I'm sorry this is so short! And that my poetry is garbage! The next chapter will be longer. It was this or lose track and let this story die... which I do not want by any means.

Disclaimer: I don't own any Coldplay songs/lyrics, but listening to "Adventure of a lifetime" helped me out quite a bit.

Things between Helga and I don't fully return to normal.

Not that they ever were, when I think about it.

But now it feels like someone's wedged a sheet of tracing paper between us. Like something's been permanently blurred. We text again and talk and laugh... Then hesitate and shy away. If I'd known she was going to come to that party...

What would it have changed? I like her, but it's not like she knows that. It's not like she isn't free to do whatever (or whomever) she wants, as much as the thought sometimes makes my skin itch. I'm in the same boat! Single and definitely not trying to ruin a childhood friendship by telling her how much I wish she'd let me touch her long hair or hold her hands and hips and breasts...

Fuck my life.

I think back a lot to when we were younger. Smart for the fourth graders we were, yet still oblivious to so many things. Helga was so angry then. Always a bristling menace in pink, untouchable behind a wall of threats and fists.

I remember the confession she'd literally screamed from the rooftops and wonder how much of it was true. If she'd really spent all that time covering up feelings besides hatred towards me. I grab my sketchbook and flip through it and my memories:

A dull colored overcoat blowing in the wind. The frantic look on her face. The way my stomach had clenched (in fear and confusion and hell, excitement?). It all comes together in a mass of lines. Helga kissing me atop a corporate building, changing the way I looked at her forever. I guess I never really forgot.

But this isn't about the past, I sigh. This is about starting over in the best way possible. Maybe part of that involves a little honesty... The sketchbook sits silently in front of me.

I have some serious thinking to do.

The days become weeks and eventually we get our first snowfall of the season. Nothing newsworthy, but enough to blanket everything in a coating of sparkling white. A good excuse to whip out my white charcoal pencils if nothing else. I love the sharp, cut-into-your-breath chill of November. I pull out my phone and turn it over in my palm a good twenty times before sending a message.

A: Hot chocolate? I know a bomb ass spot. And no, it isn't Starbucks

Will she want to see me? Has it been long enough? I haven't spoken to Ari since the one night. Or any other girl for that matter. Not because I can't but because I find myself not wanting to.

H: I'm both disturbed and intrigued. Meet me by the science building around 3?

A: Sounds like a plan

Ducking my chin into the moss green of an alpaca scarf my parents brought back from San Lorenzo, I lean against the wall to wait for Helga. It'll only be a few more minutes but cloudy days tend to make everything slow and drag on.

"Hey Arnoldo!"

There's the sound of her voice- high and strong- as she waves from behind the rest of the crowd of tired, fleeting students. A bun, leggings, boots, and fuzzy baby blue coat. The blonde of her hair stands out like a sunny halo, strands untucked in certain places. Pink shimmer sits on her cheeks and lips. Always looking like an angel, this girl.

"How was it?" I ask as she reaches me.

A scoff. "You know. A delectable smorgasbord of animal behavior, cellular functions and stupid questions. Easy, but not my thing."

"Biology is interesting though. All that stuff you can't see at first glance or even understand."

Helga follows me without much protest, her feet sinking into the powder beneath them.

"I think it's the professor. Just not an interesting guy in the least. You can tell he's up there trying to decide whether to make a paycheck or run off to another country."

"That's... Pretty observant." I chuckle. Listen as she tells me all about the magical world of cell division and their intro into the very violent world of animal mating rituals.

"It was eye opening."

"In what way?'

"Ducks rape their mates and sometimes murder them in the process. Peacock males are colorful to attract the plain, ugly females. Bonobo monkeys are ruled by females and use mating as a tool to resolve problems. And us humans? We sit around waiting for someone we like to like us back."

As Helga shakes her head with a smile I notice the color of her cheeks grow a little richer than before. A touch of rose that has nothing to do with makeup.

It suits her.

I nearly drag her inside of this little French patisserie that makes all kinds of foreign desserts. And killer hot drinks. Their hot chocolate is my favorite- rich and creamy. None of that artificial sweetness you get out of a packet of Swiss Miss. Helga and I decide to sit in and sip out of the gigantic mugs they put it in. Get the full experience.

"Oh wow. This is good. Belgium chocolate?"

"I think so. Gee, you've got a refined palette there, huh." I note aloud.

She sets her cup down, completely unaware of the whipped cream moustache on her upper lip. I choke on my laugh while she hums along to the Coldplay song floating almost lightly out of hidden store speakers. It's catchy-

I feel my heart underneath my skin.

Edgy poetry. Definitely up her alley. And way funnier when sung with fluffy facial hair.

"What gives? Do I have an extra head I don't know about?"

At her concern I make motions at her upper lip, but she doesn't catch on and it's pretty adorable.

"Fuck it," I laugh, "come here."

There's a dangerous sass that crosses Helga's face when she's reluctant. Her brows sharpen to points and her lip curls up, and I'm pretty sure her left fist clenching (is that one Betsy? Or the Avengers?) is a habit she might never outgrow. But the effect is softened by the way I present the napkin in my hand and dab the topping away gently.

"I should've taken a pic!"

"Aw, you should've. Would've sent it to Pheebs and told her I blew a cloud or something."

"Helga G. Pataki. That is positively vulgar." I mimic Phoebe in a terribly high pitch that my scruffy voice can't manage for shit. Is it weird that I count the way she tosses her head back to laugh out loud as a victory? Oh well. Definitely a win in my book. The conversation moves on to our short Thanksgiving break that's coming up soon. Whether turkey ought to be baked or daringly deep fried.

"Ugh, Shortman. You haven't lived until you've had a crispy, juicy butterball. The one year Big Bob did it he almost burned his brows off, but it was worth it."

"You looking forward to going home?"

Helga nods. "Yeah. Olga says she has something to tell me. She's already engaged so I'm guessing she's probably picked a wedding date or something." A pleased sort of smile lingers on her lips.

"You look happy." I murmur almost dreamily. Like an idiot.

"Really? Well... we have gotten close. It's nice. To finally understand each other better. I guess it's one of those things I didn't know I wanted."

"Those kinds of things are the hardest to figure out."

For a second her strong blue eyes bore into me, the only sound between us a mixture of bass and guitar-

We are diamonds taking shape.

Helga breaks the silence. "Yeah... I guess they are, aren't they."

What else does she mean right now? I want to ask but don't. Instead I scratch behind my neck and move away from the waxy, tracing paper wall.

"I'm glad my parents will be home in time for it. Maybe it's because they were gone so long, but missing them is easy. I feel like they'll disappear for good if I let them out of my sight. Really stupid for a grown ass man, isn't it?"

"No."

That stare. Helga eyes me with an expression I've never seen on her face. Some crazy toss up of pity, frustration, and tenderness? Whatever the hell it is, it makes me want to curl up against her. My hand itches at the lack of pencil and paper to record the memory onto.

"You spent half your life without them, Arnold. There's nothing irrational about cherishing them that much. I think almost everyone has something they're scared of losing. It's a human thing. Personally I don't think it's the loss that scares us though. It's more like… not knowing what comes after, or when, that terrifies people. But what do I know, huh football head?"

"A lot more than you let on, Pataki."

Long lashes wink at me. "Knowledge is power."

A buzz that seems louder than it really is reverberates beneath the table. My cell. I pick it up to determine the culprit.

"Gerald." I mutter without looking up at Helga. I'm sure she'd assume it was Ari, but hell, the chick doesn't even have my number. I don't even know why it matters. Just fucking does.

G: Don't forget, the thing Phoebe invited you to is tn. She said I can't come so you better make sure people know she's taken

A: Sooo you her man now or…?

G: We haven't had that talk yet… but as far as I'm concerned, hell fuckin yeah I am

Grinning, I glance up at Helga's look of 'wtf.'

"You're best friend might be spoken for soon." I clarify.

"Wanna bet on how long that'll take? Those two are something else. I say another month at least."

"No way! Gerald's serious about her. I'm calling two weeks tops."

"Oh, you're on. We might both be wrong though. Some people are just that oblivious to the obvious!" Our laughter is drowned out by the sound of the music turning up just a little higher.

Oh you make me feel like I'm alive again.

I completely forgot.

Shit, shit, shit.

As soon as I get home my phone lets off a reminder alarm:

Poetry Slam 8pm!

Yanking the notebook I scribbled in towards myself, I sit at my desk, blowing air into Nymph's goofy face as she hops atop it to study me. Rereading my poem makes me cringe. It's terrible. A rhyming batch of nonsense. There's nothing heartfelt about it. Not really. Something about it makes it come across like a grocery list of random facts and I gotta say, I hate it.

What am I supposed to read then?

Hell, at this rate a grocery list might sound brilliant, if I wear a beret and despair during the recitation. Which is absolutely not an option. I tell myself to think, to feel, but… what, exactly?

The afternoon with Arnold was nice. In the weeks since the Catgirl Debacle (as I like to refer to it when talking to Pheebs) we hadn't hung out. Talked and texted, sure, but it felt like we were learning one another all over again. Hi, I'm Helga. Nice to meet you. I think I might be falling for you- again- so can you please not bang random ass girls until I can admit it to you?

Not exactly a reasonable request. Especially being an eligible bachelorette myself. Still…

That smile of his was almost warmer than the cocoa. Unless it was my imagination, which at this point in my life I have no problem admitting it could have been. But he'd cleaned the whipped cream off my face and blinded me with those pearly teeth and green eyes, and suddenly Halloween almost didn't matter anymore. The boy, er, man, was experienced, and I'd seen firsthand just what hid beneath Arnold's sensibilities.

Something about seeing someone as morally righteous as Arnold in the throes of lust makes my skin crawl. Partly in disgust, then envy, and then odd fascination. What did it feel like when he let loose on a woman? Would it be different if he liked her? Loved her? Would he nip sweetly or bite savagely?

Nymph meows, startling me out of perverse reverie.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm working on it."

Suddenly it hits me. A rush of inspiration is like a different sort of lust. One that takes hold of me and makes my skin prickle from head to toe. Except that I'm also partly aroused at this point, so it's impossible to tell whether it's talent or hormones making my hand fly across lined pages.

About a half an hour later, I sigh.

"I did it Nymph. Wish me luck." My cat's tail twitches as she purrs.

That's my girl.

Phoebe meets me in front of a small café at a quarter past eight, as promised.

Thanks to Gerald talking about her almost constantly I'm reminded of her swordsmanship skills:

"She'll probably castrate you if you don't show up." He'd smirked as Lee pretended to cut his own bits off and toss them at me. Dumbasses.

I let Gerald know what she's wearing- plain olive sweater and jeans, no makeup- and remind him that I'll be with her the whole time. And here I thought I had it bad.

"Hello Arnold!" The tiny girl my best friend loves waves cheerfully. "I'm glad you made it."

"You didn't really give me a choice, Phoebe." I laugh.

"No," she says thoughtfully, "I suppose I didn't. Are you ready? Good. Come on."

With more strength than anyone her size should have, Phoebe yanks me into a dimly lit coffee shop. The sort of place where people go to write novels that change the world, or meet the eccentric love of their lives in movies. It's even got a stage highlighted by a single spotlight, a soft spoken woman with dark skin and hair down to her waist reading aloud.

Oh. I get it.

"Are we at a poetry slam?" I ask Phoebe foolishly.

She nods and hisses a whispered answer. "Yes! You can't be loud though. It's rude. And she doesn't know you're here."

"Helga doesn't, I mean, she's gonna read poetry?"

"Shh! Watch!"

I'm literally put in my place as she pulls me down into a seat at an unoccupied table. The woman onstage ends her piece in a solemn voice before the room erupts into a chorus of snapping fingers. A single stool in front of the mic is vacated to make room for the following participant.

Helga.

Striding onstage in an oversized sweater and short heeled boots, long pale legs settling gracefully as she takes a seat. Blonde hair is still piled high on her head, her lips a dark mauve, lashes charcoal black. I watch, frozen, as her hands grip the microphone and her voice fills the room, heavy and sweet:

"Cartography.

If I could travel anywhere, beloved

How far wouldn't I go

Towards the edges of your dreams

And equator of your soul."

There's a lull to her azure eyes as if she were seducing the room.

"The horizon of your eyes

Where the sun rises anew

And the darker, secret coves

Where it only ever sets."

Pink tongue darting out of full lips as she speaks.

"To places that belong with mine

Where rings of fire burn your skin

Plains of moonlight where I'll dance

Until the stars breathe into me."

Fingers gripping the stand of the mic delicately, almost erotically, as if she were whispering secrets into something lewd.

"Traverse the atlas that you are

Map contours of your jagged heart

Then tear the world that makes you up

Until I too am half the part."

I feel fucking hypnotized.

The audience snaps furiously, Helga's feet making a soft 'thump' as she rises to bow and disappear as quickly as she came. It's a shrill voice that sobers me up.

"Well? What'd you think, Arnold?" Phoebe smiles triumphantly at me.

"She's… that was amazing. Does she do this a lot?"

"Oh… I'm sure she'll be more than happy to tell you herself. I must make my exit though, if I do say so myself." I don't know who the hell Phoebe waves at, then runs from, until I turn around.

The poet herself stands before me with wide doe-eyes and crossed arms. I want her to speak in music again.

"A-Arnold?"

My name just became a fucking melody.

TBC