he was always aiming to help others and the rare times it didn't work out, how it would affect him.

And as usual, Lila wasn't wrong. He knew himself well enough; knew himself enough to realise that he'd care for a black bear if given the chance. He helped people—always. He couldn't stop himself. He felt useless if he couldn't, like he was wasting his time if he wasn't actively benefiting someone else. He suspected it was why what had happened with George had affected him so much, aside from the obvious. He had been the one to get the kid into trouble and then was powerless to do anything to get him out of it.

He had been useless.

Of course, he was grateful that Blue Jay had turned up. She may have scolded him, but had not only gotten back George, but saved him and his friends. Whenever he thought back on it, he tried focusing on that portion of their encounter, where she had fought against that monster like a character in a movie. He didn't like reminding himself that it was his fault, so much that it had taken Helga to get it through his skull. But the voices beneath the surface loved to remind him of this newfound helplessness.

He used to be the one people came to for their problems. It had been like clockwork for years; they went to him for help and he always tried his best to fix the situation. He did it for many reasons but one was the smile that shone on their faces afterward. There was a certain warmth to it, a gentle glow as it curved at just the right angle, an honest purity that reminded him of an innocence in his childhood. It reminded him when he could look at everything with wide and new eyes, seeing the beauty buried between the cracks, feel the comforting warmth roll over him like water.

Seeing those smiles made him feel like a hero, flying around and saving everyone. But this situation put everything back into perspective—he wasn't a hero. He wasn't gifted and he wasn't special.

He was ordinary.

He was liable to making mistakes—really, really bad ones. It was selfish, he'd realised, but it was how he felt. He didn't like being like this, he wanted to keep helping people. The way he had always done, the way his parents had done. And watching other people do the helping, it was a reminder of how ordinary he was. He couldn't escape it. Every time he looked at their faces, felt like he was being taunted.

"What's wrong with you?"

He knew that this growing obsession with Blue Jay wasn't just because he fancied her. Obviously, she was beautiful, and strong and fair and kind. But that wasn't all about her that captured his interest. It was the mystery, the shadows that danced around her, made her a black figure against the sky. He, like everyone else, still had no idea where she came from but it was becoming more and more believed that she was like them—human.

Lila had been the first to suggest it. That Blue Jay had once been ordinary. It had been at least a month ago when they'd been sitting in the cafeteria, chatting about the enigmatic hero. Lila wasn't an expert but she noticed instances of rookie–like mistakes in her movements. It was sometimes in the way she positioned herself, how she held her knife, or even the lack of thought before she attacked. Lila thought she had once been like them before being approached by something that gave her those abilities.

Arnold had thought she had run off with her fantasies until that night, when he had been over Lila's for their study session. Lila had already left, dashed after Helga who had scrambled out of there like she'd caught on fire, which left Arnold and Gerald watching the news to find out what was happening. Lila hadn't been answering her phone and it was too dangerous for them to look for her themselves, but the longer he watched, the more Arnold had become enamoured with Blue Jay.

She had shown up, different that night. The costume she wore had made Gerald cackle until tears were streaming down his face. But looking closer, Arnold realised that it wasn't the only thing different about her. She seems smaller, frailer somehow, and there was a sudden immaturity in her face that he was certain hadn't been therefore. She hadn't used her powers as much, so his attention wasn't drawn away and the longer he looked, the more he realised she seemed close to his age.

There was still some doubt at the back of his mind, but Arnold was beginning to buy more and more into Lila's theory.

And the idea that Blue Jay was like them . . . it excited him. That had always been his biggest fantasy—to be different, a real hero. He wanted to wield his own powers, he wanted to fight evil and bathe in glory.

He wanted to be like her.

So, it stung when nothing like that happened to him. It was foolish, but he kept hoping that one day he would wake up to a destiny beckoning him forward, asking him to join forces with Blue Jay. But every morning, he woke up alone and with disappointment that throbbed like a welt. And so he kept chasing after her; not just because he was enchanted with her, but because he wanted to be like her.

"Why wouldn't you watch him while he's under your fucking care?"

It was why he was reluctant to talk about the situation. He didn't want to admit how badly he had fucked up. The idea filled him like poison, burning against his skin, and stinging his insides until they were numbingly cold. Admitting that would be like admitting to himself that he didn't have what it takes. And he wanted to believe that he did. That he had the potential to fight monsters and fly alongside Blue Jay.

"Poor decisions are still poor decisions!"

That's where his anger for Helga came from. Not just because she brought up painful memories, but it was just easier to direct it onto her. It was easier to blame her for his own faults.

"You're liable to them as the rest of us are!"

The paper burned a hole through his pocket. He bit his lip and reached into his pocket, pulling out the letter. It was crumbled, but the message was still clear.

—sorry. I'm sorry. I fuck, this is actually kind of hard, Mr. Carlton keeps looking at me, and it's making it hard to keep my sentences straight. But anyway, I'm sorry I said all of that to you. It wasn't cool of me It was a mag major asshole thing of me to do, trust me, I know Shit, this letter has more mistakes in it then explanations, sorry. I've never been a natural at this sorta thing—

He scrunched it and tossed the ball over his shoulder. Lila was right; he hated to admit it, but it was true. He had fucked up and a letter wouldn't be enough to fix it. It was a good way to get out his feelings, but not as an apology. He would have to approach her and just say it like it is—he was wrong to say that stuff and he was sorry.

There, easy, why was it so difficult for him to actually say that? Sure, he was a little angry but not enough to not admit when he was wrong.

Right?

"He could've gotten hurt or worse."

She was right, and he knew that. So, it was fine, he was fine. There was still some soreness, but he could do whatever he did when he felt something like that—pretend it wasn't there. Shove those feelings into the shadowed corners of his mind. Ignore them until they faded from his notice. It hadn't failed him before, why should it now?

"If you're so bloody proud of it, might as well shout it from the rooftops!"

This was fine.

"You just think you're so high and mighty, don't you, football head?"

He was fine.

I woke to frantic knocking.

My breath hitched so sharp in my throat that I was left coughing. The fog was thick and hazy in my mind as I thumped a fist against chest and practically hacked up my lungs. My eyes were wet and my face sweltering by the time I managed to calm down, and the thumps against the door had grown louder.

I sucked in a breath, resting against the wall, and looked around. The closet wasn't large, if I held out both my arms, my palms would be flat against the walls. Unsurprisingly, considering it was a storage closet. The shadows were thick, blurring everything together, but the light that leaked from beneath the door was sharp. It poured across the floor, running and outlining the objects surrounding me, painting them a stark white.

I rubbed my face. How long had I been in here for? I'd only planned on getting an hour or two of sleep but I must've overdone it.

Reluctantly, I rose to my feet.

It was cramped in here so my feet bumped into several objects I couldn't make out. But I had enough space to stand without falling. The air had grown colder so I pulled on my blazer and swung on my bag before unlocking the rattling door.

The fist that had been knocking almost slammed into my chest until the person stopped with a sharp gasp.

I blinked, not at all expecting her.

"Pheebs?"

Her eyes melted with relief and she smiled, placing a hand to her chest.

"Ah, there you are," she said with a small sigh. "I was so worried."

It was hard to make her out; it was only slightly lighter out here than what it had been in the closet. The light that filtered from the hallways was blue, like we were stuck beneath a midnight sea.

I rubbed my eyes, yawning. "What time is it?"

"Much too late, sleepy head," I heard her giggle and when I opened my eyes, she had tucked her arms behind her back. The smile raised slightly higher on her left side and she nudged her head to the right. "C'mon, let's get you home."

I was a little surprised with this ease and initiative she was displaying but shrugged it off. She probably wanted to get out of here as much as I did. I wrapped my hands around my bag straps and we both silently headed down the hallway.

It was a little jarring how dark everything appeared. Apparently, I really had been exhausted, it wasn't even day anymore. This particular hallway didn't have any windows so there were more shadows then light. The silence that wrapped around us was eerie, one that could only belong to the night, and it was spooky. School was always so loud and bustling, it made me uncomfortable how haunted everything now seemed.

Something burned beneath my skin, despite the chilliness. I didn't know why but there were hairline webs of panic spreading over my heart.

I glanced at Phoebe, who looked strange. She had a pleasant looking smile, but her eyes were vacant. It was like she was walking in a daze, or she was sleep walking with her eyes open. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was something off about her appearance.

Maybe it was because of how unbothered she seemed. Our last conversation had ended pretty firmly; I thought maybe she had finally gotten what I'd been trying to hint to her for weeks. But maybe I'd been wrong, maybe she hadn't gotten it. Strange, considering how on top of things she normally was, but I guess she'd been hanging onto me tighter for a while now. I figured that the panic I felt was because of the awkwardness and shrugged it off. But Phoebe must've felt me watching because when she turned back, she grinned.

"Soo, what were you doing here so late?"

"Overslept skipping P.E.," I told her truthfully. Unlike Lila, I knew she wouldn't scold me for it. "You?"

"After school session."

"Oh," I rose my eyebrows. "Which was it this time? Bio? Calculus?"

Her face shifted slightly, but her smile remained. Sickly sweet. "Bio."

The air became heavier with its chilliness. Which was weird, we were still inside and not even near any doors or windows. Thankfully I had my blazer, but the cold still managed to infiltrate my sleeves and spread shivers over my body.

I was about to make a comment about the chilliness when I noticed Phoebe start to shiver. She had her hands wrapped around her arms and lips caught between her teeth. I frowned, realising she was only wearing the school shirt. It was made for summer so the material was thin, not made to combat the cold but to soak up sweat instead.

"Are you cold?" I asked softly.

She looked up with eyes that seemed larger than usual. "A little."

My best friend instincts were immediate; I dumped my bag and shrugged off my blazer. The air was a freezing shock, but I ignored it and dusted off the blazer a few times before handing it to Phoebe. Surprisingly, she didn't make a comment about how I'd just been sleeping in a broom closet and accepted it right away. She must've been really cold for that not to be a concern.

"Thanks," she smiled.

"No worries."

The cold washed over my skin and I shivered, but without regret. I didn't get as cold as Phoebe and it's not like we'd be here very long. I just had to walk her outside where her parents would be, come back and defeat this Wraith. Then, I could be merrily on my way back home. Hell, I might even stop by the pizza shop for a celebratory dinner. A plain cheese was only five dollars, after all.

I stopped when I noticed Phoebe hadn't made a move to put on the blazer. Her eyes were glued on mine and she barely moved, like someone had hit the pause button, which was getting creepy. She wasn't even blinking and didn't glance away for a second, which ended up with us having a really weird stare off.

I frowned. "Aren't you going to—"

But I didn't get to finish my question.

Because Phoebe had wrapped her hands around my throat.

Some super sneaky (I think) hints to larger things about to happen in this chapter. Wonder if y'all can guess? :3 But yay, finally finished this one, next one I've been super excited to write for months now (but lets be real, I'll probs hate every moment of it until I've posted rippo). But what did you guys think? Especially about the POV changes? A lot of y'all were curious about Phoebe's feelings on everything so hopefully this answered some of your questions. And don't worry, our girl ain't going nowhere, she's here to stay from now on.

Anyway, onto the reviews!

Acosta perez jose ramiro: You are definitely right! Nel probably won't ease up because she's getting more stressed, but Arnold at some point is gonna have to learn to express things more clearly because, as much as Helga would deny it, she has an overactive imagination, like Chloe points out, to the point that she makes things up about people. I especially am interested in hearing your thoughts on Arnold after this chapter. He may have come off as a jerk, but he admits some of the resentment he felt towards her was actually aimed at himself and he just directed it at her to feel better. He's definitely got some growing up to do, like Helga does, and I'm super interested in hearing your thoughts again. Take care hun!

Abby: Thank you so much, your review brought such a big smile to my face! But yes, Helga's slowly making her way through her classmate's, who are growing more and more accepting of her, which is so good for her! Something I realised in this chapter is how emotionally conflicted he is as a person as well, he kinda mirrors Helga in a way. He likes to bury how he feels as well, only it's with positivity rather then negativity, which breeds resentment, just like Helga, which was definitely hinted at in this chapter. Thanks so much again for reviewing! 3

DhamarFlowers1.5:Ahh, ¡Muchas gracias! Sí, Arnold y Helga son tan emocionales, me agota escribirlos XD pero no te preocupes, definitivamente se están reconciliando en el próximo capítulo :) Sí, también me encantó la escena del teléfono, en realidad es una de mis partes favoritas. en el capítulo jaja. También sí, Helga realmente se está ganando la confianza de sus compañeros de clase y es muy lindo escribir. Especialmente Gerald y ella, son mis favoritos XD Muchas gracias por esta revisión

miladyswords: Oh wow, you're so detailed, I love it! I hadn't even noticed the parallels between Helga and Arnold until I wrote this chapter, but I actually think it's so dope that you did! In my head, when Helga said "why do you care" and he got angry, it wasn't necessarily cause he interpretated it like that, but because he was frustrated that she wasn't listening to him. Arnold's definitely emotional, but thankfully is a lot more rational then Helga and doesn't jump to as many conclusions XD And yes, definitely question everything Helga is intepretating, she keeps thinking Arnold doesn't care for her and though he's still slightly peeved, he definitely cares for her and does feel guilty for what he said to her. But no, I love how much you're questioning everything, it's so nice to hear your thoughts! Also yessss, you've got the nail on the head with the powers-they're supposed to resemble some aspect of their personality and, as you pointed out, she naturally has a barrier around her when she gets uncomfortable and is also very, very protective. I'll probs explain it after we've got the next two Guardians, but yes, you've gotten it completely right! And to answer your question, no, not all Guardians have to identify as women, so Eugene (and the male characters) definitely have their fair shot. And yess, Gerald is so fun to write XD His thoughts on their relationship is kinda along the lines of 'yeah, this girl is definitely in love with my bro and I don't support it, but she seems cool so i'm cool with her sitting with us.' He definitely doesn't think there's anything romantic happening between them but he's naturally thick, so he would be the last to put it together XD Thanks for your support, it means a lot!

Song(s) mentioned: Dancing with Myself by Billy Idol and With you in my head by UNKLE ft. The Black Angels