A.N.: I'm back! Time to tie off a loose end that I set up back in Chapter 6 and should have resolved a long time ago, but, honestly, I just plain forgot about it. Actually, if you think about it, this plot thread actually stems from the very first episode of the series. So, this is a loose end that's nearly a quarter of a century old!
Chapter 52
Back to School
-HELGA-
Once more, unto the breach.
"So, Helga… how is everything this morning?" Phoebe asked as we began the walk to school together.
"Honestly, Pheebs, I'm fine. I just got finished with a long Arnoldless stretch, so it's really no big deal. You don't have to baby me.
"Baby you? I'm certain I have no idea what you're talking-"
"Oh, come off it. You're still worried I'm gonna crash like I did the last time. Don't worry about it. I'm not some fragile little teacup that you have to handle carefully. You can just be normal with me. So how about we just talk about literally anything non-Arnold related, like we should be?"
"Very well… perhaps academics, then? Are you anticipating anything regarding the upcoming semester?"
"Only that I'm gonna keep pissing off Frank. I never thought I'd get stuck with a teacher who thinks I'm doing too much. I swear, it's like if I don't spoonfeed him the most superficial responses, he gets irritated. What kind of high-school History teacher doesn't want real work?"
"The kind that wants to coast on the least effort imaginable, I'd wager."
"Like brother, like brother, I guess."
"Perhaps you should, ah, dumb yourself down a bit then," Phoebe suggested helpfully.
"Ohh, no. Now it's a matter of principle. If he's make my life a living hell, the least I can do is return the favor. He's gonna be forced to actually do his job even if it kills me."
"I don't know, it seems… wrong that you're doing all this work and getting C's in return. Aren't you concerned that it will impact on your academic transcripts? You do have college applications to think about in the near future, you know."
"I'm kinda banking on the admissions offices seeing this one grade as an anomaly compared to the rest of my record, which is pretty steady."
Phoebe's reply was cut off by a car horn going off. We swiveled to look at just what had gotten our attention, which, it turned out, was a sparkling candy-apple-red Miata. Drawing our attention even more than the car itself was the individual who was driving it, which was none other than one Rhonda Wellington Lloyd. No need to ask what she'd gotten for Christmas, then (for the record, I'd gotten a new pair of ice skates from Mom (yeah, I figure-skate sometimes, you got a problem with that?) and cash from Pop since at this point he knew better than to even attempt to guess at what I might want).
"Need a lift, girls?" she asked, pulling up beside us.
"I was unaware you even had a license, Rhonda," noted Phoebe.
"Oh, yeah, passed the test about a month and a half ago," she responded. "What about you girls?"
"Oh, uh, well, I have been far too busy to get around to driver's ed," Phoebe replied, eye a bit shifty. I knew the whole story of course; the truth was that Phoebe was just plain afraid of driving. This made no sense to me, as Phoebe has faced down things far more terrifying in her lifetime, even before gaining powers. Was there some lingering trauma, possibly from the parade float incident? Whatever there was, she didn't want to talk about it, and being as uncomfortable with other people's emotions as I was, I didn't feel a need to pursue the topic further. In any case, Phoebe didn't consider driving a skill she particularly needed, so she felt it wasn't worth dealing with her discomfort since she had no use for a license anyway. And since I was a dutiful friend, I wouldn't say anything about it to anyone and keep up the fiction that she simply didn't have the time.
"What about you, Hellcat? Weren't you scheduled to take the test a while back?" Rhonda asked.
"Well, yeah… funny story about that…"
"…so…" I said, glancing nervously over at the driving exam proctor, "How many points is that going to cost me?"
The harried-looking man glanced back at me with a world-weary expression. "You really, really don't want to know," he deadpanned.
"…that bad, huh. Maybe I should just quit now and get out of the car."
"I think that might be a good idea, yes," he agreed. Yep. That bad.
Carefully, I got out of the car. By now, the nun I'd struck was on her feet (luckily, I'd been going very slow when I'd hit her or this would be looking at something a lot worse than having to retake the test)
"I.. I'm sooooo sorry," I pleaded, "Are you okay?" I asked nervously. "Do you need any help?"
"I will forgive you, because it is the Christian thing to do," the old woman said sternly. "The Lord, however, may not be so generous. I think you'd better consider how you will win Him over," she said, shuffling on her way."
"…so, not only will it be another three months before I can take the test again, I'm fairly sure I'm going to Hell now."
"I thought you only had to wait up to three weeks before you could take the test again?" asked Rhonda.
"Not the way I failed," I replied.
"Right… so, getting in or what?"
I raised an eyebrow. "I don't know… I can't help but notice Nadine's not in the car. If your own girlfriend doesn't trust you behind the wheel, I'm not sure I should…"
Phoebe cocked her head. "Helga…"
"I'm just sayin', she's an untested driver, and-"
Rhonda gave me an irritated look. "You remember Nadine lives a block away from the school, right?"
"And always has?" added Phoebe."
Oh. Right. "In my defense, I'm a jerk."
"Now maybe I'm not sure I want to give you a ride any more."
My eyebrow went up. "Mmm-hmm. Rhonda Lloyd missing the chance to show off something new and fashionable. Sounds plausible."
I'd called her bluff. "Just get in, Pataki."
South Hillwood High
The trap was set.
It'd taken quite a few greased palms within Big Gino's inner circle, and even then, getting them to even listen to him had been hard; he was as close to being a nobody in this school as you could be, while she was someone who had a rep a mile and a half long, to the point that even the shadiest operators in the school ecosystem were loath to cross her. But it would be worth it; his previous attempts at revenge had come to nought, but now, finally, she would pay for what she'd done.
This wasn't the first attempt, of course. His first stab at revenge came the day after he'd managed to acquire a humiliating photo of Helga G. Pataki, toughest girl in South Hillwood High and scourge of the schoolyard back in her elementary school days, in a frilly princess getup. He'd immediately posted the image to his FacePlace account for all to see. Unfortunately, he'd miscalculated; none of his peers even bothered to use FacePlace anymore. It was now exclusively the domain of Boomers and Gen-Xers.
He'd tried again, this time on a more youth-oriented social media platform, but alas, he ran into another problem; he was extremely unpopular, and thus had no followers except for his mom. And so, cyber-revenge had proven a bust. He made one more attempt, this time in meatspace, as it were; he printed out the photo and posted it on the school bulletin board on the first day of school. Unfortunately, the first day being a busy time for posting notices, it was immediately covered up by other announcements, and revenge died in obscurity beneath a call for drummers for a new band, an announcement of a fund-raiser for the sewing club, and a notice for volunteers for an upcoming anti-corporate protest.
After that, he'd given up for a while, but the thought of Helga Pataki escaping justice for her long-ago crime refused to leave his subconscious, and as the winter break approached, he began to plot anew. This time, she would not escape. This time, he would finally close that chapter of his life for good.
-HELGA-
"Okay…," I grumbled. "Fine. The car's cool. I admit a tiny twinge of jealousy that you have one and I don't. But that's it. Only a twinge."
"Now was that so hard?" Rhonda said with a smirk as the five of us (Gerald and Nadine had met us at the door, and once more I was a fifth wheel).
"There's no shame, Pataki," Gerald commented. "It is a boss car. Gonna be ages before I can get my hands on anything that sweet." He shook his head. "Pop won't even let me drive the old Ford until I've had my license for a year. How am I supposed to get any experience driving if he won't let me drive?"
"Ah, the proverbial Catch 22," Phoebe mused.
"Maybe you can get Stinky to let you practice on his dad's pickup truck," Nadine suggested.
"Uh-uh. That thing smells like manure." He shook his head. "No way am I gonna drive anything that'll leave me smelling like cow shit."
We stopped before our bank of lockers. "Not like there's a ton of other options."
"What if-"
"No." declared Rhonda. "No offense, but I am not insured for other drivers on my car, and I intend to maintain as perfect a record as possible."
"What about your brother?" asked Phoebe helpfully.
"Jamie-O? You kiddin'? He won't even let me breathe on his car, let alone drive the thing."
"Siblings," I commiserated. "Can't live with 'em, can't have 'em shipped to Abu Dhabi. Stupid locker…" My locker's door had been sticking on and off since it'd been assigned to me back in September. Today it was being particularly stubborn, but one final yak and it at last gave way with a sproing.
Wait, sproing?
They say, sometimes, when you realize something terrible is about to happen, time seems to slow down. I can confirm that that is indeed the case. I say "seems" because it does not actually slow down. No, that would give you a chance to react, and potentially avert your fate. This was not that. Time was not slowed down, only my perception of time. So, no, it did not give me the chance to react. What it did give me was an excruciatingly exact sense of every single detail of what was happening. So I was able to register the individual arc of each of the dozen white, ovate projectiles that had been hurled in my direction and track their trajectories in real time as they collided with my body, shattering and depositing their slimy payloads on my coat, sweater, and jeans.
And then, time resumed its regular progression as I reentered the continuum covered in eggshell fragments, albumen and yolk, and surrounded by a crowd who'd just gotten a front-row-seat to a free, impromptu comedy act and were enjoying the opportunity. Had I been in their shoes, I, too, would probably be laughing it up. But I wasn't. I was in mine, with egg innards dripping down onto them.
I whirled to face the crowd. "WHO DID THIS," I growled. That shut up and dispersed them. If any of them had been responsible for the prank, nobody was confessing. Not that I expected them to. They knew better than to give me a target.
"Looks like they all-" began Nadine.
"Don't say it." I warned. "Don't you dare."
"…scrambled," she continued, clearly feeling like living dangerously.
"This isn't funny," I stated firmly.
"Nuh. Uth courth nop." Rhonda said, clearly biting her tongue to keep from laughing. "Nadine, maybe now's not the best time for-"
"-cracks?" she finished. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. No more yolks."
"Grrr…" I had no doubt that, if this was some sort of cartoon, the heat from my anger would literally be causing the eggs to fry right there on my body.
"We should really get to class, dear. Alive," Rhonda emphasized, dragging her beau away.
"Sorry, the puns just kinda crepe'd up on me! Omletting myself stop now, I swear!"
"Now you're just forcing it!" I called after her. "Oh, who am I kidding, I'd be doing the same if it was one of you."
"So… what are you going to do now?" asked Phoebe.
"Not much I can, right now. I only have enough time to clean up as best I can and get to class. But after that… well, no one plans a scheme like this without leaving a trail. An when it comes to schemes, there's one guy who has a finger in every last one."
Lunchtime
On the third floor of the school, there was a room near the rear on the eastern side of the building. On a school blueprint, it was marked as a storage room. And that was its official purpose, but through judicious arrangement of the supplies within, a space was created with room for a desk, several chairs, and a full-sized fridge. One entering the room from the hallway would not be able to see any of this due to several movable dividers being set up, blocking the view. If, however, you were to step around them, you would find yourself in the office of Big Gino.
If there were any shady dealings going on in the school, and there most certainly were, Big Gino's chubby little fingers were probably in them. If you needed something, be it legal, semi-legal, or less-than-semi-legal, Gino could get it for you, if the price was right. If you needed information, Gino would be the one you went to for it, again, at the right price. And if you wanted to get back at someone, Gino was the one who could make it happen… at, of course, the right price.
"Ah, Miss Pataki. Bon giorno, ma bella," the adolescent racketeer greeted me obsequiously. "How may I be of service today?"
Gino had grown, but not much, since I'd been in fourth grade. He was still small for his age, imposing in his influence, not his size. He was seated in an oversized (relative to himself) office chair, dressed in an immaculate white business suit with matching fedora. He'd upgraded from his omnipresent lollipop to a vape pen but otherwise still looked much the same as he did in his PS118 days, only larger. Surrounding the desk on either side were his goons, who I had recognized as members of the wrestling team. They wore black suits and mirrored sunglasses, contrasting with Gino's own lighter attire.
"Stow the business spiel, tiny," I snapped back. "Someone messed with my locker and I need to know who."
"Feisty as ever. Truly, your reputation precedes you."
I clenched my fist, making sure Gino had a clear view of it. "I'm not in the mood for pleasantries."
"Sure, sure. We can cut to the chase. So, I take it this is in reference to the injustice which was perpetrated on you this morning. Ah, yes, word of the incident is all over the school grapevine. After all, it is not every day that someone pranks someone of your reputation, is it. Most are wary of provoking your ire." He smirked. "Then again, the grapevine also suggests that your reputation has been… somewhat exaggerated over the last few years. That your legendary ferocity has cooled. That you have grown soft."
In a snap, I had lunged across the desk and grabbed him by the collar. "You wanna test my reputation, small fry? You wanna see if my ferocity has been exaggerated? Is that what you want?"
His goons moved to try to stop me but he waved them aside. "I see you are indeed as fierce as advertised. Well, then… let us discuss business. Sure, sure. What is it that you require of me?"
"I want to know who tampered with my locker."
"And what makes you think I would be in possession of such knowledge?"
"Oh, come off it, shrimp. Everyone knows you have access to the master record of locker combinations. If someone wanted to break into someone else's locker, you're the one they'd go to."
"You have no proof of such a claim."
"Oh, but I do. You see last year my friend Harold forgot his combination… several times actually… and he mentioned that you were the one who sold him back his locker combination." I shook my head. "I don't know why he didn't just go to the janitor, but there we are."
"Very well… it would appear that you have me. I do, indeed, have access to such vital information. Sadly, though, and I'm sure you would agree… confidentiality is paramount in an operation such as this. I cannot simply tell you who it was who sought my services. That would be a violation."
Damn. Well, this was irritating. Well, time to put on a little pressure of my own. "You know, there's very little that's preventing me from just going to the principal and blowing your whole operation wide open."
"Nothing except exposing yourself as a snitch, thus rendering yourself a social outcast. Not to mention your friends and acquaintances. I have a lot of sway with the student body. And beyond. Your friend, Lila. She s trying to launch a musical career, is she not? I could make it exceedingly difficult for her to get any gigs. Or perhaps your friend Phoebe, who is attempting to graduate early. My friends in the computer club can see to it that her transcripts receive a bit of… creative editing."
"You even try it, I'll see to it your face gets a little 'creative editing'," I retorted, cracking my knuckles in emphasis. "Are we clear on that? So drop the cheap attempts to intimidate me. I will get the information out of you one way or another."
Despite showing no other sign, facially, that my words had had any effect on him, I spotted a single bead of sweat running down his forehead. Pay dirt. "You misunderstand," he calmly replied, the plea absent from his tone, yet implicit in the fact that he was responding at all. "I did not mean I wouldn't share the individual in question's identity. I simply meant that I would not supply it for free."
I sighed, digging for my wallet. "How much are we talking about?"
He put up a hand. "Do not worry. Your cash will not be required."
"Oh, so, like, PayBuddy, or-"
"No, no. Well, that is my preferred method of transaction, but money is not what I am looking for. Rather, the time will come when I will require of you some sort of service of your own. A favor, if you will."
"Nothing illegal."
"…actually, I may need it soon. I am told you are a writer of some skill, and I was wondering… there is a certain young man I have been admiring from afar. I wish to gain his attention, perhaps with some sort of romantic overture, but… I am sad to admit, I lack the auteurial talent for such an endeavor. I was wondering if… perhaps you could assist me in composing said missive?"
I felt myself soften a little. Crushing was something I could definitely relate to. "…yeah, I suppose I could help with something like that. As long as you hold up your end of the deal.
"I would not dream of backing out on an agreement. The name of the person in question is…"
Mid-afternoon
He was on top of the world. His revenge had gone off without a hitch, Helga had triggered the trap, been thoroughly humiliated, and had no way of knowing who had done it. It was simple… gain the locker code from Big Gino, rig the trap using the skills he'd gained in the engineering club, skills that he would later provide in service to Big Gino in exchange for the locker code. And it had gone off, beautifully. The laughter at Pataki's expense had been music to his ears. Even now, people were still talking about it. His only regret was that no one had been able to capture it on their phones and upload it to the Internet for posterity. Perhaps he should have done that himself. Oh well. Hindsight.
In any case, he'd succeeded in what he set out to do and gotten away with it scot-
"Billy Vermeer."
He'd known the owner of the voice before even looking, but still, reflex forced him to whirl and face his accuser, convicting him before he even had a chance to deny it.
She barrelled down on him, forcing her way through the crowd of gaping students, the stains of this morning's assault still visible on her clothing. Billy tried to make a break from it, but his puny body was no match for the throngs, while she was an irresistible force that parted the crowd by her sheer presence. Within moments, she inevitably caught up to him, grabbing him by the collar.
She spun him to face her and spat a single word at him: "WHY."
"I… I don't know what-"
"The eggs. My locker. Why. I have literally done nothing to you. I don't even know you."
What? Was this possible? Did she not remember? How could she not remember? Was she truly that callous?
"June 16, 2015," I said simply. A date that would live in infamy.
"…really?" she replied, confused. "You think I remember anything from that day? That was over seven years ago."
It was true, then, she really didn't remember what had happened that day.
June 16, 2015. Two days after Flag Day. The entire population of the PS118 schoolyard had just witnessed, though an exceedingly unlikely series of unfortunate events, the destruction of Eugene Horowitz's brand new bike. Billy, too, had brought something he valued to school today, his beloved collection of albino earthworms, including his absolute favorite, Pinky. While Billy felt sympathy for the unlucky soul, he took comfort in the fact that-
…wait, where was Pinky? Had he escaped? Billy hoped he could find him before-
"Ewww."
The sound of disgust had come from one Helga Pataki, scourge of the playground. It was in reaction to the telltale pink smear that decorated the bottom of her shoe. Billy knew, with horrible certainty, that his best friend had just met a horrible fate.
For Billy Vermeer, the day Helga G. Pataki had stepped on his beloved Pinky would be seared into his memories forever.
But for Helga G. Pataki… it was a Monday.
"What was this about?" she repeated again.
"You killed him," Billy said numbly. Would she even care? Could she?
"…look, it was a long time ago, but I'm pretty sure I didn't kill anyone, on that day, or any other."
"Yes you did," I accused. "You killed my pet worm. Pinky."
She blinked. "A worm. That's what this is about. And you've been holding a grudge for seven and a half years."
"He wasn't just a worm," Billy replied, fighting back tears. "He was… my best friend."
Something imperceptible passed over Helga's face. "I'm not gonna lie. That's… really, really sad." Was that sympathy in her voice? "Still… that's no excuse. I can't just let this slide."
She dragged me through the murmuring crowd to a nearby broom closet and slammed the door behind us. I braced myself for the end. Whatever happened to me, at least I'd avenged Pinky. Now, it was time to face the consequences.
Only… it never came. Instead, Helga started kicking and punching the walls and knocking over boxes of supplies, all while making threatening grunts.
"There," she whispered. "That should be enough." She walked over, messed up my hair and clothes, and shook me up a little.
"What th-" I began.
"I'm sorry I stepped on your worm," she said. "I had no idea it meant that much to you."
I didn't know what to say. "Uh… thanks?"
"On the other hand, holding a grudge for three-quarters of a decade for something the other person almost certainly forgot about, then humiliating them in front of everyone? That was really, really stupid, and a very good way to get your ass kicked."
"…so… why didn't you?"
"Let's just say someone else gave me a break years ago, and I finally got a chance to pay it forward. Besides… I did do you wrong." She opened the door. "Now go. Sell it."
Not wanting to push my luck any further, I slowly limped my way out of the closet, groaning in feigned pain. And even though I had been found out and "punished", as it were, I felt a relief even greater than that I felt for executing my revenge. I felt the relief of a long standing grudge finally released.
-HELGA-
"…so it was Billy Vermeer?" Arnold asked later that day during our nightly chat.
"You remember him?" I asked. "Because honestly, I am drawing a complete blank."
"Vaguely," he said. "He was kinda like the male Nadine, except into worms instead of bugs. And, y'know, without any of her other personality facets. To be honest, I don't think I've thought about him in forever."
"Funny how things from the past come back to bite us in the ass, isn't it?" I mused.
"Yeah. I'm really proud of you, by the way. For not giving in to your anger."
"Actually, I have you to thank for that."
"How do you figure?"
"Well, when I was confronting Billy, I fully intended to rough him up. I mean, from where I was standing, he'd attacked me totally unprovoked. He had it coming. But then I thought about that time you convinced Patty to give me a break, and I realized, well, maybe there was a better way to handle it. So really, I'm just following your example." I shrugged. "Besides, no harm was really done. My clothes'll wash out, and by tomorrow some other poor sap'll get humiliated and everyone'll forget about me."
"Still, it was ultimately you who made the choice. I think that just proves that, no matter how down on yourself you can be sometimes, you're inherently a good person."
"My, Mr. Shortman, you sure know how to sweet-talk a lady." I wasn't being sarcastic. Being told by Arnold how I'm a good person was one of my big turn-ons.
"Well, it's true." He looked offscreen. "I gotta go. It's really nice out tonight and I wanna get in a late swim"
"Sounds fun," I said. Arnold, in nothing but swim trunks. Maybe less. Hopefully less. My imagination supplied what my eyes could not. "I think I'm gonna get in some quick air time before bed." I gave my wings a flex for emphasis.
"Okay. Miss you," he said, giving the screen a kiss before disconnecting. It wasn't the real thing, but for now, I'll take it.
A.N.: So, I always assumed that Billy was intended to be a more important character than he ended up being, since, in the (second half of the) first episode, he's right there with Brainy and Sheena, but unlike those two, he pretty much disappears completely. Then again, there wasn't really much to him other than he liked worms. Still, he had a speaking role in the very first episode, and I figured he should be acknowledged.
Jose: Yep, General Ross is an inspiration. More on him in the future.
Veganmama: Thanks for the kind words.
See you next time!