Helga G Pataki: Hillwood's New Superhero

by KlutzyMaiden123

As if my life hadn't already been difficult. I already had to watch the love of my life, Arnold, make goo-goo eyes at little Miss Perfect, Lila Sawyer, while completely ignoring me. Now, I have to juggle school, keeping my feelings for him secret and battling evil dressed in a skimpy bathing suit, all the while keeping my lifestyle as a superhero from my nosey classmates.

2. Zero to Hero

—on a Monday morning.

An absolutely breathtaking Monday. Ah, yes—the sun's glorious rays pierced the cracks in the blinds that hung above my window. Birds were melodiously chirping, and my heart soared with delight. Despite yesterday's terribly dreary day, accompanied with sheets of rain and dominant clouds, today seemed awfully—

Oh, fuck it, who was I kidding? No one actually thought mornings were beautiful, much less Monday mornings.

Sharp streaks of sunlight slipped between the blind's cracks and speared my eyelids, practically spiking me blind. I groaned, why couldn't it be cloudy like yesterday?

Turning on my side, I squeezed my eyes shut and attempted to fall back asleep. My mind was still full of fog, and I was more than willing to fall back into it again. Besides, I'd been having a pretty sweet dream that I needed to finish. Just as I felt myself slipping back into my unconscious—and, oh so beautifully blissful—state, a sharp knocking at my bedroom door snapped me back out.

Eyes still shut, I frowned.

I didn't need to open the door to hear her (disgustingly perky) voice singing for me to wake up. And I most certainly did not need to see her right now. But, as expected, she barged right in without waiting for a reply. I could feel her painfully cheerful smile plastered across her perfectly perfect face as she looked at me. Grumbling, I turned back to the window—I'd much prefer the sun's perkiness to my sister's.

"Baby sis, it's time to get up now!"

Ugh.

I despised that cheery tone and had to restrain myself from barfing. She remained ignorant to my growing irritation and her footsteps crept closer to my haven. There was some shuffling to my left, then suddenly a bright explosion of sunlight hit my room and stung my eyes.

"You idiot!" I roared, drawing back. My hands flew to my face and attempted to shield my poor, innocent eyes from the heinous sun's glare. Turning back on my other side, I pulled my covers over my head and curled up into a small ball.

Olga giggled (giggled. Who does that on a Monday morning?), reminding me that I was far from having my troubles solved.

"You need to get up some time." Ugh. Her smile was more penetrative than the sun. I could feel it through my blankets, pillows and eyelids. "C'mon, baby sis, the bus'll be here soon!"

Oh, that was a lie. Even Olga knew that Pete was slower than a snail slithering through a batch of peanut butter. Personally, I blamed his age—old people were so slow these days. I was still waiting for the day I'd be greeted with a newer, younger face of a quicker driver. One that picked me up from my house instead of making me walk down the street.

. . . still, as much as I loathed to admit it, Olga was—shudder—not wrong. At least, presently. It wasn't unknown for me to sleep in and arrive later then Pete. That sly bastard took too much pleasure in making me run down the street after him.

I sighed—should probably get up.

The morning light hit my eyes. I hissed, drawing my elbow across my face. I shook my head, forcing myself to shed any remaining glimpses of my dream, and forced my eyes back open.

The first thing that register in my vision was Olga, who stood in front of my bed. Her hair was pulled into a braid so intricate that it would've made Daenerys herself cry, and her clothes were perfectly pressed. Her arms were folded behind her back and, of course, she had on that dumb smile. I shuddered watching it, did she have to be so cheery about everything?

Propping onto my elbows, I rubbed my eyes then pinched my nose. "Olga—pray tell—what time is it?"

Olga moved her right wrist to peer at her small, glittering watch, which I was sure had been a gift from her boyfriend.

"Mmm . . . 7:20?"

My eyes widened.

"7:20?!" I shot up like a pistol, looking straight into her mascaraed eyes. Olga slightly drew back with a sheepish smile, holding her hands up in defence. "Did you just say 7:20?!"

Her smile slightly wavered. "Y–Yeah. . ."

"CRIMINY!"

Leaping from my bed, I stumbled across the room and snatched the crumbled pieces of my uniform from last weekend. Yeah, uniform—surprisingly, it was mandatory for high school, which was whack considering it wasn't even private or anything.

But regardless, the girls were made to wear a white, button-down shirt with a crisp, sharp collar. The skirt was pleated and had a tartan pattern, a mix of navy blue and crimson, and it was an absolute requirement that the hem reached our knees. Anything shorter would earn you weeks long detentions until you hemmed or replaced it. With this we were required to wear black socks, brown buckle–up shoes, a crimson tie, and a matching blazer with the school crest emblazoned on the left breast pocket.

"Geeze—Olga, why didn't you wake me up earlier?!"

Olga tilted her head. "Sorry, I thought you were gonna get up earlier . . ."

I gave her a baffled look. "Since when do I ever wake up earlier?" I shook my head before she could answer. "Oh, who cares? I only have a few minutes to get ready and down the street—I don't have time to argue with you!"

I spat those words like fire, but they didn't bother Olga, who simply winked and headed for the door. Of course, because it was her, it took much longer than it should've.

"Don't worry, little sis, I already packed your lunch for yo—"

She hadn't even finished her sentence when I slammed the door in her face and began shedding my pyjamas. My sweatpants and crummy shirt joined the clothes that layered the carpet as I shimmied into my skirt. But when I shoved on my button-down, I realised I'd forgotten to wash it because now there was a chocolate stain on the right breast. I slapped my forehead—fuck that stupid tempting ice cream—and quickly reached for my hairbrush, yanking it through my haystack of hair. There wasn't anything I could do about the stain until I got back. Tying my hair in its usual two ponytails, I scanned the face in the mirror before deeming my eyebrows acceptable for the day.

I spotted my black hoodie—an old, but stable part of my wardrobe, that was so ancient that the elbows had almost been worn completely through—and shoved it on. It never failed to annoy my teachers, but it wasn't going anywhere, it was warm and made me feel protected, safe. Throwing my blazer over the hoodie, I quickly applied deodorant and raced out the door while attempting to pull a sock onto my foot. I hadn't realised I'd reached the stairs until I lost my balance and—

Smack!

Bang!

CRASH!

—fell down the stairs.

"Criminy!" I roared, rubbing my ass. The impact hurt like a bitch, but I didn't have the time to whine about it. Shakily climbing to my feet, I pulled on my sock and limped for the kitchen. My eyes swept over the couch shoved against the wall and met Olga's concerned gaze.

"Olga, you dummy, why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"Shh!" Olga jammed a finger to her mouth, sharply looking at the couch before meeting my eyes again. My jaw clenched. I didn't have to look to know that it was Miriam she was gesturing at. Probably passed out in yesterday's clothes, clutching onto one of her dear ol' smoothies.

Olga obviously had no idea just how regular it was that Miriam passed out. That, or she had forgotten. She had, after all, already moved out into her own place at her prestige–sounding university. It had been a couple of years since she left, and it was still no less weird passing her room knowing she wasn't here anymore. Miriam had kept everything the same since she left, I don't think even a paper had been out of place. It was like a ghost had been living in there.

Cut to a few days ago when Olga had showed up at our door in tears, mascara running down her cheeks. Miriam and Bob had taken her back with open arms, going on about how it wasn't a bother at all if she moved back in. She'd rebutted that it was only temporarily, she just needed a few days to clear her head—from what, I had no idea. Nor did I care, for that matter.

I snatched my bag from Olga's hand and marched for the front door, not sparing a glance toward my dear passed out mother. I didn't acknowledge Olga's hushed protests and swung the door shut behind me.

Outside, I was reminded of the rain from yesterday when I saw the wet concrete. The air was chilly on my face, and I realised that my jaw was still tight. Taking a calming breath, I ran a hand through my hair. It was always the same whenever I was in that house—a rigid sense of acrimony twisted in my chest, which only left when I was out the door. And now that I was outside, that acrimony melted into a hollowness dressed in anguish. It was like there was cold, hard metal in my chest that kept weighing me down. Blinking the image from my head, I let out another breath, crossed my arms tight over my chest, and marched down the steps.

My foot hadn't even touched the pavement when a yellow blur whizzed past. The air trailing behind it hit me like a wall and I was left blinking—once, twice, thrice.

Was that . . .

Looking in the direction that yellow blur had gone—to my right and down the street—I realised that yes, that had been the bus.

. . . oh my god, that was the school bus!

Shrieking, I bolted in its direction, my heart pounding in acceleration. I waved my hands in the air, yelling out in some desperate hope that Pete would recognise the wild–looking teenager running in his rear-view mirror. Well, he apparently didn't (bullocks, obviously he had, he just hated me) and the bus sharply turned at the end of the street.

Rounding the same corner, I gipped onto the pole of the stop sign and sharply turned. Swinging around, for a split second, my gaze locked onto a pair of bright purple eyes.

Wait—purple eyes?

I remembered too late that the pavement was still wet from last night and, within a few seconds, found myself flat on my back with a throbbing ankle. Hissing, I slowly sat up to a burning in my palms and a painful aching sensation in my scalp.

Okay—not the smartest of ideas.

Rubbing my ankle, I found myself seeking out those eyes again. I found them across the street and blinked. Those eyes—glimmering orbs reminiscent of amethysts—belonged to a small black cat.

It was perched on the roof of a parked car, its tail swishing sharply in the air. The feline blinked owlishly at me. I drew back. The creepy thing barely moved and was managing to burn a hole straight through me with its stare. Its eyes never moved from my form and, though it was ridiculous, I got the feeling that I was being judged.

What the fu—

There was a honking noise that blared from down the street. I jumped and looked over my shoulder. Apparently, the bus had decided to stop and wait for me, half-way down the street. I frowned, feeling my face heat up. That dumb old fart knew I'd been running and had only now decided to stop and wait?

I scrambled to my feet and dusted myself of any dirt I may have acquired from my little, ahem, trip. Before I left, I looked over my shoulder at the cat. It hadn't moved, and its big, scary eyes were still on me. I shuddered and turned back, stalking for the bus.

My heart was practically throbbing in my chest as I approached the doors. I could feel everyone's eyes on me as they watched through the windows, but kept my attention trained ahead. When the door shuddered open, the hushed silence hit me like bricks; it was like I'd walked in the middle of a tense movie scene, one that made my stomach drop. I lowered my gaze to my feet and hurried down the aisle. My back was burning from the annoyed looks thrown my way and I quickly sunk low in the closest free seat. I didn't look up until I could feel the glares lessening when the bus sprang back to life.

I pulled my hoodie up and slumped further in my seat. My lips were screwed tightly shut, like my heart would fall out, and my fingers tangled with my sleeves. Instinctively, my eyes sought out and found a familiar mob of blonde hair sitting up at the front, chatting animatedly to his best friend. My chest thundered and I barely restrained myself from smacking my head against the window. As usual, his back was turned in my direction, oblivious to my existence.

Oh, criminy, please end me.

I turned and feigned looking out the window while secretly watching him from the corner of my eye. Ugh, I loved the way his messy hair stuck up at awkward angles from his beautifully odd–shaped head, sat upon his wonderfully perfect body. Thankfully, a benefit to the school uniforms was that it forced Arnold to ditch those awful flannels and instead wear proper, buttoned up shirts.

The boy's uniform was kept fairly similar to the girl's, save for their pants. Instead of a tartan pattern, their long pants were instead made of a plain grey material, one of which I envied. It was simpler than ours and less dorky looking—our skirts were the type I would've made fun of as a kid. But still, I was more than willing to overlook that tidbit, considering how good Arnold looked.

He wasn't wearing his blazer, a usual choice of his, and had shoved his sleeves up to his elbows, allowing me to appreciate the slight chiselling along his forearms. Ugh—that was my weakness: his arms. Arnold and his friends hadn't stopped meeting up on the weekends to play sport together, which in turn had graced him sculpted muscles. They weren't anything crazy—nothing that made him look like he was a wrestler, or on steroids—but a nice definition that never failed to drive me crazy. That, and his eyes. Those sparkling orbs that could pull anyone in with their striking shade of emerald.

Stupid hormones.

I sighed—well, I couldn't entirely blame my hormones. I mean yeah, they were a real bitch, but I'd been in love with the guy since pre–school. Could I really blame these teenage sensations that I just got a couple of years ago? Hell, I was nine when I dedicated a shrine to him made from his own gum! Yeah—I was obsessed. Although to be fair, you gotta give it to me for the perseverance, that had not been easy.

I tried getting over him.

Like, really, really tried.

I got rid of the shrine, threw away the poetry, cut off the small amount of contact I had with him. But alas, it appeared that one didn't need social contact to admire Arnold Shortman. No, one does not need to speak with such a fair spirit to know he only utters the finest of words. One does not even need to look to see how absolutely breathtakingly beautiful he is. No, Arnoldo was so perfect that a human being simply cutting her ties with him could never cease the infatuation she felt for a man so exquisite.

So, in short no—I hadn't gotten over him.

Arnold was, to put it simply, too good a person to simply get over. Anyone who wasn't aware of this was, in my books, a freak of nature. Furthermore—

Screeeeeeeeeech!

My head flew forward and collided with a thump! into the bar in front of me. I groaned, feeling an ugly headache forming. There was a buzz of angry voices asserting their annoyance at the sudden halt the bus had taken.

Rubbing my forehead, I looked out the right side through the windows. What could possibly be so important that—

I almost cried—we were stopped outside of Lila Sawyer's house.

I threw a dirty look at the back of Pete's balding head—sure, he had no problem stopping outside of little Miss Perfect's house, but mine? 'Simply unnecessary, Ms. Pataki.'

My blood was boiling when the doors shuddered open and said perfect specimen stepped—nay, glided up the steps. She avoided our looks (you know, of the students who almost died) as she breezed down the aisle, her freckled cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink.

I hated to admit it, but Lila had only become more beautiful as time passed. She'd been cute as a child, but the years had stripped her of her baby fat and blessed her with slender curves. Lila had ditched the braids long ago and her fiery hair fluttered down her shoulders like she was from a Lord of the Rings movie. Her baby blue eyes were like pools of sapphires and swept over the many rows of seats with quickness. Yet despite her beauty, the uniform hung awkwardly from her petite body.

My heart lurched when Arnold straightened in his seat, watching her with alert eyes like a puppy. Gerald, in response, smacked the heel of his palm to his forehead.

"Lila," Arnold breathed, as if in the presence of an angel.

Hearing her name, Lila's eyes flickered to Arnold's face before quickly turning away. Her lips slightly dipped until she found an available seat and scurried for it. I muffled a groan, realising it was the one across from me. The bus was tiny, so when she passed me, I caught a whiff of her perfume—fruity and delicate.

She kept her hands tight and tied in her lap, forcing herself to look out the window. Only she looked nothing like me when I did that exact thing. She wasn't slouching like she didn't want to be here; no, instead her back was rigidly straight, and her shoulders pushed back. It really was like watching a princess from a fantasy movie, one that had gotten off at the wrong stop and ended up here instead.

My stomach sunk as Arnold's face fell and his shoulders sank from Lila's rejection. Swallowing, I turned back to the window, determined to ignore whatever was going on. But I could still see their reflections, could even hear some of their conversation.

"C'mon, Arnold," Gerald sighed, turning to his best friend. "It's been six years, man. Six years. You've gotta let it go."

"I know, Gerald," Arnold grumbled, eyes downcast. "It's just . . . so hard, y'know? I mean, yeah, it's been six years and . . . it's hard to let a girl like her go. It's Lila, for God's sake—she's perfect."

His words rung in my ears.

Perfect.

Right.

Lila, she was perfect. Of course, it would be her who earned his heart—without even trying. Swallowing, my wet eyelids fluttered, and I dug into my bag to pull out my phone. Popping in my earphones, I scrolled through to find something sad sounding. A particular song caught my interest, so selecting it, I rested my head back and shut my eyes.

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry

I wanted to cry. These lyrics were hitting sore spots that I never talked to anyone about. Well, not like I talked to many these days.

You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special

Placing my elbows on the bar, I buried my head into my folded arms.

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong her—

I gritted my teeth, sitting up with a small huff. This was supposed to be helping me, not making it worse. I pressed skip and sat my head back atop of my folded arms.

Na na na na na na na na na na na na,
Na na na na na na na na na na na na,

The corners of my mouth tilted up, and my foot began to tap to the rhythm. Finally, a song I could relate to without feeling depressed.

I guess I just lost my husband,
I don't know where he went,
So I'm gonna drink my money,
I'm not gonna pay his rent (nope),
I got a brand new attitude and
I'm gonna wear it tonight,
I wanna get in trouble,
I wanna start a fight

---

I released a breath when finally, the bus pulled up in front of the school. It had been downright agonising listening to Arnold go on and on about Lila. Hell, it seemed like it had been agonising for the others as well. Gerald looked how I felt—his cheek was pressed against the window with a glazed over look as he nodded along. And from across the aisle, Lila appeared uncomfortable, like she knew she was the topic of discussion for the entirety of the trip.

Regardless of her disinterest, a surge of jealousy rushed through me any time Arnold watched her with that handsome love–struck face. I knew I should be happy that Lila didn't return his feelings but rejecting the most amazing guy didn't strike me as particularly smart. If not Arnold, who could earn her affections?

But when we reached the school, I jumped to my feet with eagerness. My movements were mirrored by Lila who dashed down the aisle before I could even reach for my bag. She ignored Arnold's attempt to converse, drifting by him like he was a ghost, and quickly left. My heart broke at Arnold's crestfallen look, which earned a sympathetic pat on the back from Gerald.

Shaking my head, I pulled on my bag, shoved my hands into my pocket and made my way down the aisle. I had only taken a few steps when, out of nowhere, a bag clocked me straight in the nose. I yelped and clutched my aching nose (honestly, how could one go through so much pain in one morning?).

"Oh, gosh—I'm sorry!"

I froze, recognising that luscious voice as a warm hand clasped my shoulder. My eyes locked with his—bright green against my brown. My hoodie had fallen from the hit and his eyes widened when he realised who it was that he'd hit. Beside him, Gerald seized up with alarm and watched with bugged eyes.

Sparks flew from Arnold's touch and my knees buckled under my weight. It'd been so long since I'd been this close, I hadn't realised how much he'd grown—I barely reached his chin. I knew I should've looked away, turn before this got awkward, but I couldn't stop myself from allowing my eyes to glide across his face.

He was just so handsome; it was like meeting a movie star. His brows were deep and strong, his nose arrow straight. He had pale, long lips, that naturally curved in a sharp, prince–like way. His golden hair flopped over his forehead and hung above his bright eyes. I had the impulse to brush it away, but thankfully my common sense kicked in to restrain my inner nine–year–old.

Clearing my throat, I forced my face into a scowl despite the giddiness. I couldn't keep doing this to myself, not anymore.

I slapped away his hand from my shoulder. He stepped away with his hands raised, which felt like a shard had pierced my gut. Eyes wide, here he was—good and pure, Arnold Shortman—looking at me like I was an untamed animal ready to attack. Not that I could blame him, this was what I wanted after all.

"Watch where you're swinging that thing, football head!" I barked, then elbowed past him. A thrill hit me when that nickname rushed past my lips for the first time in seven years. But, like the presence besides me, I ignored and brushed it away.

My fists were swinging as I stalked down the aisle. People were quick to jump out of my way and even Pete shrunk back when I passed him. My shoulders felt tight, my chest a bunch of knots, and I didn't relax until I stepped off the bus.

Now outside, I sucked in a harsh breath—one that didn't really do anything—and quickly scurried for the gates. Two pairs of eyes were burning holes into my back which made me quicken my pace. I didn't slow down until I passed the towering gates, where the eyes must've looked away. Butterflies were swarming in my stomach as I marched into the school and down the familiar hallways. I gripped my bag straps so tightly that my knuckles began to cramp, becoming a disgustingly pale colour.

Head low, I pulled the hoodie back over my head to cover the tears that blurred my eyesight. Pressing my forehead against my locker, I closed my eyes and ignored the buzzing chatter. My heart throbbed as Arnold's lovesick expression flashed through my mind. Breathing through my nose, I tried shaking those images from my mind, but I couldn't. I could only think of how much Arnold loved Lila while remaining apathetic to me.

Well, who's fault is that?

Right.

It wasn't like it was Arnold or even Lila's fault. It was obvious Arnold never had feelings for me—I'm not even sure if he felt anything platonic, let alone romantic. I was cruel to him when we were kids, so I never stood a chance against someone like Lila.

The girl who oozed kindness and breathed fairness. She was obviously very beautiful, but there was also more behind that smile of hers. She had a soul that radiated from her being, so genuine she could probably talk Darth Vader from the dark side.

It was beyond annoying.

Little Miss Perfect.

A hand suddenly slammed inches from my face and I jumped back in surprise. My hands flew to my heart as I spun around and met the smiling face of my best friend—Phoebe.

"Pheebs!" I could feel my heart racing at an agonising rate, doing multiple somersaults in my chest.

Said best friend grinned at me, not looking the slightest bit regretful. "Affirmative."

"Don't do that!"

"Sorry," she shrugged. "But alas, I couldn't resist."

I glared at her.

I swear, Phoebe was the only person I knew shorter than Miss Perfect. Her forehead reached the tip of my nose, and she had pale petite limbs that she liked to cover with thick jumpers. Honestly, you'd have a hard time believing her martial arts background given how fine–boned she was.

She had a soft, round face with smooth features; her brows were light and feathery, and her skin peachy clean. Her eyes were heavy–lidded and a smokey grey, and her hair was silky, curling around her ears in a thick bob.

I stuck my tongue out and turned back to my locker, yanking it open to snatch my needed books. Phoebe leaned on the locker next to me, her arms folded over her stuffy jumper, and watched with that annoying grin of hers. Why was everyone so cheerful today?

The left side of her mouth rose high, and I braced myself for the teasing that was about to be said, when a high–pitched squeal pierced the air.

Frowning, our eyes—along with all the eyes in the hallway—zipped in its direction. I almost groaned though when I realised that that scream had come from the cheerleader corner.

Or, more specifically, Rhonda Wellington Lloyd.

She was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, her grin threatening to split her face, and shaking her hands like she was having an exorcism. Her friends were around her, looking equally happy for her, and they were all facing some (admittedly, good–looking) guy. He sported a jersey that only arrogant jocks wore, but even that couldn't hide his swimmer shoulders. Rhonda laughed then threw her arms around his neck, shutting her eyes and biting her lip as if to contain her excitement.

Some students around us whispered amongst each other, asking what had caused her to scream, and I rolled my eyes. Knowing Rhonda, she had probably just been asked out as a date for the prom at the end of the year. The guy squirmed under the attention Rhonda was earning and awkwardly patted her shoulders, making her friends giggle.

"Ugh," I shut my locker and playfully bumped my hip against Phoebe's. "Cheerleaders, right?"

She nodded, giggling. "It's about time Nick asked her, I was worried for a moment."

That sentence should've been laced with sarcasm, but surprisingly it wasn't. Propping my hands on my hips, I rose a brow. "Erm, why?"

The smirk she sent me was downright evil.

"I had a bet going with Nadine," she explained, rubbing her hands like a supervillain. "If he hadn't asked by the end of the month, I would have to pay up—now, I'm twenty dollars richer."

I snorted with a nod. Nadine and Phoebe had grown super close over the past year when Phoebe had signed herself up to the biology after school club. Don't ask me what they do, biology was not my forte, or even my pianissimo. Of course, this wasn't her only after school session, somehow Phoebe's mother had talked the school into letting her daughter attend three this year. Biology, Physics and . . . I forgot the other one, but if you asked me, she was signed up for too many clubs. Especially since they were basically excuses to give out students more homework, on top of everything us regular folk had to do. But hey, what did I know?

The bell suddenly buzzed, signalling the end of our socialising.

I groaned, lightly bumping the back of my head against my locker and turned to Phoebe. "I've got double bio."

She gave me a sympathetic look; though she personally enjoyed bio, she knew how much I didn't.

"Good luck, H."

"Thanks—you too."

I lifted the side of my mouth in a half smile. She had a double English, which she hated more than the other multitude of classes she had. Except religious studies—she had never really gotten over having to endure those classes last year.

We exchanged another smile, bid our goodbyes then split, each going to our separate classes. My knuckles tightened around my books when I heard Rhonda's giggling when I passed her. It wasn't me she was laughing at—it was much too light and flirty for that—but it reminded me that we shared two classes today. She likely wouldn't start anything during English, but P.E. on the other hand?

I groaned, praying that the rest of the day would turn out better.

---

It didn't.

Not in the slightest.

Turns out my next class was algebra, not biology. It was third period that I had biology, how in the heck did I mix those two up?

Either way, I ended up barging into a class of seniors, completely humiliating myself. After an awkward and much too–slow discussion with the teacher, I was forced to run across the school to my actual class. My ankle still slightly tingled, so I arrived even later then I should've. And Mrs. Brown was not in the least pleased; she didn't bother listening to my explanation and proceeded to let myself (and the entire class, for that matter) know how unhappy she was with my tardiness. My face was burning, and I let my eyes wander as she continued her long, long lecture and felt something freeze in me when I saw Arnold and Lila sitting together at the back. Quickly, I turned my gaze down to my shoes before my discovery became apparent. For fuck's sake, why couldn't he sit with Gerald today?

When Mrs. Brown finally finished, I settled myself into my usual seat next to the window. My fingers were shaking so much, I couldn't hope to jolt anything down. Not that I took notes all that often; I hated Mrs. Brown and algebra even moreso. So, I rested my chin on my palm and looked out the window, only to quickly zip my eyes back to Mrs. Brown when I felt her turn back around from the board.

From here, our classroom overlooked the school field that stretched with its thick, green grass. The basketball court was inside the gym, which left wooden posts on the field for students to play football. Of course, it was mostly boys, but occasionally girls joined.

I mostly kept my eyes on the sky, watching the fluffy clouds swim through the sparkling sky. But it was mid–way through the class that I became aware of a pair of eyes boring into me. Chills ran up my spine—it didn't feel like it was coming from inside, but . . . outside.

My stomach lurched, and I scanned the area for any creepy–looking men. Because that was exactly what I pictured when I thought of stalkers—men with long limbs, dressed in an ugly coat that had its collar flipped up to hide their face. That was ignoring the fact that I had once been a stalker, and I liked to think I wasn't creepy–looking.

I frowned when I came up blank—no one stood on the field.

. . . Huh?

That was odd, I could've sworn—

A pair of eyes popped out from the leaves of one of the only trees that skirted the field. I jumped back in surprise, ready to scream bloody murder, but paused when the small body crawled out over the knotted branch. Holy sh—it was that dumb cat from this morning! And like earlier, its purple eyes were glued on my form, like it was glaring at me.

"Ms. Pataki."

The harshness of that voice was like needles to my brain. It slapped me back to earth as the reality of all this washed over me.

Right—I was still in class.

Reluctantly, I turned from the window to the numerous bemused stares. Unfortunately, one of them was Arnold's, who frowned slightly. I felt my entire being glow red and forced myself to meet Mrs. Brown's face. And boy, she did not look happy. Hell, I actually kinda wished that it had been a stalker instead of a cat, just so I could actually blame my distraction on someone else.

So, I guess that whole thing made me her target for the rest of the double period. She kept directing questions at me and I kept guessing them wrong—all of them. My cheeks were searing when Mrs. Brown lectured me for a fourth time as the rest of the class laughed.

Throughout the lesson, I couldn't rid that image of the cat's piercing eyes from my mind. I found myself regularly looking back to see if it was there, watching my every move. It wasn't, and I assumed that it had just gotten bored and left.

The moment that bell rung, I high–tailed it the crap out of there. I think someone had called my name, but I was not spending another second in that demon space. Despite my dislike for biology, I was a little excited to get back into that classroom. Not for the lesson or anything, but because it was the rare class where I actually had a kinda–friend—sorta.

Surprisingly, Nadine and I had gotten closer this year; we weren't super personal or anything, but we did reserve spots for each other and whisper jokes through this bore snore of a class. But, given how rotten the day was, of course she didn't show up today. Something that hit me harder than usual—I was still slightly shaken from whatever had happened in algebra and kinda just wanted to sit with someone.

I took a spot that was far from the window, and practically curled into myself. I could feel some students looking oddly at me—one of them being Miss Perfect herself—but chose to ignore them. Instead, I kept sharpening my pencil so that it looked like a small pike . . . just in case, you know?

Yeah, okay—call me paranoid, but those stares had been real creepy and too human. I didn't even like cats, especially ones that analysed and judged me with purple eyes. Was it even possible for cats to have purple eyes?

I kept throwing glances at the window and flinched anytime someone so much as sneezed. Not that I was scared—no, of course not. I just didn't fancy being stalked by some type of cat freak. Not how I envisioned my death, really. Personally, I always saw myself drowning . . .

Yes, I had already planned it out. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't suicidal, but there was something poetic about it. Dying in one's sleep was cliched but drowning on the other hand was dramatic.

I mean, just picture it—water closing in around you, darkness covering your vision. Still you fight, for as long as you can. Holding your breath, you kick your legs and struggle to break for that sun–speckled surface, but eventually your body tires. Heart hammering, you realise that no one is coming for your rescue and let go of that tiring breath. Cold water fills your lungs as all illusions of survival dissipate. The darkness breathes you in, swallowing you whole, as you send prayer that they'll discover your body and pass it on to a loved one—

"Ms. Pataki!"

A pair of golden hands clapped inches from my face.

I jerked back, blinking wildly. "Wh–what?"

I found myself staring at Mrs. Belmonte—our biology teacher. She stood in front of my desk, moving her pink–nailed hands down to her sides, and pressed me with a hard look.

"Jesús, esta chica," she muttered under her breath. "Daydreaming again, Ms. Pataki?"

Only about my death, miss.

I didn't plan on telling her that—I wasn't stupid. A sentence like that was guaranteed to get me sent to counselling sessions to discuss the suicidal thoughts I didn't have.

So, I settled for silence. It was, after all, among the best of answers.

Well, apparently Belmonte didn't agree with me—she ended up kicking me out of class. I mentally cursed Purple Eyes as I marched out of the room, clenching my teeth when the snickers hit me. I slammed the door extra loudly and crossed my arms, waiting outside for any more stupid instructions. In the end, I was forced to stand out there for the rest of the period.

And lunch didn't hold the comfort I'd hoped for—Phoebe didn't turn up. It must've been another one of her geek sessions. So, I was left eating my lunch alone until I got up to scramble for the library again. It had quickly become my safe haven; I often took a book from the classics section—although sometimes I went to the non–fiction aisle—and settled at the tables in the corners. It was cliched, but the library had become my place to hide from the world when it didn't want me, which was increasingly often. And reading books opened myself up to worlds that were welcoming no matter who you were, or what your past was.

Today, my mood was low, so I decided to go for a familiar one—Phantom of the Opera. It was something I first tried when I was thirteen and it quickly became a favourite. Though I liked opening books I hadn't read before, there was something comforting about this one in particular.

After lunch, Home Ec. dragged on for what felt like months. Mr. Scott was just so damn chipper; it was really grating on my nerves. By the end of the class, I was seriously considering just heaving myself out of the window to escape his perky voice.

And it was safe to assume Ms. Ainsley was having boyfriend troubles again considering how brutal P.E. played out.

For starters, we were forced to do fifteen push ups, twenty sit ups then run at least six laps. And if she caught us stopping to catch our breath, she'd make us begin again. My lungs were burning by the end of it all, I wanted to heave my lunch up. I caught several panting students beside me cursing her boyfriend and whatever mistakes he had committed this time. I agreed—I'd never met Ms. Ainsley's boyfriend, but he must've been the most clueless man on the planet.

For months, Ms. Ainsley had been expecting him to pop the question, and she always got herself worked up for the weekend over it, only to be disappointed when Monday rolled by. Which always made us perfect targets to take her frustration out on. Like today, where after making us run six laps, she decided we should play a friendly game of volleyball. Friendly meaning intense—extremely intense. I counted at least three students being sent to the nurse's office.

I had the unfortunate timing of being caught bending over to tie up my shoelaces, so I was stuck singlehandedly packing all the equipment. I gritted my teeth as Rhonda and her minions snickered when they passed me, barely restraining myself from smacking her.

By the time I'd finished, my last period had begun.

Thankfully it was English—my favourite class. Not only that, but the only class I actually tried in. We were receiving our assignment results today and I was more than excited for mine. I mean, not to toot my own horn, but my narrative had been pretty damn good.

It was a passionate love story about two teenagers, separated by their social statuses in school. The boy, Aaron, was popular, well–liked and a total blonde babe. And the girl, Heidi, was unpopular, but beautiful—shy, insecure and a mystery to her classmates.

One day, Heidi confesses her love for Aaron; how she yearned for him to touch her, kiss her—love her. Out of desperation to look cool in front of his friends, Aaron pretends her feelings are unrequited and humiliates her by proclaiming he'd never go for a nerd like her. Heartbroken, Heidi leaves in tears and Aaron watches her go, guilt–stricken.

Eventually, Heidi, unable to keep going with such a pure feeling remaining unrequited, decides to throw herself from the city bridge. However, Aaron shows up before she can go through with it and confesses that he too loves her. The couple embrace in the sunset, sharing their first kiss.

I barely could contain myself as I waited in my usual seat up at the front. But then I heard a feminine giggle and looked to the doorway where both Arnold and Lila were, headed for their seats at the back of the class. It felt as if someone had punched me when Arnold's cheeks lit up at Lila laughing at whatever he'd said.

I forced my gaze to my folded hands, blocking out their voices. I'd thought, with the way Lila had reacted this morning on the bus, that maybe Arnold had confessed, and she'd let him down, severing their relationship. But they seemed fine, better than ever—why? Why were they spending so much time together? The veins in my hands popped as questions raced through my mind. Where was Gerald when you actually needed him? What was with Arnold spending so much time with little Miss Perfect?

"—so, I just can't decide which colour to go with."

Looking up, I found myself staring at Rhonda, who was perched on her desk, and admiring her coated nails. Her minions were beside her at their own desks, scrolling their phones and pretending to listen.

"I mean, red is my signature colour and it's really flattering, but it's also kinda typical, y'know? For me, I mean," she quickly added, as if anyone cared. "Like, I'm always wearing it. I wanna pop, y'know, and stand out from regular days and—"

Of course, Rhonda was discussing dress colours for an event that was more then half a year away. Guess it made sense—she already had her date, might as well snag a dress.

Ms. Hartman arrived after that, and I straightened in my seat. She was carrying multiple colourful binders in her arms, which she dumped on her desk then turned to grin widely at us.

"So, I finally marked your papers," she announced, like she was about to burst. "So, guess what you're getting back today?"

Her answer was a chorus of groans as everyone slumped back into their seats. Some even attempted to hide behind their textbooks or oversized blazers.

Yeah, that was gonna work.

I was practically buzzing when Ms. Hartman began handing out the papers. When she reached my desk, I expected to see that proud grin she gave me whenever I totally aced it, but instead she pressed her lips together and looked away. She walked to the next desk, and my eyes zipped to the mark on my paper, and I almost cried. A 9/20 was circled in red ink on the corner of my paper.

My jaw dropped.

People were either groaning or cheering when receiving their papers, turning to their friends to trade their scores. I was left in a silent dismay, eyes glued to the absolutely pathetic excuse of a score in my hands. Did this count as a fail?

Standing at the front of the room, Ms. Hartman cleared her throat. "So, if you have any questions concerning why you got your score—" her eyes flickered to mine "—just see me after class and we can discuss it."

Oh, believe me, we had plenty to discuss.

I knew I would be the only one to stay behind. The people who failed didn't care for English and those who received decent marks were satisfied. But waiting for that final bell was infuriating; I was left seething in my seat while we analysed the themes in a movie I didn't care about. Finally, when it did ring and everyone bolted for the door, I calmly rose from my desk, swinging my bag onto my shoulder. I crossed the room for Ms. Hartman, who was packing away her things from her desk. She heard my footsteps and sighed, before turning to face me.

I rose my brow, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Look, Helga, your story—it's not terribly written or anything, it's just—" she struggled for the right word. ". . . it's kinda, well, y'know? Um, dull. Yeah, it's quite dull and, honestly? A tad bit worrying."

My eyes narrowed. "What?"

Ms. Hartman's mouth formed a rigid grimace as she prepared for the oncoming storm.

"Well, Helga, I'm not sure if you're aware, but whenever I assign writing assignments, you always base your topics around romance." Moving her honey–coloured hair over her right shoulder, she crossed her arms and sat against the edge of her desk. "Which I get—hopeless romantic, right? There's no shame in it—hey, I consider myself one too. And naturally, you can't help escaping into your fantasies while writing, right?"

Forgive me, but I fail to see how my perception of love has anything to do with this.

"Is there anything wrong with that?"

"No, of course not," she shook her head. "However, given how much of yourself you've projected into your writing, the fact that you wrote of a girl who decides to kill herself over a failed romance worries me."

I didn't respond to that but could sense where this was going.

Clearing her throat, she continued. "I know, I know—I'm your teacher and shouldn't be barging into my student's personal lives, but I'm concerned about how you portrayed this girl's worrying dependence as true love. And you were very descriptive when you wrote about that heartbreak—you knew how to really vocalise those thoughts, even her suicidal ones, and I was wondering if—"

"Look, Ms. Hartman, I'm not about to go throwing myself off from bridges cause some guy doesn't like me." I paused, and quickly added. "Not there is anyone. No, of course not. That was hypothetical—strictly hypothetical. So hypothetically I wouldn't." Ms. Hartman was looking at me blankly, so I quickly changed the topic. "So, why does this result in me failing?"

"Failing? Helga, you didn't fail per say." She paused when I gave her an unimpressed look and cleared her throat. "Well, anyway, as I've mentioned—yes, your story is kinda dull. It doesn't stand out from your others—they're all about passionate romance, nothing outside of it. Your characters were two–dimensional, and outside of their romantic relationships, didn't have actual personalities. And the moral was—erm, well, unhealthy, to say the least. And honestly? Not your best written work."

Oh, wow, Hartman, tell me how you really feel.

"So, bottom line—it sucked," I translated.

"Oh, no, no, no—it doesn't suck. It's just a little . . . boring," she cringed at her choice of words and forced a smile. "Listen, I know how much you care about your writing, so I'll give you some tips—the next narrative assignment is in a few weeks. You remember, right? Rewrite a classic tale with a different approach. You're gonna have to write this with a partner, so why not open yourself up to something other than romance?"

I frowned. "Like what?"

"Oh, Helga, honey, there's thousands—millions of themes you can explore!" her brown eyes were sparkling. She gestured wildly with her cardigan–covered arms. "Prejudices, good vs. evil, family, coming of ages, gender, friendships—the possibilities are endless!"

"But how can I write about something I don't know?"

"Research, honey—keep up to date with the news, read some articles, other books, ask people, do a google search. Research is fundamental for a writer to craft their work." Scanning my face, she must've seen the cluelessness I felt. She smiled warmly and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "You're an intelligent kid, Helga. I don't know why you don't try in your other classes, but you're very bright. I know that not only can you get a better score in my class, but you can go so much further in your other ones as well. You've just gotta break away from this slump you're in and explore things for yourself—not this hypothetical boy. Be willing to put yourself out there and just . . . live."

---

The ride home was a blur.

I sat at the back of the bus with my hoodie drawn up and earbuds jammed in. My legs were pulled to my chest, my arms wrapped around my shins, and my sleeves curled around my fingers. The moment I'd gotten on, I'd snatched off my blazer, rolled it up and stuffed it into my bag. The volume of my music was low, just enough that I could make out the lyrics, and my attention up ahead.

My heart shook at Arnold and Lila, who were both sat up at the front, chatting away and oblivious to the world. Gerald was in the seat behind them, his elbows propped against the bars, but Arnold was so enchanted with Lila's presence, it was like it was just the two of them.

My stomach curled. Perhaps they would make a good couple—Hillwood's golden couple. They were both remarkably good–looking, kind–hearted and well loved. It only made sense that they would eventually fall for each other.

Arnold's haze didn't clear up, even when Lila got off at her stop. He just turned to Gerald and prattled on about how breathtakingly gorgeous she was.

I clenched my teeth.

". . . you're an intelligent kid, Helga."

I couldn't remember the last time someone had actually thought of me as smart, much less said it. No one, including myself, believed I was anything more than a brainless idiot, destined for nothing but a life on the couch. English aside, I didn't try in my classes. Why should I? I could come home with Phoebe's grades, but it still wouldn't compare to precious little Olga.

". . . explore things for yourself—not this hypothetical boy."

My eyes flew to the back of Arnold's head. Gerald was nodding along, his cheek in his palm, to whatever it was that he was saying. But I could tell from the way he slouched that Gerald was slowly falling asleep.

I knew I had to get over Arnold—but it was hard. Because when you got down to it, Arnold was a good person. I'd never met someone with a heart like his. He was a pinnacle of all that was right in the world, and that alone made it hard to hate him. If he were like Gerald—a prick—then yeah, I could do it. But Arnold's kind nature and simplistic outlook made it impossible to hate him. And if I couldn't hate him . . . how could I stop loving him?

Our stop was approaching. I watched Arnold bid Gerald goodbye with that easy–going grin of his. The air felt warmer around my face and I tried shaking myself free from those fluttery feelings. Shoving on my bag, I dragged my feet down the aisle, forcing myself to ignore Arnold's movements, and stepped off the bus.

I heard his footsteps, felt his presence beside me. My heart was practically throbbing in my throat, I could barely do anything, even as I heard the bus roar back to life and vanish down the street. A few seconds passed with neither of us moving and my gaze fell to my shoes. I couldn't feel Arnold moving but didn't have the courage to see where he was looking. I bit my cheek to ease the shakiness in my legs. Criminy, I was acting ridiculous—it's not like he had even said anything to me for me to act like this.

Then I heard footsteps and looked up to find him walking up the steps to his home. His head didn't turn, he didn't so much as spare me a glance, which hurt more then it should've. Clenching my jaw, I turned in the direction for my home and began to storm off.

"Helga."

His voice cut through me like knives but rang sweet in my ears. I stopped in my tracks like I'd run into a wall, butterflies attacking my stomach, but didn't turn around.

"I'm, uhh, sorry about y'know . . . hitting you earlier."

The temptation was too strong, I slowly turned my head over my shoulder, seeking out those warm eyes—

Uncomfortable.

That's how he appeared. His smile was forced, his fingers hooked around the back of his neck. Those green orbs met mine for a second before slinking down to his feet.

The air became tight, the silence thick and unsettling.

He was uncomfortable—because of me.

It reminded me of the last time we'd spoken, how uncomfortable he'd been. Arnold could talk to anyone, bring down their shields with just a smile, but when it came to me, the situation left him itching to turn away. But, like I said, he was too good of a person to not apologise, even for something minor. Even if it was to me, someone who had bullied him for years.

Nausea swirled in my stomach. The raw pain, the brutal cracks running down my heart, it was all relived as I began to remember—

Golden rays pierced the burnt sky as the birds chirped their background melodies. How I wished I would grow my own feathers, sprout wings so silky and beautiful like black curtains, so I could escape this scene. The breath paused in my lungs as I met his unsettled eyes, heart quivering in my fingers.

The way he looked at me was different; it was so unfocused yet pressed.

Eyebrows furrowed, he opened his mouth. "You l—"

—no, no, no. I wasn't going down that road again, I wasn't about to remember that. The air between us had become stagnant, the cobwebs that dwelled from every corner in my heart billowed down like curtains. Shit, this was why I had dropped all contact with him—it was too painful to talk to Arnold, especially with how uncomfortable I always made him.

Swallowing my pain, I didn't spare him another glance and began walking back home. I turned the music up so much that my ears throbbed, but I didn't care. I needed to get away from him. My heart felt sliced open and my throat clasped by a big, meaty hand.

I had blocked all that out for a reason.

Ms. Hartman was right. I needed to get over him. It wasn't healthy and that disgusting story I'd written was proof of that. It was nothing but futile hopes, that maybe Arnold could turn around and find something about me that was worth protecting. It was stupid, because there wasn't anything about me that was worth that—I was just stupid, ugly Helga. And I wasn't about to throw myself off a bridge about it, but it wasn't like that didn't hurt.

"I'm home."

I pulled the door shut behind me, taking out my earphones. I already expected it, but my voice fell on deaf ears. No one else was here save for that same person still passed out on the couch. For a moment, I thought that she hadn't bothered waking up at all since I'd left when I noticed her change of clothing. She'd traded her mucky denim dress, for a purple, square-like one, and her feet were still bare. There was a dark drool patch near her chapped mouth on the cushion and dried salvia around her chin. Looking at the half–empty mug still in her hand, I snorted and stalked up the stairs.

Slamming my door shut, I dumped my bag and flipped off my shoes. I threw down my hoodie like it had slapped me, leaving me only in my uniform, and snatched the pigtails from my hair. My chest felt like it was being squeezed. I made my way across the room, aware of the moisture blurring my vision, and threw myself onto my bed. I dug my nails into the pillow and buried my head in the blanket.

When had this all happened?

My 'family' barely noticed my existence, my teachers had no faith in me, Phoebe rarely spent time with me, and Arnold was in love with the most perfect specimen on this earth. Not only that, but he found me as intolerable as everyone else did.

This, for whatever reason, was my fate. It was my destiny. To be alone, to be loveless. But I didn't want this, I never wanted this. I wanted to be surrounded by others, I wanted to be loved. I was tired of living like this, of living like Helga. I wanted to be someone else. But what could I do, who could I talk to, who could change my destiny?

This can't be my fate, I shook my face, trying to keep the tears at bay. This can't be, I refuse it. This is not my destiny.

The words felt like whispered nothings in my ears, and I would've thought nothing of it, if a ghostly chill didn't fall over me the moment I thought them. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight. Bolting up, my eyes settled on the window across the room. Or rather, the black cat with unblinking purple eyes perched outside, calmly watching me.

I yelped, leaping from my bed and onto the floor. My heart was racing, I backpedalled across the floor until my back hit my bathroom door. The entire time, the cat's eyes were trained on me, looking less than impressed.

"D–Did you follow me?!" I demanded, clutching my heart.

The cat simply flicked its tail.

Suddenly, a prickling sensation gnawed between my eyes. I grimaced, finding my vision slightly blurry and my body lighter. My limbs suddenly moved like they were being pulled on strings, like I no longer had control over my movements. My body stood up from the floor and crossed the room. I held my breath as I moved towards the window and electrical surges moved my arms to slide it open.

I swear the cat nodded before leaping inside. The moment my fingers closed the window, I regained control and practically leapt across the room.

What type of satanic voodoo Darth Vader shit was that?!

Crouched on the ball of my feet in front of my shut door, I stared at my shaky fingers. What the fuck made me do that? Had that cat infected me or something? Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I found that an infection was the only legit reasoning for why I had suddenly lost control of my body.

Criminy, now I was stuck in my room with a diseased cat, which would no doubt leave me infected and completely take control of my body again, then I'd die because I couldn't get my hands on something to eat, then I'd come back to life because this illness was obviously of a supernatural origin, but I'd be so hungry that I would start eating people, then my life would be ruined because that would make me a murderer and the cops would be after me, then Arnold would hear about my freakass and gather a bunch of his friends (and trust me, there were many of them) and pitchforks to hunt me down and I'd try to run away, but because this cat is satanic, it'd zap me with something even more demonic and have me under its control again, then force me to do the macarena in front of Arnold, then my life would be ruined again, and—

Purple Eyes pounced onto my bed and looking down at the room around her. Her eyes swept over the stacked CD'S on my vanity, the band posters sticky–taped to my walls, then down to the clothes that covered my floor. I swear I saw a disgusted look in her eye before she looked back to me.

I squealed, losing my balance and falling to my butt, and kept my eyes on the creature in front of me.

"W–What did you do to me?" I shrieked at the, well, thing. "That wasn't me! You did something, didn't you?! A–And you've been following me all day—unless you're not the same cat, then I'd feel pri–tee dumb. Wait! No, no—there's no way some other cat that has purple eyes has been following me all day! No, that was definitely you! What the fuck did you do to me, Purple Eyes? It wasn't permanent, was it? I don't want to do the macarena in front of my beloved! I'm too young to be a freakass dork in front of him! And why do you even have purple eyes anyway—"

"Are you quite done?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

I looked around the room for another human being. I hadn't left the window open when I'd left, but if purple–eyed cats could become stalkers, a man who could walk through walls wasn't that far–fetched. Hell, he didn't even need to walk through walls, he just needed to know that Miriam was useless, and that this house wasn't a hard target for a robbery.

Getting on my hands and knees, I peered underneath my bed, in search for any silhouetted bodies or beady yellow eyes.

But I came up blank.

Pushing myself onto my knees, I eyeballed the closed door to my closet. Perhaps—

"What on earth are you doing?"

My jaw dropped.

No way.

No way.

There was no way that British voice had just come out of the mouth of a purple–eyed cat.

"D–Did you just . . . talk?"

Purple Eyes looked offended with my surprise. Narrowing its eyes, it stuck its nose into the air with a . . . was it frowning?

"Well, of course I can talk!" It exclaimed. "Really, you humans are such absurd creatu—what are you doing?! Unhand me this instant!"

Ignoring how it squirmed in my hands, I searched its fur for some type of battery compartment or glowing light or a selection of buttons—I dunno, anything that backed up it being a robot. It must've been some type of Japanese robot, fashioned to look as realistic as possible.

"Where're the batteries?" I mumbled, inspecting the triangular ears.

Growling, Purple Eyes clawed at my intruding hands. I hissed and drew my hands to my chest to nurse that stinging as the cat leapt from my arms to my bed.

"Why, I have never been handled like that and I refuse to let it start now!" Its tail was flickering wildly behind like a blade as it levelled a glare at me.

"Holy shit." I sunk to my knees, unable to grasp that I was being lectured in my bedroom by a British, purple–eyed cat. "You talk . . ."

The cat snorted—it snorted—but cleared its throat and nodded. "Well, yes, I guess I can understand the surprise you must be feeling. After all, I've become aware that cats on your planet don't seem to possess the ability to communicate verbally with one another. Pity, really."

My planet . . .

"Anyway, I believe a formal introduction is required," it lightened its voice to sound friendly, and sat down with its tail rippling behind it. "My name is Nel and I have been sent to seek out four potential Guardians that must defend their planet against enemy forces. This morning, I sensed quite a bit of potential from you, which is why I have followed you. I apologise if I startled you, but I needed to be sure that you were one of the four. Now I, without a doubt, believe that you—excuse me, where are you going?"

Looking from the door handle grasped in my pale hands, I met the cat's angry glare. Purple Eye's—I mean, Nel's eyes narrowed and she sprung back to her paws.

Dazed, I tapped my temple. "Obviously today has gotten to me more than I thought," I admitted, more to myself then her. "I'm going for a walk to clear my head . . ."

Nel sighed and sat back down. "I can see you are having a hard time believing anything I'm telling you. For this, I do not blame you. Instead, allow me to prove to you that what I speak is true."

And with that, she began drawing symbols I didn't recognise in the air with her left paw. I found myself sinking to the ground, my back sliding down the door as I watched her. My breath came out as hitched puffs, ruffling the hair that ran down to my chin. There was a bright flash and I shielded my eyes. It was like the sun had burst in here, because an intense warmth washed over the arm in front of my face. A few moments passed before I opened my eyes again and—

What the fuck?

—where the light had been, a golden pin floated in its presence.

I blinked, looking for any invisible wires that might be holding it, but yelped when it zoomed in my direction. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for a tiny but stinging impact, when my arm shot out in time for something small to fly into my palm. And I gasped, because it felt like a door had been opened deep in my mind, inviting foreign sensations to travel through my veins. There was a loud buzzing in my head as colourful spots flashed around me—a pulsating amber, that flickered to red, then an electric blue. And all I could hear were those voices—whispering, singing, babbling, chanting, yelling. A sharp prick struck at the centre of my skull and the voices increased their volume. I couldn't understand their words, but they were strangely melodic, yet venomous.

Threading my hands through my hair, I held my ears and begged the voice to please stop. The pounding in my temples intensified and I bit down on my lip. Where were these voices coming from? What were they saying?

Then, they slowed, drowning out to a stop, and I was left listening to my ragged breaths. What the hell was that?

Looking at my hand, I found the golden pin. Shivers ran down my body as I examined the metal; it was of a bird spreading its wings in flight, and a golden halo wrapped around its body. I blinked, there was a warm tingling in my palms that didn't hurt but certainly wasn't comfortable.

Then, the pin pulsed.

I jumped.

"This is your personal transformative device—it allows you to unlock your true potential as a Guardian." Nel's words were lost on me, and I stared at her. What the hell was going on? Sensing my confusion, Nel paused in her explanation and sighed. "Right. Okay, how about this? Place the pin on your shirt and repeat after me: My Inner Guardian: Exorior."

I frowned. "What do—"

"Just do it."

Criminy, touchy much?

Still, what did I have to lose? This must have been a crazy dream, or a delusion I'd made to escape my sad realities. Who was it gonna hurt if I played along?

Clearing my throat, I pushed my shoulders back and rose my chin. Pinning the bird to my shirt, I stretched my hand above my head and shouted, "My Inner Guardian: Exorior!"

A warm—no, burning sensation surged through my body as a beam of light shot from the pin and wrapped around me in an embrace. My vision was overtaken by a blinding white as I felt myself lift from the ground. Closing my eyes, my heart fluttered and my stomach flew with glee as the overwhelming warmth swept through me like glitter. I became aware that my hair was growing rapidly, my clothes shrinking and something clasping around my feet and up my legs.

The warmth abruptly disappeared with a flash and my feet gently fell back to the ground. The thud they made echoed in my ears, reverberating up my legs like golden shimmers, and my lips lifted into a grin. Nel's flabbergasted expression was the first sight that greeted me, and I quirked a brow.

I felt strange.

No, not strange—great! I felt amazing. My brain was racing, and my body strong—so unbelievably strong. Everything looked so clear—so defined and detailed. Like I'd just flipped a switch in my brain, and now I was watching the HD version of cable. And my senses—fuck, without even looking out the window, I could feel the air dampening and the clouds rolling in. The sun had been shining all day, but I could smell the humidity hanging in the air and spy the changing in light. Not only that, but I could hear things—Miriam's snoring downstairs as she shifted into a more comfortable position. The drink swished over the edge of her mug and splashed onto the ground.

I grimaced; Bob wasn't going to be happy when he came back—

Wait a minute. Did I just hear Miriam spilling her drink downstairs?

I looked at my hands and felt my eyes widen. My hands had always been average–sized and callous with ugly, chewed up nails. Now they were larger, with baby–smooth flesh and perfectly shaped, French–tipped nails. And along my forearms were beaming vambraces.

I leapt to my mirror and momentarily marvelled at how quickly I got there—it was like there'd been no movement. It was like I'd just thought of it and barely a second had passed before I found myself staring at an unknown face.

My jaw dropped.

The girl in the mirror was an ethereal beauty. She had platinum blonde that flowed down her back in soft, bouncy curls. But two sections on either side of her temples were wounded back into braids that joined across the top of her head like a band. She was tall and impressively proportioned, with a small waist, flat stomach and—holy fuck, boobs.

She wore a leotard that cut off so high at her hips that you could see the definition of her thighs. It was white and had a tight bodice with a sweetheart neckline. The shoulder straps were thick but turned gold at my clavicle as they stretched across my collarbones to join in the middle. The gold matched the undersides of her vambraces, which enclosed around her wrists almost to her elbows. She wore a pair of knee-length boots with impressive heels and a white mask that was moulded over her brows, eyes and nose, concealing her identity.

The girl . . . was most certainly not me.

I mean, yeah, she had blonde hair (kinda. Mine was more a dirty blonde), but c'mon, since when did I have boobs? Mine had remained the same since I was twelve, I swear. And do not get me started on my lack of curves—this girl, on the other hand—not only had a curvy figure but looked physically older. I couldn't tell her exact age, but she was definitely not sixteen—she was at least an adult.

I spun around to Nel and had to stop to take in how quickly that happened. Okay, that was going to take some getting used to. Anyway, planting my hands on my hips, I pressed her with a hard look, and she quickly shook off her remaining shock to narrow her eyes.

"W–What happened to me?!" I demanded, then froze, dumbfounded at the voice that came from my mouth. It was deeper than mine—a low, warm rumble that was rich in tone. Nothing like my sound. "What the hell—what happened to my voice?! Wh–what the hell did you do?!"

"I told you," Nel replied with a cluck of her tongue. "You're a Guardian. You were born with an untapped potential—a power if you will. And the voice is so no one can identify you when you speak."

"Wait, what? I have powers?" For emphasis, I pointed at myself.

"Yes."

"No way!" A gigantic grin spread over my face, and my heart practically exploded. "What, what! Is it laser vision? Flying? Shooting fireballs from my fists? Moving things with my mind? How about—"

"I'm not quite sure yet," Nel said, frowning. "However, as soon as that pin meshes with your DNA, you are granted physical capabilities greater than average humans."

"Physical capabilities?"

"Yes," Nel nodded. "You should find your strength has boosted, your wounds should heal quicker, and as you've already discovered, your speed—"

A sharp scream tore through me like glass, piercing the air. Nel cut off with a gasp, looking wildly to the window, and I jumped back, lightly bumping against the mirror. Bowing my head, I covered my ears to block out that horrid sound, but it did nothing. Nel grimaced and drew her ears back flat against her head. My heart thundered in my ears and the hairs on my neck flashed straight.

"W–What the hell was that?!" I demanded when it stopped. My hands were still wrapped around my ears when I turned back to Nel. She leapt from her spot on my bed, padding across the room, and peered outside the window. The sun was falling below the horizon, and the last of its rays washed across her face, revealing the seriousness in her expression.

"An attack."

My heart leapt to my throat. "What?"

She turned back to me. "You remember what I said about enemy forces?"

My eyes went from Nel to the window, and I found myself crossing the room to join her. The sun was quickly disappearing, and dense clouds were replacing it. Bitter winds whipped Hillwood ferociously, and small drops of rain were splattering onto the glass.

I was pulled for my thoughts when Nel attempted to open the window, shoving her paw against the glass.

"Whoa—what're you doing?" I wrapped a hand around her torso and pulled her away.

"Listen, Helga!" She barked, scaring me with the force. "That scream means that somewhere a Mutant has spawned and is on the hunt for its victims. And its your job as a Guardian to protect your people!"

"Wha—" my jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

I grimaced at her choice of words, feeling my chest ache, but covered it up with a snort. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it was only five minutes ago that I witnessed a talking cat for the first time—now all of a sudden, I'm some type of superhero? Forgive me if I'm not jumping for joy."

Nel appeared irritated with this but closed her eyes and released a small breath. Her face softened and she opened her eyes back up to me.

"I understand, then. I know it is asking a lot to suddenly be told you're one of the sole protectors of Earth and must be the one to defend it from enemy forces you've never heard of. And believe me, if I had another option, I would take it. It pains me to force such a responsibility onto such a young girl, but there's no other options. So, I beg of you, please defend your home from the dangers that await it."

No. I wanted to reject her—reject this. I had wanted to be someone else, but criminy, I hadn't meant this. I opened my mouth with the intent of declining this proposal of becoming a Guardian, when another shriek pierced the air. We jumped, covering our ears. It rattled in my brain like a snowstorm, tearing through me like claws, and all I wanted to do was curl up in my bed and go to sleep.

"If you don't—" Nel forced out over the screams. I looked from my boots into her hardened eyes. "—then everyone you know, anyone you could ever love, everything on this planet—it will all be destroyed. If not today, tomorrow; if not tomorrow, the next day. Personally, I give it under a month."

Sweat dampened my skin. A familiar blonde figure flashed behind my eyes. My stomach knotted into tight cramps as I thought about those words—how he, how everything that I ever loved, could be destroyed within a matter of days. The world I knew wasn't much, it was like a glass case had been placed over me since childhood. I hadn't seen much. I hadn't experienced much. But suddenly, I had this desire to do exactly that. Find stuff. Feel it—extend my view of the world.

Heart hammering, I thought of Phoebe. Her dark eyes glimmering with amusement as she yet again managed to scare the living daylights out of me. A small smile touched my face—Phoebe, the only one to stick by me throughout these years. We hardly hung out anymore, but I still loved her as much as I had as a kid. She was my best friend; I wasn't about to let her—or anyone—die from whatever shit this was.

My fingers glided along the metal of my mask. It was firm, smooth. I could feel my heartbeat press from my fingers against it.

For whatever reason, I had been given this task to protect this planet—my home. It was me that this pin had chosen.

I put the cat down onto the sill and felt as she watched me curiously. I kept my attention on my fingers, sliding the window open, and released a slow, calming breath.

"Let's . . . get this over with then, yeah?"

---

Our next move was to leap from my window.

That wasn't a metaphor or anything, that was actually our next move. It was a surprise, to say the least, considering my room was on the third level of my house. My legs should have shattered, especially considering these boots. But when I landed, my ankle didn't so much as roll. Instead, I landed gracefully on the balls of my feet.

I didn't get the time to marvel at that when Nel shot off like a bullet in the direction those screams had come from. I followed her but stumbled upon seeing the world with these new eyes. I spied every raindrop before it splattered, smelt different scents as we whizzed past the houses, and could even see perfectly despite night falling quickly over us.

I wanted to stop when we passed Arnold's house—even from outside, I could hear the multitude of voices. It was a warm rumble, all speaking over one another, yet each one seemed to understand the other. They weren't yelling or anything, but conversing, wondering about each other's days in their own ways. Yet I couldn't hear his voice among the others. I quirked a brow, was he not in tonight? Please tell me it didn't have anything to do with—

Nel's glare snapped me back into focus. I sheepishly grinned at her before we took off again. Darkness was pressing on us from the skies before I found myself behind a building, observing a deserted park.

Well, almost deserted.

Gripping the edge of the building's wall, I leaned around to scan the situation (yeah, good word, Helga). It—holy shit—there was a monster. Like a real life, scooby doo looking monster. It had long, meaty hands wrapped around the neck of a young man. I narrowed my eyes when a yellow cloud of smoke hung over the man's face. At first, the man struggled—he kicked, screamed and clawed at the hand—but his movements weakened as the monster began drawing the smoke in through its vile mouth.

I gulped, taking in the monster's form. Legs like tree trunks, it towered over the man with protruding eyes that glowed with delight as nails sunk into the man's neck. Heart throbbing, my eyes traced its deformed state when the reality of the situation hit me.

Yeah, no thanks, I so did not sign up to get viciously murdered tonight, thank you.

"Helga!" Nel hissed when a bright beam shot out from the screen clutched in my hands.

I turned to her, confused. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

I scowled at her bewildered look. "Um, what do you think I'm doing? I'm obviously calling the police—criminy!"

Because apparently one of the perks of having larger breasts was possessing the room to store your phone in your bra. Or leotard, in this case.

Then, I noticed the eery silence.

Now I wasn't a professional, but to me, it seemed a little odd that there was such a pause in activity when not two seconds ago, I could hear a man struggling against a demon–looking alien motherfucker. Nel and I exchanged panicked looks before looking in the direction that said motherfucker stood. My breath hitched in my throat when I realised that the monster's eyes had settled on me.

It snarled, baring its rows of ugly teeth, and narrowed its bulbous eyes. Ripping its bloody nails from the man's neck, it dropped the man to the ground and stepped over his unmoving body.

I blinked, and like a dart, the monster took off in my direction, shaking the ground with its heavy bounds.

I gulped—oh, hell no.

Nel's ears folded back as she crouched into a defensive stance. "Alright, Helga, now's your chance. As a Guardian, you should possess enough strength to—Helga?"

Looking to her side, Nel realised that I no longer occupied that spot anymore, and my abandoned phone was dropped next to her feet.

Because I had already begun running before the monster had even taken its first steps.

I practically threw myself into the largest bushes I could find, determined to hide until he got bored and terrorised someone else. Oh, don't judge me—you would do the same thing. Apparently, I was a much better hider then I thought, since the monster had lost sight of me and was currently searching underneath the park benches.

Annnnnnd that was when Nel revealed my position, which was how I found myself here—running from an eight–foot tall alien, dressed in nothing but a lingerie set and heels. In the rain, no less.

"Stop!" I cried over my shoulder. "Just leave me alone, you freak!"

Unsurprisingly, the monster did no such thing and continued to chase me. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as its footsteps grew louder and louder. I tried to turn at a corner but slipped on the wet leaves and landed flat on my back. The wind was knocked from me, and the cold air shocked my lungs. The ground trembled beneath my skin as the footsteps approached and I forced myself up onto my knees. But before I could move, a crushing blow came down on my skull and sent me reeling back, landing a few feet with a sharp crunch! The world around me was spinning, I spat out a mixture of salvia and blood onto my hands.

Breath shallow, I tried moving, but it was like I was moving in wet sand. The monster was at my side in an instant, grinning maliciously in a way that reminded me of a hungry wolf. I shakily climbed to my knees and tried running, but the spinning sent me back down to my stomach.

Helga, what are you doing?!

Nel's voice echoed in my ears, and I shrieked, whipping my head around. My eyes landed on the dark feline, watching everything from the high branches of a tangled tree. She blended so perfectly with the night; I could only stare at her glimmering eyes.

Get up!

I scowled. "You fucking try fighting this asshole if it's so motherfucking easy!"

How dare she critique me whilst she sat in the safe havens of a large tree, watching me get the life beaten out of me. I mean, did she have to fight an evil, ugly monster while dressed in the most impractical get up? (Note to self: If, and that's a very big if, I get out of this alive, I'm having a word with Nel about this stupid costume).

The monster slammed its foot mere inches from my face. My skin crawled and I looked at its disgusting foot, sprawled out like tree roots. I craned my neck upwards, tracing my gaze up its thick legs, ashy body and bulging eyes. I felt myself turn cold when the monster pulled its fist over its shoulder. My heart raced, but I couldn't move my body a fraction. Letting out a scratchy cry, the monster's fist came down. A scream ripped from my throat and I lifted my arms up and squeezed my eyes shut.

. . . and felt nothing.

There was a loud crackling buzzing in my ear. Vibrations slithered up and down my arm as the hairs on my neck zapped straight. Something shook in my stomach, and my skin crawled at the silver whispers falling around me like tiny pieces of thread.

Slowly, I peeked one eye open—

Holy fuck.

—and gasped.

The monster's fist was pressed against a thin, shimmery blue wall that had formed at the tips of my fingers. It was stretched out over me like a curtain, burning brightly against the darkness that surrounded us. My ears were pounding as I examined the swirling patterns that swam and danced along that blue light.

It—it was a barrier.

Helga, Nel's voice rang clear in my mind. I looked up, finding her wide eyes immediately. That's your power—forcefields!

The barrier's brilliant haze rivalled the harsh bulbs of the monster's eyes. Its amber lights narrowed to slits and it let out a ferocious roar. I almost peed myself, but before I could even scream, the monster threw another punch at the wall. It felt like my skeleton was vibrating inside my body, but the wall remained strong, whispering cackles into my ears that both comforted and creeped me out.

A flurry of memories suddenly hit me, of when I'd been curled up in my bed and watching all those superhero movies on Netflix. A light bulb idea struck me and I brought my hands close to my chest then pushed them back towards the barrier. As expected, the barrier stayed glued to my fingers and rushed forward to send the monster flying.

Good job, Helga!

Damn right, 'good job, Helga'.

As I climbed to my feet, I realised that that rush of power left me feeling extremely drained. That barrier had seemed to light up inside of me, rushing through my limbs like a rich liquid, but now that it was gone, everything felt a lot heavier. And not only that, but I was noticing my injuries. Something warm was soaking the back of my head, which I knew wasn't the rain pelting down around me. And something dripped into my eyes. I wiped it away. And looking down at my hand, now stained with red, I balled it into a fist. Rain hammered down like a hail of bullets, soaking me to the bone, but I didn't care. I spat out another ball of red salvia, then pushed my shoulders back and rose my chin.

"Oh, it's gonna get it now," I muttered, feeling my wet hair fly around my glistening shoulders.

Multiple gasps caught my attention.

I looked over my shoulder and felt my jaw go slack. There—on the edge of the park—stood a growing crowd, probably of twenty people. They watched the entire thing with wide eyes. Some even had their phones out, flashes on, and had been recording.

Shit.

I didn't know how to properly act in this situation, so I settled for narrowing my eyes. Who decides to record something like this from the sidelines?

"What the hell are you doing?!" I demanded. "Don't you all see that monster? Get out of—"

Helga! Look out!

"Huh?"

Looking over my shoulder, my eyes widened as a fist came right at me. There were gasps and cries from behind me, and I quickly dodged the attack. The monster was glaring daggers, but I turned on my heel and bolted in the other direction. Rain splattered down around me, ice to my flaming skin, and my mind raced so fast it was dizzying.

"How am I supposed to defeat this thing?!"

Helga—inside your boot!

"What?"

Look inside your boot—quickly!

I hid behind a nearby tree, slumping against its trunk to catch my breath. My heart raced in my ears and my breath was nothing more than short puffs. Bending down, I reached into the leg of my boot, pausing when my fingers brushed an unfamiliar item.

Did you find it?

I pulled it from my boot, an odd tingling at my fingers, and marvelled at the weapon now in my hands. It was a dagger—an enchanting, and strangely beautiful looking dagger. It was the size of my forearm, with a double edge bladed forged from a sapphire shade of silver. There were strange writings carved into the blade, scrawls that I couldn't recognise, but somehow felt a sense of familiarity from. The handle was golden with threads of silver that twisted up the hilt and glinted in the pale moonlight.

Oh, sweet.

Looking up, I shrieked when my vision was filled with an approaching fist. I barely managed to roll over my side, clutching the dagger to my chest. The monster's fist glanced over my shoulder and smashed into the tree. Now on my knees, I watched as the force ripped the trunk from the ground and pushed it with a tremendous crash onto its side. Startled screams echoed from the crowd and the monster's eyes flashed as it slowly turned back to me.

Stop running away, Helga!

The monster snarled and swung its fist again.

Only this time, I was ready.

Heaving up my arm, a flash exploded from my skin and formed into a glimmering, protective wall. The fist cracked against it, and I gritted my teeth from the force. My muscles were strained, and the vibrations ran down my body as the monster repeatedly bashed its fists into the wall. It was like holding my ear against thunder, the explosions were non–stop, and the blows shattered in my mind.

"Y'know—" I clacked my teeth together, meeting its malevolent glare "—you're seriously ugly, asshole!"

I threw my arms out and sent the monster stumbling backwards. It was momentary, but it was all I needed. My fingers curled around the hilt and, wheeling my arm backwards, I sent the blade soaring through the air.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

The world froze until it was nothing but a whisper, grasping and choking my throat. I watched with anticipation as the knife sliced through the air. I didn't hear the words that left the crowd's mouths, nor did I even feel the rain still pelting down around me. Everything had stopped, except that spinning knife.

Shing!

It lodged deep into the monster's torso.

Breath stuttered past my lips.

The creature let out a high–pitch howl, its eyes flying down to the knife that stuck out from its flesh. The knife was so bright, and the creature practically a shadow, it was like a beacon of light had entered its body. I covered my ears to hide from that terrible sound it emitted.

Helga, get out of there—now!

I spun around and bolted, mustering any remaining strength I had to put distance between us. But I barely had taken a few steps when I was swept from my feet when a rush of warm air hit me. I landed roughly on the pavement, the impact knocking the wind from my chest. I felt winded and struggled to breathe, the collision had hammered straight into my stomach. I wrapped my arms around my torso, crawling into a small ball, as I struggled to get the air back into my body.

My mind was like a carousel, playing everything over and over and unable to stop. I rolled to the side and blinked. Did . . . Did I just . . .

My body acted on its own—in a flash, I sat up straight with my arm stretched in front of my body. The knife returned to my palm and my fingers wrapped tight around it. Looking down at the blade, my eyes widened when I caught the glowing runes winking from existence.

I breathed loudly, and my eyes found Nel, who appeared surprised but equally relieved at my success. She sent me an approving nod, which I returned with a crooked smile. The buzzing in my ears died down, allowing me to become aware of the cheering and applauding of the crowd. Frowning, I turned in their direction and scanned the faces of the sea of people, taking in each of their smiles.

I blinked, unused to seeing expressions like that pointed at me. It was . . . odd. People either groaned when they saw me or ducked their heads to avoid any such contact. But now I was . . . was I liked?

The realisation was wiped from my mind when I recognised one of those faces: Arnold.

Panic sent my heart racing as millions of questions buzzed in my head. How long had he been there? Did he see everything? Did he recognise me? I couldn't tell if he recognised me, he looked like he was in too much shock. He was gawking at me, amongst those who were clapping, with disbelieving eyes. The longer I stared, the more faces I began recognising; I spotted Gerald, Sheena, Eugene—

Helga, we best be going.

I looked in Nel's direction, but she was no longer where she once stood. My eyes flashed around, looking for that bizarre cat, when the sound of sirens suddenly hit me. Perhaps that was what she'd been referring to, and I couldn't exactly disagree with her. It probably was a good time to get out of here.

I got up from the ground, my head down and fists clenched, and turned to leave—

"Wait!"

I froze in my tracks but didn't turn. It was silent, no one dared to say anything—hell, I don't even think they were breathing—except the speaker. My ears, so much more powerful than before, recognised that voice; it was Sheena.

"Please, who are you?"

I didn't reply right away.

Instead, I focused on controlling the frantic giddiness of my heart. It was moving so much like it was covered in soap, slipping down into my stomach then jolting up into my throat. My eyebrows pushed together, my mind racing, as I tried to put together an answer to her question.

Who was I? Who was I? I'd never thought of a name. It obviously wasn't Helga—no, she was gone. Instead, it was someone new controlling my body, racing through my mind like a dream. She wasn't human; she was like the wind, or the sunset—beautiful, but never to be controlled. Always out of your reach, dancing like a distant memory on your fingertips. But if this wasn't Helga, then who . . .

Who was I?

I turned back around, facing them with a sense of fierceness.

"Blue Jay—" my voice was strong. "My name is Blue Jay."

---

And boom! That's a wrap! I don't actually know when I plan to update this story - this is more a test drive then anything. I haven't written any other chapters and just wanted to see what type of response I got from this. So, if you enjoyed this or are in some way curious as to what happens, let me know with a review and I'll work harder to finish writing the next chapter.

So, for some unneeded context, I don't actually know why I thought up this idea. I just freaking love magical girls - it's one of my favourite genres since a) feminism and b) the possibilities are freaking endless! It's interesting to explore you characters through how they react to getting powers, risking their lives for other, keeping it all a secret and all that crap. I never get tired of reading magical girl AU's and decided to mix it with this fandom.

Anyway, yeah, as I said before, be sure to drop a review to let me know if I should continue with this, or give me some constructive criticism or even just a question. I dunno, reviews are really encouraging and do make me work harder. Hope y'all enjoyed reading this though!

Song(s) mentioned: Creep by Radiohead and So What! by P!nk