Author's Note: Thank you for sticking in there. And mostly for being you. You're amazing and precious. Don't forget that you deserve all the love in the world.

11: Animal Aggression is My Downfall

"Criminy, Curly," Helga muttered. She was pacing back and forth on her bedroom floor, sweating in her boxers despite the early winter chill in the air.

"Yeah, I'll say," Curly echoed from her bed. He lay on his stomach with his chin in his hands, cell phone propped up on her bundled up purple blanket. "That's some good stuff, huh? You wanna watch it again?" His fingers hovered over the Play button. Her stomach was churning in a familiar way, like she'd just eaten bad pork rinds or expired butter.

"Well, I..." Helga began somewhat anxiously, but the video had already started again. Curly had shown it to her a half-dozen times now. And though she'd at first gotten a good laugh out of the footage of Lila screaming for her life as she raced out of the movie theater a week before, Helga just couldn't shake the last four seconds of that shitty, old-cell-quality clip.

It was a close-up of Arnold's face, right in the middle of the scene, but emotionally removed from the action, as though he alone in the theater were able to muster up some common sense and recognize the ridiculousness of all the terror. And yet, he also looked… well, pretty freaking distraught. He looked suspicious, and confused and hurt. Like the way he'd looked that time Helga tripped him on his face in the hallway. She was trying her best to ignore the painful knots in her stomach, but she was finding that pretty difficult, at the moment.

"Insane stuff," Curly mused, still laughing. "Everyone was so scared."

"Right," she mumbled.

"I love how excited Josephine looks in this part where she's clawing into Lila's hair."

"Josephine?" Helga repeated incredulously.

"Yeah, she's one of the sweeter geckos, isn't she?" Curly said fondly. "They're all living a happier life now. Freed from bondage."

"Freed from bondage." Helga rolled her eyes. "Right, because everything a lizard could ever want is to roam the streets of Hillwood. Nothin like living with the homeless and the druggies in sewers."

"Don't forget Monkeyman," said Curly brightly. "He falls somewhere in between. Not quite homeless, not quite homed. A heroic brand of vagabond, some might say."

"Right," she snarled, crossing her arms over her chest. "A dune gecko's dream man."

"So, you hear about the next date yet?" Curly inquired eagerly. "Is there gonna be one?"

Helga winced. "I heard from Pheebs, who heard from Gerald that yeah, there's gonna be one. They're going for it, Curly. The real deal."

Curly cackled maniacally. "Finally, a chance for my connections with the Hillwood Zoo to come to fruition! My brilliant mastermind will see the light of day! I have so many good plans up my sleeve! I—"

"I thought you got banned from the zoo," Helga scoffed.

"Well, technically I did, but – "

"And how many more animals can we release anyway?"

"Dozens more! Hundreds more! So many creatures, small and large, waiting to be freed!"

"Look, Curly," she interrupted him, looking down at her floor. "I appreciate all the help, but see, the thing is…"

"You want to go bigger. Better!"

"No." Helga rubbed her elbow, picking absentmindedly at the scab on her skin.

"You want to try the old-fashioned tricks! The Lion and the Gnat. You want to torture them with miniscule insects until their place in the world becomes clear at last!"

"No, Curly. I'm done."

He blinked at her. "Done?"

"Are you deaf? Yes, done," she snapped. "Let them date. Let them have a great time. I don't wanna be a part of it anymore."

"Really?" he said skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

She didn't know how to voice the conclusion she'd reached in her gut: she didn't want to be a force of destruction any longer, not when it came to him. The delicious anticipation of vengeance and actually seeing the aftermath – that awful, awful look on Arnold's face – were two very different things. And she simply wasn't willing to be the cause of the latter anymore. Not again. She loved him too much.

"I'm just getting tired of it, that's all," she told Curly stubbornly.

"You?" Curly asked, shoulders dragging slightly with disappointment. "You, la reine régnant, queen of revenge?"

"Yeah."

"Oh vraiment, mademoiselle?"

"Yes."

"You, Helga Pataki, whose raison d'etre is dishing out sweet, sweet satisfying consequences to those who deserve them?"

"Would you knock it off with the random French already?"

"Pardon, bien sur."

Helga groaned as she collapsed onto her bed beside him.

"Sorry. Don't be sad, Helga," Curly told her, closing out of the video and tossing his phone beside him facedown.

"I don't want him to be miserable," she said in a tiny voice.

"Course you don't," he said. "You just don't wanna see Arnold and Little Miss Perfect have a smashing evening together. Who would?"

"What do you have against her?"

"She's stealing the affections of the boy you worship and adore," Curly told her loyally.

"Well, maybe," Helga muttered, wringing her hands together. Her chest felt unbearably heavy. "But it's not really her fault, and stuff. Or his," she added. "They just like each other, I guess. That's just how life is."

"Life sucks."

"Yeah," she agreed. Her heart was pounding fully in her chest, as though someone had sedated it to a low-flame, aching burn.

"The world is shitty."

"Yeah, me especially."

"You especially what?"

"I... I just don't wanna be this fucked up anymore, okay?"

"I hate to break it to you," Curly began morosely. "But you're never not gonna be fucked up. That's just how you are, Helga."

"I mean, I know that, but I meant I don't want to be - I'm sick of being a person like this." Her voice cracked as she said the words. "I mean, there's normal, like Lila, and then there's a little weird, and then there's fucked up... and then there's me. Why has my whole freaking life revolved around making the single most decent and good and kind-hearted human being on this planet miserable?" She cringed, feeling her face get hot, and buried her head in her hands.

"Hey," Curly told her, his voice a bit softer now. He hesitated. "Come on. You're not really that bad."

"Gee, thanks."

"It's not your fault Arnold and Lila got so unreasonably upset by a totally innocuous gaggle of liberated reptiles."

"Did they see you, Curly?"

"What do you mean?"

"Arnold and Lila," she said, biting her lip. "Did they see you?" She knew that if Arnold had seen Curly, that was the end of any chance she had ever had at not blowing her cover. Curly was Helga's friend; hardly anyone else in Hillwood would tolerate him. And what motive would the boy who mostly kept to himself have had for destroying a perfectly innocent movie outing on his own accord?

"What? Oh... I don't know. I don't think so."

Helga rubbed her hand in anxious circles across her bedspread, exhaling. "Well, he's never gonna see you. Cause we're not doing this again, that's for sure."

"That's pretty boring."

"Well, I don't see you screwing around and setting wrathful animals loose on your princess and her hot football player boyfriend," she shot back.

"Samuel isn't her boyfriend," Curly snapped. "But if he was, I still wouldn't. I care about her happiness too much," he said with sudden complete moral conviction, which made Helga cross her arms over her chest in irritation.

"Oh, so Arnold's okay to mess with, but Rhonda's not. I'm so glad Rhonda Lloyd gives you the structure you're so severely lacking in life."

"Yeah, me too," Curly told her. Helga sighed testily, but she knew her friend had enough on his own mind. Aside from the rumors rippling through the high school about Rhonda's continuing hookups with Samuel, there was the more pressing issue of Curly's dad, who'd gone on another bender over the past forty-eight hours. Curly was planning on camping out in Helga's bedroom again for the foreseeable future, under her self-designated conditions that he A) shower regularly, and B) stay away from any and all forms of sharp objects.

"Well, look," she said finally. "I'm gettin kind of tired. Let's just watch some TV or something, okay?"

Curly nodded. "Too much to deal with?"

She gritted her teeth resentfully, but she nodded back. "Yeah," she muttered at last. "Turn it on, alright?"

And she felt his hand before she saw it squeezing her shoulder, comforting and soft. "Yeah, okay," he said quietly, before reaching down for the laptop on top of his sleeping bag and signing in to his Netflix account.

"You have got to be kiddin me, Berman."

Gino was pacing back and forth along the neatly swept garage floor, hands knotted behind his back.

"I give you one mission," he continued. "One mission, and this is the stella job you do for me? This is the way you earns the respect and admiration of the woman I adore?"

"I did what I could, Gino," Harold whimered. "I did! But see, what happened was, a whole bunch of crazy lizards," he gestured wildly with his hands, "They got loose in the theater. And Arnold and Lila were gone before I knew it. Seems like someone else wanted their date to fail even more than we did, heh heh," he chuckled nervously.

Gino strode forward and clenched the collar of Harold's shirt with both hands. A dry squeak bubbled up in Harold's throat.

"If someone else wanted their date to fail," Gino said murderously. "Then I needs to know who that someone is. Cause they sure as hells didn't make it fail."

"They – they didn't?" Harold stammered. "Heh, that's funny, cause I'd say they did. Yeah. It was a big ole failure, that's for sure," he nodded confidently.

Gino pulled his face in so close Harold could smell the pepperoni and vodka on his breath. "If it was a failure, then why are Lila and that weird-headed kid goin out again?"

"They – they are?" Harold squealed, voice unnaturally high-pitched. "Who said they are?"

Gino released Harold from his grasp in one angry movement, sending the latter boy sailing to the ground. "You don't worry about that part! Big Gino has his ways, and he knows those two are going out again!"

"Oh," Harold managed.

"And you're gonna be afta them on that date. And this time, yous to make sure you don't screw nothin up. You got that?"

"Y-yes sir, I got that. But how am I gonna—"

"I'll tell you how," Gino plowed on. "Because we ain't playin games anymore. We're goin big league this time, Berman."

"Big league?" Harold repeated weakly.

"That's right." Gino rubbed his hands together. "We're gonna humiliate the kid. We're gonna make sure Lila neva wants to date him again."

"We are?"

"You betta believe we are."

There was just something about Wee Burn.

It more than relaxed her; it comforted her. When Rhonda Lloyd was feeling jittery, anxious, or unsure, Wee Burn provided her with a sense of belonging.

Maybe that was because not just anyone could get into the country club in the suburbs north of Hillwood. Even if your family had the money, you were required to receive a private invitation from an existing club member. The Lloyds had been insiders for generations before Rhonda was born. So she'd grown up here, in a way, spending weekends away from the city to watch her father putt balls on the magnificent golf course; eating hot fudge sundaes with her mother; prancing around the tennis courts in her favorite white miniskirt.

Her family had been the ones to sponsor the Cohn-Lopez family's membership, as a matter of fact. Once Rhonda's mother had met Lorenzo's mother at Mr. Simmons' fifth grade back-to-school night, it was only a matter of time before she began pouring her energy into formulating extensive recommendation letters for the wealthy newcomers. Sometimes, sweetheart, Mrs. Lloyd had explained to her daughter at the time, you need to do what's right in life, and give New Money a chance. The initiation of the family into Wee Burn had also given Lorenzo and Rhonda an odd, strained chance at friendship, and continued to do so as the two got older. They remained in different crowds at school. Lorenzo was, well, nerdy, to put it simply, what with his regimented study schedule, steadfast commitment to the high school orchestra, and rather unbecoming knack for dressing like a thirty-seven-year-old in sweater vests rather than a teenager. But here, their usual social circles didn't matter. Here, Rhonda and Lorenzo were just two wealthy fifteen-year-olds with a unique connection to miles of greenery and state-of-the-art dining facilities, something no one else in Hillwood could even dream of having access to.

In any case, tonight was one of those nights Rhonda felt she really needed to be here. As soon as she stepped through the oak doors, the familiar rushing sound of the mini-waterfall began to soothe the circles her head had been spinning in all week.

She made her way towards the dining area, internally debating the merits of starting with a virgin Shirley temple versus a diet Coke. And there, sitting at one of the small circular tables, was Lorenzo, bent over a textbook as usual.

She sauntered over and plopped down beside him, slumping into the chair with her cheeks in her hands.

"Rhonda," Lorenzo said politely as he glanced up from his book. "I thought you might be here this weekend. It's nice to see you."

"Thanks," she said, glancing down at his sheet of loose leaf paper. It was filled with AP Physics equations, all of which looked like an indecipherable mess to her. "Whatcha doing?" she asked him blankly.

"Oh, just some of my homework here. Trying to prepare for my next test with Mr. Conklin."

"When is it?"

"Two weeks and four days," he replied distractedly, sifting through his textbook and arriving at an index card marking the page. He began jotting down another slew of numbers.

Without thinking, Rhonda reached out and grabbed the paper from him between her index and pointer finger.

"Lorenzo," she whined, pouting. "It's just silly to study for a test that's still two weeks away."

"But Rhonda, I need to-"

"And besides, I'm much more interesting than that nonsense," she told him, tossing her dark hair behind her shoulder.

"Physics is just about the most useful school subject there is."

"Oh, please. More useful than gym? I mean, two-thirds of Americans are obese, Lorenzo. Can you imagine if there were no gym class? There would be even more muffin tops to have to look at on a daily basis," she shuddered.

"The laws of physics apply to all people, obese or not," Lorenzo pointed out.

Rhonda attempted to stifle her smile. "Okay, you got me there," she prodded him with the heel of her Nancy Spumoni ankle boot. "But come on, I need someone to talk to."

He looked up at her. "You do? What's up?"

Rhonda groaned dramatically. "I'm just so sick of men, Lorenzo! I mean, isn't there a single one of you who's good?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what you mean." Lorenzo hesitated, biting at his heart-shaped mouth as he looked her up and down. "Good?"

"I mean, someone who has all the qualities I want, not just a couple," she sighed. "Samuel is so… he's so hot, but he just – he won't even talk to me. All he ever wants to do is make out or… or… well, you know," she could feel her face flushing slightly as she trailed off. "And I'm just sick of it. I like him, Lorenzo."

"Sorry," he said slowly, shaking his head. "Is Samuel the one who you have been having.. shared passion with?"

Rhonda blinked at him for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

"I didn't mean in a bad way," Lorenzo said hastily. "I meant –"

"It's okay," she cut him off. "Yes." She began to pick anxiously at the skin surrounding her fire engine red fingernails. Her thoughts were spilling out before she could control herself. "I want him to talk to me. I want him to take me out and buy me Godiva chocolates and roses. I want to go out for romantic spaghetti dinners, and I want him to invite me to his games. I would make such a good girlfriend, wouldn't I?"

"What?" said Lorenzo awkwardly. "Oh – I mean – yes, a very good girlfriend.

"I mean, I'd be there for him. I'd root for him. But I guess none of those things matter to Samuel," she exhaled heavily. "Or at least, not when it comes to me."

"Why is he so attractive to you, anyway?" Lorenzo asked, scrunching up his nose. "He's some sort of sports athlete?"

She couldn't help but giggle. "He plays football, Lorenzo."

"I'm sorry you haven't been treated well," Lorenzo told her earnestly.

"It's not that I haven't been treated well," Rhonda tried to explain. "He hasn't been mean to me. It's just… well, I wanted more than random hookups, Lorenzo. Isn't there anyone out there who understands that there's more to me than my beauty?"

"Of course," he replied, looking genuinely confused as he furrowed his eyebrow. "There are tons of guys who understand that."

She sighed dramatically, crossing her arms in front of her and laying her head down to rest for a moment on the cool surface of the table.

"How about Curly Gammelthorpe?"

She sat up again quickly, rolling her eyes. "Curly Gammelthorpe?"

"Right," Lorenzo nodded. "I don't mean to bring up anything uncomfortable for you."

"You're not. But that's never gonna happen."

"Fair enough," he said, shrugging, his eyes straying towards his textbook again. "But he's an example of a guy who likes you for more than your beauty – isn't he?"

"Um, well," Rhonda started awkwardly. "I suppose."

"So if there's a Curly out there, then there are other guys out there like that, too. Maybe ones who aren't as… quirky. Isn't that a fair assessment?"

She nodded slowly, considering this. "Maybe. Yeah."

"Good." Lorenzo picked up his pencil again, biting the edge of the eraser as his attention turned towards his equations again.

"But I want to date Samuel," she moaned. "Why can't Samuel be one of those guys?"

"It's not in our power to change other people, Rhonda," Lorenzo said wisely. "Only ourselves."

"Nadine's mad at me now too, you know. Do you think I can change her?"

"Nadine?" Lorenzo asked. "Your very best friend, she's mad at you?"

"She hates Samuel," Rhonda explained. "And my other new friends. She thinks they're bad people or something. But it's like, she needs to get a check on her own jealousy sometimes, you know? She's so used to being my only best friend," she sighed sadly.

Lorenzo frowned. "I don't think that's a very nice thing to say at all."

"Why not?" she said, affronted. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not saying anything anyone with eyes can't see."

"Nadine has been your friend a very long time," Lorenzo said softly. "Jealousy or no jealousy, you should trust her if she has something to say."

"I know," Rhonda spluttered. "I do trust her." She stared down at the numbers on Lorenzo's paper. She wished one of those formulas would apply to her own life. At least then, there would be an answer; one she knew was permanent, one that couldn't be refuted.

"More eggs, sweetheart?"

His mother hovered over him at the kitchen table, a pan still full of scrambled eggs waiting enticingly by her side.

"No, thanks," Arnold said softly, digging his fork across his still half-uneaten plate. "They're good though, Mom," he added hastily as he managed a small smile. "Really good."

"Thanks," Stella told him. She returned his smile with a slight squeeze of his hand.

"It's fabulous sitting down together for a meal, huh?" Mr. Potts asked. He was spending his Sunday getting ready for a week full of demolitions, the first of which would be beginning today. His face glowed with anticipation as he shoveled food into his mouth. "A family breakfast. Can't think of anything more special."

"You're telling me, heh heh," Oskar agreed, dousing his third helping of blueberry waffles in more butter. "Pass the maple syrup, Grandpa."

"So, Arnold," Mr. Potts said, grinning and wiping his mouth. "You never finished telling us about your hot date last week. You gonna go out with her again?"

"I never started telling you," Arnold found himself saying automatically. He could feel his face flushing slightly.

"I know, but I, uh, figured you'd get to that," Mr. Potts chuckled. "Saw you walking home with her. Fine looking gal. You're a real gentleman, Arnold, a real gentleman."

"Oh, yeah, I saw her too," Mr. Kokoshka joined in over a mouthful of bacon. "Pretty girl. Nice looking chest, nice—"

"Oskar!" Suzie cried in horror beside him, slapping his wrist.

"What!" Oskar sulked.

"Don't talk about a fifteen-year-old girl that way! Don't talk about any girl that way!"

"But I wasn't, Suzie! I was just making an observation."

"Anyway," Arnold said loudly, pushing his chair away from the table. His discomfort was quickly fizzling into annoyance.

His mother followed him over to the sink. Together, they loaded the dishes as the boarders finished eating, Arnold scrubbing out the pans and waffle maker with a Brillo pad and their watered-down liquid soap. He felt his fingers turning pruny as they worked over the glass insides of the coffee pot.

There was one person who'd been notably absent from their meal. Arnold wondered where he was, but something heavy in his heart kept him from asking the question outright. He couldn't remember the last time his father had missed a Sunday brunch. Breakfast was Miles' favorite meal of the day, especially when all of the boarders had enough time to enjoy it together.

"So," Stella asked quietly, after everyone but the two of them had left the kitchen, chattering loudly about their various plans for the day. "How was your date? We never got the chance to talk about it."

Arnold sighed as he dried his fingers off on the dish towel on the stove. "Before or after the part where someone sent a couple dozen geckos loose right underneath our seats?"

"Huh?" his mother said, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "Didn't you go the movies?"

"Yeah, we did."

"Well, what happened? Someone's pets escaped? Why were they carrying geckos to a movie theater in the first place?"

Arnold sighed again, carefully avoiding his mom's eyes as he stared down at the tile floor. "I don't know. I... I know it sounds crazy, but I think we were sabotaged. I mean, I think someone was aiming for us."

"Sabotaged, huh?" Stella repeated slowly.

"Lila's got a rash on her arms and face and she said her doctor told her it might take weeks to heal up completely. Apparently she's allergic to geckos."

His mother gaped at him. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I hope she'll be okay. But who would purposely do something like that?"

He fidgeted with his hands, drawing in a sharp, angry breath of air. "Listen, I... I don't want to jump to conclusions, but..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"But what?"

"There was only one person I could see in that theater that I knew, Mom. And we saw everyone, because we all had to evacuate."

"And?" Stella prompted gently.

"And it..."

"Yes?"

"It... it was Helga's best friend, Curly. I mean, we all know him. But she's the only one at Hillwood who really knows him, knows him. He was sitting right behind us. And he put the geckos there, I'm almost sure of it."

"How do you know that?"

"For one thing, they appeared in almost the exact place he was sitting, and no one else was as close to us. And... and the look on his face, it was just... obvious."

"So..." Stella said slowly.

"He was laughing and smiling calmly while everyone else was, well, flipping out."

Stella frowned. "Poor geckos. So, you think Helga had something to do with it?" she completed the thought for him.

"I didn't say she definitely did," Arnold said hastily. "I just didn't rule it out, that's all. I mean, maybe Curly was just having another one of his episodes." He rubbed the back of his shoulder, unsure of whether he was trying to convince himself or his mother.

"And what if she did?" Stella asked then, her voice gentle.

"What?"

"If Helga did have something to do with it... then what?"

Arnold blinked rapidly. "Well, I... I really don't know, Mom."

"You'd be angry," Stella suggested.

"Well, yeah," he nodded, and then paused. "I mean - I just - what I'd really want to know is why..."

But his thought was cut off as a loud crash sounded from somewhere near the front door. Stella and Arnold both raced out of the kitchen to see Miles sitting on the floor, groaning slightly and dressed in running shorts and what looked like weighted red bean bags strapped to his legs and arms. His entire body glimmered with sweat, despite the fact that the city outside was glazed with a light dusting of snow.

"Morning!" Miles called weakly. He managed to hoist himself off the ground and limped over to plant two sticky kisses on the heads of his wife and son.

"Oh...Dad," Arnold said in surprise. He'd assumed his father had accidentally slept through breakfast.

"Hi," Miles panted. "Just went for a power run. Really refreshing stuff." He bent over, his hands on his kneecaps.

"Miles," Stella muttered quickly. "I thought we talked about not overdoing it."

"Oh - I know, honey," he continued to pant as he straightened up again and the three of them made their way back to the kitchen sink. "This was... different. I needed this."

"How was it?" Arnold asked.

"Inspiring. Refreshing. Really-" Miles broke off as a fit of coughing overtook him.

"Drink some water," Stella demanded hastily. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it quickly, holding it up to Miles' lips. Arnold noticed that her hands were shaking just slightly as she did so. He paused to watch his parents for a minute, confused.

"Thanks - honey - I…" Miles began, but suddenly the glass in his hands was crashing to the floor. It splintered into pieces that sprayed across the tiles and Miles threw his palms to his knees again, moaning.

"Dad!" Arnold yelled at the same time as his mother rushed to Miles' side, tugging the tight fabric of his perspiration-soaked shirt and seizing him by the shoulders.

"Sorry," Miles gasped. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face filling with agony. "Sorry - no worries - I just - chest pains - that's all."

"Doctor Sloane told you not to push yourself too hard. I told you not to push yourself too hard," Stella told him, and her voice was overflowing with something stern and overwhelmed. Arnold found himself taking a step backwards, glancing at his father and his mother.

"Why don't you sit down, Dad?" he suggested softly.

"Great idea," Miles agreed, managing a smile. "Come sit with me, Arnold, I want to hear all about your date."