Luckily Stan had been a sufficient distraction for Helga for the couple of hours that she baby-sat him. He screamed like a banshee whenever she attempted to place him in his walker, preferring instead to crawl and even attempt to stand on his own. He was able to move at the rate of about three feet a minute… far slower than he could zip around in his walker, but the kid seemed to be too stubborn to accept the help of the walker anymore. He's just like his dad, Helga thought helplessly. And, she reminded herself, he was one hundred percent Pataki too.

Stan's insistence on moving on his own forced Helga to turn her entire attention to him to make sure he didn't crawl into anything he wasn't supposed to, thus allowing her to focus on something other than Arnold for a few blessed hours. She was almost disappointed when Olga returned and relieved Helga of her duties.

She still couldn't believe she had left that note in his locker.

Oh well. It wasn't a big deal. He wouldn't know it was from her, and even if he did, he wouldn't understand it. Besides, today was Friday. By Monday, when she saw him again, he'd already have forgotten about it.

But she didn't want him to. She wanted him to understand. Why else would she have bothered slipping that note into his locker in the first place?

To shut up the part of her that still thought she was ten years old, that's why. Now she could finally rest in piece and let the new Helga get on with her life. Her life that had no place nor desire for Arnold.

She pushed open the front door to her house, smelling dinner already cooked.

"Hi, honey," Miriam called from the living room. "I did wait awhile for you to get back, but even by the time I finished cooking supper you still weren't back yet…"

"As usual, Olga's doing, not mine," muttered Helga, dropping off her book bag in the hallway.

"Well, there's some pot roast sitting on the counter."

Helga found it and poked it. Cold. Of course. Just when had Miriam started cooking dinner, anyway? Four o'clock? She sighed, scooped it onto a plate, and went to take it to the microwave—

"Hold it right there, missy!"

Helga rolled her eyes at her father's interjection. "No, Bob, I'm hungry and whatever it is you have to tell me, it isn't as important as my supper."

"It certainly is!" Helga was surprised to find when she turned around to face Bob that he, while still being forceful as usual, was actually grinning. "You've got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow, a day that will change your life!"

"Excuse me?"

"Big investors are coming to the headquarters tomorrow. They could make Big Bob's Beepers and Electronics go national! And—"

"Dad, that's great and all, but can I eat my pot roast now?" Helga snapped.

"Of course! Get your strength up, tomorrow's going to be a long day for you!"

"What do I have to do with any of this?" Helga asked in irritated confusion.

"What do you have to do with any of this? You're going to be there, Helga! It's about time you started learning the ropes!"

"Dad, I work tomorrow! And I already made plans with a friend for after work!"

"Call in sick and ditch the friend, this is far more important."

"I can't do that! Why do you even want me there, anyway?"

"Because! This is a great learning opportunity for you, and you're going to be inheriting the company, and there's no better time to start your training!"

"Look. I hate to burst your… wait. I'm going to be inheriting the company?" Helga's confusion and surprise had finally overridden her annoyance.

"Who do you think I'd give it to, one of the part-time salesmen?" Bob demanded. "You bet your booty I ain't! The only person I can trust with it is a Pataki, and that's you!"

"But… but what about… Olga? Or Owen?" Helga stammered.

"Come on, they've already got their careers set in place! Besides, this is your realm, not theirs."

"But you're always going on about how perfect they are!"

"For God's sake. They're perfect at what they do. But this is what you do!"

"Who… who said you could just plan my life for me?" Helga tried to make her voice sound harsh and forceful here, but the truth of the matter was that her bewilderment that her father actually thought she was the ideal candidate to take over the family company rather than Olga was getting in the way of her anger. He had nevereven hinted that he thought Helga was even equal to, let alone exceeded, Olga in anything. But now the most important thing in his life he was ready to entrust to her?

"You're taking this whether you like it or not. I'm not going to let you screw up the rest of your life and ignore the chance of a lifetime. A life of ease is at your fingertips! I worked my fingers to the bone for thirty years to get that company to where it is today, and the least you can do is show your appreciation for everything I've done for you and accept what I'm giving you!"

Helga pressed her hand to her forehead, pushing away her pot roast with the other. Suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore. "Fine, fine, I'll go tomorrow, but just to scope it out and see if it's what I like. I'm not committing to anything. And I'll take a sick day off from work, but don't even think I'm going to ditch Phoebe for this. At 6:30, I'm outta there."

"Oh, you'll commit alright," said Bob confidently. "And for God's sake, wear something decent, will ya? At least your hair looks halfway professional."

"You know, Dad," said Helga sweetly and sarcastically, "I was going to wait until next week to dye my hair blue, but I think maybe I'll dye it tonight, just for you."

"You do and you're grounded," Bob muttered, sitting down and turning his attention to the evening paper.

Helga grabbed her book bag and retreated upstairs to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her as soon as she entered. She dropped the book bag unceremoniously on the floor. "Fuck," she whispered, pressing her hands against her face hopelessly. Why was everything spinning out of her control? She was angry, furious actually, because she didn't know what to feel about this new development. Should she be genuinely angry because her dad seemed to assume that she'd like whatever life plan for her he mapped out? Or should she be happy and even honored that her dad seemed to have complete confidence in her ability to take over the company? Helga had to admit that her dad's job did sound like something she could do, and could do well. In fact, it could be something she might even enjoy. But, regardless of all that, how dare he just make this decision for her? It was her life! Shouldn't she have a say in how it went?

She honestly didn't know how she felt about this. She didn't know how she felt about Arnold—actually, part of her feared that she knew exactly how she felt about Arnold, and what she wasn't sure about was whether she wanted that or not.

No! Shit! She didn't want that at all! She didn't need Arnold, she didn't need Big Bob's Beepers and Electronics (for alliteration's sake, Beepers was still in the name, but the store nowadays mostly sold cell phones, PDA's, and even those new MP3 players), and she certainly wasn't going to let them get thrust into her lap without her say. Not matter how much she wanted them.

"No, I don't want them, I don't," Helga muttered angrily. "I don't want my dad's stupid company. And I sure as hell don't want some stupid football head. I can get on just fine without either of them. I don't want them. I don't."

How many friggin' times would she have to stay that to herself before it finally sunk in?

…………

Arnold, as he often did on nice nights, did his biology homework on the roof of the boarding house. It wasn't due until Monday, but he liked to get it out of the way and free up his weekend as soon as possible. Sometimes, though, it was probably a better idea to stay in his room, because the sounds of the city around him and watching the sunset could be just as big a distraction as his stereo and books.

But, he reminded himself, the sooner he got this done, the more time he had to watch the city go by. That was always a soothing exercise for him, and just the perfect way to unwind after homework. He reached into his book bag for a pencil, but he found the note from his locker first.

Pulling it out and reading it again, Arnold bit his lip in puzzlement. What on earth did it mean? He was reasonably certain it was from Helga, but why she had left him the note, what it meant, why she didn't just tell him to his face and eliminate any confusion, that he had absolutely no clue of.

"'I'll make it all better'," he muttered to himself, turning the note over in his hands, looking fruitlessly for anything else. Make what all better? What was Helga trying to tell him?

Now, hold on. It wasn't really fair of him to pin this on Helga when he had no real proof that she had written it. He couldn't imagine who else would have written it, but life had ways of surprising him. Like Helga being in love with him in the first place. It looked like her handwriting, though. It was hard to be sure, of course—he was only really familiar with what her numbers looked like rather than her letters, but the handwriting still seemed familiar—

Wait a minute. There was a way to prove this was from Helga. Still holding the note, Arnold climbed down into his bedroom and started pawing through the books in the back of his bookshelf. He hadn't looked at or even thought much about this particular book in years, but if the handwriting from this book matched the note… aha! There it was. The little pink book.

Of course, again, Arnold didn't have complete concrete evidence that this book of love poems about him, which somehow ended up in his possession the first week of fourth grade, were penned by Helga, either. But it seemed reasonable to assume that they were. Besides, if they weren't, that meant that there had been two girls pining away for him in elementary school and writing poetry about him, and that was something he didn't want to think about. Wasn't one enough?

He opened the book to the first page, reading the very first poem in the volume:

To Arnold, my love:

Each line from my pen that meets this page

I dedicate to you, my sage

And pray that you will someday know

How deep my feelings for you go.

Arnold felt his ears redden with a twinge of guilt. Helga had told him a few days ago that she had burned all of her books of poetry that she had written about him, but one had managed to escape her purge, and he of all people had it. If she even realized that this book still existed, she would probably want to burn it as well, and certainly wouldn't want him to read it.

But the very first page says that the book's dedicated to me, Arnold reasoned with himself, so I have every right to read it. Besides, I've had this thing for six years now. If she had really wanted it back, she would have asked me for it… or stole it, or something.

With that in mind, he placed the note from his locker next to the poem.

Yep. Unmistakably the same handwriting. It had gotten a little smaller and more refined during the years, but both of these were definitely written by the same person. And that person was Helga G. Pataki.

He leaned against the wall, sighing to himself. Okay, now what? Was Helga trying to tell him she was still in love with him? Or that she was going to burst into his room, steal the book, and burn it like she had burned everything else—and maybe actually burn him for good measure this time, too? Was she simply saying that she was going to improve her algebra grade?

There was a knock on the door, and Arnold's grandfather, Phil, peeked his head in. "Hey there, Shortman. Homework giving you trouble?"

"No, a girl's giving me trouble," Arnold sighed.

Phil laughed. "Well, can't help ya there! I can't even understand your algebra homework, and females are far more confusing than algebra."

"If one was in love with me, she'd out and tell me straight… right?"

"Hard to say. Females like to make things as difficult as they possibly can. And, of course, that's assuming that she even knows she's in love with you. They like to make their own feelings impossible to understand, too, even to themselves, much less any innocent bystander. What's the worry? You in love with her?"

"No—I mean—I don't know. I don't think I am. But I do like her, and I don't want to hurt her feelings either way."

"There's nothing you can do. No matter what happens, she's going to get spurned, and she's going to say it's all your fault. You can just kiss her goodbye right now, Arnold, it's curtains for this relationship."

Arnold sighed helplessly. "Thanks, Grandpa."

"Don't mention it. Eighty-six years of life experience has got to count for something," Phil said proudly. "Anyway, just wanted to tell you that you might want to avoid the bathroom for a few hours or so—your grandma's bean burritos moved through my body at lightning speed and left their calling card—"

Arnold wrinkled his nose. "Uh, thanks, Grandpa. Duly noted."

"Good luck with the girl, although I think you'll have more of a chance becoming the class valedictorian of algebra," Phil chuckled as he left the room.

Arnold looked back at the little pink book and the mysterious note, feeling a seed of worry settle in his stomach. "Yeah, me too," he said softly.

…………

Helga was used to getting stupefied stares from people whenever she went out in public, but running into the movie theater at exactly 6:55 PM Saturday evening, breathlessly paying for her ticket, the only even mildly surprised stare she got was from Phoebe.

"I know," Helga said by way of explanation for her brown business dress suit and respectable shoes that actually matched the outfit. "Big Bob insisted that I meet some investors at the store with him today and he would not let me leave to get changed. I hardly even escaped when I did. Trust me, I don't make a habit of going out in public dressed like this… Anyway, let's go in and get a seat, I don't need any popcorn."

"It's okay, Helga, breathe," said Phoebe. "The movie doesn't start until 7:20 anyway."

"What?" screeched Helga. "I ran out of the store and nearly killed myself flagging down a taxi because I thought I didn't have time to change and I actually had twenty-five friggin' minutes?!"

"Calm down," said Phoebe quickly. "It's no big deal. You look nice. I was just a little surprised that you were even dressed like this in the first place. Why did your dad want you to talk to the investors?"

"He wants me to take over the company for him when he retires," Helga said in as nonchalant of a voice as possible, handing her ticket to the usher and heading to theater number five, Phoebe close behind her.

"Really? That's wonderful, Helga!"

"I suppose."

"You'll make a great businesswoman."

"I don't know. Look, I want to escape from all this, okay? I've had beepers and cell phones on my mind all day now, and I want a break. Can we change the subject?"

"Of course. Changing," said Phoebe. She and Helga took their seats near the back of the theater, which was mostly empty. "So, um… are you still dating Marcus Rowe?"

Helga snorted. "Nice subject change."

Phoebe shrugged. "Sorry. Couldn't think of anything else."

"How did you know about that, anyway?" Helga asked suspiciously. "I haven't talked to you in years. Does the whole school follow my love life or something?"

"Well, he kind of stands out, and you kind of stand out… you were both hard to ignore, I guess. I haven't seen you two together for awhile, though…"

"With good reason. We broke up in January."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was getting on my nerves. He always did, actually…" Helga sighed at herself. "I mean, I liked him, he was cute and all, but I never really… liked him in the way you're supposed to like a boyfriend. Anyway, what about you? Have you been dating anyone?"

Phoebe shook her head. "Nope. I'm too busy with other things, really, plus I just haven't really met anyone I want to date. My grades are more important to me right now than finding a boyfriend."

"Come on," laughed Helga, "school can't take up that much of your time."

"Well, when you add in orchestra, speech team, quiz bowl, math club, and fencing lessons, plus spending time with friends and reading books, watching TV, and other things just for fun… no, I really don't have time to date right now." Phoebe smiled.

"You are a busy bee," said Helga. "By the way, how did your dad's birthday gig go last night?"

"It was nice. We went out to eat, just my parents and I, but it was still nice for the three of us to all be together at the same time. They're just as busy as me, so we're all pretty much in and out of the house all the time."

"I hear ya," said Helga. "I mean, I'm not involved in any school activities, but I'm hardly ever at home either. I baby-sit my nephew every day after school and I work at Super Saver on Saturdays. That is, the Saturdays my dad doesn't suddenly decide to drag me to the Beeper Emporium over which I shall one day rule." The sarcasm had crept back into her voice.

"It really does seem like a good job for you—" Phoebe began.

"That's just what Big Bob's saying," Helga snapped. "And hell, maybe he's right. Maybe you're right. Maybe it is the job for me. But how can I say that to his face? How can I… just let him decide my life for me and be okay with it? Even if it is something I'd like to do, I feel like actually doing it would be like, like giving in. And I refuse to give in."

"But…" Phoebe seemed to be carefully selecting her words, as she often had done in the past when conversing with Helga. "But what if giving in will make you happier?"

"I don't know," Helga snapped. "I'd feel like it was a cheap happiness. Although lord knows… lord knows I'm not happy resisting." She looked at Phoebe, her voice losing some—but not all—of its edge. "It seems like I do everything I do just to piss them off, because it's the only way they'll actually acknowledge my existence. The hair and the clothes were partly to piss them off, although… well, I had my own reasons, too. If I'm honest with myself Marcus was one hundred percent a piss-off ploy. 'Ooh, look at me, I'm dating the bad boy!' And his parents were equally appalled at him dating me, their darling little boy dating the girl with crazy hair. He was just dating me to rebel too. That's why I broke up with him. I mean, I thought to myself, 'Why am I dating someone just to show off how much I don't need other people? If I really don't need anyone else then I don't need a boyfriend either.' Especially an annoying ass like him."

"I always did kind of wonder why you were dating him in the first place," Phoebe admitted. "I mean, he was so different from… um…" She stopped herself, looking mortified that she had actually almost said it.

"Um," Helga said with a bitter laugh, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "Yes, he's completely different from Um. Maybe that's why I wanted to date him. To prove that I really had moved on. But I broke up with him. Marcus, I mean. So it didn't work out then, either." Helga sighed. "I think I'm done with dating. Done with the whole romance thing in general. I should just accept that I'll spend my life being bitter and lonely. All the great writers were, anyway, and I do kind of fancy becoming a Poet Laureate…"

"Oh, Helga, you're only fifteen years old. You can't write off any chance of happiness yet. You're still young."

"Yes, I'm still young. I have my whole life of misery ahead of me." She gave another short, bitter laugh, this time looking straight ahead at the screen instead of Phoebe. "I told you I was getting tutored, right? Guess who my tutor is."

"Um…" Phoebe said, at first from true lack of guesses, but slowly her eyes began to widen with realization from saying that one little utterance.

"Yes. That's right. Um. And—oh, for fuck's sake, we're not ten years old anymore, Feebs. We can refer to him by name now." She turned around and looked Phoebe directly in the eyes. "Arnold Short is my tutor."

"Well, um… I mean… how is that working out?" Phoebe finally asked.

"Well, it's…" These first two words were said with confidence, but with Phoebe there beside her, Helga's resolve finally began to crumble. "Oh, shit, Phoebe," she murmured helplessly, pressing her hands against her forehead and slouching over in her chair.

Phoebe said nothing to this, instead merely touching Helga's arm comfortingly. Helga looked up at her and saw that her expression was that of comfort and concern.

"That boy is such a piece of work," Helga said to her, her voice quavering from angry to hopeless despair and back again. "I mean, how can he be that amazing? How can he still be the exact same wonderful, magnificent, amazing person he was in elementary school? I burned everything I had of him three years ago. I told myself I was through with him, through with being that obsessed over him—or anyone. I swore I'd never let that happen to me again. So I can't be feeling this way for the same goddamned person! But he has to be… him! All I do is look at him and remember everything about him that I loved, that I was so obsessed over, and why I was! But I don't want that! Why can't he just stay completely out of my life and let me live my bitter and miserable life alone and in piece?"

There was silence for a moment or two.

"Dammit," Helga muttered, her energy seeming to be completely spent. "I'm sorry I put you through that."

"That's okay… I think you needed to say it," Phoebe said.

"That's for sure," Helga sighed helplessly. "It's just… it's just this, and now the whole beeper thing, have been on my mind and I just… can't think straight anymore."

"You know, Helga…" Phoebe drummed her fingers and looked at them nervously before continuing. "I said maybe you'd be happier if you just accepted the whole taking over the company thing, because it would be good for you… maybe Arnold's the same?"

"No!" Helga snapped, causing Phoebe to actually recoil in her seat. "I'm not letting that happen to me again, remember? I'm not in love with him. I burned him out of my life. I'm not in love with him and I'm not going to let myself be in love with him ever again, do you hear me?"

Phoebe gulped.

Helga turned away from her, glaring at the screen, silent but inwardly screaming and kicking herself. Great, Helga, just great. All you managed to do there is completely push Phoebe away, after just the second day of reconnecting with her. Fuck.

"You… you don't have to live a miserable life, you know," Phoebe said softly. "You have the option to accept something better."

"The movie's starting," Helga muttered as the lights went down. Neither of them said anything throughout the rest of the movie.

But Helga did a lot of thinking. There was no way she couldn't, actually, given the circumstances. Her method of winding down had turned out to just anger and frustrate her more, and what's worse, now Phoebe probably wanted nothing to do with her again. But still, during the two hours of zombies and amputations and hacking and gore and guts, Helga somehow managed to calm herself.

And when the movie ended and they left the theater, she said to Phoebe, in a soft, controlled voice, "Phoebe… I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"It's okay," said Phoebe.

They looked at each other and smiled.

It was very comforting, Helga remembered, to have a friend who didn't need words to understand things.