Part Four Senior Year

Chapter Thirteen

I'm standing by the glass doors, hand holding the cool, metal handle just staring at her. I can't look away, my gaze stuck on her's like a magnet, the connection strong and intense, completely unbreakable.

Her long, honey hair. Curly and glossy, framing her clear, peaches and cream skin.

Her eyes, the color of sunkissed waters of the Caribbean. Somewhere you want to dive into, get lost in, stay forever.

Her white dress, covered in cheeries, tight in all the right places. Displaying her curves, the generous slopes of her body that make boys salivate and girls sneer.

To the naked eye she is perfect. She has everything. Undeniable beauty, enviable intelligence, amazing athelic talent. She's admired and loved. Her future reads like something from a story, happily ever after and all.

I see her everyday, everywhere. In the photos on my dresser, in the puddle of rainwater in the ground. In my mirror every morning. Reflected back at me, in the glass of the door, right now.

"Helga, come on!" Derek says, tugging on my hand, pulling open the door, leading me down the hallway. "First day of senior year, and we're going to be late."

I turn and glance over my shoulder, eyes staring right back into my own.

I can't escape her, she's always there.

The girl I've become. The girl I'm not sure I want to be.

"Alright, ladies. Thank you very much for coming. We'll be posting call-backs for the second round of try outs sometime tomorrow," I say, voice booming throughout the gym. I can see the hope laced across their smiles, the admiration swimming in their eyes. They look at me and want what I have. They're convinced this is the first step toward leading beautiful, charmed, perfect lives.

They see me and believe in that fairy tale.

But I know what they don't. I may look like Cinderella, but my glass slippers shattered a long time ago.

As each girl leaves I can feel the air get colder, slowly yet suddenly, the hype and thrill draining from the room. I lean back in my chair and let out a breath, long and steady, like helium leaking out of a balloon. I don't have words to describe the exhaustion I feel. It's engraved in every muscle, traced across my bones.

It's the kind of exhaustion you feel when you're tired of everything.

"Lila, baby." I look toward the doorway and see Chase leaning against it, arms crossed. His wavy, chestnut hair is crammed into a dark purple ball cap with a shark on the front. His eyes, dark like the deepest part of the night sky, glow with happiness, fixed on the girl walking toward him. He holds out his arms for her, wraps her close, kissing the top of her head gently. Lila's eyes are closed, holding on to him equally as tight, pure bliss laced across her smile.

The sight of them, innocent and beautiful, wraps thick around my heart, squeezing tight. My chest is heavy and I can't breathe. My blood turns cold, freezes in my veins. I have to go, now. Anywhere, anywhere, but here.

"Helga?" Rhonda says, thumping a hand on my back. I look into her eyes; see my started expression reflected there. Her lips are twisted into a frown, her forehead wrinkled. "You look pale as a ghost. And believe me it's not a good look for you. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just…thirsty I think. I'll be right back," I say, getting to my feet, my limbs shaking. "If Derek comes before I get back, keep him busy for me okay?" I quicken my pace, almost jogging, desperate to be alone.

This hallway is always cold, a wonderful crisp, deep kind. As soon as the air wraps around me, goose bumps rising on my skin, the smell of paint and charcoal hitting me hard, I relax. I can feel every cell in my body unwind, slowly and smoothly. I close my eyes, walking down the hallway, my footsteps light, fingertips brushing the paintings and pictures on the walls.

I could tell myself a million lies, each more colorful and complex then the next. I could tell myself I come here because it's always cold, because it makes me think of snowflakes and winter. That I come here because it's almost always deserted, that no one will come looking for me here.

I could rationalize it a thousand ways. But there's only one reason I come here. And as I open my eyes, standing in the doorway of the last classroom on the right, I find that reason.

Arnold is standing in front of a half-finished painting, paints of every color on the stool right next to him. His eyes are closed, long lashes lying across his pink cheeks. His hair is jumbled, flying in every direction as if he's been tugging at it, tussling it in frustration. He twirls a paintbrush through his fingers, biting his lip. My heart leaps to my throat, my skin humming with heat. He is amazingly, utterly beautiful.

My eyes drift toward his painting. There she is again. The girl that speaks to the innermost parts of me, the dark parts hidden deep, the parts I'm not even completely aware of. This time she's sitting on the ground in a yellow dress, lacy and intricate, each pattern gorgeous and complex. But the hem of her dress is dirty and frayed, exposing her bare feet crossed at the ankle, also black with mud. Her hair is thick and long, a golden buttery blond, and on top sits a shiny, silver tiara, the topmost diamond glittering. In one hand she holds several pieces of paper, illegible words scribbled all over the pages. In the other hand, so tight her knuckles appear white, she holds a lighter. Her eyes are drowned in confusion and her soft pink frown screams sadness. The background behind her is incomplete, but it appears as if she's sitting in the snow.

"When you were stuck on a lyric or a melody, how did you find inspiration?" His voice is sunlight hitting the freshly fallen snow. It's a cascade of bubbles tumbling against the blue sky. It's jumping into a pile of leaves, crispness all around you. His voice is everything good in the world wrapped into the best music you've ever heard.

His eyes are still closed. "How'd you know it was me?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper. His deep green gaze meets mine and he smiles, all dimples and teeth. The breath is sucked out of my lungs, my heart thundering.

"Oranges and vanilla," Arnold says, smiling deeper.

"What?" I ask, stepping closer toward him, confusion laced across my face.

"You smell like oranges and vanilla."

My throat is tight and my stomach jumps, fluttering fast. We stand there, staring at each other, the air heavy and thick, filled with all the things we're leaving unsaid. He inches closer to me and I can feel the warmth of his body, smell his skin, count his freckles. He touches my arm, his long fingers wrapped around my skin. The feel of him shots lightening straight to my heart, electrifying every nerve in my body. There's something swimming in his eyes, traced along his parted lips. A statement left untold, a question left unanswered. We stay in this moment, hovering, waiting, for whatever is about to come next.

My phone rings, loud and piercing, echoing throughout the silence. I jump away from Arnold, still tingling from his touch. I walk into the hallway, turning my back on him, waving over my shoulder. My pulse is throbbing underneath my skin, everywhere all at once. I can't look at his face, I'm afraid by what I'll see there.

"Yeah?" I say, answering my phone.

"Babe, we're waiting on you. Hurry up," Derek says, hard and fast, obviously irritated.

"I'm coming. And I'm fine, thank you for asking." I look after my shoulder and see Arnold standing in the doorway. He smiles when our eyes meet, raising his hand in the smallest of waves. My breath hitches and I smile, wide and involuntary.

Everything, in the end, comes down to timing. One second, one minute, one hour could make all the difference.

It could make the difference between nothing or forever.

At Halloween anyone can be whoever they want to be.

The sweetest girl on the block may dress as the devil, mean-spirited words twisting on her tongue, lust and danger in her heart.

The weakest, most cowardly guy could dress as a superhero, confidence brimming behind his smile, faith and bravado echoed in his words.

But as I'm standing in my living room, with blue mug full of white wine, looking at the pirates and witches, trying to breathe in the hot, muggy air, I can't help but think it's just another day.

After all, when you wear a mask, it's always Halloween.

I'm watching the party alone, leaning against the wall. Lila and Chase are curled up on the couch, Chase ticking Lila's sides, her airy laughs twirling through the air. I can hear Rhonda's loud, flirty voice from the kitchen and I can picture her fluttering eyelashes, her hand pressed against her latest victim's chest. Derek is standing on the coffee table, telling a story to his captive audience. He spreads his arms wide and shrugs and everyone laughs.

"So I went back into the house again," he says. One laugh stands out this time, and my eyes flicker to the other side of the room. Amber sits on the floor next to the couch, legs folded underneath her, a beer in her hand and her eyes shining. I know that look. Amber has been charmed by Derek. I roll my eyes, sighing. It happens easily enough and to nearly everyone.

Derek throws back his head to laugh at his own joke, deep and barking. Amber grins and claps, her chocolate brown hair slightly disheveled. I watch Derek jump off the coffee table and take a bow, forever the entertainer. He sees me looking at him and saunters across the room, laying his hands on my hips, leaning close.

"Hey," he whispers, breath hot.

"That was a very entertaining story," I say, smiling.

"I know," he responds. He is so close that all I can see is his laughing, mocking eyes staring into mine. "I'm sick of the crowd. I want to be alone with you."

"Alright, you go upstairs now and I'll follow in a few minutes," I say, giggling.

"Okay," He kisses me hard, pressing me against the wall. I watch him walk away, breathless and flushed, tipping my mug back, finishing the wine in one swallow.

I walk toward the kitchen, mind swimming, and I turn the corner too fast, stumbling into Arnold's chest.

"Oh!"

"I'm sorry, Helga," he says, eyes wide, even though it is clearly my fault. His shirt is wet, an empty plastic cup in his hand.

"Oh no, baby. You're all wet," Amber says. She touches his chest and clucks like a mother hen. My throat tightens as I watch her fingertips grazing his chest, rubbing his shoulder. My blood boils as I swallow the bitterness bubbling inside me. I could strangle Lila for inviting them in the first place.

"Arnold, I'm so sorry. Come on, I'll get you a towel from the kitchen."

"That's very nice of you, Helga," Amber says, slurring her words slightly. I look at her face, her cheeks red and pupils wide and narrow my eyes. I nod, and they follow me into the kitchen, saying nothing.

I hand Arnold a towel, my skin tingling as our fingers touch. "What were you drinking?" I say, voice steady.

"Just Coke," he says. I fill my blue mug with more wine and hand him a new cup filled with Coke. He smiles at me, eyes half lidded and dimples on display. "Thanks."

I smile back at him, ignoring the butterflies beating in my stomach, and walk back out into the living room, making my way to the stairs. I'm halfway up when I hear his voice, stopping me in my tracks. I glance over my shoulder. Arnold is standing at the bottom of the stairs, his drink untouched in his hand. Amber is gone. I hear her high-pitched giggles in the next room.

"Hey, Helga? Don't forget what you promised me, okay?" he says, voice brimming with concern. I try to flip through all of my memories of us, trying to find a promise that hasn't been broken yet. There were a lot of promises; there isn't much left. "Not while you're drunk." My grip on the wine tightens, and I feel myself start to nod and then shrug.

"You don't need to worry about me, football head," I snap. "Okay?"

He looks at me, not blinking, not moving. He does not blush. From the next room, Amber calls his name and he doesn't seem to hear her. I swallow, trying to push my heart back out of my throat.

"Fine," I say, whispering. "We aren't planning to, okay? Not until graduation at least. So I'm okay. You don't have to worry."

"Helga…I'll worry about you until the day I die," he says, a sad smile traced across his features. He turns on his heels and walks back into the living room, leaving me there, shocked. I climb up the stairs, one by one, my footsteps echoing in my ears, my heart twisted, every beat filled with pain.

I count my steps, his voice still filling my head, my silent response to him burned into my brain, engraved across my tongue.

And I will you love you, Arnold, until my very last breath.

The snow flutters down, light and pretty, covering the hard, crispy grass, the barren trees. It coats my hair, my skin, the tips of my eyelashes as I sit on the hard ground, my breath visible, surrounding me, engulfing me. My eyes are hard and fixed in front of me, tears frozen on my face, staring at the snowflakes filling in the engraved words, forcing them to appear more obvious. More permanent.

Robert Pataki

November 15th, 1959 – June 8th, 2009

The best businessman, husband, and father

I came here to scream, to rant, to claw at the tombstone, to bang my fist against the ground, to shout at the sky. But seeing the words, bright and clear, took my breath away.

And I just can't seem to get it back.

"Helga?"

And there he is. As if the deepest, most intimate parts of my heart conjured him here. He stands above me, snow clinging to the golden locks hanging in his dark green eyes. Beautiful eyes that are fixed on my face, filled to the brim with concern. In his hands is a bouquet of daisies, Miriam's favorite flower.

Seeing him here, to visit my father, to give him the flowers my father used to bring home every Friday just to see my mother smile, re-starts my heart, my lungs. A snob catches in my throat, loud and harsh, and the tears spill over, racking my entire body.

Arnold drops down to me, pulling me toward him. My head rests on his chest, his coat wrapped tight in my hands, pulling him closer. I inhale the smell of paint and peppermint as he rubs circles along my back, humming a tune only we know the words to.

"Don't leave me, please don't leave me." I say.

I say it over and over, like a prayer. Mumbling the words into his chest, wishing they would sink into his skin and swim into his heart, marking him there for the rest of his life.

"Never," he whispers, his breath warm and sweet.

I hold him closer, still repeating my mantra, all while thinking one thought.

Oh, Arnold. I wish I could believe you.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! Not even a little bit.

A/N: Hello, my dears. Don't know about you guys, but I had a nutty weekend. Friday night started out with drinking way too much white wine and getting into a screaming match which of course ended with me in tears and lots of apologies the next day (still sorry!). Saturday was homework and a hangover. And yesterday was Netflix and inspiration. So I think I should get extra hugs for this little nugget that I'm giving you guys today. So just want to get something out of the way real quick. You know I love you all very dearly, including my guest reviewers that I can't PM and give them their own personal virtual hug. That being said, you know who you are, I do not appreciate flames. They are not welcome. I would LOVE to hear anything constructive as I'm only looking to be a better writer, but telling me my story is not beautiful, just depressing and making a bunch of predictions that, by the way, were ten thousand percent incorrect, well to be honest just pisses me off a bit. Anyone who writes on here is really putting themselves out there and deserves to be treated respectfully. So I'm going to go back to grade school here: If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Now moving along, thank everyone so, so much for all the love and support. Really, you guys are all kinds of amazing. I wasn't really expecting this when I posted my first chapter, but not only have each of you helped me rediscover my love for writing, but I've made some life-long friends as well. So really, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

You know what time it is?! Homework time!

THE LIST OF AMAZING STORIES BY AMAZING PEOPLE

Fourteen Years by catrussomanno24

Time Without Arnold by Block Party Master

Unibrow by September-Stray

I'm Only Human by LovelySeoul

Less Than 24 Hours by SexyChief

Catching Stars by AJSky7

Bluebird by WatchTheQueenConquer

The Ever After Series (Ever After, Never After, and the third installment coming soon!) by Mouse9

If you haven't already (why not!) please shower them with baked goods (maybe a cheesecake, some cannolis?). And don't forget about your best friend, Vanessa. I like love too!

Review/Favorite/Follow. I'll love you forever, I promise.

Kisses xox,

Vanessa