Author's Note: Thank you so much to the guest reviewer, bg1 – and to EnvytheSkunk, Kryten, Nettie, Suzuka, Lisa Butterfield, and anyone else who reads and/or reviews this story. It feels like it's been forever since I've updated, but you guys have really given me the strength I needed to go on *holds hand dramatically to forehead*. Seriously though. I love you and I wish you all the very best.

23: Feign a Thick Skin and Then Split at the Sides

January froze into February, a swarm of blizzards, windstorms, and ice-covered streets. In spite of the incessant onslaught of cold, the girls' lacrosse team continued practicing outside, racing back and forth across the field, bundled up in coats and mittens. The winter seemed to drone on and on and on, rampaging in a whirlwind that ordinarily would have made Helga want to curl up in a ball and go back to bed. Instead, she devoted every spare inch of herself to the team. And it was odd, but living and breathing lacrosse, rather than depleting her energy, seemed to stock her with more of it. In between their frigid practice sessions, she somehow managed all her usual Friday night dinners with Phoebe, check-ins on Curly, and hours spent hanging around the boarding house while Arnold helped his dad readjust to his life at home.

"Alright, girls," Coach Tish told them on the first day of March. They were crowded around their usual bench in the locker room, reviewing plays on the whiteboard and wearing their freshly-delivered jerseys – real ones instead of pinnies, knit with their designated numbers in red embroidery. Helga had opted for lucky number nine, the number she'd been wearing that time in the fifth grade when she'd struck the ball straight into Wolfgang's forehead and their softball team had gone on to cream the league of sixth-graders.

"Our first game is two weeks away," Tish continued. "We're playing Charter Oaks."

"And we're gonna beat em to a pulp," Helga said firmly, looking to her co-captain and the rest of her teammates for support. They offered her a ring of screams before putting their sticks in toward the center of the bench, ending with their usual battle cheer.

"Think we could have French toast this morning?" Miles asked. His voice was soft and raspy as the flickering sun slanted in stripes across the wall.

Stella reached out and touched her palm to his cheek. "How about something healthier?"

He paused for a moment, mirroring her movements by tracing the lines on her face with his thumb. "Oatmeal?"

"Oatmeal," she agreed.

Stella had long summised herself to be a patient person. She had realized, though, that before Miles' heart attack, she was always finding reasons to be in a rush. Jumping out of bed in the morning, hurrying to get dressed for work. Make breakfast. Do the dishes.

Maybe she had just been caught up in her day-to-day movements - or maybe, she thought now, she had wanted to make up for lost time. Pack more into the days she had left. Make up for all those vanished in-between years, by fitting as much as she could into the rest of them, taking pictures and picking up markers of her passage like tokens along the way.

But it hadn't helped her make up for anything. And so, when she woke up against Miles' chest now, she took the time to lay there, breathing in his wood smoked, fire-pressed, warm-body scent.

And in his arms, the time didn't disappear. It grew, like dozens of microscopic florae in the San Lorenzan jungle, sweating and breeding and festering with the wet earth. It multiplied, like all of those purple butterflies waking from their slumber at last to flap their wings again, still alive.

"Can I get you something to eat, sweetheart?"

Eugene's father lingered in the doorway, scratching at the sparse copper-gray hair on his head. He looked nervous, as though trying to decide what to say next.

Eugene rolled over in his bed. "I have to get to school, Dad," he mumbled. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.

"You know your mother and I are here for you."

"I know." He managed a small smile.

"You can tell me anything."

Eugene hesitated for a moment. "Anything?" he asked.

His father nodded. The tiny orange cat curled up beside Eugene let out a curling little meow, stretching his paws out on the mattress as he awoke. It was a true blessing, Eugene felt, that his parents hadn't gotten angry about the sudden appearance of the creature at their house. They'd supported it instantly instead. If it makes you happy, you can have seven cats, his mom had said. But Cadence, of course, was the only one Eugene wanted or needed. The two of them had a special bond, and they relied on each other. It wasn't a lot, but right now, it was enough.

"You're a good boy," Eugene said softly, scratching behind Cadence's ears. "Such a good little boy. Dad, can I have a ride to school?"

"You bet," his father said, stumbling at the chance to offer something his son had asked for.

"Stay here," Eugene added in a whisper to his pet. "I'll be back later, I promise."

Spring came in cold, gusting winds, piles of muddy grass, and frost-ridden streets that would thaw very, very slowly.

The first lacrosse game of the year was on a Monday.

"You're going to be great, Helga," Phoebe told her on Sunday night. Her voice was filled with the confident conviction the tiny girl had managed to become so comfortable with over the past few years. Between the sudden spurts of warm pride Helga felt for her friend, she even thought she might believe her.

"Promise, Pheebs?" Helga asked. She was sprawled out over her bed, lulling herself to sleep to the sound of Phoebe's high-pitched timbre soothing her through speakerphone.

"Oh, yes. I couldn't be more certain of that."

"I ain't never read writin' as pretty as yours, Miss Lila."

Lila turned to face the tall boy across from her, her lips tugging at the corners with the smile she was trying to hold back. They were sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor, surrounded by their notebooks, journals, and clumps of the dandelions and spring crocuses they'd collected in the rectangles of grass behind the high school. It was only her latest English essay that Stinky had read, but Lila couldn't help but feel that the compliment was authentic. Most everything Stinky said was authentic.

"Your writing is lovely too," she said quietly. "Just ever so lovely."

"Did ya figure out who yer new anonymous poet is, then?"

"Oh yes, Stinky. I did."

Stinky sat silently for a moment, scratching the back of his head with one hand and looking slightly embarrassed. "Reckon not all poems have to be fancy after all."

"No," Lila told him, inching closer to him. "I'm certain now that poems don't have to be anything. As long as they come from your heart."

Gently, she took his large, rough-skinned hands in her small ones. Inexplicably, the truth was this: in his presence, every desire to morph into someone she wasn't slipped away from her. She forgot why she had ever spent so much time wondering whether she was the nicest – the prettiest – the smartest. Around him, all of those things seemed so arbitrary, like little girl-dreams she had outgrown long ago. Miss Perfect went into hiding, and in the shadow of her grade A acting, there was only Lila Sawyer.

Lila Sawyer decided Stinky Peterson made her feel seen.

"Have you ever kissed anyone, Stinky?" she asked. She wasn't sure where the question had sprung from. Her face was so close to him that her breath seemed to swirl into his ear.

"N-no, Miss Lila. I ain't never had a girlfriend before."

"Well, I'm ever so certain you would be good at it. If I kissed you, you would probably figure out how to kiss me back right away."

He swallowed audibly. "Ya really think so?"

"Oh, yes."

"Ya promise?"

"Yes, Stinky. I promise."

"Okey dokey then."

She cupped the side of his face with her hand. And when he closed his eyes, her lips collided with his, expectant, patient, and happy.

Helga woke up the next morning with butterflies in her stomach. She was somewhere between wanting to jump out of bed and wanting to throw up the spaghetti she'd eaten the night before. It was nerve-wracking, but not entirely unpleasant.

The school day passed in a blur of classes and ticking clocks. She couldn't force herself to focus, too anxious for the end of the day, when they'd be on the field in front of an audience of – well, most likely no one at all, but still.

At last, the final bell rang, and the girls threw on their uniforms in the locker room, reciting one last cheer on the bench with their sticks pressed together.

The air was still biting cold, raw, earthy, and white-skied. Helga found herself staring as they made their way to the back field, where the Charter Oaks lacrosse players had already climbed out of their bus and started warming up, the bright blue stitching of their jerseys particularly dazzling against the backdrop of the dreary weather. It was only the sound of a familiar, crazed scream that finally drew her attention away from the opposing team.

"RIP THEIR HEADS OFF, HELGA!"

She looked out over the wind-bitten grass to see not just Curly, but her own personal cheering squad sitting on the bleachers. Stunned, Helga almost missed the sharp squeal of the starting whistle as she stared up, her mouth opening slightly with her impossible-to-conceal excitement. Phoebe, Arnold, and Gerald were sitting beside Curly, and had begun to join in with his enthusiastic screams, albeit not as loudly or as obnoxiously. In the row in front of them were Miriam and Olga, wrapped up in jackets and scarves. Beside them, Mina was giggling incessantly as she bunny-hopped from bleacher to bleacher. Helga watched as her niece tripped over a metal railing, nearly going flying if not for Arnold, who reached out with one hand and grabbed her before she could faceplant.

"EYES ON THE DAMN BALL, PATAKI!" Tish screamed. Mina's face had instantly contorted with sorrow, but Arnold coaxed her into his lap, offering what Helga could only assume were soothing words of comfort as the little girl threw her hands around his neck, allowing him to dry her tears with his coat sleeve. It took everything Helga had to snap her attention back to the field.

X

After the seventh time Helga flung the ball straight into mesh net, she lost count and began to lose herself instead to the focused flow of her strides up and down the field. An indescribable peace washed over her. It was a special mind space that she'd only ever found in the dirt-splattered, pure, unadulterated aggression of sports.

By the time the game ended, Helga could barely remember how it felt to be anything other than this: somehow both simultaneously calm and exhilarated. The referee blew his whistle, and the sparsely-populated bleachers and the Hillwood girls' lacrosse team erupted in cheers.

Hillwood had won twenty-eight to zero, thanks in no small part to Helga, who'd scored more than half of their goals. Her teammates began trickling off the field, slugging the water cooler and their sticks and goggles over their shoulders, laughing and cheering loudly.

"If you think this gives you permission to be late for practice tomorrow, screw your heads on straight!" Tish warned the girls. "Tomorrow you're on this field again, three P.M. sharp!"

Helga was standing frozen in place, staring, slightly dazed, as Arnold came wriggling through the gap in the chain link fence. He was carrying a still hyped-up Mina in his arms. The sky was beginning to swirl with inky pinks and blues as the two of them made their way out onto the field and towards Helga.

"Hi," Arnold told her. "Helga, you were... amazing."

"Aunty Elga run fast," Mina babbled happily. "Aunty Elga run, run, run."

"Mina was cheering for you the whole time."

Mina giggled loudly, wriggling around in Arnold's grasp in a plea for release. And at that very second, watching the way her love relinquished his hold over her niece and set her down on the muddy grass with all the gentle caution in the world, Helga felt like she could have cried.

"You okay?" Arnold asked, frowning slightly.

"What?" Helga blinked. "Oh - yeah. Just don't get any closer if you know what's good for ya, Football Head. I smell like an old sweaty gym sock."

"Pleasant."

They were quiet for a moment as they watched Mina tumble and trip across the field, unperturbed by the dark dirt stains she was getting all over her pink coat.

Arnold turned towards Helga, suddenly rubbing the back of his shoulder.

"Listen, Helga, I... I was just wondering if..." But he trailed off, the words seeming to dissipate on his tongue.

"Yeah?" she prompted him, trying her hardest not to sound too eager.

"Well, I was thinking we could - maybe we could do something, you know, non-homework-related to celebrate your first game, like get something to eat."

She stared at him, the butterflies in her stomach swarming into her throat.

"I mean, just as friends," he added hastily.

She swallowed. "Doi, I know. Just as friends."

"Gerald and Phoebe are going out for ice cream, I think. We could go with them. Curly can come, too." He looked up towards the bleachers, where their remaining friends were beginning to descend the metal steps unusually slowly. Phoebe caught her eye, smiling and offering her a casual thumbs-up as her eyes darted sideways from Arnold to Helga.

Helga turned towards Arnold again, praying she was doing a convincing job covering up her crushing disappointment. He had thrown her off balance again, and she hated it. She wished he would just make his intentions clear, or stop messing with her by asking her to hang out with him at all. But there was no way she could admit how tortured she felt by their renewed, fragile friendship without putting herself back in the exact situation she'd been in for years, and she sure as hell wasn't willing to do that.

In any case, her hesitant response was interrupted by a crashing sound from the bleachers. They whipped around again to see Miriam lying there in a heap, her purse flung open with its contents sprawled out all over the metal stands. Olga, standing beside the mess, was apparently distracted by a conversation she was having with Daphne's surprisingly handsome father.

"Mom!" Helga yelled. She rushed through the gate, climbed onto the bleachers, and began trying to help her mother to her feet. Beside them, Arnold had also run over and begun collecting the various items that had spilled from Miram's purse, gathering up her wallet, lipstick container, handfuls of spare change.

"Oops," Miriam said in a tinkling voice, brushing some of the dirt from her dress. "Now where did that last step come from?"

Helga huffed out an annoyed sigh. Of course, Olga chose that moment to remember why she was there in the first place and come swooping down on her like an eagle scoping out its prey, kissing both of Helga's cheeks before clasping her hands together and exclaiming, "Oh, baby sister! You were just wonderful."

"Yeah, thanks."

Olga looked out at the field, where Mina was now doing lopsided somersaults.

"Oh Marina, darling, you're getting all dirty!" Olga shrieked, and then sighed. "I better get her down for a rest. She missed naptime and she's simply exhausted." She paused to poke Helga on the nose, causing the younger girl to swipe at her disdainfully. "The game was fantastic, pumpkin. I'll see you at home for our family dinner later. I'm making an antipasto salad and bouillabaisse simmered with fresh fennel."

"You were a beast, Helga!" Curly screamed behind them, echoed by Gerald and Phoebe's fervent statements of agreement.

"Here you go, Mrs. Pataki," Arnold said, handing Miriam her purse. Olga promptly rushed out onto the field, taking Mina in hand as they began the trek down towards the parking lot, where their BMW was no doubt lying in wait.

"Aren't you gonna go with Olga and Mina, Mom?" Helga asked her mother skeptically.

"What?" Miriam blinked, rubbing the bridge of her nose, where her glasses had slipped and poked her when she fell. "No, dear, they came straight from – now what's that called – Mommy and Me Pilates, I think. I met them here."

"Figures." She rolled her eyes as she turned towards her friends. "Listen, I'm gonna make sure my mom gets home, alright? You guys go have fun. I'll see ya tomorrow."

"You guys – okay to drive?" Arnold asked, glancing worriedly from Helga to her mother.

"We'll be fine," Helga snapped.

"Helga, honey, you can go with your friends if you want to," Miriam said. There was an almost pleading quality to her voice. But Helga shook her head and grabbed her by the arm. She dragged her to the lower parking lot, where she instantly spotted the space their silver minivan had been sloppily parked in. Tossing her mud-splattered stick into the back of the van and then cramming herself into the passenger's seat, she mentally thanked whatever gods might be listening that she would be sixteen in just a couple weeks' time. Then, at least, she could work on getting her driver's license and avoid this tomfoolery altogether.

Miriam fumbled to press her keys into the ignition, but Helga slapped her hand away. Fuming, she reached into her backpack and pulled out her water bottle, shoving it up to her mother's face. It was a silent demand for her to sober up before they drove anywhere, and Miriam drank from the bottle without any complaints.

"You're so athletic, honey," Miriam said finally, wiping her mouth with her hand. Was Helga just imagining that her voice was shaking slightly? She raised her eyebrow, watching her mother's knuckles whiten as they clenched at the steering wheel.

Helga released an impatient breath between her teeth. "Gee, thanks."

"I… I guess I knew you were athletic, but I didn't know you were so…. graceful."

"Excuse me?"

"No, no, I meant it in a good way, sweetheart. You look so good out there, on that big field. So… natural." Miriam drew in a wobbly gulp of air. Helga kicked her feet up against the dashboard. When Miriam tried to reach for her keys again, Helga snatched them away from her altogether.

"We're gonna wait half an hour," she said menacingly. "Unless you wanna just walk home and explain to Olga why we had to leave our car at the school."

"You shouldn't have lied to your sister," Miriam said suddenly. She sounded like she was pulling the words out from somewhere deep down and far away, with great effort. Helga glanced at her in surprise.

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"You do know, Helga. You've been telling your sister I've been doing a good job, and I… I'm not."

Helga shifted her gaze to the window. "Look, Miriam, you have no idea how many emotional breakdowns I've had to suffer through in the past month or two. I'm not in the mood to deal with this right now. Can't I just enjoy the aftereffects of whipping Charter Oaks' asses in peace for tonight? I mean, criminy."

Miriam hung her head. She covered her face with her hands, mumbling between her fingers. "I'm sorry. You deserve better than me."

Helga flinched.

"I know I'm not the mom you wanted. I think about it all the time. If I could go back and change it all, I… I would."

"How about just going back two hours and not sucking down whatever vodka and gin concoctions you thought it was a good idea to drown yourself in before coming to a high school lacrosse game?"

"I embarrassed you in front of your friends, didn't I?"

"Like that matters. I mean, let's face it, they already know you're a hopeless mess."

To her horror, her mother's eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"I didn't want Olga to excommunicate you from the family," Helga blurted out. "Cause it would basically mean the rest of us were out of the picture too. And I didn't want to stop seeing Mina, okay? And," she paused, rubbing at her elbow. "And besides, even though you're shitty a lot of times, and even though you're not the world's greatest parent, I don't think you deserve to get cut off from your favorite daughter. I mean, the way I see it, Olga only has a couple years left before she resorts to alcoholism, too. Isn't that the way of all women who live in Pleasant Chester? One second you're a real person, the next you're a bleach blonde, eighty-pound housewife whose only solace in life is the nauseating martini mix she throws back every night."

"Olga is not my favorite daughter. I have two beautiful daughters. I love them equally."

"Real touching."

Miriam rubbed at her temples, staring down into her lap. "It was nice to see your boyfriend again. I'm glad you two are back together."

"What? No – we're not. We're just friends."

"Oh. Well, that's nice."

"Yes, it is, Miriam," Helga snapped, folding her arms over her chest. "It's great. I mean, it's not like I'm in love with the boy and just pining away in the shadows like some sick loser while he moves on with his life. I'm not that pathetic anymore."

Miriam stared at her for a moment. "I know you're not." She paused. "You were never pathetic."

Helga slumped down in her seat.

"You are so special," her mom continued. "My strong, smart little girl. I just don't want you to forget... you deserve to be loved."

Helga chewed on her lower lip. As she did, her mother reached out and squeezed her on the arm.

"I know it's not easy for you," Miriam wiped at her eyes. "And the worst part is I know maybe that's my fault. Please just promise me you'll try to remember. I know how you hide yourself away from the world, and I wish you wouldn't."

Helga looked down at the timestamp on her cell phone.

"Twenty more minutes, Mom. And then we can drive home."