"one…two…three, smile…one, two, three, alright, smile…one, two, three and smile…"
"…one, two, three and smile…one, two, three and smile…two, three, now smile…"
The monotonous tones of the school photographers droned on and overlapped one another as Helga stood in line with the other P-S last named students from her grade. Lunch had just finished the hour before and the blonde teenager had her blue eyes transfixed ahead on the doors that led out of the foyer she stood in.
Each year, the large area was turned into a make-shift photo studio for picture day. At this point, Helga had become used to the hoards of students jabbering away in excitement at the pivotal day.
For her, it was simply another ordinary day.
She found it odd that most of her fellow 9th graders still put so much stock in this annual event. After having gone through it the two years prior, Helga felt that the others at the top of the Hanson Middle School food-chain would follow suit in her less-than-impressed attitude.
Unfortunately—and annoyingly for her—she appeared to be the lone bored person standing in the needlessly long line in which they all stood.
Helga gripped the photograph order form loosely in her right hand while gently tapping it against her thigh. She tried to focus on the sound that the cheap cellophane made as it hit the fabric of her jeans but found it difficult the way that Stinky Peterson chattered incessantly behind her with his still-girlfriend, Miss Lila Sawyer.
Despite her previous irritations with the girl, Helga couldn't help but feel irritatingly happy for the red head. Both her and Stinky had maintained their relationship through all the trials and tribulations that middle school had thrown at them. Puberty didn't even make a dent in their relationship and her happiness soon flooded with jealousy—but not in regard to her own not-so-relationship with Arnold Shortman.
No, Helga had a small flame of anger lit inside her lanky frame that of all people, Lila could somehow hold onto a boyfriend and yet her best friend Phoebe Heyerdahl seemingly could not.
It hadn't been for lack of trying, though.
At least not on Gerald's part.
The tall-haired-boy was nothing but persistent and determined to prove to Phoebe of his loyalty and utter indifference towards his position at the school. As he continued to excel in nearly any sport he participated in, he refused to partake in the 'benefits' that teenage popularity had to offer.
That's right.
Gerald Johanssen avoided the status quo (and the pretty popular girls that came along with it) like the plague and insisted on keeping his EarPods blasting with different musical beats at home in his ears.
Unless Arnold was around.
The two were still thick as thieves and while Helga wasn't exactly Gerald's biggest fan, she was Arnold's. And a big part of being his biggest fan was supporting the sweet and oftentimes naïve football-headed boy she loved with her whole heart.
"Things will work out with Gerald and Phoebe if they're supposed to, Helga," he'd always tell her when she complained about Lila and Stinky's sweeter-than-lemon-pudding romance. "I know Gerald and you know Phoebe. They'll figure it out."
"And if they
don't?" She'd argue. "What am I supposed to do, just sit around and wait for her to be part of society again instead of her stinkin' homework 24/7? I mean criminy, she's always been studious but since they broke up, she's practically been absorbed into those damn textbooks!"
No matter what Helga posed, Arnold maintained that positive attitude he was known for. "Phoebe and Gerald are our friends," he'd say, "and so are Lila and Stinky."
"Speak for yourself,
Arnoldo" Helga would mutter, though Arnold always pretended to be oblivious to her snark.
"Friends support friends."
And as frustrated as she was with his goody-goody loyalty self, she knew that Arnold Shortman—per usual—was absolutely right.
That didn't mean she couldn't still be bitter about it.
"…I reckon that there will be loads of people there! What about you Helga?"
Blinking twice to pull herself from her thoughts, Helga turned around to face Stinky and Lila who were both looking at her expectantly.
"What about me?"
Lila offered a small smile and a tilt of her head. "Will you be coming to Venus this weekend? I'm sure it will be just ever so much fun to support our friends' musical debuts."
Helga glanced down at the large envelop she held with Olga's fat check laying inside. She'd insisted on paying extra so she could have a pink background in lieu of the provided grey one. As if Helga cared…
"Uh," she started before shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. "I uh, I don't know, Lila. I may have big weekend plans or something. You know me—I'm practically the most popular girl in the grade and I just might be all booked up."
Holding her hand up to her mouth to elicit a small giggle, Lila merely nodded her head graciously while Stinky stared at the blonde in absolute confusion.
Stinky reached up to scratch at the back of his head while saying with his thick droll, "Since when did you become so popular?"
Raising her brow, Helga crossed her arms over her chest. "Excuse me?"
Lila frowned knowing exactly where this was headed as Stinky remained dubious to the situation he found himself in. "Gosh, I always thought that Rhonda was the most popular girl in school, on a counta all them parties and friends and those fancy clothes and—"
"Criminy, it was a joke, Stink-O," Helga snapped while dropping her arms in frustration at her sides. "You know… sarcasm."
"Jokes are supposed to be funny, Helga," Stinky argued though Lila was quick to come to his defense.
"You know Helga," she cooed in a soft-spoken manner "she has just the most… unique sense of humor."
Taking her comment as an insult, Helga merely huffed and turned back around to re-focus her attention ahead at the long line of students waiting for their picture to be taken.
What an absolute OAF, she found herself thinking. All these years later and the kid is STILL dumb as a post. You'd think he'd have grown some brain cells by now or something. Glancing around her to see what other kids were joining the lines, Helga's thoughts soon returned to a familiar place.
Her absolute distaste in Lila.
And that Lila, she continued from the privacy of her brain, she acts so INNOCENT like she's some kind of precious gem. I'll NEVER be able to understand what everyone sees in the girl. She's just as blind as her numbskull boyfriend. I can't WAIT until we get to high school and then—
Her thoughts were soon interrupted by a sudden hubbub of activity that frenzied up ahead.
"Hey! Carson!" Someone yelled toward Carson Peabody, formerly known as 'Peapod Kid', as he walked towards the large group of students.
"C'mmere, man" another voice hollered while waving his arms up above his head, "saved a spot for you!"
Helga let out a dramatic huff at the boy's appearance and allowed her eyes to roll from one side to another. As middle school had progressed, her utter annoyance at the so-called 'popular kids' at Hanson Middle School had only grown. They strutted around the school as though they owned the place and people moved from their path should they manage to be in the way.
Not Helga, though.
Definitely not Helga G. Pataki.
The clan of popular kids knew she wasn't about to bow down to them—and neither was Gerald even though they consistently tried to convert him. There wasn't a lot that the pair often agreed on, but the sheer arrogance displayed by the small group of self-proclaimed kings and queens was something Helga and Gerald could always find a consensus about.
"Jeez, can you believe that guy?" Helga blurted out to no one in particular. "Kid just shows up and butts his way into the line like the rest of us haven't been waiting here for twenty minutes already."
"Relax, Helga," a familiar voice stated from the line just beside her. "We'll all get our turn."
"That's not the point, Arnold," she responded instinctually. "It's the fact that he has blatant disregard for the rest of us like we're all just some—" Stopping herself mid-sentence, Helga's eyes went wide and she turned her head to face the smiling boy on her right. "A-Arnold! What are you doing here?"
The football-headed boy smiled with a half-lidded gaze directed towards his somewhat-girlfriend. "Same as you, I'm getting my picture taken. They called P-S, didn't they?"
Blood rushed to Helga's cheeks as the idiocy of her question sunk into her skull and laid at the base like a heavy rock. "Well… I mean… doi! Criminy, football-head, are you suddenly incapable of taking a joke too like Stinky over here?"
"Gosh, Helga," Stinky muttered. "How was I supposed to know you were only fooling? Even I know that jokes are 'spose to be funny."
Stifling a laugh, Arnold was quick to diffuse the conversation that would curdle should he give Helga the chance to respond. Gesturing towards the envelope in her hand, Arnold asked, "Are you getting photos this year?"
Letting out a singular laugh, Helga rolled her eyes before turning entirely to face Arnold straight on. "You know that Olga," she said and raised the envelope to wave it with mild contempt. "She even sprang for a colored background like I'm still some nine-year-old or something."
"She's just trying to make up for lost time," Arnold countered, though Helga didn't hesitate to voice her opinion on the matter.
"That's the thing about lost time, Hair Boy," she paused for a moment before turning back to face in the direction of her own line. "It's lost."
"My Helga, are you certain that's how you feel?" Lila chimed in though nobody had asked the girl to do so. "I'm just ever so sure that Olga is aware of her missed time with you."
"And?" Helga shot back without even looking over her shoulder to properly address the eavesdropping girl.
"And, well…" she paused for a while to think on the proper answer before continuing. "Well, I suppose if I were in your situation, I'd try to be a little more…empathetic, that's all."
Helga scoffed at the suggestion and turned to glance over her shoulder in Lila's direction. "Thankfully for you, you're not in this little predicament then, huh?" Smirking at her own witty comeback, Helga dropped the subject entirely and turned to face Arnold in the line beside her. "You and Geraldo have a chance to check out those lyrics yet? Maybe your little boy band could play it for the Open Mic Night at the Fly Trap this weekend."
Furrowing his brows in mild confusion, Arnold gave her a puzzled look. "The Fly Trap?" he repeated while Stinky too questioned Helga's words.
"I reckon that I thought it was called Venus," he wondered aloud—Helga losing her patience with the constant interrupting of what she had thought was at least a semi-private conversation.
"Oh, for cripes sake," she blurted before taking a deep breath and explaining. "It's a nickname. Like the plant. Venus Flytrap. VE-NUS. FLY-TRAP. Criminy…" trailing off on her last word, Arnold wagged a lone finger of understanding in her vicinity.
"That's clever, Helga," he commented. "Maybe you should have named the club. That's a lot catchier than Venus."
Completely unsurprised, Helga simply nodded her head self-assuredly. "You're telling me. If it's anyone who knows clever, it's Helga G. Pataki, and speaking of clever—you ever gonna answer me about that song, or what?"
Disappointed that they had somehow circled back around to the previous topic, Arnold reached up to anxiously rub at the back of his neck while considering her question. "Right, your song, well… it uh… it hasn't exactly come up in conversation yet."
Raising her brow in curiosity, Helga eyed him with a glint of disbelief in her gaze. "Considering I saw your names on that sign-up sheet to perform, I find it rather unlikely that you haven't talked about your set."
"We've talked about the set, yeah," Arnold managed though a hard lump had begun to grow inside his throat. "But your song, it's—"
"Great, right?" She finished for him. "I know, I know. I should let myself be surprised but I'm just a little excited to hear my lyrics blend with whatever music it is you two have concocted. Kinda cool, don't you think?"
As Arnold opened his mouth to respond, yet another commotion distracted the teens as their lines inched forward towards the photographers.
Wandering into the large foyer from the locker room area was Addie Reeves—the newly appointed hot topic among the teens of Hanson Middle School. Waving in the general direction of where Helga stood with Stinky, Lila, and Arnold, the girl frowned slightly while everyone around her waved back.
"Addie!" Arnold called out as she half-skipped over to where her name had just been called. Rolling her eyes minimally, Helga looked away from the brunette once she approached where they stood in the line.
"Hey, Arnold!" She greeted before turning to Helga in the line over. "Hi Helga! I dig your flannel, is it new?"
Briefly looking down to the outfit she wore, the fingers on Helga's free hand danced over the fabric before she shrugged off Addie's compliment. "New to me maybe, but I'm pretty sure I just got it at the Thread Spread."
"Oh sweet," she answered enthusiastically. "I go there for almost everything. It's where I got this skirt and my spiffy new sandals!" She twisted a foot out to show off the strappy shoes that Helga barely took notice of.
"Right," Helga said blankly, "how… spiffy."
Ignoring the lack of emotion in her tone, Addie took her foot back and casually went on. "I always like to think about the people who wore the stuff before me. Why they gave it up… how it got there and all that."
Smirking humorlessly, Helga quickly retorted, "Pretty sure the only people who wore my flannels before me were some old dead guys."
Silence followed her statement as everyone tried to comeback from the cave the conversation had sunk into.
"So…" Arnold moved on after a beat "we saw your name on the sign-up for Open Mic night this weekend. Are you planning on singing another one of your originals?"
Nodding excitedly, Addie wasted no time giving more details about her imminent performance. "You betcha! I've been working on a new song I'm planning to do… hopefully it'll be ready by then!"
"I'm just ever so certain that it will be," Lila added while clasping her hands happily in front of her chest. "Your last song was so wonderful, I'm absolutely positive everyone will just adore it."
Holding her hand up to display her crossed fingers, Addie began making her way to the back of the line while saying, "Here's hoping!"
"Why don't'chya stay up here with us?" Stinky offered. "You can cut in front of us if you wanna."
"No, no," Addie said with a vehement shake of her head. "That wouldn't be fair to everyone behind you! Besides, being by myself in long lines like this is great for daydreaming. Helps me write better. I'm sure Helga could tell you all about that, huh?"
Eyes drifted to Helga who looked around somewhat clueless to the stares on her. "Oh-Oh yeah. Yeah, sure."
Sticking a thumb up to point over her shoulder as she wandered away, Addie muttered cheerfully, "See? She gets it."
As Addie made her way to the back, Helga looked to Arnold with a smug smile. "I can't wait for my song to kick her song's ass at that open mic night. You guys'll take home the hundred bucks easy if it's anything like her last song."
"I uh, I don't know, Helga," Arnold murmured nervously. "Her songs are certainly…catchy."
"Catchy?" She repeated with a shake of her head. "More like repetitive. But maybe all that daydreaming of hers will help her get better."
"Geez, Helga," Stinky said sadly "you sound awfully jealous if ya ask me—"
"Well nobody did ask you, Stinky," she shot back in an acidic tone. "What, you and Sid think your little duo stand a chance against my lyrics? Or is she who you're worried about beating?"
"Not everything's a competition," Arnold reminded her calmly, though she effortlessly brushed his comment aside. "Maybe Stinky and Sid are just doing the show for fun."
Heavily dropping her arms at her sides, Helga turned to face Arnold straight on. "What? Are you telling me that you and Gerald aren't motivated in the slightest by that cash prize? Criminy, I'm dating a living participation trophy."
"Dating?" Arnold repeated.
Immediately regretting her words, Helga tried to shrug it off. "I mean… together or whatever…we…are…"
Sharing a look, Lila and Stinky moved up as the line stepped forward.
"Wilikers, I'm sure glad that Lila and I are officially dating," Stinky announced. "I reckon that whatever you two are doing sounds pretty complicated."
Although, complicated hardly described the precarious situation Helga often felt tangled up in. When it came to Arnold, she knew in her heart that the two of them were an official 'item' but she feared that admitting so would scare the football-headed boy away as it had the first time. The terms of their deal—their 'escape clause' as they called it—seemed to become cloudier by the minute and it flooded Helga's subconscious with doubt nearly every single waking moment.
Sitting in front of the camera as the school photographer clicked away, Helga found it difficult to maintain her attention towards the small lens ahead. While these pictures meant next to nothing to her, she knew that she wouldn't be willing to go through the abhorrent affair that was 're-take day.'
Despite her flurry of disconnected thoughts, she managed enough wherewithal to face forward and smile when the photographer gave his line:
"Alright, one…two…three, and smile."
Walking into Sunset Arms, Helga didn't bother to announce herself as she entered the busy home. Tossing her jacket onto one of the few empty hooks by the door, she wandered into the living room where Miles was sitting watching television with both of his parents while Ernie sat on a nearby chair muttering to the newspaper blocking his face from view. Standing stoically in the entryway for a brief moment, Helga soon cleared her throat to gain the attention of everyone.
"What are we watching?" She asked the group whose eyes shifted to look in her direction.
Remaining seated on the couch, Miles greeted Helga with a smile. "Reruns of an old sitcom we used to watch when I was a kid."
Glancing over at the television that flashed with black and white images of a traditional housewife getting into mischief, Helga nodded her head slowly. "Ahh. Love You, Linda! I used to watch that growing up."
"An old soul, huh?" Phil smirked without moving his eyes from the tv. "You never struck me as a sitcom kinda girl."
"Oh, I'm not," she quickly replied while moving to sit on the floor just ahead of the couch. "Miriam used to have it playing while Bob was at work, so I watched it a lot whenever I'd be home sick from school."
"It was always one of my favorites as a kid" Miles explained while returning his attention to the show. "I think I used to have a crush on Linda for a while."
"You certainly did," Phil said without a pause for hesitation. Taking a moment to laugh at his memories while Miles stared blankly in his father's direction, he continued by saying, "He never missed an episode, this one. Always sitting too close to the TV and saying you'd marry Linda, even though she was always causing trouble."
Laughing along with her husband, Gertie eyed her son who only grew defensive at the comment.
"She was just really funny, Dad—"
"Maybe you related to her," he went on much to Miles' demise "being so clumsy and making all your crazy schemes."
"They weren't schemes," he argued, growing more defensive by the moment. "They were antics, and they were funny."
"Keep telling yourself that, lil' laddie," Gertie finally said in a Scottish accent after being quiet for the majority of the disagreement that was unfolding before Helga's entertained eyes. "
Moving from the subject, Miles turned to Look at Helga and gave a small nod in the direction of where Arnold's room was. "If you're looking for the boys, they're upstairs."
"The boys?" Helga repeated with a raised brow of curiosity.
"Yeah," Miles said thoughtlessly "they're working on some band stuff or something."
Band stuff, Helga thought to herself while offering a nod and exiting the room in pursuit for Arnold's How could they be working on band stuff? They haven't even told me anything about the song I wrote for them… Once she entered the room, she found Arnold sitting on his bed fiddling with a keyboard and Gerald playing random beats on a synthesizer.
Standing in the entryway for a long moment, Helga cleared her throat to announce her appearance. "Hard at work I see?"
"Yeah," Arnold said while maintaining his attention down on the keys almost sheepishly. "Working on a song to play at the open mice gig."
"Ahh," Helga resounded before taking a few tentative steps further into the room. "What about the song I gave you? That would be good with music… don't you think?"
"Well—" Arnold began, though was quickly cut off by Gerald's boisterous answer.
"We're going a different route, Pataki."
Helga stared at the two with wide eyes and a hint of anger. "A different route," she repeated slowly to enunciate each word carefully. "What exactly does that mean? A 'different route'? What was so wrong with the song I carefully constructed for you two dweebs?"
Sharing a look, Arnold began to take the lead. "You write too…"
"Too what?" Helga spit back while planting her hands on her hips.
"Too good," Gerald finished for his friend who merely dropped his head into his hands in embarrassment.
"Too good, huh? What does that even mean that I write too good?"
Trying to extinguish the already blazing fire, Arnold began delicately explaining: "Helga, You're a great writer. You see things like others don't but—"
"But people want songs that they can sing ALONG to, man!" Gerald quickly interjected.
"Oh yeah?" Helga countered with a deep glare in the boys' direction. "And just what's that supposed to mean, smart guy?"
"It's just… sometimes the words you use might be a bit too… advanced?" Arnold tried with little success.
Giving her boyfriend a blank stare, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Advanced, huh?"
Choosing not to read the room, Gerald continued with his ever-reliable charm. "Nobody is going to sing along to the word 'aubergine,' Helga! Nobody even knows what the hell that means!"
"It's another word for 'eggplant' and—newsflash—eggplants are PURPLE!" She started yelling before once again being interrupted by Gerald who was having none of her poetic explanations.
"So just say PURPLE!"
Setting his keyboard to the side, Arnold stood as though his presence would somehow stop the fight that was unfolding before his eyes.
"It's called poetry, Johanssen! Imagery! No wonder you totally bombed our poetry unit—"
Swinging his head to give Arnold a glare of his own, Gerald whispered crossly, "Dude, you told her about that?"
Matching the hushed tone, Arnold shrugged his shoulders. "Not….specifically…"
Ignoring their aside, Helga went on with fire in her tone. "No one had to tell me. Your reaction to obviously superior writing says it all."
Defensively, Gerald argued, "You know what good song writing is? 'We will, we will, ROCK YOU.' And 'Here comes the sun,' or that 'Hey Jude' song with the—"
"Na, na, na, repetitive nonsense? You call that good?"
"Guys—" Arnold tried with little success. "Can we tone it down a bit here?"
Ignoring his please, the pair continued on their rampage.
"Well, it's a hell of a lot catchier than 'aubergine'—"
"YOU TRY FINDING A WORD THAT RHYMES WITH PURPLE YOU NUMBSKULL! And besides, it's SMARTER, okay? Smart doesn't equal catchy—"
"And that's my POINT, Pataki!" Gerald huffed; the two staring at one another with wild eyes and heaving chests. "We want catchy. Not… not smart."
After a prolonged moment of a staredown that could have lasted the ages, Arnold moved to stand between the heated pair to quietly state. "I think what Gerald is trying to say is that your lyrics just don't really fit with the kind of music we want to make. That's all. It's like… a creative difference."
Helga turned to look at Arnold with sad eyes—eyes that both understood and were withholding tears. "Creative differences, huh?"
"Yeah. Yeah! Creative differences. That's all."
A long minute of silence settled between the trio as Helga absorbed the words her boyfriend had told her. After a long and soothing breath, the blond nodded her head slowly before beginning her next series of words. "Okay, Arnold," she said in a sickeningly sweet tone, "here's a creative difference for you two dinguses. I'll take my bomb ass lyrics elsewhere to people who will appreciate them AND my talent that—by the way—I was offering to you FREE OF CHARGE."
"Nobody is paying us, Pataki!" Gerald countered as she began making her way back towards the door of the bedroom.
"Oh yeah? Well, now nobody ever will!" Just as she opened the door to leave, tears brimming in her eyes, Helga turned around to make direct eye contact with Arnold who seemed stunned by the events that had taken place. "Whatever happened to 'friends support friends,' huh, hair-boy? Thought we were all friends."
Desperate to stop her from leaving, Arnold reached a lone hand out and yelled, "We ARE Helga, but—"
"Don't 'but' me, football-head. Next time, how about you follow your OWN advice and just be honest with me, huh?"
And with that, Helga stormed out of Arnold's room and rushed down the stairs without so much of a goodbye to the boarders looking stunned at her sudden exit from their home.
The small space of Venus, more commonly known now as 'The Fly Trap' thanks to one Helga G. Pataki, was bustling with teenagers awaiting open mic night. Up on the small stage, people prepared their sets and lugged on equipment for the various acts that would be performing throughout the night—all in pursuit of the grand prize consisting of a whopping hundred bucks that Helga couldn't care less about.
In Helga's mind, as she held onto a bottled energy drink she had purchased from the concession stand, the whole thing was a scam. The cover to get into this joint was five bucks a head and the venue—plus their concessions and t-shirts—was easily making enough to up their prize to something a little more worthwhile.
But it was fine. Everything was just peachy. She stood on the sidelines waiting for Arnold and Gerald to prepare their first set, much to her demise. After their little fight, Arnold found himself soaking wet from the rain as he had walked to her house to talk to her. He tried his best in that football-headed way of his to explain that he genuinely liked her song but Gerald just wasn't convinced and they opted to try to do something different.
And what was that difference that one may ask?
Instrumental beats.
As if that would win some small-town open mic night.
But here she was, playing her role of the supportive girlfriend-not-so-girlfriend and so she stood idly by watching with a grimace all the while the events of the other night swirling about her head.
"Tough night?" A deep voice asked her, and she glanced up to see none other than their childhood bully Wolfgang referring to her.
"As if you care," she muttered before taking a swig of her Smith's soda.
"These gigs always seemed kind of forced to me, don't you think?" He went on despite not being asked. "Like some lame attempt to get all the youths of the town to bond or some shit."
Helga couldn't help but smirk at his statement. "Yeah, I can say I agree with that."
"You going up there tonight or just looking pretty on the sidelines?"
"Pssh," Helga let out a half laugh filled with soda and quickly shook her head. "Not for me. Tried writing song for my… friend's band and they said it was 'too good.' Whatever that means."
"Well," Wolfgang let out a long sigh before finishing the drink he'd been holding. "I'd say good luck, but for both our sakes, I have a feeling good luck isn't the sentiment we'd like to be wishing our 'friends' up there. See ya around."
Just as Helga turned to reply to his sentiment, the leather studded guy was already gone leaving Helga by herself as she stared up with wonder at Gerald and Arnold as they introduced themselves to the bustling crowd.
"Hello Venus!" He shouted and was met with roaring applause. "Hope you're ready to kick it with some cool beats my man Arnold and I have cooked up for you. We even have a special guest on deck ready to blow your minds with a fun collab we've been working on, don't we Arnold?"
Helga's eyes widened in curiosity to Arnold who nodded his head solemnly—almost as though he were hiding a secret. What are you thinking in that freaky-headed brain of yours, huh?
And so the night went on. Song after song the pair played their beats which weren't half bad, but Helga could barely focus on this 'special guest' Gerald had mentioned at the beginning of their set. Who on earth were they planning to bring on that stage with them? Stinky? Iggy? For the love of god, LILA? Who could—
Helga's curiosities were soon met by a familiar face. One that she had desperately hoped wouldn't be the person they'd chosen to infiltrate their band. Her long red floral skirt and jean jest gave her away.
Addie.
Addie Reeves.
Little miss ADDIE FUCKING REEVES.
Blood began to boil beneath Helga's skin as the now trio began a mix of that 'Dance' song the girl had performed at that poor excuse of a street dace they held what felt like eons ago.
Somehow, Helga began making her way through the dancing crowd until she'd made it all the way to the front. Her eyes locked with Arnold's and all the kid could muster was a shrug.
A SHRUG.
This was it. Helga knew she had to do something drastic—had to do something to prove that she wouldn't just be some silent victim to this public display of betrayal. The moment their song ended, Helga swiped the microphone from Eugene who had been slated to go next.
Without thinking and without a hint of regret, Helga began speaking into the microphone as Gerald, Arnold, and Addie left the stage.
"What a performance, huh?" She milked the crowd who clearly agreed with her half-assed sentiment. "You know, before they decided to pull our local celebrity Addie up here, these two dweebs had actually asked me to write a song for their band. Isn't that wild?"
"Helga!" Arnold whispered to her just off stage. "Helga! What are you doing?"
Ignoring the boy, she instead reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper that she had been saving for a moment such as this. "After they rejected my lyrics, I decided to adapt it—to a poem of sorts. After all, that's all I'm really GOOD for around here, right? Poetry?"
Quiet mumbles echoed through the small space as Helga cleared her throat and began to read the words on the paper. "I call this one, 'Nothing Rhymes with Purple.'"
"Oh god," Arnold murmured while hiding his head in his hands.
Nothing Rhymes with Purple
I know it,
I know.
But you can't see the poetry in words bigger than your IQ
It's sad, but not surprising
Considering it's you.
Although I was expecting someone's help by my side
It then became clear that you weren't all cut and dry
Yeah, you weren't my ride or die
But you know, I won't cry
I have hindsight and wisdom
Yeah, I got it to the nines
I got it tenfold
Anyone can write your superficial rhymes.
And while you have your stupid head all packed with idiotic dreams
I'm choosing to walk and leaving you with my final word,
And that word?
'Aubergine.'
Dropping the mic with a loud THUMP, Helga ran off of the stage and into the night—surpassing everyone and anyone who could try and stop her. If Arnold hadn't caught on, not only was he the dunce she always believed him to be, but she'd boldly enacted the escape clause they'd first mentioned when they began dating once again.
She was walking.
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! lots to pack in, but i think it turned out pretty well. Remember to follow my Twitter and Tumblr with the hashtag #HelgaUnbound
Next chapter is slated for September 11th.
Personally I'm going through some really life changes so just keep that in mind. but i plan to post on this date! please leave me a review and let me know what you think.