Gerald and Phoebe sat across from each other, both with so much to say, yet not wanting to say anything. It was a terrible feeling. Both had been avoiding each other since school started back. But Arnold had invited both to his birthday party, and he wanted them to clear the air between them before the party, so there wasn't any awkwardness.
"So, um, are you wanting to date again?" Gerald asked. Phoebe shrugged, not saying anything. "I do, but I need to know you trust me."
Phoebe continued to look down at the top of the table. They had met at the park. Helga and Arnold had gone off for a walk, leaving the two of them alone to talk.
"I do trust you, Gerald," Phoebe said. "It's just . . . I guess . . . sometimes . . ."
"What, Phoebe? What?" he demanded, getting annoyed.
"I don't feel good enough for you."
Gerald sat back stunned.
"Are you serious?" he asked. Phoebe nodded. "Phoebe, your the smartest, nicest, girl in school. If anyone in this relationship is out of the other league, it's you out of mine!"
Phoebe sighed. "Smartest and nicest, huh?"
"Of course."
"Always those things, but never pretty, or beautiful, or gorgeous, or popular," she said, using one nail to break and peel off the tip of another nail. "I'm dumpy, and short, and . . . not pretty. Not like the other girls who want your attention."
"So? Do you know what the guys say about those girls?" Gerald asked. "Nothing nice. There's no respect for those girls. But there's respect for you. And our relationship. And you are pretty, beautiful and gorgeous to me. And isn't that more important than anything else?"
A tear slid down Phoebe's cheek, and she wiped it away. Good thing her makeup was water proof! She nodded.
"You don't ever think of those girls in, you know, a sexual way?" she whispered. Gerald made a face.
"No."
"Really?" she asked, finally looking up.
"Truely," he said. "The only girl in my wet dreams is you."
Phoebe laughed as he turned red.
...
...
"So everything is all better?" Helga asked, flopping onto her bed. "You two talked it out?"
"Yeah, we're going to date again," she told her friend, taking a seat next to her on her bed. "We're going to make the best of Senior Year, because we both know we won't be going to the same College."
"Yeah, same here," Helga said, looking up at the ceiling.
"Where have you been applying to?" Phoebe asked.
"A few places," she answered vaguely.
"Yeah, but anywhere in particular?" she asked. Helga sat up.
"Can you keep it quiet for now?" she asked. Phoebe nodded.
"France."
Phoebe was quiet for a moment, letting what Helga just told her sink in.
"France?"
"Paris College of Art, to be more specific," Helga told her excitedly. "I've already told my parents about it. They've told me to wait, see how I feel at the end of the year and after I've visited a few, before deciding for sure. But I'm pretty keen."
"But . . . it's so far away!" Phoebe cried. "And what does Arnold say? Have you told him?"
"Not yet . . ." Helga admitted, biting her lip. "But I will. When I'm sure . . ."
"Shouldn't you at least tell him that you're thinking of this? And aren't those schools competitive?" Phoebe demanded. "And how can you see the campus? Where will you live?"
"I will, yes they are, but my teachers are helping me with portfolio's and such, I can visit and they have dormitories," she told her.
"Oh, Helga . . ." Phoebe said. "You wont know anyone."
"Well, actually . . . Rhonda is planning to go there as well," Helga confided. "She's kind of the one who told me."
"So you'll go with Rhonda?" Phoebe asked, feeling a little hurt. Helga nodded. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"We're going to visit the campus together," Helga told her. "During spring break."
Phoebe was quiet for the longest time. She wanted to be happy for Helga. She really did. But a part of her was . . . jealous?
"Anyway, all this would only be if I even get an interview," Helga said. "I'm still getting my portfolio together."
"I see," Phoebe said, trying to sound thoughtful. "Well good luck, I guess."
"Thanks," Helga said, smiling. "And until I know for certain, let's just keep this between us for now."
...
...
"Have you given any serious thought to College?" Gerald asked.
"Yeah," he answered. "I'm planning to stay in state, for my grandparents sake. How did it go with Phoebe?"
"Really well," Gerald told him, smiling. "We're giving it another go. This is our last year together. Neither of us are fooling ourselves about going to the same place after graduation. You need help setting up this weekend?"
"If you don't mind? Helga is going to do food," Arnold told him.
"Sweet."
...
...
The music was loud, people were dancing all over the place. His grandparents and the boarders had left for the night, leaving the whole place soley in Arnold's hands. He couldn't believe that finally, finally, he was turning seventeen. Another year and he was eighteen. He grabbed another beer. Helga had disappeared, he guessed to get more food. He left to find her. Almost stumbling down the stairs (oops, he'd had too much to drink), he found her talking to Rhonda in the kitchen.
"- your portfolio in yet?" Rhonda asked. Helga shook her head.
"Not yet, I'm working on it though. Mrs. Kanee thinks I have a good shot though," he ehard her say. "What about you?"
"Almost done," Rhonda said. "Gosh, how exciting if we both got in!"
Arnold straightened up a bit. Were they talking about colleges?
"The two of us, in Paris, the City of Love, meeting handsome young french men, having love affairs, visiting the most famous art galleries in the world!" he heard Rhonda exclaim. "Oh God, I hope we both get in."
"Paris?" Arnold blurted. Both Helga and Rhonda turned to see him barely standing, leaning against the door frame, staring at them confused.
"Arnold, are you okay?" Helga asked, coming forward.
"Are you talking about France's Paris, or Texas's Paris?" he asked.
Helga was quiet a moment, before answering.
"France, Arnold. Paris, France."
"You just going to go to France? Just like that?" he asked. Helga walked forward.
"How about we talk about this tomorrow? When your sober," she pulled him away. "I'll speak to you later, Rhonda."
"Good luck," she called out, frowning. Had Helga said nothing about any of this to Arnold?
...
...
They stumbled into an empty room. Arnold looked around and almost laughed. It as the room his parents had used when they were here. It was never rented out. The room was cleaned regularly by his grandma, but it was never used. Only recently had she been forgetting to lock it.
He hated this room.
"Lay down," Helga commanded, pushing him to the bed. He fell down on it. "Your in no state to talk about anything. Just sleep it off."
"Your leaving me," he said. "My parents probably told me they were leaving me in this room, as well."
"Excuse me?" Helga asked. "Don't try talking in riddles, Arnold, you're too drunk."
He sat up and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her down with him.
"Why Paris?" he asked.
"I need to get away," Helga explained. "From my mom, my dad, the sorrow, everything."
"Me?" he asked. Helga shook her head and kissed him.
"Not you, Arnold," she told him, pushing hair out of his face. "Never you."
Arnold nodded then sat up. "I'm just going to go be sick, okay?"
"I'll go grab you a glass of water," Helga said laughing, getting up as well. "So much for my special surprise."
She went downstairs and got a glass of water, then made her way back up the stairs and into the room and it's ensuite. Arnold was resting his head on his arms, which were resting on the toilet seat. He looked white as a sheet.
"Here," she said, handing him the glass. "Take a break for a bit, okay?"
Arnold takes the glass from her and takes a big drink. Bad move. His face is over the toilet and he's spewing. Again. Fantastic. Helga looks away, her stomach going queasy.
"I'm going to go finish up with the food, okay?" she tells him, standing up. He just nods, and she leaves, shaking her head. She was just finishing up with the dip when her phone went off. She looked to see a message from Torvald.
Behind you.
Turning she saw him standing there, smiling. She let out a small scream, then hugged him.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"My aunt died," he told her solomnly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware she was sick," Helga said.
"She wasn't. Car accident."
Helga gasped. "The one from last night? I saw something about it, but didn't really pay attention." She moved forward and gave him a hug.
Arnold meanwhile, made his way down to the kitchen. His head was still fuzzy and his legs a little unstable, and his stomach jumped up and down. And he bumped into someone in the hallway.
"Oh, happy birthday, Arnold," Nadine said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. She was as unsteady on her feet as he was. "Your so cute. It's a shame your taken."
With that she stumbled off out the back door. Arnold was confused. No one was out there were they? He turned and continued to the kitchen. What he saw made him freeze. Helga had her arms around Torvald.
Wait, Torvald? What was he doing here?
Torvald looked up and smirked at him, while moving his hands down Helga's back, then putting his face in her hair. Instead of saying a word he just slipped out of sight and leaned again the wall, feeling sick all over again. Without thinking he let his feet carry him out the back door into the backyard. He saw Nadine leaning against the wall of the house. She'd dropped her bottle.
"Hey, you again," she said laughing, then making her way over to hug him. "Where's your girlfriend?"
Without even thinking he answered with an answer he would come to regret.
"I don't have one anymore," he told her.
"What a sham," she said before she kissed him.
...
...
"Here, I'll help you," Torvald said, picking up a couple of bowls.
"Thanks, hopefully this party starts to wind down-" she stopped talking as she heard strange noises coming from out back. "Damn it, the door's open. Give me a sec, Arnold didn't want people out there."
Torvald watched as she stepped out to say something, but instead stood silent. He watched as she went white, then backed into the house, falling backwards and dropping the bowls.