Author's Note: Your love and genuine reading of this thing means so much to me. Even if you hate it, or feel it's out of place, or too long, or too short, or whatever your complaints may be, the fact that you're actually taking the time to look at what I wrote is magical. Thank you.

Also - RIP Mac Miller, one of my favorite artists. All of my chapter titles are actually fragments of song lyrics, in case that wasn't clear. I'm shit at coming up with titles, so that's the reasoning behind that. And this one's in memory of him. Thanks for your talent and strength and ability to turn raw emotions into art, Malcolm. You'll be so missed.

16: Swimming in the Deep End

The snow had all but melted by the time Lila stepped outside. It had been a lovely white Christmas, but not a white New Year's Eve, evidently. Drawing her coat tightly around her waist and padding her hands up in gloves, she began inching her way down the slushy sidewalk. She was holding the beginning stitches of a scarf and her knitting needles, which were too large to fit in her coat pocket.

Rhonda would be hosting another party at her house this evening. Her parents, once again, were vacationing, this time on the luxurious Tahiti Islands. The raven-haired beauty had already described in detail to Lila her plans for the night, which were to include swan-shaped ice sculptures, an actual confetti-filled-midnight-ball-dropping modeled after the one in New York City, and ever so much alcohol. Tonight was the night Rhonda was going to ask Samuel to go out with her once and for all, and she needed everything to be "high-class" for him, she had explained.

Arnold had mentioned just before Christmas - the last time Lila had spoken to him - that he would also be going to Rhonda's for the holiday.

Lila sighed as she neared the boardwalk, lost in her thoughts. Just because she now knew that Arnold wasn't her besotted author-admirer didn't mean that it was going to be any easier to explain her feelings, or lack thereof. She had still kissed him and he had still asked her out, and that meant something to him, didn't it? Or did it? Perhaps Helga was right – perhaps she needed to just ask him outright how he felt. She was growing sick of all these mind games, anyway. If she could just get him to say that he didn't actually like her that way, she reasoned, then she wouldn't have to feel bad anymore. She wouldn't have to be the heartbreaker yet again.

As Lila sat down on the frosty wood, letting her boots dangle inches from the freezing cold water, a low, husky voice rumbled out from right behind her.

"Right chilly day out here, ain't it, Miss Lila?"

Lila jumped, nearly dropping her knitting needles into the river.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean ta scare ya. I was just takin my walk and saw ya comin to sit out here. I tried to say hi while you was walkin, but I reckon ya didn't hear me."

"Oh, hello, Stinky," Lila greeted him, staring up at the tall, lanky boy as he towered over her. "Happy New Year."

"It ain't the New Year yet – reckon we got a good thirteen hours. No sense rushin time, my Pa always says, on account a there ain't enough of it as it is."

He hesitated as he looked down at her, as though trying to decide whether to leave her alone and keep walking or continue the conversation.

"Would you like to sit with me?" she offered. "I'm oh too certain I'm not doing anything special, but—"

Stinky collapsed eagerly beside her before she could even finish her sentence, swinging his legs over the edge of the boardwalk. "That's a silly question, seein as the answer's always the same. I'd be honored to sit with ya, Miss Lila."

He proceeded to watch her while she began with her stitch work, her knitting needles now glimmering slightly in the sunlight that had begun to slant in through the clouds.

"Funny." Stinky scratched his head. "I never sawr a person who preferred ta bring their knittin needles out inta the wint'r air and do all them stitches with gloves on, 'stead of just doin their knittin inside where it's warm."

"Oh, I like to practice my stitch work inside, too. Sometimes I just need to step out for some oh so fresh air. I can't go too long without it."

"Reckon I know what ya mean."

"It gets stifling, being inside for too long."

"Sure does. That's why I keep on takin walks, even in tha cold. Like ta get my blood workin up proper."

He gazed out over the body of water that stretched beyond their dangling feet. The city skyline stemmed up on the other side of it, like dozens of uneven, high-rise castles bursting through the gloom.

"It ain't tha prettiest a scenes," he said thoughtfully. "Not like in tha country. But I reckon it's got its own special sorta beauty."

"Yes," Lila agreed, moving her needles effortlessly in and out. "It's been going on seven years already, and sometimes I still need to remind myself to appreciate it just for what it is."

"Would be nice ta see a cow e'ry now and then. Or a horse, or even a bobcat. Anything but these dang squirrels."

"Squirrels and pigeons," Lila sighed.

"If ya think real hard on it though, that's when ya can start to see it like other people do. Take a walk in another man's shoes. I reckon city life is tha stuff that inspires tha poetry a most pop songs, fer instance. On account a celebrities like that, they don't thrive in no country blues farmhouse. They thrive in places like this one here."

"Poetry?" Lila's interest was piqued at that word. A whole new idea suddenly dawned on her. "Do you like poetry, Stinky?"

"Sure I do. Love songs, in addition to tha sad, lonesome poetry a crickets chirpin in the night."

"Do you write poetry?"

"Me? Garsh no. I ain't as high-talkin as all that. Couldn' write me a decent line a poetry if I tried… wouldn' know wheres to put the commas."

"Oh," Lila said with disappointment.

"No sir, that fancy stuff ain't for me. All I got is what's here in my heart." He held a hand proudly over his chest. "Speakin a writin, though, ya put any thought yet into that thirty-page essay Mr. Turner assigned? Due in a week, and I can' even think a where ta begin. I ain't doin so hot in that class."

"I finished it," Lila admitted. "I could help you with yours, if you'd like."

Stinky beamed at her. "I'd sure be ov'r tha moon grateful, if ya could."

"I don't think today will work, though, I still haven't gotten a new dress for – " She cut herself off, feeling her face grow warm. She wasn't sure if Stinky had been invited to Rhonda's extravagant celebration.

"Fer Rhonda's party?" he finished for her.

"Oh, you're going too?"

"Haven' decided yet. It ain't really my kinda thing, but my Pa's not too keen on me spendin all them weekends under tha sun with 'im, specially not New Year's Eve. Says it ain't healthy fer a normal teenager. And Sid and the other guys are goin and all, so maybe I will."

"I like spending weekends with my daddy, too, just ever so much. Rhonda always, well, pushes me to come out. The… only problem… is that she told me I need to wear a semiformal dress tonight." Lila blushed again. "Only I don't have one, and I'm not so certain I can afford one."

Stinky stared at her for a moment before shaking his head.

"You don't need no special dress, Miss Lila. On account a you could show up in your pajamas, and you'd still look right beautiful."

"You have to go with me, Helga! You have to! You promised you would!"

Curly's voice was lilting, bordering on hysteria. Helga huffed in annoyance.

"Well, I changed my mind."

"You can't just change your mind! Rhonda needs me there tonight! Who's going to be there who will truly appreciate her dazzling beauty? Who's going to comfort her when she asks her faux-prince to date her and it all goes frightfully, outrageously wrong?"

"I'm sure some other sucker can get the job done."

"J'ai le cafard, mademoiselle, for you are very wrong. She needs Thaddeus Gammelthorpe."

"Hm." She drummed her fingers along her bedspread as she turned the page of WrestleMania Magazine.

"I have to be there for her."

"And you will be there for her. You'll be there for her without me."

"I can't!" Curly exploded. "I can't just go without you! Who am I supposed to talk to all night?"

"Bowl of Cheetos, maybe? If they're Hot Cheetos. Or you could just suck up the booze till you're feeling brave enough to march right over and smooch the RhondaLloyd up."

"I'm serious, Helga. You're my only friend, you're the only one who doesn't treat me like a freakish misanthrope on the border of total insanity!"

"Yeah, cause I'm the only one who gets that you're a freakish misanthrope who's already crossed into total insanity."

"So what does that mean? You don't like me, either?"

"Of course I—"

"You don't want me to stay over again tonight?"

"Not if you're gonna keep eating those bean burritos and farting in your sleep, I don't."

Curly slammed his fist down on her bedroom floor and began feverishly rolling up his sleeping bag, tears suddenly coursing down his face.

"Alright, alright, I was just kidding," Helga said in alarm as guilt stabbed at her.

He ignored her, wiping angrily at his eyes as he continued trying to buckle the straps on his sleeping bag.

"Curly, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Come on, put your sleeping bag back. You can't go home, your dad'll give you a black eye. At least Miriam just passes out when she's drunk."

"Just admit it, Helga. I'm not a friend to you. I'm a burden."

"No," she told him, frustrated. "You—"

"I should just move to the Antarctic Peninsula and live amongst my brethren, the emperor penguins."

"That'd be dumb. You'd freeze your ass off."

"No one would miss me here."

"I would."

"You have to implement a security system every time I'm even in here! You pat me down for weapons at the door!"

"Because I don't want you to hurt yourself, not because I think you're some kinda violent offender." She pressed at her temples with her palms. "Look - I know I'm not always good at saying it, Curly, but you mean so much to me. Seriously, you do."

Curly sniffled, wiping his snot on his bare arm.

"I mean sure, you're a freak of nature, but on the flip side," she continued. "You're a real standout in this city."

"This city's full of jerks and pilgarlics."

"What the hell is a pilgarlic? You know what, don't answer that."

"A pilgarlic is a pitiable, bald-headed man who—"

"What would I have done without you this past month? I'd probably still be lying in a pathetic heap on my bed."

"Well, you shouldn't let Arnold make you feel pathetic."

"Same to you, buddy. I mean, you know what I mean. You shouldn't let anyone make you feel pathetic. Especially not your dumb self. Got that?" She climbed over the edge of her bed and began smoothing out his sleeping bag again for him. "Look, I'll go with you to the party if you really want me to. I just wasn't looking forward to having to see Arnold there. What does it matter though, right?"

"Maybe we'll see Harold there, too," Curly pointed out, having heard every detail by now.

"Maybe," Helga agreed darkly. "And then I'll finally get to the bottom of this. He won't be able to dodge me this time, that skeevy, pathetic, weaseling little..."

"Well, gentle Mercutio, what are you waiting for? We have to pick out your outfit."

Cudly rushed over and swung open the closet door dramatically - then blinked at the space inside. It was cleaner than he'd ever seen it before; completely devoid of any lingering remnants of her obsession. No more candles, no pictures, no stacks of pink poetry books. Even her locket, which Helga had been stowing surreptitiously in the pocket of a sweatshirt for a year, was missing.

"Man," Curly said, turning his head towards the scowling blonde slowly. "What happened in here?"

"Man, what happened in here?"

Gerald had just entered Arnold's room to find it littered with ancient comic books and an assortment of cape-wearing figurines. "Tornado come crashing in with a buncha retro collectors' items?"

Arnold mumbled incoherently in response, poking his head out from underneath his blanket.

"And why are you in bed? It's three P.M."

"I thought I'd try to take a nap." Arnold sat up. "I'm not sure if I can make it all the way through tonight. I'm so tired, I feel like I could sleep for a year."

"Hey, I forgot all about this show," Gerald said reminiscently, picking up one of the plastic figurines. "The Abdicator. What a stupid name. So seriously, you tryin to sell these on EBay or something?"

"No," Arnold groaned. "My dad just keeps giving me more and more of them. It's his newest thing."

"That's... interesting."

"I can't tell whether he wants me to be ten years old again or whether he just thinks now is a good time for both of us to re-enter the superhero phase."

"Man, your dad's really been losing his chill lately, hasn't he?"

Arnold buried his face in his pillow.

"Sorry," Gerald added hastily. "I didn't mean -"

"No, it's okay - you're right. I just have no idea what to do about it."

"Maybe there's nothin you can do."

"Maybe."

"Look, I'm sorry to change the subject, but I actually came here because I gotta talk to you about something important."

Arnold hoisted himself out of bed. "Sure. Anything. What's up?"

"It's about Helga," Gerald told him, and Arnold felt his stomach lurch with that awful, awful nausea again.

"You never told me anything," Gerald continued accusingly. "But Phoebe did finally tell me about what happened."

Arnold looked down at his hands. "Gerald, I—"

"And I think you acted real shitty, man."

"What?" Arnold spluttered in shock. "Me?"

"Yeah."

"But I'm not the one who -"

"Don't go and do anything stupid like tell her I told you, or Pheebs and Helga'll both skin me alive. But Phoebe said the girl's been crying every friggin day about what you said to her, for weeks."

Arnold's heart leapt horribly into his throat.

"I'm not tryna, ya know, wax morals at anyone. I just felt like - as your best friend, and as someone who's seen you be the buttinsky more often than you've ever been able to keep your mouth shut - it was on me to be the one to tell ya you could really use a kick in the nuts yourself sometimes."

"Gerald, I wasn't trying to hurt her. I never wanted to do that. But I don't think you're being fair. How do you know how many details she gave Phoebe, and how many she left out? Do you even know what Helga did? How many times am I supposed to let her hurt me?"

"Look, I get it, but -"

"I still can't stop thinking about her, even after all this time. I still can't move on. I think I love her, and all she does is - and then she - and she does something like this? She pays Harold Berman to destroy my bike?" His breath caught in his throat again as he said the words.

"Phoebe said Helga didn't do it."

"Of course she'd say that!"

"So now you're accusing my girlfriend of-"

"No!" Arnold ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "No, I'm not accusing Phoebe of anything."

"Well then what are you saying, man?"

"Gerald, I didn't want to believe it, either. But it's not possible that Helga didn't do it. You - you weren't there! I saw everything, I saw the food for those lizards that attacked Lila come spilling out of Helga's locker! And only then did she admit to anything. So what am I supposed to think? That she came up with this whole crazy plan to wreck our first date with lizards, and somehow, coincidentally, while all this is going on there's also a second unidentified person out there hatching out a bunch of well-thought-out malevolent plots directed against me?"

"I don't know how me and you reversed our roles like this, Arnold. I swear, I don't... but... yes."

"Oh, come on. You can't be serious."

"I trust my girl and for what it's worth, I trust Helga. She's not just your friend, you know. She's mine too and she has been for years. And I know what she would and wouldn't do, and whether or not you guys are goin out anymore isn't gonna change that."

"I thought I knew her too, but - "

"And if what you're saying is true - that the reason you can't give up on her is because you love her and not because your ego is still bruised over being dumped - then you'd trust her, too."

"My ego isn't bruised," Arnold said, stung, mostly because he wasn't sure whether anyone had ever referred to him as possessing an ego at all. He glared a hole through Gerald's skin as his friend set to work collecting the scattered figurines in his arm, putting them in a neat pile, where they wouldn't inadvertently consume anyone's life anymore.

The decorations were halfway put up: white pearl garlands partly hung, balloons glittering precariously over the kitchen island. Rhonda looked testily down at the time stamp on her phone screen: 5:15 PM. Her guests were due to arrive by eight, and she hadn't even gotten to doing her makeup yet.

"Isn't it hilarious how Lina Dunwoody wears heels even though she's already an ape? Calm down and save that for girls shorter than six feet," Rhonda heard Emily muse loudly from the living room. The comment was followed by trills of slightly tipsy giggles. The three girls had arrived an hour earlier to help set up, but all they had done so far was sit on the couch pre-gaming with Rhonda's mother's bottles of Portuguese wine.

Rhonda was growing increasingly anxious, especially in light of the fact that Nadine had been totally ignoring her all day. Whipping out a shot of Blanton's from under the sink and throwing it back, she began furiously texting her friend for about the sixteenth time.

Rhonda: what gives?? Are yu on your way?

She shuddered with the sour taste the gold liquid left in her mouth. Finally - finally - it was the ellipsis that appeared. Nadine was typing.

Nadine: no lol

Rhonda: Hurry up. i need you here NOW.

Nadine: i'm watching tv

Rhonda: that's not an option Nadine.

Nadine: Lmfao. Not an option? sorry u feel that way cuz im not planning on coming at all

Rhonda: what. are. you. Talking about

Nadine: I NEVER said I was coming tonight.

Rhonda: you have to!

Nadine: uh no… i don't and im not

For a moment, Rhonda just stared wide-eyed at her screen. The shriek she emitted from the back of her throat was gargled, filled with naked fury. She sank to the kitchen floor, sifting through her contacts list. If the girls in the living room could hear any of the signs of her impending meltdown, they gave no indication of it.

"Lorenzo!" she screamed into the receiver. "I need you!"

"What?" came Lorenzo's harried, puzzled voice from the other end. "Rhonda, what's wrong?"

"Nadine ditched me and I'm going to die! Simply die! I need you to come over!"

"Ditched you? Why would she do that? Take a deep breath, please. I truly don't think you're going to die."

"You have to come over and you have to stay for the party tonight."

"Oh, no, Rhonda, I can't. I'm really not often in enjoyment of large parties, and you know how my mother feels about alcoholic beverages. Besides, I have to study for — "

"It's New Year's Eve and you're on winter break."

"Yes, but you see, the Monday we return will be -"

"Lorenzo, please," she pouted. "When do I ever ask you for anything?"

"Quite frequently. As a matter of fact - "

"I will not be stood up by my two closest confidantes on the night of Hillwood's most important party of the year." She stamped her foot on the tiles. "You're coming and that's FINAL!"

Rhonda paced back and forth for the entire ten minutes it took for Lorenzo to text her announcing he was waiting in the foyer. She went to retrieve him with her heart pounding in her throat, flouncing haughtily past the girls and flinging open the door.

He looked... quite nice, she thought, sizing him up to try to determine how her guests would perceive him. Dressed in his collared Ralph Lauren shirt and pressed khaki pants, his hair neatly combed and gelled, he almost might have passed for handsome. He was, however, holding a book in one hand.

"Oh, Lord," Rhonda sighed, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. "Don't bring that textbook inside where the girls will see it. You're not seriously thinking you'll be able to read that tonight, are you?"

"It's not for school," he explained, holding the book up so she could see its cover: 103 Exercises for Anxiety Relief. "I brought this in an effort to promote meditative reflection. To help you calm down. I'll show you some of these techniques again, like we practiced over the summer. I think they'll make you feel better."

"Sure, Lorenzo, sure." Rhonda grabbed him by the elbow, leading him back through to the living room. Hoping to sneak him right into the kitchen, she felt her insides shrivel up with embarrassment when Lorenzo paused directly in front of the couch.

"Hello. I don't believe we've met before. I'm Lorenzo."

Like some sort of forty-year-old business executive, he actually held out his free hand for Emily to shake. All three girls stared up at him as though they were looking at a creature with three heads.

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Lorenzo said, withdrawing his outstretched hand abruptly and suddenly looking very embarrassed.

"Quickly, Lorenzo, quickly. We have to start putting the wreaths around the ice sculptures." Rhonda pushed him through to the kitchen. "You shouldn't have said it like that," she added to him in a hiss.

"How should I have said it?" he hissed back.

"Like a normal person. Like hi, what's up, I'm Lorenzo. Or maybe, you could have just walked past them. Now," she said, flinging open the two-door freezer, where the swans were lying in wait. "Let's get to work."

An hour later, each of the decorations - balloons, sculptures, garlands and all - had at last been completely arranged. Rhonda tugged Lorenzo up to her bedroom, forcing him to stand by while she applied her eyeliner, the way she always did with Nadine.

"Take my phone," she demanded as she set to work. "Text Lila. Tell her to come over here early so she can try on the dress I bought her."

Lorenzo did as he was instructed, sinking cross-legged onto her bed while Rhonda pushed the lights on her makeup mirror.

"She says she had no idea you bought her a dress," he announced as Rhonda's phone vibrated. "She says she's ever so certain you shouldn't have."

Rhonda sighed dramatically and dipped her mascara wand into its magenta tube. "Of course I should have. Poor sweet little thing. She should have just asked me to buy her a dress to begin with, but she's too proud."

"Rhonda says of course she should have," Lorenzo typed back on the keypad. "You're too proud-"

"No, no, no. Just tell her it's green and it's velvet, and Arnold's going to go just wild when he sees her in it. And then you can go downstairs and take a bottle of wine from those girls, please. I'm going to need all the courage I can get tonight."

As Arnold stepped into the bustling Lloyd residence later that night, his mind felt three hundred miles from the scene in front of him. The front lawn was decorated with sparkling décor, and the house itself was throbbing with teenagers by ten o'clock. The whole place emanated a buzzed, overly vibrant energy that was off-putting to him as he made his way inside. He found himself wishing he'd just stayed home, in the safety of his room, where the open skylight and the quiet would have at least allowed him the space to keep thinking.

He didn't have time to wonder for long where to go. Led by the dim lighting of the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, his eyes landed on the girl he couldn't get off of his mind almost immediately.

She was standing directly under the light and right beside by the refreshments table with Curly, her eyes cast down towards the floor while the erratic dark-haired boy shoveled handfuls of pretzels in his mouth. In an act of defiance, seemingly, Helga had opted to wear jeans and a sweater rather than the fancy attire Rhonda had required. Arnold figured she might have been turned away at the door had the hostess's judgement not been tempered by the alcohol she'd consumed.

"Helga," Arnold blurted out. His voice felt swallowed up; tiny amidst all the noise. But Helga looked up immediately. She blinked at him for several seconds, humid eyes growing wide as she looked back at him. It was the first time he'd spoken a word to her in weeks.

At that very second, however, he was distracted by a soft tapping on his shoulder blade. Arnold whirled around to find himself face-to-face with a stunning auburn-haired girl, whose crushed velvet dress made the green in her eyes glitter enticingly.

"Arnold," Lila said. "Hi. Do you have a few minutes?"

"Hi, Lila... sure, I do."

"Let's go outside," she said, taking his hand and leading him through the crowd. "The patio will be the best place to discuss everything we need to."

X

"Rhonda, I'm beginning to get a bit concerned," Lorenzo mumbled. His voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere high up and far away. Rhonda turned towards him, barely aware of the shapes of all the people dancing and kissing and swarming her kitchen out of the corner of her eye.

"Concerned? Don't be concerned! Silly Lorenzo!" She emitted a high-pitched laugh.

"I think you've had enough to drink."

"But we haven't even had the dance!"

"The what?"

"The dance!" She grabbed his shoulders, tugging him close to her, and began wheeling him around in slow circles.

"I... um," Lorenzo muttered.

"Where is Samuel!" Rhonda whined, stamping her foot on the floor. "I haven't even seen him all night."

"Well... I... uh..." Lorenzo tugged out of her grasp. If she were thinking more clearly, she might have noticed the concern etched onto his face.

"My Princess!" came a high-pitched voice behind her suddenly. It sounded frantic, almost like a scream. "Don't be upset, my darling! I know how badly you must feel about this, but I assure you this is merely a minor setback in the grand scheme of our love. Your knight in shining armor awaits."

Rhonda flipped around in time for Curly Gammelthorpe to come literally crashing down on top of her, smelling heavily of beer and corn chips. He breathed his salty breath into her face for what felt like an eternity, holding the collar of her dress in a vice-like grip.

"This was meant to be, my sweet." He leaned down and pressed his mouth against Rhonda's while her vision blurred in and out.

"It's ever so cold out here, isn't it?" Lila shivered in the curling wind.

"Oh - I wish I hadn't left my jacket in the coat closet up front," Arnold started awkwardly. "I'd give it to you. Maybe I should-"

"No, no, please don't bother." She took a seat in a wicker chair, motioning for him to sit down beside her. The icy air was so much quieter than the scene inside that Arnold could suddenly hear himself breathing.

"It's sort of nicer out here, actually," he mumbled, although he was shivering, too. "Away from all the noise."

"Arnold, I have to talk to you about something important."

"Oh… of course. What's that?"

"Us," she said blatantly. "We've been beating around the bush for a long time now. Not exactly this - not exactly that."

He felt his heart beginning to hammer uncomfortably in his chest. He had been afraid of having this conversation with Lila.

"I suppose," she went on, looking down at the half-empty martini glass in her hand. "If I'm being really honest with myself, I sort of… well, I like it when boys like me, even if I don't… like them back."

"I can understand that," he told her, truthfully. "It's gratifying to be liked. And definitely beats feeling the opposite way," he added. "You know… liking someone who doesn't like you back."

"Yes. But you're not just someone, you're my friend. And really, I…"

"Yeah?"

"Well." Lila looked down at her hands. "Arnold, if I had to concoct a recipe for the most perfect friend out of thin air… he would look like you. Caring, kind. Smart, honest, and humble."

"I don't know that I'm all of those things. At least not all the time. Thanks, though, Lila."

"But you are." She leaned forward and squeezed his hand. "And I've always been just ever so lucky to have a friend like that."

"I've been lucky to have a friend like you, too, Lila."

"I want to keep it that way. A friendship. Not anything else. Is that okay?" She looked hard at him, her irises swelling with worry.

He smiled, the relief flooding him like a shot of something warm and soothing.

"Lila, it's more than okay."

The chair scraped against the patio floor as Lila stood up, her hands held out at her sides. She smiled back at him before she bent over and cupped her face with her fingertips, kissing him on the cheek as the music inside started to palpitate out of the windows.

"Curly... get... off of me!" Rhonda screamed.

The boy on top of her quickly leapt aside, his eyes round as he took in her livid glare.

"How dare you!"

"I'm sorry, sweet pea, I'm so sorry! I just - "

"Oh, save it," she barked. "Lorenzo, let's go. We need to go find Samuel."

But Lorenzo was standing frozen in place, his eyes darting back and forth between the crazed kisser and Rhonda.

"Rhonda, I don't know if it's such a good idea," he said timidly. "Samuel, he seems - he seems very - tied up - "

"Fine," Rhonda snapped. "If neither of you clowns will assist me in finding the boy of my dreams, then I'll simply have to find him myself. Excuse me for a minute, will you?"

She shoved her way out of the kitchen and into the living room, where her guests were making out and grinding in rhythm to the rap song blasting over the stereo system. Rhonda rolled her eyes. Juvenile, how simply juvenile.

"Are you looking for your man, Rhonda?" Emily smirked at her suddenly. Rhonda felt her blood turn cold, even while the world around her was still spinning. "He's right over there."

Rhonda folllowed her gaze to the corner of the room. There was her handsome boy, looking happy as could be with his hands wrapped around Connie's waist, lips moving against hers like some sort of rapid, overeager snake.

"I..." Rhonda grumbled as she stared. The world continued spinning. She felt a warm weight on her shoulder and her gaze darted towards Lorenzo.

She leaned over, mind darkening as she vomited all over the state-of-the-art pinewood floor.