Keeping Arnold: Or, How to Get Disowned

by Lachesism

After ten long years in San Lorenzo, Arnold suddenly returns to Hillwood, throwing Helga's world into chaos irreversibly. Gerald and Phoebe start acting suspicious about his return; what secrets does he bring with him, and what does it mean for Helga? Can she get him to stay? Does she want him to stay? And how does Lila, mysteriously absent for years, factor into his return?

20. Chapter 20 - Build Yourself a Myth

A/N: I've spent a lot of time getting to this chapter, alluding to it, and in general, tweaking how it would go. I always envisioned that this story would have three major climax points, and tried to pace the overall plot to deliver you to them evenly and at the appropriate time. I think the first two were quite successful, first with the party and then with Lila's defeat. Now, I present to you, the first part of the final climax before the denouement and epilogue, The Beach House.

This sucker ended up being so massive, I broke it into two parts. I didn't want to drop 32k words in a single chapter after all.

Trivia: this is the only chapter that does not have a Hop Along lyric as a title. Instead it comes from the inspiration for this chapter; Beach House. I recommend listening to Beach House's albums Teen Dream and Bloom while you read the next two chapters. It will complete the experience, and set the correct atmosphere for what you will read.

Keeping Arnold - Chapter 20, Beach House Part 1: If You Build Yourself a Myth

"...I have cursed myself; because my nights of fantasy are followed by hideous moments of sobering!" - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

---

Arnold stared down the long walkway of the airport gate, blocking out the impolite urging from the flight attendant to keep moving.

He didn't want to leave again.

His companion nudged him to keep moving, and, remembering that he was not leaving alone this time, smiled for a fond memory, and pressed forward.

---

Leafing through the used vinyls, searching for any lost gold or treasure among the endless sea of Christmas albums and novelty records from the 70's, Helga spent her Saturday morning the way she'd been spending it every Saturday for the last six months since middle school started: away from home. Her fingers paused mid-flip, hovering over Nirvana's Nevermind, mentally checking if she'd already picked this one up against her internal catalogue, which boasted nearly a hundred LPs so far. Nah, she recalled. Picked a nicer copy of this up at that estate sale.

At age thirteen, Helga had elongated even further from her already lanky and awkward frame, the ravages of puberty bringing the Pataki curves to her suddenly and dramatically while also bestowing her with an especial clumsiness akin to someone suddenly donning stilts for the first time. It made her a terror to deal with, aches in her joints and hormonal electrical storms in her brain a veritable Pollock of behaviors and motivations to color her already colorful personality. Helga was perpetually dead center in the moodiest of possible teenage moods, and dealing with the downward spiral of Miriam's drinking, and Bob's bloviating bellicose bellowing, and Olga's perfect charm, and Arnold was still writing her like clockwork; so she had some stress.

She still hadn't done anything about her unibrow - she still kinda liked it, although a lot of people gawked. Nobody looks twice when you have a big thick black caterpillar across your forehead and you're just a kid, but, start cusping into the flower-scented bosomy embrace of womanhood and suddenly everyone is all fussy about your face. She didn't pluck it for spite at this point. Besides, one of her heroes, Frida Kahlo, kept her unibrow and famously painted it for the whole world to see! Why shouldn't she sport that sucker like a proud feminist badge of honor? So she kept it, and scowled at anyone that dared question her.

Still, she was becoming more and more aware of how people looked at her awkward gamble of a face. Which only put to make her more and more surly, outrageous, and unpredictable.

No gold today, she sighed as she confirmed the record store was sadly lackluster. If you could find anything pressed before 1999, it was something she already bought here or somewhere else.

Wait, she suddenly stopped her search, catching sight of something familiar in the World Music section. Drawn forward, she felt herself lift the records covering the hidden treasure, exposing a pristine press of American Football. Her hand reached out to touch it, pulled towards it with a strange gravity, her eyes transfixed.

Another hand touched hers. Reflexively, she drew back, startled out of her near trance by the sudden, unexpected contact of skin on skin. The owner of the limb gawked at Helga, oddly familiar face just wide open as a barn door.

"Hey, watch it," she started to snarl, and then the instant of recognition hit her. "Brainy?"

"Uh, hi." Came his awkward reply.

"You look...so different. Is that you?" Helga had to squint to recognize the resemblances, but they were undeniable. He no longer had the oddly stooped posture of a perpetual slouch, and any metal orthodontistry he'd once had was long gone. He was slightly taller than the already tall for her age Helga, and was wearing a Sonic Youth t-shirt, torn grey jeans, and black doc martins. She had to pinch herself behind her back just to make sure this wasn't some kind of fever dream.

"Uh, yeah." He pushed his black glasses up on his nose, which had stayed long for his face but had seemed to grow into the space it had once occupied without any grace.

"Shit," she breathed. "You got tall. You reaching for American Football, too?"

"Yes."

Helga leaned back slightly, squaring her shoulders unconsciously, her teenage body responding to Brainy with immediate attraction, but her brain still unable to process the experience. This was a surprise. Brian, all grown up, and not dressed like an old man. And, apparently, with a decent sense of style and a good taste in music.

The last time she'd seen him up close and directly like this was right before middle school started, which had been a couple years now. The bitter memory of her breakdown and his awkward attempt to save her from the chaos of her own galactic meltdown and depressive spiral hung between them. The last time she'd seen Brian, he'd told her he loved her, and she'd laughed at his face and threatened to pound him blind, deaf, and dumb if he ever got within ten feet of her again.

Apparently, the threat had stuck. Brainy looked visibly anxious.

"Aw, heck, I ain't gonna hit ya," she waved a hand, more than slightly embarrassed that she'd popped off so half-cocked at the poor guy.

"Uh, okay." Brian averted his gaze, definitely trying to avoid looking her in the face. Helga could have sworn she caught him glancing at her chest, but, she figured he was just nervous. He didn't seem the type to stare at a young woman's assets, at least not intentionally.

"Uh, yeah, so...do you want the record? I've already got a copy," she lied. Call it guilt, call it a sudden desire to be generous, or call it a sincere and unexpected attraction to the guy, Helga wanted to be nice.

"N-no, it's fine. See ya," he turned, starting to leave the small record store.

"Hey, wait! Hold on," Helga grabbed his arm, surprised at her own reaction but firmly gripping him in place just the same. Is that a bicep? She'd never grabbed a boy's arm like this. Ugh, why do I like that? "Don't take off, we haven't seen each other in basically forever, don't you want to, oh, I don't know, catch up?"

"No," Brainy slumped, and brought his hand up to take hers off his arm with a gentle firmness.

"Well criminy, why the hell not?"

"Because," Brain seemed annoyed in his responses now. "We don't have to ever talk again."

Ouch. What is his problem? Wasn't this guy in love with me? And he's fine just dropping me like that? Oh, I don't think so. Nobody but Arnold rejects Helga Pataki.

"Hold the phone, tall boy, I'm offering to talk to you, friendly-like, and make up for lost time. Maybe...m-m-mmaybe apologize." Her cheeks pinked, heat pushing to the surface when she forced herself to say the things she wanted to, but was afraid to.

No more leaving things unsaid.

"Oh." Brainy relaxed, the pale ghostly white of his cheeks quite red. "Okay."

Helga waited at the door while Brainy bought the record. This better be worth it, I haven't seen any copies of that before. He caught up to her, carrying the precious burden under an arm in a brown paper bag.

"Thanks," he said shyly.

"No problem, Brains," Helga smirked. "Consider it a downpayment on a brand new friendship."

Brain finally cracked his quiet expression with a bright smile. Fuck, Helga mentally swore. He's cute when he smiles. I could get used to hanging with that face.

Time passed quickly in their budding friendship. It took Helga a lot of overbearing prodding, but eventually she'd gotten the extremely quiet, shy boy to talk about things with her like his favorite bands (Fugazi, Neutral Milk Hotel, and Brian Eno), how he finally got his parents to stop dressing him (a handwritten note), and what he'd been up to in the past couple of years (learning to play the guitar). In exchange, she bored him with the morbid details of Miriam's further descent into a total lack of sobriety, her own favorite bands (Pavement, Pixies, and Veruca Salt), her own attempts to play the guitar, and the idle thoughts she had of forming a band someday.

It wasn't long before she was giving him her number, and sincerely hoping he'd call. He did. That night, and then the next, and then pretty much every night for three months. He only missed one night because he caught the flu and slept through his alarm to call her. The guy was dedicated to routine. Helga liked that.

It turned out to Helga's gobsmacked surprise, they still went to the same school. Brian was just that good at blending in, and staying out of sight. Helga hadn't noticed that he was there before, but when she thought about it pretty hard, she remembered even being in the same classes as him a few times. She felt pretty bad about that. It felt weird to admit to herself that she had treated Brian pretty terribly for years, but as she began to get to know the shy boy a lot better, she was forced to acknowledge the unavoidable truth: Brainy was awesome, and she was a huge jerk to him.

And so it became that she sought him out. At lunch, they would go find a quiet spot under some trees and Helga would gripe about her classes and the kids she hated, and Brain would listen quietly. Which is mostly what he did when they talked anyway. Helga liked that, too. A quiet companion to just exist as a completely empathic sounding board for her most trivial issues was worth more to her than anything in the early days as a teenager, wearing oversized shirts and heavy camo military jackets from thrift stores to hide the budding femininity of her new woman's body. Her pink ribbon stuck around, but found itself removed more and more often, in favor of other accessories that fit her growing grunge aesthetic. Brian never offered a complaint or question for the outrageous looks she experimented with, wearing old JIffy Lube shirts with the name patch labeled "Shmitty," or torn fishnet stockings and ratty high top chucks, or just something bright and pink tye-dye because she felt like looking like a starburst of color.

Little by little, Brian helped Helga grow into the young woman she could dare to be without Arnold anymore. A picture of herself was able to take shape, trip after trip to the local Goodwill, trawling the record stores and estate sales to discover who Helga Pataki might be beneath all the pink and anger. Brainy was her shadow, just like when they were kids, but, no longer an intrusive, wheezing spectre. A friend. A companion.

Eventually, Phoebe had to ask Helga why she was always absent their usual lunchtime chat sessions and always busy on weekends, and Helga had to fess up.

"Ah, I've just been hanging out with Brian lately is all," Helga shrugged, kicking a rock and trying not to seem embarrassed to answer her best friend's reasonable question.

"Brian? Who precisely is this Brian? Someone new you haven't told me about?" Phoebe's blinks of surprise were understandable, given the unfamiliarity with Brainy's real name out of context. Of course, all the PS 118 kids knew Brainy was named Brian, but nobody called him that.

"No, Brian is Brainy. You know...guy who used to follow me around a ton?"

"Oh! Brainy! Wait, Brainy?"

"Yeah, we ran into one another at a record store and started talking. He's pretty cool, no big deal."

"Please forgive my impertinent queries here, but didn't he confess an unrequited passion for you in grade six?"

"Uh…" Helga felt her ears get hot with embarrassment. "Yeah, he, yeah I guess he did. But it's not like that, Pheebs, I swear. It's just nice to talk to somebody on my level about stuff."

"What about Ice Cream?" There it is, Helga winced. Guess he was going to come up the first time I talk to another guy.

"He's in the jungle last I checked, what of it?"

"Are you...over him?"

"Criminy! A girl can't make a friend?! And it's not like we ever stopped being friends anyway! It's just Brainy for pete's sake! I'm just talking to him for once instead of bashing his face in on reflex."

"It's just the first time you've ever specifically sought out a boy to interact with besides Arnold. You can forgive my confusion. I didn't mean to imply you had feelings for him."

Helga felt her face grow even hotter, and her eyes get wet with some kind of angry crying reflex. Did she have feelings for Brian? No, I love Arnold! She inwardly protested, however something strange and twisty swirled in her abdomen at the question.

"Shit! I don't like him like him! Cripes! I just like him!" Helga balled her hands into fists.

"My goodness, Helga, I wasn't insinuating," Phoebe began to apologize.

"I mean," Helga interrupted. "Sure, he's good looking, and smart, and easy to talk to, and has great taste in music, but…"

"But…?" Phoebe held her hands over her mouth, her own teenage budding interest in romance driving her to a powerful curiosity in the changes in her best friend.

"H-he's not Arnold." There that was. Something she'd been trying to struggle through since Brainy had become so...well, awesome. She knew she wasn't in love with him, and it made her feel so damn guilty that she still liked him even though she couldn't really take the next step further. " I couldn't, you know. Like him, that way. If I ever did anything with Brainy I would feel like a mountain of crap. I'd be just having some fun, or, like, I dunno, just enjoying myself I guess? And he'd be way more into it than me. It would be totally unfair to him."

Phoebe held her face in thought, looking at Helga intensely. "You're attracted to him for sure."

"Aw heck! Dammit, Pheebs! Knock it off!" She was definitely attracted to Brian. That was not in question.

"And you've already considered the possibility of a romantic relationship with him as well."

Helga's mouth squirmed in place as her face varied in between the most profound shades of red. She had to cover her face to keep from losing her mind, feeling like the safety of her hands was the only place she could hide. Phoebe was right on the money. Of course she'd considered dating Brian. She'd considered a lot more than that. It just wasn't going to work.

"But," Phoebe concluded. "You have concluded that despite your attraction, you lack the necessary passionate feelings of devotion to give Brainy a fair chance."

Helga took a deep breath, nodding her head and bobbing her twin ponytails with vigor and gusto. How thankful she felt for such an insightful best friend, who understood her so well.

"What a surprisingly adroit and mature position, Helga. I'm impressed at your sober analysis of the situation, and your ability to keep your hands off him."

"It ain't easy sometimes," Helga huffed, finally uncovering her face and wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. "I'm a healthy, normal teenager you know. Full of hormones and all kinds of romantic nonsense in my head. Some days I'd love if he grabbed me and shoved his mouth on mine. But, it's just better this way. I don't wanna hurt him worse than I already have."

"Of course not."

"Anyway, Phoebe, I am just about to die of a heart attack here, can we uh, haha, change the subject to something less horribly embarrassing?"

"I heard Harold ate three lunches last week." Phoebe always knew how to cheer Helga up with something gross.

"Did he? That oinker. I ain't surprised though, kid wants to be a pro eater."

Phoebe tittered with laughter, and their conversation strayed away from the subject of Brian. But Helga couldn't help but think of what they discussed that day, time and again. Moments of private reflection, where she was far, far away from Arnold Shortman in both time and space, brought her to the hypothetical future of a bohemian love affair with the tall, lanky boy she'd learned to love but never fell in love with. Some days, he'd be doing the most ridiculous shit for her, and she'd almost falter.

A hypothetical romance never indulged in never goes away.

Somewhere within the heart it is lived. All the imagined passions, troubles, and disasters of a relationship blend together in the imaginative pastiche of a daydreamer. Even if lips never touch, kisses will be kissed a thousand times each in a thousand different ways in the hallways of imagination. Apartments never lived in will be filled with the music that will never be listened to together, and beds never shared will creak with the love that will never be made.

What happens when the hypothetical is put to the test? Even for Helga and Brian, best of friends with an ocean of things in common, who have lived together for years, have shared nearly everything intimate save themselves, and have only one final barrier to cross to become lovers at last?

Can any reality measure up?

---

About twenty minutes into the car ride to the beach house, Arnold knew something was wrong. He wasn't stupid even if he was doing his best to pretend everything he'd been noticing all week since getting together with Helga had been some easily explainable mistake or his imagination. But so far, little to nothing this week had been like what he'd imagined dating Helga Pataki would be like.

Puzzlingly, she'd been spending a rather lot of time around Brainy instead of her boyfriend, him. Arnold tried to understand ("It's just roomie stuff," she had explained), and keep himself from becoming monstrously jealous, but it wasn't easy. That first week of a relationship is the most intense, the honeymoon period. He was expecting a lot of Helga, all the time. After ten years of buildup, that they were finally, actually dating should have been the starter pistol that kicked off an epic collision of passion and romance. Everything about their previous week had led him to expect that, anyway. When they were together, she was pretty much always touching him - usually inappropriately - but, there was some almost imperceptible barrier, some membrane between them that he always felt he was pressing up against when he tried to be with her. It was as if she wasn't present, and had sent a dollar store knockoff version of Helga to deal with him.

At present, Helga was leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder, and staring off silently out the side window nearest to her. He could smell the fruity punch of the many hair dyes she had applied to give her formerly ghostly white hair a dramatic galactic ombré, dark purples and blues swirling around errant locks of magenta and pink, and loosely braided into two thick tails that fell over her shoulders. She'd surprised him with the new hair color, a total DIY job of her own devising, about two days after Stinky's admission to the hospital.

She was nervous he wouldn't like it, figuring he preferred her straight blonde, but Arnold was able to convince her he adored her no matter what her hair color was.

"Helga, I am fine with any color you want your hair to be. And besides, why would you ever need my sign off on your hair? It's yours."

"Yeah, you got that right. But I just figured you were a bit more...traditional."

"Traditional? Why would you think that? What gave you that idea?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you, Football Head."

Arnold had laughed. "Want me to help you shave it bald? I'll show you just how not traditional I can be."

Helga had snorted and slid into his lap. Make outs followed. It seemed like a happy memory.

He felt his arm going numb from her weight pressing into the nerves in his shoulder, but didn't ask her to move. Just a little more like this, he worried. Just have her close like this.

Helga shifted off of him, stretching her arms and legs in the backseat of Gerald's rental Jeep. She noticed the totally dejected look on Arnold's face and lifted a big black eyebrow.

"What's the matter, Arnold, you look like someone just denied your green card."

Arnold immediately tried to fix his expression. "Ah, nothing, I just was worried is all."

"About?" Helga leaned her cheek on her hand, elbow propped up by the door. One of her long legs - bare and in tiny grey Daisy Dukes - lifted up to rest a foot on the seat. She's so casual but I can tell something is off. Arnold knew.

"Just my mom and dad," Arnold partially lied. He found himself doing that really often since he started dating Helga. Dodging problems, not speaking his mind, and working to keep things smooth and happy. Light. Free of weight and circumstance.

Empty.

"Oh yeah, Miles and Stella are still in Brazil right? Things are pretty crazy there right now with the Olympics coming up."

"Yeah-yeah they are! Man, that's so true. I'm surprised you know that."

Helga pulled a face. "Why wouldn't I? It's kind of major global news right now."

"That's true…" Arnold felt something very unusual. He felt like Helga was a stranger. His girlfriend was someone he suddenly had the enormous impression he knew nothing about. She was certainly the same person that he knew as a kid, but so, so different now that she was an adult. I don't know anything about Helga anymore.

"Anyway," Helga rolled her eyes. "You told 'em about me yet?"

"No, we haven't talked since before the party, actually."

"What?" Helga straightened up, looking pretty serious and grim at this news. "Dude, uncool. They probably think you're still fucking engaged to Sawyer!"

Oh shit. Arnold groaned and held his face with his hands. "Oh dammit, you're right. In all the insanity of the whole Fuzzy Slippers thing and starting to date you and Stinky and getting ready for this trip, I've totally forgot to tell them I broke it off with Lila."

"And started dating me." Helga firmly jabbed him with a straight finger right below his armpit. "Although maybe not for long since you can't be bothered to announce it to your family yet."

Arnold was not sure she was kidding. "No, I will tell them, as soon as we get to the beach. I don't wanna bug Phoebe and Gerald with how...dramatic that's gonna be."

Helga snorted, returning to her previous lounging position. "Whatever Arnoldo, it's your family, you tell them however you want. Just make sure you tell them, so they don't show up come December expecting a wedding."

Arnold paused. Did I tell her when that was happening? The note. Oh shit my stupid dramatic note. I did tell her. He felt queasy, and was not sure it was the car ride. "Yeah...right. No weddings."

Things had certainly seemed grim the past week. Stinky was doing relatively well, for someone who was undergoing a medically supervised detox and withdrawal from opioids. Sid had helped the recovery efforts tremendously by anonymously providing the exact cocktail and dosage Stinky had overdosed on. Arnold felt like it was a good start but it was hardly going to undo all the harm Sid's chosen profession had caused. Additionally, he'd basically had to twist Eugene's arm to get him to come to the beach house, intending to figure out some way to turn his life around, too. And then he heard Big Patty and Harold were gonna crash the whole thing, and so was Curly, and all of that would be enough if it didn't also feel like he was about to lose his girlfriend to Brainy, of all people.

Arnold was almost, almost sorry he came back home. His return had seemed to spark a series of disasters for everyone he cared about in Hillwood, much the same way his exit had done.

Lila…

How easy it seemed to recall how simple things felt with her. Of course, he now knew, it was all a terrible lie. But ignorance had seemed like bliss.

No, Arnold remembered the party, and those electric hours he had felt so alive he was fit to bursting. Helga is why I came back. Silently, he stared at her, certain she was the reason he returned, but very sick with the thought that she might not be enough to keep him there.

I feel like a stranger to these people, and I feel like I am just messing their lives up more. Arnold stared at the freckles on Helga's exposed shoulders - she was in a black tank top with a logo of some band he'd never heard of - and counted them for the hundredth time since they started dating. She had nine on her left shoulder. Thirteen on the right.

Did I mess up Helga's life, too?

As he stared at his girlfriend, who seemed uncharacteristically sullen and quiet, he was not so sure that he hadn't.

"Everything cool back there?" Gerald called back from the driver's seat. Arnold caught his eyes in the rear view mirror, and saw the concern there.

"Yeah, just bored as shit," Helga grumbled. "The drive to this place is the worst part. Nothing to see but back roads and wind farms."

"It's not so bad, Helga," Arnold ventured. "Besides, it gives us a chance to talk."

"We were talking, Football Head. You've just been all weirdly quiet and sullen lately so I left you alone." She sounded slightly more bored than annoyed, which bugged Arnold like a persistent itch.

"No, I mean...about each other. Stuff we've missed. There's a lot to catch up on. We have some time in the car ride, why don't we make the most of it?"

"Yeah, okay, that doesn't sound too bad. You probably won't fuck that up." Helga shrugged. "What do you wanna know?"

"Well, let's start here...how long have you and Brainy been in a band?" Arnold resisted the urge to bite his lip in a moment of anxiety. He was worried he'd be too obvious by going right to the subject of his primary rival.

"Uh, about since we were about 13 I guess? Well," Helga straightened her posture up, counting it off on her fingers. "That's when we reconnected 'cause he stopped being such a weird creep, and really started to hang out. I hadn't been able to do much with a guitar except embarrass myself, but he taught me. Then we just sorta, started noodling around with our guitars and I slapped some poetry to what we wrote and Bob's your uncle, a band."

Arnold felt mild panic. They were evidently very close. Arnold had seen how they played together, first hand. Now, knowing that Brainy had taught her how to play her beloved guitar, and also had been the genesis of her musical talents altogether, he could not escape something that had been bugging him since he watched them play on stage.

Brainy and Helga played guitar together the way most people had sex.

It was an inescapable realization. Anyone who observed the way they moved and worked together on stage would notice the intimacy and familiarity they shared. Hearing the sounds they produced only reinforced the comparison. If Brainy was holding his guitar as his Helga analogue, then Helga was doing the same with hers.

He didn't know what it meant that Helga had destroyed her guitar in a cataclysmic overhead smash into an amp at the end of her show. She said she was done with music. Does that mean she's done with her connection to Brainy through it? Or was it something else?

Why can't I figure her out?

"You guys play pretty incredibly together," Arnold replied. "It's amazing to watch."

"It was amazing. I told you, I'm done with music, Arnold."

"Helga," Phoebe turned from her seat in the passenger seat. "You can't be serious. You've put so much work and effort into your musical talents. Why would you stop?"

Helga bristled the same way she had the last time Arnold asked her the same question. "What difference does it make?! I said I don't want to play music anymore, guitar or bass or anything, and I'm done! That's my choice to make! Who says I have to keep going?"

"It's just such a shame, is all," Arnold gently pressured. "Your music is incredible."

"Tch. You guys are such enablers. Bet you don't say the same thing to Stinky." Helga snarled and returned to resting her chin on her hand and looking out the window with intensely closed off body language. Warning. Danger. Do not engage.

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean," Arnold dared to ask, ignoring all his internal instincts.

"The art he makes when he's fucked up sells so damn well. It's such a shame he has to quit heroin isn't it?!" Helga snapped back.

Arnold, Gerald, and Phoebe sat in stupefied silence, unsure why she'd made such a comparison, but sobered that she had just the same.

"Way to be a fucking downer before we ever get to the damn beach, Pataki," Gerald finally scoffed. "You still a world class party pooper, after all these years."

"Gerald, stop," Phoebe chided him.

"No, it's cool, Phoebe. He's absolutely right. I'm the downer that's going to fuck up this whole beach trip for everyone. Don't forget that."

"Helga," Arnold started, audibly irritated by her sudden-onset shit attitude.

"Arnold," she interrupted him, without taking her eyes off the road rushing by them out the window. "Don't talk to me right now."

Through eyes that were beginning to see the truth of their relationship, the challenges they were facing, the burdens of both their shared and separate pasts, Arnold stared hard at Helga Pataki, within microcosmic certitude that she was completely alien to him. All the Helga he'd seen thus far in Hillwood had been echos, ghostly remnants of their past as ten year olds together. Their baseball field pitching conversation, spoken through the slap of ball into glove, had been two kids chattering about the old days. The party had been Helga's apology for how things ended between them. Their date was where she finally forgave his leaving.

But who was this new woman, sitting next to him in the car and yet a million miles away?

Who is Helga Pataki?

He didn't know anymore. He just hoped he could find out somehow before it was too late. He had five days at a beach house with all their friends to make it happen. Five days to try to fix everything, including his own clearly messed up relationship.

With a heart that now understood the woman he said he loved was so much more than the memories and the mistakes of his past, he decided to try one last time. One more big shot to make the desire in his heart match the truth of his reality. He could tell she would not be making it easy. On top of that, he had a laundry list of serious dramatic issues he had to handle before the trip was over to try to at least get some headway on helping everyone else. He felt threadbare, frayed and stretched into atavistic and opposing directions.

But he was Arnold Shortman. His birth was a miracle during a cataclysm. If anyone could do it, it was him. He just had to pray it wasn't too late with Helga.

"Whatever you say, Helga," came his final reply, while he took the opportunity of a silent car ride to plan his own dramatic gestures. Helga wasn't the only one that could put on a show.

---

A heavy pink duffle bag slumped against the far wall of Brainy's van, thrown there with the finality of someone who was fleeing someplace and never looking back. Helga hurled herself into the passenger seat after having rolled the heavy side door shut with a resonant, explosive slam, and, face a pink-cheeked, tearful mess, commanded Brainy to "Just go."

Brainy slapped his foot down on the gas so hard the engine whined before the tires squealed.

Helga leaned over to watch Big Bob's vanishing figure wave a lonely goodbye in the rearview mirror to his retreating daughter. Something about the way the wind blew his now totally greyed and silvered hair made her heart ache and yearn in devastating homesickness and nostalgia. At seventeen, she'd officially, legally emancipated herself, made off with her birthright, and struck out into the real world a self-made orphan. The new apartment awaited. Brainy had waited until the last possible second to come pick her up.

The van was almost totally empty, save a few boxes of her most precious belongings, their record collection, and their music gear and instruments. Within the steel walls of the white dodge van lay the whole sum of Helga and Brainy's belongings. The seed of a new future. Together.

Brainy drove in silence, bobbing in his captain's chair as the old used van barrelled over potholes. Helga felt miserable, and sorry for herself, and sorry that she had to feel those things at all over a family that barely cared she left. She felt totally desolate, and sick to death of feeling desolate.

They didn't talk the whole ride there. When Brainy's van rolled to a stop along the sidewalk in front of some crappy, decrepit looking brownstone apartments, Helga wiped her face with the sleeve of her black sleeved baseball tee and sniffed the mourning out of herself with finality. This is the place, she steadied herself.

Brian and Helga hadn't even been inside. The urgency of the move had forced them to sign the lease, sight unseen. Usually a very stupid move, but, Helga wasn't about to wait and let Bob change his mind and decide not to sign the papers. As soon as she was free, they were gone.

"It looks like shit," she scoffed. Brainy nodded behind her, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel nervously. "Oh well, it's too fucking late to back out now. Let's go see it."

The two front doors slammed shut, and Helga and Brian stepped out onto the sidewalk to examine the building.

"Criminy, it's hell of dilapidated." Helga noted that the sidewalk was even in shambles, crumbled and shattered along the stoop which was missing one hand railing. "You said the landlord doesn't care about noise?"

"Noise or pets." Brainy nodded, looking up towards the top of the building. He lifted an arm and pointed a long finger at one of the fourth story windows. "That's us."

"Fourth floor. Excelsior. That's gonna be fun to move furniture up."

"We don't have any." Brainy chuckled.

"Yeah well once the trust fund checks start rolling in, expect that to change. There's an IKEA within a day's drive of us, you better believe I'm springing for an Ektorp sectional."

Brainy snickered, and moved to the back of the van to open the double doors up. Helga fished in her pocket for the key he'd given her, the key to their new place, and their new life. Fishing it out, she stared hard at the tiny brass object, roughly toothed and dull. It seemed far heavier than it had any right to.

Helga and Brainy climbed the stairs to their fourth floor apartment, hearing for the first time their footfalls echoing in the old building through the stairwell that twisted up through the building's innards. Their apartment was at the end of the line, top floor, last door on the left. Helga had to jiggle the key slightly into the deadbolt to get the teeth to catch the internal mechanism, her keychains jangling in the effort.

The door swung open finally. A musty smell of old cigarettes and wet drywall stung their senses, rushing out of the dark, unlit, empty cubby hole of an apartment to greet them. "Phew," Helga gasped, holding her nose and stepping into the gloom. Her left hand reached over to fumble blindly for a light switch, hitting it by mistake about two inches lower than you'd expect it to be.

Light filled their new home.

The main living room area bulged out in front of them and to the right of the door, terminating on the furthest right corner into the porch veranda sliding glass door. The kitchen, tiny and fluorescent lit, hugged the left side of the living room and was just to the left of the front door. A single, stubby hall terminated roughly opposite of the front door into three doors; Helga's room, the shared bathroom, then Brainy's room, smaller by half thanks to the balcony and veranda.

It wasn't much. But, to Helga, it was the fresh start she so badly needed. Saying goodbye to Big Bob had been...less than great.

Bob didn't help Helga and Brainy load up her few modest boxes or anything. He didn't even offer. Nobody was expecting to, but it was still kind of irritating for this burly, barrel-chested dude to just stand there and watch things while the two kids - emancipated teenagers, but still kids - hauled her stuff from room to van. When it was all done, and her former bedroom was more or less emptied of everything she still wanted to keep, Bob continued to just stand there, on the stoop, staring at his daughter.

"Well, Bob, that's it. I'll come back for the bed." Helga dusted her hands off on her jeans, trying not to look her father in the eye.

"I'll leave the toolbox by the bedroom door so you can take it apart. Call ahead before you come get it." His unwavering gaze stuck to Helga.

"Probably won't be a day or so before we bother," Helga shrugged. "I'm ready to get out of here."

"You know," Bob started. "I struck out on my own when I was a little older than you. It was my old man, couldn't stand his rules. So I made my own way as soon as I was able."

Helga snorted, crossing her arms and finally looking Bob in the eye. To her surprise, his eyes were a little misty.

"Anyway, I know you made your decision. Just like a Pataki, you'll go your own way. But," emotion seemed to waver his voice just the slightest amount, "Helga, you're the most like your old man. I don't expect you'll call or visit much. But you'll always be my kid."

Helga unfolded her arms, and with shaking hands, hesitated just a moment before she hurled her smaller frame onto Big Bob's chest, and squeezed him in a fierce farewell hug.

"Bye, Dad," she murmured against the aftershave-scented chest of his polo shirt. She didn't feel him move in response, but could hear his heart change pace against her ear.

Her duffle bag had been hucked into the van immediately after, and Helga and Brian peeled out, away from Bob, away from that broken home, and away from the childhood wrecked by everyone that should have loved her.

Now, they were methodically bringing the boxes and bags and music gear up, one floor at a time, making cracks about the workout they'd been getting all day, and trying not to be terrified.

What seemed like a couple of hours later, they'd unpacked some of the kitchen supplies and sorted the entirety of their record collection into the shelved boxes, which were the first things they addressed. Priorities. Helga was sitting on the kitchen floor, her stomach making a hungry ruckus.

"Ugh, dude, we gotta take a food break. I'm starving."

Brian nodded. "There's a bodega down the block."

"Shit, let's go. Spot me five? I'll get you back."

"Don't worry about it, it's on me."

A short trip to the bodega later, and they had two plastic bags filled with junk food and snacks to tide their hunger. Brainy was generous enough to offer to make them nachos, which really just entailed pouring the cheap gas station off brand name jar of queso over the cheap gas station off brand name bag of corn chips. This recipe would never change as long as they lived together.

Helga and Brainy chewed their cheap tasting, but somehow deeply satisfying nachos, and downed sugary drinks with far too much caffeine, and idly discussed the general layout of their living room, and where they'd have to stuff soundproofing material to make recording work. They'd planned on turning their apartment into as good of a recording studio as they could manage and afford, with the intent on putting out an Orphan LP. Helga's songs were coming along nicely, and the last few parties they played for their friends went well. They made a good team.

Helga stared at Brian as he washed the two forks they'd unpacked for the meal, watching the way his shoulders moved while he worked the tongs with a brand new green abrasive sponge, thinking.

"Hey, so," Helga finally found the bravery to speak her mind. "I know you still got feelings for me, dude. Is this gonna be weird?"

Brainy didn't answer her for a good time, he just finished what he was doing, drying the forks off with a towel, before setting them aside. He finally responded, his tone a bit flippant. "Bit late for that."

"Well, yeah, but, you know, I don't wanna...wake up with you staring at me or some shit."

"C'mon, Helga," he turned to look at her. "I stopped doing that stuff a long time ago."

"Yeah." She chewed her lip thoughtfully, a little embarrassed. "It's just, now we're not just friends, we're roommates. I don't wanna...fuck that up."

"It's fine."

"You sure? 'Cause I can't, you know...reciprocate."

"It's fine."

"How can it be fine? I couldn't imagine living with someone I was gaga over and not trying to, y'know, get them on board."

"You can trust me," he shrugged. "I won't do anything. Ever. Not unless you ask me to."

Helga stared up at Brainy. "How can you be like that?"

"What?"

"Just, fuckin', selfless? What did I ever do to deserve that kind of...sacrifice?"

"We're friends."

"I wouldn't hold back on Arnold." Helga very plainly got the elephant in the room out in the open. "Friends or no."

"Still?" Brain just lifted his eyebrows, voice straining just slightly.

"Yep. Still." No amount of trying had shook Arnold free of her. She'd give him away, but, he was still the standard to which all other men, and all other affections she might have towards them, was measured.

"He's been gone for seven years. We were just kids." Brian shook his head. "I don't get it. I didn't get it then, and I really don't get it now."

"Love don't make a lot of sense, dude."

"Tell me about it."

Helga smirked, pushing herself off her butt to stand up. "Well, if you say I don't have to worry about it, I won't worry about it."

"Can I just ask one thing?" Brainy was looking at the floor directly in front of his feet this time, not at her.

"Yeah, sure."

"Why him?"

Helga stared at Brainy. Why him really meant why not me. Brian had been by her side for most of their lives, and had grown up watching Helga. If anyone should know why she loved Arnold, perilously, terminally, fatally loved Arnold, it ought to be Brainy. He'd been there to see her pine over him obsessively as a child, and had watched her since their teenage years had started reading every single one of Arnold's letters with a helpless magnetism in her blood to every syllable he penned. He'd helped her through that terrible night when she finally figured out she'd gotten the last letter some four months before the realization struck. He was always there. He saw it all. So Brian wasn't asking Helga, why him? Brian was asking Helga, why not me?

She'd finally gotten to a place in her life where she didn't need Arnold anymore. That he was out there, doing his best and being a good man, wherever he was, that was good enough. Whoever he was with, whatever adventures he chased, he chose to chase them without her. And she'd allowed him that. She didn't put a single inch of herself in the way, though she wanted to. She even felt like sometimes, maybe she didn't feel that strongly about the Football Head anymore. It had been just a childhood experience, and, she was so much older. An adult, now.

But no matter what she tried, she couldn't shake him from her. She still had idle fantasies of his sudden dramatic return, almost daily. She wrote songs about him. She talked to herself as if she was him in the shower, when she looked up at the nearly starless night sky, and when she was at her most miserable, speaking her truest thoughts to the wind in some ritual that spoke for itself. It wasn't that she needed Arnold to live - she didn't. But she knew that living for her was still something she did with his help.

Brainy, no matter how much she might care for him, no matter how low she might fall and stumble in her life, and no matter how lonely she became would never be Arnold. Couldn't be. Nobody could. Perhaps not even Arnold anymore, if she was honest. And she couldn't drag someone she cared about into that mess. She couldn't even move on from some schoolyard crush, and she clung to those childhood passions like a lifeline. Just imagining trying to make it work with someone else in the meantime was a frightening prospect.

But Brian deserved an answer. An honest one. Something that she could only admit to him and to herself. An intimate secret.

"Without Arnold Shortman, I wouldn't even be the woman you love. There is no Helga without Arnold. That's the sad, pathetic truth. Lila saw it, and it made her pity me. Now you know it. Pretty pathetic, huh? I stand here on my own two legs, I breathe this air and push it out to make these words, and I sing and write my songs. But Arnold gave these legs the strength they need to push me up. He gave my voice the bellows to take that air in. And he is the poetry I try to touch with my music. That's what love is. It's what devotion is. It's being a better person, and wanting to keep going, not because you need someone, but because they inspire you. I do love you, Brian, I really do. I can't thank you enough for everything you do for me, and I can never repay you.

"But Arnold's the other half of the mould they used to cast me. Even if I were to ever be with someone else - and, realistically, of course I will, because he's not coming back and wouldn't have me even if he did - I would be borrowing his ghost and his memory to make it work. I'm not ready to try that yet. I'm not okay enough with it yet. Maybe someday I will ask you to take that leap with me. Maybe. But I can't right now. I won't. And you shouldn't keep waiting for some hypothetical day that I might. It isn't fair to you or to the eligible women of Hillwood to be perfectly frank.

"You're so amazing, Brian. Please don't waste your life like I have waiting. Not for me."

Brian nodded to himself, listening. At last, when she was finished with her lengthy explanation, he seemed satisfied with something. Helga caught her breath in her throat when he stepped towards her, half expecting - and half wanting - him to disregard her and just start kissing her. But instead, he clapped her shoulder as he passed her, and smiled fondly.

"Let's jam."

Relief washed through Helga. If nothing else in her shitty life made sense, at least playing music with Brian did. She hoisted her guitar over her shoulder and plugged in the shitty amp, ready to work out the tension of the day with some much needed shredding. She had a new idea she wanted to try out and Brainy was always game to experiment.

Flashing a smile as dazzling as any sun to her partner, the tiny flickering candlelight of Helga's soul struck up a jarring chord, tending itself with care, trying to push the shadow of Arnold just a bit further away this time. Just a bit further. Her guitar would be her every goodbye and lament, even as Arnold's air pushed through her lungs to sing the songs he put her in soul, and even as she stood on her tiptoes with the strength he put in her legs.

---

The crinkle of all wheel drive tires pulling heavy white gravel between their treads as the vehicle they bore to the beach house pulled into the unpaved driveway dwindled to memory; the percussive resonance of four door latches, and then the specific shifting crunch of eight feet dropping into the sandy drive, and beginning to march away crunch by crunch; the slam of doors; Arnold was afforded the rare opportunity to hear them all thanks to the icy silence that Helga offered him so graciously the rest of the hour drive. The four friends stood in a disparate array, brownian movement principles scattering them as their attention was drawn to the various panoramic sights and views of the coastline and idyllic three story beach mansion. Arnold scanned the area quickly, his attention drawn to Helga with palpable distraction.

Nothing I have planned will work if she cold shoulders me. Arnold had decided earlier in the week that Phoebe and Gerald and Helga and Lila had all been entirely too busy planning and scheming and meddling. There was a time when it was Arnold's crazy schemes that were getting planned to help him meddle. Though he was rusty, he was still the boy in the blue cap at his core, and wouldn't be outdone with grand, dramatic gestures. He'd still have to figure out how or if he would stay in Hillwood, but, it didn't mean he couldn't try one last big adventure to set things right.

But it definitely required that his girlfriend talk to him.

Arnold stared at Helga from behind. She'd pulled on a beach hoodie when the air conditioning in the car got too chilly for her, and had her hands in the thin front pockets. The backs of her powerful legs tensed subtly as she rocked on her heels, chewing bubblegum and blowing a monstrous bubble into the wind. She seemed to be staring out at the crashing surf, deep purple locks whipping in the robust beach breeze behind her.

He felt heartsick with affection for this woman.

He'd figured out this week, he'd always loved her, in some capacity. Even when he tried to do his best to move on after her years of silence, he always felt like he was trying to escape some grand destiny in her. Escaping meant chasing an even more grand purpose, adventuring in the southern hemisphere and trying to change the world with his parents. But it had been so exhausting. Even if he'd had a world-class education with his parents, and had more worldly experience than most people could imagine, it wasn't until he'd finally gotten home again that he'd realized just how badly he needed it. Maybe home didn't mean The Sunset Arms, and maybe it didn't even mean Hillwood; but he was sure without a shadow of a doubt that home meant Helga.

This is what made this troubling new sensation of being unable to reach her so frightening. Where was the Helga that had caught his pitches? Was she even in there, standing there, picking an exploded wad of bubblegum off her cheek with an annoyed snarl? Was the girl with the pink ribbon even here? He couldn't shake the dangerous sensation that he'd screwed up somewhere, and badly.

Which is why his grand gesture was so crazy. And why he hadn't told anyone.

Arnold crunched the chalky white gravel under his caballero boots, walking up behind her. Time to break the ice.

"It's a nice sight," he casually said.

"Mhm," she replied, flicking her glance towards him.

"Wasn't talking about the beach," he teased, hoping some flirting might help. "Actually, I was talking about you."

Helga's cheeks were as pink as her bubblegum. She rolled her eyes and turned away, obviously trying to hide an automatic smile.

"Look, Helga, I didn't mean to upset you in the car ride. I don't really get what's going on with you and your relationship to music, but it sounds complicated. I think you can agree, we pretty much exclusively do complicated."

She snorted, chewing her gum open-mouthed. "Yeah, that's for sure."

"And I wanted to say, I won't push you to do anything. Ever. Not just music. If you ever wanna tell me why you're having a hard time with it, you know I'll listen. Until then," Helga had pushed her index finger to his lips, turned up to him and standing inches apart. She looked up into his eyes with hers, eyebrows knit.

"I've really been kind of a shit, huh?" She asked, her voice sounding so sad. "Arnold, I've...been less than a perfect girlfriend lately. Part of that is disbelief. I mean, I'm Arnold's girlfriend? I'm your girlfriend. I still wake up and don't believe it."

"I can remind you," Arnold smirked, his hands taking her hips. Helga glanced down, and then back up at him.

"This is really hard, you know? And I know I'm doing a shitty job of it. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't partially on purpose."

"But why, Helga, why try to scuttle something you've worked so hard to have for so long?"

"I'm waiting on the feathers and tar," she shrugged. "For the other foot to drop. For something to make it stop working. For the dream to end. And maybe I'm just sick of the anticipation and want to get ahead of it."

She stepped away, hands back in her hoodie pockets. "I want it to last," she looked back at him, agony in her eyes. "I just don't think it will."

Arnold was shocked, and hurt. "You think I'm going to leave you?"

"Well, aren't you? Every time I bring up staying or moving back you dodge the question."

"I just haven't had time to consider the full picture of my future yet," Arnold shook his head.

"Alright then, bucko. You have five days. Consider it."

"I'm probably going to stay," he felt himself becoming angry and annoyed.

"Probably? So I'm supposed to do what with that?"

"Well, who said you have to stay?" Arnold threw the gauntlet down. He'd hoped to save this until later, when he knew for sure what he wanted to do.

Helga rolled her eyes, however. "My degree? My stuff, my family? My friends? Why would I leave?"

"All of that can be somewhere else. Trust me. You can get your degree anywhere. Stuff moves. Your family is a disaster. And besides, family isn't just who you're related to, and people like you and me make our own family. And last, besides Brainy, who else lives in Hillwood that you really want to stick around for?"

Helga rocked on her heels, and bit her lip. Arnold knew he'd have her thinking.

"So, what, are you suggesting if you don't stay in Hillwood I just up and go with you? Follow you around like some lovesick puppy, no destiny of my own that doesn't have you in it?"

"No, that's not what I mean," Arnold started to explain, but Gerald called out to him.

"Hey, Arnold! Need your help man, you two lovebirds can get to romancin' later, we gotta unpack."

Arnold hesitated. "Helga, we have to talk about this later. In the meantime, can we just agree to cool it with the silent treatment?"

Helga threw her hands up. "Fine! I was gonna apologize for that anyway. Sheesh, I don't know what I was thinking, trying to get away from dramatic talks with Arnold Shortman of all people."

"Oh babe, you're my girlfriend now. I hope you are ready to get communicated to." Arnold grinned and turned to go help Gerald and Phoebe. Helga followed suit.

"Shit, you communicate? Damn I bet you probably remember birthdays too."

"And anniversaries. Like clockwork. I hope you like surprise grand romantic gestures."

"Oh great," she rolled her eyes, although Arnold could see the stupid, sloppy grin plastered across her face. "Because that's what I want, a communicative and thoughtful boyfriend."

"God it's hard to be you."

"It's the worst."

Things felt easier after their talk. They helped move the cooler full of a week of food and supplies to the large first floor kitchen, which had been totally modernized with dark granite countertops, recessed lighting, stainless steel appliances and back splashes, and a big central island with an array of copper pots hanging above from an old French kitchen style chandelier wrought in black iron and brass. Arnold remembered staying at this exact beach house as a kid once, with Helga. The pataki's hadn't owned the place yet back then, but Bob apparently had taken a liking to it.

The first floor was dominated by the kitchen and large central living room and conversation pit, a slightly lowered recessed area ringed with lounging couches and cushions, to create artificial intimacy. Two very large flat screen televisions flanked the room, one above a black stone fireplace and the other hanging off a wall adjacent to the kitchen. Stairs turned the corner on the wall opposite the front French doors, to a second floor with four bedrooms. The third floor had three more. Six bathrooms were tucked in between rooms along hallways, with a big one on the first floor.

The whole house had an interesting mix of dark, warm colors, and the expected nautical theming to the decoration. Big shells sat profoundly on tables and bookcases, miniature ships were scattered throughout, and portraits of foggy lighthouses could be found hither and thither throughout the manse.

This would be where it all happened.

Arnold and Helga claimed a room on the second floor, near the stairs. It had a single queen bed and an overall cozy atmosphere. Helga tossed her pink duffle bag onto the bed and flopped her torso behind it, bouncing on the almost too-springy mattress. The headboard rattled against the wall when she rocked the bed. Arnold noticed her notice that, grin wickedly, and rock the bed with her hips and shoulders.

She glanced up at Arnold while the headboard knocked around on the wall, mischief in her eyes. "We're gonna keep our neighbors up~"

Arnold rolled his eyes and snickered. "Have you always been such a horn dog, Hornga?"

"What did we say about that name?" Helga tosses a decorative pillow into Arnold's face. "And yes! Since puberty. Helga runs hot, always has. It's a miracle you were my first," she suddenly slapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide, full of dismay and shock.

"Whoa, hold on, I was your first time?" Arnold's grin spread, overtaking his wide football shaped head.

A thin, high shriek of horror left Helga, muffled slightly by her hands. She frantically grabbed for a second decorative pillow, and yanked it over to cover her quickly reddening face.

"Dude, hold on," Arnold laughed, scooting over to the bed and climbing over Helga, straddling her with his knees and attempting to pry the pillow free. Her iron grip refused to release it. "Hahaha, Helga, answer me!"

"No!" Came her muffled shouted reply.

A brief struggle ensued as Arnold, laughing, attempted to wrench the pillow off Helga's face while she, growling and snarling, held on for dear life. Arnold eventually triumphed, though it was part in due to Helga voluntarily releasing the pillow once she could tell he would not relent. Arnold tossed the pillow away, smiling down at the pouting, scowling girl he loved, her hair and short trimmed bangs in messy disarray.

"There's my girl," he fondly cooed, cupping her face. "Aww, and what a face, sourpuss."

Helga snarled at his teasing, and popped him with a fist in his shoulder. "Jerk!" she growled.

Arnold laughed, holding his smarting, quickly numbing arm. "Hahahaha, hey! Ouch! Watch it. I'm just tickled is all."

"I'm so glad my sex life is such a bountiful source of amusement for you, asshole."

"It's not funny, so much as it is surprising."

"Why the hell is it surprising?!"

"I mean, I guess I just sort of expected that you wouldn't hesitate if someone caught your fancy."

"I wouldn't. Do you not recall the last week or two? I am bruised and pulpy from overuse."

Arnold curled his lip at her vivid description and snickered in his response. "So, what, you've just been a celibate nun this whole time, until I showed back up?"

Helga chewed her bottom lip, still red in her cheeks and obviously embarrassed. "Nobody else passed muster."

Arnold smiled down at her, just overwhelmed with fondness for this woman. "I'm glad I made the cut."

"Sheesh! Get off me, you big lug!" Helga pushed Arnold off of her, and sat up, rubbing her cheeks with her hands. Arnold laughed freely, falling onto his back and folding his hands onto his belly.

"I really would have thought Brainy would have been tempting."

Helga whipped her head around to stare at him. "Why would you say that?"

"What? He's handsome, tall, creative, and totally in love with you."

Helga's face twisted around a few emotions at once, turning between angry, embarrassed, and confused, eventually settling on a horrible grimace that combined all three. "What?!"

"What? It's no big deal."

"What the fuck, Arnold!"

"Why are you so upset? I'm just pointing it out."

"Argh! Because, you, you stupid man! This is like, sensitive shit! Thin ice! Dangerous ground!"

"I'm not threatened by him or anything," Arnold felt the lie in his own statement, but continued. "I think it's sweet. He's done a good job watching your back anyway."

"Ugh! What the fuck is with you and Brainy lately?! It's like I can't spend time with either one of you without you bringing the other up!"

"Oh, he talks about me?" Arnold's eyebrows went up.

"All this week! Arnold this and Arnold that. I make one stupid suggestion and he falls all over himself with this clingy damn bullshit behavior. You know he went and bought me a new guitar when I specifically told him not to?!"

Dodged a bullet there, Arnold breathed in. "He did? Was it pink?"

Helga blinked, shrugging. "Of course. How'd you know?"

"It's what I would have done."

"UGH!" Helga stood up, pacing the small room impatiently. "I'm so sick of men ignoring what I say and just doing whatever they feel like!"

Arnold watched his girlfriend cross the tiny room a dozen or so times, her hands working and gesticulating furiously while she ranted. He could tell this pressure had been building, and what's worse, he'd contributed.

"I can't even express any kind of honest pain to a guy without them trying to make it work for their own ends! I'm sick of it!"

"Hey, calm down, I didn't know you didn't want a new guitar."

"Oh really?! Criminy, what does I'm done with music mean to you?!"

"I didn't say I was right, I just said it's what I thought. You set me plenty straight on that particular topic, trust me."

Helga snorted. "At least you listen the fiftieth time. Ugh, I can't believe I am having to rant about this moments after confessing I was a virgin when we finally had sex."

"Yeah, well, that's my fault."

"It is! And it's not like I was holding onto my virtue for you or anything like that, so don't get the wrong idea!"

"It hadn't even crossed my mind."

"It's not like I didn't have ample opportunities or I wasn't tempted or anything!"

"I'm sure you did."

"And yeah, Brainy is pretty hot and he would have completely rocked my world at my slightest suggestion, but I couldn't do that to him!"

Arnold listened intently.

"He's like, my brother, or something. My platonic soulmate. I couldn't just use him to get my jollies like that. If I was gonna sleep with Brainy it would have to mean something. And that baby is thrown out with the bathwater now, so it's moot."

"I wasn't suggesting you give it a shot," Arnold chuckled despite himself, and the obvious tension in their conversation. "I was just saying, I can't say in your shoes I would have been so decent and noble."

"Oh yeah?! What about Lila, while we're on the subject!" Helga squared off with him, and for an instant Arnold recalled the flash of her fist across the room in that naked instant he told her he'd been engaged.

"She tried to seduce me once, after her dad and stepmom passed. But she was stupid drunk on bourbon and I just put her to bed. We kissed, though."

Helga seemed to calm. "Well, she was your fiancé, so I guess a kiss is expected. I'm still entitled to be mad about that."

Arnold smiled. "For how long?"

"As long as you were engaged to her plus a day for good measure, jerk. Ugh. Okay, so, what, was it your first time, too?"

Arnold noticed the slight waver in her voice as she asked him this, an unmistakable tenor of hope layered beneath an angry bravado.

"Yep."

Helga seemed to uncoil. "Oh. Huh." She turned away, but Arnold was certain he saw her try to force a smile down into a scowl as she turned. "H-h-how about that."

"And maybe I am a bit more old fashioned like you think, because I held onto my first time consciously. I wanted it to mean something, stupid I know."

"It IS stupid. Nobody should care about how many times their partner has done it before them!" Helga still had her back to him, shaking slightly.

"But it's okay. I don't mind doing something stupid if I think it will mean something in the end. And, honestly Helga? It paid off." Arnold stood up off the bed, and walked over to her. "Call me stupid, call me old fashioned, call me a hopeless romantic, but I was so, so happy that it got to be with you in such a special moment."

"Agh, fuck," Helga hiccupped, turning to push her face into his chest. "Why are you like that when I am trying so damn hard to stay grounded."

"Like what?" Arnold smiled and hummed a happy note as he felt her face squirm against his collarbones. "Schmaltzy?"

"Ugh, yes. I love schmaltz. Don't you ever tell anyone that I do, but...ugh, I love it so fucking much." Her fists balled into his shirt at his shoulders, and he felt her breathing against him slowly.

"My lips are sealed, at least until I find an appropriately embarrassing moment to harass you."

Helga smacked his shoulders with the flats of her palms. "Quiet. You're ruining the special moment."

Arnold held her for a few moments like that, doing his best to keep his busy thoughts quieted so that he could just enjoy the experience instead. Finally, he had to speak up.

"Hey," he said gently. "You know we'll be okay, no matter what, right?"

Helga looked up at him. "No matter what what?"

"I mean...like, if we break up." He didn't want to think of that possibility. It seemed insane to even say the words, when their relationship felt perched precariously enough as it was. "It wouldn't mean we went back to never talking again. I won't just disappear again."

She searched his face for a long time, inches away from him but seeming so far away within the crystal blue of her gaze. "You so sure about that, Football Head?"

"Positive. Even if I leave Hillwood and you stay, somewhere down the line. I'd keep writing to reach you. You'd write back this time, right?" Arnold had to look away from her, too caught up in the merest idea of being apart from her again, and the vast, emptying feeling of dread he felt regarding that destiny.

"Yes." No hesitation. "That's a promise."

"Good. Keep in mind, if I have anything to say about it, this won't ever come up. But I just wanted you to know regardless, if something happens and we end up apart again somehow - after exhausting all possible options - I'd only ever be a phone call or a letter away. I'd cross hemispheres to spend time with you, even just as friends. I already did, once. I'd do it again. Hell," Arnold felt emotion knot itself in his throat, and he dared to look down at her. "I'd come be an usher at your wedding, if it meant seeing you happy."

"Shit," Helga hissed, and pushed her eyes back into his shirt. "Don't talk like that. I won't marry anyone, can you imagine me as someone's wife?"

Arnold nodded. "It's not so hard to imagine for me actually."

"It is for me! I am serious here - that domestic life, it doesn't suit me. A husband, a mortgage, kids...PTA meetings…" Helga shuddered against him involuntarily. "No thanks. Besides, thanks to Big Bob and Miriam, I don't exactly have a good model to go by."

"That's not what every marriage is," he urged. "Divorce, anger counseling, addiction. Miles and Stella, mom and dad I mean, they didn't do half of that."

"And look where it landed you."

"True," Arnold hummed. "Living half my life not knowing if my parents were alive or dead was...not great."

"It took you away from your home is what it did."

"True again. But I'm not suggesting that you have a kid and leave him in guardianship with your mom and dad while you trek the globe righting wrongs. I'm just saying...the idea of you, as a wife…"

Helga looked up at him, something terrible, something final in her eyes.

"Appeals to me."

Her mouth closed around his, and Arnold squeezed his eyes shut at the force of her passion. Somehow, no matter how many times she kissed him, it always felt like she was knocking all the air out of his chest and replacing it with furnace fire. It didn't just make him weak when she kissed him like that, it made him crazy. He had to grab hold of her shoulders just to remind himself he was still on Earth.

But why did it sort of, fleetingly, almost feel like she was kissing him goodbye?

---

"I'm telling ya, Brains, this beach house is real swank. Big screen TVs, full mini bar, and miles of private beach scenery to chew pensively. Bob spared no expense, finally doing something right in his miserable career. It's just what we need."

Helga smiled over at her tall, awkward friend, who was driving them to the spot where they'd record and cut their first album together. The past year living with him had been great, far better than she'd imagined even in her most optimistic dreams. It turns out, when you don't live with the wreckage of an alcoholic and a rich blowhard, life could actually have some nice qualities to it. Having any kind of regular groceries in the fridge was a new concept to Helga, who usually lived off trashy snack foods and diner garbage. Brainy cooked. Nothing too fancy, but when even your typical Thanksgiving dinners were takeout and candy, a hot, home cooked meatloaf was basically Nectar and Ambrosia.

On top of that, he was clean. He cleaned things. He picked up discarded clothing, trash left in not-trashcan places, and even washed clothes. He was so clean it actually got Helga off her ass to do some chores from time to time. She needed someone like that in a roommate. She could just imagine the disaster living with Phoebe would have been, for example. She loved her best friend dearly, but the girl was particular. Brian was accommodating.

Luckily, so was their landlord. When the building manager had said they didn't care about noise, they apparently meant it. Helga and Brian would often play their music at any volume they pleased, well into the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning.

As soon as Bob had accidentally let the detail that he'd bought a frigging beach house slip, however, Helga was scheming to get the keys in her hot little paws ASAP. It took some convincing, and really, a lot of lying, but Bob relented.

"I need someone to air out the place anyway," was his gruff way of allowing the two teens to crash the new pad together. And, his condition of "No parties."

Helga didn't intend for anything of the sort. All she wanted was a nice, long weekend away from HIllwood, away from freshman university classes, and away from the inescapable absence of Arnold's letters. They'd slowed to a mere three times a year - her birthday, Christmas, and Valentine's Day, that sap - but shortly after she'd moved in with Brainy and her birthday had swung by with no letter, and the long gulf of time between then and Christmas expanded before her with a threatening emptiness, she'd been looking for ways to stop thinking about how he wasn't writing her anymore. Then Christmas came, and no letter came. Then Valentine's day, and then her birthday again.

And that was Arnold done writing her.

She'd done a lot of thinking about why they stopped, and what could have pulled her thoughtful boy from the writing desk in such a way as to leave her with only silence. Sure, she hadn't written him back except once, but, his letters were always so forgiving of her silence. They'd drifted into a tone that was chummy. Cordial. Politely distant. But they'd never stopped. And here she was, pretty sure she'd never hear from or see Arnold again, and chewing on what that meant, and Bob accidentally slips in the phrase "My beach house" into a conversation, and, well, you don't spit in Opportunity's face when she comes bearing gifts.

But Arnold was thousands of miles away, and Hillwood was a few dozen, and pretty soon the only thing looking at her would be Brainy and the Sun. She'd been used to both her whole life. Getting away would be more than just nice, it would be a sorely needed escape.

Pulling into the private beach drive of the La Costa Nueva residential development, you didn't see very many houses. That was on purpose. Each house in the development had enough private land surrounding it for a buffer zone that you rarely had to see or acknowledge your neighbors. Helga remembered the last time she'd been here, and it had been a much more public beach. But, time passes, and beachfront property gets bought up by wealthy hedge fund companies, and pretty soon the nice public beach that your three story beach house backed up to is a long expanse of private property.

Helga whistled when she saw it. Brian nodded in agreement. Bob had done well in the advent of the smart phone. He'd been smart and gotten out of beepers before the dot com bubble burst, and gone in hard on blackberry and mobile devices. By the time the iPhone 3 had released, he was sitting on a small empire of licensed resellers for Apple, Android, and even Windows phones. It helped that Hillwood didn't have any official retail stores for the big guys, and his little empire of beeper stores translated well into a little empire of mobile carrier brick and mortar locations. It made him rich.

Beach house rich.

They pulled up and parked under the shade of a big, crooked palm tree, stepping into the sandy gravel with crunchy steps. Helga's flip flops immediately filled with white-hot sand, and she cussed and danced to get them off her feet, only that made her dance and cuss when her bare soles touched the burning sand itself, and she had to half skip, half leap onto the steps of the encircling porch to keep her feet from burning off. She was scowling and slapping the red, angry soles of her long feet when Brian marched up the steps with a grin.

"Shut up," she smirked. "How's it look? Pretty swanky right? The benefits of a deadbeat dad with an offshore bank account."

Brian snickered, and stepped into the porch to get a better look around. Helga followed him, dodging a few errant red wasps that were occupying a nest or two in the overhang of the second floor. With the slightly higher vantage point, their walk around the back of the house finally exposed the completely expected, but always awesome view of the ocean itself. A short walkway of weathered wood snaked through the dunes that separated the large yellowing lawn that bulged out of the back of the house, leading to the white-yellow sands of the beach itself. Everything felt sticky, and smelled warm and salty, and Helga felt really good.

"Fuck, I'll never get tired of seeing that." Helga sighed, standing beside Brian to enjoy the sheer spectacle of the view. Brian nodded, unable to add anything except mute agreement.

They unloaded their musical gear quickly. After an hour or so fussing back and forth with where they'd have to put the recording equipment to get the right sound quality and fidelity they needed, and finally deciding on the attic where their modest amount of soundproofing material could cover the most ground, they left their instruments to get to the important work of doing nothing whatsoever in as drunk a manner as possible.

Helga was enjoying the twisty way her cerveza was cradling her brain pan, laid out on a reclining adirondack chair in the slightly yellowing grass of the back yard, and just really, really, really enjoying not having to think about Arnold for once.

Which of course was a way of thinking about Arnold without admitting that she was.

Brian was fussing with the chintzy firepit they'd found under a wheelbarrow, and rolled out onto the sandiest part of the backyard to obviously put to use. The house had firewood in abundance, stacks of cords of post oak about five feet tall up against the back porch, and definitely infested with snakes. They had mind to turn at least some of that nasty wood into a good time by means of a mostly contained fire, with the aid of alcohol and a temporary total lack of responsibility.

Helga watched Brian, as she often did when they were alone, and wondered about their friendship, as she often did drunk, and wondered if she should bite the bullet and sleep with him finally, as she often did when they were alone and she was drunk. A beach house getaway was a perfectly acceptable place to hop in the sack with someone, and it seemed wasteful to have so many bedrooms and not try them all out. She rolled her Dos Equis in her hand, watching the squished lime inside the bottle blunder around the lingering few sips of her beverage, and gave serious thought to just letting nature take its course once the sun went down.

They were adults. They were drinking and having a good time. They were attracted to each other and liked each other. It seemed silly not to have sex.

Except, inevitably, always, her thoughts returned to sports metaphors for getting laid, which led her down the short mental pathway to football, and viola, there was the potential evening of casual penetration spoiled. Cognitive association is a motherfucker that way.

So she stewed in a perfectly frustrated state of wanting to get laid, having the means at her disposal, and the opportunity in abundance, but lacking the final emotional piece of the sexual jenga game of her libido. She just couldn't. So instead she sat and watched Brian finally get the firepit started, and thought about sex between breaths, and felt the lovely false freedom from the ghost of a little boy in a blue cap that stubbornly stuck with her no matter how much she was specifically not thinking about him at all.

Brainy slumped into a chair next to her, brimming with pride at the tiny, flickering flame of a fire he'd managed to get started in the small dark circle of the fire pit. A few logs of post oak stood in rough approximation of a teepee, with the gathered sticks and palm leaves at their empty epicenter flaming up nobly from the bellows of a coastal breeze.

"Nice," Helga nodded. "We should roast marshmallows. Did we bring any?"

"Nope. But the pantry had a bag."

"Nice. Man, good guy Bob. Or I guess I should say, good guy Bob's housekeeping agency."

Once the sun had set a little, and dusk began to creep her lavender blanket over the beach view, the firepit took an almost mystic orange cast to it, leaping shadows from invisible hiding places around the backyard, and filling the sticky beachside air with the hot scent of char and smoke. Helga and Brian, now with their instruments, noodled without aim and with the inexpert clumsiness of two drunks beside the fire, searching for that perfect beach hit song in the awkward noisome tumult they pulled out of wood and string.

It was like this that Orphan wrote, finished, and recorded their first and only album. At the beach they laughed and played, swimming as far as they dared under threat of shark and riptide, and in the house they drank and ranted drunk thoughts about life and the universe together. At the firepit they boasted and told tall tales, and wrote stupid silly songs about nothing whatsoever. In the attic they found their discipline between the spaces of comfort and leisure, and put that relaxation to good use to cut their best performances yet. It came together, piece by piece, and literally nothing in Helga's life had felt more perfect.

When she was with Brian alone, things just made sense. Nothing was ever like that anywhere else, or with anyone else. Catching for Arnold was the only thing that had ever gotten close. She could be totally, utterly, unapologetically Helga. And she could do this not just comfortably but unapologetically, simply doing whatever felt natural and saying whatever came to mind. Songs fell from her fingers and poured from her lips as easy as anything. Being Helga felt like an okay thing to be.

When they packed up at the end of the week, having decided to stay three days longer than they originally intended to finish the whole LP, Helga felt absolutely desolate. Not for the loss of such a sacred space to her, or for longing to remain at the house together with Brian, but for the fact that she was convinced she'd never, ever feel that good again. How could she?

And even when she was convinced, all but certain, that there'd never be another experience anything like coming to the beach house with Brainy and cutting their first album together, the thing that made her the most sad was without question that it was still not as perfect as it could have been. Because even though she'd spent every waking moment on this vacation, utterly, totally devoid of his presence in her life, Helga was unable to discard the inevitable truth: it wasn't with Arnold. Brain wasn't him, and couldn't be him for her, and no amount of silent forgiveness, acceptance, and consideration could magically undo this immutable fact.

Brian was Brian. Arnold was Arnold. One could never substitute for the other, and in Helga's rubric, there was only one ultimate.

The tears Helga held back as they pulled back and away from the magic of that week together were building in her cheeks in mourning. Even something perfect was less without him.

And that is when she knew that there was no such thing as a happy ending.

---

Nadine and Rhonda were the first to show up. Arnold was helping Phoebe unpack the supplies they'd brought, and a little concerned that there was perhaps too much fruit for the week. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen this many pomegranates in a single spot before, much less the pyramid she'd had him stack carefully to hide their stems.

"I'll show you a very novel way to eat these later," she'd said with a sunny smile. "There's a lot of crushing and squishing. It's quite visceral."

Arnold had no clue how she intended to eat one of those things, but he was pretty certain crushing and squishing would just make a mess. "O-oh, that sounds interesting," he replied.

"By the way," she began slowly. "How are things with Helga?"

"Uh, pretty good."

"Really?"

"Yeah...why?"

Phoebe looked at him over her glasses, one of her hips nudged out, a hand on it. "Arnold, you do realise she's my best friend that I've known since I was three. I can read her pretty well. I know something's amiss. So you're either being intentionally dishonest, or you're just really obtuse. And you're an especially empathic person, so I am fairly certain it's not the latter, but the former."

Arnold almost choked at her blatantancy. "Wow, you get right to the point don't you."

"You can thank LIla for that," she sniffed with the faintest air of indignity. She lifted a bag of rice out of a paper bag, patting it patiently. "Which is it?"

"I guess I can tell something's up with her. I was hoping it was just the stress of the whole...everything. She hasn't had a good week."

"No, although we are both to blame for that one." Phoebe patted Arnold's hand patiently this time. "Have you talked to her about this?"

"Yeah, a bit, earlier when we first got the rooms sorted. The conversation sort of...wandered around, though. I didn't get much out of her."

"Helga's not a very subtle person, nor is she very secretive. The most likely explanation is probably the correct one."

Arnold shrugged. "I think she's unhappy with how things ended up."

"Care to explain?"

"I dunno...I can't put my finger on it, but I get the distinct impression she is trying to put some distance between us. Which feels crazy, considering all the hard work we put in to get...you know, together."

"She's anxious."

"You think?"

"She has changed her hair exactly twice in her life. Once, during what was likely a dissociative episode, brought on by...well, you know. The second time, she was perfectly in her faculties. I think she's anxious about something happening to her."

"She asked me if I was gonna stay or not." Arnold stopped unpacking the groceries, and shrugged. "I told her I wasn't sure yet."

"Oh good grief, Arnold! You told her that?!" Phoebe pinched the bridge of her nose beneath the wire frame of her glasses, squinting her eyes shut. "What the hell?"

"Well, I wasn't going to lie. And the truth is, I'm still not sure. Everything that's happened since I came back...I'm not sure there's a place for me here anymore. Even the boarding house will be no home to me with Lila under lock and key there. I just don't know that I want to stick around somewhere that isn't...home."

"Helga is afraid you're going to leave again, and is pre-empting the expected disaster with her own exit. That much is obvious."

"Yeah, but, I never said I was going to leave her behind."

"Take her with you? Is that what you suggest?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

Phoebe crossed her small thin arms under her breasts, looking at Arnold square in the face. "You'd better be thinking longer term than what you're giving me the impression here, if you intend to uproot Helga's life to drag her along for whatever future you see for yourself. I won't tolerate something so selfish as to just wing it with her heart and her future. Neither will she, for that matter."

Arnold winced under the awfully intimidating, suddenly authoritarian glare of his tiny friend. He was not expecting this kind of reprimand.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I was thinking of the future pretty long term…" Arnold hesitated, not sure he wanted to just say what he'd had in mind, so unceremoniously. It felt like it would cheapen the boldness of his grand romantic gesture. "As long term as it gets, actually."

Arnold patted his pocket with special emphasis, nodding slowly at a gawking Phoebe. "I was thinking proposing a specific long term scenario to Helga here, as a matter of fact."

Phoebe lifted her hands to her mouth, and seemed to be struggling to work out the lunacy of his suggestion. "Arnold, no, you can't mean...you really, really need to rethink this. Think about it for a long time. Take a considerably longer amount of time than you have been to consider this."

"Trust me, I've been thinking about this for awhile. Since the party, since coming home, since Lila, since the jungle, since I left." Arnold looked out one of the windows, seeing that Rhonda and Nadine had arrived and were walking up the porch steps. "I can't talk about it in front of anyone else, especially not Rhonda. Can I trust you not to tell anyone?"

Phoebe clenched her fists at her sides. "Arnold PHILLIP Shortman! Don't you dare!"

The front door swung open, and in stepped Rhonda, wearing a perfectly curious expression. "Don't you dare do what?" She looked between the two of them, pushing her rolling designer suitcase through the foyer into the main family room.

Arnold thought quickly. "Wear a thong bathing suit! It's the fashion in South America, so it's all I brought with me."

Rhonda clucked her tongue, wagging her finger as she passed the pair towards the stairway. "Major mistake, Arnold. This is hardly the climate for that kind of boldness. Although I wouldn't mind seeing you all tucked in. Everyone likes a nice gift basket, even if it isn't Easter."

Arnold found himself stammering, face a rush of red. Nadine passed him shaking her head. "Never give that girl an opportunity, Arnold. She's incorrigible."

"I-it's the second bedroom to the left!" He finally called out as the pair made their way upstairs to the bedrooms to get settled.

"I'll find the way," Rhonda called in a sing-song voice, and after a few more moments they were alone again. Phoebe whipped around and grabbed Arnold's sleeve.

"We worked really hard to get you guys talking and figuring out your feelings, and you're going to go do this incredibly short-sighted thing all over again!"

Arnold patted her hand. "Phoebe, when I suggested to Lila that we get married, it was mostly out of a misguided sense of obligation on my part. Of course, real affection confused me, but, it was my sense of doing the right thing that got me caught up in that mess. This is different."

"I fail to see any difference."

"I'm in love with Helga, for one. Secondly, she thinks I'm about to leave her. I feel like this will put her mind to ease on that particular issue. Thirdly...she taught me, a long time ago, that there's a lot of beauty in just letting go of my fears, anxieties, and intentions, and to just let my instincts handle things. She also taught me that she'd be there, always, to catch whatever I pitch."

"But this isn't baseball! This is your lives!"

Arnold shook his head. "Phoebe, it's the same. I can't really explain it, but, I know if I ask, she'll say yes."

"God, you're crazy. I believe Gerald would say you're bold...but are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I know this is right. I feel nothing but good about this...it's what I want. I think it's what she wants, too. So, why wait?"

"To get to know each other again, for starters. You've spent so much time apart!"

"This will afford us all the time we need to get acquainted. Besides, I know Helga. So she's a bit different than I remember exactly? She's still the same Helga Pataki, deep down. The one I love."

Phoebe sat down at the kitchen table, seemingly at a loss. "There's nothing I can do to persuade you away from this course of action, is there?"

"Nope." Arnold grinned his characteristically wide, mischief-riddled smile.

"Fine. My lips are sealed. But you don't have my blessing, yet. There's still a lot of unresolved mess you have to sort out first. Promise me you won't do this until then?"

"How about this...if I don't get the okay from you this trip to, heh, pop my little question, I'll do it when we get back. Deal?"

"At least that will buy her some time. Fine. Deal."

The two friends shook hands, although Phoebe's grip felt cold, clammy, and unsteady. "Don't worry so much, Phoebe, I got this."

"I just think you're just repeating the mistakes of the past, personally, but...I do love you. Very much. Even though we've spent so much time apart, you're still like a brother to me. And even if I disagree with your timing, and I must reiterate that I disagree with all emphasis and vigor, I would nevertheless be proud to make that relationship more official."

Arnold kept grinning. "If all my plans for this trip work out, you'll get to see something very special at the end. Sid knows a guy, and I know Sid, and Sid owes me big time."

"What does that mean?"

"Fireworks."

Phoebe laughed percussively, disarmed and totally charmed by Arnold's idea despite herself. "You really did think ahead. That's pretty spectacular...in that case, I'll root for your ability to persuade me. But first things first, you have to turn Helga's gloomy mood around. Do you want this memory for her to be of when she'd had a miserable beach trip? You need to be more thorough than that."

Arnold nodded, and was about to suggest something when the front door opened again.

"Damn, nice place." Sid sniffed with his prominent nose, looking around, standing at the threshold. He was wearing the most garish parrot and palm tree laden turquoise tropical button up shirt Arnold had ever seen, even in all his travels in the Caribbean and the tropical Americas. It was hanging open, revealing a black muscle tee and a gold chain hanging off his neck. He had scarlet red chino shorts and some flip flops that were probably more expensive than they looked. His shaggy black hair was held in place by a rickety looking straw hat. Notably absent was Stinky, normally his perfect shadow.

"Sid, glad you could make it. I was just talking about your little contribution."

"Heh, yeah. I made sure to bring the stuff. The whole back half of my ride is full. Enough shit to break as many laws as we feel like breaking. What's the point of all this anyway?"

Phoebe's eyes went wide. "Just how spectacular are you planning for this to be, Arnold?"

Arnold grinned, striding confidently towards Sid. He clapped him on the shoulder warmly. "Oh it'll be unforgettable, won't it?"

"Couple hundred pounds of fireworks? Yeah, boy howdy, it'll stick to memory pretty good." Sid rolled his shoulder free of Arnold's hand. "Still ain't answered me what this is all for. I'd like to know since I'm the sucker setting it all up."

"It's a surprise, Sid. Trust me." Arnold's characteristic wide smile seemed to disarm anyone, even the visibly tense Sid. The shorter guy sniffed and thumbed his nose, affecting a smile which apparently couldn't be helped when around Arnold's infectious grins.

"Well I owe you at least that much. Wanna help me unload the stuff?"

"Sure, I'll be out in a second. I gotta help Phoebe with one more thing."

Sid shrugged and hopped back down the wide porch steps, leaving them alone once more. Arnold turned to Phoebe.

"I hope you can see I am not just coming to some sort of equitable solution, and that I am serious about this. About Helga."

Phoebe sighed, waving her hand. "Your sincerity was never in question, Arnold. It's how you're going to make any of this work, and if you've given your choice the appropriate amount of gravity in the decision making process. But, Helga is nothing if not a hopeless romantic. A gesture of this magnitude...it won't be taken lightly. I suppose, for now, you have my temporary approval."

Arnold beamed her a wide grin. "I'm glad we had this talk, Phoebe. We ought to talk a lot more."

"If you go through with your plan, we will be."

"Oh don't worry. It's happening." Arnold moved to go assist Sid, smiling with a newfound confidence.

All he had to do was do everything right. How hard could it be?

---

The rest of the gang showed up one by one.

Eugene finally pulled up in his Ford Pinto, easing the death trap of a car into the shade beneath a palm tree with grim focus. Arnold watched him, sipping a cerveza and wondering if the hapless boy was going to make it the twenty feet to the porch without some additional misfortune. As luck would have it, he was able to carry his little white suitcase the short distance with only one stumble and fall.

"Hey, Arnold. I'm okay." Eugene dusted his white chinos from the sand and grass of the fall, accepting the full arm-clapping embrace Arnold swung him into. He ran a hand through his ginger hair with the nervous air of someone heading to the electric chair; the fact that many of his childhood bullies, notably Rhonda, were also staying the week was not lost on Arnold. But he was confident that old, bad air and grievances could be settled at last, with his help.

"I'm so glad you came, Eugene." Arnold grinned. "Need any help getting up to your room? Rhonda and Nadine are 'correcting the decor' whatever that means, but otherwise the rooms are more or less up for grabs. Oh, and Sid is here too, but he's helping Gerald get the barbecue cleaned off."

"Barbecue huh?" Eugene eyed the structure of the beach house. "It's pretty windy, is barbecue the safest idea?"

What a skittish little dude, Arnold thought. "Yeah, it's fine, the pit's on the leeward side of the place. Plus, I bought like six fire extinguishers, so we're set."

"Six?!" Eugene balked at the ridiculous number.

"Oh, well...yeah. We need them for...stuff. You'll see. It'll be fine. Don't worry so much. Do you need help grabbing a room?"

"No, I'm all set, thanks. Which floor is Rhonda on?"

"Second."

"I'll grab a third floor room. Thanks, Arnold. I'm...going to try to have a good time."

He's still deeply hurt by what Rhonda and Lila did to him. Arnold put on his winningest smile. "You're guaranteed to have a great time."

"Thanks, we'll see. Where's Helga? I wanted to thank her."

"Thank her? For what?"

"Well, she finally caught Lila for everyone. I haven't thanked her in person for going through all of that."

"Oh." Arnold still hadn't accepted the full ramifications of Lila's ultimate betrayal of everyone, himself. He hadn't really addressed it with Helga, either. They talked, briefly, about the whole ordeal, but Helga made it clear she was about as excited to discuss that topic as she was the topic of their future together. It was fraught territory, and Arnold was keen to avoid peril.

"Yeah...and, I guess I owe you some sort of apology, too." Eugene sheepishly looked away, hoisting the white suitcase in two hands. His salmon polo shirt blew in the ocean breeze slightly, exposing the young man's small, taut abdomen briefly.

"No, you really don't. Besides, I have a plan for everyone to get all that stuff out and off their chests. But like, much later. Maybe day two, or three."

Eugene smiled and moved to the front door of the beach house, shaking his head. He seemed to have seen something like that coming. "Of course Arnold has a plan to save everyone. Well, I'll save my gratitude for the appropriate time, I guess. Third floor it is. Thanks, Arnold."

Arnold assured his friend it was nothing to concern himself with too terribly much. Arnold watched the waning candle of Eugene take himself up the stairs and disappear through the screened windows. I've got to make sure he gets his confidence back somehow.

Thaddeus was next. Arnold was expecting him to crash the beach house with his expensive cars, and make a huge spectacle of himself, but to his surprise he merely showed up in a cab. He was still wearing what looked like frighteningly expensive clothes, but at least he was, more or less, not showing his ridiculous wealth off like a childhood merit badge.

He rolled his suitcase through the sand, and Arnold watched with impatience. He really didn't like who Curley had become. He wasn't really sure what was going on with him growing up, but he'd become the symbol of everything he'd grown to loathe in the world during his time globetrotting and adventuring with his parents. Arnold was used to people like Curly being the monetary backer behind the worst of the things he'd seen; Money had become his primary adversary, and it was not a prejudice he easily shed. Thad was the worst kind of capitalist to Arnold. A man whose money made money, for no purpose or gain other than his own selfishness and greed. All that wealth could change untold numbers of lives if used the right way, but instead it merely accumulated for the sake of a small, petty man.

Arnold hated that he felt such acid antagonism towards his old friend. As a kid, Curly had been a total mess, and pretty hyperactive and unhinged, but he was just a kid. But now, he was an adult, fully endowed with free will and the power to exercise it, and he chose...selfishness.

It did not sit well with Arnold.

But, still, Thad was technically invited by Phoebe, at Rhonda's insistence no less, so he would be friendly and cordial as societal norms dictated he ought to. Even though he spent the vast majority of his life in Latin and South America, he'd still been given a rigorous education on glad handing from Miles and Stella. They told him it would come in handy when he needed to go beggar for funding from government and private investors. The life of freedom fighters was not one paved with monetary surplus.

"Thaddeus," Arnold forced a smile. "Glad you could make it."

"Ah, Arnold! Just the man I was hoping to encounter." Thaddeus dragged his over-heavy suitcase by the extendable handle, up the short stairs to the porch. Arnold drank from his beer rather than respond, to keep his thoughts on that particular subject to himself. "Are you well? You seem fit as a fiddle."

Arnold was primarily struck that Thad wasn't demanding service to carry his bag. He still expected it to happen, however. "Uh, thanks. I am well. Just starting to unwind, actually, while everyone gets unpacked and comfortable. I can help you, if you like."

"No, my good man, that won't be necessary. I have little in the way of belongings, and I'm quite capable of hoisting them up a few blasted stairs, thank you."

"Sure. I'd recommend the third floor rooms. There's a couple left."

"Third floor? Sounds top-rate. I'll settle for second, no need to hog the limelight!"

What the hell is going on with him? Arnold was dead certain this was not the same individual he stopped from fistfighting Patty and Harold two weeks ago.

"Uh, actually, the third floor rooms are smaller. Second floor is where Rhonda's staying."

Thaddeus hesitated. "Ah, I see. Well, I'll take the recommendation of my fine host! I shan't look unkindly upon the careful considerations of my gracious friend Arnold! Third floor it is! Please, don't assist me, I'm quite capable of this burden and much more! Tut! We've barely touched the tapwell of my strength!"

What the fuck? Arnold did not know how to address this behavior. Was he high? Sometimes people got like this when they were high. "Are you on drugs, Thad?"

"Wh-what?! WHAT?! No! What would even make you ask such a barbaric question?!" Curly set his suitcase down on the porch, hands held out pleadingly. "Do I seem high?!"

"Frankly, yeah. Little bit. Not the first time I've seen a dude acting strange enough to ask that, either."

"God dammit," Curly swore, and held his chin with a hand, seeming to fall deep in thought. "The doc said this new cocktail wouldn't do that!"

"Doc? Thad, what's going on?" Arnold's impatience began to grow for the little man on the porch. How on Earth am I going to get through five days with this guy?

"My doctor. In light of...certain circumstances, to which you are not yet privy, we have re-arranged my medicinal dosages and admixtures. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with, although one of the unintended side-effects appears to be a mild case of hypomania."

"Oh." Oh. Arnold had not considered that Thaddeus might be...medicated. It would certainly explain specific aspects of his personality, if nothing else. "Sorry I asked, then."

"Not to worry, Arnold old sport!" Old sport? I don't like that. Arnold hid a scowl behind a swig of beer. "I'll give the good doctor a call immediately, and set the dosage right again. It won't do to give off an air of threatening hyperactivity, after all! Ho ho ho ho!"

Eugh I do not like that laugh. Arnold held a strained smile. Thad didn't seem to notice. "Alright, dude. Talk to you later."

"What's for dinner, by the way? And when? I must dose on a full stomach I am afraid."

"Gerald and Sid are barbecuing some things. Probably around six or seven."

"Bully! I'll scrounge up some provisions until then and keep this persistent peckishness at bay. Don't worry after me, Arnold old sport. I'll find my way! Farewell! Until we cross destinies again!"

Arnold watched Thaddeus proclaim his brief departure all the way up the stairs. If the menagerie of his friends arriving was going to be this eventful, he'd be in for a long day.

Luckily, Patty and Harold, the two other he expected to arrive, didn't show up immediately like the others had. Arnold was watching more or less cluelessly while Helga and Gerald set up the largest big screen television with a Wii, totally unfamiliar to recreational video games. It seemed to be more of Helga and Gerald's area of expertise, so he didn't interfere.

Rhonda and Nadine descended the stairs in their beachwear, swimsuits and sarongs of flatteringly bold colors and cuts.

"Ah, this is going to be a fine, relaxing sabbatical, don't you think, Nadine?" Rhonda draped herself onto a stool at the kitchen bar counter. "Who's in charge of mixing drinks?"

"I am," Helga called out. "None of your fuckers knows the first thing about a good cocktail."

"Now hold on just a minute, Pataki," Gerald scowled. "I'm the designated mixer at all of my frat's functions."

"I've been to your parties. I've tasted your drinks. I stand by my statement." Helga sneered. She plugged something into the back of the television and it came alive with the face of some certain cartoonish figures Arnold supposed were famous. "There we go! Who's down for some Wii Golf? We can set up a round robin tourney, place some kind of interesting dosh on the outcome!"

"Gambling, Helga. Really." Rhonda snorted, looking bored by the prospect.

"You know, Rhonda, I remember a time when you were in the mud and grass with us, playing football against Torvald and his bullies, and having a damn good time of it, too." Helga shook her head. "Besides, we got nothing else to do until the grub's done."

"I intend to sun myself magnificently, actually. And you know, spend time at the beach, at the beach. Not stay indoors playing some silly video game." Rhonda waved a slender hand dismissively.

"If we all take turns, won't it be a shorter time playing, Rhonda?" Arnold spoke up finally. "You can go sun and whatever else for a bit, and we'll call you when it's your turn."

Rhonda blinked at him. "Well, I guess that sounds fine."

"I changed my mind, she can't play." Helga grunted. "Not with that attitude."

"Helga, it's just not her thing. She said she'd take a turn, why don't you just get everyone set up?" Arnold wasn't sure how this thing worked, but, he reasoned it probably needed some sort of setting up. Giving Helga something to do was a good idea. He needed to keep the peace, this entire trip. A silly video game was not going to derail his entire efforts.

Helga scoffed. "Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever, play, don't play, I'll set us all up. Should I even ask if she wants to make her own Mii?"

Arnold was very certain he had no idea what that was. Rhonda pushed off the stool, and stormed over. "Of course I want to make my own Mii. You'd probably make me look like a horrible little gremlin, Helga."

"Smart call, I would have."

To Arnold's bewilderment, Rhonda easily took the controls and started to navigate the alien interfaces to create a likeness of herself in the game to be used. He tried to see what she was doing to prevent embarrassing himself when it was his turn. Guess she plays video games after all.

Nadine sidled up to Arnold, clinking his beer with her own, freshly opened and in a yellow koozie. "Don't let her fool you. She and I used to stay up until sunrise playing Wii Tennis back in high school. She's a lot more into this stuff than she lets on."

"Oh, cool." Arnold shrugged. "I didn't know."

"How have you been, Shortman? We haven't really talked much yet."

Arnold watched Helga offer little sarcastic suggestions whenever a particularly grotesque option for Rhonda's virtual avatar came up. "That's true! You and I haven't really had a chance. That's why I'm really glad everyone is coming to this thing."

"Define everyone?"

"Oh, well, besides everyone present, I think we can count on Harold and Big Patty to crash the party sometime today or tomorrow, just to hazard a guess. We invited Stoop Kid but he said he had some more stoops to see in Seattle. And Sheena started her semester abroad right after the party, so, she couldn't make it."

"But no Brainy or LIla." Nadine gave Arnold a knowing smile.

"Ah. Well, Brian was invited, of course." Arnold lowered his voice to be just audible to Nadine and himself. "But I think he's avoiding me."

"Mhm. And we won't see any more of miss Sawyer." Nadine sipped her beer.

"No, no we won't."

"You sure setting her up at your folk's old place was a good idea?"

"The Sunset Arms was always a sort of net to catch society's runoff. She'll fit right in. In fact, I'm betting it'll be good for her to have to deal with my Grandma for awhile."

Nadine snickered, and jerked her head towards Helga, who was cackling in victorious pose over Rhonda. They'd started a game of...Arnold wasn't sure, but it looked competitive. A subdued Rhonda only just barely could not hide her indignity.

"You and her, huh. Can't say I didn't think it would happen someday, but, it's still kind of incredible."

"Yeah...wait, what do you mean?"

"Well, there's just been so much in your way. Rhonda filled me in on the details, and, wow. I thought our mess was complicated. I feel for you, Shortman, really."

"Thanks, I guess. We'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Oh no doubt. There's bound to be some kind of cosmic force pulling you together."

Yeah, or trying to push us apart.

"Anyway, Arnold, it's just...really great to see you again. I'm looking forward to hearing some of your tales during the trip."

"I have plenty. And plans to share them all. In all this mess, I never got a chance to explain...well, anything, really."

Arnold watched Helga and Rhonda fiercely compete, both apparently unwilling to admit the technical skill in the other, and far more into the game than the spirit of friendly competition would normally dictate.

"This is my last chance," he said, watching the girl he loved from a million miles away. "I'm going to make it count."

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A/N: Part 2, "Wishes," will take a good bit of time to perfect. Please excuse my length between updates, but we're almost done and I want to make it count.