(Sorry, Christmas coming up, friend going away for a much needed r&r holiday after the year she's had, another going through a crisis, and a suicide. Can't wait for this year to be over! It's been horrible. My heart is hurting, and writing atm is a bit difficult. So my apologies for this chapter being so short.)
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"You look nice, Helga," Bob told his daughter, as they drove up the driveway. Helga looked out the window, smirking. Hospital? This didn't look like a mental hospital. It looked like a bed and breakfast. A fancy one. The house was an old Queen Anne, painted and well kept, manicured gardens, mowed lawn. Trees, a pond - fenced off, but still - with a huge tree nearby. The property was big.
"How did she find this place?" Helga asked. "It doesn't look like a hospital. It looks like a freaking hotel or something!"
"It's one of the best in Hillwood," her father said. "Ask your old psychologist about good ones. She told me about this one."
Helga frowned. "Dr. Bliss, you mean?"
"Yeah," he said, not looking at her. "Look, we're gonna bring your mother home. I know you're angry, but being angry at her isn't going to help."
"She abandoned us, Dad," Helga said bitterly. "When we needed her. We were there for her, but she couldn't return the favor."
"She lost her daughter..."
"So did you, Dad! And I lost my sister and my mother!" Helga yelled at him. "She as good as crawled into Olga's grave with her."
Bob slammed on the breaks and turned to face her, face red, anger written all over his face.
"You'll be a parent someday, Helga," he said in a low threatening voice. "Then you'll understand. Until then, shut up."
He took his foot off the break and pulled into a car park. "Let's bring you mother home."
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"The house is so clean," Miriam said, looking around the kitchen.
"Yeah, Helga was up until late last night," Bob told her.
Miriam turned and smiled at her daughter.
"You did a very nice job, Helga," she told her.
Helga smirked. "I'll be in my room." She started up the stairs to her room.
"Is she okay?" she heard her mother ask.
"She'll be fine," she heard him reply.
She growled but kept going to her room. Once there she slammed the door. What a great start to Senior Year this was going to be.
Then she smiled. One more school year and she was out of here!
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"So what have you decided in regards to your relationship with Phoebe?" Arnold asked his best friend as they sat outside on the school steps waiting for Helga. Gerald looked at the ground.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "We didn't have any contact during summer. First time ever. Even when we were kids, you know, we still had some kind of contact."
"And?" Arnold asked. It was something that had been on both his and Helga's minds. Would this affect their relationship? And if it did, how?
"Guess I'll know when I see her," Gerald said, scratching his head. "I'm . . . not sure I'm ready, but at the same time I can't wait."
They fell into silence and watched as others met up with their friends and respective groups. A few people walked past them and gave them hey's, or stopped to talk, then Helga walked up with Phoebe. Arnold's jaw dropped when he saw Phoebe. Her glasses were gone, her black hair was gone, her conservative clothes were gone. She'd had a total makeover. Gerald turned to see what he was looking at and his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as well.
"Phoebe?" he asked, shocked to the core. She and Helga stopped and smiled at the boys. Arnold could tell Helga was feeling uncomfortable in this sudden change in her best friend.
Phoebe had died her hair blonde. Arnold guessed she was wearing contacts. Her usual attire of sweater-dresses and tights were gone. In their place was a . . . a . . .
"What are you wearing?" Rhonda asked from behind. They turned to see her staring at Phoebe like she'd just stepped off a spaceship.
"We went to Japan over summer," she explained. "And I spent some time with cousins in the Harajuku district! Oh, Helga, you would have loved it."
"So you keep saying," Helga said, forcing a smile.
"It's known as Lolita fashion, sweet to be specific," Phoebe told Rhonda. "Something I tohught you'd know all about being as into fashion as you are."
Rhonda flushed. Arnold and Gerald raised their eyebrows at each other, and Helga pulled in the corner of her mouth, not sure wether to smirk or not.
"I needed a change," she said, looking at Gerald. "Out with the old, in with the new as they say."
she walked ahead of the rest, and Arnold looked at Helga to see her eyes narrowing as she watched Phoebe enter the building. Then she sighed and looked at him, smiling then going over and giving him a kiss.
"Missed you."
"What has Phoebe done?" Gerald asked. "And what did she mean, out with the old, in with the new?"
Helga pulled away and shook her head. "I don't know. I think she's having some kind of identity make-over or something."
"Or something," Rhonda muttered. "Well, I'm off. More important things to do."
They watched her flounce off, her little entourage following or joining as she made her way into the building, before getting up and following.
Senior year had begun.
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The first few weeks went fast, and Arnold's birthday finally arrived. It fell on a weekday, but a party was planned for the weekend. Helga started looking into College's and University's. In particular, one in France . . .
She bit her lip. She hadn't told Phoebe or Arnold about this. She flipped through the brochure. The more she saw, the more she liked the look of it. She wasn't sure how the people around her were going to take the news that she wanted to go off to France on her own, but she supposed they would just have to get over it . . . if she did apply and got accepted.
She browsed through some others, but her eyes kept finding their way back to her chosen one. Did she dare?