(AN: I know I said to some of you that this chapter would be up Friday. I meant to get it up on Friday, but I ended up working a longer shift than I was scheduled and I got offered a job interview in the field I actually want to be in and I visited my family for the weekend and yadda yadda yadda… anyway, sorry that this is getting posted later than I said it would be. But better late than never, right? (dodges tomato)

I also apologize for how long this chapter is, but it was too jarring to cut it off anywhere before where I did.

And I apologize for apologizing so much. Again.)

…………

"For Christ's sake, what took you so long?"

Helga sighed impatiently at her brother-in-law's greeting. "I had to stay after school and get tutored."

"Didn't it occur to you that you have a prior obligation to look after your nephew? Didn't it occur to you that I have a job that I'm already late for?"

"Look, sorry, but my teacher was pretty frickin' adamant that I start my tutoring today. And from the sound of things, I'm going to be staying after school getting tutored every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until my grades improve."

"Shit." Owen Trotsky pressed his hand to his forehead. "Who's supposed to look after Stan now?"

"You know, you could always ask Miriam," Helga said, not bothering to hide her annoyance with him. I still can't figure out why on God's green earth Olga ever wanted to marry you.

"I wouldn't trust your mom to be able to take care of a goldfish." Owen suddenly flinched. "Don't tell her I said that."

Helga snorted. "As if I ever talk to her." She swung her book bag off of her shoulder and picked up Stan, who was chewing on a teething ring. His first tooth, right in the middle of his lower mouth, was just starting to come in. "Besides, your shift doesn't start until 4:00 anyway. You're hardly late at all. Why do you always want me here so friggin' early?"

"Because getting in early and working overtime is sure to get me a promotion, that's why. I've got to go. And don't think for a minute that we're going to pay you for that half hour you missed."

"Oh dear, my financial future is ruined," Helga said melodramatically. Owen flew out of the house without another word.

"Thank God he's gone," Helga muttered, placing Stan in his walker. "Promise me you won't turn out like him."

Stan gurgled and drooled.

"Your mental capacities astound me, Stanley," Helga said sarcastically. In truth, she probably would have liked her nephew better if she didn't have to spend practically all of her free time baby-sitting him, even when she reminded herself that he was a blend of Owen and Olga—a scary proposition. Helga was trying to not hold that against Stan, though. Perhaps he could still be saved. "I can see you won't be much help with my algebra homework." She reached into her book bag and pulled out the worksheet, the problem that she had completed so quickly jumping out at her. "'If you believe you can do it, you can do it!'" she mocked in a high-pitched, sing-song voice. Then she snorted. "Arnold. What a load of nonsense. What an idealistic simpleton."

She stopped there, however, catching herself. Oh shitsticks. That had sounded almost exactly like how she used to refer to him in elementary school. That had sounded almost exactly like one of her preludes to her declaration of undying love for that very same idealistic simpleton. But no, that was the old Helga, who was long dead and gone.

So instead, she just snorted again, saying, "I finished that problem because I understood it. And I've just been getting crappy grades because I haven't really cared enough to try, that's all. Obviously I've always understood this junk. It wasn't some pseudo-humanistic garbage that did it, it was my own capabilities." There. That was better.

Of course, Helga had been nervous about seeing him again—not just seeing him, but actually having to interact with him. That time at the dance last year had hardly counted, she thought. She had completely purged him out of her life and no longer spent all of her days pining after him, and keeping him out of her mind had been relatively easy because he wasn't constantly around her. Out of sight, out of mind and all. But she knew that to have refused Arnold as her tutor would have just proven that she wasn't over him, and that she couldn't handle being around him. So, although she was nervous that that part of her that still thought she was in elementary school might resurface (for while that Helga was dead, sometimes that Helga seemed to forget she was dead), she wanted to prove to herself, once and for all, that she was a new person now, and that nobody, not even Arnold Short, could make her lose control of herself.

And that first tutoring session had gone rather well, Helga thought. In fact, although she wouldn't have anticipated this, finally explaining everything to him felt like lifting a huge burden off her shoulders.

"You know, Stan," she mused—Helga had always had a habit of talking to herself, and even though that was basically what she was doing now, Stan's presence in the room actually gave her a second party to address, regardless of his ability to actually understand her—"maybe actually seeing him and telling him the truth about everything might be the final step into actually completely moving on. Maybe now my elementary school self can finally die for good." She humphed to herself. "He's dating Melissa Hopkins? Or at least he was a few months ago? Criminy. What did he see in that perfect little princess? I think I just answered my own question."

Stan made a noise of confusion.

"Not that I'm jealous or anything," she snapped at Stan, as though he had accused her of something. "He can date whoever the hell he wants to. I'd have just assumed that by now he'd grown out of the 'you're nice and pretty and that means I'm crazy for you' stage. I sure have, anyway."

She focused her attention back on her review worksheet, filling the problems out quickly. Again, she didn't really put much effort into them, but she was finding that at least she understood them better than she had thought previously. Probably the fact that she had actually assisted her own tutor with a problem was a help in the boost of her confidence. She smirked. If this kept up, pretty soon she'd be tutoring Arnold. That would be kind of fun, actually, being a tutor. She could teach Arnold that success came from a true understanding of the material, not simply naively believing that you could do it. Although… as silly as his philosophy had sounded, it was almost refreshing to hear someone who wasn't bogged down by realism. She couldn't deny that her spirits had been lifted from talking to him. And he had complimented her clothing—sincerely. Most people either downright said it was weird, or if they did say it looked good, it was done sarcastically. But no, he had truthfully, honestly liked at least one part of her getup. What was with him and the color pink, anyway?

Helga dropped her pencil. "Why in the hell am I still thinking about Arnold?" she asked.

Stan giggled.

"Not funny," Helga growled. "Don't think I have any sort of feelings for him. I did once, but that was a long time ago and I'm over that now. I'm just a little flustered because I did once. And because he's hot. Heck, probably every girl gets a little flustered around him. What I'm feeling is nothing out of the ordinary, and it certainly isn't love or even a crush or anything like that."

Stan broke out into the full-fledged laughter of a baby.

"I'm so glad you find this whole thing amusing," Helga muttered. "If this is funny to you, you're going to be a total heartbreaker when you get older. Males. You all suck."

Except for Arnold, the elementary school Helga who was once again forgetting that she was dead piped up with emotion. Arnold, that amazing soul; that bastion of hope and caring in this cruel, harsh world; the lighthouse to which I steer my ship in the darkest hours—

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" she shrieked. "Would you just shut up and stay dead like you're supposed to?" She paused thoughtfully. "'The lighthouse to which I steer my ship in the darkest hours'? That's actually pretty good…" She scribbled it down on the side of her worksheet.

Stan made a gurgling sound.

"Just for general usage," Helga insisted. "I want to have it around just in case I can fit it into a story or poem sometime. One not about Arnold. Because I don't write about him anymore."

But even as she said that, lines and lines of over-the-top poetry were already flowing through her brain, lines about the golden-locked boy, the angel on earth, the gentle ray of hope.

"Listen," she growled, this time completely directed at herself, "I'll pound those lines out of you and into the ground with a sledgehammer if I have to. Those thoughts could ruin me. Do you not realize how happy I am now, happy because Arnold is completely out of my life?"

But you were far happier when you loved him, and completely accepted that you did, and just let yourself get washed away in it whenever he was near. Don't you remember?

Helga scowled and hastily turned back to her homework. When you argue with yourself you're just asking for trouble.

…………

Chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, a cookie, milk. School lunches were never very creative, Arnold thought to himself. It was the next day, Thursday, fifth period, Arnold's lunch hour. Unfortunately, Gerald had lunch fourth period, but at least Lila had fifth period lunch too. He took a seat next to her at a table in the center of the room—the upperclassmen had taken all the good seats by the doors.

"Hello, Arnold," said Lila with a smile. "How have you been?" Arnold did have another class with Lila—English—but that was seventh period, so lunch was often the first time during the day that they saw each other. They usually hung out before school for a few minutes, but Arnold was in the drumline and had band practice every morning, which meant that his mornings were cut short and he really didn't get to actually talk to either Gerald or Lila until PE and lunch, respectively.

"Pretty good. Pretty tired. We played extreme dodgeball in PE."

Lila paled. She had PE next period. "Oh, dear. I've never liked dodgeball."

"Me neither, but it does keep you in shape." Arnold cut out a piece of his chicken-fried steak.

"Where were you yesterday afternoon?" Lila asked. "There's this new Monet exhibit at the museum that seems ever so interesting, so I called your house to see if you wanted to see it with me, but your grandpa said you were gone."

"Yeah, I had to peer tutor someone and then I went to the arcade with Gerald. I don't have any plans today, though, if you'd still like to go."

"I can't today. Dance practice." Lila looked at Arnold curiously. "You're a peer tutor? How long has this been going on?"

"Since yesterday."

"Well, I'm ever so certain you'll do a great job," smiled Lila. "Who are you tutoring? Or are you allowed to tell?"

Arnold paused. He wasn't sure if it was right to tell, but then again, he kind of wanted to relate the experience to someone other than Gerald, who had just said, "That girl's just biding her time. Mark my words, she's still planning on killing you." So he said, guardedly, "Well, actually, believe it or not, I'm tutoring Helga Pataki."

Lila's reaction wasn't as exaggerated as Arnold's or even Gerald's had been. She only gave a soft laugh. "Well, isn't that a weird coincidence. How did it go?"

"Pretty good, actually. She was actually nice to me… well, nicer than she used to be, at least."

Lila giggled. "You know she was sweet on you in elementary school."

Arnold sighed. "Yeah, I know… wait, you know?"

"It was pretty obvious, although of course I could only suspect. That is, until she told me."

"She told you?"

Lila giggled again. "She threatened to hurt me if I ever told anyone, but that was so long ago and you seem to know now anyway… How did you find out?"

"She told me, too," Arnold said, wondering just how many other people were in on her "secret". "But back to her telling you. Why did she? And… and why did you say it was pretty obvious? She was a total bully to me!"

Lila smiled. "Well, Arnold, when you think about how much attention she paid to you, and sometimes I'd catch her looking at you with this really soft look in her eyes, and how she kept saying how much she couldn't stand you yet she seemed to always be around you anyway… well, I can't say I was surprised when she told me that she liked you."

"But why did she tell you? I guess I was under the impression that she wanted to keep it a complete secret."

"Oh, I'm ever so certain that she wouldn't have told me if she could have avoided it," laughed Lila. "Do you remember in fourth grade, when we did Romeo and Juliet and I was going to be Juliet? Well, Helga came to my house and tried to talk me out of the part. I really wanted to be Juliet, though, and Helga didn't seem to have a good reason for wanting to be Juliet… but then I remembered that you were playing Romeo." She laughed again. "So I asked her if this had anything to do with her liking you. I was pretty nervous, actually. I thought she might hurt me. She of course said it had nothing to do with you, but I had already pretty much figured it out, so I told her that if she wanted to be Juliet because she wanted to kiss you, then I was perfectly alright with that."

Arnold laughed a bit too. "So then she told you?"

"No," grinned Lila, "then she told me that if, hypothetically, she told me that she liked you, I had to swear never to tell and that if I broke my promise she'd strangle me." Her smile faded, and she quickly looked towards the door. "She's not coming after me, is she?"

"I don't see her," laughed Arnold.

"Her fashion sense nowadays is ever so interesting," Lila mused. "I've always wondered where she finds those vests and leggings and such."

"You want to dress like that?"

"No," smiled Lila, "I'm just curious. So, you say that she told you, too? That's interesting. Did she just tell you now?"

"No, actually, it was back in fourth grade," said Arnold. "When Gerald and I were trying to save the neighborhood from FTI, we started getting calls from this anonymous deep-voiced person helping us. This person never told us who he—she—was, and so when I realized that the person was just outside on the rooftop of the FTI headquarters, I went out and cornered her. You can imagine how surprised I was when I found out it was Helga. I of course wanted to know why she of all people was helping me, and, well… I guess I had her cornered, just like you did."

"I bet you still had to drag it out of her," Lila said.

"Not really," Arnold recalled. "She pretty much screamed it at me, in fact. I think maybe part of her wanted to tell me. And not only that, she kissed me."

"She kissed you?" Lila looked surprised, but she was also grinning. "Good for her! I bet you were ever so shocked, though."

"Shocked wasn't even half of it. But still… you know, when she told me, as shocked as I was, I never doubted her. Because now, looking back on everything… you're right, it was pretty obvious. I was pretty dense."

"Well, what happened then?" Lila asked. "I mean, you've known all this time…"

"I made her take it back," sighed Arnold. "I asked her if she didn't just get caught up in the moment and didn't mean what she said, and she agreed and yelled at me that she hated me. And we were right back to how we were before. Except… we weren't, because I knew the truth."

"You know, Arnold," said Lila with a smile, "I think it's ever so noble of you to agree to tutor Helga after all that. I'm sure it took a lot of courage to face her again."

"I was really nervous," Arnold admitted, "but it really went well, like I said. And Helga was honest with me about the whole thing when we brought it up—of course we brought it up," he added in response to Lila's questioning look. "And I'm glad we did, because I finally feel like I have some closure with the whole deal, and I think maybe she does too. She's completely over me now, so there's no more… weirdness between us. Maybe now we can be friends."

Lila scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and washed it down with a gulp of milk before speaking again. "I think you should date her."

Arnold choked on his corn. "What?"

"I always thought you two got along really well when Helga wasn't trying to put up a front or anything," Lila said with a shrug. "And you could always deal with her better than anyone else, and not only that, but sometimes you seemed to actually enjoy her company despite everything. I think you two would make an ever so perfect match." She smiled at him. "Besides, even if she is over you, if she loved you once, she certainly could love you again."

"But… but the question is, does she want to love me again?" Arnold stammered.

"Well, gosh, Arnold, people never want to fall in love. It just happens."

"Well, it's not going to happen here," said Arnold. "Trust me, she' s completely over me. She said that she can think of me without any sort of longing anymore. It's not going to happen."

…………

The final school bell had rung about six minutes ago but Helga still lingered at her locker, letting herself think angry thoughts about Olga, Owen, and Stan—she wasn't really that angry at them, but thinking these thoughts kept her mind off of Arnold. For some reason he had been on her mind all day, and it irritated her. And she was truthfully more than a little pissed off at Owen, and even though she didn't have to stay after for tutoring today, she still was in no hurry to get to his house and ensure that he got to work at a ridiculously early hour. Olga seemed to be blissfully unaware of the verbal berating that Owen gave Helga pretty much every day, whether she was late or not. Nor was Olga ever in a hurry to return home from work. She taught first grade at PS 113, and she was always staying hours after school helping out the children who didn't have a ride home, or stopping by the orphanage and giving them an impromptu piano concert, or running to Center for Survivors or Toys for Tots or Disabled Veterans of America or any one of the many charities she supported to help out, meaning she was rarely home before 6:30.

"You could at least act like you want to spend time with your own child," Helga had snapped to Olga when she had finally made it back home, just a little bit before seven.

"Oh, Helga," Olga cooed, picking up Stan and cuddling him, "there are so many others so less fortunate than us, and I know that my son is in the best care imaginable with my baby sister. Isn't it wonderful, Helga?" She was smiling, and Helga had to stop herself from smacking herself in the face—brilliant Olga had once again missed the point. "When you were a baby I took care of you, and now you're taking care of my own son. It's come full circle and I'm just so proud of you, and I know Stan's in such good hands. I hope you and Stan become as close as you and I are."

Helga rolled her eyes. "I could jump all over that utterly false belief, but that's just too easy. So I'll just go back to the main point that you seemed to have missed—it's the parents who are supposed to take care of their kids, not the sisters or… aunts…" But Helga stopped there, realizing that while her parents had never really neglected her, the few good memories she had of being cared for as a youngster, being read to or being played with, were almost always with Olga, and not Bob or Miriam. Of course Olga had been ridiculously busy with school and the ten thousand organizations she was involved with and the piano and violin and dance and acting lessons, but she always had been genuinely fond of Helga. To the point of annoyance, especially when Helga was older, yes. But that didn't change the fact that Olga had in fact always been caring towards her.

"Of course it's the parents who take care of their children, but you're chipping in and helping Owen and me, just as I chipped in and helped Mommy and Daddy with you. And I just think that's so wonderful, Helga, and you're an absolute doll for it."

"Yeah, yeah. Where's my seven bucks?" When Olga had first suggested Helga baby-sit Stan, she had seemed to think that just since Helga was family, she'd do it for free. Not so. Helga had demanded two bucks an hour, which truthfully was slave wages—even waiters made more than that. But she needed some way to pay for her hair dye, CD's, and whatever else she happened to want. The baby-sitting gig on top of working at the supermarket over the weekends meant that she had a fairly good source of income coming in—well, fairly good for a fifteen-year-old, anyway.

"Here you go," said Olga, putting a five and two ones in Helga's outstretched hand. Olga actually had been a little appalled that Helga demanded payment, but when Helga reminded her that any other baby-sitter would ask for at least minimum wage, she and Owen were more receptive to the idea. "What color are you going to dye your hair next, baby sister?" she asked with a wink.

Helga smirked. "I'm thinking blue. We're playing Waverly for homecoming next month and their school colors are blue and white, so I think it might be kind of fun to annoy the entire student body here and look like I'm rooting for the other team."

"Oh, Helga, you really ought to support your own team!"

"Where's the fun in that? Anyway, you're here now, so I'm blowing this popsicle stand." Helga picked up her book bag and headed towards the door.

"See you tomorrow!" Olga held up Stan and moved his hand up and down. "Say bye-bye to Auntie Helga, Stan!"

Helga didn't humor Olga with any sort of response to that, instead just pushing open the door. It had started to rain. Perfect. Olga and Owen lived about two miles away from Helga, which wasn't exactly far, but it certainly wasn't close, either, especially with precipitation involved.

Standing by her locker that next day, Helga glanced outside to see what the sky looked like. Clear as a bell. It had been yesterday at this time, too, Helga reminded herself. The hallway was almost completely empty by now, and she had really no real excuse for staying where she was, but she wanted to put off having to put up with Owen for as long as possible. When around Olga, Bob, and Miriam, Owen did a fair job of tolerating Helga, but when the two were alone they butted heads, Owen not bothering to pretend that Helga grated him the wrong way. Not that Helga really cared that her brother-in-law was less than fond of her; she didn't like him much, either. Although it almost hurt to admit it, Olga was definitely preferable to him.

But still, Helga felt her anger flaring up at her sister instead of her brother-in-law at that moment. She was annoying, she was smothering, she seemed to completely ignore things that didn't fit into her perfect view of the world, her achievements were completely impossible to live up to. And yet Helga had realized last night that she really had a lot to thank her for. While Arnold had given her the attention she wanted—wait, shit, no, I'm not thinking about Arnold anymore, remember?—Olga had given her the caretaking that she needed. Probably not nearly as much as she or any other toddler would have needed, but at least it was something. She was also paying her for babysitting, which allowed her to keep her hair dyed to the point that many people who knew her were probably completely unaware that she was a natural blonde. And Olga actually found this amusing, unlike Miriam, who was just confused by it, or Bob, who sometimes became downright angry about it, especially when Helga opted for a more unusual shade: "Pink? Pink hair? What the hell is wrong with you? How seriously do you expect to be taken with pink hair?"

Helga could even thank Olga for her wardrobe. While she did on occasion buy things from Goodwill, most of what she wore was either clothes that Olga had worn in the early nineties, or that Miriam had worn in the early seventies. Helga looked down at the sarong she was wearing, one that had probably been brightly colored when Miriam had first worn it, but now the colors were faded. Underneath the sarong, barely visible but still clearly there, were light pink legwarmers that Olga used to wear to dance class. This unlikely getup, completed by the brown button-down shirt with sleeves she had rolled up to her elbows (probably something Miriam had bought in the eighties), was certainly unmatched by anyone in school. Thank God the two of them were packrats and kept everything.

"Hi, Helga."

Helga shrieked and leapt about three feet in the air. "Arnold! Holy shit, don't do that!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," said Arnold quickly. "I was just wondering how the algebra quiz went."

Helga quickly got her breathing back to normal, although for some reason her lungs still felt a bit constricted. They hadn't felt that way before Arnold showed up. It must still be from getting scared out of her wits. "Well, how would I know? We haven't even gotten them back yet, we only took the damn quiz today. I think I did alright, though. Not good, but not bad either. So, according to your little philosophy, that means that I probably did alright—not good, but not bad."

"That's all we can really ask for," said Arnold levelly. "Improvement comes one step at a time. If you improved even a little bit, that's a victory and that's all that matters." He smiled at her. Helga gulped. Was this guy for real? "Are you waiting for someone?"

"Nah, just putting off meeting my brother-in-law for as long as possible."

"Your brother-in-law? Oh yeah, you did mention yesterday that you had a nephew… So Olga's married, then?"

"Yep. To a workaholic, hotheaded blowhard. He's just like my dad. I guess what they say about marrying your parents is true. God, if I ever married someone just like my dad, I'd shoot myself at the wedding and put myself out of my misery."

"Or you could, you know, avoid that situation by deciding to marry someone who isn't like your dad," Arnold pointed out.

"But then I wouldn't get to shoot myself," said Helga, raising her eyebrow playfully to show she was just joking.

"See? Another good reason not to do it. How old is your nephew?"

"He's, uh… he'll be eight months old next week. He was born January tenth."

"What's his name?"

"Stan. Stanley Pataki Trotsky, if you want his full name. Terrible name. Every single one ends in an "e" sound. But Olga was just so set on the name Stanley, and Big Bob pretty much told her that the kid's middle name had to be Pataki. He doesn't want the family name to die out and all." Helga rolled her eyes at that.

"I don't think the name's that bad," said Arnold.

"Well, 'Stan Trotsky' does have a nice ring to it, I'll admit," said Helga with a shrug. "He's an annoying little squirt, though. All he does is cry and shit his pants and drool."

"Well, he's a baby. What do you expect?"

"It gets old when I have to baby-sit him for three hours every day Monday through Friday. It should be less, but Owen has to be such a workaholic and Olga has to spend so much time after school helping out all those poor unfortunate little children that they both seem to forget that they even have a kid."

"Shouldn't you be going there?" Arnold asked.

Helga snorted. "Yes, technically, but I'm pissed at Owen for yelling at me for being late yesterday. Him getting to work at a ridiculously early hour is more important than my grades, I guess."

"Come on, Helga," said Arnold, giving her a chastising look. "If you have a duty to baby-sit your nephew, you should get there as soon as possible."

"Don't think that's going to work on me, football head," Helga snapped. "Owen deserves to have to watch over his own kid for a few extra minutes. Besides, the less time I have to spend changing Stan's stinky diapers, the better."

"Do you want me to help?"

Helga should have been expecting that from Arnold, but it still caught her completely off guard. "What?"

"Do you want me to go there with you and help you take care of your nephew?" Arnold asked. "I don't really have any plans for the rest of the day, and even though taking care of a baby isn't high on my list of fun things to do, if you'd like a little extra help… Besides, I'd kind of like to meet your nephew." He smiled.

This guy can NOT be for real!

"I think you're crazy," Helga said aloud, "but since you offered I'm not about to turn down help. Come on."

…………

"Late again, why am I not… oh Jesus. And you brought your boyfriend this time for a little 'fun'."

"He is not my boyfriend," Helga snapped, flaring up more than what seemed necessary. "He's my tutor. He's just going to help me take care of Stan and, uh, help me with my homework."

Arnold took a step up towards Owen. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Trotsky," he said, extending his hand. "My name's Arnold Short, I'm Helga's tutor. She was telling me about your son and I wanted to meet him."

Owen eased a little bit and shook Arnold's hand. Helga couldn't help but marvel at Arnold's ability to calm just about anyone down. "That's it?" Owen insisted, making sure. "No funny business now?"

"We're not dating or anything like that, if that's what you mean," said Arnold politely.

Owen looked at Arnold, and then back at Helga. "Alright, I believe you," he finally said. "You don't seem like the type to date someone like Helga, anyway. But if I come back from work tonight and find the bed unmade—"

"Get your ass off to work, you perv," Helga said quickly, pushing Owen towards the door. "Get there early as possible like you seem to always want to do!" She slammed the door shut as soon as he was outside, and turned back to face Arnold, blushing. "That jerk. I'm so going to kick his ass. Maybe I'll find his condom drawer and open a bunch of them and leave the wrappers on his bed just to mess with him."

Arnold blushed too at that. "Uh, isn't that going a little far?"

"Maybe, but he went too far. Um. This is awkward. Let's get that kid." Helga moved into the kitchen and lifted Stan out from his high chair, bringing him back out into the living room. "Here's the little monster himself. Stan, I'd like you to meet Arnold Short. But you can call him football head."

Arnold gave a small laugh. "Training him from a young age, aren't you?"

"With people like Owen and Olga for his parents, I've got to start as young as possible, and as often as possible. Here, wanna hold him?" Helga handed Stan to Arnold before he could reply. "I think he's got a full diaper too, just for you."

Arnold gave Stan a little bounce off of his arm and smiled at him. "Hey, buddy," he said softly. "You're a pretty good-looking kid, you know that?"

"He'd be better looking with a clean diaper," smirked Helga.

Arnold held Stan out from him and towards Helga. "Well then, why don't you—"

"Why don't you? You're holding him. And you said you'd help. And, well, I'm going to make you help with the dirty work." Helga was still smirking.

Arnold sighed helplessly. "Where are his diapers?"

"Here's the diaper bag. You'll need the wet wipes and baby powder in there, too." Helga handed Arnold a large canvas bag.

Arnold pulled out a diaper. "Cute. They have trains on them."

"I've never understood why they decorate pants that have the sole purpose of being pooped in. I mean, what's the point? Lay Stan down on the table." Helga motioned to the kitchen, or rather the table in the kitchen. "And hope he doesn't decide he wants to pee when you're changing him. You boys and your little water pistols, I swear."

As Helga instructed, Arnold laid Stan, who was gurgling happily, down on the table, unbuttoned his onesie, and took off his diaper. There was indeed a large, messy, brown surprise waiting for him. "Yuck," Arnold said, wrinkling his nose. "What a stench."

"He's done way worse," commented Helga levelly. "Now take this wet wipe and wipe his little tushie clean."

Taking the wet wipe from Helga, Arnold asked, by way of trying to focus on something besides the unpleasant task at hand, "So how long has Olga been married to this guy?"

"Hmm, it's been… three years, I think. Yeah. Three years last July. I was her maid of honor. I was only twelve years old and I'd already been maid of honor at two different weddings." Helga laughed a little bitterly. "Not that I'm ever going to be anyone's maid of honor ever again, so it was just as well I got them over with so early."

"Where does he work?"

"Parson's. It's a clothing factory, and he works second shift on the assembly line. Not a very glamorous job, but he thinks he's the shit. He's always bragging about how important he is to the company, when the reality is they wouldn't miss him if he fell off the face of the earth. He's got Big Bob fooled, though. He goes off all the time about how hard working and industrious his son-in-law is, and of course how absolutely perfect Olga is. And he and Miriam can't get enough of Stan here, either. Which means, as usual, I'm pushed to the sidelines, although now it's even worse. Now there's three people in the pecking order before me, instead of just one."

Arnold had wiped Stan clean and was now applying the baby powder. "I'm sure your parents care about you as much as they care about Olga."

Helga snorted dismissively. "Bullshit. It's always been this way. I'm sure they'd rather that I never existed. Miriam's all but admitted to me that I was a whoops baby, although even if she hadn't I could have figured it out for myself… I mean, more than twelve years age difference between the two kids? Yeah, that was planned. And I didn't turn out perfect like their first kid happened to be, which sends Bob up the wall. And Miriam did once actually say to me that I'm the only reason she's still even married to my dad." She looked down at the floor. Why was she telling him all this, anyway? "Not that I really care, though. I've gotten along fine without their support."

Arnold was now putting a fresh diaper onto Stan, but he looked at Helga sincerely while he spoke. "Helga, you can't say that your parents don't care about you. Your dad pushes you because he wants the best for you and wants you to be the best person you can be. And if what your mom said about staying married to your dad was true, that means that she's given up her own personal happiness to give you a good upbringing. I know that they care about you. You're lucky to have them."

Helga snorted. "Lucky," she muttered. "Give me a break."

"I'm serious." Arnold's face grew softer, sadder. "You don't know how lucky you are to have parents."

Helga glanced up at him, hearing the change in his tone of voice. Arnold finished dressing Stan and picked him up, handing him back to Helga but not looking at her, instead looking at the floor just as she had earlier. She cradled Stan against her shoulder. "I take it you never found your parents, then," she said softly.

Arnold looked back up at her. "Well, actually… yes, I did find them. But it was way too late."

"I'm sorry." With her free hand Helga reached out and touched Arnold's hand. It was so gentle, so spontaneous, that the action both startled her and yet came as no surprise to her.

Arnold looked her in the eyes. Helga's lungs constricted again. She had almost forgotten what a gorgeous shade of green his eyes were.

"I found my dad's journal around the beginning of the fifth grade," said Arnold softly, still keeping eye contact with Helga. "There was a map at the very end of it, and I was sure it would take me to where my parents were. They left when I was just a baby, you know, to help the natives of San Lorenzo, and this map showed just about everything there, along with all their known settlements. I showed it to my grandparents and I pretty much begged them to take me there so I could find them. Well, they were busy, I had school to worry about, it was too expensive… they always found a reason to say no. But finally, the summer after sixth grade, I guess they got tired of me asking so they finally arranged for the three of us to go there."

"You actually went to San Lorenzo?" Helga asked, surprised.

"Went back, actually. I was born there, so even though I didn't remember it, it did almost feel like I was coming back home, despite how downright scary the whole place was. It's not exactly a very wealthy nation, so it was kind of sad to see the living conditions. I could see why my parents felt compelled to help these people, actually. But none of them knew anything about my parents. My Spanish wasn't very great and none of them knew any English, so I felt like I was getting nowhere, so I finally just followed the map. Without Grandma and Grandpa knowing." Arnold laughed a bit at himself. "It was really stupid of me. I was twelve years old, didn't know the country, didn't know the language, and was following this map, alone, to the ancestral lands of a tribe who by all accounts were territorial and mysterious. And they did capture me."

"They captured you?" Helga couldn't believe what she was hearing. This kind of thing only happened in movies, she thought.

"Yeah, and I honestly think they might have killed me, but I said to them, 'I'm looking for Miles and Stella Short.' I said it in both English and Spanish, although I don't think they really understood me either way. But I had their picture, and I pulled it out and gave it to them. I knew when they saw it, the way their attitudes changed, that they recognized them. They untied me and led me to their village, and there was this man there, in this dark, voodoo-like hut. I think he might have been one of the green-eyed people—the natives—but when they brought me to him and he saw me he said to me, in English, 'I believe I know who you are; the child of Miles and Stella.' I told him I was looking for them, and he said, 'I was afraid of that.' And then I knew."

"Did he tell you… what happened to them?" asked Helga softly.

"They had just finished the cure to the sleeping sickness," said Arnold, looking away from Helga. "It had taken them weeks to perfect, but they finally found the antidote to that particular strain. So they went out and started administering it to all the settlements. They had finally hit every settlement except one, which was in the deepest, most dangerous part of the jungle. This settlement I guess had enough problems fending off wild animal attacks even when they didn't have a virus to worry about. But my parents wanted to help them, too. They did make it there, and gave all the residents the antidote. But on their way back, back to their plane to come back home for good, a jaguar got them."

Helga's face paled. "Oh God."

Arnold took a deep breath, but continued in a mostly steady voice. "They fought it off, but it got them both pretty bad. Somehow my mom managed to remain conscious and drag my dad and herself back to the village, though. I guess by the time she got there my dad was already gone, although she probably didn't know it. Anyway… they did everything they could for my mom, but she really only had minutes left, the way this man told it. He wasn't there, so he got this story second hand, but I guess right before my mom died she said something in English. Of course, those natives couldn't understand English, so they never knew what she said."

"I bet it was something about you," Helga whispered.

Arnold looked back at her. "I think so, too."

"I'm so sorry." She not only touched his hand this time but also grasped it, and this time she was not in the least surprised that she felt compelled to do so.

"You know… I think I always knew," said Arnold quietly. "I mean, it was… Did you ever see the movie Annie?"

"'It's the hard knock life for us…'" Helga sang in a small voice by way of answering his question.

"Well, you know how at the end of the movie, when Annie realizes that her parents have been dead all along, when she says that she knew they were, because she knew that if they had actually been alive they would have come for her sooner? Well, that's how I felt. I guess part of me always knew they were dead, because if they were alive… if they were alive, why didn't they come back for me?" He sighed. "I did see where they were buried. Grandma and Grandpa did, too. They were crushed… I mean, as hard as it is to lose your parents, it must be even harder to lose your child."

"I can imagine," Helga murmured.

"It was hard for me and Grandpa, obviously, but it definitely hit Grandma the worst. And the thing is, even though she's never really moped around about it, she's never been the same since then. She's become… normal. Normal by anyone else's standards, that is."

"Which is downright bizarre for your grandma," Helga agreed.

Arnold nodded. "Since then holidays have been on the days they're supposed to be, there's been no more acting out that we're ninjas or robots or cowboys or anything like that, there's been no more rock concerts on the roof… just no more crazy games at all. She just hasn't been the same since then, so I know how much of a blow it was to her."

"I'm really, really sorry," Helga repeated. "I mean, how terrible for you. You… you deserved a happier ending to that story."

"It's alright," said Arnold softly. He managed a small smile. "But we can change the subject any time, you know."

"Okay, like what?" Helga looked down at Stan and then back up at Arnold. "Like the movie Annie? When I was in like kindergarten and first grade that was my favorite movie in the whole world."

Arnold smiled. "It does have good music."

"I used to always sing 'It's the Hard Knock Life' whenever my parents would make me do chores around the house. I used to pretend that I was an orphan and that someday, some nice family would adopt me and take me away." She paused. "Wow, that sounds like something a child from a functional family would say."

"I'm sure all kids have wanted at some point to have a different family," said Arnold.

"It wasn't just 'at some point'. I wanted one all the time." Helga sighed. "I'm sorry, I'll shut up now. What I went through is nothing compared to what you went through, and I'm not going to whine about it."

"Helga, there's nothing wrong about a child playing pretend. I pretended I was a different person all the time too, even though I had a really happy home and upbringing. It's just nice to wonder about what things would be like if they were different, that's all."

"I pretended all the time, though," said Helga. "Not just about that, but I'd pretend that I was older and more talented and that my parents were actually proud of me like they were of Olga. And I'd pretend that I was a famous author and that everyone read my books and poems and loved me and my work. And I'd pretend that you loved me. I pretended that one all the time."

Arnold felt a little awkward that Helga was bringing this up again, but still managed a smile. "I'm sure you did, going off what you've told me."

"I really got into it, too," said Helga. "I'd always have you be a broom or a pillow or something and almost always I'd get you to admit that you spent your days pining away for love of me, and then I'd always say, 'Why, Arnold, my love, I feel the same way! Take me away with you, marry me, and we'll spend the rest of our days blissfully happy with each other.' And then I'd always take you—the broom or pillow or whatever happened to be you that day—outside to the backyard and pretend you had taken me to Paris, or Venice, or Tahiti, or whatever fantasy location I fancied that day."

"If you wanted to be realistic," said Arnold, "you should have had me take you to New York City. I'd like to spend a few months there, just taking everything in. And if I were to have a romantic fantasy, that's where it would be at."

"I think I did have you take me to New York a few times," Helga admitted. "Those were the days I really wanted to see a show on Broadway. And you'd always take me to one, but I'd never really pay attention to the show because you'd spend the entire time whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and I'd always act like I hadn't heard you so that you'd have to say them to me again." She picked up the diaper bag and held it at arm's length away from her. "'What's that, my love? My eyes sparkle like diamonds in the night? You flatter me, darling, but my eyes are nothing compared to yours, my pools of happiness, the windows into your perfect soul.'"

Arnold, feeling rather embarrassed by this, looked down at the floor, where Stan was moving about in his walker. He looked up at Arnold and gave him a happy smile, his eyes sparkling. Startled, Arnold looked back up at Helga. "Stan has your eyes, you know."

Helga turned her attention away from diaper bag-Arnold back to the real Arnold. "Huh?"

"I'm serious. He has the same eyes as you. Or, if you'd prefer, he has the same 'sparkling diamonds in the night' as you do."

"He's a baby… he has baby eyes," Helga said, looking a little surprised and flustered.

"Well, they certainly sparkle, at least," said Arnold, looking back and forth between Stan's laughing eyes and Helga's shocked ones.

"Do… do my eyes sparkle?" Helga whispered.

They stared at each other.

Arnold opened his mouth, about to say yes… but no, her eyes didn't exactly sparkle. They did something more, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly that was. Whatever they did, it was almost impossible to turn away from them, one of the few physical traits of Helga that was still the same as when she had been a child—they were still light blue, expressive, soulful.

"Oh, shit. What are we doing?" Helga suddenly snapped. "Look, football head, I've got homework to do, so unless you want to completely take over watching the kid for me, you should probably hit the road."

"No, I mean… I mean, yeah, I'd probably better get going." Arnold quickly made his way to where he had left his book bag and slung it over his shoulders. "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow after school, then."

"Yeah, yeah, get out of here," Helga snapped, motioning him towards the door, leaning down to pick up Stan to avoid looking at him. She adjusted the baby's onesie, smoothed back what little hair he had, until she finally heard the door open and close. She glanced at the door to make sure he was gone.

"Fuck," she whispered. "What the hell is happening? Why… why am I having trouble breathing? All he did was repeat what I told him I used to imagine him saying. He didn't mean it. And even if he did, what do I care? It's not like I'm still in love with him. Because I'm not."

Her heart was racing.