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.

30. The Little Women

So finally (FINALLY) I have completed this and the next chapter. This is the only chapter that I have had to draft four times (although it's looking like I might be doing that for the next as well). I just had such a vision for this one and wanted to reach it. I'm quite satisified with how it turned out.

Tell me what you think!

---

"Huh?" Rhonda tilted her face and cocked an eyebrow. "Your parents? The hell do they gotta do with anything?"

But I understood.

I already knew what Phoebe meant.

I had met her parents—we'd been best friends since we were children. There had been reasons why we didn't stay at each other's houses. There were reasons why we met so many times on the docks. And there were reasons why we had made plans to leave this city as soon as possible.

"Everything," Phoebe said, glancing down. "They'd be . . . really disappointed in me if they found out."

"What's a better path then saving people?" Rhonda asked, not taking the hint that she should drop it.

I tried to get her to notice. "Rhonda—"

"No, seriously, I wanna know," Rhonda leaned backwards onto her hands. The action made the light scatter across her face and tangle in her teeth. "That typa logic makes no freakin' sense. Superheroing ain't exactly getting into Princeton, but it's not too shabby y'know. I think you're putting this on so you don't have to admit that you're scared, which c'mon, Heyerdahl, that's against the rules. Just be honest and—"

"Fuck you, Rhonda."

The words were shot like bullets to glass, contorting the room until it fell into a silence that had everyone staring at her, unsure if what they had heard had been right.

Rhonda blinked a few times. "W–What?"

"I said, fuck you," Phoebe repeated. But she'd drawn in a breath, so her voice snapped like a rubber band. She looked up and her stare was angry—defensive. Her eyes were no longer smooth or relenting. They had become unwavering and hard. She held Rhonda's gaze before shutting her eyes. Her expression crumbled and when she reached up to wipe her mouth, I realised that her fingers were trembling.

My hand found her shoulder.

She didn't look at me.

"You have no idea," she said slowly then opened her eyes, "what you are talking about."

Rhonda's eyebrows rose. "What? But we—c'mon, we all have sorta strict parents, and I—"

"No, you don't understand!" Phoebe stammered. Her shoulders had become rigid and I worried that she had stopped breathing. It became easy for her to panic when it was about her parents. It's why she preferred to keep the focus away from her. It was a ticking time bomb for her. Her skin twitched as she swallowed and then raised her chin so she could look directly into Rhonda's eyes. "My entire time in high school, I've never received anything less than an A—never. Not even an A minus. Do you know why? Why I never . . . could never get anything less?"

She cast her eyes around the room, daring someone else to interrupt. Her eyes briefly connected with mine and the ache that rolled across my chest was a storm. I was one of the people she expected to speak over her. I had been doing that the past few weeks; putting her in positions where she felt like she needed to prove herself.

I pressed my lips together and let my hand fall to my side.

And when no one else said anything, she continued.

"I got those A's because I . . . have to. I can't . . . I can't receive anything less. My parents, they'll . . . they'll lose it completely. They have these expectations—anything less than an A is a failure, no matter how close you may come to receiving it. And a failure . . . if you're a failure, you're nothing, aren't you?" she chuckled. "Just a waste of space, eating their food and adding to the bills. If I joined the Guardians—no matter how much I wanted to, I knew that my grades would drop and I . . . no matter what, I can't let that happen. I can't. They'd never let me live it down, no matter how much I made—tried to make it up to them."

She released another sigh, this one making her shoulders deflate, and her gaze rolled across the table.

"Of course I was scared, I was petrified of doing the things that I had seen Blue Jay doing. I mean, it was one thing to watch it on the news, but it's entirely different to . . . be apart of. I don't know how you did it, Helga," she lifted her eyes back to mine and the ache grew into a burn. "But as much as I was scared, I was . . . intrigued. There was always a part of me that was drawn to Blue Jay. Maybe a part of me recognised that she was Helga, that it was my best friend going out there and risking her life only to come back and act like none of it had happened. I knew that there was something up with how you were acting, Helga. Rhonda's right, you would make an appalling actress, but . . . I don't think many people are—capable of lying like that. I mean, risking your life every night and then coming back the next day and having to pretend that you weren't in pain? That's horrifying. I admire your perseverance. I always have. And I always wished that I'd had that."

"You do, Pheebs," I insisted, wanting to hold her palm in mine.

She snorted.

"I'm a coward. We all know it," she gave a sour laugh. "I was the only one who ran away. I don't blame any of you for remaining cautious around me. I would as well." She rolled her face back until she had lifted her gaze to the roof. "The irony is that I always was interested in comic book heroes. Gerald introduced them to me, way back in grade school—" she smiled fondly. "—I even remember the copy. It was a Wonder Woman comic, something about apes. And it had these . . . so many women superheroes. His little sister really liked them, so he had burrowed them to see what all the fuss was about." She cracked a grin. "And I fell in love with them—instantly. And read whatever I could convince him to bring over. I'm sure he got into so much trouble for that.

"I can't describe to you all why I loved them so much. I guess they just . . . the more that I collected, the more hopeful I became. I always felt so different growing up—ahead of everyone else, but so far behind what my parents wanted me to be. Never quite right. And reading those comics, where there were so many girls with different personalities, I began to feel like. . . maybe I could be something. That maybe I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was just doing them differently. It gave me hope. I remember collecting them, getting as many as I could with that shitty allowance that I had," she said with a smile, but then, it shrank. "They didn't mind at first. My parents. As long as my grades weren't affected. But the more comics I bought, the more I hung with Gerald and his friends. I just wanted to talk to them. I could go on and on about the superheroes. Again, my parents didn't mind at first, especially since they already liked Arnold, but then . . . I came home with a B in Algebra."

Pale beams shot through the window as a car rolled by. Lights sprawled across the roof and beneath it, I could see the pinched expressions around me. I tried swallowing my own worry. Slid my hands across the carpet, as if the sensation could bring me back down to earth. The wool swirled beneath my palms and pressed into my fingers like moss.

"They didn't react at first. Calmly asked if that was it, and when I told them yes, they sent me to my room, no matter how much I apologised." Her voice wavered. Her face was tilted back, and it exposed her throat. She swallowed. "Hours later, they . . . they came into my room with this—a plastic bag and made me put all my comics inside. They then drove me to this burn pile where they . . . they forced me to take it all out, every one of those comics that I had saved up for and cherished, and . . . burned it all. All of it. There were no questions asked, no one said anything. We just watched as the papers went up in flames and then left without a word."

Lila released a noise, hand covering her mouth.

"What the fuck?" I demanded without thinking.

"Why would they do that?" Rhonda asked, and from how even her tone had become, I realised that it was the most serious she had been all night.

"To teach me," Phoebe shrugged. She lowered her chin so her eyes could meet ours again. I could feel the ache in my chest begin to swell, until it became the only thing that I could feel. Her eyes had become liquid, unblinking. "Comics, they were a privilege. They were fiction and nothing more. Fiction was a distraction. Nothing mattered if I couldn't achieve anything. So, I needed to keep my head out of the clouds and focus on the real world."

"Bu—Jesus Christ, Pheebs, you were nine—" my voice broke. I realised that the burning sensation in my throat had come from holding back tears. "You were nine. Your head was supposed to be in the clouds."

"They don't think so," Phoebe said in a low voice. Everything inside me screamed because she sounded so exhausted. She didn't believe that this was worth fighting anymore. It made something rush through me. I wanted her to understand that this was worth fighting. It would always be worth fighting. Because she was worth fighting for. "That's why I couldn't accept. I was scared, sure, but I'm more scared of upsetting my parents. They've already taken away what I love once. And I'm already struggling with my extra classes. Adding superheroing on top of that, it's inevitable that it will happen again."

There was a pause.

And then, Rhonda quietly asked, "What will they do if your grades drop?"

"When," Phoebe corrected her with another shrug. "And . . . I don't know."

She lowered her eyes to the table and watched as the ball rolled across the surface. Her brows rested and I knew that she had accepted this. She had accepted this a long time ago. That she was her parent's puppet. That she was trapped in a cycle; running for their approval but never receiving it. Nothing would ever be good enough. She would never be good enough.

'I just think that it's funny that I'm expected to take advice from someone who can't even use her own powers.'

And I had added to that.

'She ran away, Nel. How do we know she won't do it again?'

I shut my eyes before my vision could begin blurring from the tears. I had told her that she would never be good enough before she had even started. My throat became tight as I struggled to keep my composure. The resentment that had burned me like a fever was fading and without it, I could feel the hate coming back to burn holes into my heart. I wanted to stifle it, stunt its growth, but it was already suffocating.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" I asked before I could stop myself. I hadn't meant to, but it had slipped out. And without it, came the hurt.

There was a shaky laughter.

I opened my eyes as she opened hers, meeting each other in the middle.

"I didn't want you to worry," she answered, but when she looked at me, I could see the unshed tears. The ones she refused to let fall. Looking at them, I feared that there was more to her answer. It wasn't just about keeping me from worrying, but about keeping me from thinking of her like her parents thought of her.

I hated myself for it.

Because that was exactly what I had been doing.

'We'll be like fireworks.'

Not many people understood my friendship with Phoebe.

They saw it as confusing—confounding.

Why, I would hear people say, would anyone choose to keep Pataki as a friend? Especially when she already has so much going for her?

And while I couldn't disagree with them, I also knew that our friendship was much more complicated and deeper than they could ever imagine. They thought that we were a minion and master; where one of us dictated the other to always cause trouble. They didn't see the moments between. We had been born into a forever storm, so wild that our voices were lost voyages. Phoebe had too many expectations while I had none at all. Our worlds were different, but the same. We were never going to be good enough.

'We'll fly across the dark, brightening up the night.'

That had always been the plan. To leave. The storm wanted us to stop; to surrender so we could become whatever it liked. And maybe, I already had. Maybe, I had sunken, but Phoebe, she was still afloat. You grew up in our households, you grew up in a warzone. Words were launched and threatened to burn everything down. The battles never had a destination. But they had wounded. And as our dreams laid ripped apart at our feet, my hand would slide out for hers. The clouds would gather and threaten to tear everything away. But flashes would appear from the corner of my eye and when I turned, there she would be—my lighthouse.

People assumed that I liked Phoebe because I wanted to tell her what to do. But that had never been true. Phoebe held a sweetness to her, but her centre was all rock. Her shirt was always cold from my tears. She would hold me when I became too damaged. And I would cover her when people set their sights on her. I wanted to keep her safe; she wanted to keep me steady.

Bridges may have burned over the years, but ours would forever remain intact.

But at some point, the storm must have gotten too strong. Because I stopped making it back to her. And the thing that had brought us together had now been the thing keeping us apart.

'I did all that for you.'

We had been comrades long before becoming Guardians.

'I'm not who you think I am!'

But along the way, we had stopped being friends.

'I guess you're not.'

I couldn't believe that I had forgotten that.

'You're such a dork, H.'

'Guess that makes me your dork, geek.'

Lila's eyes found the side of my face. I didn't know why—whether I had moved, or something in my expression had shifted. But I didn't look away from Phoebe. Because when her eyes sunk into mine, I knew that she was thinking the same thing.

That we had forgotten that.

I didn't know how long that the silence had lasted. But it was ringing in my ears when Lila eventually took the ball from the table and clutched it in her hands.

Her eyes jumped across our faces before she blurted out, "I'm a liar."

I stopped.

"Wait—" I pulled away from Phoebe to frown at her. "What?"

"I'm a liar. E–Everything about me, it's all . . . it's a lie," Lila rushed to say. Her shoulders slumped when she released a small breath. "All of it, it's all a lie."

Rhonda and I exchanged looks.

"What are you talking about?" she asked with a small frown.

Lila glanced at her before lowering her eyes with another sigh. The flashlight became entangled with the furrowing of her forehead as she internally debated whether she wanted to go through with this. But then, she licked her lips and raised her eyes to mine.

"Helga, before we were like this, whenever I would try talking to you, your eyes would get this glazed–over look," she made a gesture and waved a hand in front of her eyes. It made me sheepishly duck my gaze. I hadn't been aware how obvious I had been. She laughed. "It's fine. I'm not hurt by it, but . . . you're easy to read. I could tell just from the way that you would stare at me when I had finished talking that you were thinking, 'Who the hell talks like that?'" I rose my eyes to see her shrugging with a sad smile. "No one, no one talks like that, least of all me."

Rhonda made a small sound, twisting her face in confusion. But I nodded. I had noticed that as our time increased, Lila's speech had relaxed. She no longer insisted on using overcomplicated words or sentences. I had assumed that it had come from her time as Lark—fighting for your life every night, it could really change you. But then, I thought back on the months before and realised that it had started before she had become Lark.

It happened whenever she had gotten worked up; she would stop talking like she had come from an 1800s novel. And instead, she would talk like a girl her age. But then, it would vanish if Arnold or Gerald showed up. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but . . .

"You were putting it on," I concluded.

Lila tilted her face. "Not the only falsity about me."

That made me frown.

"But . . . why?" I shook my face. "Did you do it so boys would like you?"

"No," Lila released a small snort. "Boys aren't that big of an interest for me."

"Then, why?" I asked again. "People normally lie to cover something up that they don't like about themselves, but . . . you were nine. We all were. What's there to hide with some fancy words? Especially since, and no offense, but it kinda made us—the girls—not like you for a while."

Rhonda snickered into her hand while Phoebe bit her lip to hold back her smile.

But Lila snorted again, not looking the least bit offended.

"Yeah, I remember," she said, eyes growing soft from the memory. "I did it because . . . I wanted to be different. Not from you or the other kids, but . . . myself."

I made a face. "What do you mean?"

"I wasn't the most likeable kid before I moved," she said simply. But I could tell that there was more to it. I didn't know whether she wanted me to ask about it, or whether she was changing her mind. Maybe she regretted telling us anything and was going back into her shel—

"Okay, so you said a few words that you picked outta a thesaurus," Rhonda said and tapped the bottom of her empty glass. "It's not the worst thing for a kid to lie about—"

"No, you don't get it," Lila interrupted in a tighter tone. "It wasn't just the way that I talked. It was everything. Every part of me was—is a lie. I'm not graceful, or . . . cooperative or patient or well read. I wasn't any of that. I wasn't even really that nice."

"Whoa, a not a nice Lila?" Rhonda rose her brows and leaned forward. "This I gotta hear more about."

"Why did you do it?" Phoebe asked.

Her question made Lila's smile fall like snow. I was surprised to see how guarded her expression had become without it. Her eyes had always been beautiful, but when she wasn't smiling, they seemed like iron.

I wondered if this was how she always had appeared.

"Lie, I mean," Phoebe added when she didn't respond. "Why did you pretend to be those things if they . . . if that isn't you?"

Lila pursed her lips and glanced down. I caught a shape moving beneath the table and when I looked, I realised that Lila's foot was bouncing like she couldn't contain it. I couldn't be sure that she was even aware that it was happening. I heard a release of air, and when I looked again, her expression had hardened.

"I lied because of my mum."

There was a silence as we processed what she said.

"I wanted to be what she would've liked me to be," Lila added then reached for her wine glass. "I lied because of . . . for her."

There was a pause.

"And your mum," Rhonda said slowly as she watched Lila tap her nails against the glass. "She's uh, she's not—"

Lila's throat bobbed.

"No," she pushed her glass away. "Uh, no, she's uh—" her eyes fluttered. "This—this is stupid, I'm bringing down the mood. I don't even know why I'm—I'm sorry, I—"

"No," I reached forward and held onto her wrist. "It's okay. Jus—say your piece, yeah? It's alright."

Her eyes found mine and pushed me back, until we were standing on the buildings. Where we had agreed to meet. Where she had revealed so much to me.

'I knew from the start that you were lying.'

The rain had shot around us like arrows. The wind had howled, sweeping out to roll against the clouds. Sounds cracked; the storm threatened to drown us out. I had been falling apart at the seams, but she had been determined to keep me together. And now, her eyes searched mine like they had then. Hunting for something. Their vulnerability rattled something inside my chest. Her eyes had turned into a dark glass that was trying to hold back its liquor. To stop it from streaming down her face. I pressed my thumb into her skin, traced soft circles to let her know that she was okay. She was safe.

Her throat bobbed as she looked down at it.

"Okay, uh, my mum, uh," her face crumbled as tears slipped down her face. Her wrist tore from my hand as she covered her face. "Fuck! No, okay, I can do this."

I watched this happen and realised that this was the first time I had seen Lila not crying for someone else.

"She's um—" she cleared her throat. Sucked in a breath, squeezed her eyes shut until she could force her expression to clear. "On the 22nd of August, my mama, she . . . she passed away."

She released it with a breath.

My lips parted.

She opened her eyes.

"I'm sorry," I heard myself whisper.

Lila smiled without any joy.

"It's fine, what's passed has passed, right?" she cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. "But anyway, she . . . her death, it hit us—really, really badly. We tried moving past it, but no matter what, everywhere that we went, we were reminded of her. People would tell us how tragic her passing was—how young she had been, how beautiful . . . as if we didn't already know. As if we needed them to remind us. As if we were stupid. They would offer their prayers and remind us that they were there for anything that we needed. I hated it. I know that they meant well, but I . . . it felt like I was being trapped . . . in my own grief. I couldn't let go because I kept getting reminded. I was so relieved when Dad announced that we'd be leaving. The way that people had begun looking at me, it was like they were waiting for me to explode."

She released another breath.

"So, we came here and, in the spur of a moment, while Mr. Simmons introduced me, I . . . found myself talking. But it wasn't how I usually did. It was like how the girls in mama's books talked," she said and shrugged. "I guess all those nights where she read them to me paid off. My vocabulary was impressive for a kid, but . . . I wasn't myself. I carried myself differently because I didn't want people to treat me like I was broken."

She pushed the words out through stiff lips. Like she had held onto them for so long that they had become rusted, sitting at the bottom of her soul and dragging her down. Tears were burning from the corners of her eyes, but she didn't rush to wipe them away. She instead made her gaze to our hands, but she seemed to look past them.

"And I knew that it was wrong, that it wasn't me, but I . . . I couldn't control it. I was saying and doing things that I wouldn't normally do. I would go around helping people so they wouldn't help me. People who helped others couldn't need help themselves, right?" she released a small snort. "Mama, she raised me to always put my best foot forward. Keep my head held high. There were parts about herself that she didn't like, so she chose to leave them behind. She always smiled for her crowd. It's how she became so popular, why she was so well liked. She wanted that for me, to be loved. But I wasn't like her. I wasn't cool headed or good at compartmentalising my feelings. I felt something and I exploded, and it became everyone's problems.

"So, I modelled myself after her and those girls in the books she used to read to me," she continued. "No one ever asked about how she was feeling—not really. They did out of politeness, but then they would launch into talking about themselves. They were only ever interested in having their problems fixed. She was the town's perfect darling and so, that's what I turned myself into. Hillwood's sweetheart. Little miss perfect. The girl you could come to for advice, for a shoulder to cry on, and you needn't worry about upsetting her because you were always her greatest concern. And as the years went on, the lies continued. I'd boxed myself in. Everywhere that I looked, there were these . . . expectations. Those kind words had turned into weapons pointing themselves at me. I couldn't come out and say that I lied, what would everyone think of me? Too much time has passed."

Red was creeping up her face. Her eyes were pink from trying to contain the tears. But when she released a sigh, the water continued to slip down her face. She didn't fight it. She accepted it and lowered her face in shame.

I wrapped my hand around hers.

Her eyes found mine for a second, before she continued.

"So, I stayed playing this girl—the good girl, who no matter what, would continue smiling. Put others before herself. Because that's what people like, right? Someone to talk to. Someone who will listen without bothering them with their own problems." She placed a hand to her chest. "I think I wanted to fill that hole in my heart by becoming what I longed for. Someone who understood. Someone who would offer kindness without judgement. But in the end, it became my prison. I'm exactly like mama, smiling when I . . . I really don't feel like it."

She wiped her face and looked back to me.

"You ask me how I'm so good at this, pretending like I'm not a superhero and always injured and it's because . . . I always have been. I've always pretended like I wasn't saving people and hurting from it and exhausted. I'm always fucking lying," she admitted. But then, a sob worked its way from her throat. The sound was violent and twisted in my chest. "I've done it for seven years. I can keep doing it. It's a game that I've mastered and I . . . I'm not planning on calling quits anytime soon."

She looked at me and it made the world slip away. There were so many words that I wanted to say. But I didn't know how to say them. I tightened my hold around her hand, brushed my thumb against her skin. Sank my stare into hers. I didn't know how to say it because I knew that the people she spoke about—that took so much that it exhausted her . . . that included me.

"Who are you?"

Lila glanced up. "What?"

Phoebe shifted her weight.

"Well, you've been telling us what you're not. But . . . you never told us who you are," she pointed out and drummed her fingers along the table. "If you're not patient, or kind, or cool headed, then . . . who are you?"

It made Lila pause.

"I . . . I don't know," she glanced down with a furrowed brow. "I've been pretending for so long that I . . . I don't know the real me."

It made the ache spread in my chest.

"I do."

All eyes swivelled to me.

But I was watching Lila.

She frowned. "What?"

"I know the real you," I repeated and squeezed her hand. "Look Lila, in the grand scheme of things, we haven't been friends for a very long time, but that doesn't knock our situation. You may be a liar, but no one can keep a face when they're fighting for their lives. I've gotten to know you over these months and yeah, you're nothing like I expected. But why does that have to be a bad thing?" I shook my face. "That other girl, I barely knew. I couldn't stand her. She was too perfect, too polished. She was so rehearsed, I felt like I was talking to a statue. But this girl, right in front of me? She's one of my best fucking friends. She got me through some really, really tough shit."

Lila smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Okay, well, fine, then everyone—we'll go around the table and say something that Lila is," I dropped her hand to address everyone. "And you have to listen to us because we're the Guardians which make us awesome and right by default. So yeah."

That made her chuckle.

I smiled at the sound before turning to Phoebe.

"Oh, okay, I guess I'll start," she shuffled and placed her fingers back onto the table. "I admire how observant you are. You catch details that even I do not gauge. Your eyes are remarkably sharp. You have been able to catch us all in our lies and have used that information to help us. It isn't easy, catching those small hiccups. But you do it perfectly. You're always ten steps ahead of everyone."

I nodded my approval then looked to Rhonda.

"Wait, hold on—" Rhonda quickly finished her last sip. I rolled my eyes. "Okay, hmm, well, I for one like your energy. I agree with Helga—don't look at me like that, Pataki, this isn't about you—before, when you were perfect, you were too perfect. It felt like I was talking to a mirror, y'know? You told us exactly what we wanted to hear which . . . isn't what we always want to hear. But this—you, the real you? There's an oomph to it, y'know?"

She made a face that had Lila and Phoebe laughing.

I rolled my eyes.

"Trait, Lloyd?" I tried again.

She scowled at me. "What part of 'I like your energy' do you not understand, meathead? She's got good vibes, total boss bitch stuff. The right kinda mojo."

I wanted to retort that that wasn't what I mean. But then I caught Lila smiling from the corner of my eye and decided that it didn't matter.

So, I made it my turn.

"Okay, well, for me, it's like I said: You were always there for me. Like an annoying fly that won't go away," I grinned which made Lila laugh again. "You always know when I need help, even when I don't know myself. And this whole Guardian shit . . . none of it would have happened without you, Lila. I'm serious. I barely was getting through it before, and . . . well, you arrived just in time."

But my voice caved when I admitted that. There were words that wanted to creep up into my throat to spill out into the room. You saved me . . . not just from the Mutants. But I clamped down on my teeth before they could flee. Their near–escape had my heart cramming itself between my teeth. I realised how much I didn't deserve her. She had always been so kind to people, even when she had nothing. Her love and light had been taken from her, but she still kept pushing herself. How did she do it? I had turned to the shadows while she had turned to the light. But she had never shut out that light. She had made it available for anyone. Burning for everyone but herself.

Growing up, I had tried turning her into a villain. Because she had been what I always wanted to be but never could. While I broke things, she laced them back together. I wanted to dominate people while she remained on their level. I slid against the ground, looked up at her and sought to bring her down. I had searched for anything that could be wrong with her actions. Tried shutting out that light. And when I couldn't do that, I had blamed her.

Hated her.

Let that hate become my lifeline.

I needed to bring her down because then, I would feel better about myself. And still, nothing had changed. She was still a lifeline. I was still dragging her down. I may not hate her anymore, but I was still taking her light and keeping it for myself. I was leaning on her and expecting to be held up. But who was holding her up?

Everyone had stolen from her and that included me.

My eyes found Lila's again. I knew that she had picked up on my mistake.

"Not to mention, in the right order," Rhonda added, not picking up on my mistake.

I went with the distraction.

"Yeah, right? Can you imagine if Rhonda had been the second Guardian and we were stuck working together, just the two of us?" I asked, making sure to keep my voice light. I moved backwards so I could prop my elbows onto my knees, letting my mouth curve into a smirk.

Everyone laughed, which filled the room with relief.

"Oh, God," Lila chortled, holding onto her stomach.

Rhonda placed her hands together. "That would've been awful."

"And messy," Phoebe smiled.

Rhonda raised her empty glass. "Cheers to that, motherfucker!"

I rolled my eyes, but my grin had become genuine.

"Right, it would've been a disaster if Rhonda and I were the only Guardians, or if Phoebe had—" I stopped. Wanting to take the word back, but half of them had managed to get out. Had Phoebe joined . . . I would still be alone. And maybe, not here. It made the mood burn when before, it had become cozy. I could sense Phoebe freezing but wasn't strong enough to look at her. I kept my eyes on Lila. "The point is, Lila, that there's a reason why you're the second Guardian. You're fucking amazing as Lark, this whole gig—superheroing. It really suits you, more than anything."

You're better than Phoebe.

Was that what I was saying? When I told her that there was a reason for her to be the Guardian after me. That superheroing suited her more than Phoebe? That it was Lila's duty to always save me? The anxiety rushed up and down my veins. Spiked needles into my heart.

Lila gave a half smile, but I knew that I had ruined the mood.

Like always.

Snuffing out their light.

I sighed.

"But, if this is confession time, then I guess it's my turn," I grabbed the ball then looked between them all. Forced a breath out from my lips. "My parents are shit."

Rhonda snorted. "That's a confession?"

Lila hit her.

"Ow! What?"

Lila shot her a look, wiping away the leftover tears, then turned back to me with a softening gaze.

I glanced down, finding it hard to reveal the words that I had kept pressed down for so long.

"I, um—"

"Helga," Phoebe said, voice soft. I glanced up at her and was surprised by how kind her expression was. "You . . .You don't have to—"

"It's okay," I forced a smile. She already knew where this was going. She knew what my home life had been like. "So, um, yeah, my parents? Shit. Barely can even call them parents . . . I don't actually call them parents. It's just Bob and Miriam."

Rhonda blinked when she heard that. Then, something dawned across her face. Her hands squeezed into fists before she flattened them across the table. I paused, twisting my face to the side. Then realised from how her eyes had clouded, that she was beginning to feel guilty for the jokes that she had been making.

Lila pressed forward and when I looked, her face had the same concern.

"They don't mind," I tried to assure them. I didn't want this to make them feel like they needed to comfort me. "I don't think they even notice . . . Miriam's mostly passed out and Bob, well, he prefers to not be around us. He loves Olga. You remember her, right Lila? They love her. She's the golden child. The precious princess." I wanted to keep the resentment from leaking into my words. But I knew that I had already failed. I lowered my eyes. "She was always so smart, y'know? She always brought home A's . . . I think I've seen her fail once. In a way, I can't even blame them for paying so much attention to her. I wouldn't want to be reminded of the ugly failure either."

"You're not a failure, Helga," I heard Lila tell me.

I didn't say anything.

"Yeah, you've literally been protecting this city—the world—all by yourself without powers," Rhonda added. I could hear her leaning forward against the table. "Who gives a shit about some A's when you're—"

"I do," I told them. But the weight in my chest made my voice tremble. "I care and so do they. That shit—that all fucking matters to me. Because if you take this away—my powers, my weapons, Blue Jay—take it all away and what do you have? Some flunkie who before all this only had one friend."

I tried keeping myself in control when I said that. But the weight in my chest was shifting—cracking—and it made my voice break. I wanted to press down on that feeling. Force it back into complacency. But something was managing to slither between the weight, moving upwards until my eyesight had gotten blurry.

I raised my hand to wipe away the tears, but my fingers were shaking.

"Helga . . ." I heard Lila say.

"I—I may be good at that—at being Blue Jay and fighting all those fuckers—but I . . . I'm not good at being Helga. I never was," I wiped my face anyway. "Being Blue Jay is easy . . . you just fight chaos with more chaos. Fire with fire. But when I'm Helga, I have to . . . I have to fit into a world that doesn't want me. I've gotta abide by these rules and I've never been good at that sorta thing. It feels like everyone was handed a manual that I never got. You've all grown so much since grade school, but I . . . all this time, I've stayed the same. The same bully who had to make her issues everyone else's."

I sucked in a breath.

"I, umm . . . I had a shrink and all but had to drop her when Bob realised that they cost money—a lot of it. He was never into the whole therapy thing anyway, so it wasn't a loss to him. But . . . it really sucked, y'know? I felt like she was the first person who really talked to me. She . . . she listened to me and seemed to understand why I was the way that I was. Why I felt so strongly about everything . . . she even said that I was gifted. Not in a condescending way but, like, in a . . . real way. I really believed that there might be something good about me, but I . . . she was just saying that cause she wanted to get paid, right?"

I said it with a laugh, but it broke. It made the pain waver and burn. I could feel my throat wanting to collapse beneath the tears that I had been holding onto.

Lila moved forward. "Why would you think that about yourself?"

I laughed again but this time, it was angry.

"Because I'm not smart. My grades, I—I never received anything higher than a C since high school. Shit used to be so easy in grade school, even middle school. I dunno what happened since then, but I . . . I can't get it. And I don't get it. So, what's the point in trying, y'know?" I wiped my face again. "No wonder they hate me."

"Helga, I'm sure that's not true."

"Miriam had her tubes tied after she had me," I murmured. "So, um . . ."

There was a space where no one said anything. I wasn't looking, but I imagined everyone scrambling from that information. Wanting to reassure me, but I kept shutting them down.

"Helga," I heard. Phoebe. Her voice was quiet but pointed. I had to look at her. "You're not dumb. You're one of the smartest people I know."

I snorted.

"It's true!" she insisted. "You were writing pages and pages of prose and poetry before I had even met you, and that was a long time ago. I've never met anyone like you. I still haven't."

"Not to mention," Lila chimed in. "All that art you were referencing that none of us had even heard of."

"And those times you were able to school our teachers whenever they were on about how 'authors nowadays have nothing to say unlike the old days!'," Rhonda threw in. But she had put on a voice which prompted laughter. Her face softened when she realised that some of it was mine. "All jokes aside, that shit was amazing. You were coming up with arguments from the top of your head, right? Totally put them in their fuckin' place, especially Mr. Thomas. Anti–hunger games smug–ass."

That made me grin. "Did you go back and read it?"

"Who knew Suzanne Collins was making social commentary?" Rhonda threw out her hands and rocked her weight backwards. The look on her face made me laugh. "I thought it was just about two boys fighting over a girl and a bunch of child violence. That's all anyone ever talked about. But I guess that was the point, right?"

"Totally."

Rhonda mimed an explosion from the sides of her head.

It made me laugh again.

"You're smart, Helga," Phoebe reaffirmed. Her lips had tilted into a smile. "You've just given up."

That made something stir in my chest. It wasn't the first time that someone had told me that. 'You're an intelligent kid, Helga . . . You just gotta break away from this slump you're in.'

The thought made my eyes well up again.

"Yeah, and if you need any proof that you're not stupid," Rhonda pointed in my direction. "Again—reminder that you used to wax the most overdramatic and grandiose poetry about ol' Loverboy at the ripe ol' age of nine."

"Wait," I froze. "You could hear that?"

"I think the whole school could," Lila said, raising her brow.

I groaned and felt my cheeks burn.

I ducked my face and felt a hand pat my shoulder. I didn't need to look to know that it was Phoebe.

Lila laughed.

"That's so embarrassing," I moaned.

"Nah, it was cute," Rhonda assured, waving her hand. "Kinda weird, but cute. Totally signals that you're a passionate lo–vuer, ya know?"

I looked up to find Rhonda wiggling her eyebrows.

It made me roll my eyes. "You know he doesn't act like me like that, right? Like, for real."

"Uh huh, yep," Rhonda nodded, leaning back with a lazy grin. "Whatever you say, babe."

"I'm serious."

"He just hasn't made a move yet because he doesn't know your feelings for him," Lila said and encouragingly placed a hand on my other shoulder. I smacked my forehead. "Arnold is perceptive but when it comes to girls, he's as oblivious as Gerald—moreso sometimes. He probably hasn't even realised that you like him because you guard yourself so much. You just have to be honest with him."

"That's what I'm saying!" Rhonda exclaimed. "If we can just get him alone and then kinda thrust Helga onto him, then we can—"

"He already knows, okay?"

Silence filled the room as all eyes swivelled back to me. I kept my teeth pressed together. I didn't want to let anything out. The aches were twisting cords in my chest, slipping upwards until water was pushing from the backs of my eyes again. I knew that I should turn away in case they saw. But I was unable to move.

"What?" Rhonda raised her eyebrows. "What'd you mean?"

"I mean," I swallowed and hoped that my voice wasn't wavering. "Exactly what I said. Arnold knows. He knows that I like him."

Something tight and hard spiked in my chest. Forced its way into my throat. I had to close my mouth again. I had been suppressing so much for so long. I didn't know what would happen if I finally let it go.

The hands left my shoulders as Lila and Rhonda exchanged looks, silently arguing as they processed what I had said.

Rhonda was the one who spoke. "And by 'he knows you like him', you meeeeean?"

I sighed my irritation. How many times would I be forced to say it?

"He knows about my feelings for me! He's known for years that I like him like him!"

There was a beat.

Then—

"WHAT?"

I shut my eyes.

"You mean he knew this whole time?!" Lila exclaimed. "And didn't make a move?!"

"The cruelty of that man!" Rhonda cried and then, there was a thump. I opened my eyes to her smashing her fist on the table. The impact made an echoing thud that threatened to send the glasses over again. I was the one who had to rush forward and catch them before they fell.

Looking up, I growled at her. "Would you stop doing that?!"

"It's so patriarchal!" she wailed instead.

Lila continued. "Why wouldn't he make a move?!"

I released a noise, letting go of the glasses so I could sit back down. "It's like I said, he doesn't like me. He just never had feelings for me. That's just it."

That made the girls pause in their hysterics and once again, I became the centre of attention.

Phoebe's gaze had already been on mine, and her eyes had softened lukewarm. Rhonda's brows pushed together. And Lila sat back down, her gaze moving back and forth along the ground as if she was trying to process a very difficult calculation.

I rolled my eyes, not seeing the big deal. No one ever really thought that I actually stood a chance with him.

"I just—" her eyes met mine and she crept closer. "How do you feel?"

I shrugged. "I've had years to get over it, so . . ."

"But have you?"

I opened my mouth to tell her that yes, I had. But that would be a lie. And I was getting tired of the lies.

So I said nothing.

"I don't even understand how this happened," Rhonda said, pressing her fingers into her temples. "How did he find out?"

The attention was getting too hot and I forced my eyes down to cope.

"It was just . . . a heat of the moment thing," I admitted. "Shit happened and I, I guess there was this rush of adrenaline and stuff and the next thing I knew, I just kinda blurted out my feelings."

"Oh," they all said. But I could tell from their tones that there was some leftover confusion.

"It was the full nine yards," I added. "I didn't hold anything back."

"Oh," they said again, but this time it was with more understanding.

"Well, shit," Rhonda said. "That really sucks . . . I was rooting for you two."

"So was I!" Lila insisted then turned back to me. "Helga, are you sure that it came across that your feelings were romantic? Nothing was misunderstood or anything?"

"I told him that I loved him so much that I stalked and built shrines to him."

"Um," Rhonda blinked. "What?"

"See! This is why I got over him! Or at least, I was trying to! It—it was unhealthy!" I threw my hands up into the air. The water that wanted to pour down my face had become hot as my face flushed from the shame. "None of that shit was okay! For him or me! I shouldn't have been doing those things and calling it love and he shouldn't have had to put up with that shit! My shit! It hurts, but I don't even blame him for rejecting me."

"Rejecting?!" they all squawked.

"Hold on," Lila slid her arm across the table, holding her hand up. "I thought you said that he just knew. Now he's rejecting you?"

I sighed.

"Well, it's not that he technically rejected me, we just . . . agreed to never speak about it again," I confessed. "We both said it was a heat of the moment thing, but it's so obvious that it's not! You don't just say stuff like that and not mean it! Arnold's smart, he knows when I'm lying. He knows that all of that stuff that I said was true! He knows that I'm in love with him, he . . . he just doesn't feel the same way."

There, I admitted. Really admitted it. What I had been keeping to myself for years. Arnold knew—he had always known. I hadn't been making it up when I said he wasn't interested in me. I had meant it. You don't hold onto feelings for years when someone else has made their feelings clear to you. You either returned them, or you didn't.

And Arnold had never returned mine.

Admitting it made the weight in my chest loosen. Loosen, and then sink. Collapse. But that weight had been what had been keeping me up for so long. Stabilising me. Without it, my chest would dissolve from the inside and I would be left with nothing. Emptiness. The defeat that I had been suppressing for so long. Arnold had never cared for me.

"Why did you never tell me about this, Helga?" Phoebe asked, crawling closer.

I snorted, lips quirking into a sad smile.

"I dunno, I was embarrassed?" I shrugged and toyed with the ball between my hands. "I mean, I told the guy that I was building shrines to him, and . . . I dunno, it still hurts." I scoffed at myself. "Isn't that pathetic? Seven years and I'm still in love with him. Someone who never looked my way. Never considered looking my way. And that hurts to admit. It all makes it . . . too real, y'know?"

I rose my eyes to her and became aware that something had dripped down my cheek. Phoebe's eyes followed it. Her lips pressed together, eyebrows slightly furrowing. I knew she wanted to say something. But instead, she nodded.

I nodded back, grateful.

"We should kill him."

I shut my eyes at her voice, sucking in a breath as I wiped away the tear, then rolled my face in her direction. "What?"

Rhonda shrugged. "We should kill him."

"Okay, did you hear any of what I said?"

"Yeah, hence the killing," Rhonda nodded then scoffed. "I mean, the nerve of that guy to—"

"To what? Turn me down, rather than lie and lead me on?" I asked, suddenly feeling that emptiness turn back into anger. "You really wanna punish him for not feeling the same way that I do?"

"I mean, yeah," Rhonda nodded. "Or y'know, scare him a little."

"It happened years ago!"

"Is it my fault that you neglected to tell me until now?!"

"We weren't friends then!"

"I predicted that you would get together!"

"No, your stupid origami thing predicted it!"

"Well, we all shipped it!"

Phoebe then piped in. "Didn't you once have a crush on him yourself, Rhonda?"

That made me gasp. "No."

"No, no, I said—I SAAAAAAIDUH!" she snapped her fingers before we could continue talking. "That I wouldn't mind kissing him!"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh yeah, totally not a crush on him at allll."

"It's not. It was just sexual attraction," Rhonda corrected then threw her hands up. "WHICH IS A TOTALLY DIFFERENT THING BY THE WAY! I never actually liked him. I liked—"

She stopped herself.

I leaned in. "Who?"

"Irrelevant. The point is that I never had a crush on Arnold, I just found him cute—a lot of us did. But we all assumed that you two would get together. I mean, it's not like you could keep your feelings a secret," she said with a small chuckle. "But yeah, I'm just shocked to find out . . . he knew this entire time. I always thought that him not knowing was the thing holding you back, but I guess . . ."

She sighed and shut her eyes.

"What?" I asked her.

She held up a hand. "I'm just going to need some time to process this. This news has me feeling faint."

I deadpanned. "We'll try respecting your privacy at this time."

"Thank you."

"You're taking this remarkably well," Lila noted. Her eyes were gliding along my face as she rubbed Rhonda's shoulder.

I shrugged.

"Like I said, this happened years ago. I've had time to . . . get used to it," I cleared my throat. "But I guess, I would appreciate it if you two would just . . . cut it out. There's no romance or secret pining—from him anyway. It's just an unrequited crush. Which is okay, I'll get over him. I've got the rest of my life. And when I graduate, I'll leave this city and never return. Can't stay in love with someone you can't see, right?"

I forced a laugh, but it was already curdling in my throat. The words were dull in my mind, too rehearsed to mean something. I didn't believe myself and I didn't expect anyone else to either. Tears threatened to spill down my face at the thought.

"At the risk of sounding insensitive," Lila said and pushed her shoulders back. "I'm sorry Helga, but I call bs."

Rhonda rose her eyebrows at her bluntness.

"What?" I said when the shock peeled back enough to reveal mortification.

"Not on your feelings at some point being one–sided," Lila rushed to explain. "I know Arnold and he really will go for girls when it's been made clear to him that his feelings are returned. Hell, sometimes, he doesn't even need that. But . . ."

"But what?"

"He's always been weird about you."

It made something snap in my heart.

"Yeah, I bet," I murmured when the burn of it soured.

"No, you're not listening, I—"

"Look, Lila, I get it, he's never liked me," I interrupted her, because I really, really didn't want to hear this. I could admit it to myself. But I couldn't hear it from someone else. Especially her, the girl he had always been in love with. She had never even had to do anything to earn his love. "Not just liked me liked me but liked me. And it's my fault. I was an asshole to him, he doesn't owe me anything, and these are the consequences to my own actions. I know that and I'm aware so we can we please jus—"

"Helga."

Her words sharpened and it made everyone fall silent. The pressure had been forming in my chest, turning words into bullets that I could shoot at her. But when she said that, they stopped. Vanished in a whoosh! that left me unable to say anything as Lila opened her mouth to speak.

"Would you stop acting like you know absolutely everything and just listen to someone else for a change?" she snapped. It made my cheeks burn as Rhonda let out a long whistle. Lila gave her a look that made Rhonda scoot backwards to escape her wraith. Lila waited a few seconds before turning her attention back to me.

She sucked in a breath, and then spoke.

"What I was trying to say is that . . . when Arnold likes a girl, it follows a pattern: he notices her and then, he approaches her. There's very little variance. You can always tell that he likes her right away because he can't stop watching her," she explained and as she did, her voice became more contemplative. "But with you, it's always been different. He's always been so guarded when it came to you. Whenever you were mentioned, he would get quiet. Maybe agree here or there when it was required that he speak. But you could always tell that he was keeping something to himself. I thought it strange, since he always seemed to have a good word for everyone in this city, but with you, he would become quiet."

I felt my chest begin to sink, knowing what that meant.

"But then there would be these times," Lila continued. "I would catch him . . . watching you." I rose my eyes to hers in alarm. "It was when you weren't looking. Either you were reading, or talking to Phoebe, or staring out the window . . . when you weren't paying attention. He would look at you. I'm not even sure if he realised that he was doing it, most of the time. But he always looked at you like he still had something to say."

I lowered my gaze. "That doesn't mean anything."

"It does," Lila dragged her frown to mine. "It means that there's always been something between you. I'm not sure what it was, but there's always been something. There's still something unsaid that he hasn't told you."

'We could be friends.'

What if that was it? Arnold had been approaching me lately. More than he ever had in my years knowing him. But I had been stretched thin and running around too much to give it a thought. Maybe he had been doing it because he still felt guilty over what had happened between us. Maybe this was all an attempt to atone for his past actions: a friendship with me.

'We've all grown up since we were kids, but you've stayed the same.'

Right.

It wasn't like he had cared about me prior to this.

'I'm sorry Helga, I—I didn't see you.'

I was just a project that would make him feel less guilty.

I tried not to let that thought sour me.

But Arnold always had to be liked.

"He hasn't told me anything," I admitted. "Except that he wants to be friends."

I chose to ignore Rhonda's reaction to that; stirring slightly and releasing an interested noise. I dropped my gaze to the table, pushing the ball out so it rolled across the surface.

Lila raised her eyebrows. "Well, that's great, right?"

Not if he was just doing it to unburden himself, I thought with a sigh.

"Not if he's just trying to make himself feel better," I said then pulled my legs close to my chest. "He couldn't tame me when we were younger and now, he finally gets the chance—"

"Don't talk like that about yourself."

"Like what?"

"Like you're an animal. Or a monster."

I shrugged. "Maybe I am."

That made Phoebe frown. "Helga—"

"I hurt you all, didn't I?" I cast my gaze across the room. Looked at their faces without seeing them. "Monsters hurt people. I hurt people. Therefore, I must be a monster."

"Well, then, so am I," Lila declared, looking angry. "Monsters pretend to be something that they're not, which is what I did."

I snorted. "You're not a monster, Lila."

"And why not?"

"Because you're—you're Lila!" I exclaimed.

"And you're Helga."

"That is not the same."

"It's exactly the same," Lila said, then covered my hands with hers. "If you're a monster for hurting people, then I'm a monster for lying to them. You at least backed away from your actions, but I haven't. I still lie and pretend to be something that I'm not, because . . . what if I lose all my friends?"

"Then they weren't your friends," I told her angrily. Her surprise made her eyes bounce up to mine, mouth parting. "They were friends with who they believed you to be. You can't lose something you never had. And if they walk away then frankly, they're idiots because they're not capable of recognising how awesome you are."

She looked like she wanted to believe me. Then, something occurred to her and her gaze dipped back down.

"You don't know that, Helga."

"Yes, I do."

She sucked in a breath. "I could be completely dif—"

"I don't care!" I exclaimed. "I don't care if you're completely different. I'm not leaving you."

Shock rendered her speechless. Her eyes rose but this time, they sank into mine. I didn't look away. I meant what I said. And then, tears were filling her eyes and her mouth was twitching into a smile that turned into a small, relieved laugh. She raised a hand to wipe at her eyes, but tears still burned to be set free.

"Sorry," she chuckled. "I—I just worry that . . . if they know who I am—who I really am—I'll just let them down."

And now, it was my turn to be shocked.

It was like she had seen the thoughts in my brain, that I had pressed down so deep into myself that they had merged with my DNA and read them exactly. The sensation had turned my vocal cords to stone, like someone had pressed a mute button on my voice.

"I—" I blinked then rose a hand to my chest. "I feel that as well."

Her gaze softened, a smile budding on her lips.

"Yeah, me too," Phoebe said.

Her voice rung clear and silver, and when I looked, her eyes were already on mine. A smile ghosted over her face and I could feel my own mouth lifting to resemble hers.

"Same," Rhonda said.

And it was like someone had turned on a light that made the brittleness crumble into dust. The room swelled with a honeyed sensation and I realised that as much time as we spent together, there had still been things that we had kept hidden from each other. Masks were sewn to our faces, and the book was taped shut. But now, someone had dragged their claws across the fabric and revealed what we kept hidden beneath the fabric. And maybe, what it was that we found, it wasn't good. Maybe there were reasons why we kept them away from people's sight. But now we knew, there was no holding back.

And we weren't running away.

"Huh," Lila glanced around. Tears still soaked her gaze. "Maybe we're not as different as I thought."

I glanced at her when she said that, studied her expression. And not for the first time, I wondered what was happening in her head. What thoughts did she have, that made her feel ashamed? That dragged her down, where I lay? I suddenly found it easy to imagine her in my place. Curled in a ball, crying. Glaring into her reflection and hating what stared back. Standing in the middle of a bustling room, looked at but never seen. Covering her sadness that burned so hot it left behind ashes. Ashes that clogged the skies and left you in darkness. And in that darkness, you would sit and wait for someone to find you. Wait for someone to turn on a light.

Tears burned my vision.

I had always assumed that we were night and day, but what if we had never been that different to begin with? What if we had both always been night?

"You're not a monster," I told her and squeezed her hand. She held me up. I would do the same for her.

She squeezed mine back.

"And you're not alone."

I realised that the weight that had been moving up my throat was winning its battle. And before I was aware, tears were already sinking down my face. I wanted to fight it, but I was smiling—a real, genuine smile.

I had assumed that I was on my own, standing in the storm. Something electric had been put into my blood. It made me fit comfortably into chaos. I pressed myself into walls like I were a shadow so I wouldn't hurt others like I had once done. I had tucked myself away some place that the sun could never reach. I couldn't become my past. I couldn't become like him. I already looked like him, but I wouldn't resemble him. I needed to keep everyone safe.

But maybe, I could relax around these girls. I had thrown up every defence that I could think of—preparing for a storm that was never coming. They weren't going. They weren't leaving. They weren't hurt. They were fastened to my sides and not breaking away.

Maybe I was safe.

I wiped my face with my spare hand. There was silence, but one that didn't rush itself. Everyone seemed comfortable waiting for me to continue.

I sucked in a breath, closing my eyes as I waited for the weight to lighten, then finally said something I had been keeping to myself for as long as I could remember.

"Sometimes, I think I'm still grieving the person I think I could have been," I admitted and when it did, it felt like a weight had dislodged itself from my throat. It made the tears continue their pursuit down my cheeks. "If it . . . hadn't been for him."

"Your father?" I heard Rhonda ask, but her voice came out weird.

I nodded. "Yeah."

I glanced at her, seeing her forehead crinkle.

"I don't," Phoebe admitted, meeting my eye when I turned to her. "Helga, I am not saying that your family life has ever been a good thing. It wasn't. But when I look at you, I do not see a mistake or a monster. I see my best friend. And I love her."

I stared at her, unable to come up with a response to that.

"Yeah, you distanced yourself from us over the years, so we're still getting to know you," Rhonda spoke up and when I looked, she was leaning her weight onto the table. "But so far, what I've gotten to see . . . I'm impressed, meathead."

I rose an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

"Really," she nodded, missing that I hadn't been asking about the validity of her statement, but her insistence on insulting me during it. "Look, I know I can be hard on you, but it's only because . . . I believe in you so much. I wasn't kidding when I said that Blue Jay is you. When I made that realisation, I haven't been able to unsee it. I look up to you."

"I—really?"

"Really," she smiled, nodding. Lila released my hands and scooted backwards to give us more room. "I still get . . . overwhelmed. Being normal by day and superhero by night, it can be really tough. Exhausting. There's still so many times that I don't know what I'm doing. And whenever I get to those stages, I just say, 'Well, what would Helga do?'"

I could feel my mouth parting at her confession. The words that I had been thinking died in my throat. She raised her eyebrow at my reaction, lips tilting into a smile, before reaching across the table to clasping onto my hand.

"And I always say Helga," she smiled. Her eyes became slightly glossy. "Not Blue Jay. You. Because you're the hero, Helga. Blue Jay is everything that you've been suppressing."

"We all look up to you, Helga," Lila continued. "You talk about how perfect I am and how I always get things right but personally, I never found feats like that to be all that impressive. What's impressive is when you keep trying. And you do. Even when something doesn't go your way, you try and try until it finally does. Your drive is what I admire the most about you. You never give up, you never stop . . . you just keep fighting. And we can tell. There's still beauty in this world because you fought to protect it. It wasn't the easy thing to do, but it was the right thing to do. That's what makes you Blue Jay."

I twisted my mouth to ponder on that.

I knew that it was the sensible thing to listen to them. To allow for their words to break through the tide and pull me out. But I couldn't. The words before them were still too heavy. You're a bully. Useless. Monster. Delinquent. They were the weights in my pockets. The girls were a light that fractured through the surface. Sunlight was scattering across my face. But I was still being brought down. And I knew that it made me a hypocrite, but I wasn't strong enough to fight it.

"Thank you, Lila—all of you," I forced a smile. "But, uh, that . . . it doesn't erase my past. I was—"

"Who said?" Phoebe suddenly asked.

It surprised me. "What?"

"Who said it erases your past?" she repeated. But her eyes were shining bright, as if they could sink into my mind to pull out my thoughts. "The past, it already happened, hasn't it? There's nothing we can do to change it. We have to live with that. Especially our regrets. The only thing we can do is learn from them, so they no longer are repeated. And you've done that, Helga. You've realised where you were wrong and grew from it. You're no longer that bully, Helga. You've become the opposite."

"Yeah," Rhonda added. "You're the one who's secretly been protecting us."

"I'm not sure what else there is for you to do," Phoebe continued. "Except, forgive. Forgive and let go."

"Forgive?" I repeated with a snort. "I don't see who the hell would need my forgiveness."

Phoebe rose her eyebrows. "I think you do."

The silence that filled the room was the thickest that it had been. It burned like ashes and rushed to tuck itself into the corners like a nest. Beneath it, I shuffled, not knowing what else to do. The light suddenly seemed too exposing. Pining my tears to my cheeks and making them glisten for the whole world to see. It pushed, hot and pale, through the window and when I turned, I realised that it was a full moon.

"Look, I don't think it's as big of a deal as what you're making it out to be," I disentangled myself from Rhonda's hands. "I was an asshole in the past, so I made sure to stop being one. End of story."

"Is it?"

"Yes," I snapped at Lila. "I stopped hurting people. Happily ever after."

"So, then you became the one who got hurt instead," Phoebe stated. "It's not a happy ending if the hero still needs saving."

"You think I need saving?"

She gave a mysterious smile. "Painful moments are good; they make us stronger, wiser and remind us to make tomorrow better. And you . . . you've been doing that. From the start, you've been saving us, and we weren't even aware. You still are, aren't you?"

I looked down.

"You push yourself to be perfect, so that we don't have to be," she said. "You're still protecting us . . . but Helga, who's supposed to protect you?"

I froze when she said that. I didn't know what to say. That hadn't been something I considered. Not in years, anyway. The last time I had, I'd been a child. Confused and wandering. There had never been anything in Hillwood you needed protecting from. But I had been raised behind dark walls, where no light could get in. Why were the walls so high if nothing was standing outside them? What did I need protecting from? I had never understood why until I ventured out to see what existed past them.

'I like your bow.'

And when I saw him, I realised how beautiful it was out here. His eyes had sparkled and reminded me of springtime. They made something stir in me. It had scared me at first, although it didn't hurt. It was comforting—powerful. Brightened my glares into smiles. Something I had never experienced before.

Hope.

'I like your bow 'cause it's pink like your pants.'

I had thought it good at the time. How could it not be? It rushed through my veins and had the world spinning. Scorched my vision and turned it into something beautiful. Made me want to defy the walls crowding me. His heart became my world, his eyes my skies. Everything that he said was beautiful; so intricately designed and woven. It made me happy. He made me happy. I wanted to stay there forever. He made me feel like I was glowing. I never ever wanted to let that feeling go.

'You love me?'

But I had to.

'Maybe you didn't really mean it?'

I had to because it was dangerous to hope. There was nothing more deceptive, nothing more terrifying. Because when I hoped, I dreamed, and when I dreamed, I let go. I didn't know the reason why I had been born behind those walls. But I had learned when I had pushed everything too far; I brought my battles to the world. I thought to be worthy of attention, you needed to be the biggest, most terrifying thing in the room. So I had cut things down to keep it on me. His attention was heaven, I wanted it fastened to me. I pushed and pushed until the walls were crumbling. But when I stepped out to have the sunshine sweeping across my face, Arnold had looked at me for what I was: a monster.

'You don't actually love me, do you?'

He still did.

'You're a bully.'

That was the thing about dreams: you had to wake up. They couldn't last forever, no matter how much you wanted them to. And as I looked around, I realised why the walls had been wrapped around me. They weren't protecting me. They were protecting them. The monster had existed. I just hadn't realised that it had been me until it was too late.

I didn't want to hope. I couldn't. The dreams were intoxicating. I couldn't tell reality from fiction. But in my moment of clarity, I became determined to keep them separated. Brick by brick, I had built up those walls again. Burned bridges to keep everyone away. Put in the labour to widen that divide. I knew better now; I would never lose control again. I would tuck that anger behind me. I would douse it out with water. I would inflict that pain onto myself. Arnold's words may have been beautiful, but mine were frightening. I made hearts bleed and blister. The sparkle in people's eyes decayed. I couldn't do that again.

I knew that the girls were trying, but I wouldn't let their hands bring me to these heights. I had filled my pockets with stones and kept myself beneath the waves for a reason. I was always destined to fall; to make things crumble and tear them apart. And I didn't think that I could survive that fall.

I may have been ready for them, but I wasn't ready for the world yet.

"And this is why I love alcohol!" Rhonda made a noise and then lifted her glass. "It brings out the bigger discussions."

"You're the only one drinking," I pointed out. But allowed her enthusiasm to fill me.

"Not true! Lila's drinking!"

"I finished mine ages ago."

Rhonda snorted, rolling her eyes.

"Well, what about you, princess? What's your story?" I asked her. Partially because I didn't want to stay the centre of attention. But also because I was genuinely curious. "You got anything that's gonna make you as sad and miserable like the rest of us?"

Rhonda pursed her lips for a moment.

"Ooh, god, where do I start?" she placed her glass back onto the table. "My friends are starting to think that I'm a flake, I got dumped by a guy who saw me as a trophy, I'm not sure if I'm going to stay on the cheerleading squad and my parents never talk to me."

I rose my eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Makes sense though. I've had to ditch a lot of practise in order to drive you lot to tra—"

"Not that!" I interrupted, having to hold back the you idiot part. "I meant the . . . parents thing."

"Oh," her shoulders deflated. "Right. Yeah."

"What do you mean by it?"

She shrugged, uncomfortable.

"Guess in the typical rich kid way," was what she went with. "They were obsessed with working and forgot about their daughter—pretty standard shit."

"That doesn't make it any less wrong," Lila told her.

Her comfort didn't have the effect that she had been hoping for though.

"It doesn't really matter though. I mean, it's not like they were hitting me or making me feel like shit, they . . . they just didn't say anything," Rhonda gave another shrug as her eyes glazed over. "They're workaholics, which you'd have to be with this fucking house. Very girlboss, very 'diamonds are made under pressure' type people. Mum usually barricaded herself in her office so she wouldn't be disturbed and my dad . . . I barely even know who he is. I mean, I know he's in his fifties and three years younger than my mum and he likes those ugly patterned ties, and he hasn't changed his haircut in like seven years, but I . . . I don't know him. Or my mum. I try to think about who they are as people, what they like or dislike, and . . . I'm blank. I don't know anything."

"Is that why they're not here right now?"

She smiled.

"Business trip. Something super important, can't miss it. Doesn't matter, it doesn't really bother me anymore. I've gotten used to it," she rose her eyebrows. Kicked her feet forward to cross her ankles as she leaned backwards against the couch. "I don't even really think of them as my parents. They're kinda just the people who funded me. They're more my sponsors."

I paused when she said that. An odd sensation came from her words, as if they had crept beneath my chest to ring in familiar patterns. Parents who had never been your parents. Parents who hadn't earned the right to call themselves that, so you didn't. But Rhonda didn't seem upset by it; she looked exhausted.

"Who do you think of as your parents then?" Phoebe quietly asked.

Rhonda glanced up at her question. She then pressed her lips into a line and crossed her arms, before finally admitting. "Maria."

Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat.

"She was one of the cleaners," she delivered, then forced a snort. "Which is like, super pathetic, right? I know . . . but she really cared about me. She was always making sure to finish work early so she could take me out for ice cream or watch movies with me. She had her own kids, but they had moved out . . . she really knew what she was doing when she raised me."

Lila frowned. "But what happened to her?"

"She got too wrapped up in taking care of me," Rhonda answered with another shrug. "She became neglectful, clumsy when it came to her actual work. She was splitting too much time entertaining me and cleaning the house. So, one day, my father brought her into his office, and they talked . . . she came out with this look on her face. Her eyes were red. She looked angry, but she stopped when she saw me and . . . she looked sorry for me."

Her voice curdled.

"And then, I realised why she was doing it—she pitied me. I was just some poor little rich girl in her eyes. So pathetic—" she forced a laugh. "Not even my own parents could be bothered with me. I felt like I was the mess that they'd hired her to clean up . . . to her, I was just a project." She lifted her eyes and when she did, it shattered the illusion that she had been holding together. Tears swirled across the surface in her eyes. She raised her chin and blinked them back. "So, by the time I was in school, I was determined to make sure no one would ever look at me like that again."

There it was again, that charade. Her performance. She had her lips stretched into the same smile that she wore at school. She couldn't flaunt her designer clothing like she once did, so she made sure to make up for it, dolling her hair and face up like she was in a beauty pageant. But now, I could look past them.

Her gaze had always been hard, even when her lips were rolled into her infamous smirk. It burned with an intensity that threatened to set the room on fire. But that heat behind her eyes had recoiled, washed out from the tears that wanted to escape. I suddenly felt like I was looking through windows that peered into her mind. The masquerade was over, the mask pulled from her face. Darkness bleeding into a shape. Pain swelling against the glass. It threatened to choke me. Her stare was still warm, but the fire had gone out long ago.

"That's why you were always flaunting your wealth," Lila realised.

Rhonda pressed her lips together.

"My parents were many things, but poor was not one of them. They may have neglected me emotionally but materially, I was more than taken care of. I didn't care for it much until I got to school and other people were making big deals about it. And I realised that, in their minds, I was living a fantasy life. I had everything they could ever dream about. My parents had given me everything."

Everything except love, I thought to myself.

"Is that why you ditched Nadine?" I heard myself ask in a heavy voice. "Because you wanted to keep getting everyone's approval and you knew she never would?"

Rhonda's eyes connected with mine.

Her lips parted, like she hadn't considered that. Or, that it was a memory that had grown so old, that it had collected cobwebs from sitting at the back of her mind.

"She was the only one who cared about me," she admitted. Her eyes went down for a minute before she forced them back to my own. "For non–materialistic reasons. Everyone looks at me and sees what they can gain, how I can serve them, but her . . . she looked at me and saw me."

She sucked in a breath, truly looking tired.

"But yes," she forced her expression to clear. "I wanted to follow the path that suited me—one with approval and attention—and that . . . it didn't suit Nadine."

I looked away.

"Does that piss you off?" she asked. But she didn't sound angry. Her tone seemed welcoming like she wanted me to answer yes.

I twisted my lips to the side.

I had never worked out what had happened between them. Nadine was pretty closed off and we had never been close to begin with. But I had always been curious, especially since I saw how sometimes, Nadine would look at Rhonda when she thought no one else was watching. She would get this faraway look in her eye. It wasn't sad, but it wasn't peaceful. She still missed her.

It was what had drawn us to each other. The hurt that came from getting left behind by your best friend.

"I don't think I have any room to judge," I decided. "We . . . I guess we're all fucked up, aren't we?"

That made Rhonda grin.

"You'd have to be to accept becoming a fucking superhero," she said, and everyone chuckled. She wiped at her tears. "I was never really into the whole superhero genre but man, I didn't think it would be like this."

"Like what?"

"So . . . restraining," she said. She drew her legs up to her chest, scrunching her face slightly. "Superheroes are the epitome of freedom, but ever since I put on this mask, I feel . . . weak. Pathetic, right? All this power and I feel worse than before."

"It's not pathetic," I told her. "I feel it as well."

She smiled at me.

"Well, I personally feel that we make a great team," Lila tapped her chest. "We're well–suited for each other."

Rhonda blinked, confused. "Cause we're so fucked up?"

"No," Lila smiled. "They forced us to grow up."

Her words laced together another silence.

And that silence made me think.

I had been born in the shadows and left in the shadows. I was always standing at the edge of something, some place where the light had never reached me. I had learned that the light liked people like Arnold, or Olga, while spitting out people like me. There would always be someone more talented; someone prettier, someone smarter, someone better. So I had dropped my weapons and ended the fight. I didn't come back until Nel had found me.

I fought so hard as Blue Jay because I didn't know what else to do with myself. Blue Jay was created because Helga was in the shadows, and if she disappeared, no one would notice. I had decided that a long time ago. It wouldn't matter; the world would wash its hands and continue spinning like I had never been there. I picked myself up every time that I fell because I wanted to delay it as much as I could. Every battle was never ending, and it was exhausting.

But now, there were arms around me. Securing me, cradling me when I needed it. I wasn't alone. I looked around the room and imagined if things were different. Would we be different? Yes, but I wasn't sure if I wanted that. Things may be better and easier, but I liked these girls as they were. I didn't think them incomplete or needing to be fixed. I looked at them and wanted to be more like them. We were all broken in our own way. But broken things could become fixed. And our shattered edges had fastened themselves together.

I didn't care what had caused us to become like this, because in the end, it had brought us all here.

"For better or for worse," I said, words surprising the girls. "They made us this way."

Rhonda's lips tilted up into a smirk. "How optimistic of you, meathead."

"Well, I happen to like you all," I snapped.

"So do I," Lila placed a hand on my shoulder with a grin. "It used to bother me that I wasn't like everyone else—that I couldn't fit in. But now I have you guys and I feel at peace."

Phoebe smiled.

"Me too," I said. "Well, most of the time,"

"Yeah," Rhonda chuckled and slung her arm around Phoebe's shoulders. The girl chuckled. "You guys aren't so bad."

"Try awesome!" Lila pumped her fist into the air. "We're literally fighting demons! Internal and external!"

I chuckled, shaking my head.

"We even have a team mascot who talks—" Rhonda out her hand as if to present Nel to her talk show audience but blinked when she couldn't find her. "Who doesn't seem to be here . . . where'd Nel go?"

Frowning, everyone looked around in search for the cat.

And then I sighed. "She probably wandered off again."

"Why would she do that?" Phoebe asked, blinking.

"That's just Nel," I shrugged. "She's always been . . . distant. She isn't the mushy type."

I didn't tell them what had happened in the bathroom. I wasn't planning on telling anyone that. I would keep it to myself and let Nel stray when she wanted.

"But you must admit Helga, she's been acting it moreso recently," Phoebe pointed out.

"Wha—why are you looking at me like that?"

Lila rose an eyebrow.

"Should we go find her?" Phoebe asked, turning her gaze away. "Maybe try talking to her?"

"And say what, 'hey we just had a big ol' cry session where we talked about how sucky our parents are, wanna join?' No way," I leaned backwards onto my palms. "Nel's not the emotional type. It'd just be weird. She left for a reason."

Lila sighed.

It made me feel defensive. "What?!"

"Two steps forward," Rhonda said, waving her hand. "One step backwards."

"Technically," Phoebe piped in. "That would still be a step forward."

Rhonda gave her a flat look when the air suddenly split as a scream tore through the room. It barrelled through and swept everything into a dizzying mess. We all wrenched upright to press our palms into our ears, our screams rising to join it, which then turned into groans of protest.

We knew what that meant.

"Shit," Rhonda cursed when it fell silent.

Phoebe glanced up. "Was that a—"

"Mutant!" I was surprised to hear another voice joining mine.

I turned in its direction to find Nel was already racing through the hallway. I was on my feet before she had even stopped in front of the group. Our eyes connected and in sync, we nodded with similar expressions.

"They get along so well when everything else is shit," Rhonda whispered to Lila, who nodded.

"Girls," I turned to them. "Let's go!"

They nodded.

---

So yes, that was that. I cannot tell you how long I have had this scene stuck in my brain, literally from the beginning of this fanfiction, I knew that I wanted to have a chapter like this. But yes, this is what the last chapter was building to. The girls finally opening up about their backgrounds and explaining why they are the way that they are. And even better, Helga finally dropping her walls to become vulnerable. What did we think about that reveal regarding Arnold? That's always been in the plan, I wanted to keep that confession canon, but have it diverge by that culminating in Helga choosing to abandon her hope. Because it was too vulnerable and didn't work out. But do we believe her, or is there more to the story? We learn more about Arnold's thoughts next chapter (promise!), so I'd be interested in hearing your predictions!

Anyway, so that's that chapter, I shall see y'all in the next (unless you decide to cut the wait short by following my tumblr: Klutzymaiden123)!