18: I'm Treating Me Right

Almost two weeks went by, and Curly's depression didn't wane.

Helga was starting to get seriously worried. The twisted little freak had always had turbulent mood swings, but things seemed to be taking a turn for the worse now, after the finality of Rhonda's rejection. To make matters even more dire, his father had suddenly seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet. Curly insisted that having his own space was better than living with a drunken abuser, but Helga – terrified of what her friend might attempt in his current state – was not about to just set him loose at his own house, all by himself. She rushed home every single night from practice to make sure Curly was still in her room, and when she found him, he was usually already curled up in his sleeping bag, watching sad movies on her laptop. Desperate to put a lid on his sadness, Helga tried everything. She went out and bought all his favorite snacks. She tried to force-feed him Ramen when he refused to eat. She even offered to do his homework for him. But nothing seemed to be working to improve his spirits.

By Friday morning in mid-January, Helga finally made the executive decision to take more drastic action. Curly was already watching the Titanic on Netflix when she woke up. She rolled over in her bed to glance down at him.

"How ya feelin, bud?"

"I'll never let go, Jack," Curly responded. Tears began welling up in his eyes. "I'll never let go."

Helga leaned down and slammed the laptop shut.

"Hey!"

"Curly, you have to put this thing away. You're gonna turn into a human pudding cup."

"That sounds delicious. I love pudding."

"I'm serious. You're gonna get all slimy and jiggly and stuff. And soon you won't be able to walk."

"It's too early for this pep talk, Helga. And besides, it's not inspiring."

She tossed her covers aside and threw her legs over the edge of the bed.

"I can't stop thinking about her." Curly began to scratch compulsively at his elbow.

"I know."

"How do you make yourself stop thinking about Arnold?"

"I don't," she admitted. "I kinda... think about him and think about him and think about him. I just stopped crying about it so much, that's all."

She crossed her arms over her chest. She felt sure Arnold had wanted to say something to her on New Year's Eve, but he'd never gotten the chance. They'd quickly reverted to ignoring each other at school again, Arnold hurrying past her with his face contorted awkwardly when the two of them were in the same vicinity as one other.

Curly reached out and poked her kneecap. "You're doing a real good job. Getting rid of all your shrines and locket and everything."

"I only got rid of the shrines. The locket and journals are still here. I hid em under the floorboard. It's just, at a certain point, I think you have to think beyond the... obsessiveness. It's the less selfish thing to do. I mean that for both of us, not just you. This isn't the end of the world, Curly."

"Well it feels like it," he said quietly.

"Yeah. I understand. Seriously, I do."

He was raveling and unraveling a loose thread at the edge of his pillowcase over and over with his finger. She wrenched the thread from his grasp and ripped it completely from the fabric.

"I decided we're gonna skip school today, you and me," she announced.

"I don't wanna."

"That's too bad, because you have to."

"You can't just boss me around like that."

"I can and I will, bucko, and we're gonna spend the whole day and the whole night having the time of our lives."

"But tonight was supposed to be your special Friday night with Phoebe," he reminded her.

Helga prodded him with her foot. "I told her this was an emergency - you're in a state of need. She understands."

"Really?"

"Doi - Helga Pataki picks her friends carefully. Pheebs gets me, okay? And maybe she doesn't get you, but she will. At some point."

Curly gazed up at her carefully. If not for his morose mood, she would have thought that the tiny quirk in his mouth looked almost like a smile.

"You know, Helga - you're a lot more perfect than you pretend to be," he said at last. "It's my favorite thing about you. You know what I mean?"

Helga rolled her eyes. "No, Curly. I don't. As usual. Now get your butt out of bed and get dressed."

Try to talk to her again. No, don't do it. Talk to her. Don't talk to her... No, actually, you should probably talk to her.

Arnold hadn't even seen Helga in school yet today, and still, she continued to manage to drive him insane. He hadn't been able to make up his mind about what to do, and the indecision was totally unsettling. He knew he didn't want Helga to hurt. He wanted to believe that she was innocent, as much as Gerald and Phoebe did.

But he wasn't sure what to say, because he still didn't know if he could believe in her innocence. He'd seen the evidence firsthand; he couldn't see how or why anyone but her would be at fault for attempting to hurt him. Every time he came close to approaching Helga again, that thought and all of its accompanying pain and anger came surging back. Why was he always the one apologizing? Why was he always the one left in charge of putting the pieces back together in the wake of her acts of destruction? Why had he always been expected to just figure her out, decode all her mixed signals, put up with her abuse and volatility and –

"What do you think, Shortman?"

"What?" Arnold blinked. His focus snapped back to the classroom. Mr. Turner had his beady eyes set straight on him.

"Do you have any thoughts on the discussion at hand? Or do you plan to daydream your way through the midterm?"

Arnold felt himself crumple up with embarrassment. "No," he mumbled. "I don't –"

But as he was trying to muster up something else to say, an unexpected force came to his rescue in the form of Stinky Peterson, who raised his hand.

"Reckon I got somethin ta say about The Scarlet Letter, Mr. Turner. In tha first place, if Hester hadn't a been who she was, it woulda been just dandy for her to have her some fun outta wedlock. But they all punished her, on account a her bein' a woman and all. It ain't far from bein' apparent that women was to follow rules in that town that didn't apply ta the menfolk."

Mr. Turner glared unblinkingly. "Mr. Peterson. While you are in this class, you will use proper English."

"Oh," Stinky replied. "Sorry." Arnold could see the backs of his ears turning red and instantly felt badly for him.

"That's rude," came a small voice next to him. "Just ever so rude."

The class turned to look at Lila with interest. She'd long been Mr. Turner's favorite student. They had never heard her challenge him, or any teacher, for that matter.

"Excuse me, Miss Sawyer?"

"You always ask us for well-reasoned perspectives, and Stinky gave you his," Lila continued in a slightly stronger voice. "You should be listening to the content of his opinion, not his accent."

"This is an English literature class. The content of an opinion can't be deciphered if it is stated sloppily, indiscernibly, and simplemindedly."

"Well, I'm certain that I can decipher it. Stinky thinks sexism is an important theme in the book, and I don't think that's a simpleminded thought at all. I think it's profound, just ever so profound."

"Garsh," Stinky muttered, gazing at Lila with amazement. His whole face was glowing red now.

"Okay, Miss Sawyer," Mr. Turner said coolly. "You have made your voice heard."

"I reckon I wouldn't a been able to understand tha book at all if it hadn't a been for Miss Lila," Stinky piped up. "She's been helpin me, on account a she's got all the writin skills and appreciation for fine literature."

"You know, I must say that I agree with these two," Rhonda opined. "Boys should be punished for fathering children out of wedlock, too, but no. It's all 'I'm entitled to this' and 'I'm entitled to that' with men, and meanwhile poor, sweet Hester can't catch a single break."

"Isn't she the one who committed the crime, though?" Iggy said skeptically.

"Mr. Turner?" Arnold asked, raising his hand. "Can I use the restroom?"

While the class continued on with their analyses of the previous night's reading, Arnold slipped out to go to the bathroom. He moseyed down the hallway, his mind beginning to wander again in the peace of the hallway.

It was so quiet between class periods - you could practically hear a pin drop. The difference between the current silence and the usual mad rush between bells was striking. If it hadn't been for that resounding silence, he wouldn't have been able to hear the familiar heavy shuffle before he rounded the corner towards the boys' bathroom.

Arnold glanced up quickly. A blue-hooded figure was standing there, alone, peering into the grates of a locker.

"Harold?" Arnold questioned him. Harold jumped. He was fumbling with some sort of piece of paper.

"Oh, uh, hey Arnold."

"Hey... wait a second." Arnold narrowed his eyes. "That's not your locker."

"It's not?"

"No. It's Lila's!"

"Oh, it is? Heh, heh... what do you know, it is. Whoops. Well, guess I'll -"

"Wait one second, Harold. Don't tell me you're actually still doing this."

"Doing... doing what?" Harold squeaked.

"You are, aren't you? When are you going to give it up already? You know, there are other, less destructive ways of earning money!"

"Yeah, you got me there. Ha. Well, I guess I'll just be on my way."

"What are you doing this time, and who put you up to it? Come on Harold - you're better than this. Please just be truthful with me. Is... is Helga the one who... ?" He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

"Helga?" The folded-up paper slipped promptly out of Harold's hand and onto the floor. Arnold suddenly felt like he might throw up.

"Just give me a yes or no. That's all I need. Is it her?"

"I... uh... uh..." Harold's eyes were darting back and forth. He glanced at the fallen paper on the ground and, in one swift movement, lunged forward to pick it up. But Arnold got there first.

"If you won't tell me, then I'll find out myself." He folded open the loose-leaf - which was overflowing with ink that ran all the way down the page and curled into the margins - and began to read. Dear Lila: my love is as a fever, longing still...

Arnold looked up, blinking. He suddenly felt like he had intruded on something extremely personal. "Is this yours?"

"What? No! What a dumb question." The end of Harold's sentence was muffled by the sound of the bell ringing, signaling the end of the class period. All around them, chatter began to fill the quiet as students came trickling out into the hall.

"Whose poem is it?" Arnold asked.

"Shakespeare's, stupid! Give that back to me, Arnold, I gotta go."

"So you're giving this Shakespeare poem to Lila?"

"What? N-no, of course not!"

"But you were putting it in her locker."

"No I wasn't! You got it all wrong, okay? Now lemme have that before -"

"Arnold?" a flowery voice rang out behind him. Arnold and Harold turned around to find themselves face-to-face with Lila, Rhonda, and Stinky.

Harold screamed. Lila's eyes widened as she glanced at the piece of paper in Arnold's hand, then back up at him, then back down at the paper. Her cheeks were turning slightly pink.

"Is that... um..." she trailed off, mouthing wordlessly.

"This? Oh, it's not-"

"Arnold, I thought... I thought we agreed we were just... so... so these have been coming from you? All along?" Lila asked gently.

"I knew it!" Rhonda exclaimed with excitement.

"What? What do you mean? Oh, you thought - this note - no, this isn't mine."

"Oh. Whose is it, then?" Lila turned her attention to Harold, who stared back at her with an expression like a deer in the headlights.

"Well, it's not mine, that's for sure! Nope, didn't come from me! No way! By the way, could I have that back now?" Harold added to Arnold.

Lila and Rhonda gaped at him.

"Harold?" Lila questioned slowly. "You?"

"No!" Harold spluttered. He mouthed soundlessly at all of them for a few seconds before reaching out and wrestling the love note out of Arnold's grasp.

As if having appeared out of thin air, two muscular men – they looked like they were at least nineteen or twenty years old, Arnold thought – came over from the other side of the hallway and clamped down on each of Harold's arms.

"There a problem here?" one of them said roughly.

Harold let out a dry shriek and began to wriggle wildly in their grasp. They were attracting the attention of everyone else in the hallway now, as kids began to gather around them in clusters, eagerly watching the chaotic scene.

"There's no problem, there's no problem!" Harold protested. "Let me go!"

"Let him go!" Lila repeated, horrified.

"You heard the woman. She said let 'im go."

The voice that boomed out among the crowd was familiar-sounding, and very daunting. Several students screamed as the shorter-than-expected figure emerged from behind two freshman girls, who were clutching at each other's elbows.

Arnold gazed on in utter bewilderment as Big Gino marched up to Harold and snapped his fingers. The two men at Harold's sides dropped his arms instantly.

"Harold Berman," Gino thundered. "You have done nothin but proved yous a failya. Ova and ova I request yuh help. Time and time again you shows only idiocy."

Harold was physically shaking, apparently too terrified to respond.

"Now, it's time for Gino to take mattas into his own hands."

"Really, sir?" Harold yelped. "Are you sure?"

"What kinds of matters?" Lila asked apprehensively.

"Mattas of the heart."

"Yeah, yeah, matters of the heart," Harold repeated nervously.

"Harold, you cannot be the author of these love letters," Rhonda commented in disgust. "You just can't be. I mean, as if. Lila Sawyer and Harold Berman?"

"Of course I'm not! I didn't write any dumb letters to dumb little Lila!"

"How dare you, ya big sneakin' imp!" Stinky shouted. "Miss Lila ain't dumb, she's a whoppin' millennium smarter than you!"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Harold said earnestly. "I'm not the one who wrote these letters cause my heart's already taken! Because I like Patty okay? That's right, I like her and I wouldn't've gotten involved in this whole thing if it wasn't for her! I just wanted her to have a nice birthday and – and then I couldn't pay Big Gino back and I had to destroy Arnold's bike and his dates and I think it was a mean thing, a real, real mean thing, seeing as all Arnold's ever done is be the nicest guy in the whole city!"

Arnold felt his confusion morphing into an increasingly awful feeling in his gut as Lila turned towards Harold, twirling the end of her braid tensely. "I'm… I'm ever so sorry… but I don't understand."

"Let me help you to undastand." Gino fell to his knees. "Lila Sawya, I have climbed every mountain and I have fought tooth and nail for you. I have written you each a these poems with my whole heart. If yous has any doubt in yuh mind about who I am, just rememba the beauty of my words, and the steps I have taken to protect yuh hona."

"My honor?" Lila repeated, horrified.

"That's right, yuh hona. You neva would have been happy with this kid with the oddly-shaped head," Gino stood up and gestured towards Arnold. "So I took it upon myself to protect yous. The destruction of the bike, the spillin' of liquids, the breakin' of the lobsta tank. All the brilliant, remarkable work of the man who truly loves you."

"I, erm, I didn't exactly get to breaking the lobster tank, Gino, sir," Harold stammered. "But the other stuff all happened, it sure did."

"Gino, sir, with all due respect," Lila said slowly. "You don't know me."

"Don't know you? Don't know you? I knows every little thing about you! I know yuh laughter is the sweetest wind chime and I know yuh beauty is unmatched. I know the sweet smell of yuh perfume."

"Well, you don't know me, as a person. If you did, I'm ever so certain you would understand that hurting my friend is the last thing in the world I would want you to do."

"I know yous make me want to be good, Lila Sawya." He stood up, leaned forward, and planted a kiss on her hand.

Lila pulled away from him. "It doesn't seem like you're very good at wanting to be good, then."

Gino froze. "What did you say to me?"

"I will never like you, Gino. Ever. No matter how lovely your poetry is."

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Gino squeezed his hands into fists.

"This is the disrespect the woman I put my heart on the line for shows to me? You didn't even give me a chance! Yous is obligated to give me a chance!"

"No. I'm sick of doing anything that doesn't come from my own heart. And this time, I'm more than certain I'm not obligated to do anything." Lila turned around and began to walk away, her braid bouncing, cowgirl boots clipping.

"Yeah!" Stinky screamed. "She ain't obligated to do anythin', yuh right crazy hunk a bad meat!"

Gino's assistants looked in Lila's direction and then at their boss. It was as if they were asking with their eyes whether they should go after her and wrench her forcibly back to the scene. But Gino, his fists still clenched at his sides, didn't give them any orders at all. He marched forward, grabbed the love note out of Harold's hand, and then ran away.

Arnold's head suddenly ached even worse than before. His mind was spinning so fast, it took him a few seconds to notice that his phone was vibrating in the pocket of his jeans. He extracted it carefully and frowned at the name on the screen. Why would his mother be calling him in the middle of a school day?

"Mom? Hello? Hold on for a second. I can barely hear you. Just give me a minute to go outside."

It was the oddest thing, but as Eugene collected his books for his chemistry class, he heard what sounded like a long, drawn-out wail come from down the hallway. Seconds later, a rather small young man barreled past, holding his face in his hands and sobbing hysterically.

"Hey," Sheena squeaked. "Wasn't that that mobster boy? Big Gino?"

"Gosh, I don't know. Was it? Why would he be crying?"

In the forlorn boy's wake trailed a crowd of other students, chattering amongst themselves about some sort of fiasco that had apparently just gone down.

"Strange," Sheena said, scratching her head.

"Gonna be fucking amazing tonight, we'll be at my house pregaming first, party at Wolfgang's will be lit..."

"Only hot girls invited, dude, don't worry about that..."

Eugene felt his blood freeze up. He recognized the voices of the members of the Hillwood football team.

"Hide me," he begged Sheena. She blinked at him, obviously puzzled.

But he had no time to worry about her confusion before he saw Wolfgang's hulking figure. The white-blonde athlete was throwing back his head, laughing hard at something Samuel had said. The two of them were so casual: confident, untroubled.

"Are you okay, Eugene?" Sheena asked him in concern. He ignored her, choosing instead to dart up against a locker as the guys shuffled past. He shut his eyes hard, and he didn't open them again until the noise was gone.

"Watermelon Sour Patch?" Helga suggested. She pointed to the glass display case, where the packets of pink and green candies lay next to the Raisinets. Her arms were already loaded down with two extra-large bags of buttered popcorn and overflowing cups of Pepsi. After spending the day at the zoo, they'd gotten chicken fingers for dinner and then headed straight to the movie theater. Evil Twin XVII had finally come out.

"Come on, Helga," Curly pouted. "You know I prefer traditional."

Helga glared at the boy behind the counter, who looked like he was ready to fall asleep. "Hey! Me and my friend over here need two bags of regular Sour Patch Kids, pronto."

As she thrust the popcorn into Curly's hands and reached into her pocket for money, her cell phone began to ring.

"Don't answer it," Curly whined. "We're gonna miss the trailers."

"Alright, alright. Lemme just see who it is, okay?" She whipped her phone out of her pocket along with the ten-dollar bill, frowning at the name that flashed across the screen.

"It's Phoebe," she said to Curly, shrugging as she held the phone to her ear. "Yeah, what's up?"

"Helga," came Phoebe's slightly timid voice on the other end.

"Yeah, hi."

"I hope you're enjoying your time with Curly."

"Thanks. Listen, we're about to go in to the theater, so if I could -"

"I'm so sorry for interrupting you. I know it's important to you to spend time with your friend right now. I just felt, given the circumstances, you should know..."

"What?"

"Well, I..." Helga heard Phoebe take a deep breath.

"Spit it out, Pheebs. You felt I should know what?"

"Arnold's father had a heart attack this afternoon. They're not sure if he's going to make it."