Author's Note: Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has taken the time to review this story, whether positively or negatively. You're all so awesome and I love you so much. Kay, this is the end of my Miss America speech. (But seriously, I do love you).

9: Made of Pure Steel

Why had she done it?

Lila couldn't stop asking herself the question as she lay there in her bed, waiting for the sun to rise. The enticing scent of fried eggs and baked beans wafted through from the kitchen, where her father was cooking breakfast.

And still, she felt far from arriving at a good answer.

Lila knew. She had known, even in the heat of the moment and the tipsy vibrations of her sweet Limoncello-induced pleasure, the first alcoholic beverage she'd ever consumed, that she didn't like Arnold. Not that way. She never had.

But there was one thing. Rhonda had all but convinced her that the likelihood of Arnold having written those lovely, oh-too-romantic notes trumped the likelihood of the writer being anyone else. And if that were the case, well, then Nadine was right, wasn't she?

Nadine and Rhonda were both right, Lila thought. Arnold Shortman had possibly been pining for her since they were nine years old; had never given up on her, even all the while he moved on to dating the only girl who'd ever shown an interest.

Perhaps, Lila thought, as guilt stabbed at her heart. Perhaps she had been ever so wrong, to turn him down so many times, all those years ago. Perhaps Arnold was something special. Perhaps these letters, the ones he might be sending to her now, were proof of that.

If it were true, all of it, then she owed it to him to give him the chance. So, in those dark, chaotic moments of the party, she'd kissed him. He was a nice boy, really. And maybe, there was more to him than she'd previously seen.

"CRADLE, PATAKI! THERE YA GO, KID! CRADLE! YOU GOTTA GET THIS ONE FOR YOUR TEAM!"

Vision blurring slightly, Helga darted her way through the cluster of purple-pinny-draped, mock-opposing team members. They were surrounding her on all sides, so far gone were her own practice team members, who were no match for the likes of Big Patty or Daphne, the junior girl, on defense. Helga was barely aware of where she was going. She felt the moment rather than planned it: saw the small opening in space, flung back her stick, and shot the ball straight into the mesh net in a rage-induced display of strength.

"THAT'S IT, HELGA! PATTY, BLOCK ER GOOD NEXT TIME! USE YOUR WHOLE BODY IF YOU NEED TO!" Tish screamed, blowing her whistle.

The up-and-coming Hillwood girls' lacrosse team stumbled over to the side of the gymnasium, where their water bottles lay in a haphazard heap. They had been using the gym at the nearest elementary school, P.S. 118, for several weeks now. The high school's gymnasium was booked up for various other sports - namely, rained-in cheerleading and football practices - until the end of the fall; once winter approached, it would be used for basketball. P.S. 118 was their only hope for a regular practice spot until the spring.

"Alright, ladies!" Tish hollered, pacing back and forth across the court, as was her wont. "What are your motivational words for today?"

"Let's blow this popsicle stand?" Helga suggested.

"Clever, Helga. Real clever."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Come on, girls, what are your motivational words?!" Tish demanded impatiently.

Patty rubbed the back of her arm, casting a shy glance around her. "How about…. um… it's not a quote… but you're all great lacrosse players, and I think we can do this. You know, once the spring comes, and we start playing against real teams and stuff. I think we can kick those other girls' butts, you know?"

"Hell yeah we can," Nadine said, nodding encouragingly, and the others echoed her with sentiments of agreement

"Alrighty then. STICKS IN!" Tish screamed. Helga resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she pointed the slightly battered loaner stick towards the center of the teepee the other girls were forming with their nets and metal rods.

"On three. One… two… three… HILLWOOD!"

Helga kept her head cast down towards the ground as she made her way out of the gymnasium, too tired to head to the locker room and change out of her shorts with her team members.

Leaves were swirling outside in the curling autumn wind, but the cold that bit at her felt like a breath of relief against her sweat-plastered skin. She made the decision to trek home rather than wait for the next bus. The thought of stomaching a ride home, in such close quarters with more people, was simply too much to bear.

Her lacrosse stick bounced lifelessly against the cracked sidewalk. Her organs felt frozen up, as though she'd swallowed a bottle of bleach. An entire week had passed since Rhonda's Halloween party. And still, her distress didn't feel any nearer to subsiding. All she could think about was Arnold, mashing his lips all over Lila Sawyer's, wrapping his arms around her perfect tiny waist and… who did that stupid Football Head think he was, anyway? How dare he really do something like this to her?

Helga kicked every stone in her pathway as she turned onto her street, her heart knotted up in her chest. She wanted to take solace in the fact that at least she'd been the one to break things off with Arnold. No one could say the boy had dumped her for greener pastures, now could they? No, she'd made that decision, as far as anyone else was concerned. Try as she might, though, nothing could provide her with any source of comfort. She was too miserable to consider whether the initial humiliation had been hers or his. All she wanted was to fall off the face of the planet; better yet, for Little Miss Perfect and Arnold to fall off the place of the planet, and for everyone around them, most especially Helga, to forget that they'd ever existed.

When she finally arrived home, she fumbled with her house key and opened the front door to find her mother slumped over at the bottom of the staircase, looking vaguely like the victim of a domestic crime or an armed robbery.

"Miriam!" Helga snapped. Her mom jumped and fumbled quickly for her glasses, which had fallen off her face and hung precariously from the collar of her dress.

"Wha… who's there?"

"Miriam, get up."

"Oh, it's just you, honey!" her mother slurred. "How was school?"

Helga slammed the door shut behind her, tossing the items in her hands to the floor. She grunted under her breath as she moved towards the kitchen in search of a snack. "School was okay. So was practice. Guess you never wondered about that gigantic stick I've been lugging around for God knows how long now, huh?"

"What?" Miriam yawned, blinking and following her daughter into the next room. "Oh, yeah. That is a pretty big stick, sweetie."

"Your girl's an athlete now," Helga announced. She began to tear into the slightly stale, half-empty bag of potato chips at the back of the cupboard. "Ya know, all official and everything."

"Oh, how nice!"

"I guess so. Hey," she added suddenly, swallowing the salt in her mouth. "Mom, wasn't Olga supposed to come by with Mina today?"

"Mina?" Miriam repeated blankly.

"Your granddaughter. Marina. Olga told Dad they were coming down tonight for dinner, remember?"

"Oh, Mina, right! Well, goodness, I wonder what we can cook." Her mother opened the refrigerator and began staring motionlessly at its contents, which appeared to include a carton of milk, a package of pre-sliced cheese, and not much else.

Helga slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh criminy, Miriam. I'll order a pizza."

"You will? Oh, great. Thank you, honey."

"Just drink some water, alright, and sober yourself up a little, or there are gonna be temper tantrums again. And whatever you do, don't mention that you haven't been going to AA. Got that?"

"Oh, yes... got it."

"I mean it, Mom. Who knows if your princess is ever gonna forgive you if you don't put up a good enough show."

"Of course, of course," Miriam nodded forcefully, now looking a bit more awake as she seemed to recall the outcome of the last visit the Patakis had had with their grown daughter.

Helga grabbed a glass from above the sink, filled it with water, and forced it up to her mom's lips, clicking her tongue impatiently.

XxX

"Oh, baby sister."

Olga was practically screeching as she reached for Helga. She looked, irrevocably, like an eagle swooping down on its prey. She pressed two gummy kisses against each of Helga's cheeks, leaving the latter girl with lipstick stains all over her face. Helga scowled as she wiped furiously at her skin.

"I'm just so happy to see you," Olga continued, clasping her hands together. "My baby, and my baby sister, together! We're together in one beautiful house again. Isn't it just fantastic?" She wiped a tear from her perfect porcelain skin.

Helga looked grudgingly at the two-year-old smiling in the arms of Olga's husband, Ricky. They were sickening, the three of them: sickeningly attractive, sickeningly wealthy, sickeningly sweet with one another. They were like members of some freaking robotic Stepford family.

Still, although she'd never, ever admit it out loud, there was one horrible truth about all of this: Helga was completely and madly in love with her niece, Mina. For one thing, the little girl hadn't yet learned to be anywhere near as obnoxious as her mother. Better yet, she actually liked Helga, a first for a human being with Pataki genes.

"Pizza's getting cold, you guys," Helga mumbled, casting a casual glance at her niece, who was curling one of her butter-blonde curls around a chubby finger and making fish faces at her.

"Aunty Elga, Aunty Elga," Marina cheered, now furling and unfurling her hands over and over in anticipation.

"Oh, alright, no need to start whining," Helga told her, trying her best to hide her smile. She scooped her away from Ricky. Marina was getting so big, her warm body growing by the day. Helga breathed in the scent of her oceanic hair and rainwater skin; Mina giggled happily and nuzzled her head into her aunt's chest.

"Come on, Mina," Helga said, kissing the little girl discretely on the forehead. "It's time to get some pizza."

She pulled Mina into her lap as they all sat down at the kitchen table, pulling slices from the cardboard box at its center. Bob grabbed two and began shoving them in his mouth at once, while Miriam twirled her fork across her plate, struggling to keep her eyes open. Helga grabbed a slice of pepperoni for herself and a plain one for Mina, who began nibbling at the crust with her front teeth.

"So, Ricky," Bob thundered over a mouthful of oily cheese. "Stocks still booming?"

Helga rolled her eyes. Ricky Warren, investment banker at some high-up corporation or another, did something pertaining to stocks for a living. She wasn't sure what, and she was pretty sure her father didn't really understand, either. He just liked to broach the topic again and again because Ricky's job involved making lots of money, something Big Bob loved to ask and hear about.

"Oh, of course, sir. I'm busy. But I always make time for my two beautiful ladies," Ricky offered a white-toothed grin. Helga gagged into her glass of Coke, still holding Marina tightly with one arm.

"Good to hear, good to hear," Bob told him proudly.

"And you, Mr. Pataki? Big Bob's Emporium still doing well?"

"Oh, yeah. Ever since we started selling cellphones – everything's been great. Smartest business move I ever made."

"Oh, absolutely, couldn't agree more," Ricky agreed, nodding vigorously. "And you, Helga? School still going well?"

"Oh, it's just wonderful, Ricky," she sneered.

"Helga's such a good student, aren't you, baby sister?" Olga gushed. "You should see her writing. She's just a fantastic writer."

"Are you?" Ricky asked. Helga began to stutter out a contrarian retort, but Marina, thankfully, chose that moment to begin whining loudly.

"Dessert, Mommy!" she begged, flailing her tiny fists in the air. "Dessert?"

"Oh, no, Marina, darling," Olga said. "Not here."

"I'll take her, Olga," Helga offered, seizing on her opportunity to leave the table and standing up swiftly while Marina dribbled pizza grease down her elbow. "I can take her to Slausen's for some ice cream. I still get a discount there, ya know."

"Ice cream!" Marina chanted excitedly.

"Lemme just go grab my jacket."

She plopped her niece into Olga's arms and exited the kitchen. As she charged up the stairs, her cell phone began to ring. She glanced at the name on the screen and picked up in a hurry.

"Hey… yeah, I'm fine, Phoebe, of course I'm fine!" she hissed into the receiver. "I already told you, I've never been more okay. Why wouldn't I be? No, I couldn't care less if Arnold wants to – oh, hang on a sec, Pheebs." She picked up the blinking call on the other side. "Yeah, Curly? What's up? You got em?"

She couldn't help it. She cackled, a dark, evil cackle, the laughter distracting her from the throbbing pain in her chest, if only for a brief moment.

"Twenty-seven dune geckos?" she repeated, voice full of zeal. "No, no, don't bring em to school, not yet," she instructed him. "Hold on to them – feed them – I have no idea, Curly, how should I know how you take care of dune geckos?! What do you think I am, a zookeeper? Just don't let those lizards die! We're gonna unveil them, kid, when it's time."

She thrust her phone back into the pocket of her jeans and hurried up to her room for her jacket.

"The negligence! The idiocy! How could you be so careless as ter let this happen!"

Harold fumbled backwards in the dark garage, hands trembling as the voice thundered above him. "Aw, c'mon, Gino, please! Nothing happened!"

"Nothin happened? Nothin happened? Do you think I don't knows, Berman? Do you think Gino don't knows everything that happens in this here city?"

"But it wasn't my fault!"

"Not your fault, eh?"

"No! Lila… she just went and kissed him! It was all dark and stuff! There was nothin I could do about it!"

Big Gino glared at him with hawk-like eyes. "You had one job, Berman. One job! Am I wrong?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir," Harold moaned.

"So yous admit it. Yous admit that you screwed this up."

"I—"

"And what am I supposed to do about this? Do you undastand the heartbreak this has caused me?"

"Yes, sir, I—"

"Do you undastand the misery I have felt as I lie awake in bed, night afta night, weepin a watafall of tears and askin God, why, God, why me?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Harold nodded seriously. "That must be painful. Real painful. Anyway, sorry about that, Gino. Guess you're gonna give up on Lila and won't be needing my help anymore, huh?"

"My friend," Gino began, lips pursing. "Big Gino does not give up."

"He doesn't?" Harold asked nervously.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. He doesn't."

"Oh, of course. Well I, uh—"

"Harold, Lila Sawya and that football-headed-kid are gonna be datin now, am I right?"

"Well, Gino, sir, I wouldn't exactly know if—"

"Of course they are," Gino roared. "Lila Sawya is classy. Lila Sawya ain't the kind of girl who just hooks up with people."

"She's not?" Harold asked weakly.

"No, Berman. She ain't. If she's gonna kiss him, she's gonna date him. And you listen to me – it's gonna be your job to make sure that date don't go so smooth."

"It is?"

"Yes," Gino said impatiently, throwing his hands down on his desk so hard the drawers came flying out. "It is. And you're gonna do exactly as I say to impede the progess of that date. You got that?"

"Oh, yeah," Harold murmured. "'Course. That date's gonna be a disaster with me around, you'll see. Whatever you want, sir."

"You betta believe it. Whateva Big Gino wants, Big Gino gets," Gino said coolly, and with that, he rubbed his hands together and launched into a rundown of his plan.

Call her. Don't call her. Call her. Don't call her. Call her.

No, don't, you nut job.

Groaning, Arnold Shortman closed out of Lila's name in his list of contacts and put down his phone for the seventh time inside of an hour. He was sitting with his head propped up in his hands, notebook and used copy of Great Expectations lying open on his desk. Try as he might, he hadn't been able to focus on the newest paper for Mr. Turner's class all week.

He felt like there was a tug-of-war session going on inside his brain, the players of which bore an eerie resemblance to his best friend and his ex-girlfriend. On one side, Gerald's voice continued urging him, over and over, to get a move on already. "Look, I was just thinking it might help you if you actually tried. With anyone. Lila likes you, man. She made out with you! Just call her!"

On the other side, Helga the Devil sent her fist slamming into his skull, face burning with contorted rage. "Lila? Lila?! Don't you dare do it, Football Head! Don't even think about it!"

Arnold frowned angrily at her.

"Lila kissed me. And besides, you're the one who broke up with me," he reminded the unibrowed figure in his mind. Sweat was collecting at his hairline.

"You know exactly why I broke up with you, Arnoldo!"

"Yeah, you were done," Gerald said, shrugging.

"You didn't want to be with me anymore," Arnold added.

"You're an idiot. What is it with you?" Helga snarled furiously. "You already know that's not true. I love you. I love you, and you…"

Shaking slightly, Arnold stood up from his chair, wincing at the creaking sound his limbs made. (Was he fifteen, or forty-seven?) He'd get a drink, he thought. Head down to the kitchen, get a nice glass of water, and stop worrying about all of this until tomorrow morning, once he'd had the chance to get a little more rest.

He opened his bedroom door to find Cadence waiting patiently at the threshold, paws folded and yellow eyes glowing in the dark.

"Hey, boy," Arnold whispered fondly, bending over to scratch him behind the ears. Unlike Abner, Cadence was agile enough to climb the top staircase, consequently spending many nights curled up on his rug or at the foot of his bed. "Go on in, I'll be right back."

When Arnold arrived at the ground floor of the boarding house, he was greeted by an eerie, husky voice blasting from the TV in the living room.

"Are you sick and tired of being a loser? Are you ready to finally stop failing?"

"Yes… yes… I am!" Miles Shortman mumbled, sounding out of breath. Arnold peered his head into the room. His father was doing pushups against the floor, his back stacked inexplicably with a couple of dictionaries and a world atlas.

"There are two types of people in this world: winners and losers," the voice on the TV barreled on. "Like you, I used to be a loser. My wife resented me. My children were embarrassed of me. I didn't know what I was doing with my life. I was the biggest loser on the planet. Does that sound like you? Are you the biggest loser on the planet?"

"Yes," Miles panted. "Yes, I am!" He attempted to spring up from his precarious position on the ground, but his back cracked audibly as he did so. Arnold watched his father moan, rubbing his spine with one hand and staring down at the fallen books on the rug.

"I was a loser, too," the TV continued. "But look at me now. I'm the most successful businessman on the east coast. Everyone in America knows my name. How did I create this life for myself? How did I go from zero to HERO?"

"I don't know!" Miles muttered feverishly, still rubbing his back. "How did you do it?"

"For the complete set of pointers on how to turn your life around, just call 1-800…"

"Oh, come on!" Miles snapped at the screen.

"Dad?" Arnold said precariously, one foot over the threshold to the living room.

"Oh… Arnold!" his father whipped around to look at him, face brightening. "Hey. Didn't see you there."

"Oh, yeah, well," Arnold mumbled softly, rubbing the back of his elbow. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he couldn't get rid of the odd, sinking feeling in his heart. "How's everything going?"

"Oh, it's good, Arnold. Just watching this self-help video here. This psychology stuff, really superb. Inspiring."

"Uh huh," Arnold nodded quickly. "Well, it sounds, uh… great."

He wanted to tell his father he should go for a walk; step away from the TV screen for a little while, which certainly couldn't have been aiding his mental health. He wanted to revert to advice-mode, become the buttinsky his peers had always known him as.

But something was holding him back. His parents were… well, his parents. And whatever Arnold was to his friends and even to the other boarders, he had never been in relation to his mom and dad. Over the past four and a half years, he'd been amazed and discomforted and confused by what it was to be a boy with two stable grown-ups back in his life: a boy with a living mother and father. He'd worked hard on establishing those boundaries, and no matter how foreign they had been to him at age eleven, he had grown used to them in a certain kind of way by now. And he didn't want to feel that it was his place to tell his father how to live his life, not when his father was a hundred times smarter and older and more well-learned than he would probably ever be.

In any case, he didn't have to think about it long, because he was interrupted then by a buzzing sound from the pocket of his jeans. Arnold extracted his phone and drew in an anxious exhale when he saw the name flashing on the screen. His finger hovered over the contact name. He had to do it - he was driving himself completely insane.

"Hello, Arnold," came Lila's sweet voice from the other end.

"Lila," Arnold started awkwardly. "Hi."

"Hi. I'm certain you texted me earlier. You said you needed to talk?"

"Yeah. Listen, I know this is a weird question. And I know you probably already have plans. But I was just... well, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go see a movie or something on Friday."

"A movie?" Lila repeated.

Arnold rubbed the back of his shoulder with his hand. "Yeah."

There was a pause, a few seconds of silence during which he felt sure she was about to turn him down.

"Okay," she told him at last. "I'd just love to."

The first thing Eugene thought when he stepped into the auditorium was that Mrs. Persad had beautiful hair. It was the corkscrew kind of curly, a beehive of dark ringlets that sprang from her forehead and spiraled down her neck. Her voice matched the look of it: bouncy.

He hadn't slept well the night before. He hadn't slept well for over a month now, actually. Long after his father had gone to sleep, Eugene's lay awake, tossing and turning into the night while his head danced and swam with ghosts.

"I'm going to go through this list in alphabetical order," Mrs. Persad announced to the group of high schoolers, who were sitting in the rows of plush seats in varying states of anxiety. Eugene was on the high end of the nerve spectrum. He was used to that. He couldn't help but clench his fingers over the loop in his belt as he waited, his sandaled feet clattering up and down against the floor.

"Each student is to introduce themselves to the group with his or her name and one interesting life fact. She will then name the part she is auditioning for, and read from the area of the script denoted. Singing roles must also include a segment from one song of the student's choosing."

Eugene's heart began to pound in his chest. Was this really a good idea? Besides, what was his interesting life fact going to be?

A tiny freshman nearly swallowed up by the long dress she was wearing raised her hand timidly. "Excuse me. Can we audition for more than one part?"

Mrs. Persad smiled warmly at her. "Of course you may. Any other questions?"

The first person to be called to the stage was Anderson, Layla, a girl with a stud nose ring and cerulean blue streaks in her dark ponytail. Eugene guessed she might be a freshman, too - he'd never seen her before. He found himself wishing that he could look as graceful and confident as she did as she sashayed up the steps, her copy of The King and the Killer Clown in one hand.

"I'm Layla," Layla told the group. "My interesting life fact is that I was named after the Eric Clapton classic. I'm auditioning for the part of the heartbroken queen consort of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn."

"Excellent," Mrs. Persad said. "You may begin, my dear."

Instantaneously, Layla dropped to her knees, face filled with sorrow as she shook her fists at the ceiling lights.

"Why?!" she screamed. "Why have you forsaken me, my king?"

"It is you who has forsaken me!" Mrs. Persad replied, one hand over her heart as she read from the script for the part of Henry VIII. "You barren woman! Fruitless bane of my existence!"

"You will never get away with this!"

"Be gone with you, most undeserving of wives!"

Bowing her head deeply towards the floor of the stage, Layla broke into the beginning of Anne Boleyn's heart wrenching solo.

"Having done no one wrong

I begin my song

With a blood red heart

Right where it belongs

You can chop off my head

For when I am dead

I will break all your rules

Oh, you murderous fool

I will haunt your dark soul

Your heart black as coal."

Her voice quavered on the last syllable, fingernails digging into the ground. She began rolling her head left and right, a creative interpretation of Anne's beheading, Eugene supposed.

The auditorium burst into thunderous applause. Eugene wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Gosh, that was magical," he whispered to the junior next to him, who shrugged.

The next person to be called to the stage was Baar, Roseline. Eugene recognized her from around school, though he wasn't quite sure how old she was. She was tall, with thick wire-rimmed glasses and large amounts of red hair.

"Roseline," Roseline announced. "I have been to every country in Europe. That's my fun fact."

The students in the audience offered mumbles of appreciation.

"Very nice," Mrs. Persad said, smiling again. "And what part will you be auditioning for, Roseline?"

"The killer clown," Roseline told them sweetly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"Begin."

Roseline stared out at them for a long moment, seemingly in a state of contemplation. Then, without warning, she broke into a long, loud, malicious cackle.

"Who are you?!" Mrs. Persad read from the script. "What do you want from me!"

"I... am... here... for your blood," Roseline recited menacingly. She threw back her head and continued to laugh. "King Henry, you have done evil unto those who loved you. Now you must answer to me."

"I have not done evil unto anyone," Mrs. Persad moaned. "They are the ones who have wronged me, don't you see?"

"You... will.. be haunted! For the rest of your life!" Roseline dripped to the floor on her hands and knees and began to roll around on her back, body shaking as though possessed by some evil force, which incidentally was not in the script.

"That creative license," Eugene sighed wistfully under his breath. "That style."

Forty minutes of auditions later, Horowitz, Eugene's name was finally called.

The entire room felt silent, laced with a sudden cold - or was that Euegene's imagination? His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears it was hard to make out much else. For a moment, he remained locked into his chair, frozen in his seat as though strapped in with dead bolts.

"Horowitz, Eugene?" Mrs. Persad called again.

"Here," Eugene said meekly. "I mean, present. I'll go up now."

When she turned around to face him, the velvet in her eyes was momentarily soothing. Swallowing and nodding, Eugene stood and made his way to the stage, catching himself just in time when his sandals nearly sent him flying across the slippery wooden floor.

"I'm okay!" he announced reflexively. He could hear the students in the audience giggling.

"Eugene Horowitz, your fun fact? And who will you be auditioning for?" Mrs. Persad asked. Eugene stared, trying to make sense of the deep, inquisitive look on her face. His throat was bone dry.

Swallowing, he steeled his gaze. He glanced hard at her, and the students around him, their eyes bored and glazed. He knew they hoped that he wouldn't be as good as he wanted to be. It was in their best interest to beat him out, after all. At the same time as the thought occurred to him, he considered how he would never have felt something so pessimistic a year before.

"My fun fact is that this is my first time auditioning for the spring play. And I'm trying out for the king," Eugene heard himself saying. His voice echoed across the stage. "The king, Henry VIII."

A smile stretched across Mrs. Persad's soft features. "Very good. You may begin."

Eugene sucked in his lips. He took a deep breath of the air in the auditorium, filled with dust and strength. He wanted to swallow that strength, to take it and keep it somewhere inside of him, where it would finally be his to hold onto.

"My love, how could you," came Mrs. Persad's emotion-filled voice, reading for the part of Catherine. "How could you betray me like this."

In that moment, it was as though a curtain fell over his pain. His beating heart, his spinning head, his blood swimming with doubt - they stopped, in the heat of the stage lights beaming down on him.

"Catherine," Eugene bellowed. "You, my ungrateful wife, have betrayed me. You are fruitless. Lifeless. Unproductive fiend!"

"It is not my fault!"

"Excuses, excuses! It is your fault, my most unholy of maidens!"

He fell to his knees, face nearly touching the stage as the solo sprang from his lips.

"My ungrateful wife

You have ruined my life

With your body that fails

To bear me males

In this man-powered world."

He barely heard the applause that rippled through the auditorium.