I just needed to clear my mind, so I wrote this quick one-shot. Sorry if formatting or something is off; my internet fell and I uploaded this with my phone.

Gerald smiled as he pulled away from Phoebe, having just kissed her. The petite Asian girl smiled back and waved as she walked up her stoop. As they did every day, Gerald, Phoebe, Arnold, and Helga walked home together. Usually, they stopped at Slausen's or a burger joint before they dropped each other off—Phoebe's house was always first, and Gerald usually hung out with Arnold after they dropped off Helga. Today was no different. After seeing Phoebe to her stoop, Gerald turned back to his blond friends.

Puberty had struck and the Hillwood gang ended up growing with the town. Arnold, the shortest boy in middle school, had shot up to a good 6'1; Gerald was only an inch taller. Their weekly baseball games were still a long-standing tradition, so the boys had grown up to develop lean muscles and broad chests.

The girls, however, had experienced much more interesting changes. Phoebe was still short—at five feet even—but she had filled out nicely. While her hair and face were reminiscent of her Japanese heritage, she was built like her mother—voluptuous curves and long legs. Helga, similarly, inherited her mother's physique; she was tall for a girl, at 5'7, and had powerful, toned legs that came from years of track. Her chest wasn't as large as Phoebe's, but Helga was admittedly slighter than her Japanese friend—which was not for lack of eating. Though the gradual changes could be noted during their Sunday games, it was their eighth grade dance that truly made those changes apparent.

Thankfully, before any other boy could notice how beautiful she was, Gerald had asked Phoebe out back in fifth grade, and they'd been dating ever since. Though Gerald suspected something would happen for Arnold and Helga also—he hadn't missed that kiss they shared in the jungle and if that image was going to be burned into his retinas forever, they may as well hook up, he'd thought—there wasn't a peep from either blond as to their future relationship.

Instead, Helga mellowed out and Arnold found his parents; Gerald gave up trying to woo any ladies who weren't Phoebe; Curly changed his nickname to Thad, cut his hair, and stopped pursuing Rhonda; Rhonda grew up model-esque and pursued Thad as discreetly as possible (which wasn't discreet at all); Harold finally caught up to his own grade and was in football; Patty was in his class and kept Harold in line; Sid's voice changed and the boots were burned; Stinky grew into his nose and became a gentleman; Lila never grew out of her ever so nice speech patterns; Eugene came out of the closet; Brainy learned how to use his inhaler (finally); Iggy moved; Lorenzo stopped working himself toward an early cardiac arrest; Nadine was working towards a scholarship at MIT; Park asked Eugene out and they were still discussing which musical to see for their first date; and nobody learned Peapod's kid name, despite the fact that he was the most popular boy in class.

Gerald shook himself and came back to the present, where Arnold and Helga were arguing over which was Tarantino's best movie. With a fond smile, Gerald walked down the steps and joined their argument as they walked to Helga's brownstone.

"Pulp Fiction, without a doubt," Gerald said, securing his bag over his shoulder.

Arnold groaned. "You always side with her!"

"That's because I'm always right, Football Head!" Helga grinned.

"But Four Rooms was iconic!"

"Four Rooms sucked, Arnold," Helga scoffed. "It's time to move on. He didn't even do the whole movie."

"I think you're both wrong."

"Are you kidding me?" Gerald cried. "What about The Bad Motherfucker?"

And so their argument continued until they approached Helga's stoop. They'd never reached a conclusion (not that their arguments ever really did), but Helga smiled and waved at them, throwing a tender look at Arnold that neither boy missed. As soon as the door closed, the boys trotted back to Arnold's, Gerald glaring at Arnold.

"When are you gonna ask that girl out already?"

Arnold shrugged, a blush on his cheeks. "I know what it looks like sometimes, but she started talking about how Peapod Kid was kind of cute and I don't know…maybe she doesn't love me anymore."

Gerald rolled his eyes—the story of FTi was a long-known one by now, though hard-won, as Gerald had spent a good three years badgering Arnold about it until the blond broke.

"I'm pretty sure she's still sweet on you," Gerald replied. "But fine, don't believe me."

"I won't, thanks," Arnold grinned, cheeky.

The next day, the group greeted each other at their lockers with friendly smiles and kisses between Gerald and Phoebe. It was part of their routine; soon enough, they'd be swamped by other students and other acquaintances, and it was a good feeling to be amongst friends before the insanity of junior classes started.

Probably most surprisingly, Gerald and Helga had indeed become close friends.

Scary.

But when Gerald had gotten into a fight with some other boys who were harassing Phoebe freshman year, Helga was the one who stepped up. Gerald knew it was stupid, at the time, to try and punch out three of the burliest boys in the senior class, but logic was not his forte when it involved someone trying to corner his girlfriend against the lockers—never mind that Phoebe could do martial arts and fencing and could kick their asses easily; she'd actually gotten in a bit of trouble earlier in the year for defending herself, and Phoebe couldn't afford to get into another fight. Gerald was quickly outnumbered and, despite Arnold trying to resolve the situation peacefully, the blond boy was drawn into the fight also; notwithstanding years of lessons in self-defense from his crazy grandmother, Arnold had been unwilling to fight back, when he could seriously injure someone. Just when Gerald thought he was probably going to lose more than a few teeth, a furious screech echoed in the hallway and all five boys looked up at Hell Girl herself.

"Fuck, that's Helga Pataki!" one of the boys had cried; surprised, Gerald and Arnold looked at each other through black eyes, eyebrows raised.

"That girl is a monster! I heard she took out Wolfgang when she was ten!"

Which was true, Gerald remembered. Wolfgang was a giant, even when he was a freshman, and the seniors didn't bother messing with Wolfgang. Understandably, anybody who could take on Wolfgang, even back in the day, was a frightening person.

"So, what?" the biggest senior had sneered. "She's just a little bitch now. She can't beat all three of us."

Incidentally, she could—and she did. After punching the big guy once, the senior fell to the floor, K.O'ed. The other two looked at her in shock before one of them finally regained his senses and—very reluctantly—tried to hit her. She knocked him out pretty easily, too. The last senior had the sense to run away, but Helga caught him without much effort, threw him on the floor, planted a foot on his head, and demanded he apologize to Phoebe, Gerald, and Arnold. After the poor senior's tearful apology, Helga stuffed him in a locker and dutifully went to the office to explain her actions.

Unlike Wartz, who had the privilege of knowing Helga while she was still a bed-wetter, their high school principal, Mr. Stanley, was terribly frightened by the innocuous looking blonde girl and let her go once she explained she merely exercised self defense.

No one ever messed with Hell Girl, as they called her, ever again; consequently, no one ever messed with anyone from the old PS 118 gang, either. It seemed the other students were unwilling to incur Helga's wrath by hurting another one of her potential friends and the old gang had no problem propagating this rumor. Helga, it seemed, didn't mind either.

Over the two years since, Gerald had realized that being the friend of the scariest girl in school was a pretty sweet place to be—and Helga was actually a pretty fun person, once one got over her odd sense of humor.

It didn't hurt that Helga had a die-hard crush on Arnold that she'd long since stopped hiding. Denial and unrequited love, however, were two emotions that were in a constant struggle for supremacy in Hillwood. Just as Helga's love for Arnold was finally returned, Arnold's denial kicked into overdrive. When Helga stopped bullying Arnold, Arnold somehow convinced himself this was proof that Helga no longer loved him. So, now, Arnold believed his love was unrequited and Helga was left confused.

Besides his obvious need to see a psychologist, Gerald feared this was a warning towards Arnold's clearly masochistic tendencies. He hoped Hell Girl was as dominating in bed as she was in everyday life, because Arnold seemed to get off on that.

"Hey, Gerald," Helga pouted, poking him hard in the ribs. "I'm talking here. You listening?"

Gerald shook himself and gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Hell Girl. What did you say?"

Helga sighed, exasperated, before repeating herself. "Rhonda's having another party. It's a masquerade party. She doesn't want us to go with our significant others, so we can try to find them at the party. Since that means you can't go with Pheebs, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me."

Arnold, Gerald noticed out of the corner of his eye, was giving Gerald such a threatening glare that Gerald nearly said no. He glanced at Lila and Stinky for back up. Lila, like many of the girls in their school, had filled out into lovely, but petite curves. Unlike Rhonda, Phoebe, and even Helga, Lila was a very thin, but healthy looking girl, standing at 5'3. Coincidentally, she happened to be dating the tallest boy in their class—Stinky was always tall, but after eighth grade, Stinky was a towering 6'6. Not as broad shouldered as Gerald and Arnold, Stinky was attractively lean and played as the running back to the football team. Like Gerald and Phoebe, Lila and Stinky began dating in fifth grade and never once faltered; if anything, Lila had stopped worrying about finding her "oh, so special someone" and Stinky had become a true southern gentleman. Since dating Lila, lemon pudding stopped being Stinky's first love.

But, when Gerald looked at them pleadingly for help, they happened to be conveniently looking away.

Bugger.

"Sure, Pataki," the African American boy said, "And Phoebe can go with Arnold."

That didn't seem to placate the silently fuming boy behind Helga, who remained oblivious. She smiled at Gerald and punched him lightly on the arm.

"Sounds good!"

"Why do you need to go with Gerald?" Arnold suddenly asked, voice laced with anger.

Helga didn't seem to notice that either, much to Gerald's chagrin. "Well, he can't go with Phoebe, but Phoebe and I both need a ride. Rhonda's hosting the party at the old warehouse on the outskirts of town; we may or may not have spent the weekend watching Footloose. I mean, you don't mind giving Pheebs a ride, do you?"

The angry arch of Arnold's brow softened and a lovesick smile graced his (slightly less) wide head. "Of course I don't mind, Helga. Whatever you say."

Helga grinned back. "Then it's settled!"

"Non!" a voice insisted, and by the sound of the designer heels that were clicking towards them, none of the teenagers were surprised to see Rhonda rounding the bend.

Rhonda definitely inherited good genes; her high cheekbones and pouty lips were mirrors of Angelina Jolie's. With her svelte physique, Rhonda could have dropped out of school to be a model. She decided, however, she would better serve the public by becoming a fashion designer and studied hard, while proving to the close-minded fools in school that a pretty girl could be a smart girl. Her favorite color never quite left her, as her red sweater dress proved, made decent by the tight black jeans she wore. Rhonda finished her ensemble with her chic, red four-inch heels, and she strutted in them like they were flats.

"Non, Helga, je dèfends! I forbid it!" she said once she reached them. The language of the day was French, it seemed, unsurprising to the other four teens. "I can't have you six going together, mixing and matching. That means Helga and Arnold can help Gerald and Phoebe look for each other and you guys can all help Stinky find Lila. You all know each other entirely too well, anyway. This party is going to be très magnifique, so you all have to work hard to find your lovers. Comprendre?"

Helga rolled her eyes with a groan. "Oui, princesse," she replied in near-perfect French, "I guess I'll ask Stinky."

"Stinky?!" Lila yelped, remembering Arnold's volatile moods. "You can't ask him!"

Helga raised a (totally separated) eyebrow at her. "Why?"

Lila floundered for a second before Rhonda felt something akin to pity and answered for her. "What fun is it if we all go with each other? We know each other so well; we'll find each other in no time. Just go alone and try to find each other without knowing what anyone looks like."

Helga frowned and glanced at Phoebe, who shrugged. "I think it'll be fun," the petite brunette replied to Helga's silent question, "And I want to see if Gerald can find me."

Gerald grinned confidently. "I can find you anywhere, babe."

Phoebe giggled and Helga, Lila, and Rhonda exchanged a glance, amused.

"All right, so no dates," Helga shrugged. "How will we get there, then?"

"I will provide transportation, ma chère," Rhonda smiled, "Don't you worry about a thing."

"Will it be formal?" Phoebe asked.

"You'll see in the invitations. Helga only knows because she helped me plan it, but it was supposed to be a surprise," Rhonda replied, glaring at Helga. The blonde in question merely grinned.

Arnold chuckled. "Well, thanks for inviting us, Rhonda. You know we'll be there."

"Will there be alcohol?" Gerald piped up before Rhonda could walk away.

Rhonda laughed, "Of course! What fun is a party without a loss of inhibition?"

Arnold rolled his eyes. "You won't catch me drinking."

"Famous last words," Helga smirked.

As it so happened, the party was indeed formal, so the former PS 118 class was forced to go shopping for their clothes alone, lest they be quickly sought out by each other. The boys mostly chose to go alone—it didn't take much to pick out a tie and a mask, after all—but the girls usually went with their mothers and sisters. In Helga's case, Olga was more than happy to tag along.

Alcoholics Anonymous had finally saved Miriam. At the turn of the century, beepers were out of style and cellphones began to rise, but Big Bob refused to concede. At the brink of bankruptcy, Miriam donned her red suit and went to work in order to save her family. AA had helped Miriam keep from becoming too involved in work to avoid her alcoholism, as was the case before. Now, while not entirely functional, Helga's family was working towards regaining some lost time.

Olga and Helga, meanwhile, worked to slowly remove the tension between them. Helga, who was ever blunt and angry, was also free from her parents' expectations—and Olga was jealous of Helga for it. The older blonde had always resented that her little sister was free to grow as she pleased, albeit somewhat difficultly. With a conversation that finally cleared the air between the sisters, they, too, slowly worked on being more sisterly.

And so, Helga figured there was nothing more sisterly than asking Olga to help her pick out a dress. Olga had, predictably, squealed and rushed out with Helga, dragging her to Lord and Taylor.

"Olga, I can't afford these dresses!" Helga cried, flinching away from a price tag as if it were a basilisk.

"Oh, baby sister," Olga cooed, "Don't worry! I'll pay for everything. We'll just focus on making you the most gorgeous girl at that ball!"

Helga sighed. "It's not a ball, Olga, just a masquerade."

"Where Arnold will finally propose!" she squealed, making Helga regret confiding in Olga.

"I think we need to be dating first."

"After all this time, that boy better just skip ahead to the wedding. Honestly, how dense can a kid get?" Olga rolled her eyes, making Helga smile.

"Are you going to give me the 'boys are stupid, stupid creatures' speech again?"

"Oh, no!" Olga laughed. "I think you know that perfectly well by now. Hmm, I don't think a mermaid gown would work with your body…"

Helga looked at her hourglass figure in a nearby mirror with a proud smirk. "Doubt it."

"This place is too black and white!" Olga decided, grabbing Helga's hand and dragging her to the other side of the mall. "We'll go to Bloomingdale's, and then BCBG!" Helga groaned.

Eventually, none of the stores had what Olga—or Helga—was looking for. In desperation, and probably for a few laughs, Olga called up a good friend.

And got Helga a Marchesa dress, delivered that same day.

"What the fuck is it with your connections?" Helga asked, gawking at the dress she wore in the mirror.

Olga just smirked, the Pataki pride glowing.

The dress was an icy blue—unexpected, Helga admitted, since she usually wore pink. It was almost a mermaid dress, but it was far more elegant and, with Helga's long legs, the dress would certainly bring attention to her figure. The embroidered gown had a sheer yoke and a tied skirt—the sheer was nearly invisible, making it seem as if the dress was painted onto Helga. A long, sheer line, which began at her left shoulder, went through the valley between her breasts towards her right hip, only to open up to a backless dress.

It matched the diamond blue of Helga's eyes.

"Perfect!" Olga squealed. "Nobody will recognize you and Arnold will have to propose!"

Helga rolled her eyes as she shook her hair out, her natural curls falling heavily on her back. "Sure, Olga."

"Why didn't you ever ask him out, baby sister?" Olga asked curiously.

Helga pouted. "I've been in love with him since I was three. I initiated all our kisses. I confessed my love to him, twice. The least he could do is make the first move."

Olga giggled, then glanced at Helga's long hair. "Oh, Helga, I hope you'll pin your hair up. It would be such a shame for people not to see your back."

"Uh, I guess," Helga shrugged. "What should I do with it?"

Olga looked over at the bouquet of flowers that Arnold had "anonymously" given Helga a week earlier and grinned. "I know what to do!"

Unlike Helga and Rhonda, who apparently had friends in high places, Phoebe walked into the burgeoning party without a designer dress—not that one could tell. Phoebe wore a light blue lace spine bird jacquard knit pencil dress, which she found in her mother's closet. The dress was snug and hugged her figure—it wasn't too hot and it kept her warm whenever the slightly chilly breeze would filter in when someone opened the door. Her long, straight black hair was curled and pulled over one shoulder, emphasizing her neck. On her face was a sepia mask, with mesh sockets for her eyes so she could see. She refused to show any part of her face; her height and her blue dress alone would likely give her away, and she wanted to present some challenge for when Gerald arrived. Although, with Gerald being the only African American person in their class, it was unlikely that they wouldn't find each other…unless he got creative.

And creative he was. Gerald wore a white tuxedo with a blue bowtie and cummerbund. Though it clashed a bit with his suit, Gerald managed to borrow Arnold's white hooded vest, which Gerald wore under his jacket (and which Arnold did not know Gerald had borrowed). With the hood pulled up and covering his short hair and the sides of his face, Gerald's full-face mask was blue, matching the blue gloves he wore on his hands. He glanced around, hoping to recognize someone.

Some people were obvious: Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, for example, wore an Alexander McQueen dress from his Savage Beauty line; the dress had an embroidered veil that was held up by elk antlers, with a long, matching embroidered dress. Although the dress was originally a nude color, Rhonda had the embroidery dyed a shocking red, matching nicely with the red mask that covered her eyes. At the top of the mask was a half-crescent shape, reminiscent of a crown.

Real subtle, Gerald thought.

Lila Sawyer wore a princess ball gown that was a deep green with sequins lining the sash under her bust and with her hair in a messy-curled bun. No one, however, was a redhead besides her and Eugene, so it wasn't a challenge to figure her out. She was talking to someone who was incredibly tall; he wore a black tuxedo with a green waistcoat. It wasn't hard, either, to figure out she had found Stinky. They both wore Venetian masks.

With a laugh, Gerald looked around some more, noting there were more people in the party than he expected. He quickly sought out Rhonda.

"Yo, Miss Wellington-Lloyd, what's with the extra people?"

Rhonda smiled demurely. "Obviously, some of us will be pretty easy to spot. I hoped to make it a challenge for you to find the ones who are better at being subtle."

Gerald grinned. "I was surprised when you suggested a party like this. You don't do subtle."

Rhonda smirked. "I don't. But that doesn't mean I can't talk to someone, thinking they're Thad while a certain someone watches and gets jealous."

"I can't believe you're the one chasing him now."

Rhonda sighed. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Only a little," Gerald laughed. "I can't wait to see Phoebe; I'm sure she'll be beautiful beyond comprehension. Hey, what do you think Hell Girl will show up in?"

Rhonda pouted. "Knowing her? Something that'll threaten to show me up."

Gerald just laughed again, turning to the door. He noticed a short girl with long black hair, mile-long legs, an interesting blue (and short) pencil dress, three-inch heels, and a white mask. He stared at her for a while, wondering if he'd found Phoebe. Then another girl walked by, with a similar body, straight black hair, wearing a deep red sweater dress with flats. That wasn't the right color, Gerald decided, but everything else was right. He started following the red-dressed girl, glancing constantly back to the beauty in blue.

"Phoebe wouldn't…would she?" he asked himself, glancing down at the heels. With a shake, he forced himself to look away from her so he could focus on finding his girlfriend. As he walked by, the door opened again, and a blonde girl stepped in.

Her embroidered, tiered skirt dress was definitely gaining attention, Helga decided. Not as much as Rhonda's, she noted, but enough that Helga would probably spend the weekend with Rhonda again, buying new dresses to make the princess feel better. Thankfully, as she was already a tall girl, Olga had consented to let Helga wear modest white heels—not that anyone could see them under the train of the skirt. Her curly blonde hair was pinned up in an intricate, curled side bun; Olga had used one of the lotus flowers from Arnold's gift and put it in the middle of Helga's bun. The shocking pink lotus was an unusual combination with her clothes, but Helga couldn't let go of the color. Strangely, it fit.

"Helga Geraldine Pataki," Rhonda hissed as she approached. "Your sister will be the death of me."

Helga laughed. "Get in line."

"Well, that is a gorgeous dress. Marchesa?"

"Yeah. Alexander McQueen?"

"You know your designers!" Rhonda beamed.

"Olga is getting pretty high up there in the fashion world. I never thought she'd work as a photographer after all that teaching and music prowess, but well. Anyway, whenever she has a shoot, she goes on and on about the designers. After a while, you pick up some stuff."

"With that dress, Arnold will definitely propose tonight."

"Why do people keep saying that? He won't even find me!"

Rhonda smirked. "I bet he will."

Helga rolled her eyes under her pink mask. "I'll take that bet. I bet that by midnight, Arnold won't be able to figure out who I am."

"I bet by midnight that he'll figure out who you are and propose to you."

"Jokes on you, princesse! I bet he doesn't even have an engagement ring."

Rhonda shrugged. "I didn't specify what the proposition had to be."

Helga groaned. "I forget how slick you can be sometimes."

Rhonda giggled then pointed to the door, where a football-headed gentleman had just arrived.

"Oh, my god," Helga whispered, her jaw slack.

Arnold had evidently decided a tux was too boring. Instead, he was dressed to the nines in equestrian gear; his white-collar shirt and white tie were pressed, hidden mostly beneath the closed, tailcoat jacket. The jacket was adorned with two sets of buttons running down the front, with a line of buttons at the end of each sleeve. The fitted jacket emphasized Arnold's broad shoulders and narrow waist; at the very tip of the jacket, peeked out the ends of a gray waistcoat. His riding pants were a pristine white and the shiny, sleek black riding boots he wore stopped just below his knees. His hair was carefully brushed back, instead of the usual wild hair he sported. Despite its futility, Arnold wore a black, sequined mask, smiling at people as they greeted him.

"Oh, mein Gott," Rhonda whispered in German. "He looks like a hot, equestrian Captain America."

"Rhonda," Helga choked, her hand flying to her chest, the erratic beat of her heart threatening to rip out of her, "He looks way hotter than equestrian Captain America."

Helga immediately began to walk over, but Rhonda's short laugh stopped her.

The freaking bet, Helga remembered, groaning.

"Maybe I should change my bet to you proposing to him," Rhonda smirked widely.

"Shut up, princesse. I'm gonna go find Phoebe," Helga blushed hotly and ran to the other side of the warehouse. Arnold watched her go curiously before approaching Rhonda with a friendly smile.

"Rhonda; nice to see I can definitely recognize the host," he said by way of greeting. "And you look exquisite."

Despite herself, Rhonda blushed. "You charmer, you. You know, more girls would like you if you acted like this all the time."

Arnold sighed. "Probably. But there's only one girl I want swooning over me. Speaking of girls, who was that blonde you were talking to?"

"I can't tell you, obviously," Rhonda rolled her eyes. "Why do you ask?"

Arnold flushed. "That dress was…wow. It's just the right line between leaving too little and too much to the imagination. Not to sound crass, but she had an amazing body. And those lips! God, if I wasn't in love with Helga, I'd seriously consider wooing that girl."

Inwardly, Rhonda laughed hysterically. "Well, she definitely knows who you are." Arnold shrugged. "Why not go say hi to her?"

The blond tilted his head in contemplation, his eyes scanning the room for either the blonde in the blue dress or another blonde he was sure would appear in pink.

"I dunno…I really just wanna find Helga so I can dance with her."

"Well," Rhonda smiled as a slow waltz began to play, "Dance with me while you wait. I could use you, anyway. As gorgeous as you look right now, Thad is sure to get jealous."

Arnold shook his head. "How the tables have turned."

"How many times am I going to hear that stupid cliché?"

Arnold laughed, one of his arms looping around Rhonda's slim waist while his left hand grasped her right gently, leading her out onto the floor and into a graceful four-step waltz. "When it stops being damn funny."

Helga, at the other side of room, smiled at a noticeable redhead—Lila Sawyer. In the years since fourth grade, Lila and Helga had formed a close bond; like Phoebe, Lila had never revealed Helga's secret before Helga was ready to tell it. Unlike Phoebe, Lila was the only person besides Dr. Bliss and Arnold that nine-year-old Helga had actually spoken to about her feelings, without metaphors or flimflams. And after Arnold's crush on Lila subsided, Helga allowed herself to become closer to Lila.

Loved though she was, it was always hard to be Miss Perfect, so Lila was always grateful to have real friends like Helga.

The blonde smiled and placed a hand on Lila's delicate shoulder, causing the other girl to turn around.

"Oh!" she beamed, "I don't believe I know you."

"You sure do, Lila," Helga laughed, then looked up to Lila's boyfriend. "Hey, Stinky."

"Why, I do believe this is Miss Helga G. Pataki herself," Stinky deduced, his slow southern drawl easily recognizable.

Lila grinned. "I'm ever so sure you're right, Stinky. Helga, you look amazing!"

Stinky held out a hand, which Helga easily accepted; Stinky kissed the back of her hand respectfully and Helga blushed, still slowly growing used to Stinky's gentlemanly ways.

"Thanks, Lila," she replied. "I see you've trained Stinky well."

"T'weren't a problem to shape up for a lovely lady like Miss Lila," Stinky smiled serenely.

"So," Lila's smile was sly, "I think I saw Arnold earlier. I'm just ever so certain he looked handsome. Why aren't you making out with him already?"

Helga rolled her eyes. "Denial's not just a river in Egypt. When Football Head over there gets the concept, let me know."

Lila and Stinky merely laughed.

"I reckon you wouldn't mind a dance with me, would you Miss Pataki?" Stinky offered his hand again. After looking at Lila cautiously, and getting a confident and enthusiastic nod, Helga smiled and allowed herself to be led to the dance floor.

Unlike most men who asked her out, Stinky was actually taller than Helga. Dancing was always a problem, in that regard, since the only other person she'd danced with was Arnold, and he was refusing to freaking date her. Stinky, on the other hand, was a guy Helga could rely on to be well behaved and who was taller than her.

All the major requirements.

Helga glanced around as she danced and caught sight of Arnold dancing with Rhonda. She pouted, wishing Arnold would hold her the way he was holding Rhonda. Of course, she knew better than to get jealous—just as Helga and Stinky were good, close friends, Arnold and Rhonda had bonded the few times the Wellington-Lloyd family had faced bankruptcy. So, Helga never held it against Rhonda that she was so close to Arnold.

Or, at least, she tried not to. And, admittedly, she thought with a smirk as Stinky twirled her around, she was faring better than Thad.

Thaddeus Gammelthorpe had been in the warehouse before even the hostess arrived. Once it started filling out, he walked out of his hiding spot, decked in his red suit. His small Robin mask covered part of his face, which was enough for people to not recognize him. Since he'd stopped chasing Rhonda so blatantly, he was less noticeable. He adjusted his black tie, lightly brushed at his black waistcoat, and checked to make sure his dress shoes were still shiny. No trace of dust from where he'd been hiding, in the vent system.

He couldn't hear much from there, but he could watch Rhonda without her knowing he was watching.

Just because he was done pursuing her publicly didn't mean he wasn't making sure she was okay. This was a dangerous part of town, and Thad didn't want Rhonda to get hurt because she wanted to have a Footloose inspired party.

On some level, Thad knew that his behavior was a little creepy and stalkerish, and because he really respected Rhonda and her space, he decided he wouldn't follow her around; he wouldn't try to cut off her hair and smell it; he wouldn't force her to love him. If she loved him, it'd be because she chose to, not because Thad was scaring her into it. If he followed her, it was only to make sure she was okay—not that it was much of an excuse (but Helga used that excuse, so he figured he could use it, too).

It was odd when, at the beginning of freshman year, a full two years after he'd stopped bothering Rhonda, the brunette had started dropping hints to him. Sometimes, they were clear hints that she liked him wanted him back. Sometimes, she would be distant and angry with him and he didn't feel it was wise to approach her during those moments.

All in all, Thad was very confused.

But his confusion was the last thing on his mind when he saw Arnold—honestly, why did he even bother with the mask with a head like that?—holding Rhonda so…intimately. How unfair! He already had Helga wrapped around his finger, now he wanted Rhonda?!

Helga was the only other person in the PS 118 class who understood Thad; Helga was just like him in so many ways, after all. She knew what it was like to be obsessively in love, preoccupying their time in the happiness of the ones they loved most. Helga knew what it was like to watch lover after lover go by, hope dwindling just the tiniest bit as every new lover wasn't her. Helga knew what it was like to love someone so completely, that life was incomplete always.

And, knowing that, Helga and Thad had formed a friendship based on that understanding. Whatever insane thing Helga had done that she couldn't tell anyone else, she knew could tell Thad; Thad believed that Helga, more than anyone, deserved to be happy and loved.

So what the hell was with Arnold trying to steal Thad's girl?!

Thad groaned to himself. He couldn't allow himself to be possessive like that; as a person who considered himself a feminist, Thad tried hard to approach Rhonda the proper way.

Which was hella scary when Rhonda could emasculate a man with a look.

Determined, though, Thad pushed his thick bangs out of his face and marched over to Rhonda and Arnold, grinding his teeth as the sound of their laughter floated over to him. Before he could reach them, a hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he was looking down at a petite, white-masked girl in blue.

"Thad?" she asked, a slight accent to her voice.

He nodded, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "…Ph-Phoebe?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Wow, Pheebs!" he grinned, hugging her. "You look fantastic in that dress! And those heels? Daring, Heyerdahl, daring."

Phoebe giggled, her smile hidden behind her mask. "Thank you, Thad. You look very handsome. I saw you rushing over to Arnold and Rhonda and figured it was you."

Thad had the grace to look sheepish. "Yeah…so, who else have you figured out?"

Phoebe shrugged. "Lila and Stinky, of course."

Thad nodded, glancing in their direction. "Of course."

"Rhonda, without a doubt."

"She shines more beautifully than any sun."

"And Helga, I think."

"Helga?" he looked around, trying to catch sight of something blonde and pink. His gaze stopped momentarily at the blonde with the lotus in her hair and the sexy dress dancing with Stinky, but he brushed her off.

Impossible, Thad thought, Helga would never wear that.

And then it clicked.

"Holy shit the girl in the backless dress is Helga."

Phoebe laughed. "Yep, I thought so, too. If we're all trying to fool each other, the best thing to do would be to wear the one thing we definitely wouldn't wear. Besides, Olga can be pretty pushy."

"I can see that," Thad replied, stunned. "She doesn't have anything on my beautiful Rhonda's dress, but she looks hot."

Phoebe nodded, noting that Arnold and Rhonda had finished their dance and were moving toward them, Arnold gallantly holding out his arm for Rhonda to take. "Did you want to see Rhonda now or later?"

"Why?"

"She's on her way here."

Thad blanched. "Oh, shit. I guess I'll—"

"Too late."

"Hey, guys!" Arnold greeted kindly. "I don't know who you two are, but it's great to see you."

Rhonda rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Arnold, you are too much."

The blond grinned, winking at her. "Très magnifique, oui?"

She laughed, "Oui!"

Meanwhile, Thad seethed with barely-controlled jealousy. Phoebe put a calming hand on his shoulder, patting it slowly since he wouldn't be able to see her smile at him. It was just as well, she figured; her smile probably wouldn't be half as calming as Rhonda's.

"I'm sure you know who we are by now," Arnold grinned, "So I guess it's our turn to figure you two out?"

Rhonda nodded. "I'm sure, between the two of us, we'll have this mystery solved in a trice!"

"When did you two get so buddy-buddy?" Thad asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Thad, are you jealous?" Rhonda asked, smirking.

"How do you know I'm Thad?" he challenged.

Arnold—Arnold, of all people—rolled his eyes. "You'd have to be pretty dense not to get that you're about to kill me for breathing the same air as Rhonda."

"Now will you please stop running away from me and date me already? I've forgiven you for being a semi-misogynistic freak when we were younger. You're a better person now and I like you for it, okay?" Rhonda cocked her hip, resting a delicate hand there.

And that was where Thad's attention strayed because, day-um, did she have some hips.

"I…yes, please. Make me your man slave."

"Oh, love," Rhonda sighed, "You should know I don't believe in those silly dichotomies or dominance plays. We're equal lovers. You just have to do everything I say without questioning it, comprendre?"

"Oui, mon cher," Thad sighed, a lovesick puppet, and he was led away by Rhonda, who smirked; now that she had him, she was going to show him off.

Arnold and Phoebe laughed, watching them go. Arnold turned to the smaller girl, cocking his head curiously. "Well, now I have to figure out who you are."

Phoebe shrugged.

"No voice? That'll make it harder." Arnold grinned. "I like challenges."

Phoebe giggled—no wonder Helga frequently fell for Arnold's charms.

"Let's see, I know you're not Sheena, Patty, Helga, or Lila," he said, looking at each of the girls in the room as he said their names, sans Helga. Unfortunately, he pouted, he still hadn't found Helga. The other girls, though, were easy enough to figure out. He looked back down at the girl who was looking into the crowd. He followed her gaze to where a bunch of girls were surrounding a tall boy in a white suit, with an odd white hoodie…

Wait, wasn't that Arnold's white hoodie?

Gerald!

Which meant…Arnold smirked, looking back down at the girl. "Phoebe."

She jumped, then sighed. "How did you know?"

"My little secret. Why are you staring at that guy?"

Phoebe shrugged. "I want to believe that's Gerald, but I'm not sure. All the girls seem to like him, but he looks like he's just pushing them away. I'd like to think Gerald would do that for me."

Arnold raised a brow. "You think he wouldn't?"

"I…" she sighed. "I know how Gerald is. He's a player. I know he loves me, and I love him, but it doesn't change who he is."

Arnold smiled. "Maybe he pretended to be a player because he didn't know how to be himself. Maybe when he's with you, he's himself—the kind of guy that—" Arnold looked over, watching as Gerald unwittingly shoved a girl away so hard that she fell—"that viciously shoves girls to the ground."

The Asian girl laughed. "Maybe, but I'd have to see it to believe it."

"Well, let's go find him. In the meantime, whom have you figured out?"

They walked around a talked, pointing at people and figuring them out easily. Sheena, Rhonda, Thad, Patty, Harold, Stinky, Lila were on the list of those easily found. They conversed with a few more people, figuring out Peapod Kid in his green suit; Eugene in his strangely fitting purple suit; Park in his white dress shirt and black slacks; Sid, who thought it was a good idea to wear white go-go boots; Lorenzo, who didn't bother to wear a mask; and Brainy, who was surprisingly good at hiding.

But no Helga or Gerald. There were a few more people lounging around, some of whom neither Arnold nor Phoebe had ever met, making it harder to find their elusive friends. Meanwhile, Gerald wasn't having much luck, either.

The girl he'd followed turned out to be some freshman that thought he was hitting on her. Soon enough, the other freshman girls crowded him once they figured out he was on the varsity basketball team. With a groan, Gerald shoved them away as gently as he could, trying to get to the other side. He caught a quick glimpse of Arnold, who looked like he was talking to a girl, before they kept walking. Gerald rushed away from the girls as quickly as he could and ran into someone.

"Oof! Sorry!" he cried.

"Criminy, bucko, watch where you're going!" the girl said, frowning.

Gerald gaped at the girl in the ice-blue dress, with the daring line going between her breasts and opening on her back. "Helga?"

She blinked. "G-Gerald?"

"Wow, Helga. I did not know you could look like that! You actually look hot!"

Helga rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks. I guess you look okay, too. You seen Arnold or Phoebe?"

He nodded. "I saw Arnold talking to some girl; I think they were working their way around the room to figure everyone out. Only natural, since Arnold can't hide his head."

Helga laughed, but stopped as she noted the approach of the girls Gerald had been surrounded by. "Uh, Gerald?"

"Damn, don't they know when to quit?"

Helga scoffed. "They've been fed lies all their lives about how to attract men. So, no, they don't."

Impulsively, Gerald threw his arm around Helga's shoulders and leaned in, appearing to be talking intimately to her. Helga, in return, craned her neck and turned to face toward him, so her hair covered her reaction.

"What the hell are you doing?! What if Phoebe or Arnold sees us?!"

"We can explain later!" Gerald insisted. "Now just help me!"

Luckily, the girls seemed to get the hint and backed away. With a sigh, Gerald drew away from Helga, shuddering.

"Now what?" Helga frowned, feeling the shivers.

"Suddenly…I feel like I'm going to die…"

Lila giggled, having returned to Helga's side with Stinky. "Oh, Gerald, I'm ever so sure you're overreacting."

"Look!" Arnold smiled, on the other side of the room as he pointed towards a girl in a pink ball gown, "Maybe that's Helga!"

Phoebe shook her head and smiled. "Let's go check."

Of course, it turned out to Gloria, who politely conversed with them for a while. Dejected, Arnold turned around to seek out Gerald, and saw the boy suddenly lean down into the blonde girl's space, looking as though he were kissing her neck. His jaw dropped in shock and, seeing his face, Phoebe followed his line of sight to see Helga cozying up with the white-suited man.

"Oh, dear," she thought.

"Uh…shit," Arnold expressed.

"L-Let's go say hi, I guess," Phoebe said.

Arnold nodded nervously. Did Phoebe know who Gerald was? After seeing that, after figuring out it was Gerald, would they break up? Why would Gerald do that? Arnold frowned as they walked to the couple by the drinks table. Arnold knew for a fact that Gerald loved Phoebe, so there had to be some good reason…he just couldn't see it yet. Then, his green gaze slid toward the blonde Gerald was talking to. Just like before, his eyes couldn't help skimming her body, lingering on the tastefully revealed skin through the dress.

He shook his head slightly. He was in love with Helga, and there was no way that girl was Helga.

And then it clicked.

Helga! She was Helga! The only other blonde girl in their class was Helga—and if that weren't enough, Helga was the tallest girl in the class. That girl was easily 5'8, at the most. Only Patty was taller, and Arnold knew for sure who Patty was. Suddenly, he glared death at Gerald. Not only was Gerald getting close to another girl, but that girl also happened to be his Helga?

Cue the four horsemen.

Phoebe, similarly, was wondering why Helga would suddenly get to intimate with another person who wasn't Arnold. It wasn't like Helga could confuse someone for him—Arnold's head was entirely too distinctive. Was it a ruse to get Arnold jealous? How was it supposed to work if Arnold was too dense to figure out that she was Helga?

"Guys?" Gerald croaked.

"Yeah?"

"I think I know why I feel like I'm gonna die," he replied, pointing to a rapidly approaching Arnold, who practically dragged the poor girl in blue. Lila looked over to where he was pointing and nearly fainted.

There was one time she offhandedly mentioned to the blond that Helga might have moved on from Arnold and that he should probably do the same—it was a favor for Helga, who wanted to be sure Arnold was still in love with her. "Love" was an understatement. If it weren't for Arnold's genuinely compassionate and somewhat unconfident nature, she was sure Arnold's love would venture into "Curly" territory. Just mentioning that Helga was moving on was like invoking the fifth level of hell in her living room.

And, Lila decided, she was never going to be put through that again, even for Helga.

So, she promptly grabbed Stinky's hand and pulled him away, muttering, "I'm just ever so sure we're getting the fuck out of here…" to herself. A perplexed Stinky followed her, as did the confused gazes of Phoebe and Helga. Gerald, however, knew exactly where Lila was coming from and dreaded it.

Oblivious, and deciding it was better to ignore her friends' oddities, Helga tilted her head and smiled at Phoebe. So, that's where she was hiding. "What about Arnold and the mystery girl?"

"Arnold is going to kill me!"

Finally, Arnold and Phoebe approached the other couple, if somewhat cautiously.

"Hi," Arnold ground out, severely, and Helga looked confused.

God, Arnold groaned internally, to think he'd been so blind and so dense not to figure out that Helga would go all out for a party like this! And she was stunning. He loved the way she normally looked, but Helga was pulling all of Arnold's strings without knowing it. The dress she was wearing made him want to rip it off—foreign as those feelings were. Helga's ample chest was bigger than the dress was intended for, so instead of a large valley between her breasts, there was just a hint of round, supple flesh that Arnold suddenly found himself wanting to explore.

Fucking Gerald.

"Please don't kill me!" Gerald suddenly cried. "I was only using her to hide from those clingy freshman girls! I didn't do anything to impugn her purity!"

Helga laughed. "Oh, my god."

Phoebe blinked, then laughed as that hysterical voice registered. "Gerald?"

Gerald stopped guarding himself and looked at the petite girl. "Phoebe? Baby, is that you?"

"Oh, you big Neanderthal!" she cried happily, jumping into his arms. "I can't believe you threw a girl to the floor for me!"

Gerald smiled bashfully. "Anything for you, babe. I'm all yours." He frowned. "In my defense, I'm pretty sure she threw herself, though."

As they hugged it out and flew to their own world, Arnold turned to Helga, valiantly trying to keep his gaze somewhere decent. "Helga?"

She smiled. "Yeah, Football Head?"

Holy fucking Christ.

"Marry me," he blurted out.

She paled dramatically. "W-What?"

At this point, all noise in the warehouse had stopped as Rhonda watched closely from her perch on the stairs, eagerly listening.

Arnold blanched, sincerely considered running away, but he'd said it and he wasn't going to take it back now, not when she was looking so vulnerable and beautiful and—

"Would you please just fucking tell her already so you can stop stalking her day and night?!" Gerald hissed. Arnold gave him a sidelong glare, trying to ignore Phoebe's giggles. He turned back to a shell-shocked, red-faced Helga, and he gently gripped her face in his hands.

"I love you, Helga."

"Love?" she squeaked, her eyes dilating.

Helga unconsciously leaned forward, brushing her almost visible chest against him. And then something in Arnold snapped.

"You heard me, Helga! I love you! Love you! Who else do you think has been stalking you every weekend, building bouquets for you in their room, writing volumes and volumes of songs about you!? I love you, Helga! I've always loved you, ever since I first laid eyes on your adorable pink bow! And from that moment and very moment since, whether I knew it or not, I've lived and dreamed for you—dreamed of the moment I could finally man up and tell you how much I—oh, just come here!"

Exasperated, angry, and a little turned on, Arnold pulled Helga's face towards his, sealing his lips over hers and pouring in all the emotion he had bottled for the last few years. At first, Helga was stiff, and Arnold almost pulled away, dejected; then—she melted. Her body fell into his, right into the cradle of his arms, like she was made to be there—like he was made to hold her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, tugging him as close as he could get. His tongue lapped at her lips, begging for entrance, and her mouth opened easily.

The clocked tolled midnight.

Hallelujah.

The auditorium broke out in cheers as they kissed, confetti raining down on the partygoers. The blonds pulled away from each other, smiling goofily, foreheads leaning against the other.

"So…?" Arnold asked quietly.

Helga grinned. "It could have never been no."

Rhonda laughed loudly, running down to them and wrapping an arm around both their shoulders. "I win the bet!"

"Bet?" Arnold asked, looking confused, but happy.

Helga rolled her eyes. "She bet you were going to propose tonight and that you'd figure out who I was."

Arnold smirked. "You didn't think I'd figure out it was you?"

"In my defense, you're pretty—"

Arnold groaned. "Okay, okay. I get it. Sometimes, I'm dense."

"Sometimes?" Gerald said incredulously.

Red stained Arnold's cheeks and he held up a hand to herald a waiter. "Can I get some vodka over here!?"

Helga laughed. Famous last words, indeed.

The party went on, lasting long into the evening and just as dawn was breaking, Arnold and Helga requested a ride home. Their driver graciously ignored the two teenagers restlessly kissing and pawing at each other; he kindly opened the car door for them and helped them open the front door to the Sunset Arms, watching them stumble inside.

Helga pulled off her shoes at the steps while Arnold tore off his mask; she started pulling at his buttons and Arnold worked on pulling the pins out of her hair. They made it to Arnold's room in record time, unheeding of the hour or the décor. Arnold picked Helga up easily and tossed her on the bed, following closely. He smiled down at her, stroking her hair lovingly.

Helga smiled back. "Who would've known that Arnold Shortman was so…aggressive?"

Arnold smirked possessively and lowered his head to her neck; his voice was deep and husky and it sent shivers to the vertex of Helga's legs. "You bring out the best in me."

His hands were on her legs, slowly inching the dress up, quickly dipping between her legs, then continuing their ascent up her body. Helga shuddered, gripping the sheets and arching her back. Arnold kissed his way down her neck, to her collarbone, and his lips suddenly met mesh.

With an impatience and ferocity that surprised him, Arnold ripped the dress off her.

"Whoa!" Helga blinked, laughing breathlessly. "Someone is excited."

Arnold's hands skated up, teasing Helga, as he kissed her cheek, words laden with lust. "You…have no idea."

Helga disagreed, as she could quite easily feel Arnold's…excitement on her thigh through his trousers. Deciding that that was a Bad Thing, Helga went to work on helping Arnold remove them.

"Wait, wait, wait," Arnold mumbled, reluctantly breaking away from Helga as she placed insistent kisses on his jaw.

"What?" she moaned, and the sound went straight to Arnold's erection.

"Wait here," he said instead, getting up quickly and crossing the room. She propped herself up on her elbows as she watched him search for something in his desk. He seemed to find it and walked back to the bed, hurrying to take his clothes off as he did. When he returned to the bed, he was nearly naked, only clad in a pair of white boxers. Helga smiled up at him, down to only her pink panties.

He held out a hand and helped her up, positioning her meticulously in the center of the moonlight that streamed in from the skylight. She looked at him curiously before her eyes widened.

He'd gotten down on his knees and opened a small box.

"I know I said this all before," he began, smiling up at her, "And I know this is a little weird cause we're both naked, but I love you. Helga, I never want to go another day without you knowing that I love you, that I need you, and that I will always be here for you. I don't care if our engagement lasts until the end of college…I just want to be sure that, one day, I'm your husband.

Will you marry me, Helga Geraldine Pataki?"

Helga wiped away tears, laughing at herself; laughing at their being practically naked; laughing at the whole thing, before she nodded and tackled him into a hug.

"I love you," she whispered.

Arnold grinned gleefully as she kneeled between his legs. "Love?"

Helga let out a shuddery breath; she needed to say this. She needed this closure.

"You heard me, pal! I love you! Love you! Who else do you think has been stalking you night and day, building shrines to you in a closet, filling volumes of books with poems about you? I love you, Arnold! I've always loved you, ever since I first laid eyes on your stupid Football Head! And from that moment and every moment since, I've lived and dreamed for you—dreamed of the moment I could finally tell you of my secret feelings so I could grab you and kiss you and—oh, come here, you big lug!"

She kissed him with all the passion she could muster; the kiss became the envoy of all her fears, hopes, dreams, frustrations…

And love.

"I'm confused. Did you just say you loved me?" Arnold finally asked, and even as he tried to catch his breath, his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

She rolled her eyes. "What—Are you deaf?"

Arnold kissed her. "No. I just want you to marry me and I want to make sure you love me because I'll never be able to love anyone the way I love you. Call me a romantic, but I think we're perfect for each other." He kissed her again.

She pulled away, breathless, smiling at him. "Yes, you big, dumb idiot. Yes."

Grinning, Arnold pulled out the ring—a thin silver band, heart cut, prong setting, D color diamond, with little pink stones surrounding the heart—and slid it onto her ring finger.

Helga smiled through her tears.

It was a perfect fit.

"Now that that's figured out, would kindly get back on the bed so I can have sex with you?" Arnold teased.

She slugged him, hard.

And then kissed him to make it better.

The following Sunday, despite terrible hangovers, the kids showed up to Gerald Field like they always did for their weekly baseball game. The first to arrive, unsurprisingly, were Lila and Stinky, who had refrained from drinking. Eventually, the rest of the remaining PS 118 alumni managed to drag themselves to the field for a lackluster game of baseball.

Well, nearly everyone. Arnold and Helga were suspiciously missing the entire game.

After saying goodbye to everyone, Phoebe and Gerald joined hands and walked to the Sunset Arms with Lila, to see if their friends had overslept.

"Bet they had sex," Gerald said on the walk there.

Lila had blushed fiercely, "Well, I should hope they enjoyed themselves."

Phoebe only smiled.

Finally, they arrived at the door and were let in by Phil, who complained about loud noises waking him up in the evening, causing the teens to grin. They trotted up to Arnold's room; Gerald unlocked the bedroom door with the spare key and they walked inside.

Clothes were strewn everywhere. Gerald flinched away from the doorknob, where Arnold's boxers were hanging. Helga's panties somehow managed to stick themselves to the skylight, causing Gerald, Phoebe, and Lila to question the laws of physics. Astonished, Phoebe picked up the expensive, designer dress Helga had worn and was surprised to see she was only holding half; Lila picked up the other half of the dress, noting that the rip was straight down the middle. Phoebe's mouth hung open as she stared at it, at Gerald, at Lila, and finally, at the sleeping couple on the bed who were—thankfully—covered by Arnold's blanket.

"Do…Do you think Helga…?" Gerald asked, motioning towards the dress.

They got their answer, however, when Arnold stirred and smiled at Helga, unheeding of their presence.

Gently, he moved a curl away from her face and kissed her nose. With a groan that rekindled Arnold's libido, Helga opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"Hey," she whispered, voice hoarse.

He grinned. "Hey, beautiful."

"Do you think I could get some water?" she asked. He nodded, reaching above her to the bookcase, where he kept a bottle of water. She drank it greedily and lay back down.

"Well, Arnoldo, you sure know how to work a girl's vocal chords."

Arnold smirked, a little smug, "It's not satisfying if you're not screaming my name."

Gerald and Phoebe's jaws dropped open. Lila clamped a hand over her mouth, trying desperately not to squeal.

"And did you have to rip my dress off, Football Head?" she griped.

"You loved it," he whispered, voice dropping to that husky octave again, igniting a small fire in the pit of Helga's stomach.

"You sexy bastard," she growled, grabbing his face and pulling him down for a kiss—until a long, high-pitched sound interrupted her. Confused, both blonds looked around and noticed Gerald, Phoebe, and Lila standing in Arnold's doorway, the sound emanating from a disbelieving Gerald.

He continued his noise for a few more seconds—stopped, took a breath—continued for another thirty seconds, then finally shut his mouth. Phoebe cleared her throat.

"Well," she said, "Now that we know you're okay, we can leave."

Arnold and Helga glanced at each other.

"Yeah, okay, Pheebs. I'll call you later," Helga replied, nonchalant.

Arnold smiled at them. "Thanks for checking on us, Phoebe and Lila. When Gerald snaps out of it, tell him I'll text him so we can go to the arcade and hang out later."

"Oh, of course. And I'm ever so happy, just ever so happy, that you two finally had sex!" Lila cheered.

Helga blushed. "Lila!"

"Well, honestly. All that pent up sexual aggression in Arnold was going to kill someone," the redhead justified and Phoebe officially heard enough.

With a brisk nod, Phoebe grabbed Gerald and Lila and forcefully pulled them out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind her.

Seconds passed and Phoebe and Lila burst into laughter, hearing the guffaws of the blonds on the other side of the door. Gerald, it seemed, was still catatonic.

Well, she could fix that.

"Gerald, how about we go to my place and show them how it's done?"

That snapped him out of it, real quick.

"So, you're officially a couple now?" Rhonda asked on Monday, leaning against the locker beside Helga, Lila and Stinky.

"We're officially engaged now, thanks to you," Helga smiled. "Thanks, hime sama."

"Dou itashimashite," Rhonda replied in Japanese with a smirk. "Isn't this Phoebe's shtick, by the way?"

Lila shrugged. "She's busy trying to prove she and Gerald have better sex than Arnold and Helga do. I'm not in the running since Stinky refuses to have sex before marriage."

Stinky chuckled and, languidly, wrapped an arm around Lila's petite shoulders. "Call me old-fashioned, but some things have got to be done right."

"Whatever you say, Stinky," Helga smirked. "You're just scared you'll lose the bet."

"Can I get in on that?" Thad asked as he hugged his girlfriend from behind, a wide smile on his face. "I bet Rhonda and I are nasty freaks compared to you losers."

Helga gave him a level stare for a few seconds; just as her mouth opened for a retort, an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to a broad, firm chest. She smiled up at Arnold lovingly, who grinned down at her and pecked her lips.

"I prefer it if our best friends are not savvy to our bedroom life, sweetheart," Arnold said. Helga let out a long-suffering sigh, but her knees buckled and she swooned inwardly, and her smile was all the agreement Arnold needed.

"You're just saying that because you're a total dominatrix, Arnold," Gerald laughed, approaching them with Phoebe on his arm. The petite brunette was laughing with him, though she at least tried to stifle them.

"Arnold's a dominatrix?" Rhonda scoffed. "Now I've heard everything."

"Oh, you should have seen it, Rhonda," Lila's eyelids lowered suggestively as she wrapped an arm around Rhonda and tried to imitate Arnold. "It's not satisfying if you're not screaming my name."

Rhonda and the others burst into fits of laughter, Helga being the only exception. Instead, she cuddled closer to Arnold, the light flush of her cheeks betraying her thoughts.

Arnold blushed hotly. "Why do we have to know every facet of each others' lives?"

Helga grinned, leaning up to kiss the corner of Arnold's lips, watching happily as his lips turned up into a smile.

"Well, how else are we going to prove we're the best in bed, Football Head?"

Fin