Same warnings. Enjoy.

When Thursday comes I pretend it doesn't matter.

I pretend that I'm not digging through my closet for a specific knit navy blue sweater with cut-out shoulders to pair with black leggings (and chestnut knee length boots I got last fall).

I run a brush through my hair and pretend that I wear mascara everyday like most girls I know. Then I pretend to grab a random shade of lipstick (a taupe pink) and run it along my mouth.

All of the pretending falls apart when I look in the mirror.

I've never been overly vain but I'm not into looking like I just rolled out of bed either. When I do wear makeup, a balance well between clown and Kardashian is my usual prefrence. I turn to one side and inspect myself. Nothing about me says 'I hope you like how I look today!' so I'm satisfied. Arnold's already seen me naked, so I might as well make sure my clothes look decent, right? I grab a tote bag and head to the kitchen to feed Nymph.

Phoebe's already there in her all black work attire fixing herself some green tea. I pour kitty chow and watch one brow go up behind her 'Hello Sunshine' mug.

"The first impression sweater?" She asks casually.

"The what?"

"Helga, you wear that sweater everytime you go hang out with a guy for the first time."

"I already hung out with him." I counter. Nymph comes scurrying in at the sound of kibble on metal.

"But it wasn't planned."

"Do I really wear this every time I-?"

"Yes. It probably makes you feel good about yourself. Besides, it looks great on you. Brings out your eyes."

"How are you so good at complimenting and condemning me at the same time?"

My roommate giggles. "Practice?"

"Sure, sure. I gotta go. Have fun trying not to text Geraldo at work all day."

"Hey!"

I smile when I realize it's Thursday.

Whistling, I grab a black sweater to toss on over jeans and tie the laces of some black free run sneakers Gerald and Lee got me as a Christmas present last year (comfortable as hell and way better than their prank presents by far). Texting Helga for the past day and a half has only made me anticipate today that much more. In that time I got to learn a few things about her: One, she'd done the nude modeling for an art credit she needed. Two, she'd very casually murder me if anyone we knew set their eyes on the sketch. Three, her all time favorite food is a 'well-made' pastrami sandwhich. And four, she likes to take selfies right after waking up.

The selfies I take note of are on instagram. Camisole strap riding off a shoulder. Hair tossed all over her pillows. Sunlight blazing in her blue eyes. You can tell she isn't trying hard to be beautiful. She just is.

I may have been raised a gentleman, but the word man is involved for a reason. I just can't ignore her looks. What I can do is put that aside in favor of being actual friends with her. Which I'd like. There's so much I want to talk to her about. So much I want to know. I guess I'll just have to settle for rubbing one out until my dick gets the concept and drops the idea. Friends don't want to drag friends into bed. Helga is off limits, and that's that.

What is it about anticipation that makes time slow to a crawl? It feels like ages before I'm finally on the corner of the street that I asked Helga to meet me on. She's been at class all day too, so the messages between us are sparse. Kind of tough to draw and text at the same time, after all. I'm in the process of checking up on her when a warm, high voice interrupts me. "Hi, Arnold."

She isn't wearing anything special. It's the kind of stuff I see girls all over campus wear... But then why does it look so damn good on her? The most you can see of Helga right now is her shoulders through some holes on her sweater (that I think are there on purpose?) but something about that peek of pale skin is kind of sexy.

What the hell is wrong with me.

"H-Hey Helga."

"Sorry I'm late," she sighs while toying with the ends of her hair, "but I got caught up in a riveting lesson on what isn't appropriate to turn in as homework. Some idiot used the word 'fuck' in his essay 47 times. Teacher counted. Made sure we knew it was banned as subject, verb and adjective."

"Harsh. It's a good word when used sparingly."

She laughs and looks around. "So where are we?"

"A few blocks away from the park. I got you something."

Her eyes go wide."What is it?"

I point at the spot behind me. "See this deli? It's been around longer than we have, apparently. And if there's one thing it does well..." I grab a small wrapped bundle out of a plastic bag and hold it out to her. "It's pastrami sandwhiches."

Helga reaches out to take it (the nails on her hands are painted white) and then bites her lower lip before mock punching me on the arm with a laugh. "I can't believe you."

"What, did you eat one recently?"

"No," she shakes her head, "but I just happen to be starving, so this is pretty amazing of you. You didn't have to do that."

"I promised you nourishment remember?"

"Yeah, while drinking." Lips smirk up at me in amusement.

"And you accepted while drinking."

"Touché. So where to?"

"There's a spot in the park not far from here that I like to sit at. How about it?"

"Lead the way captain!" She salutes me and I laugh.

We're blessed with mild weather- sun and the kind of breeze that feels good on the back of your neck- as we walk into the park. This is one of my favorite places to draw simply because there's always something to see. It's also alot easier to observe things quietly without being obvious or seeming like a creep. I was labeled that once last year at a cafe for glancing at a woman eating a danish one too many times, even though I was just drawing the way she held it to practice hands and fingers. Lesson learned.

Leaves crunch under our feet every so often and I laugh when Helga catches me catching her stepping on a few on purpose.

"I like the sound!" She shrugs and then glares at me a little. "Stop being so observant. It's freaky. You sure you aren't training for the FBI?"

"Pretty sure. Though if either of us really wanted to I think infiltrating an office to save a neighborhood would look pretty good on our resumes."

"You still remember that?"

"How do you forget something like that?"

"I don't know... You have to admit the bus chase was pretty traumatizing."

That's not entirely wrong. Gerald still refuses to drive despite knowing how.

"I guess it sort of was. Something crazy was always happening at Hillwood though, didn't you notice?"

"Yeah, you're definitely right about that. Once I moved it became even more apparent."

I lead Helga around a fountain filled with wish pennies and towards my favorite (thankfully unoccupied) bench. A crinkling sound is followed by the smell of salt as she immediately unwraps the sandwhich I gave her and sits down for her first bite. Blue eyes nearly roll into the back of her head as she moans around it.

"Mmf!" She swallows and tosses her head back. "Yes... This. Is. Amazing."

I rummage for my sketch book, chuckling at the sight of her face when I turn back around.

"There's mustard on your chin, so I believe you."

"Really? Where?"

Signaling her with the point of my finger against my own chin, I pass her a napkin and make sure she cleans it all off.

"I'm not even sorry," she sighs, "this is too good to eat like a lady."

"Oh, you mean you do know how to keep your crumbs to yourself?"

Eyes roll. A snort. Giggle. "Yes. When I feel like it anyway. I didn't have breakfast this morning."

"It's the most important meal of the day."

"No, sleep is."

"Hmm," I flip to a clean page, "you're not entirely wrong about that."

"So you just pick something and draw it?" Helga asks while sucking mustard off of a finger. God, this girl eats with some serious gusto. I'm sure some people would find it sloppy, but I like that she's enjoying what I bought her no holds barred. It's pretty cute.

"Yeah, sort of. Sometimes it takes me a while, but... Ah, wait. I got what I want. That was quick."

"What do you-"

"Shh." I wink at her for a sec and then feel my face go serious as I start sketching. "The guy sitting on the bench across the fountain, feeding the birds. Watch him." I whisper.

"... Okay."

I hear the reluctance in her voice as she goes back to munching. Meanwhile I focus on said man, who keeps tossing stray hot dog bun pieces to the birds at his feet. He has a thick graying mustache and a worn face. The kind that belongs to a man who's probably worked his whole life. I wait a bit before adding the features of his face, focusing on the detail of his clothes instead. Brown leather shoes. Burgundy porkpie hat. Then I see it- the shift of expression I wait for- and etch it onto the page immediately. I'm so deeply involved in the sketch that I don't even feel Helga's presence until I finish and find her hip nearly pressed to mine, face peering over my shoulder.

Before I can react she leans over and grabs the edge of the page closest to her, her thumb smoothing the corner of it gently.

"Christ," she breaths close to my cheek as she sits back up. "That is gorgeous. How the h-... I mean, when did you start doing this?"

Her smile is amazing. There's so much wonder on her face; the pure sort that most people our age are too jaded and ruined to feel anymore. My fingers practically itch to draw it. I try to commit it to memory so I can do so later.

"Honestly? It began as a coping mechanism."

"Coping? For what, Arnold?"

"It started not long after Grandpa Phil passed away."

"Oh. My god, I'm so sorry. How long ago?"

"Eight years ago now? It was sad, but also sort of incredible. He passed in his sleep. Grandma was fine and held his hand while we called the paramedics. She refused to move. And by the time we got back to her she had gone too. Right there, sitting up in bed and holding onto her husband. You can't make that shit up.

Anyway... It was hard to deal with. I mean I do still have my parents, but we were still learning each other, y'know? They'd only been back for a couple of years then. But the way my grandparents died... Something about it kind of, I dunno, haunted me. It was ridiculously sad but also beautiful. It was like they held on for my sake and only left me once they knew I'd be okay without them. And together at that. One day I just started flipping through the family album, studying their faces. And I decided I wanted to draw that moment from memory. So I just started practicing in an old notebook. Over time I just got better... And here I am. Studying visual arts like a million other hopeful people.

I'm not even sure why I just gave you that long speech. You must think I'm a wierdo." I sigh up at the sky and don't really have a good answer. But then I feel a finger- her pinky- poking at my hand until I splay my fingers and she curls it around one of my own.

"It takes a wierdo to know one."

Helga's face is pained and a little bit twisted.

I try to memorize it, too.

I poke at Arnold's hand with my pinky until he separates his fingers enough that I can wrap it around his. I haven't held pinkies with anyone since I was a kid, except Phoebe. She knows it's my wierd-thing-I-do-when-I'm-sad and let's me hold onto hers when shit gets too real. I tell ya, if we weren't so irrevocably hetero we'd be perfect for each other.

This is the first time I've touched this person since we were kids. The thought hits me out of nowhere and makes me feel suddenly self-aware. Arnold has hands that are warm and just a little callused (probably from holding pencils and paint brushes for all these years). They dwarf my own as he reciprocates, a finger twice the size of mine settling against it.

Looking back at Arnold's drawing makes my breath come out shaky. The look on that man's face! He managed to catch him just as he'd looked down at the birds pecking at his offerings. He'd smiled, but Arnold managed to shade this gleam in his eye that makes him look both defeated and serene all at once. Like the stranger had just had the realization that this was the hand fate had dealt him, and was content to live through it. It's a truly increadible thing to be able to interpret with nothing but a pencil and paper.

Forcing myself to meet his darkened green eyes (which are pretty to the point of distraction) I speak. "Rule number one for being my friend. Only one of us can be miserable at a time. Got it? That means right now I'm your big pinky."

"Big pinky?" He cocks his head.

I squeeze my little finger against his. "Yeah. Kinda like when you spoon someone. Big spoon on the outside and little spoon on the inside? Right now I'm the bigger one. Until you feel better."

Arnold stares at our hands and then back at me and blurts, "That's adorable. Are you even sure you're Helga?"

"That's it football head. Gimme my pinky back. Privileges revoked!" As I begin yanking my finger away (while blushing pretty bad) he holds fast to it, and I'm momemtarily aggravated at how unfair it is that he has that much more strength in one damn finger.

"Hey, easy," he chuckles, "I'm sorry. It's just not what I'd picture from you."

"What would you picture? You don't really know me."

"That's true... But isn't that what we're here for, Pinky Mistress?"

"Well I just found my new pornstar name."

If he'd been eating Arnold would be choking half to death right now. "What the... Oh my god Helga. Just... Wow." He's tossing his head back and laughing like the kid I once knew. Airy and sweet with that old glimmer in his eyes. I concider it a job well done as far as cheering up goes. "You're a goof," he declares once the laughter subsides.

"I do what I can."

He looks down at our hands. "Um..."

Idiot. You've been holding on so long that he might get the wrong idea, I tell myself and unclasp my finger from his.

"Better?"

"Much. Thanks. So... How'd you wind up here?"

Maybe it's because he's offered up so much of himself. Or maybe it's because Arnold's always had this way about him (Aura? Vibe? Voodoo?) that makes him far too easy to spill to. I tell him.

"Big Bob passed away when I was a freshman in high school. Liver disease from all the drinking. You'd have thought it'd be my mom with her track record." I don't give him any room to say he's sorry. "And yeah, I was sad. Everybody was. But after a few months it became obvious how responsible he'd been for alot of the bad things about our family. Miriam pulled herself together and took over the company. Remember when she did that back when we were kids? She never stopped being good at it. And without Bob to keep her down she gave up drinking and threw herself into it. Met a really nice guy with a young kid and remarried, so I have a little stepbrother now. It's done her good. I think it's cause she got to be the mom she wasn't to me or Olga. And at first I resented that... But she's so great with him. And you can't hate Nate. He's too damn cute."

"Anyway, I started off at a college on the west coast but then Phoebe told me this place had a prestigious ass english program, which I was looking for. The one at my other school just wasn't, I dunno, enriching enough? So I banged out the entrance piece and here I am."

"Wow. That's alot of change."

"I know... But everybody's just so... happy. Miriam doesn't even have to work. She just chooses to. Perks of being married to the CEO of the company she partnered with. She acquired his heart in the process, the sly old girl."

Arnold stares at me for a second. "Wait, so you're like, rich now?" If anyone else was asking I'd be wary. It's not a fact I make known to people. I know how easy it'd be for someone to decide to try and use me over it. Hell, it happened to Olga when I was a kid and we weren't nearly as loaded back then. Just better off than most.

"Not me. My family. I try to use as little of their money as possible. I think that's why they throw it at me in the form of gifts sometimes."

"Whoa. And I thought my parents were making dough. They lead tours all over the world now, so I only see them over vacation. Still gotta remind them not to be off somewhere. Even after all that jungle nonsense they're still sick with wanderlust."

"That's amazing. I mean they both love the same thing, but each other too, right?"

"Yeah. Goals." Arnold chuckles and starts scribbling again.

"What're you-?"

"Shhh. Respect the will of the artist. You can see when I'm done. So what was your entrance piece?"

"Umm..." I go a little quiet. My piece caused... a bit of an uproar. As in on top of having my grades in a row the professors loved it, so I was a shoe-in. I like knowing my work is good. I pour my heart into everything. Being fussed over? Not so much. "I wrote. Obviously."

"You don't wanna tell me what?"

I bite my lip and duck my head a little. "Not really."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not all show-offy like you are, Arnold. Sorry not sorry."

Chewing his lip and looking up as if he were thinking he asks, "Do you know why I like what I do?"

"Tell me."

"Because I get to show people things through my eyes. Capture something that I don't know how to any other way. Whatever I put on paper speaks. And that's corny as hell, I know, but-"

"It's not." I shake my head. Swing my feet back and forth and smile. "It's what I do, too. Just... With words. I'm only good at painting pictures with words."

His hands grip the sketch book and flip it to face me. A badass vixen looks back at me, stylized to look like a pretty Jessica Rabbit woman- impossible hair curling around her fabulously, lips pursed as she places one hand on her hip and the other holds a pinky finger to the air. Underneath it a sweeping script says 'Pinky Mistress'.

I laugh so hard I snort like a dork.

"Daaamn. She's hot!"

He rips the page off and hands it to me. "For you. I won't even charge you for it."

"Ooh, I am one lucky gal." I look at the exaggerated curves and one piece suit of our newly hatched super heroine (or super stripper, maybe) and giggle. "Do I wanna know what her powers are?"

"Giving out prostate exams?"

"Oh my god, Arnold! You're so sick!" By that point I'm doubled over.

"You made her up!"

"Yeah and you tarnished her!"

"I'd say it's an improvement. She's saving men's lives everywhere."

"Ughhh. So gross." I tap the page over his hand as punishment.

We suddenly notice how the sky's gone cotton-candy pink with streaks of purple running through it. The sun's setting. How long have we been here?

"We should go soon."

"Yeah. It's a bit chillier than before."

"Walk you to the bus?"

I nod and watch him pack up. The way he holds things has an oddly delicate edge to it. It's a wierd ass thing to notice, but maybe it's just because of his artsy ways? Still, I wonder if that's how he would touch a person, too... Which isn't really a friend-safe thought, so I stop. What a random thing to wonder.

Once I'm home a while later I hold my breath and stare at the screen of my phone. I hit send anyway.

My phone rings as I climb the steps to the house.

Helga: Look in the school paper. Published entry essays. 'Thy chamber rings' by anonymous.

So I do.

Thanks for the reviews everybody :x