Author's Note: OMG, Lilchamor! I had a heart attack when I saw the "I'm Not Perfect" story update alert in my inbox. I said to myself, surely, this cannot be true! What kind of author waits six friggin years to update?

My reply: I really, really have no excuse. Yes, I graduated college, got married, and started graduated school. But, that's life. All I can say is, I am bound and determined that this fanfic will get finished this week. Yes, this week! I am on a one week break before I start the summer semester, and I am hammering the rest of this story out if it kills me….jk. To my old fans, I thank you for supporting me and HA! through these long, tedious years. To my new fans, welcome!

I'm Not Perfect

Chapter 9

She kept staring at their intertwined hands.

His hands were large and wide, with squared shaped, calloused fingers, such a contrast to her own thin, bony hands with long fingers. His nails were trimmed and scrubbed for the occasion; hers were painted a light pink. Their nails were about the same length, thanks to her nail biting habit.

Our hands, my love, entwined, two different worlds coming together in perfect harmony, in love, like our hearts may be someday…

"Is everything okay?" he asked her, leaning close to her so he could be heard above the blaring music. "You keep looking down."

She treasured the lovely scent of his shampoo, basking in the fact that he was leaning so close to her, before answering, "It's…uh…um…these shoes. They feel weird."

They stopped walking in the middle of the gym. The impromptu dance floor was crowded with students grooving to the beat of the music. Gerald bowed to Phoebe like a true gentlemen and extended his hand. She took it, giggling, as he led her out to the dance floor. Never was there a dull moment with Gerald, she thought.

She had to admit, she had been extremely surprised when he had invited her to be his companion at tonight's dance. From his past dating history, Gerald seemed to prefer more outgoing, effervescent girls. She had tried to hide any evidence of envy she had had these past few years whenever he showed interest in a girl that wasn't her. She was attracted to him, that was certain. Whether the feeling was mutual was something she couldn't be sure of, though tonight seemed to indicate such. He had told her earlier that he and Arnold weren't friends with the popular crowd anymore. She admired him and Arnold for taking such a bold stance. She was sure that Helga appreciated this, too, and especially the way he had stood up for her on Thursday. Was it Arnold's influence, perhaps, that had caused Gerald to ask her to Homecoming?

Either way, she was enjoying herself. She herself wasn't an excellent dancer, but Gerald had enough energy for the both of them. He held her hands as he twirled and spun her. They copied other kids' moves; they made up their own moves. They jumped and waved their arms up high. She was giggling the whole time, because it was all quite outlandish. But it was fun.

Arnold and Helga stood on the side, watching their friends. Arnold suddenly felt shy. Which was ridiculous, of course. He had known Helga for years. True, their relationship had always been, well, tumultuous. But nothing had changed between them, absolutely nothing.

Had it?

Her hand was warm in his own. It was a strange yet welcome sensation. He supposed he was holding her hand because, well, this was technically a date, and he should behave accordingly. Besides, she didn't seem to mind.

Or maybe she liked it, too?

Too?

Well, yes, he did like it. She was his friend. Right? After the conversation they'd had in the parking lot...and now, to have her holding his hand…well….it was nice.

"So…" she looked at him with those ice blue eyes, "um, I guess we should…."

"Yeah." He smiled.

They took a few steps forward and merged into the mass of students. The dancers were a unit; there was no beginning, no end, no separations, just the rhythm of the music and those who chose to accept it. And thus, they were swept away.

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She wanted to cry.

She might have done it, too, had it not been a threat to her pride. Not to mention her mascara. Fifty five dollar mascara, mind you, that she had bought at a very exclusive uptown boutique. To have it run down her face in a river of black tears would be simply unthinkable.

She tried to look like she fit in. Like her friends were just temporarily in the bathroom, or at the punch bowl, and would be back any second to join her in dancing. She tried to look like she was having fun. She was a better dancer than any of these kids, of that there was no doubt. Several years of contemporary dance classes bought with her parents' money ensured this. Half of these kids didn't know the meaning of the word "dance". They moved their bodies like crippled octopi. Had she not been so depressed, she would have laughed.

The dancing wasn't enough. She was alone, utterly alone, a feeling completely unknown to her. No one was dancing with her; no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to her. Rhonda Wellington Lloyd was not used to being ignored. Nearly always she was the jewel, the grand belle, the center of attention. Wherever she went, a crowd gathered. That was just the way it was. To have no admirers created an unpleasant discomfort. She was a Lloyd; she was born to be noticed.

Rhonda leaned against the wall, heaving, out of breath, fighting the lump in her throat. Squinting in the dim light, she noticed one lone figure coming toward her. Closer...closer...she straightened up, flicked her hair off her shoulder. Looked at her nails and tried to pretend she wasn't looking at him. Closer...it was a guy; she could she that out of the corner of her eye. Skinny. Short. Wearing a baseball cap on backward. Who wears a baseball cap to a school dance?

She gasped. "Sid?"

He said nothing, just grinned and extended his hand.

Her body went limp with resignation...or maybe relief. She thought of checking her watch to see at what time, exactly, her life had ended. But before she could hold up her arm, Sid grabbed her and dragged her into the middle of the sweaty mess of grooving bodies.

"Heya, Rhonda," Stinky said.

Sid grinned at Harold and Patti and whispered, "See? I told you she'd be my date at Homecoming!"

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Arnold gulped down his third glass of punch.

Gerald wiped sweat off his brow. "Man, it's like a sauna in here!" He had to yell to be heard above the music.

Phoebe nodded. "You'd be surprised how much heat a single human body can radiate. Put four hundred bodies together in a space of nine hundred square feet, and the results are..."

"All right, all right," Gerald waved his hand, "spare me the details." He smiled at Phoebe. "What do you say we step out in the hallway where it's a little cooler?"

"Well…" Phoebe turned to look at Helga, who shook her head and gave her not-so-subtle thumbs up sign. "That would be…I believe…delightful."

Chuckling, Arnold watched his friends walk away. "Those two." He refilled his glass and turned to Helga. "Need more?"

She thrust out her glass, grinning. "And keep 'em comin'. I'm dying over here. Geez, it is hot."

"No kidding." He refilled her glass and took a sip of his own.

They stood silently for a few seconds, sipping, watching the other kids dance. Arnold glanced at Helga out of the corner of his eye. Little strands of blonde hair had come undone from her pink ribbon and were strewn about her sweaty face. Was it his imagination, or was she watching him, too? He leaned toward her, started to say something. Realized he had nothing to say. She leaned forward, eyebrow furrowed. He shook his head. She shrugged and looked back out toward the dance floor. He wiped his forehead. Man, that was kind of lame. He took a gulp of his punch—too much—and suppressed a cough as it went down.

Oh, Arnold, my love, here we stand, inches apart, so many others around, and yet…and yet, only us. How I adore the way you bring your little Styrofoam cup to your precious lips and sip….She winced as she watched him take a giant gulp and cough lightly. Yeesh, that looked painful.

Arnold cleared his throat. He gave her thumbs up, to indicate that he was okay. Pressed his punch cup to his forehead. Wow, it is hot. He looked over at her. She looked over at him. He leaned forward again.

"Do you think…."

"Maybe we should…."

"Yeah, um, out there, maybe?" Helga pointed to a nearby door that had been propped open to the outside.

"Yeah, I mean, the temperature's fallen, it's almost nine thirty…"

"So it's probably…."

"Sixty degrees or so…maybe…."

"Cooler…."

"Yeah…."

"Yeah…"

Arnold rubbed the back of his neck. She caught his hand in hers, looking away to hide her smile, swooning slightly, trying to avoid collapsing as they made their way toward the door.

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Alex touched Justin's arm and pointed at the blonde couple walking away. Justin met his eyes, questioning.

Alex nodded. "It's time." They stepped forward.

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He stared, enthralled, at those teeny, perfect lips, moving as she talked.

"And so, I really couldn't decide. But in the end, I concluded that studying Arabic might give me a more competitive edge in the global job market if I do decide to go abroad. Unbeknownst to me, this language was actually quite similar to Spanish, which one never would imagine, because…" Phoebe stopped, suddenly realizing Gerald had been silent the whole time. "Oh, Gerald, forgive me, I'm afraid I've been...quite the narcissist. I mean, I've been talking about myself this whole time."

He smiled. "I know what a narcissist is."

She flushed. "Of course you do! I didn't mean to imply…"

Gerald rose slowly from the bench they had been sitting on. He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly, back and forth, in front of the bench. "Phoebe, I was hoping that you could help me figure out something."

"Of…course, Gerald. Anything."

"See, I've been having this…dilemma. Okay, so you know, other kids, they're always telling stories, right? They did this and that with so and so. Problem is, everybody always exaggerates, right?"

She nodded, even though she wasn't really following him…

"So, it's hard to know where you stand, you know, in comparison to your peers. It's hard to know if your experience is 'normal.' Now-" He pointed a finger at her. "Now you know I meant what I said, that I'm not really going to try to be 'popular' anymore, and trust me, I mean it. But still, a guy has to know where he stands, you know? It's just natural human desire to know if your experience is normal."

Phoebe shook her head. "Gerald, what are you-"

"So, I say to myself, 'I'm fourteen years old and I have NEVER been kissed!' Never! Not once! I've had how many dates, but it's never happened! Oh, sure, maybe a peck on the cheek, but no! I'm talking a real, honest-to-God, fireworks, knees trembling, soul-baring KISS! Never, Phoebe! NEVER! Fourteen years without being kissed!"

Phoebe blinked. "Oh."

"But then I thought, 'Maybe that's not so unusual! Maybe lots of kids are in this position!' Maybe, just maybe, every single kid in our class who says they have already been kissed is lying. After all, who wants to admit that they're fourteen years old and have never been kissed?! Soooo….I was hoping you could help me out with this. Other kids, you know, like I said, they exaggerate. They can't be trusted. But you, you're honest. I know you can tell me about your experience, so I can know if mine is normal." Gerald stopped, sat down on the bench, and leaned over. "Sooooo, tell me, Phoebe…have you ever been kissed?"

Phoebe flushed, looked down. "Oh...I suppose I, I, well, I..." She smiled and slowly looked up at Gerald. "No."

He leaned forward. Her eyes widened behind her glasses. Up close, she smelled like lavender and peppermint. "Then maybe we could change that," he whispered.

Their lips met, delicately, warmly. He wrapped her in his arms, slowly, and let the softness of her consume him.