Helga G Pataki: Hillwood's New Superhero

by KlutzyMaiden123

As if my life hadn't already been difficult. I already had to watch the love of my life, Arnold, make goo-goo eyes at little Miss Perfect, Lila Sawyer, while completely ignoring me. Now, I have to juggle school, keeping my feelings for him secret and battling evil dressed in a skimpy bathing suit, all the while keeping my lifestyle as a superhero from my nosey classmates.

19. Well, Excuse Me, Princess! (Part One)

I know, I know-another two parter, I'm sorry. I really tried but this chapter was very long. I had to cut it into two otherwise we were gonna get a 50+ paged chapter and even I find that way too long. This alone is already 37 pages!

Part two should hopefully be up sometime next week. I've been busy with my job so I still have ten more pages to rewrite then I'm sending it to my beta. Which, by the way, I have a beta! I'm so happy! Hopefully now I can avoid those embarrassing mistakes 😅They've chosen to remain anonymous but they're an angel!

But before y'all read this chapter, major trigger warning: there are actions that can be considered self harm in this chapter. It is slightly in the end of the flashback and discussed more openly in the beginning of the next scene. It was difficult to write and I don't want to trigger anyone so if you're sensitive to material like this, probably stop there.

But yeah, hopefully y'all like this one!

---

It was Friday.

Friday morning, to be exact. Usually, this would be a good thing. It was the last day of the week, the only thing standing between me and two long, luxurious days where I could sit back and do nothing. Sure, I usually had to spend a few hours in training, but now that we had Lila, a decent amount of my time had been freed up. So, when we weren't training, or doing homework together, Nel and I were usually bingeing episodes of Marie Kondo on Netflix.

The thought usually left me in a good mood, heart racing in anticipation for a lazy weekend to myself.

But today? Right now? My heart was racing for a different reason.

I was late, you see.

Like, really late.

So late, that by the time I'd actually made it to school, the gates were shut. My heart slammed against my ribs, a choked noise jerking from my chest as I dug my heels into the concrete and quickly slid to a stop. Losing my balance, I fell forward, hand shooting out to wrap around a cold bar to steady myself. A dry heave escaped from my throat.

Blinking, I looked the bars up and down.

The gates stood imposingly, black against the looming white sun, and I felt my chest rattle. I fell silent for a moment, feeling a gentle breeze push up against my face and push my hair over my shoulder. My chest was still tight, but I managed to huff out a small breath of frustration, as I grabbed onto the iron bars with both hands and shook them as hard as I could. Unsurprisingly, they didn't even budge.

I groaned, disappointment clawing at me like silver talons, and pressed my forehead to the bars, knowing that I was already too late.

They were locked.

"Great," I muttered to myself. Sweat slid down my temples, tangling with my hair, and my neck burned from the heat. "Now I'm gonna have to go through the office."

I dropped my hands to my sides, the skin on my knuckles already throbbing from all of the excitement, but with the sun coating the air in its white heat, the sensation was hard to ignore. I suppressed a shudder, the knitted fabric of my gloves were damp at this point, and beneath that, the wrappings around my hands were drenched.

"You better get on that now, Helga," Nel's voice floated from behind me. She was approaching slowly, footsteps light and evenly paced, and she came to a stop at my ankles. "You shouldn't be any later than you already are."

"Yeah, but I need my parent's signature," I lifted my head to look down at the sitting cat. Her eyes were round, already understanding the problem. "Otherwise, they'll think I was ditchin'."

Which, technically I was.

"Well, why couldn't you remain Blue Jay?" she asked, tail swaying behind her. Her fur glistened in the heat and for a moment, I wondered how she could even bare to be out here. It had to be even hotter for her. "You could have swung in through the windows and—"

"There're kids out on the fields. They would've seen me, which would've turned into a big mess," I interrupted, crossing my arms over my chest. "Anymore bright ideas, Einstein?"

She became silent, dropping my gaze before she turning around to leave.

I stood up straight. "Hey, where're you going?"

"Erm—" she stopped but didn't turn, instead addressing me from over her shoulder. "Guardian business."

I rolled my eyes, slumping against the bars as I watched the black cat slink off and disappear into a small alleyway.

Guardian business—yeah, right. More like going off to take a cat nap.

Bloody coward.

Shaking my head, I turned back around to face the fence with a heavy heart. I knew what I would have to do now. I'd have to march into the office with either a really good excuse that didn't involve my parent's signature, or somehow produce some type of scribble that kind of resembled Miriam's (which, to be fair, couldn't be that hard, considering how awful her handwriting is).

I wracked my brain, trying to come up with an easier solution. Maybe, I could convince the school that they should call instead. I could get Lila to impersonate Miriam on the phone, or even Nel. Or maybe I could tell them I'd been in the area of the latest Mutant attack and had to wait until it had been resolved before making my way to school. It wasn't technically a lie.

But it hadn't been in my area, it'd been on the western side of Hillwood. They could question why I was over there so early in the morning and, from that, also conclude that I'd been ditching.

I sighed. Maybe I should just ditch for the day. It's not like I particularly wanted to be here anyway—

Wait.

Suddenly an idea struck and my face lit up with a grin..

Of course, why hadn't I thought of that sooner?

I quickly snapped my gaze left and right, searching for any possible witnesses. Fortunately, there was no one around, who, like me, had missed their bus and was hanging around the barred opening of the school.

I was alone.

I let out a small, victorious noise and chucked my bag over the fence. It soared over the top before it landed with a thud on the other side. I winced, trying not to think of what I may have packed in there, and crouched down as I prepared to leap.

There was a pounding in my wrist that I chose to ignore as I looked around once more just to make sure that I was truly alone. When I spotted no other figures hidden in the quivering trees I turned back to the imposing gate.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat and then nimbly, leapt over the fence.

The warm air brushed over my body, twirling the ends of my hair and covering my face with the blonde strands. Ribbons of light flashed against my eyes. I kept my arms crossed tight over my chest as I spun over the top of the fence and stilled myself when I felt the pointed bars lightly graze my waist.

I landed on the other side in a crouch.

The top of my palm smacked into the ground. Bolts of pain jolted up my arms and to my elbows. Sweat resumed its snail pace down my body and my hair fell once again around my shoulders.

I sucked in a breath.

"Thanks Blue," I muttered, feeling warmth beat in my chest for the masked figure. The air rose from the burning concrete, curling around my face like invisible snakes. I wiped my forehead, sweat pooling beneath my arms, and glanced around once more, quickly rising back to my feet. My knees clicked as I swooped up my bag and dashed in through the school entrance.

But looking back, I wish that I had thought to look up instead. It would've saved us—all of us—so much grief if I had just taken that one peek. That one glance. Because if I had, then I would've seen it—the pair of eyes watching me from the classroom window.

---

"How are your hands?" Lila asked on our way to lunch.

The corners of her lips were turned down in concern. Her hair burned bright against the mint–coloured hallways, spilling around her face like a Christmas fire. Her expression was twisted, conveying all the worry that churned in her chest, and somehow it was much louder than everything around us.

Students moved in flocks, laughing, chatting and texting, totally oblivious to the nature of our conversation.

"Still bruised up," I told her honestly and flexed my right hand. It gave a painful throb and I struggled to keep the grimace off my face.

Both my hands were covered in old, navy blue gloves, which stuck out like a sore thumb. Today was a warm, bright and hot day. There was a distinct lack of jumpers and cardigans, and teachers had even allowed us to shrug off our blazers and loosen our ties. Wearing gloves made me feel silly, but it was my last resort. They were the only things covering the thick bandages wrapped tight around my knuckles.

"And your wrist?"

"It's fine," I insisted.

I was lying through my teeth.

"Didn't look like it," Lila noted with a raised eyebrow. Her gaze had become sharp and scrutinising. "That thing really didn't hold back, did it?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's not supposed to, Lila."

She frowned at that, not appreciating my evasive nature—today of all days.

"Still, it wasn't the most modest of fights," she said, and then her frown disappeared as her eyes became pinched with worry. "I'm sorry I couldn't take this one. I would have but—"

"You had the U.S. History test, which you absolutely couldn't afford to miss—yeah, I know," I finished and forced a grin so she would know there wasn't any malice behind my words. "It's fine, Lila, I didn't mind taking this one. I needed to blow off some steam anyway."

We'd reached the cafeteria at this point.

Air stretched out as students expanded from the tiny cramped confines of the cafeteria doors, spreading outwards into the larger room. A mixture of voices and shouts and text notifications rippled over us. Shoes clapped against the tiles as people raced across the room to score the best seats.

Florescent lights shuffled across Lila's face as she turned to eye me.

"What's the matter, Helga?" she pursed her lips. "You seem troubled."

Moreso than usual.

I frowned at the accidental completion of her sentence. I knew I shouldn't assume she'd think something like that, but I couldn't shake my head free of the thought.

Heaviness sat in my throat, sinking down into my chest and to the pit of my stomach. It was a feeling that I'd been feeling for a while, a weight sinking deeper and deeper until I wanted to follow it, crumbling in on myself until I was a ball on the ground. It had doubled when I got here and though my instincts told me to hide it, I sighed because I knew it was pointless to even try with Lila.

"It's just that—" I sighed again and felt the heaviness tighten so much that it cracked like glass. My throat swelled with the words that I wanted to say, but I couldn't force them out. I couldn't bring myself to speak until we'd reached our table, near the windows. It sparkled white in the sunlight, and I swivelled around on my heel to sit down on its surface.

Lila pulled out her chair, turning it around so that she sat below me. She folded her hands in her lap, back arrow straight, and watched me with round eyes.

"Serec."

Understanding dawned across her face.

"Again?" she asked, but her gaze burnt with sympathy.

I nodded, the breath in my throat now shaky. I placed my feet on one of the seats with a huff and planted my elbows onto my knees. I noted with some amusement that the way I sat made Lila pause. Glancing down at my shoes, she wrinkled her nose with disapproval.

"Yeah, it—it just gives me the creeps," I hugged my arms and felt the back of my neck prickle. "He was just so focused on me before, but now . . . I haven't seen him since that night." I suppressed a shudder, remembering the agony that had pierced through my body like knives. "And him not being here scares me more than when he was."

The tightness in my chest spread, hurtling up my throat and sloshing across my tongue. I tried not to let it show on my face, but I could feel my features moving without my permission.

I could still see him so clearly in my mind. It was like he was actually here—standing in the middle of the cafeteria. His lips pulled up into that sharp smirk. His teeth glowing like they were charged, and his eyes found mine.

A shiver ran up my spine.

And then he winked.

Something twisted in my heart, hard and sharp. It had been weeks since I'd last seen him, but the passing time had done nothing to ease me. If anything, it had just made it worse. The pressure had grown heavier in my chest. It made me flinch at the slightest noise, made my heart race when I caught shapes moving from the corner of my eyes.

His absence had only convinced me that he was up to something. Something that didn't involve me, which was terrifying. At least if it involved me, I could stop him. I could keep doing what I do best—fighting my way out. But without him, I had no idea what it was that I—we were up against.

How could I fight something I couldn't see?

Lila released a breath and leaned against the table, cradling her cheek in her palm.

"Truthfully, I'm not sure I share your feelings," she admitted and as she tilted her head to the side, the light fell over her. It accentuated the freckles beneath her eyes and across her cheeks, and the wariness in her gaze. "I, for one, am fine with him not being here."

"You don't get it, Lila," I said with a shake of my head. "It's not that I want him here. It freaks me out that he isn't. It makes me feel like there's a reason, like something has him occupied."

"More occupied than taking over the world?"

I stared at her, unamused.

"I'm just saying," she leaned back, held up her hands, and cracked a small grin. Not the pleasant looking one she gave to strangers, but the mischievous smile that showed her teeth, the one she reserved for Nel and I. I found myself smiling back, which made her eyes light up. "But when he does come, I'm sure we'll be ready."

"Really?"

"Yes, honest," her smile became relaxed. "I've been working on some puns for when I finally meet him. Officially, that is."

"You're aware that this is real life, right?" I asked her, not for the first time questioning her lack of sanity. But also, in a weird way, still feeling kind of grateful for it. "This isn't one of those weird cartoons you're obsessed with."

"Shouldn't mean I can't have my fun," she held up her finger and winked, which made me snort and then laugh. Her face split into a wide grin before she laughed with me.

The air between us cooled, sunlight sitting comfortably on our skin. Lila flicked her hair and then reached into her bag to pull out two fat sandwiches. I recognised some of it—lettuce, cheese, and tomato—but most of it was a mystery. Still, the sight of it made my stomach grumble, and I gratefully accepted when she offered me one. Licking my lips, I held it to my mouth and was about to take my first bite when I caught a pair of eyes watching me from across the cafeteria.

Phoebe.

She was sitting across the room with her biology friends. It was surprising to see them all here considering how they preferred to eat in the classroom as they geeked over equations or experiments no one understood. But here they were, sitting at the table at the wall across from us and chatting with one another about something I couldn't hear.

But looking at her, she looked completely detached from them.

Hair tied up in fluorescent scrunchies or smiles lit up with shiny braces, they bustled around her, while she just sat completely still. Her eyes were unmoving, hooked onto the both of us like she hadn't expected to see us, and her fingers trembled before she weaved them together in her lap.

Yesterday's anger suddenly slammed into me, burning like fire. It raged, searing a hole in my lungs, and swept through me so powerfully I could taste it. Phoebe's eyes were dark with wordless apologies, and that just made my anger burn stronger.

Noticing my silence, Lila looked up and followed my glare, then sighed.

"Helga," she warned in a low voice and turned back to me. "You should stop."

Words burned in my throat. I itched to let them fire across my tongue, forming into bullets that I could spit through my teeth. There was so much that I wanted to say; so many thoughts that I had kept to myself for far too long. I'd held them tight, so tight that I could still feel the singe marks they left behind. But more than anything, I wanted to release them because, for once, I truly wasn't bothered with the hurt I could cause.

But when I turned back to Lila, I reconsidered.

She had one eyebrow arched like an impatient mother and her lips had formed a thin line.

My anger still throbbed in my chest. I could feel my fingers twitch by my sides, aching to cause the same distress that so easily came to me. But Lila's gaze sucker punched through all of that, and I was left feeling weighed down with the undeniable knowledge that following my instincts would just make the situation worse for everyone involved.

Like last time.

I twisted around in my seat, away from Phoebe's gaze. I could still feel it burning into the side of my face, so I lowered my line of sight and glared at my sandwich.

"You're right," I murmured and tried to convince myself that I felt nothing. Tried to convince myself that there was no nausea twisting violently in my stomach. Tried to convince myself that there was no pain lodged in my chest, and that the stinging hurt didn't taste sweet like cyanide.

I didn't want to give her so much power.

"She's not worth it."

"Helga, that's not fair."

"Neither was she," I snapped before clamping my teeth into the bread, chewing furiously. "I mean, it's not like either of us did what she did."

Suddenly, sitting here felt like a mistake.

The sun was beaming behind us like a spotlight, burning through the glass and my skin. I wanted to move. I didn't want to be here anymore. I wanted to grab my stuff, slink off until I found a corner in the darkness, where I could hide until it was safe to come out.

"We don't have the luxury to," Lila bit out, eyes blazing despite her face remaining neutral. "It was a big ask. She has the right to make her own decision. It's her choice."

But I never got a choice.

The thought angered me, contorting my insides with fury until they were begging to be sliced open.

I snapped my glare up to meet Lila's, but she didn't back down. She pinned me still with her fixed eyes, shades of sapphire now hard like ice. Her face was hard, nothing but exasperation making itself known, and the air around us thickened like fog.

I refused to be the one to break the silence. I'd made myself and my feelings perfectly clear. I wasn't ashamed of them. But before either of us could get another word in, a hand suddenly slammed onto the table between us.

The noise reverberated and we both jumped.

Looking up, I felt my jaw drop.

It was Rhonda.

"Jesus Chri—"

"Where the hell were you?!"

She glared at me. Like, glared glared. In a way that was totally different than before. She wasn't looking at me like I was a bug or a piece of gum that had attached itself to her shoe. She was looking at me like I'd offended her—personally, this time.

I blinked, confused. "What?"

"This morning, meathead," she crossed her arms with a scoff. "Don't tell me you forgot."

I met her accusation with silence.

"You forgot?!"

"Forgot what?!"

She paused, anger simmering.

She ran her fierce gaze across my face. Her brown eyes suddenly resembled fire, edges sharpened from the razor black angles of her eyeliner. She then sighed, turning away for a moment as she brushed her hair from her neck. When she glanced back, it was with a look that could punch through stone.

Lila looked between us like she was watching reality tv.

"Does the English re–write ring any bells?" Rhonda asked, in a very patronising tone I might add.

Again, I blinked. Re–write? What does—

Oh.

Oh.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed and threw my hands up into my hair. Yesterday's class flooded my mind—the glaring, the explaining, the pairings, and then the deal—the meeting. I wanted to scream. People turned in our direction to stare, but for once, I didn't give a shit.

"Oh right, oh shit!" Rhonda barked with an angry scowl. "How could you forget? She announced it yesterday, you dunce!"

"I had plans, jackass!"

"You were the one who set it up in the first place!"

"Yeah, well, that was before!"

"Before what?!"

"J–Just before, stupid!"

"Well, at least I don't have a giant meat brain!"

"Oh, well, I—"

"Time out, time out!" Lila suddenly jumped to her feet, chair scraping noisily behind her. She made a T sign with her hands. The earlier interest she had had faded, an exasperated frown now fixed in her eyes. She sharply glanced between us. "The both of you are—Helga. Helga, look at me."

I rolled my eyes, feeling like I couldn't cross my arms any tighter, but reluctantly dragged my eyes back in her direction. Lila twisted her lips, sternness shaping her expression, then looked between us again.

"It's obvious what you two have to do," she said, hair flicking as she jerked her chin between us, then folded her arms. "Just go to the library now for your team meeting."

Rhonda and I exchanged glances.

Then I groaned, registering the look on her face as well, and putting together that I was very much trapped. "Ohhhh, great."

"Seriously?" Rhonda balked, offended. "You're going to complain after you made me wait?"

"Excu—"

"Enough! Would you both just quit it?!" Lila demanded as she waved her hands around. More stares turned in our direction, but they were ignored. "You're wasting your time bickering when you could be marching to the library."

Again, Rhonda and I exchanged similar looks.

I turned back to Lila. "But—"

"No buts," Lila interrupted, mind already settled on the matter. "The quicker you go, the quicker you both can get this over with."

I hated to admit it, but she was right. Technically speaking.

"Now turn around and march—toot sweet!"

---

"How about this?"

I glanced at the novel in Rhonda's hands and rolled my eyes.

"No."

"What?!" Her voice jumped an octave higher and she reeled back, lined eyes popping open in shock. "Pride and Prejudice is a classic!"

"One that's over two hundred pages long," I pointed out to her, tone dry. "Next."

Her face crumbled into her frown, leftover heat dancing in her eyes, and she opened her mouth to voice a rebuttal when her attention suddenly hooked onto something over my shoulder. I threw a quick glance in that direction, realising that a pair of students, sat at one of the tables, had glanced up from their homework to shoot us dirty looks.

Heat climbed up my neck to singe in my cheeks, and I slide my feet back a couple of steps. Rhonda, on the other hand, voiced a groan, and when I turned back to her, she had already pivoted on her heels with a roll of her eyes. The movement made her hair fly around her neck, casting out her fragrance so that it fanned across my face.

I grimaced, at that and the sound her shoes produced.

It was silent in the library; everything was eerily still.

The air was warm and pulled tight with its stillness. It was like someone had hit pause on a remote. There was no chatter, only the clacking noises of keyboards, the sound of pens scribbling across sheets of paper, the swish of pages turning and the occasional whisper as people double-checked their answers.

It unsettled me.

It was bad enough that I was stuck with Ms. Snooty-two-shoes—who was currently pouting, shoving a book back where she found it—but being stuck within close proximity where I couldn't at least vocalise my annoyance with her? It was maddening. Anytime she'd say something, I had to force my voice back down, so I wouldn't risk getting us kicked out.

It was driving me crazy.

Biting on my lip, I wrapped my fingers around the books hugged to my chest. They were mostly textbooks, but I also had the assignment guidelines stacked on top. I held the books far enough so that I could skim the first lines of the guidelines, reminding myself of the rules we would have to follow.

The limit was 2500 words. Font: Times New Roman, size 12 with 1.5 spacing. If we wanted to discuss particularly heavy subjects—religion, domestic abuse, abortion, sexual assault—we would have to email Ms. Hartman for permission.

I sighed, feeling my bangs tickle my brow. Assignments like this were usually right up my alley, but finding something that me and Twinkletoes both agreed on was ridiculously difficult.

Why couldn't I have gotten someone who was agreeable? Which compared to her, was literally anybody else. I would've taken Gerald, Sid, Stinky—hell, even Biker Patty. At least she would've let me done the work on my own.

Turning back to the bookshelf, I craned my neck back and ran my gaze across the spines for titles we could work with. My stomach clenched. There were rows and rows of books, all perfectly aligned like rows of soldiers, yet I still didn't feel a spark of inspiration.

Everything was either much too long for our word length or just a complete dud. I knew that Ms. Hartman thought she was being generous by allowing us 500 words more than usual, but it only stressed me out more.

I was pulled from my thoughts when I caught Rhonda's movements in my peripherals. She had stopped with a hard look on her face, chin bowed so her hair fell thick around her temples. She was eyeing a thick book a few rows beneath her—Frankenstein.

I rolled my eyes.

"No," I said before she could ask.

"It's a classic," she whirled around, glaring and placing her hands on her hips.

"It's also long," I argued through my teeth, feeling my heart pound from the amount of adrenaline pushing through. It was strong, dark like ink, and begged to be unleashed in exasperated screams. Could she not for five minutes? "We're not supposed to write anything longer than 2500."

"Says who?"

I swiped the sheet from my books and held it inches from Rhonda's face. She leaned back, not expecting that, and I tilted my face around to meet her gaze. Satisfaction hit me when her mouth snapped shut, eyes tracing over the block of text, listing our rules. The crease between her brows deepened, almost making me smirk, until she spun around with a groan.

The corners of my lips twitched, but the smugness soon fled. This just left us back where we had started.

I sighed, tucking the sheet between my books, and tried to be the voice of reason. "Look, let's just go with a fairy tale—it's an easy A."

"Yes," she spun around, eyes flashing. "Because fairytales are the height of sophistication."

Oh, criminy.

"Fairytales are short, simple and easy to work with," I was unable to hold back the bite in my tone as I crossed my arms back over my chest, pressing the books close to my shirt. "Ms. Hartman was totally hinting towards it."

"Exactly," Rhonda snapped her fingers, like she had caught me in some elaborate mind trap. Which she hadn't. At all. "Meaning that's what she'll expect. We gotta pick something that'll knock her socks off."

"If we pick a fairytale, we'll have the room to knock her socks off."

"Oh right, and what fairytale should we pick then?" she fixed me with a pointed glare, eyebrows twitching. "Snow White? Beauty and the Beast? Oh! Or how about the oh so original Cinderella?"

For what felt like the 50th time, I rolled my eyes and turned away from her and back to the books. They gleamed at me and I imagined them laughing, cackling. Their golden spines bending into smirks as they found my suffering to be nothing more than mere entertainment.

I growled.

It was stupid, but you know what? So was this entire situation. I would literally rather be doing anything else.

Rhonda scoffed, sounding just as annoyed as I, which sent another wave of anger hurtling through my chest. I curled my fingers into fists so I wouldn't do anything regrettable and clamped down on my tongue as I scanned the elegant fonts. Which were definitely not laughing at me. Of course not. That wouldn't make sense. Only an idiot would think books were laughing at them.

Which I was obviously not.

I shook my head and gave the books another scan, this time much slower. It was more of a steady rake as I mentally combed through each and every spine, trying to find something—anything.

If not for my grades, then just for me. I would take anything. I just needed a—

Wait.

I stopped.

My eyes hooked onto a thick looking book that was stacked a couple of rows above me on my right. It was a burnt shade of red—a few shades deeper than our blazers—and was almost three times thicker than the others.

The words along the spine shone like glass.

And I smirked.

Bingo.

I rolled onto my toes, reaching out with shaking fingers. Rhonda watched with a raised eyebrow, not offering her help despite, you know, being more than tall enough. She remained unbothered, eyes remaining dark with almost cool amusement until I managed to swipe the book from its spot.

I came back down with a huff, swiping the hair from my face, and didn't look at her as I spun around for the closest table. I knew that I was blushing, not just from mortification, but also from anger and frustration. But I didn't want Rhonda to see me this way, it would only give her more ammo to work with.

I could feel people turning to stare in our direction and realised that I'd been stomping. The heat in my face tripled and I shifted into a quieter method of moving. Shuffling towards an empty table, I plopped myself down and buried myself in the book so that I could escape their sights.

Rhonda was trailing behind me, for once silent. She watched over my shoulder as I flipped to the contents page. The scent lingering on her skin burned my nostrils and I struggled to ignore it, determined to find exactly what I was looking for.

"The entire grade has this assignment," she continued and placed a hand on the back of my chair. It produced a soft thack! from her silver ring hitting the plastic and she grimaced from the collision. "They're all gonna be rewriting those stupid stories. Whatever we pick has to stand out."

I said nothing.

I continued flipping until my attention caught on a particular title. Finding it, I jabbed my finger at it and then sharply glanced up at her.

She paused and leaned in a fraction closer to read it.

". . . Blue Beard?" she turned back to me, confused. "The story about the guy who gets off on killing his wives?"

I snorted.

"He doesn't get off on killing them," I said, trying very hard not to roll my eyes. "But yes, that Blue Beard."

She fell silent.

Her forehead wrinkled with thought, lips smacking shut, and she shifted her gaze from the book, to me, then back to the book. She pursed her lips, eyes focused, then gave a small nod.

"Okay," she eventually said, and I sighed with relief. "It's workable, but how—"

The bell suddenly rang.

The noise blared through the room and, beneath it, students groaned. They looked up with dismay, some looking very stressed and pumped up on way too much caffeine. They traded tired looks with their friends then slowly began packing up their stuff, pushing their chairs into their desks and ambling towards the doors.

"Let's not worry about the how, princess," I told her. Without glancing up, I stood from my seat. I could feel her eyes following as I snapped the book shut and collected the rest of my stuff. "I'm the one writing this thing, remember?"

I looked over my shoulder before she could reply.

Sunlight flooded down the aisle we had come from, rushing in through the windows, and casting the inky treasures on the bookshelves in shadows. Dust particles spun in the threads of light. I spotted the gap I left easily—seventh row, three away from the centre—and hurried back down the aisle.

"I'm still not sure about that," Rhonda admitted, trailing behind me.

"Oh, please," I shoved the book back into its place, sinking down to my regular height, and spun around to face her. Well, look up at her. "I can push aside my plans enough to write it up. No biggie. Don't get your panties in a twist over me."

"No, not you," she reeled back and scrunched her nose, like the very idea offended her. Which, knowing her, it probably did. "I mean about how you'll go about it. Lemme see those guidelines again."

She reached for the assignment sheet, but I quickly stepped backwards, shoving her away.

"No way, princess, get your own!"

"That is my own!"

She reached again and balked when I smacked her fingers. Her expression dropped before she gnashed her teeth together, growling, and reached again. Her fingers latched around the corner of the paper and for a moment, we were left shuffling around, jerking it back and forth.

Then, I felt a hand close around my wrist.

A bolt of white hot pain burned against my skin, and I hissed, reeling back. The split second following saw all of the books and papers that I'd been holding tumble to the floor in a loud, messy thunk.

Rhonda and I stopped and stared at the mess at our feet.

Silence slid over us, our minds racing to catch up with our actions. Then, Rhonda snapped her face up to mine with an angry scowl.

"Oh, great going, meathead," she snapped.

I glared back, wrapping my fingers around my throbbing wrist. "This is your fault!"

We were left glaring at each other, the air around us becoming thick. Rhonda's lipstick stretched into a grimace, the anger in her eyes perfectly mirroring mine, before we both decided that it wasn't worth it—she wasn't worth it—and turned away.

Silence once again fell over us as we both bent down to pick everything up. Without looking at each other, of course.

But as I moved my hand to pick up the first item, I grimaced.

The pain that lanced through my wrist was unbearable. I tried not letting it show on my face, but it was affecting my movements. I used my other hand to collect the books, holding them close to my chest, and bit down on my lip so I could keep quiet. I didn't want anyone to know, especially her. Although, to be fair, I'd doubt she'd care anyway.

"Oh . . . you've gotta be fucking with me."

Case and point.

I'd been reaching for my last book when she'd said that and glanced up in her direction. Rhonda had frozen, a look of outrage on her face, her narrowed eyes trained on a piece of paper I had dropped on the ground.

I forced my voice to move around the pain. "Wha—"

But then I stopped.

Because I recognised what it was that had captured her attention. Her hand had frozen inches above the ground, where my paper lay. The red ink almost burned against the white sheet, and immediately, I felt the sting of needles pricking at the back of my scalp.

It was my failed assignment.

"Give that back!"

A burning sensation stung at my wrist as I lurched forward to snatch the paper back. But Rhonda easily evaded my attempts; slapping away my hand, she scooped up the paper then rose to her feet. She didn't even look at me, eyes scanning back and forth over the red writing Ms. Hartman had left behind. Heart in my throat, I watched as several emotions cartwheeled across her face—confusion, curiosity, horror then anger.

"You failed your last assignment?!"

Her voice swirled in an outraged echo, and I grimaced. She turned the paper around, dangling it between her thumb and index finger, like it was trash.

Mortification coloured my cheeks, soaking my face in a heat that roared like a fire, and in a spasm of anger, I swept everything up and jumped to my feet. I opened my mouth to yell at her but when I really looked at the paper I had to pause for a moment. It felt like years since that assignment, when in reality, it had merely been two months.

Despite everything, I couldn't help marvelling at it. How quickly everything I had known, everything I'd thought I'd known, had changed. So much had happened, that I barely felt like I could even recognise the girl from two months ago, much less the girl who had actually written something like this.

But that swept up, dizzying feeling soon vanished, and I suddenly became aware of the people that had lingered back to put away their books. They stopped and looked over in our direction. I could feel my chest tightening as my cheeks singed with fire.

"I'm right in front of you, idiot," I hissed between my teeth, hoping that, despite it all, Rhonda would defy all odds and keep her voice down.

She didn't.

"You failed your last assignment?" she repeated, this time shaking the paper. "And you want to write our next one?!"

Of course.

"Well, yeah," I snatched the paper away from her. She didn't fight back, choosing instead to cross her arms over her chest. I crushed the books back to my own chest, feeling the pain begin to ebb away from my wrist. I shoved the remaining throbbing to the back of my mind. "I wasn't on my A game, but now I totally am!"

"You skipped out on me this morning—what A game?!"

"I said I was sorry!"

"No you didn't!"

A clacking noise then made itself known.

It approached quickly, shuffling up from behind, and the pair of us stopped our bickering. Our mouths snapped shut and we both turned around in time to catch the librarian stopping in front of us.

She was skinny, in a knotted rope kinda way, with long and gangly limbs, and pin straight hair pulled into a short ponytail.

She watched us with dark eyes, one tiny eyebrow cocked.

Rhonda chuckled sheepishly while I forced a smile.

"O–Oh, hey Miss—"

She kicked us out.

Rather rudely, as a matter of fact.

We were left standing outside the library, shaking from both the encounter and our residual anger. The door had been slammed shut; almost clipping me in the shoulder, and students hurtled passed us in both directions. The sounds of shoes clacking against the tiles filled the air along with murmuring voices and shuffling papers.

I had my mouth screwed to the side, not trusting myself to talk. Not right now. Everything inside me was still burning. Not just with anger, but with mortification. I could still remember the way everyone had looked at me.

"You failed your last assignment?

I tightened my hold on my books and stared at my shoes, a sinking feeling twisting between my ribs.

"It's just a little . . . boring."

No. I shook my head. I could do this. I just hadn't been having a good day—week at the time. Clearly. I mean, yeah, life had changed so much since then, I was a completely different person. I hadn't actually written since then, but I was more than confident that I could pick myself up again.

It was writing, after all. And writing was what I, Helga G. Pataki, did best.

"Look, a 9/20 may be decent for you," Rhonda said, breaking the silence. Surprised, I looked up but she wasn't even looking in my direction. Her jawline was clenched, eyes blazing as she scowled at the wall across from us. "But that's not gonna cut it for me."

I glared at her. "Oh, so what, now you're gonna write it?"

Annoyance flashed across her face.

"No, we're going to write this thing together and both get A's," she decided, voice like steel, and when she tilted her head in my direction, her eyes had hardened. She didn't care what I seemed to think about this, she was getting her way no matter what. "Because unlike you, I happen to care about my grades."

But I wasn't about to be bossed around like one of her servants. Not without laying down my own ground rules.

"Great," I said, lips tilted downwards, "So, then you won't have any problems with meeting up tomorrow."

"Fine."

"Fine!"
"Great!"
"Excellent!"

We glared at each other; shoulders hunched, muscles pulled tight together with anger. Silence filled the air as the hallways emptied. Rhonda held her chin high, making it harder to keep eye contact with her, as I'm sure she intended, and a fiery sense of ire burned in her gaze.

I kept my expression still, sharp, like polished armour, and squared my shoulders. She was a good couple of inches taller than me, but I refused to give in.

It must've worked because Rhonda took one look at me, clucked her tongue, then turned to pull a sheet of paper out from her bag. She bit the inside of her cheek as she scribbled something down with a fluffy pen.

"What the hell are you doing?" I found myself asking.

She paused to shoot me a dirty look from between strands of loose hair and then continued writing.

"This is my address," she finally answered when she had finished, and slapped it on top of the books in my arms. I tilted my head to peer at what was written, but it was pointless. She wrote in cursive. "Anytime after twelve."

Her words hit me like a train.

"Wha—" my jaw dropped. "When did I agree to that?!"

"When you didn't show up this morning," she said pointedly without glancing back. She clicked the top of her pen and shoved it into her pocket, looking up with a challenging frown. "Don't look at me like that, I like this about as much as you do."

I wanted to tear my hair out.

"Then, why are you making this a thing?!" I demanded, voice squeaking. "Why not just go to the town library?!"

She appeared aghast. "You want me to go to a town library?"

Oh, for fu—

I sighed and looked away, wanting nothing more than to rub my eyes. Between this and the tenderness in my hands and wrist, I was feeling extremely exhausted.

"Whatever. I don't care anymore."

I swung around on my heel, determined to have the last word, and began heading in the direction for my next class.

"Oh, and you better not wear that ghastly hoodie!" she suddenly shouted. "I will not be disrespected in my own home with your deplorable fashion taste!"

All thoughts came to a halt as anger burned and twisted in my chest. Deplorable? I growled, hands curling into throbbing fists beneath my books.

"Oh, that conceited little narcissistic, impatient, pretentious, inconsiderate—"

---

"—arrogant, big mouthed, thoughtless, stubborn, immature jerk face. Literally the worst person I've ever met in my whole life!"

Nadine lifted a brow, thoroughly impressed. "Wow, that was quite the description, Heller."

I slumped forward, like I had just shed a huge burden off of my shoulders, and felt my hair fall around my cheeks.

Fluorescent light pushed past us, and I rubbed my jaw. I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so loudly and openly. The words were like a blast of air, firing straight from my stomach. I didn't even need to pause between the insults before another had come hurtling out.

Surprisingly, it felt a little good.

A little.

Thankfully, no one else had been around to hear my little rant. It was just the three of us—Lila, Nadine and I, moving down the hallways for Biology.

Normally, I'd be scared shitless about being so late—since all the teachers had it out for me—but honestly, Belmonte loved Lila and Nadine. She'd probably let us all off the hook if they gave her some bullshit excuse like the toilets had been full. She didn't need to know the reason why we were so late—that I'd been so angry that they had to actively talk me into showing up at all today.

"How long did she go for, Lila?"

Lila didn't look up from her pink watch. "I counted three and a half minutes."

Nadine let out a soft whistle. "Two hundred and ten seconds—impressive dude," she turned back to me with a sunshine–y beam and slammed a hand against my back. I grimaced and shot her a dirty look, which she chose not to acknowledge. "So, what was that about anyway?"

My jaw almost hit the floor.

"What the—were you even listening, Nadine?"

"Not really," she shrugged without an ounce of guilt. "I stopped at egotistical."

My eyelid twitched. That had been at the beginning of my rant. "I was talking about Rhonda."

I expected the standard, 'Oh, her,', coupled with a sympathetic shudder or a pat on the back. Gently, this time. But instead, Nadine's expression dulled. As if the happiness had sunk from her eyes, her features drooped. Her smile disappeared like it had never been there and her stare cooled.

She considered my words then shifted her gaze away from us, the tips of her mouth tilted downwards.

I stared at her, feeling like I was missing something, when I caught Lila's eye over Nadine's shoulder. She stared daggers before she widened her eyes pointedly and pressed her lips together in a way that looked like she wanted to say something.

I rose my eyebrows at her, waiting for her to say it, but when she didn't, I was left feeling like an idiot.

Then, I remembered.

The realisation struck, hitting me like a tonne of bricks, and mortification heated up my skin. Right—duh Nadine and Rhonda had history. A pretty shitty one at that. So bad that they barely even acknowledged each other anymore. I don't think I'd even heard Nadine utter her name since we were freshmen.

I winced, wanting to smack myself. I was such an idiot.

"Oh," Nadine said, her voice for once devoid entirely of its humour. "Really?"

Lila cocked an eyebrow at me, in a very 'you happy now?' kinda way, which just doubled the weight sinking in my stomach.

"Uh . . ." I looked between them, feeling like I should say something but not having the faintest idea as to what. Lila was the people person. I was the punch people in the face person. "Yeeeees?"

Lila smacked her forehead.

Nadine looked at her and I turned away just as the redhead quickly forced a grin. We were nearing the Gym; the doors were slightly ajar and Ainsley's voice barrelled through like a sharp crack occasionally interrupted by the smacks of sports balls hitting the floor.

And despite it all—you know, being a superhero and going out every night to literally face death—a cold nail of fear shot through my chest. I don't think there would ever be a time where I wouldn't fear that woman. She was just so intense, even when we weren't in the same room.

I was momentarily distracted when a soccer ball rolled out from the doors, moving until it softly hit the opposite wall. I clenched my teeth together. Looking at it triggered a flash of memories. Memories of the last time I'd been there—here, in the gym. That stupid match I'd been forced into with Rhonda.

". . . only one of us meets the standards of a well–kept beauty . . ."

I felt myself seethe.

" . . . and it's not you."

My face scrunched up into a frown.

"God," I growled, fire building up my throat. "I can't believe I have to go to that ninny's house."

"More words, Helga?"

I glared at Lila, who just grinned teasingly in response.

"Good luck, man," Nadine gave a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The people there are, like, extra snotty."

Ugh, great. I rolled my eyes. Of course it wouldn't just be Rhonda herself who was the devil incarnate. She obviously would come from a whole family of them, and I obviously would be walking right into their nest. Their very wealthy nest.

Well, I thought to myself, the apple never falls far from the tree.

"Thanks Nadine," I pushed aside some of the discomfort to smile at her anyway, appreciating the warning at least.

Her expression warmed, eyes twinkling, and for a moment, she looked like the old Nadine. Then, her smile abruptly disappeared when a wild thought occurred to her.

"Oh, but seriously Heller, probs don't wear that hoodie," she glanced down at the fabric wrapped around my waist. "She really will eat you alive."

Neeeever mind.

The anger snapped back like a rubber band, folding my face into a scowl. The urge to hit something became too strong and I just couldn't help myself. I wanted—needed to kick something. I then glanced back to the soccer ball, feeling like a lightbulb had switched above my head, and I moved towards the stupid thing.

Lila frowned warningly. "Helga—"

I slammed my foot against it, and with a sharp kick, I watched as the ball shot across the air. It flew like a bullet, but swiftly rebounded off one of the lockers, and my next vision was of a black and white ball plummeting to my face before it rammed straight into my nose.

My head snapped back.

Fucking owwwwwww—

I collapsed.

And heard Nadine let out another whistle, "Well, if that isn't poetry."

---

"Right!" I cried that night, voice thick with resolution. It pumped through me, strong and thick, loosening the cords in my knuckles. I was wrapping my scarf around my head as I said this, fashioning it so that it resembled a workout band. "Let's warm this up!"

I began stretching; tucking my fist into my side, I punched the air above and relished in the burn. The chair squeaked as I alternated between both fists, groaning with my weight, and as I swiped my hair over my shoulders, I caught Nel's stare in the mirror.

"Helga," she sat up from her spot on my bed, ears twitching as she scrutinised me. "It's nearly twelve, are you really going to stay up late tonight?"

Her tone was coloured with confusion but most of all, snootiness. Like she were questioning the state of my mental health. I rolled my eyes and chose to ignore her, shifting my sight back to my reflection.

I had my hair tied back, scrapped into a ponytail that swung between my shoulders and made my ears stick out. I'd just showered, so my skin was clear and bright, and I was dressed in some old, loose clothes I'd pulled from the floor. Nel had wrinkled her nose with a disapproving scoff, but hey, when didn't she do that?

My eyes beamed bright, lit up with a determined spark, and my lips had curled into a small frown.

I nodded with approval.

"Alright," I slammed my hands onto the surface and leaned in so far that my nose was almost touching my reflection's glare. "You're gonna write the best dang story ever—"

"—haven't eaten anything more than a bunch of Reece's pieces—"

"—it'll knock those nasty socks right offa—"

"—could wait until the morning? Serec could—"

"QUIET NEL, YOU'RE MAKING ME LOSE MY CONCENTRATION!"

Nel jumped. "Geeze, sorry."

I huffed with an ugly scowl, arms crossed tight, then after holding her gaze for a moment, turned down to my paper. It was flat on the table's surface and my pen was perfectly lined against it. The light was on, so my shadow pushed across the paper, and followed the jittery twitches in my bruised hands.

I could feel my heart hammering. I swallowed, saliva squeezing through my tight throat. Scrunching my lips to the side, I shoved my sleeves to my elbows, snatched the pen and pressed it to the paper.

Ribbons of black scrawled out and soaked the paper. My head swelled as I watched the dark river flow across the paper, forming words, sentences, paragraphs. The process was hard at first; my mind was more than a little rusty and pain was gnawing at my knuckles. But the more time passed, the more I began fitting right in.

I felt my mind sharpen, an endless flow of words, of emotions, conjuring up like a storm and dancing across the page. I became detached, numbed, as I painted pictures I had stored in my mind so clearly. Moonbeams crisscrossing starlight, fair hair tangled up in shades of gold, rose petals clutched between dark fingers. My sight became tangled with colours—whites, blue, red . . . green.

I could feel Nel watching me. I didn't look up, but her gaze burned—it sparked, like electricity. I knew it was more from curiosity than anything. She hadn't seen me like this, after all. Ever since she'd gotten here, it'd been Guardian this, Blue Jay that; now it was just Helga, and what Helga was passionate about.

She watched as I hunched over the desk, sinking onto my elbows until my chest was flat against the wood. She watched as I crossed and uncrossed my ankles, as I occasionally shook my hand when the burning became too much, and as I repeated words out loud before writing them down.

She then shook her head, eyes hardening, and leapt from the bed to the window. She pressed her paws into the cushioning of the window seat, glanced over her shoulder at me, then turned back to stare out at the city.

It was midnight, so there weren't any cars out. The streets were empty, and shadows swirled thick, draping across the buildings like cloth. The moon wasn't out tonight, nor were the stars; they were all covered with a dense show of clouds.

I paused, glancing up from my handwritten sheets, and glanced in her direction. Dim lights streamed through the window, outlining a faint silhouette, and pushing her shadow so that it stretched against the back wall. Nel's gaze was sharp and her ears kept twitching.

I couldn't figure out exactly what it was that she was looking for though. It couldn't just be Mutants, we always got alerts for that. Could it be Wraith's? Maybe. I don't know what she would get from staring from this distance though. If she wanted to find them, she should've left already.

She was probably just getting all broody.

I gave a half shrug, swinging back around in my chair, and continued to write. I let the scenes move from my head to the pen, feeling them form voices, actions and sounds. The visions in my imagination swirled, danced, floated, whirled, shivered and shook, as I did my best to convey them.

I wasn't aware of how much time had passed, but when I glanced up again, the trashcan beneath my desk was spilling over with scrunched balls of earlier drafts.

An ache spread across my shoulders and down my spine, and I wheeled my chair back so I could stretch out my arms and rub my neck. As I did so, I re–read over the last couple of sentences with a frown, not liking how they were worded, and was about to rewrite them when I noticed something.

The tenseness.

It hung in the air like dew, surrounding me in all directions. But it was somehow subtle. It made my chest seize, my lungs shrink and my throat tighten, yet it was something I wouldn't have picked up on had I not stopped writing.

And I knew, without looking, where it was coming from.

I threw my head back with a loud groan.

"What?" I demanded, swinging my chair around in Nel's direction.

She looked up, surprised. "What?"

"What is with you?" I said and dropped my pen to cross my arms and tilt my head. "You're actin' super weird."

She frowned.

"I am doing nothing of the sorts," she snapped with an offended sniff. Defensively, if you asked me.

"Oh, really?" I rose my brow and leaned back in my chair to hook a leg over my knee. Nel frowned, examining me with a slightly raised chin. "So, there's absolutely nothing on your mind?"

Her ears folded back. "Precisely nothing."

I let that hang in the air for a moment, taking the time to examine her stance, then clucked my tongue and moved to lay my temple in my fist.

"For someone who guards herself so compulsively," I quoted, feeling the teasing smirk lift the edges of my lips, "you sure are easy to read."

She didn't understand at first, and her frown deepened, until I lowered my chin to raise both my eyebrows knowingly. Her eyes then widened, presumably as she remembered where she had last heard that from.

There was another pause, and in that pause, there was a slight uptick in my heartbeat. A part of me didn't actually expect Nel to give up so easily. She wasn't the type to lie to me, but she was definitely the type to keep things to herself until she was absolutely certain of the words she wanted to say. And even then, it had to be something she herself deemed worthy, something she saw as beneficial.

But surprisingly, this time she didn't immediately push me away. Instead, she dragged her eyes up and down my face with a rapidly softening gaze, then sighed and turned away.

I tilted my head. Yeah, I guessed it wouldn't be that easy.

"Didn't you once tell me that I should speak up if something was on my mind?" I asked, flattening my tone so it didn't ring teasingly anymore. I figured, if she were holding something to herself, it should probably be treated with the seriousness she herself was giving it. "Instead of bottling it up? Cause if you are, that would make you a hypocrite."

Again, this was a shot in the dark. A pretty low blow. But, well, I wanted to know what was on her mind. She'd always insisted on being there for me and I felt the need to at least try returning the favour. Plus, if it involved anything Guardian related, then, as the leader, I believe I deserved to be let in on it.

But, after a while, I thought she wasn't going to say anything. Nel was extremely stubborn, after all, and held secrets to herself like she was getting paid.

And her response didn't come for a while either. Seriously. The silence that grew between us shifted, going from natural to awkward, and I found myself counting the windows behind her. I got to eleven and assumed that Nel was going to turn and leave, spend the night on the streets looking for Mutants or Wraiths instead.

But, after a significant pause, she sighed and slowly turned back around.

"I'm worried about Serec."

And like that, the fluidity in the air dissipated.

The playfulness was shattered and replaced with a sobriety so heavy it was like gravity had turned to chains.

I sighed, heart sinking, and tried offering a smile. "Me too."

My confession soothed some of the sharpness. Like, just getting it out there had lightened some of the burden that we both were carrying.

Her eyes then darted up to mine and, for a moment, they transformed into windows, where I could see everything. The pain, the worry, the hopelessness, the exhaustion, the secrets that weighed us down so much that our bones cracked from trying to push on. I could see it all. Everything that I had been feeling for the past few months, it was all there in her gaze, twisted up like fog against two windows.

But then it was over, and she shifted her sight back to the window behind her and we were left in silence.

The type of silence that stung, that haunted you. It made your throat swell or your heart race uncontrollably in your abdomen. I rolled back my shoulders and squirmed, running my fingers rhythmically over my vanity, and tried distracting myself.

My hands—they were no longer wrapped up in bandages. I didn't need them. Nel had disapproved of me taking them off so early but she said nothing. She knew not to bother; I wasn't going to listen. Not this time.

They still hurt though.

I sucked in a breath, somewhat shakily, and tried controlling the squirming in my stomach. There was a heartbeat, no longer in my chest, but rattling in my neck, my stomach, my hands. It beat so loudly I was worried it would break through the skin.

I couldn't help asking. "Nel, do you think he's up to something?"

She didn't even stop to think about it.

"Knowing him, most definitely," she nodded, and from the reflection, I could see that she was avoiding looking at me. "Although what, I cannot be sure."

There was another pause.

Something blistered in my chest. Something pained. It was buried deep inside my heart- molten heat. The words, the questions I'd been dying to ask but didn't—couldn't—in fear of being told the truth. I could feel them on my tongue, burning, singeing, begging to be spoken.

I stared into my reflection.

A girl stared back, one who had seen so much change in just a few months. She was so young—her skin was still so supple and fresh—but there was a heaviness in her eyes. They looked like they should be light, bubbling with an innocence, a sense of youth, but instead they were weighed down. There was an exhaustion in them, a tiredness, one that was only reserved for adults who had seen far, far too much.

The tapping stopped.

Fuck it.

"Am I strong enough to beat him?"

The question hit her like a ram, and I watched as the shadow against the wall straightened. Nel's head bobbed up straight and her ears twitched. I hurried to fill the silence before she could turn back around.

"And Lila," the burden lightened slightly as I reminded myself that I was no longer alone. I still had someone on the battlefield with me, "Are we . . . are we enough?"

Those last few words were choked out, like smoke from a chimney, and I folded my hands to my spluttering chest. I could feel the rest of the words roll up my throat, coiling, knotting, all painfully until I felt the walls bruise and cave in.

I already knew.

I knew, and when Nel's eyes snapped to mine, I regretted even asking.

"You're both getting stronger—"

"But is it enough?"

The air thickened.

Nel's ears sagged and she sighed. There was no point in lying and she knew that. She looked around as she tried to construct her response, and when she turned back to me, her expression hollowed out with dejection.

"I . . ." she sighed again. "I don't know."

Time stopped.

My breath halted, heart stopping dead in my chest. Her words embedded themselves in my head like nails, like knives. I turned around before she could look at me and fixed my eyes up ahead, pretending I was anywhere but here. But I found myself recoiling in disgust as I stared at my reflection.

The makeshift band around my head was bright pink. My stomach curled and I quickly ripped it from my head. The movement left my hair dishevelled, my ponytail flopping against the back of my neck. I tried holding my gaze, letting my features harden to cover the war that waged on inside me, but the longer I sat there, the more I felt my walls break down.

Cold air swirled around me. My eyes became brittle, clouded, and my throat constricted so much I could barely breathe. Every muscle in my body seized. I closed my fists around the desk. I could still feel some of the residual anger burning in me, curling until it hissed, so I tried focusing on that.

I glared at my reflection, pouring every ounce of hate and anger and frustration into it. There was a deep knot between my brows, and a sharp line where my jaw clenched. I could feel my palms getting sore and my knuckles burning. But it was evident that the anger I felt was about to be washed away with tears.

My fingers twitched and I struck out to shove back my papers.

"We're not strong enough," I concluded over the rustling noises.

Nel frowned, standing up. "Helga, you're being too—"

"Don't say it, Nel," I snapped without looking at her. "Don't fucking say it."

Her gaze hardened. She wanted to say it and more, but when her eyes moved along my face, she knew not to. She shut her mouth and watched me, mournfully, unable to resist looking down to my knuckles.

I rolled my eyes, shifting my attention back to my reflection, and growled. I hated how weak I appeared, how weak I was. The emotions rushed over me like a river, like a train, and I was unable to stop them. Already there was a burning sensation behind my eyes and my skin was reddening, like the resentment that was pumping through my blood.

Not strong enough.

The words rung loudly, and soon memories took over me. Silver hair, tumbling snow, sinister smirks, all flashing like bombs behind my eyes. It all struck me, and before I knew it, I'd pushed myself from my seat and begun to pace up and down.

A rush of agitation flowed through my fingers, making them shake and my knees tremble. The back of my neck was hot and my vision blurred. I knew what this meant—what it had always meant. I'd tried shoving the thought to the back of my mind so I could feel that rush of hope again, but it was stupid to deny it any longer."

"There's not enough of us."

Saying it out loud had my head spinning. Had withered claws dragging down my chest, and the breath shrinking in my throat.

Nel said nothing, but she nodded.

It was enough.

I leaned against the vanity with a hiss, racking my fingers through my hair so that it fell out from the rubber band and fell around my shoulder. Sweat was already running down my neck, and the hair pushed it down further. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Shit," my voice cracked like ice.

"Do you want to talk about it, Helga?"

Apprehension rose in me like a balloon. I knew what she was referring to. Without even looking, I knew that she wasn't talking about Serec anymore but . . .

". . . you're my best friend."

Phoebe.

"You're my family."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Suppressed the feeling.

Nel's stare was burning into my neck.

I squirmed and stopped to lean against the desk. I stared up ahead—not at Nel, not at anything. I disconnected, pretended I was anywhere but here, sinking into the floorboards or burying myself in the shadows so the tears wouldn't run.

I felt myself move, lowering my hand until it was wrapped around the bottom drawer of my vanity. I hiccupped, feeling saliva slosh against the back of my throat, and shakily pulled it open.

It was right where I left it—the sheet of paper. Blue. Folded in an uneven square. I'd dropped it inside without a second thought, there'd been too many things on my mind at the time. I took a breath, the air barely making it to my lungs, and pulled it out.

My hands shook as I unfolded it. The seconds passed, and I turned the paper over. I was met with a drawing from what felt like years ago.

George's drawing.

It'd been hastily done; Arnold had been hassling him to get to bed and sleep. I remembered that. But it had been created with such enthusiasm, such warmth, that it easily made up for the lack of detail.

The shapes were almost offensively coloured, bright splotches of blue, yellow and green. There was a thin strip of grass at the bottom, a smiling sun in the right corner, and the mouths on both of our faces were drawn like red liquorice, curved so deep that they reached our ears.

I breathed, feeling the air glide down much easier this time, and felt warmth rush over me. It was soft, curling like glittering waves in the cords of my muscles, and reminded me why I was doing this.

"We need our third member."

Nel didn't respond.

I looked at her. "Do you think you could find them, Nel?"

Someone else, Nel.

She slowly nodded.

I nodded then turned back to the drawing. The blue paper had crinkled in my hands, and a throbbing pulse echoed in my ears as I traced George's little face.

"Good."

---

"Will you become a Guardian?"

The wind was whistling. It pawed at the fence, made the linked chains rattle, and pushed through in a soft blast that twisted our hair. Crisp on my skin. It would've left me shivering had I still been Helga. But the suit was warm, stronger than the breeze, as was the skin over my muscles.

The sunlight was dimming as skies puffed grey. Our shadows moved and shrunk until they faded completely. But despite it all, when Lark asked that question, all I felt was a gentle buzz.

I glanced down, realising that my hands were shaking—trembling. Not from the cold. No, I wasn't cold, but from . . . something else. I tried swallowing but my throat was too tight. It throbbed and burned and ached, like it was swollen.

My eyelids fluttered, confusion scrunching in my brow. Why was I feeling this? What was I feeling? It didn't hurt. It was almost . . . light. There was a space in my heart, no longer filled with dread or an unbearable heaviness. It was like a weight had been removed so now air could sift through my skin, tuck itself comfortably into my ribs and make my heart bounce.

It was like a buzz of electricity. It swept through me and thrummed like a guitar string. But it didn't hurt, it was . . . tender. A gentle rush, a billowing surge of ecstasy that curled in my heart and drowned me in warmth.

It was hope.

Air passed over my hands.

I blinked and focused on them again. They were held out in front of me, evenly spaced, like I was waiting for something to be dropped into them. The wind was soft, brushing my skin like flower petals, and a chill spread over my wrists.

It was different, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was like I'd taken off a pair of gloves for the first time in years. The way the air crawled over my skin, it felt so fresh, so sweet. My heart raced and I unfolded my fingers, wanting to collect as much of that feeling as possible.

I felt heat collect in my wrists. It was weird, but familiar. It was like when I pushed a forcefield out from my arms, but it was softer . . . yet more powerful. Less effort. Like if I tried hard enough, I could push the electricity wrapped around me out from my body and transform it into something else. Something I hadn't yet.

The pulsing in my chest dissolved in a shower of summer heat and I raised my eyes, glancing between the two, and had to fight back a big ugly grin. The idea of Phoebe becoming like us, officially joining us . . . it didn't hurt anymore. Not as much. There was still a dull twist of pain, but it was overshadowed by the possibilities. The idea that it would no longer just be the two of us anymore, that someone as smart as her would be on our team. That it was my best friend who would be by my side. For real this time.

Elation coursed through and threatened to spill from my lips.

Phoebe's stare was a flash of silver. The pale light pushed lines across her face, criss crossed, a perfect replication of the surrounding fence. My chest warmed. I was no longer afraid. Not like before. I would obviously always be afraid, and that would never change, but I just felt so much less afraid in this moment.

We were finally putting together a real team.

The fear that had left me frozen shattered as a new feeling swept through me. It was light and feathery; it made me think of flowers in bloom, stretching out from the melting snow in search of the sun. It swelled beneath my skin and begged to be pushed out, to be unleashed with magic.

My mouth stretched into a smile.

We'd done it.

"We'll be like those birds, Pheebs."

We'd finally made it.

"You watch it—we'll leave this place behind in the dust."

We'd found our third member.

"We'll be like fireworks."

We only had one more left. There was one more piece to the puzzle. We were one step away from fighting as a fully developed team, and one step closer to defeating this whole thing.

"We'll fly across the dark, brightening the night."

Which meant we were one step closer to being safe.

"You promise?"

One step closer to being how we once were.

"No."

The words slammed into me.

I stilled.

The air halted. Blood thundered in my ears. My head spun.

I looked up.

"No?"

Lark looked at her like she'd misheard. Like we all had.

"I . . ."

And the silence became hard, cold—violent.

Phoebe glanced between us, with a look I couldn't describe. It was so horrified, so twisted in shock and alarm, that all she could do was jerk her gaze between the two of us. Her knees were trembling. She had folded in on herself, wrapping her hands around her shoulders as she tried to cover up the shivering.

And then her eyes rolled onto me—just me—and immediately, I recognised the look. It was the look she always used to wear, whenever we were in school and she was unsure of herself. It was the look she would give me before she would slam the bathroom stall shut, barricading herself inside until she could get her breathing under control.

My heart sank.

"I–I'm sorry," she stuttered, eyes darting away. Another cool breeze pushed through and lifted the ends of her hair, blowing it into her face. "This . . . it's just—too much. I–It's too much."

I needed to get to her. I needed to help her.

I felt myself moving, stretching out a hand in her direction. I swerved around Lark, who watched me with sympathy, and reached out for my best friend.

"Pheebs—"

She flinched.

I froze. Thunder pounded in my chest.

She reacted immediately, staggering backwards and holding up her hands like she was facing a beast. A monster. And the way she looked up at me, with those large and frightened eyes, I suddenly knew exactly what she was thinking—

You've killed people.

The air stilled.

You have blood on your hands.

It became brittle, tightening like it was made of glass. I could feel it sharpening into hundreds of razor sharp points, and I struggled to keep on breathing.

And you want me to kill.

And then shattering.

The shards seeped and tore into my skin. Cold air crept into the folds, collecting like dust, and chilled me to the bone. I became unable to move, unable to look away, unable to see past the scared girl right in front of me.

Everything became a held breath. Everyone stayed perfectly still, no idea how to react to any of this. Lark hadn't moved from her spot. She watched everything unfold from over my shoulder, eyes wide with surprise, she lowered the trinket wrapped in her hand to her side. And I couldn't even sense Nel. She was so small and still and my sight was unclear.

Hurt swarmed under my shirt. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, but all I could do was stand here and stare.

Phoebe no longer looked at me. Her eyes were on her hands, wide with shock, like she couldn't believe her own actions. Like they had been caused by someone else. Air escaped in a hiss between my teeth. What was she thinking? Did I even want to know anymore?

But then there was a noise from behind me—perhaps Lark shuffling closer—and she jerked her frightened gaze up once more. Her sweater slipped down her hands, which she scrunched to her chest, as she moved backwards. And suddenly the small distance between us felt so much wider. The wind picked up, howling and twisting so that it rushed past like it were a river separating us.

Everything suddenly slowed.

Loose black threads swarmed her face, covering all but her eyes. The dark orbs darted up to mine and I felt the colour drain away. My heartbeat dropped. Everything became withered and torn.

I knew her stance before she could even get the words out.

"I'm sorry, I—" she swallowed, looking down frantically, and then swung around on her heels. "I can't!"

She scooped up her bag, swinging it onto her shoulder, and practically rammed herself into the door. The force burst the wooden plane open with a thud and she quickly tore off, dashing down the steps until she was out of sight.

I watched her go, unable to speak. Felt the breeze move my hair across my cheekbones. It tickled, felt ghostly on my skin, so distant. My knees buckled. I found myself sinking—lower, lower, lower—until I was on the ground.

Every part of me had seized up. I couldn't breathe. Numbness spread from the hole in my chest, creeping out like dead fingers, and rolled over me in waves. It billowed over me, desperate and hot, and with it, I let the transformation leech from my body.

Iridescence pulsed in my vision, and the uniform melted away. The broadness in my shoulders sunk until they were nothing but cords, no longer wrapped up in a barrier of muscles that soaked them in warmth. My hair tumbled down my back. Patches of skin that used to be covered were now bare and red from the wind.

I can't.

My palms slid across the ground. The concrete was freezing and stung my skin. My heartbeat ricocheted in my wrists.

"Can . . . can she do that, Nel?" Lark demanded, finally snapping back into motion. Her voice shot through the silence, drilling through the rattling pulse and into my skull, and she watched the doors swing shut with panicked eyes. "Should we go after her?!"

Nel didn't respond immediately. She watched the direction Phoebe had vanished, even as the doors shut, and let the seconds crawl by.

"No, she—" she paused, trying to process everything. "She made her choice."

Stares turned in my direction.

They burned, roaring into my back, trying to gauge my reaction. I didn't look back. I couldn't. Not even to give them a smile and force a bit of laughter. I couldn't even bring myself to move. Everything felt so heavy.

Shadows moved across the ground.

They were inching towards me.

I glanced at my hands, where that powerful feeling had once resided. It was still there but it wasn't the same. It wasn't that shimmering feeling that made me feel I could do anything. It was different—darker. The pulsing was powerful, it begged to be unleashed, begged to be turned into violence, into pain. I wanted to turn it into pain. To take away the pain I already felt, I wanted—no, needed to put it somewhere else. Anywhere else.

It's what you deserve.

My vision blurred.

". . . you're my family."

I screamed.

And smashed my hands into the ground.

---

I stared down at my bound hands.

The bandages were snug against my skin, warmed from the blood flow and too soft to be scratchy.

Guilt swarmed, tied a knot in my stomach.

Lila—no, Lark. She had to hold me back. From hurting myself even more.

The world had been spinning. My head had pounded. Blood ran up and down my neck, heating my skin, so much so that my back was soaked with sweat. I couldn't tell up from down, right from left. Everything had spilled, melding together like paint on a wet canvas, until burning shades of red had consumed the white.

And when I had come to, it was to Lark's face—pink and drenched in tears.

Her arms had been locked around me, nails in my skin, and her voice was hoarse from crying. The world had been rolling in and out of focus, but looking at her, the shadows fled. Drowned out sound came crashing back and my vision opened up.

The pain hadn't hit me yet. It was all a throbbing pile of nothingness, a tingling sensation that made my stomach squirm. I opened my mouth to ask what had happened when she glanced down. Frowning, I followed her gaze to my hands.

My bloody hands.

And slowly, it all came back.

The anger that had swept through me. The burning in my chest. The pulse in my wrists that had just begged me to hurt something. Not a person, though; no, obviously not. I had needed to hurt something so I could take the sting out of everything else, so I had turned it onto myself.

I could remember screaming. A sound that was so inhumane I could hardly believe it even came from my own mouth. I could remember the jagged texture of the ground biting into my skin. I could remember the burning. I could remember my blood hitting the concrete, as my skin was ripped apart.

And still I had continued to fight.

Fight my way out.

I had continued to fight against my body.

I can fight my way out.

Shadows that had pooled my mind pulled away, and I could remember telling myself that I was numb. I remember telling myself that those frustrated cries my body was expelling was from sheer exasperation. Yet the more I struck out and the more my knuckles bled, the more reality and pain blended into one. I was no longer sure of anything except the way that my body had screamed at me to stop.

And Lila.

The thick rolls of numbness dissipated, replaced with a sense of melancholy, and I twisted my lips.

She had been so scared, I'd never seen her like that. Sure, I'd seen Lila frightened or caught off guard, but nothing like this. Her hair had come completely undone, like she had been in a scuffle, and there was a bright redness in her cheeks.

The expression on her face had left me feeling sick.

Her face was always done up in a smile, one that made her eyes shine like a lake in the sun. It came naturally to her, like pretty much everything did. Even when we fought together, she was always smiling because that made her happy—fighting. But now her eyes were pinned straight to mine, wild and shaking, completely devoid of that natural shine. Her face shimmered with tears, pale beneath those patches of red, and tendrils of her hair were stuck to her face.

It stung, looking at her. It had all happened so fast, I couldn't navigate everything racing through my head, but I thought that this would be the better alternative. I thought that maybe I could hurt something else this time instead of the people I cared about. I had thought that if I could put the pain somewhere else—somewhere I could see—it would be easier to heal.

But now I realised that, no matter what I did, I always ended up hurting someone else. Even if it was just me I turned my pain on. I'd almost wanted to laugh, despite the tears streaming down my face. Was there anything I could do right?

A chill swept over me.

It crept down my collar, crawling down my spine and spreading across my shoulders. I shivered and shoved my gloves back on. It was uncomfortable, wearing a pair of knitted gloves over thick bandages, but with how cold it was this morning, it wasn't as bad as it could've been. I could feel the warmth already loosening the stiffness in my joints.

The sky was consumed in white shades of grey, curtains that blocked the sun from shining through. So far, it hadn't rained yet but I didn't know how long that would last.

I glanced up, tucked my hands into my pockets, and sucked in a sharp breath. The air was sharp like a knife, so cold it seemed wet, but I welcomed it. There was a dry ache in my throat; it made it hard to talk, to do anything. It was like it was still clogged up with tears and screams, and as the days passed, it became increasingly worse.

Gravel rolled beneath my feet. I moved my knees, bobbing up and down to get the blood flowing. I was covered head to toe, but goosebumps uncomfortably grazed the fabric, and my skin burned with chills.

I envisioned Rhonda's face when she saw what I was wearing and felt my mouth lift into a smirk. I'd already decided on wearing my hoodie, even before we'd changed our locations, but when I had looked out the window to a shimmering city, I also decided on layering up.

Since it was Rhonda, and therefore the queen of fussiness, I decided to actually pick clothes from my closet rather than the floor. I know, a real martyr. I barely wore the clothes in there—hence why they were hung up in the first place—but they were definitely cleaner (if not a little dustier).

I ended up pulling out a pair of older jeans that sat snug around my ankles and hips, and a white sleeveless shirt. I shoved on my hoodie than a large khaki jacket, which crinkled like paper with every movement I made. Nel had opened her mouth to make a snide comment but quickly thought better of it and turned away with a small shake of her head. I didn't know if she intended on making a dig about the hoodie or remarking that this was an improvement, but she held herself back anyway. Something I'd felt she'd been doing more frequently—holding back, I mean.

Sometimes, she'd slip back into old habits by making a snide remark, but mostly she had gone out of her way to soften up her edges around me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't at least partially appreciate it, but the way she kept looking at me was quickly getting annoying. She looked at me like I was a glass ball someone had dropped and she was waiting for the inevitable shatter.

It left me itching to get the hell out of my room. Moreso then usual.

The cold draped across my face and I shivered, feeling it slip beneath my clothes again. I huffed, fed up with the waiting, and pulled my phone out from my back pocket.

Today 11:34am

Rhonda Lloyd: On 2nd thought, I'll just pick you up instead.

Helga G. Pataki: What why

Rhonda Lloyd: Just cause okay? Be outside at 12. DO NOT make me wait.

I rolled my eyes, shoving my phone back into my pocket. 'DO NOT make me wait' it was nearing 12:15 yet she still wasn't here. Don't make me wait my ass.

The next half hour passed with me fuming. I wrapped my arms tight across my chest, moving my knees back and forth, and glared at the ground. I pretended to push all of the anger I felt up into my eyes, blasting my annoyance in pretend laser beams, acting like they were hitting her face. Her royal highness. Her late royal highness. Her royal lyingness. Rhonda 'I care SO much about my grades' Wellington Lloyd. I scoffed to myself. Yeah, she cares so much about her grades, but me? Oh, a little frostbite couldn't hurt.

I bet this was her way of getting back at me. She was probably still angry at me for forgetting about yesterday morning, even though it was totally and 100% not my fault. I had things to do. I couldn't help if one of them slipped my mind from time to time. Let's see her balance two polar opposite sides of her life, one of which involved being a freaking superhero. It wasn't exactly a walk in the park.

Although, now that I thought about it . . .

Why did I even need her to drive me anyway? I was Blue Jay, I could zip through town in ten minutes without all of this. I let loose a high pitched, exasperated squeak, smacking my forehead. Oh, so now this thought occurs to me. After I've been standing in the cold for almost an hour. Great. What a genius move.

I scrunched my mouth, about to reach for my pin when a roar sounded from the other end of the street. I leapt, heart stuttering, and craned my neck to the left as a silver car suddenly swerved around the corner to glide in my direction.

Immediately, I knew it was Rhonda.

I'd never actually seen her car before—and if I had, I hadn't bothered to remember it—but it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that this had Rhonda written all over it.

It was certainly nice, much nicer than anything anyone at school drove . . . I mean, obviously. I could just imagine Gerald bursting into tears at the thought of driving something so smooth and sleek. I didn't know much about cars, but I recognised it as a Mercedes Benz. A nice one.

It moved in electric silence, pushing down the street like an arrow, and came to a sharp halt in front of me. The engine was left purring, producing heated air, and the windows were tinted black. I couldn't make out more than a silhouette of the person inside, but I wasn't worried. I knew it was Rhonda without even opening the door. Who else drove something this nice in a place like this?

She popped the door open and I wasted no time clambering inside.

The first thing I noticed was the heat. It swept over me, curling around my face and down the back of my neck. It sunk through my denim, my skin, and coated my bones.

I sighed and rested my head against the seat, letting myself bask in the warmth. I'd been standing outside for so long that my skin stung from the sharpness in the air. It was nice to let the heat settle in.

I then noticed that the air was flavoured, tinged with a scent. It was soft, yet full of spice, and reminded me of fire and mahogany. There wasn't much of it, just a hint that made you pause to question if it really existed, and when I straightened in my seat to catch another whiff, I noticed the stereo screen. It was lit up—RHONDA'S IPHONE—playing a song heavy with strings and piano.

Elton John's Your Song (Remastered)

I quirked an eyebrow. Rhonda didn't strike me as the type to listen to this type of music.

I then shrugged, unable to care for long, and pulled the seatbelt over my chest. My hands were still shaking from the cold, but I made sure to move slower then usual so I wouldn't accidentally touch Rhonda. Again, she was the queen of I hate being touched. Not that I could talk, I guess.

When the seatbelt clicked, I looked back up, expecting to meet Rhonda's unhappy gaze as she berated me for taking my time (which would be rich coming from her). She didn't. She didn't say anything. Hell, she didn't even glance in my direction.

She had her gaze locked up ahead, a strange look in her eyes, and her lips stayed pressed shut. Bronze hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, her fingers free of their usual rings, and she was slumped back in her seat. There was more definition in her jaw now, like she was slightly clenching it, and a harder but more distant feeling twisting in her eyes.

It honestly surprised me. I'd never seen her so quiet before.

"What made you change your mind?" I asked, in reference to her changing our locations on such short notice. Not that I minded, of course. I was grateful that she had, but she'd been so adamant before. It was so sudden. And Rhonda didn't seem like the type to spontaneously change her mind about something. Not without reason anyway.

I took a moment to examine her. Unsurprisingly, her clothes were very stylish, even in this weather. She wore a matching set of black pants and a cropped shirt, revealing a strip of her abdomen. Her hair was swept back into a ponytail that, because of the short length, spiked at the end.

But what surprised me was the lack of makeup. Well, mostly lack of makeup. She was still wearing lipgloss and mascara, but nothing that coated her eyes or skin. Which was weird. I hadn't seen Rhonda with a bare face in years. There were dark patches along her skin, especially circling her eyes, and a random sprinkling of freckles along her forehead and cheeks. I blinked, unused to this version of Rhonda where her skin wasn't perfect and polished. It was bizarre.

But I couldn't help eyeing her enviously. Despite the drastic change (namely the bare face), she still looked gorgeous. In that movie star kind of way.

She blinked, like she'd been woken from a trance, and darted her gaze in my direction. Her eyebrows quirked up, as if she just remembered I was here, before she rolled her head to the side, eyes resigned, and breathed a sigh.

"Hi to you too, meathead," she said with a roll of her eyes before she eased the car out of her parked spot. The engine let out a gentle and low vibration as dark silhouettes from buildings flashed past us.

I narrowed my eyes. "What made you change your mind?"

"Jesus—just wanted a change in scenery, okay?" she snapped, craning her neck back slightly with a hiss between her teeth. I frowned. Obviously, there was more to the story then that, but I decided to let it go. Partially because it wasn't my business, but mostly because I didn't care.

"Okay, well—" I reached into my bag and pulled out the several sheets of paper from last night. "I wrote something."

"Cool," she nodded without looking away from the road. "So did I. We can compare them at the library."

I didn't respond to that.

I just sighed. Dropping the papers in my lap, I slammed my back against the seat.

Comparing them.

This was going to be a long day.

---

And there you have it-chapter nineteen. Again, super sorry that I had to split them up, I swear I'm not doing this because I like it, I really couldn't condense it. Also no Arnold. Dunno if I mentioned it on here, but yeah, he won't be returning until the chapter after the next but I've been focusing on more solo scenes (in the outlines) between Helga and him to hopefully make up on it.

So, thoughts? Do you hate it or love it? Do you have any theories, any predictions? I love reading those so please let me know! And again, I really hope those scenes weren't triggering. They were very emotional for me to write but I also wanted to represent what I felt like Helga's mental state would realistically be like. And though she's had development, i don't think she's anywhere close to fixing the root of her issues. Not yet.

But now onto the reviews!

Kryten: Yeeeah, it wasn't a big shock at the Guardians I picked 😅 I definitely could've picked characters that would've been legitmately shocking but I honestly just wanted ones who's personalities I vibed with more-hence why I picked the ones I have. Hopefully, regardless if the twist wasn't twisty, they can still be entertaining or somewhat interesting. And yeah, totally understand Helga's emotional meltdowns becoming grating, especially the last chapter (even I myself wasn't very happy with the result in the long term) and unfortunately, I couldn't realistically cut out the one in this chapter. But again, with more Guardians joining, the tone will begin to lighten up and she'll get called out (like she did with Nel in this chapter, which I do think was a small step forward). Oh, and deeefinitely expect Lila to be even more impatient in the coming chapters (dealing with Rhonda and Helga would be the worst). Thanks for the review!

Acosta perez jose ramiro: Oooh, I didn't know that about Rossy Aguire! That's actually really cool. And yes, now with the team growing, it'll hopefully ease the burden and she can start living her life. Thanks for the review!

Abby: Ahh, that's embarrassing about the Arthur thing. I don't know why my brain keeps doing that :') Thankfully I have a beta now so that mistake hopefully won't continue. Unfortunately, after this chapter, there are obviously some minor hiccups in the development of the team but the action will keep rolling (especially in the next two chapters). Thanks for reviewing!

Miladywords: Ahh thank you! Yes her vision was definitely important but I cannot give it away. Not yet. It is tied to something already in the fic tho ;) I love those predictions! Especially the trinket ones-Helga was moreso because I was into Hunger Games at the time I started this (and therefore it was a kinda reference to the mockingjay pin) but also I view it as a device that's eyecatching. You're pinning it to your chest, almost proudly, like a leader (which she's still shaping up to be). Phoebe's is absolutely spot on-don't feel bad for overthinking, i really love that. I overthink as well and it's nice to see that in the readers as well! I definitely find your complaint very, very valid. I've actually had other users voice similiar thoughts and I'm working to fix that in the future. This chapter unfortunately took a while to write but hopefully I can get the next one out sooner so I can continue the ongoing plot! Thanks so much!

Casandra Regina: ¡Dios mío, muchas gracias! ¡Dos días es tan rápido! ¡Absolutamente! Helga, en el canon, tiene problemas para lidiar con sus emociones y creo que eso se trasladaría absolutamente a su adolescencia. De hecho, me gusta mucho esa interpretación (sobre Miriam), ¡desearía haber pensado en eso antes! Y sí, Helga, de manera realista, probablemente haría todo lo que esté en su poder para evitar que Phoebe se convierta en Guardiana, pero necesitaba retomar la trama, así que tuve que hacer que actuara OOC para un capítulo XD Pero sí, el hecho de que ame tanto a Phoebe y desee a su mejor amiga con ella hace que este capítulo sea aún peor. Honestamente, se hizo difícil escribir algo, pero Helga es una de esas personas que cuando siente emociones, realmente las SIENTE. Absolutamente. Creo que Helga funciona muy bien como líder porque es una persona muy motivada y decidida, pero su mayor problema es su odio a sí misma y su hábito de cargar con todo el peso. Lila, y el resto de los Guardianes cuando se unan, definitivamente tendrán que recordarle que ser abierto no es una debilidad. Solo entonces, personalmente creo, podrá ser su mejor versión de sí misma. Muchas gracias por tu amabilidad, ¡realmente me motivó!

Okay, so that's that chapter done. Next one shouldn't be too long (I don't want to keep y'all waiting since I made certain promises). Y'all know the drill-review if y'all like! Questions can be answered much quicker on tumblr (which is no longer dead like before so yayyy)! Also as a little tidbit, there were actually quite of few hints buried in this chapter for things that are happening in the future!

Otherwise, I'll see y'all in the next chapter!