17: Cut the Strings, Might Belong, Watch Me Fly

Rhonda moaned as she held a hand to her forehead, squinting at the bright light that splintered in through her bedroom window. The entire room felt heady, the air too thick, as if the very act of breathing it in was making her sick. Without really thinking about it, she reached for her phone and scrolled through the contacts list.

Rhonda: i miss you momma. why wont you take me with you to the islands next time. i'm so lonely

She gave a slight grunt as she tossed her covers back and tried to stand up. She wasn't wearing her dress anymore, but a pair of silk pajamas she couldn't remember changing into. Her stomach tingled vaguely with alarm, but with a headache so horrible, she couldn't afford to feel much more than her current state of physical pain.

As she ambled out of her bedroom and down the long hallway, Rhonda heard a crashing sound come from the kitchen. Her heartbeat quickened in her chest. It suddenly occurred to her that there were likely party guests leftover from the night before, strolling throughout the Lloyd residence, still drunk. She had no idea what state the house would be in at all.

Making her way through the living room, however, Rhonda was struck not by any signs of torn furniture or trashed Persian carpets, but by a bizarrely clean, well-kempt abode. She peered into the guest room and foyer only to see more of the same: floors that appeared as though they had been freshly vacuumed; coffee tables shining; vases polished. Even the table that had housed the alcohol selection was now mysteriously devoid of all evidence.

Only one partygoer remained in the kitchen, cradling the cast iron skillet he'd dropped before retrieving a sponge from the sink.

"Lorenzo?" Rhonda pressed her palm to her forehead as her headache seared.

Lorenzo whirled around, blinking briskly. "Oh – hi, Rhonda. You're awake."

"What are you doing here? And why are you up at this unsightly hour?"

"It's twelve-thirty P.M."

"…Oh."

"Would you like some coffee?" Lorenzo motioned towards the French coffee press on the countertop, which was filled to the brim with the rich dark liquid.

"Yes, please."

"I made some waffles too. I thought you should probably have something to eat. I hope your parents won't mind."

"Why on earth would they mind? They're not here."

"Yes, but I hope they won't mind that I used the ingredients."

Rhonda collapsed at the kitchen table, clutching her mug of coffee to her chest. The smell of it was adding to her mounting nausea, but the thought of the caffeine in her system was too enticing to turn down.

"Get me some cream and sugar," she demanded.

"Of course. Take this too," he added, sliding a glass bottle of Emetrol across the table. "It might make you feel better."

"Lorenzo, what happened?"

"You became a little ill. You might have had a bit too much to drink."

"I know that. I meant what happened in here? My house? It's all clean… and what, you're a sixteen-year-old live-in chef now?"

"Oh, well, you see, I didn't want to leave you alone here last night. So I ended up sleeping in your living room. And then when I woke up, I… um… well… you wouldn't have been wanting to clean up any physical aftermath today, would you?"

"I don't clean. You do know that I have a maid, don't you?"

"Of course I do. Rosa. She's the same lady my family uses. But I know for a fact her schedule is booked with other clients until Sunday, and your parents will be home before that."

Rhonda was quiet as she watched Lorenzo load her plate with waffles.

"May I offer you some syrup with these?"

"You are so weird. Like, the weirdest person I've ever been friends with. And yes, drench them," she mumbled, burying her face in her arms.

"Maybe we could go to Wee Burn this afternoon to take your mind off things. Drink some diet Cokes. Swim in the indoor pool?"

Rhonda lifted her head up and jammed her fork into the sugary breakfast in front of her. "I'd love to, Lorenzo. But it will have to be next weekend. I need to take care of something important today."

Helga had been in the locker room shower for almost an hour straight, and the hot water had miraculously taken until now to run out. At last, she spun back the handle and slid open the curtain, reaching blindly for the towel hanging on the hook in the wall. The steam had fogged up every mirror in sight, making it impossible for her to see her reflection. Good. That was how she liked it.

Coach Tish had pulled them all at nine A.M. for their first outdoor practice at the high school. What kind of a freak did that? It was New Year's Day, for criminy's sake – not to mention still freezing out. But she'd insisted they couldn't afford to lose the time, or the field. With two months to go till the start of the season, they were all getting their butts kicked into overdrive.

In truth, though, Helga had grown to sort of appreciate the stability of having the team to focus on. It distracted her from her usual bad mood. Everything else in her life was complete shit, but there was something solidifying, almost wholesome, about knowing she'd be returning to the same group of people every day to run her ass off with.

As she tugged on her sweatshirt and jeans in the humid little square of shower stalls, she heard lockers opening and closing beyond the bathroom door. Who, she wondered vaguely, was as slow-moving as she was today? She'd figured the other girls would be long gone by now.

"Man, I feel like I got run over by a truck," she announced as she wandered back to the bench, her hair dripping water down her back. "Those sprints today were –"

Helga froze in place. A familiar chunky figure was slinking fast between the space dividing two of the parallel locker sets.

"HEY!" she screamed. "Get back here!"

"Who, me? Oh – I mean – OW!" There was a crashing sound as Harold Berman fell pitifully to the floor.

Helga whipped around the bend in time to see Harold squirming left and right on the dirty tiles. He pushed off the floor with both hands and attempted to race off in the opposite direction, but she grabbed him by the back of his shirt before he'd even moved a meter.

"You've gotta be kidding me, you brainless, pathetic CRETIN!"

"Let go of me, Helga! I swear, you better let go or I'll – I'll – I'll — "

"You'll what, Pink Boy?" She clutched at his collar with both hands and pinned him up against the locker.

"I'll – I'll –"

"I'm listening."

"Well – I – uh – "

"Look, I have no idea what the hell is going on here, or why the only place I've managed to find you in weeks is in the girls' freaking locker room. But regardless, you and me are gonna get one thing straight."

"Okay—"

"If you ever. And I mean ever," she strengthened her grip as Harold continued to writhe horribly in her grasp, "Do anything to hurt Arnold ever again, I'll wrap your tongue around your neck until you choke on your own spit. Do you understand?"

"I—"

"I said do you understand?!"

"Yeah," Harold whimpered.

"Good. And now, you're gonna tell me what your deal is, and you're gonna tell me right now."

"I can't," he moaned.

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I just can't, Helga! But you don't gotta worry about Big Gino messing with Arnold again. Now that Arnold and Lila are done, it's not gonna be an issue."

"Big Gino?"

Harold clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh – uh – I mean—"

"What does that moron have to do with this? What, did the Football Head make a bad drug deal or something?"

"No," Harold groaned. "I did." Helga felt his body grow limp with defeat in her grasp. She let out an incredulous laugh.

"Why would you get involved in a drug deal? I mean criminy. You can barely tie your own shoes. You'd screw up a deal with Big Gino faster than it takes you to chase down an ice cream truck."

"That's not funny, Helga!"

"I didn't mean that it was funny. All I meant was you're an idiot."

Harold moaned again. Helga slammed him up harder against the locker.

"Answer me right now," she demanded. "What does Arnold dating Lila have to do with Big Gino?"

"E-everything! Gino likes Lila! I mean really likes her! He keeps - he's doing all this crazy stuff, and he keeps making me deliver all these dumb little love notes to her!"

Helga froze in place. "So Big Gino's the one who's been sending those things?"

"Let go of me for a second. Just one second, and I'll show you."

"You do understand that if you try to run away, your predicament will only get worse," she snapped.

Harold began to fumble around in his pockets in response, wriggling in place to move his hands while Helga had his body still tightly bound.

"Notes like this," he panted, thrusting the piece of paper in her face. "See, that's why I'm in the girls' locker room. I was just tryna give Lila this note from Gino."

Helga grabbed the crisply-pressed page, her eyes scanning over the words feverishly. "Lila, o mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear, your true love's coming." She crumpled the page up in a ball and threw it at Harold's forehead. "Man, the guy's really a lot more of a tea cozy than he lets on, huh? And what is it with his obsessive need to plagiarize Shakespeare?"

"Gino loves sonnets."

"I can see that," she said scornfully. "Sonnets and world domination."

"So... where's Lila's gym locker anyway?"

"How the hell should I know? Why didn't you just put it in her regular locker?"

"I tried, but the rest of the school's still all locked up till it opens again on Monday."

"Figures."

"I need help, Helga." Harold's face was now streaked with tears. He broke down completely, wailing as he threw his arms around Helga's neck. She backed away in disgust, her anger still coursing through her. "I just needed the money, okay? I needed the money cause I wanted Patty to have a nice birthday, cause she usually doesn't. I - I was gonna take her out to the movies and a fancy dinner like cheeseburgers. So I bought some stuff from Gino and I was gonna sell it, but then my mom found it and got really, really mad and threw it away. And ever since then I've been Gino's personal slave!"

Helga bit her lip in spite of herself. "And he's been making you do this shit the whole time? Like some kind of creepy puppet government?"

Yeah," Harold wept. "Giving Lila letters, wrecking her dates, destroying Arnold's bike. You gotta help me, Helga, you just gotta."

She scowled as she finally released him. "I'm not helping you with anything."

"What should I do?"

"Heck if I know. You got yourself into this mess and you're gonna have to get out of it."

"I can't!

"Well, how long are you gonna be at the Godfather's mercy, anyway?"

"I dunno! Till Lila likes Gino," Harold groaned.

"And on what planet is that gonna happen?"

Harold wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I dunno. I don't know how there's even a chance till Lila knows who's been sending her this stuff."

"All I know," Helga raised her eyebrow as she began storming away from him and back towards her own gym locker. "Is you better make sure Arnold doesn't end up in the middle of this again." She crammed her belongings into her backpack. "And one more thing. Don't let that asshole hurt Lila either, alright? She's too nice to have to keep putting up with bullshit like that."

Rhonda shivered, curling her fingers up in the pockets of her pea coat as she walked down the sidewalk.

When she reached the front stoop of the pale blue building, she stared into the windows, trying to discern human shapes through the curtains. She was pretty sure she was at the right house. Given that she'd never been inside of it, however, she couldn't be one hundred percent positive.

Drawing in a sharp breath of frigid air, she climbed up the steps and rang the doorbell. Muffled shouting and clambering went on inside for a few moments before the front door swung open.

The infamous owner of Big Bob's Emporium was as gigantic in person as he looked in the logos plastered to city buses. Rhonda wasn't a frequent shopper at average warehouses, of course, but she still recognized the father of her classmate since preschool.

"Hello," she began awkwardly. "Mr. Pataki. I, um... it's great to see you."

Mr. Pataki raised his large, unbecoming eyebrow.

"You might be wondering why I'm here, at your house," she rambled on. "I go to school with Helga. I was just coming to see if your daughter's friend Curly happened to be staying here. I went by his house and his father said he probably was."

"What?"

"Curly."

"Oh, so that's what the Girl Scouts are selling these days? Hold on a sec. MIRIAM!"

"What, B?" came a tired-sounding voice.

"WE NEED ANY CURLY FRIES?"

"No, Mr. Pataki, I'm not- "

"Curly fries? No, B, I just got a bag of frozen waffle fries. It's… it's... it's around here somewhere."

"Sorry kid, looks like we're all stacked up in the potato department," Mr. Pataki said, turning back to Rhonda. "Maybe next year. But here's a donation." He reached into his pocket, pushed a handful of quarters towards the teenager, and started to close the door.

"Well, I never," Rhonda bristled. She let the coins drop to the ground. "I'm not selling anything. I'm looking for Helga's friend, Curly Gammelthorpe. He's staying here at your house. Have you seen him? He's kind of short? Kind of psycho?"

"Wish I could help ya, but he's not here. Let me tell you, if my daughter was trying to sneak some psycho kid into this household, Big Bob Pataki would know about it."

He slammed the door shut. Rhonda sighed irritably.

Just as she was turning to walk away, a pair of eyes and a mop of dark hair flashed in the second-story window. Rhonda stared up for several seconds. The window pane opened. Before she could process what was happening, Curly was leaning through the small space and leaping out of it.

He landed on his feet and then fell forward, groaning as he rolled for a few meters down the sidewalk.

"Oh my god!" Rhonda screamed.

"I'm fine," Curly said as he stood up, rubbing his back. "Now that you're here."

"Just use the stairs next time!"

"I heard your melodic voice and thought I was dreaming," he continued, ignoring her. "How are you feeling, Rhonda?"

"I'm fine. Is Helga even here?"

"No, she went to lacrosse practice. I wish I'd been able to stay last night and make sure you were okay, but Lorenzo said - "

"I'm glad you didn't," Rhonda cut him off.

"Oh… well… I - "

"Curly, do you even remember what happened last night?"

He nodded. "We all drank a lot. You got sick."

"Do you remember jumping on top of me and kissing me?"

"I - yeah, I - "

"And do you remember me saying that I wanted you to jump on top of me and kiss me?"

Curly's shoulders sagged. "No, I don't."

"Exactly," she snapped.

"I - it's just - Rhonda, I love you so much. So, so much."

"Yeah, I get that! Why I don't get is why!"

"Why?" He blinked. "What an inane question. You're smart and bold and kind. You're beautiful, Rhonda Lloyd. You're my everything. You always have been."

"What I meant," Rhonda said, her voice growing slightly softer. "Is why do you still love me, even after I've told you at least a hundred times not to?"

She sat down on the Patakis' stoop, sighing. Curly crouched down beside her. He fidgeted with his hands, looking down at the cracked cement. It occurred to her that he must have been freezing, wearing only a T-shirt and shorts. She unraveled the scarf from around her neck and offered it out to him.

"Thanks," Curly told her quietly. Rather than put it on, he buried his face in the woolen material. She felt her discomfort growing, but something rooted her to the spot.

At last, he lifted his head up, looking out towards the street. "You can't just tell someone to stop loving another person."

"I guess not. You and I both know how it feels to have our hearts broken now. Here I was thinking Samuel actually liked me," she said bitterly. "I didn't think he'd go and - I mean, I really thought what we had was something special."

"I appreciate you. Every little thing about you. We could have something special. I wish you could see that," Curly mumbled, turning to face her. Rhonda had never noticed how much pain filled his eyes. She swallowed, unsure of what to say.

Curly hastily turned away again. "You know, when I heard you outside, I got so excited. I actually thought you were coming to see me to tell me you were finished with Samuel, and that you were starting to like me or something. Can you believe that? How stupid can one guy be?"

She began kneading her knuckles together. "You're not stupid, Curly. I was coming to see you. Because I think you're an okay person, most of the time... when you're not guiltripping me or begging me for my love or blindly invading my personal space."

He hung his head. "I'm really sorry."

"I am, too. But I think I can forgive you. If you can forgive me."

"Always."

"You're a good guy, Curly. You deserve to be with a girl who will like you as much as you like her. But that girl isn't me. It's never going to be me. If you really care about me, then you'll accept that."

Curly drew in a deep, shuddering breath of air.

"You're right," he choked out.

He held out her scarf for her to take back.

"Keep that," she told him. "Since you're probably going to have to wait outside now until Helga comes home."

"Oh. R-right. Thank you."

"Anyway... I... um... I'd better get home. I have... a lot of homework to do before Monday."

"Oh. Okay." Curly managed a tiny, lopsided smile, but it looked fraud even to her.

"I'll... uh... okay then. I'll see you in school, Curly."

"R-right, yeah. See ya then."

She stood up, chewing guiltily on her lip as she made her way down the steps. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Curly hiding his face in the scarf again, his body convulsing with sobs.