Timberly's headphones blared so loudly from the back seat that Arnold could barely hear the sputtering of his car's beat-up engine. The tinny sounds of Taylor Swift seeped through, creating a bubble around Timberly, who was blissfully oblivious to her brother's lecturing. Gerald was in full-on big-brother mode, doling out safety tips and emergency contacts with exaggerated seriousness, but Timberly's eyes were firmly glued to her playlist. Arnold watched, a twinge of envy tugging at him. How nice it must be to have someone who cared that much, even if they were just a pesky sibling.
The suburbs of Hillbrow rolled by, a lush green canvas that seemed a world away from Arnold's concrete reality. The contrast was stark, almost unsettling. As Gerald walked Timberly to her friend's door, Arnold felt a pang of loneliness. Gerald's easy rapport with Timberly was a rare sight—a softer side of him that Arnold rarely saw. He wondered how different his own life might be with a sibling to share these moments.
Gerald slid back into the passenger seat, his grin wide and manic. "Booze!" he announced, waving a small pouch. "Curly's got the goods."
"Please don't tell me—"
Gerald snorted a quick line of something white from the pouch. "Curly's always got the best stuff."
"Seriously, Gerald?" Arnold's frustration was palpable.
He hated seeing his friend fall deeper into his drug habit; it was getting messier by the day. The way Gerald's mood would swing from high to low on a dime, his behavior becoming erratic and unpredictable—it was more than just annoying.
Arnold had tried to pull Gerald out of this spiral, but it only seemed to drag him further down. To Arnold, it was incomprehensible how someone with such a good life could find themselves in such a dark place.
Curly's house was an emblem of suburban excess—a far cry from the dingy warehouse of his previous antics. Once a notorious prankster who'd held his principal's office hostage, Curly had now moved on to much darker pursuits. His parents, oblivious to the full extent of their son's activities, had been promoted to higher positions and were constantly away on business. Curly had turned their house into a haven for drugs and alcohol. The room was bathed in a dim, seductive glow from multiple flat-screen TVs, which were showing gaming sessions and vaping clouds in red and blue light. A large tank in the corner housed a snake, its colors mirroring the chaos of the room.
"Hey, my man!" Gerald greeted Curly with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Curly's smirk was something else—part smug, part sinister. "What's up, guys? Meet my crew: Judy, Lynette, Paul, and Grant."
The friends ignored his introduction, save for one.
Lynette, a striking caramel-skinned girl in a scandalously short private school skirt, lingered too long on Gerald's hand, her flirtatious smile a blatant play for attention. Arnold raised an eyebrow, uncomfortable with the display.
"Play nice, Lynn," Curly giggled, clearly enjoying the show.
"You guys should come to my party tonight," Gerald said, barely containing his excitement. "It's gonna be epic."
Arnold's irritation flared. Gerald's "small gathering" had now morphed into a full-blown rager, with half the school and then some invited.
"You bet," Lynette said, biting her lip provocatively.
As she sauntered away, Arnold noticed Gerald's eyes glued to her, his gaze lingering a bit too long. The drugs must've been hitting hard, because Gerald's focus was all on Lynette now.
"You good, Curl?" Arnold inquired.
Curly shuffled uncomfortably, he was strangely tense. "Yeah yeah yeas, can you guys avoid coming around here for a bit? We're... restructuring."
Arnold's gaze sharpened. The hesitation in Curly's voice was too obvious. He was acting weirder than usual.
This was the first time Curly was using the "restructuring" excuse.
Arnold had tried to help Curly before, but the kid's path was too dark and twisted, shaped by a history of neglect and abuse. It was a path Arnold had struggled to pull him away from, to no avail.
"You sure...?" Arnold pressed.
Curly nodded, lips pressed together. He avoided Arnold's gaze for fear of him seeing right through the facade.
Instead he opened a drawer and handed Gerald a significantly larger pouch, his tone grim. "Seriously, stay away for now."
...
Back at Gerald's house, the atmosphere was electric.
The car engine silenced to a smooth halt as their friends came out to help unloaded the booze. The house was now a chaotic mess, with everyone gearing up for the night.
Arnold couldn't shake the unease in his gut. Word had spread, and now the place was overflowing with contraband.
He wanted to freak out but a bigger part of him just wanted to kick back and be reckless for once, forget being responsible for one night.
"You bet," Arnold mimicked Lynette's high-pitched voice as he helped unload some six packs. "You want to fuck her."
"Yes. But, she wants me, more" Gerald said with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I see that look all the time."
"Dude," Arnold said, his tone icy.
Sometimes he could feel a lecture coming on.
"I know, I'm just joking," Gerald laughed. "Phoebe's the only one for me."
Arnold's eyes narrowed, but decided not to make it his problem.
Gerald's expression faltered, but he quickly masked it with a defensive tone, repeating himself like it's a mantra . "I love Phoebe. You know that."
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"
As they finished unloading, Arnold felt a nervousness for the night. Part of it was excitement sure but between the Helga situation and keeping Gerald from going off the rails, his insides dropped.
He grabbed a beer to ease his nerves.