TW: Nothing too filthy, though this chapter does reference and (sorta) detail an act of sexual contact, though no smut or intercourse, so do watch out for that
Phoebe's eyes peered into the back of Rhonda's skull.
Ever since the two were put in the same English class, she'd made it a habit to analyze Helga's wealthy friend, as she found her to be very fascinating. In the eyes of the rest of the school, Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd was textbook perfect; she had short midnight hair that was never frizzy nor dry, her skin was flawless and slightly tanned, she was tall with a supermodel-like figure — complete with insanely long legs — and her facial features were angular yet delicate, as if she came out of a factory alongside the likes of Bella Hadid and Madison Beer. It wasn't just her looks that made her so perfect, it was her status and lifestyle too. Rhonda was filthy rich, her family owned at least three homes in damn near every state and she had been flying in private jets and living in mansions before she even opened her eyes. She always wore the most recent, expensive, and high end fashion, if Mugler or Alexander McQueen released another beautiful yet overpriced piece, Rhonda would be wearing it the very next day.
Archan High treated Rhonda like royalty, Phoebe could swear the hallway parted like the red sea when she was around, especially when accompanied by her rough and intimidating friend Helga. Boys from every sector fantasized about her, speaking of her as if she were some fictional being brought into the world as a blessing from God, kissing the ground she walked on as if her acknowledging their existence would cure them of the most fatal of ailments. Girls from every sector were envious of her perfection, so much so that Phoebe was sure some prayed to wake up one day in her body; sure there were people that didn't like her, but who dared speak up against Rhonda?
Gorgeous, popular, stinking rich, who wouldn't want to be Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd?
Surely Phoebe should have, right? She was the complete opposite of her, she wasn't model-like with an insane figure and carefully sculpted face, she wasn't rich and didn't wear high fashion, she wasn't stylish and popular among her peers, and yet, Phoebe found herself more confused by Rhonda than jealous of her.
The reason why was simple, Rhonda was an absolute weirdo, and the only reason she got away with it was because the whole school was too busy overinflating her already oversized ego to notice. English was one of the few classes Rhonda didn't have with Helga — the blonde was just too advanced to be sharing a class with them — and it was so clear the queen bee couldn't stand that. She'd shuffle in her seat, behave restlessly, bite her perfectly manicured nails, tug at her silk-like hair, scratch her pale skin leaving marks occasionally. Not only that, but Rhonda seemed to want to spend every waking moment with Helga, to the point where her friendship with Nadine was pretty much obsolete. If Helga went to the bathroom, Rhonda was right behind, if Helga was in a class, Rhonda would find a way to be in that same class, if Helga was in an extra-curricular, Rhonda would do it too, even if she hated it. This was so extreme that Phoebe struggled finding time to be with her own best friend, and Helga didn't seem to realize.
It was as if Rhonda was addicted to Helga, and would exhibit what were seemingly withdrawal symptoms when she wasn't around. She'd notice how Rhonda would zoom out of the class and take a deep breath, clutch her chest as if calming herself from a panic attack, only to frantically search for Helga, calming down when she was finally reunited with her. She'd see how Rhonda would behave when certain people interacted with Helga, including herself. If Phoebe hadn't known any better, she'd think Rhonda wanted to keep her all to herself.
She noticed how whenever Lila tried to talk to Helga — usually something English related, they were in the same class after all — Rhonda would stare, her dark brown eyes filled with malice. She noticed how when Arnold tried to talk to Helga, Rhonda would glare with pure unadulterated hatred spewing from her like a broke faucet. She noticed how when she tried to talk to Helga, Rhonda would try to come up with excuses to whisk her away.
It was so incredibly weird.
But she's Rhonda, pretty, perfect, popular Rhonda. She gets to be a weirdo because everyone's too busy kissing her ass to call her out on it, but don't you dare go against the status quo if you're not Rhonda, or you'll be ostracized and treated like absolute garbage for the rest of your school career.
Phoebe sighed, she couldn't wait until class was over, she needed a breather.
Rhonda couldn't think straight.
Maybe it was because she had to sit and bare it as Helga laughed and joked about The Picture of Dorian Gray with that fake and phony bitch Lila, unable to join as she didn't share an English class with them, maybe it was because Bermuda kept whispering many depraved things that should supposedly happen to said fake and phony bitch Lila, leaving Rhonda unsure of whether or not it was a real entity or a figment of her imagination.
She just didn't like how friendly Lila was to Helga, none of it felt real. She knew Lila couldn't be trusted, she just knew it, there was absolutely no way she could be trusted. She still twirled her hair and giggled airheadedly when she spoke to the boy Helga unfortunately loved, she still acted dismissive and non-caring when something was wrong with the youngest Pataki, and yet she wanted to convince the world that she actually liked Helga because Lila Sawyer is a perfect little angel who's nice to everyone.
"She takes pleasure out of toying with Helga, poor sweet Helga, she doesn't realize," Bermuda's voice flowed through her ears like a wave, tickling the back of her head like an itch that just wouldn't go away, "she finds it funny, how hopeless her feelings for him are, she wants to hurt her even more, that's why she wants to befriend her, to break her and tear her down, just like everyone else"
Rhonda lightly shook her head, no, she was being irrational, Bermuda was being irrational. She didn't like Lila, fine, but that didn't mean Lila was a horrible person. Fuck, Rhonda was so tired.
Bermuda had been doing this all day, trying to provoke her into retaliating against the people that supposedly posed a danger to Helga. It wouldn't stop feeding her poison that made her blood boil to near melting point in her veins, it was a virus she couldn't recover from. Rhonda didn't bother trying to get it to go away, Bermuda had made it very clear it wouldn't, but she wanted it to stop so bad.
"Because you know I'm right, you don't like the fact that I'm telling you the truth,"
Rhonda ignored it as best as she could, and instead looked over to Helga. That day, she kept her hair loose and curled, her pink ribbon functioning as a headband that day. Helga wore a white sleeveless button-up shirt with a bella-pink cardigan with fuchsia rimming. On her legs she pore a pair of slim fitting white jeans, and black lace-up boots that reached just below her knees. As always, Helga wore minimal makeup, aside from some lip gloss and eyeliner. She sighed, Helga looked so stunning that day, she always did, her friend always looked so stunning.
"Yet Shortman would rather have his eyes wonder to every girl but her," Bermuda scoffed, it's words beginning to sound like a hiss "only a fool could look at all of that beauty and overlook it for some red haired bimbo bore,"
Rhonda found herself agreeing with Bermuda; she hated how Arnold treated Helga. The girl was desperately in love with him, that much she, as well as most of the school, knew. Even Arnold knew, it was so obvious that boys that were interested in Helga would often heckle Arnold to either get her attention, impress her, or warn him to back off. Rhonda knew about their thing, how he'd pull her into a closet and furiously makeout with her, only to then claim it was just heat of the moment seconds later. Rhonda knew about the time Helga lost her morals and ended up sucking him off at one of her parties, something the blonde still regretted deeply. She knew about the arguments, the love professions that were quickly taken back, the times they'd have phone sex but never do the actual thing. Rhonda was always there when Helga found herself a tearful blubbering mess because Arnold once again told her he wasn't sure if he was ready to handle committing to her.
It made Rhonda so angry, it was so obvious that he was taking advantage of her. He knew that Helga would probably jump into shark infested waters if it were for him, and he liked that. That's why he lead her on, so he could keep her available for him, only to drop her when he got bored once again. It was disgusting, and Rhonda could say with pride that Arnold Shortman was one of the few people on her most hated list.
There was one instance Rhonda still remembered. She had been in the changing room when the door burst open and she could barely see what looked like an intimate couple, still changing and embarrassed, she hid behind one of the lockers inside. Once she saw flashes of blonde, pink and soft green, she realized who it was immediately. Arnold had Helga pinned to the wall, gripping her hips and kissing her furiously as her legs wrapped around his waist like a blanket. Arnold soon pulled off of her, quickly moving said furious kissing to her collarbone, and with that a soft sound escaped Helga's mouth. In response, her dug his pelvis into hers, moving up and down and up and down, and with each movement, more of those soft, sweet sounds were coming out from between her lips.
It wasn't long until the young 'couple' were dry-humping on the wall, and Rhonda found a way out of the changing room without being noticed after putting her clothes on. Something about that bothered her, she hated it was Arnold that was able to break her down and turn the smart-mouthed titan into a moaning, submissive mess. She hated that it was Arnold that made her make those wanton sounds. She hated that it was Arnold that made her eyes roll back into her head and her face flush as pink as the gloss she would borrow from Rhonda. She hated that it was Arnold that had her gyrating her hips in time with his, crying out for him to please do something, anything to help her reach her peak.
What had he done to deserve Helga in her most delicate, vulnerable form? He wasn't all that good looking, treated her as if she were disposable, and yet she was putty in his hands, there to fulfil his needs whenever he wanted them fulfilled.
It was horrific, she really hated Arnold Shortman.
However, Rhonda knew she couldn't stay high strung on that, especially since Helga and Lila's conversation seemed to be coming to an end. So, instead of thinking of football headed demons with green eyes filled with despicable intent, she thought of her best friend, her pretty, perfect best friend that deserved so much better than what she had as of then.