Helga G Pataki: Hillwood's New Superhero

by KlutzyMaiden123

As if my life wasn't already difficult. I already had to watch the love of my life making goo–goo eyes at little Ms. Perfect while completely ignoring me. Now, I also have to juggle school, keep my feelings for him a secret and fight evil while dressed in nothing but a skimpy bathing suit, all while hiding my new lifestyle as a superhero from my nosey classmates.

2. Zero to Hero

—on a Monday morning.

Plot twist, I know. Not like I didn't already admit that in the previous chapter.

But oh, what a glorious and breathtaking Monday it was. The sun's rays pierced between the cracks in the blinds hanging above my windows. Birds were chirping and the sound made my heart rush in delight. Despite yesterday's terribly dreary day, accompanied with sheets of rain and dark clouds, today seemed like it was going to be awfully—

Oh, fuck it. Who was I kidding? No one actually thought mornings were gorgeous. Much less Monday mornings.

The sunlight was practically blinding even though my eyes were closed. It was doing that annoying thing where it speared between your eyelids so unless you had an eye mask, you were unable to escape the reality: it was morning. Which meant, sleep time was over. I would have to get up soon and succumb to the fate which was heading out to endure another day of school.

Still, doesn't mean I couldn't rebel in my own ways.

Turning on my side, I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to fall back asleep. Yeah, I know, it was pointless. But a girl could dream, couldn't she? Which was exactly what I was trying to do. There was still some fog left over in my mind and I was trying to fall back into it again. The dream I'd been having was pretty sweet and I wanted to finish it. I won't go into detail over what it was about, but I will say that it was the type of dream that left you kissing you fingers and shouting, "Fantastique!"

But just as I could feel myself slipping back into that unconscious state, a sharp knocking echoed from my bedroom door.

I frowned.

There was a voice. It was disgustingly perky and singing that I needed to wake up. I groaned. I didn't need to look or open the door to know that it was her. And I didn't, in fact. Open the door, that is. I was still in my rebellious state of mind and I wasn't about to throw away my efforts for her. Not that I needed to. Because as expected, she barged right in without even waiting for a reply. I could feel her cheerful smile plastered across her perfectly perfect face as she looked down 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!"

Ugh.

I despise that cheery tone. I actually had to restrain myself from barfing (no I didn't, but you get what I mean). She was oblivious to my exasperation—she always was—and her footsteps crept closer. There was some shuffling to my left and then suddenly a bright explosion as sunlight filled my room and hit my face.

"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 onto my other side, I pulled the covers over my head and curled up in a small ball.

Olga giggled ( giggled. Who does that on a Monday morning?). "You need to get up some time."

Ugh. Her smile was so penetrative that I could feel it through the blankets, pillows and my eyelids.

"I know," I said, although beneath all the layers, I wasn't sure how clear she could hear it. "And I will— on my own. I don't need you."

"I know," she said. "But it never hurts to have a little help!"

Right. She only says that because she sees herself as so important that without her, I would be an inconsolable mess.

"I mean, if I wasn't here then I—I don't know what would happen! I know how easy it is for you to find yourself in trouble and I would hate to turn around just to find you as an inconsolable mess!"

See?

"Now, c'mon. The bus'll be here soon!"

Oh, what a lie. Olga knew that Pete—the bus driver—was slower than a snail slithering through peanut butter. I blamed his old age—the elderly were so slow these days. I still was waiting for the day where we got a newer and faster driver. One who was cool and actually picked me up from my house instead of making me walk down the street.

. . . still, as much as I loathed to admit it, Olga wasn't entirely incorrect. Not presently anyway. It wasn't unknown for me to sleep in and arrive later than Pete. And the sly bastard took too much pleasure in making me run down the street after him.

I should probably get up.

Ugh, whatever.

I opened my eyes—

When the morning light hit me. I hissed, drawing an elbow across my face. Ugh. Nothing was uglier and more unnecessary than the morning. I shook my head to force any remaining glimpses of the dream away from my mind, then heaved my eyes back open.

The first thing I registered was Olga. She stood at the foot of my bed with her hair pulled back into a braid so intricate that it would've had Daenerys Targaryen crying. Her hands were on her hips and of course, she had that dumb smile on her face. I shuddered. Did she have to be so cheery about everything?

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

She peered down at her watch (a gift from her boyfriend, whatever his name was).

"Mm, 7:20?"

My eyes widened.

"7:20?!" I shot up and looked straight into her eyes. She slightly drew back with a sheepish smile. "Did you just say 7:20?!"

"Um, yes?"

"CRIMINY!"

Leaping from my bed, I stumbled across my room to snatch the crumbled pieces of my uniform from last week. Yeah, uniform—mandatory for our high school. The school wasn't private or anything. It just thought it was a lot more important than what it actually was.

The girls were made to wear a white, button–down shirt with a crisp collar. The skirt was pleated with 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 (they could have avoided the problem altogether by allowing us to wear pants all year round, rather than just winter. But hey, gender roles became a lot harder to apotheosize when you didn't force your students to conform to them). With this we were required to wear black socks, brown buckled shoes, a crimson tie and a matching blazer with the school crest emblazoned on the left breast pocket.

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

Which no, was not an admittance that I needed her (I got by quite well on my own, thank you). It was a reestablishment that I didn't need her, actually. Because what was the point in having her if she couldn't even do this one thing correctly?

She tilted her face. "Sorry, I thought you were gonna get up earlier . . ."

I gave her a baffled look. "Since when do I ever wake up earlier?" I then 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!"

Said older sister responded with a wink then headed for the door.

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

I slammed the door in her face and began shedding my pyjamas. My sweatpants and shirt joined the layers of clothes on the floor as I shimmied into my skirt. But when I pulled on my button–down, I realised that I'd forgotten to wash it. How did I realise it? There was a chocolate stain on the right breast. I face–palmed. I would have to keep my blazer on throughout the day so people wouldn't see. Stupid fucking ice cream—

Whatever. There wasn't anything I could do about the stain until I got back. I reached for my brush on my vanity and yanked it through my hair to get it into something more tolerable. Tying it in its usual two ponytails, I scanned my face in the mirror before deciding that my eyebrows were acceptable for the day. Yeah, I got that under control. It took a while but eventually, I got tired of looking in the mirror and seeing his face staring back. So I had grabbed some tweezers and plucked away until they were a suitable shape. Far from the crummiest decision I had made, considering they actually suited my face now.

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

Smack!

Thunk!

CRASH!

—fell down the stairs.

"Criminy!" I roared while rubbing my ass. It hurt like a bitch but I didn't have time to whine about it right now. So climbing to my feet, I pulled on my sock and limped to the kitchen. My gaze swept over the couch against the wall to Olga.

"Olga! Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

Not that I needed her to.

"Shh!" she responded by jamming a finger to her mouth, glancing at the couch then meeting my gaze again.

My jaw clenched.

I didn't have to look to know that she was gesturing to Miriam. Probably passed out in yesterday's clothes, clutching one of her smoothies.

Olga obviously had no idea how much that still happened. How uneventful that sight was in the morning. That, or she had forgotten. She had moved out, after all. Gotten her own place at her prestige university. She had done it a few years ago but Miriam had kept her old room exactly the same since. It was weird, because that woman barely even cleaned herself, but somehow, found the effort to keep everything in perfect place, like she was still waiting for Olga to turn around and come back. I suppose it was another reason why I was so unflinching by her passing out. It had only increased its happening since Olga left.

When Olga had randomly showed up on the doorstep, mascara running down her face, Miriam practically tore the door down to welcome her. Her and Bob took her back with open arms, going on about how it wasn't a bother and she was fine if she wanted to move back in. Olga rebutted that it was only temporary; 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 the bag— my bag—from Olga's hand and marched for the front door. I didn't spare a glance towards the passed out woman, nor did I acknowledge Olga's hushed protests.

I swung the door shut behind me.

Outside, the air crackled against my skin. I dipped my face back and took in a breath. Ran a hand through my hair. Everything was still crispy from last night's rain. I could feel it prickling down my neck. Sucking in another breath, I worked to unclench my jaw. That always happened whenever I was in there—the house. I became rigid like I'd been holding my breath the entire time. I never could relax unless I had buried myself in my room.

Tapping my fingers against the railing a few times, I finally began climbing down the steps—

When something whooshed past me, a yellow blur whizzing down the road.

The air that trailed behind hit me like a wall and, stunned, I was left blinking—once, twice, thrice.

Was that . . .

Looking in the direction that it had gone, I realised that yes, that yellow blur had been the—

Oh my God, that's the school bus!

I bolted down the street in its direction, heart pounding. Embarrassingly, I waved my hands in the air in some desperate hope that Pete would recognise the wild–looking teenager in his rear–view mirror. He apparently didn't (he did. He just hated me) and the bus turned at the end of the street.

Rounding that same corner, I gripped the speed sign and sharply turned. Swinging around, for a split second, my gaze locked with a pair of bright purple eyes.

Wait.

Purple eyes?

This was a good time to bring up last night's rain. Because not only did it mean that the air was still slightly chilly but that the pavement was also still wet. So within a few seconds, I had slid and was flat on my back with a throbbing ankle.

"Ah—fuck!"

I know, ladylike.

Hissing some more curses, I slowly sat up to a burning in my palms and that painful stinging in my scalp.

Okay. So not the smartest of my ideas (I'm beginning to suspect that those were rare occurrences).

Rubbing my ankle, I found myself seeking out those eyes again. I located 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 car with its tail swishing sharp behind it. The feline blinked owlishly at me and I drew back. The creepy thing barely moved and stared so hard that it felt like a hole was beginning to burn straight through me. Somehow, I got the feeling that I was being judged.

By a cat. What the fu—

A honking noise blared from down the street. I jumped and looked over my shoulder. Apparently, the bus had decided to stop more than half–way down the street. Anger flushed my cheeks. That dumb old fart knew that I'd been running and had only now decided to stop and wait?

I got to my feet and dusted myself of anything I may have acquired from that little fiasco. My face was still hot and I knew that it wasn't entirely due to the anger. I hummed a little tune to myself as I walked down the street. But I couldn't resist looking over my shoulder at the cat. It hadn't moved. Its big, scary eyes were still on me.

I shuddered. Creepy.

My heart was practically throbbing when I approached the doors. I could feel the stares pushing into me from the windows, but I kept my attention trained ahead. Kept those lyrics in my mind. I'm the type of girl who likes taking the lead, I don't give a fuck what they say about me. When the doors shuddered open, the silence hit me like bricks. And so did the realisation that maybe I give some fucks about what they say about me. Not that anyone was saying anything. But that kinda made it worse. Because when everyone was looking at you but not saying anything, it allowed for your mind to run wild with accusations.

Did you see her, Helga Pataki, falling over like a complete klutz? Running around like a loser? God, what an ugly weirdo. No wonder her grades are what they are. You think with how much time she spends reading, she'd have a little more going up there.

Yeah, my mind wasn't exactly the friendliest of places.

I lowered my gaze to my feet and hurried down the aisle. My back burned beneath the annoyed looks thrown my way and I quickly sunk low in my seat. The closest free one I could spy. I didn't look up until the glares had lightened and the bus sprang back to life.

I pulled my hoodie up and slumped further down into my seat. Lips screwed tightly shut as if to keep my heart from falling out, I tangled my fingers with my sleeves. The burning still shone from my cheeks and instinctively, my eyes sought out and found that familiar sight. He was chatting animatedly to his best friend. About what, I had no idea. But it didn't matter. Because it was a sight that managed to relax the tension in my chest. Something thundered in my ears as a sigh worked to push itself from my mouth. As usual, his back was turned in my direction and he was oblivious to my existence.

Arnold.

Criminy. Please end me.

I turned and feigned looking out the window while secretly watching him from the corner of my eye.

Ugh.

If there wasn't a more handsome boy.

His hair was still messy and stuck out at awkward angles from his beautifully shaped head. But some strands hung above his eyes. I loved those strands. It was a past time of mine to imagine myself sinking my nails into them, moving forward until our chests were pressed together and I—

Ahem.

Anyway.

A benefit to the school uniforms was that it forced Arnold to ditch those awful flannels and instead wear proper and buttoned up shirts.

The boy's uniform was kept similar to the girls. They wore pants, of course. And instead of a tartan pattern, their pants were made from a simple grey material—another thing I envied. Their uniform didn't make them look like dorks. Or fetishes you would find in online forums (one of the many joys of being a girl, I guess). Arnold looked good in his—the uniform, that is. He looked great, in fact.

Like usual, he wasn't wearing his blazer. Just his shirt today and he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I loved when he did that. It allowed for me to appreciate the ruggedness of his arms. Another weakness of mine: his arms. Arnold hadn't stopped meeting up with his friends on the weekends to play sport which in turn, had graced him with some muscles. Nothing crazy that made you think he was on steroids, but a nice definition that never failed to drive me crazy. That, and his eyes. Those sparkling orbs that sent me crashing into my deepest, amorous fantasies.

Stupid hormones.

Well.

Okay, I couldn't entirely blame the hormones here. Some of this was me (most of it was, if I was being honest). I'd been in love with the guy since pre–school. Could I really blame these sensations that I had only gotten a few years ago? When I was nine, I dedicated a shrine to him. Made from his own gum!

Yeah, I know. I was obsessed. And it was embarrassing. But you had to give me props for that perseverance. That had not been easy.

In my defence, I had tried getting over him. Really, really tried. I got rid of the shrine, threw away the poetry and cut the very small amount of contact I had with him. But alas, it appeared that one didn't need frequent social contact to fall in love with Arnold Shortman. No, one does not need to speak with such a fair spirit to know that he only utters the finest of words. One does not even need to look to see how absolutely and breathtakingly beautiful he is. No, Arnoldo was so perfect that simply cutting ties with him could never cease the infatuation felt for someone so exquisite.

So, in short, no. I had not gotten over him.

Arnold was, frankly, too good a human to simply 'get over'. Anyone who wasn't aware was, in my books, a weirdo and furthermore—

Screeeeeeeeeech!

My head flew forward until I had collided with a thump! into the bar in front of me. I groaned, feeling a headache forming. God, how many times could a girl get knocked around? It wasn't even eight yet!

An angry buzz of voices grew, asserting their annoyance at the sudden halt the bus had taken.

Can't say I blamed them.

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

Ah.

Right.

We were stopped outside Lila Sawyer's place.

I cast a dirty look to the back of Pete's balding head. Sure, he had no problem stopping outside of little Miss Perfect's place, 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. Cheeks turning a delicate pink, Lila avoided our looks and breezed down the aisle. And of course, she looked utterly fantastic doing it.

Which brings me to another thing I hated about her: she was hot. I hated to admit it, but Lila had only become more beautiful as time passed. She had been cute as a kid, but the years had stripped her of any baby fat and graced her with slender curves. Since entering high school, Lila had ditched the braids and let her fiery hair flutter around her shoulders like she was in a Lord of the Rings movie. Was it a surprise that most of the male populace at school was totally and head over heels in love with her?

Speaking of—

My heart lurched when Arnold straightened in his seat. He had been talking to Gerald about something when her honey–toned gaze had swept over him and now, he watched her with a look that reminded me of a puppy.

Gerald, in response, face–palmed.

"Lila," Arnold breathed like he was in the presence of an angel.

At the sound of her name, Lila's eyes flickered to Arnold before she quickly turned away. Her lips had slightly dipped when she found an available seat and scurried for it. I muffled a groan, realising that it was across from me. The bus was tiny so when she passed me, I caught a whiff of her perfume—dainty and floral. Exactly what you'd expect.

Her hands tied in her lap as she forced herself to look out the window. Of course, she looked a lot better than when I did it. She didn't slouch like she didn't want to be there. Her back stayed straight and her shoulders were pushed back. It really was like watching a princess from a fantasy movie.

My stomach sunk when Arnold's face fell and his shoulders dropped at Lila's rejection.

Swallowing, I turned back to the window, determined to ignore whatever was going on. But I could still see their reflections and even catch 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 still downcast. "It's just . . . hard, y'know? It's been six years and . . . but it's hard to let a girl like her go. It's Lila for God's sake—she's perfect."

His words burned my ears.

Perfect.

Right.

Lila, she was perfect. Everything seemed to come so easily to that girl. She was beautiful, smart, kind and talented. Was it a surprise that the boys completely infatuated with her included Arnold? He probably had fallen for her before the rest of them had. Of course he would. And of all her impossible feats, the most impressive was that she had earned his heart. She had earned his heart and it had been without trying.

Swallowing, I dug through my bag to pull out my phone. Popping in my earphones, I scrolled through my selection until I found something sad–sounding. When one caught my interest, 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 spots that I never talked to anyone about. Well, not like I talked to anyone 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 helpingme, 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

---

When we finally reached the school, I could finally release that breath.

It had been downright agonising listening to Arnold go on and on about Lila. Gerald had been nodding along with a glazed look in his eye. And from across the aisle, Lila appeared uncomfortable, like she could hear exactly what I could. She knew that she had been the hot topic of discussion the entire trip.

Woe was her.

Yeah, I know, I was being unfair. She didn't even seem interested in him. But I couldn't help the jealousy I felt whenever Arnold glanced over his shoulder at her. He looked so in love, it was almost pathetic. And it was always with that look as well, the look that he always had when he liked a girl. The lines in his forehead would disappear and his mouth would part. His eyes would well up with stars as he searched their features. It was like he was trying to capture something, I still wasn't sure what. But the look would always make something wiggle in my stomach, until I remembered that it was never for me. Always someone else, he would look at them like he was an artist trying to learn and understand their beauty before replicating it on a canvas.

I should be happy that Lila didn't return his feelings, but I somehow always hated her for it. Any girl would kill to be in her position, but here she was, throwing away his interest like it was nothing. If Arnold wasn't good enough for her, then what guy was?

The bus came to a stop and I jumped to my feet. My actions were mirrored by Lila who quickly dashed down the aisle before I could even reach for my bag. She ignored Arnold's attempt to talk with her and left without a word. My heart dropped at the crestfallen look on his face and Gerald sympathetically patted him on the back.

Shaking my head, I pulled on my bag and made my way down the aisle. Music was still blasting in my ears so I didn't hear how close the voices were becoming. I was half way down the aisle when out of nowhere, a bag clocked me straight in the nose. I yelped and held onto my aching nose ( seriously, what was with my luck this morning? How many times was the universe going to keep throwing punches?).

"Oh, shi—I'm sorry!"

I froze when I recognised that voice.

A hand went to my shoulder and my eyes locked with his.

Green against blue.

My hoodie had fallen so his eyes were able to move across my features without restraint. Something dawned across his face, I wasn't sure what. But it made his smile shrink, lips parting. Sunlight was soaking into my skin. I couldn't run and hide. Neither could he. There was no hiding who he had run into, who he was still holding.

Sparks flew from his touch until my knees were weak and buckling beneath my weight. It had been so long since I had been this close to him. I hadn't realised how much he had grown. I barely even reached his chin while he had to slightly bend to hold onto my shoulder.

Speaking of—

His eyes moved to his hand like he couldn't believe what he had done. I couldn't either. His eyes moved back to mine and a warmth jammed into my heart. I found it hard to speak. I should be pulling away before this got even more awkward, but I couldn't help admiring his face.

He was handsome like a movie star. The sort of beauty that was cool and effortless. His skin was smooth and his freckles glowed like stars. The hair he had been attempting to tame still flopped across his forehead. My fingers twitched with that instinct to brush them away.

But thankfully, common sense kicked back in.

Clearing my throat, I forced my face back into its signature scowl and slapped his hand away. He held his palms up, signifying that he meant no harm. I tried not to wilt at that. He looked at me like I were an animal he had failed to tame.

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. I ignored the thrill that shot through me at the nickname. I hadn't gotten to use it in years. This had been our first time interacting since before high school. But it was easy to fall back into old habits. Easy to pretend that his presence had no affect on me.

My fists were swinging as I stalked down the aisle. The scowl on my face must have been powerful because people jumped out of my way without argument. My chest had formed into a bunch of knots that didn't come close to relaxing until I had stepped off the bus.

I sucked in a breath that didn't do anything but could still feel a pair of eyes burning holes into my back. I scurried for the gates and didn't slow until I was on the school grounds when the eyes must have turned away. I had my bag straps gripped so tight that my knuckles had begun to cramp. Butterflies were swarming my stomach as I marched down the hallways.

I released my hold to pull my hoodie back over my head so people wouldn't see the water that was blurring my sight. Pressing my forehead against my locker, I shut my eyes and ignored the buzzing chatter. Pretended that I was one of the shadows dancing along the walls. My heart throbbed from the look on Arnold's face. He had looked at Lila like she was divine, while when he had looked at me . . .

Breathing through my nose, I tried shaking those images from my mind. But I couldn't. I could only think how much Arnold loved Lila, and how much he had forgotten about me.

Well, who's fault is that?

Right.

It's not like Arnold had ever really liked me. Not really. He was one of those guys who could get along with anyone and always handed out chances for people to redeem themselves. But even he had his limits. Not his fault that I had forced him into his. I used to be so cruel to him and punished him for how I felt. And now, he barely looked at me. Forgot I even existed. Suppose this was what happened when you bullied someone you were crushing on. Turns out, guys didn't love getting shoved against lockers and having spit balls thrown at them. It pushed them into hating you, which he did. He hated me. It made sense why he would go for someone like Lila instead. The girl who oozed kindness and always spoke gently with people. She was my opposite.

And as much as I hated her for it, I couldn't exactly blame him. The girl had a way with words, she could probably talk Darth fucking Vader into leaving the dark side.

It was so annoying.

Little Miss Perfect.

A hand suddenly slammed inches from my face into the locker and I jumped back in surprise. My fingers flew to my chest as I spun around to the smiling face of my best friend.

"Pheebs!" My heart was racing at an agonising rate.

Said best friend grinned at me without the slightest bit of regret. "Affirmative."

"Don't do that!"

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

I glared at her.

Right, Phoebe Heyerdahl—she was my best friend. Wouldn't blame you for not realising it, giving her usual greetings involved sneaking up on me to scare the total shit out of me. I don't know why, she just got a kick out of it (maybe, she was secretly a sadist?). Anyway, Pheebs here? Total genius. Seriously. She was a whiz when it came to . . . everything really. It was honestly quite rare to find a topic that she didn't seem to know everything about.

(Except for posing for photos. Unlike the rest of our generation, Phoebe had never gotten into the whole taking photos of yourself thing. She could never relax long enough. Every photo I had ever gotten of Phoebe, it looked like she was in the middle of saying something, or sneezing. Even when she was smiling, something still looked wrong. Not that I was exactly model material myself, but Phoebe and posing went together like oil and water).

So when she leaned against the locker next to me, I began rummaging through my own locker to grab the books that I needed. I let the silence hang for a while before—

"Take any groovy photos lately?"

"Shut up."

I bit back a smirk. See what I mean?

"No, really. I think you've got a real career ahead of you," I continued, hugging the books to my chest then facing her. "They're always looking for new ghosts to haunt Mario's castle."

Phoebe's eyes widened, shooting straight into mine.

"When are you going to stop—" she crossed her arms. "—bringing that up?"

Okay, let me explain: a couple of years ago, Phoebe and her maths team had won a major competition. I forgot what it had been called, but their winning was a massive deal cause our school never really won anything. The school newspaper showed up—no surprise there—but so did the city newspaper. The photo that the school grabbed was decent, but the city photo? It made Phoebe look like a Boo from the Mario games. I'm not sure how they managed to do it, whether it was down to a clunkier photographer, or if it was entirely on Phoebe's nerves. But in her attempt to overcome her less than stellar history with posing, she had pushed herself forward and forced whatever happy emotion she could onto her face. The end result was . . . a furrowed brow, a too wide smile and her accidentally pushing her tongue out too much.

I, as her best friend, obviously found this hilarious and had cut the photo out to keep in my locker. Of course, I was proud of her for her accomplishment, but come on. She looked like a Boo from the Mario games. That's objectively funny!

It was especially weird because Phoebe was actually a very pretty girl. She just couldn't relax when the camera was on her.

And sure, maybe I should have had more sympathy for her—it had, after all, happened a few years ago—but every time I brought it up, it never failed to get this exact reaction. That arrogance filling her eyes would fade, and her stare would move from me to the people around us, then back to me. Like she was afraid that bringing it up would make people more aware, as if they didn't all still get newspapers. The look she gave me was somewhere between a glare and an indignant pout. It never failed to make me burst out laughing. I swear, she was three seconds away from stamping her foot.

"When it stops being funny!" I managed to get out through my guffaws.

She merely pressed her lips together, making dimples appear in her cheeks. She knew that her expression was only going to egg me on. So, shaking her head, she chose to stay quiet until I settled down.

Which wasn't happening anytime soon. I had to press my hands into my stomach as if that was going to keep the laughter from coming. This was just something that happened when I was around Phoebe: my misery faded like it had been nothing but a mirage.

"You're hilarious, H."

"I know, I've been thinking of going into stand up."

"Please do," she got out. "You can never have too many tomatoes."

I merely stuck my tongue out her.

Grump.

The laughter had been fading until she shot her 'I'm not amused' look. Then, I could feel it moving back up my chest like it were vomit (not a great image, but you get the point). It was something that I appreciated about Phoebe. She made everything seem so far away.

Phoebe was still shaking her head, but her mouth was moving into that familiar grin. I smirked. I knew she couldn't stay angry at me for long. She looked like she wanted to say something when a high–pitched scream pierced the air.

Our eyes went in the direction of the sound, and I almost groaned when I realised that it had come from the cheerleader corner.

Specifically, Rhonda Wellington Lloyd.

She was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. She had a grin that threatened to split her face as she shook her fingers like she was having an exorcism. I briefly wondered if someone had told her that flannels really were back in this season, but she looked too happy for it to be that. And her friends seemed equally as happy for her. They were all surrounding Rhonda and some guy, who looked slightly sheepish to be receiving so much attention. Rhonda laughed then threw her arms around his neck, pushing her chest against his and resting her chin on his shoulder.

Rhonda was a loud mouth so Pheebs and I were far from the only ones staring at them. The entire hallway was their audience, and some whispers were floating around as people pondered on what had caused Rhonda to scream. I rolled my eyes because it was Rhonda. Did the girl really need a reason to make everything about herself? Although, if I had to guess, she probably just found herself a date for the prom at the end of the year.

I made a face, shutting my locker, then bumped my hip against Phoebe's. "Cheerleaders, right?"

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

That sentence should have been sarcastic. But surprisingly, it was not.

I rose a brow. "Er, why?"

But then she smirked and everything made sense again.

"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."

Ah.

I nodded.

Nadine and Phoebe had gotten close since high school, when they kept finding themselves in the same extracurriculars. They were both nerds so it made sense. This year, Phoebe's mum had somehow managed to talk the school into letting her daughter attend three different clubs this year. Biology, physics and . . . I forgot the other one. But it was totally too much. Especially since those clubs basically just existed to give out students more homework than train them into becoming trophies for the school to brag about. But hey, what did I know?

The bell then rang and like that, came the end of our socialising.

I, like the good sport that I was, groaned and pressed myself into my locker. I ignored the sound that it made and the amusement shining in Phoebe's eyes. I knew what she was thinking— Helga can be so dramatic. Which was false, I wasn't dramatic, not ever. But briefly, I did wonder how long it would take to organise a protest—Teenagers Against Their Biology Classes—and whether I could do it in under three minutes.

"I've got double bio."

And I did not like bio.

Phoebe knew this and gave me a sympathetic look.

"Good luck, H," she said, despite personally enjoying biology.

"Thanks. You too."

I said that because she had double English. She did really well in the class, but she did not enjoy it. You see, Pheebs preferred classes that had a formula to fall back onto, whereas, English was all about creativity and sometimes just feeling things. Not her forte. But she was determined to keep her report card happy and consistent. So she pressed on while grumbling to herself about it remaining mandatory for all students. The only class she hated more was Theatre studies, which also had been mandatory for our first year. I don't think I needed to explain why Theatre and Phoebe were not an ideal match.

Anyway, Pheebs and I exchanged another smile then bid our goodbyes.

I heard Rhonda giggling when I passed her. I didn't know if it was me that she was laughing about, or someone else she had chosen to make her target. Not that it mattered. I'm sure she would find something to laugh about sometime today. We didn't really speak nowadays, but we did send each other nasty and offensive looks when we could. She didn't scare me. But man, did her whispering to her friends make the day go so much longer.

And we shared two classes today.

I groaned and prayed that rest of the day would turn out better.

---

It did not.

In the slightest.

Turns out that my next class was algebra, not biology. Third period was biology. How the hell did I mix those two up?

Either way, I ended up barging into a class full of seniors. When it was silent. Humiliating. I wanted to shrivel up and die. I was forced to run across the school for my actual class. There was still a slight panging in my ankle from this morning, so I arrived later than it should've taken me.

Mrs. Brown was not pleased (but to be fair, when was she ever?). She didn't bother listening to my explanation and proceeded to let the entire class know how unhappy she was with my tardiness. The anger burned in my face and clogged my throat. I shouldn't have, but my eyes wandered during her lecture. Lila and Arnold were sitting together. It felt like someone had dropped a stone in my chest. I turned my gaze away before it looked like I was watching them and glared down at my shoes. For fuck's sake, why couldn't he sit with Gerald today?

When Mrs. Brown finally finished, I settled into my usual seat next to the window. My fingers were shaking so it was hard to jot much down. Not that I took notes that often. Mrs. Brown and I? Not a match, if you couldn't tell. I didn't like her and she didn't like me. And that unlikeness made it difficult to even pretend that I cared for Algebra. So I did what I normally did and looked out the window.

The classroom overlooked the school field. Wide and bare save for the wooden posts meant for students to play football. Clouds were floating across the sky; not thick enough to suggest that it was going to rain, but frequent enough to hide the sun every few seconds. I was watching the breeze rustle the trees when a sensation like needles sticking into my skin hit me. I paused. Was someone . . . Chills ran up my spine. Someone was watching me. But . . . it didn't feel like it was coming from inside, but outside.

My stomach lurched. I scanned the area for any creepy–looking men. Because that's exactly what stalkers looked like: men dressed in trench coats with flipped up collars that kept their faces hidden. Hats were common as well, to hide their receding hairline (We're choosing to ignore that I had once been a stalker. We didn't need to get into that, because it was really a long story when you got down to it and this class was only an hourish long and to completely explain myself, we would have to go back to when I was a child and that spanned quite a few years and—).

Ahem.

Anyway. No one stood on the field.

. . . Which was weird. I could have sworn that—

A pair of eyes suddenly popped out from the branches of a tree that skirted the field. I jumped back in surprise and was about to scream bloody murder, when the small body crawled out onto the knotted branch. I blinked. Holy sh—it was that dumb cat from this morning! The one that made me fall over! And just like this morning, its purple eyes were stuck on my form, judging me.

I made a face. Well, I—

"Ms. Pataki."

The voice was like a needle to a balloon. Popping the thought that had been expanding and jolting me back down to reality.

Ah. Right. Still in class.

The skin on my neck felt like it was on fire. It took a lot of strength—and I should be commended for it—to unlatch my stare away from the window and turn it around to meet the numerous bemused stares surrounding me. I wondered if I had accidentally screamed or made a noise, because why was everyone looking at me? The burning came back to explode in my face. Arnold was one of those stares. Although, his was a slight frown. Had I not been so consumed in my humiliation, I would have realised how strange that was and wondered what prompted that specific reaction. But I didn't. Instead, I forced myself to meet Mrs. Brown's glare.

Suddenly, thoughts about a stalker seemed much more appealing. I wished that there actually was a guy out there. Because then at least, I wouldn't look so stupid.

The entire fiasco ended up painting a target on my back. Mrs. Brown would direct random questions at me to make sure I was listening (I wasn't). I tried guessing the answers but got every one of them wrong. My skin, at this point, felt like it was seared from the embarrassment. God, I was such an idiot. And to think, Arnold was watching this all happen.

I couldn't forget the cat though. I found myself glancing back to check if it was still there. But it apparently had gotten bored and wandered off.

Which was great. I was going through all this for no reason. Yipee.

The moment that the bell rung, I high–tailed it outta there.

The pounding in my ears must have been excessive because as I ran, it almost sounded like someone were calling my name. But I figured it was just the PTSD kicking in from experiencing such a mortifying and humiliating event. No one really paid attention to me nowadays.

Now, as previously established, I wasn't a fan of biology. However, I was a little excited to get into the classroom. Not because of the lesson, but because it was the rare class where I had a friend—kinda.

I had also gotten close with Nadine at the start of the year. We weren't buddies or anything, but we did save seats for each other and whisper jokes when the lessons got too boring. She was the one thing that made this horrendous class bearable. So I was disappointed to learn that she was absent today. I knew that it was ridiculous, but I was still slightly on edge from whatever had happened in algebra. I wanted to sit with someone. I didn't even care if that included Nadine calling me delusional for letting something so trivial get to me.

But I couldn't get that cat's eyes out of my head. They were spikes that rushed to stick themselves into your brain.

I sat away from the window this time and sharpened my pencil until it resembled a stake. Yeah, alright, I was getting a little paranoid. But I wasn't taking any chances. What cat had purple eyes? That had to be demonic.

I flinched at the slightest sound—when someone moved, or there was a sneeze—and it earned more than a few stares. I lowered my eyes to the table, hoping they couldn't see how badly my cheeks were burning. Not that I was scared. Duh, of course not. I just didn't like the idea of getting stalked by a demonic cat. It wasn't how I had envisioned my death. Personally, I had always imagined myself drowning.

Yeah, I'd already planned it out.

I wasn't suicidal or anything. It was just—you know— poetry. Dying in one's sleep was boring and cliched, but drowning had that dramatic flare.

I mean, picture it: water closing in around you, darkness covering your vision. You would try to fight as long as you could. Holding your breath, kicking your legs, you struggle to break for that sun–speckled surface. Eventually, your body tires. Heart hammering, you realise that no one is coming to your rescue and release that tiring breath. Cold water fills your lungs as the illusion of survival dissipates. Darkness breathes you in as you send prayers that they'll discover your body and eventually pass it onto a loved one—

"Ms. Pataki!"

A pair of golden brown hands clapped inches from my face.

I jerked backwards, blinking. "Wha–what?"

I found myself staring at Mrs. Belmonte, the biology teacher. She had stopped in front of my desk and was moving her hands down to her sides. She pressed me with a hard look.

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

Only about my death, miss.

Now obviously, I wasn't actually going to say that to her. Not if I didn't want to be forced into some counselling sessions that insisted on discussing the suicidal thoughts that I didn't have, and then having more than a few embarrassing meetings set up with Bob and Miriam.

Yeah, no thanks. Anything would be better than that.

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

Well, apparently Belmonte didn't agree. She kicked me out of class. I mentally sent curses to Purple Eyes as I marched out of the room. Clenched my teeth when the snickers from other students hit me. I slammed the door extra loud and crossed my arms as I waited outside. In the end, I was forced to stay there for the rest of the period. I suspect because she had forgotten about me. Story of my life.

Lunch didn't hold much comfort either. Phoebe didn't turn up. She had to attend another one of her geek sessions.

So I had my lunch alone then left for the library again. It had become a safe haven of mine. I often took a book out from the classics section—although sometimes, I would venture out to the non–fiction aisle—and settled at one of the tables in the corners. It was a cliché, but the library had become my place to hide from the world when it didn't want me. Reading opened me to worlds that were more welcoming no matter who you were, or what your past was.

Today, my mood was low so I went for a familiar one: Much Ado About Nothing. Yeah, I know, not a book. It was a play. But it was one of my favourites. I had first discovered it when I was ten and it had quickly become a favourite. Most people who knew me assumed that it would be Romeo and Juliet, and while I liked that play, Much Ado About Nothing cleared it. Who didn't love a good rivals to lovers? (I had been stoked to find out that we were going to be studying it sometime this year as well).

After lunch, I had Home Ec. which dragged on for what felt like months. Mr. Scott was so damn chipper and it was really grating on my nerves. I was seriously considering heaving myself out from the window just to escape his perky voice (But then, I figured, I would have to deal with a possibly demonic cat either scratching my eyes out, or putting me in a weird trance and leading me to a group who loved to make sacrifices on Monday mornings and drink the blood of different animals, because that's what they did in the movies).

In that end, I endured the perkiness until the class ended and I was in P.E. And I think it was safe to assume that Ms. Ainsley was having boyfriend troubles again.

We were forced to do ten push ups, fifteen sit ups then run at least three laps. And if she caught us stopping for too long, she'd make us begin again. My lungs were burning by the end of it, I wanted to heave my lunch up. I heard several students around me cursing her boyfriend for whatever sins he had committed this time.

I agree: I had never met Ainsley's boyfriend, but he must have been the most clueless man on the planet.

For months, Ainsley had been waiting for him to pop the question. She would always get herself worked up for the weekend, only to be disappointed when Monday rolled through. Which made us the perfect targets for her to take her frustration out on. Like today, where after making us run those laps, she forced us to play a nice, happy game of Go Fish.

(And by Go Fish, I mean volleyball, and by nice and happy, I meant so intense that three students had to be sent to the nurse's office).

I mostly got by without too much trouble, until Ainsley spun to catch me bending over to tie up my shoelaces. So I was stuck singlehandedly packing up all the equipment. I gritted my teeth when Rhonda and her minions snickered as they passed me. I had to wrap my hands extra tight around the net to stop myself from smacking her (not that Ainsley would be too displeased at it. She had a weird enthusiasm about students getting into fights).

By the time that I had finished, the last period had begun.

Thankfully, my favourite: English. The only class that I actually tried in.

We were supposed to receive our assignment results today and I was more than excited for mine. Not to toot my own horn, but— toot toot—my narrative was pretty damned good.

It was a love story—my favourite kinda story. It was between two teenagers who were separated by their social status at school. The boy, Aaron, was popular, well liked and a 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, but out of desperation to look cool in front of his friends, Aaron pretends that her feelings were unrequited. He humiliates her by proclaiming how he'd never go for a nerd like her and she must have been dreaming to believe that he could ever love her. Heartbroken, Heidi leaves in tears and Aaron watches her go, guilt–stricken.

Eventually, Heidi, unable to keep going with such a feeling remaining unrequited, decides to throw herself from the city bridge. But Aaron finds her before she can go through with it and confesses that he loves her as well. The story ends with them sharing their first kiss, in the light of the sunset.

Pretty great, right? I had a bit of a thing for love stories, so when Ms. Hartman gave us free reign for this latest assignment, I decided to indulge a little.

I could barely contain myself as I waited in my seat. I usually received high marks in this class, which you would think might lose its magic at some point. But it hadn't (It might've helped that my grades were sinking lower than the Titanic and this was the only class I had left to remind me that I had something going for me, otherwise, with every assignment that I received back, my already delicate sense of self worth was sent crashing further until one day, I woke up completely miserable and looking in the mirror, I was going to realise that I really was as horrible and wretched as I feared, and that I was going to live a completely meaningless and incoherent existence . . . but that was just a guess).

But then I heard a giggling and when I looked toward the doorway, it was to Arnold and Lila headed for their seats at the back. The sight felt like someone had punched me. Lila wasn't looking at him, instead her eyes were moving across the room as she greeted her classmates. But Arnold was entirely focused on her and whatever she had said, had left his cheeks flushing red.

I forced my gaze down to my hands on my desk and wound them together. Blocked out their voices. I had assumed that, from how Lila had reacted this morning on the bus, that maybe Arnold had confessed and she had let him down, severing their relationship. But they seemed fine, better than ever. Why? Why were they still spending so much time together? The veins in my hands popped as the 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? I wanted to stop them, but they were moving through me without permission. Teasing me. Taunting me. Reminding me that I would never be her, or anything remotely similar like her. That giving up had been the right choice, because there wasn't any point in trying when it would inevitably end in failure, which it always would.

Don't you hate when that happens?

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

Eager for a distraction, I rose my eyes up until I was staring at Rhonda Lloyd.

She was a few rows ahead of me, perched on her desk and admiring her painted nails. Her two minions—I could never remember their names, but to be honest, it didn't really matter. I just called them Thing 1 and Thing 2—were sat beside her at their own desks.

"You might be thinking too hard on this," Thing 1 said, although she didn't look away from herself in her mirrored compact.

Rhonda raised her eyebrows. "How?"

"Well, the prom's six months away," Thing 2 said. She was the only one actually looking at her, sliding her wrist along the desk to hold her hand out in Rhonda's direction. "There's still plenty of time."

Ah.

I rolled my eyes. Of course Rhonda was discussing dress colours for an event that was more than half a year away. Guess it made sense though, she already had her date, might as well snag a dress as well.

"Six months is not plenty of time," Rhonda scoffed, leaning backwards on her desk. "It's barely anything. I don't even know what vibe I want."

I made a face. Oh, to have the problems of a teenage, self–obsessed, vapid shopaholic. Must be nice.

"Isn't red your signature colour?" Thing 2 asked.

"Yeah and—don't get me wrong, it's super flattering, but also, kinda typical?" Rhonda shrugged. "For me, anyway. Like, I'm always wearing it and I just wanna pop, y'know? And stand out from my regular days—"

"Which is super difficult because you're always standing out, Rhonda," Thing 2 said.

Kiss ass.

Rhonda made a face, clearly liking that comment. "Exactly! You get it."

Ms. Hartman arrived after that and when she did, I straightened in my seat. She was carrying multiple binders in her arms, which she dumped onto her desk, then turned to beam at us.

"So, I finally marked your papers," she announced cheerfully. Only, unlike Mr. Scott, it wasn't infuriating. "So, guess what you're getting back today?'

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

I, on the other hand, was practically buzzing when Ms. Hartman began handing out the papers. She reached my desk and I expected to be greeted with that proud grin that she always gave me. Instead, she pressed her lips together and looked away. She handed my paper then walked to the next desk and when my eyes went to the mark, I almost cried. A 9/20 was circled in red ink at the corner of the paper.

My jaw dropped.

People were either groaning or cheering when receiving their papers and turned to their friends to trade their scores. I stayed silent, eyes glued to the absolutely pathetic excuse of a score in my hands. Did I fail?

When she got to the front of the room, Ms. Hartman cleared her throat.

"If you have any questions concerning why you got your mark—" her eyes flickered to mine. "—just see me after class so we can discuss it."

The numbness was still pushing through me, so sluggish that it almost made me feel bruised. But through it all, I decided that yes, I would be staying back. Because this was obviously a mistake.

I knew that I would be the only one to stay behind. The people who failed didn't care about this class and those who received decent marks were satisfied (I wonder if Little Miss Perfect scored higher than me).

Waiting for that final bell was infuriating. The numbness had dissipated at some point and was replaced with a feeling that seethed beneath my skin. My fingers cramped from where they were wrapped around the edge of my desk and several times, I could feel a stare pressing into my neck.

The bell rung and everyone bolted for the door.

Calmly, I rose from my desk and packed my books away. Silence became a sound that drilled into my ears, a hollowing that took up the space in my head. I thought that everyone had left until I looked up into a pair of green eyes.

Arnold.

I was surprised to see that he was still here. Well. He looked like he was in the process of leaving. He had his bag swung onto his shoulder and had been walking down the rows when he had slowed a few desks away from mine. He turned his face away when our eyes connected and I dropped my gaze, embarrassed. His stare sent a lightning bolt hurtling through my chest.

Shuffling came from across the room. Ms. Hartman. Right. I suddenly remembered my mission.

I looked up again and met Arnold's gaze before he turned away and left the room.

I rose an eyebrow. Well, that had happened.

But I swung my bag onto my shoulder and crossed the room for Ms. Hartman. Deciding it didn't matter, because it didn't. She was packing away her things from her desk when she heard my footsteps.

She rose her eyes to mine.

"Look, Helga, your story—it wasn't terribly written or anything, it's just—" she struggled for the right word. "It's kinda, well, y'know? Um, dull. Yeah, it was quite dull and, honestly? It has me concerned."

I rose a brow. "What?"

Mrs. Hartman examined my expression for a second, before coming around so she could lean against her desk.

She crossed her arms, meeting my gaze.

"Helga, I'm not sure if you're aware, but whenever I assign writing assignments, you always choose to focus on romance. Which I get—hopeless romantic, right? There's no shame in it, I consider myself one as well. And naturally, you can't help escaping into your fantasies while writing, right?"

I bit on my tongue to keep the words from escaping my mouth. How did my perception of love and romance have anything to do with this?

Instead, I asked, "Is there anything wrong with that?"

"Not on its own, no," she shook her head. "But I know how much of yourself you project into your writing. And the girl that you're writing about here, commits suicide over a boy. That worries me."

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

Clearing her throat, she continued. "I know, I know, I'm your teacher and you don't want me barging in and making a big deal over nothing. But nonetheless, I am concerned about how you've portrayed this girl's worrying dependence on a boy as true love. And you were very descriptive when depicting her heartbreak—you knew how to vocalise those thoughts, even her suicidal ones, and I was wondering if yo—"

"Look, Ms. Hartman, I'm not about to kill myself over some guy and whether or not he likes me." I paused and quickly added, "I don't even like anyone. No one. This is fictional— all fictional. So there's not even a boy to kill myself over." Wait, that hadn't come out right. "Not that I would ever anyway!" But Ms. Hartman was already eyeing me, the line between her brows becoming prominent, so I quickly changed the topic. "So, why does this result in me failing?"

"Well, I wouldn't describe this as a fail." But she paused when I gave her an unimpressed look and cleared her throat. "But anyway, as I've mentioned—yes, your story is quite dull. It didn't stand out from other students, or even your own works. You're always writing about passionate romances and nothing outside of it. The assignment was to explore and understand the self, but you chose to shift it into a love story again. You're not showing me much range. The characters were two–dimensional and the moral wasn't healthy, to say the least. It just wasn't your best work, Helga."

Wow, Ms. Hartman. Tell us how you really feel.

"So, bottom line: it sucked," I translated. Because of course it did.

Ms. Hartman paused, surprise overtaking her features.

"Oh, no, no—it doesn't suck. It's just . . . a little boring," she cringed at her word choice but forced a smile. "Look, I know how much you care about your writing. And I know that you're talented, so I'll give you some tips. The next assignment is in a month. You remember, right? Rewrite a classic tale with a different approach. You're gonna have to write it 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 that you can explore!" Her eyes lit up as her smile became more natural. "You could write a coming of age story, a survival, the revealing nature of power, how unity can be found through disillusionment. The possibilities are endless!"

I knew that I should be reacting in a way that suggested that I got it. That I understood her. But I didn't. I instead felt lost. It swirled in my chest and ached like a cavity. The words she said meant nothing to me, as everything else did.

"But how can I write about things that I don't know?" I asked, quietly.

She smiled, releasing a breathy sort of laugh.

"Research, honey. Keep up to date with things, read some articles, ask people, do some googling. Explore." She scanned my face then placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "You're an intelligent kid, Helga. I don't know why you're not trying in your other classes, but I know that you're very bright. And you can go a lot further than what you, or anyone else, can imagine. You just gotta develop some more faith in yourself. Stop worrying about making mistakes, those are normal. Everyone has them. It's not about not making them ever, but learning from them, and evolving as people. Everyone can learn and everyone can grow. So do it. Become daring. Become more 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, hands wrapped around my shins, and sleeves covering my fingers. I had stuffed my blazer into my bag. The music in my ears, despite appearances, was turned down low so I could keep my attention up ahead.

Arnold and Lila sat next to each other.

It was a sight that left me nauseated. How well they looked together. The seats were tiny, so it forced a small proximity and while it didn't seem to register to Lila, it certainly did to Arnold. She would glance out the window, making a comment about something that passed, and Arnold's eyes would soften. Gerald was sat behind them with his elbows propped onto the bars. But that didn't break the spell that Arnold was under. He looked at her like it was just them.

I didn't know what I had been hoping to find when I looked. I didn't know what it was that I was still searching for. Maybe it was the right moment; the moment when he looked up and I caught his eyes one more time. And maybe, my looking at him would make him finally discover the words I had imagined that he'd been holding back. Maybe they would surge so powerfully in his chest, that he would stand from his seat to approach me. Maybe, he would kneel down onto one knee, look into my eyes and tell me that I wasn't crazy and there really had been something between us this entire time. Maybe then, he would offer me his hand. And maybe, I would have the courage to accept rather than retreat. Maybe I was still hoping to get everything right.

But that was never going to happen. Because that was a fantasy, and it would be stupid to think otherwise.

Arnold didn't care about me. He never had. And why should he? He had Lila. They would make a good couple. A beautiful couple. Hillwood's Prince and Princess. The perfect equation.

It was foolish to look at her and imagine myself in her place. We were nothing alike. Whenever I looked at her, I saw all the things that I would never be: Sweetness. Charm. Gentleness. Warmth. Beauty. Everything Arnold deserved. Lila was the kind of beauty that was so lovely that it felt like there should be a catch, like an apple so red that you knew it was poisoned. But so far, I hadn't found it—her poison. Lila was just good. That was it. And there was no changing it.

Arnold's haze didn't clear even when Lila had gotten off at her stop. He just turned to Gerald and went on about how gorgeous she was.

I clenched my teeth.

'You're an intelligent kid, Helga.'

I couldn't remember the last time someone had told me that I was smart. No one believed that I was anything (they didn't think of me enough to gets as far as beliefs). I didn't try in my classes. Why should I? I could come home with Phoebe's grades, but it still wouldn't matter because I wasn't Olga.

'. . . why not try opening yourself up to something other than romance?'

My eyes went to the back of Arnold's head. Gerald had his cheek against his fist and nodded to whatever Arnold was saying, but from how he was slouching, I could tell that Gerald was inches from falling asleep.

I sighed.

I knew that 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 anyone like him. He was all that was right in the world, which made it hard to hate him. If he were like Gerald—a prick—then yeah, I could do it. But Arnold's nature was kind and simplistic. It was impossible to hate him. And if I couldn't hate him . . . how could I stop loving him?

Our stop was approaching.

Shoving on my bag, I dragged my feet down the aisle and pretended I couldn't see Arnold from the corner of my eye. He was doing his weird handshake thing with Gerald before waving goodbye. His presence slid behind me. I pressed my mouth into a line. His body heat was moving against the back of my neck and curling around my shoulders.

The bus stopped and when I stepped off, I expected for that to be the end.

But Arnold's presence stayed close.

My heart throbbed in my throat. I could barely do anything even when I heard the bus continue down the street. Seconds passed and neither of us moved. I moved my gaze down to my shoes. I didn't have the courage to see where he was looking. Whether, it was to the sky, or maybe, at me. The galloping became louder in my chest. I bit my cheek. I was being ridiculous—it wasn't like he was doing anything for me to act like this.

I then heard footsteps and looked to find him moving around me to walk up the steps to his door. His head didn't turn. He didn't spare me a single glance, which hurt because he had already given so many to Lila.

Clenching my jaw, I turned in the direction for my home.

"Helga."

His voice went through me like knives. I stopped in my tracks and felt those butterflies coming back.

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

The temptation became too strong and I slowly looked over my shoulder, seeking out those warm, glorious eyes—

Uncomfortable.

That was how he looked. His smile was forced and his fingers had hooked around the back of his neck. Those green orbs went up to meet mine for a second before slinking back down to his feet.

The air tightened and the silence turned thick and unsettling.

He was uncomfortable—because of me.

It reminded me of the last time we had spoken. He had been so uncomfortable. Arnold had a talent with talking to people; you could put him in front of anyone and with a smile, their shields would come crashing down. But when it came to me, the situation left him quiet and itching to get away. He looked at me like I were the ashes that wanted to haul down his throat so he would stop him breathing. I was something deadly to him, something to be frightened of.

I made him uncomfortable.

But even he was too good a person to not attempt to apologise over something as minor like this morning. No wonder he had been staring at me during class. He had been trying to approach me. To apologise. To me, someone who had bullied him for years.

Nausea crept to swirl 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 birds chirped their Gaian melodies. How I wished that I would grow my own feathers, sprout wings so silky and beautiful, so that I could escape. Push against the ground, then leave this earth. Float to something better. The breath in my lungs had become crooked, pausing when I met his unsettled eyes. A heartbeat quivered in my fingertips.

The way he looked at me was different: 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 space between us had become stagnant. Crisp. Cobwebs had been weaved; dust had settled. I had let this happen for a reason; I had dropped contact with him for a reason. It was too painful talking to Arnold. I hated looking at what I did to him, how uncomfortable I always made him,

I didn't spare him another glance and began walking home.

I turned my music up so loud that my ears were throbbing. I didn't care. I needed to get away from him. It felt like my chest had been sliced open. The breath had contorted. All my senses had rolled upward to pressed beneath my skin, needles jamming into me, so now, nothing seemed right. Nothing would ever be right. I had blocked this all out for a reason.

Ms. Hartman was right: I needed to get over him. It wasn't healthy—it had never been healthy. For anyone. That story had been nothing but the hopes that I had kept stashed away. The dreams that I kept for the nights where I couldn't sleep. The hope that Arnold would turn around and find something about me that was worth protecting. That was beautiful, more beautiful than Lila. But he hadn't because that wasn't possible. It was stupid. There wasn't anything about me that was worth it.

I would always be horrible, malicious and vile Helga Pataki: the girl who only cares about herself.

"I'm home."

I pulled the door shut behind me, taking out my earphones. I was expecting it, but my voice fell on deaf ears. No one was here save for the person still passed out on the couch. For a moment, I thought that Miriam hadn't even bothered waking up at all since I'd left, but then I noticed the change in clothing. She'd traded her mucky denim dress, for a purple, squared one. Her feet were still bare. There was a dark drool patch beneath her mouth, soaking the cushion. Dried salvia around her chin. Looking at her half–empty mug still in her hand, I snorted and stalked up the stairs.

Slamming my door shut, I dumped my bag and took off my shoes. I threw my hoodie onto the ground, leaving only my uniform on, and snatched the bands from my hair. It felt like my chest were being squeezed. I made my way across the room, aware that moisture was blurring my vision, and heaved myself onto the bed. 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 barely spent time with me and Arnold was in love with the most perfect girl on 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. You were either loved, or you weren't. But I didn't want this, I never wanted this. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be surrounded by people. I was tired of living like this, of being Helga. I wanted to be someone else. But what could I do, who could I talk to? Who could change my destiny?

The walls were moving as I thought these things; turning, like they were tying themselves into a knot that would keep me from leaving.

This can't be my fate, I shook my face against the pillow. Felt the fabric turn wet beneath my eyes. This can't be it, I don't want it. This is not my destiny.

Something ghostly crept over me when I thought those words. A chill that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. I bolted up from the bed and my eyes settled on the window across the room. Or rather, the black cat that was perched outside—watching me.

Yelping, I leapt from my bed and onto the floor. But I had done it too quickly and lost my balance, falling onto my side on the ground. But I barely even noticed, because my attention was thrown ahead of me. On that fucking cat. I wiped the moisture from my eyes, which was difficult, because with how hard my heart was racing, it was making everything shake. I backpedalled across the floor until my back hit the bathroom door.

The cat watched this all happen, unimpressed.

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

The cat simply flicked its tail.

And a prickling sensation gnawed between my eyes. I grimaced, finding my vision blurring and my body seeming lighter. Everything suddenly felt wrong; like the floor should be rising to my eyes, and the walls should be crashing down to my feet. My limbs were moving like they were being pulled from strings and I realised that this wasn't a decision I was making. It was happening on its own. My body stood from the floor to cross the room. I held my breath, heart pounding beneath everything, as I moved towards the window. Electrical surges directed my arms to slide open the glass.

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

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

In front of my door, I crouched down to the balls of my feet. I stared at my shaking hands. What the fuck made me do that? Had that cat infected me or something? An infection was the only thing that made sense as to how I suddenly lost control over my body like that.

Criminy, now I was stuck in a room with a diseased cat, which no doubt meant that the infection was going to take over my body again, then I would die because I couldn't get my hands on something to eat, then I'd come back to life because this illness was obviously supernatural, 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 get a bunch of his friends (and trust me, there were many of them) with pitchforks to hunt me down and I'd try running away but because this cat is satanic, it would zap me with its demonic magic and have me under its control again, then force me to do the macarena in front of Arnold, then my life would be ruined all over again, and then—

Purple Eyes pounced onto my bed and looked around the room. Its eyes swept over the posters sticky–taped across my walls, the rubbish flung across my vanity, and then the clothes covering my floor. I again felt judged and like I had to rush to explain that no, I wasn't normally this messy, I was just in a phase (which was ridiculous, I didn't even like cats).

Then, it looked at me.

I squealed, losing my balance and falling backwards onto my butt.

"W–What did you do to me?!" I shrieked at the 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 massive 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 person. I hadn't left the window open when I'd left, but if purple–eyed cats could become stalkers, then 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. This house was not a hard target for a robbery.

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

But I came up blank.

Pushing up onto my knees, I eyeballed my closet door. Perhaps—

"What on earth are you doing?"

My jaw dropped.

No way.

No. Way.

There was no way that human and British voice came out of the mouth of a purple–eyed cat.

"D–Did you just . . . talk?"

Purple Eyes reacted with offense at my surprise.

"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—anything that indicated that it was a robot. It must've been one of those AI bots I'd seen in videos posted onto twitter, fashioned to look as realistic as possible.

Why they would waste their resources on making a cat robot, was beyond me.

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

Growling, Purple Eyes clawed at my hands. I hissed and drew my hands back to my chest and the cat leapt from my arms to my bed.

"I have never been handled like that and I refuse to let it start now!" Its tail flicked around wildly as it levelled a glare at me.

But I wasn't paying attention: instead, I was looking down at my fingers, where there were two little scratches along the skin. It stung and I had to suck on it when the blood oozed between the two flaps. But it was when the skin began to swell, that it all hit me.

"Holy shit." I sunk to my knees, looking up at the cat. "You talk . . ."

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

My planet.

"Anyways, I believe a formal introduction is required," it lightened its voice to sound friendly. Sitting down, its tail began rippling. "My name is Nel, and I have been sent to seek out four potential Guardian to defend this 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 up from the door handle in my hand, I met the cat's angry glare to find it— Nel—springing back up to her paws.

Dazed, I tapped my temple.

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

Nel sighed, sitting back down.

"I can see you are having a difficult time believing anything that I am saying to you. For this, I do not blame you. Instead, allow me to prove to you that what I speak is truth."

She began drawing symbols that I didn't recognise into the air.

I watched as it happened, everything slowly sinking in like needles prickling into my skin. I found myself sinking, back sliding down the door until I was on the ground. The hair over my eyes ruffled from my breath.

Then, there was a bright flash. I shielded my eyes, but it was too late. Spots flashed across my vision, and for a moment, I was dazzled. The light pushed a warmth across the arm that I held over my face.

Eventually, I opened my eyes and—

What the fuck?

—where the light had once burned, a golden pin floated.

I blinked and searched for the wires that were holding it up but yelped when it suddenly zoomed in my direction. Something stirred between my eyes, an energy. I ignored it and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the impact, when my arm shot out in time for something small to fly into my palm—

I gasped.

It was like a door had been swung open from deep within my mind. Foreign sensations moved through my veins, tickling beneath my skin, and a loud buzzing filled my head. Colourful spots flashed—amber that flickered into red, then blue. I could hear voices—whispering, singing, babbling, chanting, yelling. A sharp prick from somewhere in my brain before the voices were increasing. The sounds stirred, threatening to crush my vision until it was a paste. I couldn't register what the voices were saying but something was rising in my chest, like I could understand it.

I cradled my ears and hoped for it to stop. The pounding in my temples intensified and I bit down on my lip. Where were these voices even coming from?

Then, they slowed and drowned out to a stop, and I was left listening to my ragged breaths. What the hell was that? I felt strangely sluggish. Like the light that had been filling my body, had evaporated and without it, my body was just an unworn suit of skin.

Looking at my hand, I found the golden pin.

A shiver raced down my spine. It was a bird spreading its wings in flight, a golden halo wrapped around its body. I blinked. There was still a warmth tingling in my palm. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't comfortable.

Then, the pin pulsed.

I jumped.

"This is your own transformative device. It allows you to unlock your true potential as a Guardian."

Nel's words were lost on me. I stared at her. What the hell was going on? Sensing my confusion, Nel paused 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."

I made a face. Christ. Touchy.

Still, what did I have to lose? This was obviously just a crazy dream I was having. Or maybe, a delusion I had created to escape reality. What 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.

"My Inner Guardian: Exorior!"

A warm—no, burning sensation surged through my body and a beam shot out from the pin, slinging out to wrap around me like a lasso. It was hot and turned my vision white. The warmth pushed through me like sunshine, and a power rose in my chest. The air crackled with static. I shut my eyes. The floor vanished from my feet. Lights bent and curved and shot past. It suddenly seemed as if something was snapping—a restraint. A cord that had been pulled tight, was finally snapping, and now, I was set free. Chains were falling from my arms, and my hair was fluttering around my shoulders. Clothes were shrinking and something was clasping around my feet.

And then, it all vanished. The warmth disappeared with a flash and my feet were back on the ground. The thud rolled out like thunder. The sensation travelled up my legs, and my lips lifted into a smile.

Nel's flabbergasted expression was the first sight that I saw.

I quirked a brow.

And realised I felt strange.

No, not strange—great! I felt amazing. Fantastic. My brain was racing, so fast that I felt I should be seeing stars. And my body felt so unbelievably strong. Everything looked so clear—so defined and detailed. It was like something had flipped in my brain and now I was watching the HD version. And my senses—fuck, without even having to look 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 a humidity hanging in the air. There was a dulling in the light. I could also 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 was not going to be happy when he got back—

Wait a minute.

Did I just hear Miriam spill her drink downstairs?

I looked at my hands and felt my eyes widen. They had always been average–sized and callous with ugly, chewed up nails. Now they were longer with baby–smooth flesh and perfectly shaped 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. I had just thought of it and barely a second passed before I was across the room and staring at an unknown face.

My jaw dropped.

The girl in the mirror was an ethereal beauty. She had platinum blonde hair that flowed down her back in soft, bouncy curls. But two sections on either side of her temples were wound 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 in her thighs. It was white and had a tight bodice with a sweetheart neckline. The shoulder straps were thick but turned gold at the 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. Her boots were knee–length with impressive heels.

The girl . . . was most certainly not me.

She had light hair (although, mine was a dirty blonde whereas, hers was pushing white), but c'mon, since when did I have boobs? Mine have remained the same since I was twelve, I swear. And do not get me start on my lack of curves. This girl, on the other hand, not only had a curvy figure but appeared older. I couldn't tell her exact age, but she definitely wasn't sixteen. She was an adult.

I turned in Nel's direction then had to stop to marvel at how quickly that had happened. Okay. That was going to take some getting used to.

Anyway, with my hands on my hips, I pressed her with a look.

"What happened to me?!" I demanded, then froze. Because the voice that came out was not my voice. It was deeper, a warm rumble that was rich in tone. "What the hell—what happened to my voice?! What did you do to me?!"

"I told you," Nel shook off her shock 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 may identify you from your speech."

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

"Yes."

"No way!" A grin spread across my face. "What, what! Is it laser vision? Flying? Shooting fireballs from my hands? Moving things with my mind? How abo—"

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

"Capabilities?"

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

And then, there was a scream.

Nel let out a gasp and jerked her eyes to the window.

I jumped backwards and bumped into the mirror. It rocked behind my shoulder, but I didn't care because the sounds. I needed to escape them. The hairs on my neck stood straight as my heart unfurled to pound in my ears. Bowing my head, I covered my ears to block out the noise. But it did nothing. It seemed to be getting louder. But it didn't sound like it was coming from outside . . . it felt like it was coming from my own head.

Nel grimaced, drawing her ears back against her head.

"W–What the hell was that?!" I demanded when it eventually stopped. But in its absence, it left behind a ringing that made everything feel as if it was going to fold to the floor like fabric. I still had my hands pressed to my ears as I turned back to Nel.

She had leapt from my bed to pad across the room. She peered outside the window. The sun was sinking below the horizon, so the last of its rays shot across her face.

She turned back to me. "An attack."

My heart went into my throat. " What?"

"Do you remember what I said about enemy forces?"

My eyes moved to the window and then I felt myself crossing the room. Twilight twisted across my face like copper. Shadows stretched, and the beams pinned my figure black against the wall. I didn't know what I was looking for. I didn't even know what was happening. Enemy forces. I stood next to Nel.

She attempted to open the window by shoving her paws against the glass.

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

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

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

"Deadly."

I grimaced at her choice of words but covered it with a scoff.

"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 seemed irritated with that, but then closed her eyes and released a small breath. Her face softened and she opened her eyes back to mine.

"I understand, then. I know it is asking a lot to suddenly be told that you're a sole protector of Earth. To defend it from forces that you've never even 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, rise. Rise and protect your home from the dangers that await it."

No, I wanted to say . No, you had the wrong girl. I wasn't a superhero. I wasn't a hero, period. What made you think that I could ever do something like that?

I mean, did she know who she was even talking to? Being a hero and protecting people wasn't my thing. It had never been my thing. She had to have made a mistake.

I opened my mouth to decline the ludicrous proposal when another shriek split the air.

We both jumped and I covered my ears. The sound was unbearable and tore through me like claws racing down my back. It made me want to run and curl up in my bed, press my face into the pillows until it went away.

"If you don't—" Nel forced out over the screams. I looked 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."

A blonde face flashed behind my eyes and my stomach knotted into cramps. Everything on this planet. He— everything—could be destroyed within days. Sweat dampened my skin. The world that I knew wasn't much. I often felt like I had resided behind glass. I'd seen a lot, but never felt it. I hadn't had many experiences. And suddenly, I had the desire to do exactly that. Find something. Feel it. Extend my world.

My heart bumped hard enough to bruise my bones. I thought of Phoebe. Her dark eyes as they glimmered in amusement after having scared the daylights out of me. Her face never quite coming out right in photographs. I smiled. She was the only person who had stuck by me throughout these years. We hardly hung out anymore, but I still loved her. She was my best friend. I wouldn't let her die. I wasn't a hero, but this world was my home.

I put Nel down on the sill.

She was quiet, watching me curiously. I kept my attention on my fingers, sliding the window open, and then, released a slow, calming breath.

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

---

Our next move was to jump from the window.

Which wasn't a metaphor or anything—that was actually what we did. Surprising, to say the least. My room was on the third level. The impact should have shattered my legs at least, especially in these fucking heels. But when we landed, my ankle didn't so much as roll. The ground was almost cushioning as I landed on the balls of my feet. Delicately. I could hear the sound folding out from beneath my heels and marvelled at how effortless that had been.

Nel shot off before I could keep thinking about it, however. She was following the screams and so, I followed her. I stumbled though because I was experiencing the world with new eyes. I could distinguish every raindrop before it splattered. Feel the colours shifting against my face. Smell the different scents as we whizzed past the houses. It didn't matter that it was night, I perceived things like it were day.

The world became a steady stream that never stopped. It was still something I was struggling to wrap my head around: how quickly everything became when I was like this. I didn't know if my surroundings had turned smoother, or if I had become lighter. But prior to this, it was like I had been walking around with chains clamped over my wrists, and now, they had snapped and I was free—liberated. Everything slipped past like it were water and the breeze lifted my hair from my face. The ground was a twisted beat beneath my feet, and a pulse rushed, smooth and cool, in my neck.

I wanted to stop when we passed Arnold's house. Even from outside, I could hear voices. It was a warm rumble. Everyone speaking over one another and yet each one seemed to understand the other. They weren't yelling, they were conversing. There was a steady murmur beneath it—the television. Someone must have left it on, although I wasn't sure if they were actually watching it. I shook my face and tried searching for Arnold amongst the sounds. But I couldn't hear him. I quirked a brow. Was he not in tonight? Please tell me that it had nothing to do with—

Nel's glare found mine.

Sheepishly, I grinned, before we took off again.

Darkness hung from the skies to press into my face. I didn't know how much time had passed—it seriously felt like it had been seconds—but the world was reeling fast until grass was crunching beneath my feet. My heartbeat was still low and my breath slipped out smooth like honey. I wasn't sure which surprised me more: the speed that I could run, or the lack of fatigue of it all.

Nel and I hung back behind a building, observing a deserted park.

Well, almost deserted.

Gripping the edge of the wall, I leaned around to scan the situation (yeah, good word, Helga). It— holy shit—there was a monster. Like, a real life, scooby dooby looking monster!

What the fuck?

It had long, meaty hands wrapped around the neck of a young man. I narrowed my eyes. There was a yellow cloud of smoke that hung over his face. At first, the man struggled—he kicked and clawed at the hand—but his movements weakened as the monster began drawing the smoke into its mouth.

I gulped, taking in the creature's form. Legs like tree trunks, it towered over the man and had protruding eyes that reminded me of stop lights. Nails sunk into the man's neck. Heart throbbing, my eyes traced its deformed stance when the reality of the situation hit me.

Um, yeah. No thanks. I so did not sign up to get murdered tonight.

"Helga!" Nel hissed when the beam shot out across my face from the screen now clutched in my hands.

I turned to her. "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!"

Turns out, having larger breasts had some benefits (outside of having larger breasts). Evidently, they made excellent places to store your belongings, i.e. a phone.

I then froze when I noticed that it had grown eerily quiet. Odd.

Now don't get me wrong—I wasn't a professional. This gig—for lack of a better term—had only existed in my hands for, at the most, five minutes. But even I was aware that such a pause in activity when two seconds ago, all I could hear was a man struggling against an alien. My heart dropped. Nel and I exchanged panicked looks before glancing in the direction that said alien stood. My breath hitched when I realised that its eyes had settled on me.

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

I blinked.

And then, all hell broke loose.

The Mutant charged, shooting like it were a rocket, and hurdled in my direction. Its cries filled the air as the ground shook beneath its heavy bounds.

And I gulped. Oh, hell no.

Apparently, Nel did not agree with me.

"Alright, Helga, now's your chance." She said, ears folding back as she crouched into a defensive stance. "As a Guardian, you have the strength to—Helga?"

Looking to her side, Nel realised that I no longer occupied the spot beside her anymore. All that was left of me was my phone, which dropped abandoned at her feet.

Her words hung awkwardly with no one there to receive them. Because I had already begun running. Which you might find unsurprising. I was apparently a Guardian, the newly formed hero of the city and sole protector against an enemy force. You would think that I would be running, which I was . . . just . . . not towards the monster—I was running away.

I could tell that Nel hadn't been expecting that. I didn't look at her or anything (too busy for that). But I could feel her surprise even with my back to her and a distance growing between us.

I chose to throw myself into the bushes where my great, epic plan was to crouch and wait until the alien eventually got bored and left to go terrorise someone else (Oh, like you wouldn't do the same thing).

Apparently, I was quite good at it—hiding. The alien didn't know where I went and so, it spent a while searching for me. Which meant that it was trying its chances beneath a park bench.

Annnnd that was when Nel revealed my position, which was how I found myself here—running away from an eight foot tall alien, dressed in basically a lingerie set and heels. Did I mention that it had started raining as well? Because of course it had! I just fucking loved Mondays!

"Leave me alone!" I shouted over my shoulder. "You freak!"

Shockingly, the monster did no such thing and continued chasing after me. Footsteps became louder and louder and the sounds sent adrenaline pumping through my veins. I tried turning a corner but slipped on the wet leaves and landed on my back. The pain radiated in waves, throbbing in my skull and ringing in my ears. The wind was knocked from me as cold air shattered against my lungs. But the ground was still trembling beneath my skin as the footsteps approached. Panic heaved and I forced myself onto my knees. The world was still spinning though, and I watched as the ground whirled and tangled with my wrists. I wanted to push myself to move when a crushing blow came down onto my skull and sent me reeling back.

I landed with a sharp crunch! that turned everything into a force that wanted to keep me down. The pain that slammed into my chest was mangled and felt as if my bones had smashed into glass shards that threatened to tear me apart. The night sloshed around me, as everything else became a blur. I wanted to stand, but the air had tripled its weight to pin against my chest. My head spun and something coated my tongue. I spat it out and when it splattered across my knuckles, I realised that it was blood.

Crap. Shit. How was I supposed to get out of this? My brain tried planning an escape, but I felt too sluggish to even comprehend what was happening. The sound of rain filled my ears. There was a dull ache, I realised, that had settled on the right side of my jaw. Where the ground had smashed into my face. I was surprised that it didn't feel more broken and raising my hand, I slid my knuckles against the bone.

The skin hadn't broken, and the bone gave a small protest at being touched, but nothing seemed out of place.

Instinctively, I frowned. Shouldn't I be more hurt? In fact, shouldn't I be bleeding? I felt the back of my skull and was surprised to feel the same results—a small spasm in pain, but no cuts or gaping wounds. Nothing was broken.

I was fine.

Breath shallow, I tried moving. I slapped my hand against the ground then pushed— heaved—until I was back onto my knees. I released a small breath, somewhat surprised at how smooth that had gone. But before I could press forward, a shadow fell over me and the monster showed up from my left.

Helga, what are you doing?!

Nel's voice suddenly echoed in my ears and I shrieked, whipping my head around. I spotted her in the branches of one of the taller trees in the park. She blended in well with the night, but her eyes stood out like a pair of glimmering stars.

You must get up!

That made me scowl. "Oh, sit on it! You fight him if it's so easy!"

She made a face like she was offended at that. It made me want to roll my eyes. Oh, get a grip, you—

The monster slammed its foot inches from my face into the ground. The action made the words I had been preparing, shoot so deep back into my throat that it was like I had swallowed something the wrong way. I slowly traced my gaze up from its disgusting foot to its thick legs, ashy body and then bulging eyes. The monster pulled its fist over my shoulder. Nerves hurtled down my spine and my limbs became numb. I wanted to move, but nothing was obeying. Nothing was processing. Letting out a scratchy cry, the monster's fist came swinging down.

A scream ripped from my throat and I lifted my arms up. Squeezed my eyes shut.

. . . and felt nothing.

A loud crackling noise suddenly sprang to surround me and pushed a burning sensation into my ears. Prickles slithered up and down my arm as the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight. Something shook in my stomach, and my skin crawled as tiny whispers fell around me like thread.

Slowly, I peeked one eye open—

Holy shit!

—and gasped.

The monster's fist had banged against a thin, shimmering blue wall that had formed at the tips of my fingers. There was a buzzing—an electric pounding—that cracked the air as light spilled out onto the sidewalk. The sight was magnificent. Cerulean blue. Wrapped around me, protecting me. I watched it and as I did, something warm surged in my chest.

Helga, Nel's voice found me until I was looking in her direction. That's your power: forcefields!

Forcefields.

I moved my eyes slowly back until they were on the light. The mysticism hung like jewels on a beaded curtain, softly swirling stars that sparkled in the night. It took my breath away. It filled me with an odd feeling: a sensation that reminded me of summer skies and threatened to heave me from the grounds. But the air around me had cooled. It was calming, refreshing. I hadn't realised how warm I had gotten. But the coolness rolled across my face until it was chasing the pain away. Sparks moved beneath my skin. The blood warmed in my fingers as my breath turned soft.

Huh.

The barrier's haze rivalled the harsh bulbs of the monster's eyes. Its amber lights narrowed into slits as it let out a ferocious roar. I wanted to scream, but the monster threw another punch to the wall. The collusion had my skeleton rattling inside my body, but the wall held. Crackles filled my ears. Something electric zipped up my spine and, bringing my hands close to my chest, I thrust them back out towards the barrier. The barrier followed my fingers and rushed forward until it sent the Mutant flying.

Good job, Helga!

I shook my head, not even registering the words at first.

Right. Right.

I climbed back to my feet but when I did, something rushed over me so strong that I was almost toppling over. I wasn't sure what it was, but the force washed my skin until it was warm and my ears were pounding. It was like the energy that had been rising in my veins had swung back so powerfully that it threatened to move the ground until it was above my head. I shook my face. The barrier, I realised, must have taken more energy than I thought. Because now, everything seemed much heavier. The magical sensations were pulling back and I began noticing my injuries. There was an aching pounding across my knuckles. Something warm was sliding down my cheek, dripping into the corner of my mouth. I wiped it away. Rain hammered down like bullets and soaked me to the bone. My pulse was spiralling in my wrists. Looking down at my hand, I balled it into a fist. I spat out more red saliva, then pushed my shoulders back. Rose my chin. Thunder rolled, and a breeze fluttered the hair down my back.

" Now—" I said to myself, "—it's pissed me off."

Then, multiple gasps caught my attention.

The sound made something jump into my chest and I looked over my shoulder. My jaw went slack. Because there, standing at the edge of the park, was a growing crowd. I couldn't tell how many people there were, but it had to be at least two dozen, maybe even three.

It was surprising, considering not only was it a Monday night, but it was also a pouring Monday night. Since when were this many people out? But I decided it was not the part to be focusing on right now. These people were standing here, watching the entire thing with wide eyes. Some even had their phones out, flashes on, and were recording everything.

Shit.

My nerves had dipped to coil in my knees and the electrical currents that normally carried my thoughts must have packed up for the night, because when I looked at them, nothing sprang to mind. They were looking at me so I knew that I should say something. But looking at them, all I could come up was—

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Which was typical. Classic Helga: take that genuine worry and care that you feel, bury it so deep down, until it came back out as anger. Had I been in another situation, I probably would have found that funny: you could change my voice, face and abilities, but you would never get rid of the Pataki.

(For better or for worse).

"Don't you all see that monster? Get out of—"

Helga! Look out!

"Huh?"

Looking over my shoulder, my heart hurtled into my throat when a fist came right at me. Gasps and cries echoed from behind and I quickly dodged around the attack. I caught the monster glaring daggers before turning on my heel and bolting. Rain splattered around me, soaking my eyes, and my mind raced so fast that everything became dizzy.

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

Inside your boot!

I—

"What?"

Look inside your boot. Quickly!

I hid behind a nearby tree and slumped against the trunk to catch my breath. Hair tickled the middle of my back as rain slid to drip from my chin. The burn in my lungs had rolled into my throat until it felt like the saliva had been singed from my teeth. I pressed a hand to my chest for a moment before bending down to reach into the leg of my boot.

I paused when my fingers brushed an unfamiliar item.

Did you find it?

I pulled it from my boot as an odd tingling rattled in my fingers. I took it in, marvelling at the weapon now in my hands.

It was a dagger. An enchanting and strangely beautiful–looking dagger. The size of my forearm, it was a double edged blade forged from a blue–toned silver. There were writings carved into the blade, scrawls that I couldn't recognise. And yet, looking at them, there was a sense of familiarity somehow. The handle was golden with threads of silver twisting to the hilt, glinting in the moonlight.

I let out a low whistle. Nice.

Looking up, I shrieked when my vision filled with an approaching fist. I barely managed to roll to my side, clutching the dagger to my chest. The monster's fist glanced over my shoulder and smashed into the tree. I watched as the force was so great that it ripped the trunk from the ground, pushing it so that it came down with a tremendous crash. Startled screams echoed from the crowd—which, I realised, was growing—and the monster's eyes flashed before turning back to me.

Stop running away, Helga!

The monster snarled and swung again.

But this time, I was ready.

Heaving up my arm, a flash exploded from my hand and formed into a glimmering, protective wall. The fist cracked against it, and I gritted my teeth from the force. My muscles strained, but blood roared beneath my skin. It was a heat that made my biceps tingle and my spine straighten. Thunder exploded as the monster bashed its fists into the wall. But I stayed standing.

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

I sent my arms out so the monster was left flying backwards. It was momentary, but it was all that 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 became nothing but a whisper. I watched as the knife sliced through the air. The breath had become stuck in my throat. The pulse that had been rushing in my temples had lowered until it was pressed beneath my feet. I didn't hear the words that left the crowd's mouths, nor did I even feel the rain still pelting around me. Everything had stopped, except the knife.

Shing!

It lodged into the monster's torso.

Breath shuttered out past my lips.

The creature let out a high–pitched howl, its eyes flying to the knife in its flesh. The metal burned, until the knife was white against the creature's shadow. The world became a blur of terrible, horrible sounds. I covered my ears to hide from it.

Helga! Get out of there now!

I spun around and bolted. Everything suddenly seemed slippery, like too much energy, too much strength, had gathered that my body didn't know what to do with it. I felt overwhelmed and underused. The stress was becoming water in my eyes. But before I could take more than a few steps, I was swept from my feet by a warm gust of air. I landed roughly on the pavement and the impact knocked the wind from me. The collusion went straight into my stomach. I wrapped my arms around my torso to get the air back into my body.

Images lodged into my head and then spun without my permission. The glaring eyes, the shadowed body, the sounds of footsteps . . . the magic. It kept going and I was unable to stop it. Hair hung from my shoulders. I rolled onto my side. Blinked. Did . . . Did I just . . .

My body then acted on its own: in a flash, I was sat up straight with my arm outstretched in front of my body. The knife returned to my palm like it had been summoned and my fingers wrapped tight around it. Looking down at the blade, I caught glowing runes winking from existence.

I breathed loudly and my eyes found Nel.

She still sat in the tree, so I found her easily. She appeared equally as surprised as she was relieved at my success. When she realised I was looking back at her, she sent me an approving nod.

I felt my mouth moving into a crooked smile.

The pounding that had been echoed in my throat suddenly quietened, like it was sidestepping to allow me to hear the cheering and applauding coming from the crowd. I frowned, then turned in the direction. The rain was pouring down thicker so their faces were a little harder to tell apart. But lights from the street fell over their forms, igniting their expression. I scanned the sea of people and took in each of their smiles.

I blinked, unused to seeing expressions like that focused on me. It was . . . weird. People either avoided me or didn't notice me. It had been a thing— the thing. How everything worked for me. I wasn't used to receiving validation or causing relief. But right now, I was . . . was I liked?

The realisation became numbed when I recognised one of the faces: Arnold.

Panic sent my heart racing as millions of questions turned my mind into a buzz. How long had he been there? Did he see everything? Did he recognise me? I couldn't tell if he did. He was in too much shock. He wasn't smiling like everyone else. He was gawking. He stood amongst those who clapped, but his hands weren't moving. His mouth wasn't lifting. His eyes were wide in their disbelief.

And the longer that I stared, the more faces I began to recognise: Gerald, Sheena, Eugene—

Helga, we best be going.

I looked in Nel's direction, but she no longer occupied her previous position. I scanned the area for her when the sound of sirens suddenly hit me. That must have been what she had been referring to. I couldn't exactly disagree with her. Their lights began filling the air. It was probably a good time to get out of here.

I pushed myself up from the ground and turned to leave—

"Wait!"

I froze in my tracks but didn't turn. It became silent. No one dared to say anything. My ears, now more powerful than ever before, recognised the voice: Sheena.

"Please. Who are you?"

I didn't reply right away.

Instead, I focused on controlling the frantic pounding in my wrists. Everything in me lifted until my stomach had gone into my chest and my heart in my throat. Thunder pounded like music. My eyebrows came together as I tried finding an answer for her question.

Who was I? Who was I? I hadn't come up with a name. I couldn't use Helga. She was gone. Dead, buried. This was someone else. I was someone else. I could finally take off the mask that was Helga Pataki, embrace something different. Something better.

The possibilities flashed before my eyes. Someone else. Who? Someone who raced through your mind like a dream. Someone charming, but never helpless. She wasn't human. She was soft like the wind, dazzling like the sunset. Beautiful, but uncontrollable. I had another shot, another chance to play a role, and this time, I would do it right. I would still dance at the end of people's fingertips. No one would touch me, no one would understand. But rather than fear, they would admire. They would love, they would trust. The words were already collecting in my throat, I realised. They wanted to fly, they wanted to soar.

So I let them.

"Blue Jay." I turned back around, voice strong. "My name is Blue Jay."

---

So there we have it: a wrap! How did you find it? I don't know when I plan on updating this story—it was moreso a test run. I haven't written other chapters. I just wanted to see what response I would get from this. So let me know if you're interested and I'll begin writing the next chapter!

So, for some unneeded context, I love magical girl stories! It's my favourite genre since a) feminism. I've always loved stories where girls were centred as the heroes. Even more, when there were multiple female characters rather than just one. And b) the possibilities are endless! It's intriguing to watch how these characters react to their powers and having to keep this part of their lives a secret from everyone else. I never get tired of watching Magical Girl stories or finding Magical Girl AU's.

I have always read the Magical Girl genre to be empowering for girls, not simply because girls are saving the day, but because they're talking to each other. History has always linked female solidarity with evilness and pettiness (hence why non–evil female characters are so often kept as tokens amongst a larger male cast). This genre is a subversion of this myth, because women are forced to team up with each other to prevent evil. Not only that, but their friendship becomes genuine, rather than an allyship. The Magical Girl is a rebellious genre because it is a celebration of female solidarity and girlhood!

Which brings me to my reasoning for why I chose this fandom: Helga, in my opinion, is the perfect protagonist for this genre. She's already established as a character who loves a lot. She is emotional and has romantic daydreams and fantasies. But she suppresses it because she's insecure. She pretends to be grizzled and rough to protect herself from getting hurt. But beneath the façade, she's actually a very sentimental and idealistic girl. She is also very lonely and desires to be loved. I don't think that love is as simple as wanting to be romantically involved with Arnold. I think she wants it from various people in her life. Helga Pataki is a girl with a lot of love, but no idea where to put it. So what better genre to explore that then the genre known for bringing girls back together?

Songs Mentioned: Cleopatra by the Nova Twins, Creep by Radiohead and So What! by P!nk