Helga was at the school just a little before six o’clock, completely and utterly composed. This was because she had spent the last two and a half hours fanatically in the throes of every emotion in the human spectrum and thus getting them out of her system. She had started off by screaming at the walls, punching and kicking anything in her room that was available to be a punching bag, burying her face in her hands and sobbing with sadness and anger, “Why why why why why am I such a screw-up? My one chance to get it right and I bolt out of the building like it’s on fire! Why can’t I kiss him with the love and tenderness I feel?” And so on and so forth.

Once the bitterness had been expelled from her, however, she practically threw herself on her Arnold shrine, still crying but now her tears were from joy and love, now able to focus on the positives of that afternoon—and boy howdy, did the positives outweigh the negatives.

“I might have screwed it up,” she said, her voice lilting and quavering with love like it always did when she addressed her shrine, “but it was still absolutely perfect! Oh, how will I ever be able to kiss this shrine again now that I finally know what reality is like? And how perfect that reality is, even though you don’t love me and thought I was just acting—but oh, Arnold, Arnold, the way you looked at me after I finally showed you a veiled form of my love! Your eyes, you gentle, caring, wonderful, amazing, perfect soul who can care for even the likes of me—oh, I just know the way you looked at me, the way you felt when I kissed you—holy mother of God I KISSED YOU!—oh, they’ll never leave me! The thought of them shall keep me happy even in my darkest days! But oh, Arnold, my love, my darling, if only you gazed upon me in that manner every day!” She paused for a much-needed breath, bit her lip in thought, and shrugged, embracing the football-shaped head of her shrine. “Oh well, right now I’ll just take what I can get!”

She spent the rest of the afternoon before heading back for the play in that manner: heartfelt declarations to the shrine (imagining that it really was Arnold, of course); leaning against the wall blissfully and reliving that screwed up, perfect kiss over and over again; writing no less than eight poems about said kiss; and allowing herself to foolishly and childishly spin around her room and shout, “I’m so in love with you!”

But now Helga was back to relative normalcy. After changing into her costume, putting on her makeup, and reluctantly allowing Phoebe to braid her hair, she retreated to the quietest nook in the dressing room that she could find and pretended to look over her lines, even though she knew them all perfectly.

And the play started and she acted. She hadn’t thought she would really feel like she was actually acting in such circumstances, but oddly enough, the more she reminded herself she was acting the more natural she felt. She was, to her surprise, thinking in terms of herself as Juliet, and Arnold as Romeo. Of course, the fact that she happened to love Arnold more than life itself certainly helped to make the acting that much easier, but the added nervousness from that afternoon was gone.

That is, up until the start of the last scene.

Helga lay motionless on the tomb, mentally preparing herself for what was to happen. Arnold’s going to kiss my hand, and I’m going to kiss him. On the lips. As fast as her heart was beating, however, she found that she wasn’t nearly as on edge as she had been during rehearsal. I handled it earlier today—well, not exactly perfectly, but this time I know what to expect and what kind of reaction I’ll have, so it’ll be fine. It’ll be more than fine! He’ll kiss my hand again, so tenderly, and I’ll kiss him with all the love I can possibly muster—I’ll kiss him for the fourth time today! Man, am I having a good day! Confusing and terrifying, but good!

“Here’s to my love,” Arnold was saying, the moment of his kiss almost there. She felt him let go of her hand and heard him gulp down whatever it was in his goblet. He then gave out a quick little choke with his next line: “Oh true apothecary!” Nice touch, love, Helga thought to herself. “Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss—”

Helga steeled her nerves, readying herself for the brush of his lips against her hand.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, she suddenly felt his lips touch hers.

Her eyes flew open. Luckily, that was the only part of her body that still worked—the rest was frigid with shock. But her eyes were open, and locked that way, seeing him there and confirming that she wasn’t just feeling things in her love-daze.

His eyes met hers for a moment, consciously. And almost apologetically. Apologetic in that sweet, caring way of his that was making her insides turn to mush, and the only thing she could think was damn you, Arnold, there went my composure.

The soft touch of his lips against hers lasted no more than half a second, as well as the eye contact that seemed to ask for forgiveness, and with that the moment was over—he fell away from her, choking out his final line, “I die,” and crumpling to the floor, leaving Helga to feel very much like dying herself—anything to stop the sudden trembling that was threatening to overtake her entire body. Damn you damn you DAMN YOU I had EVERYTHING under control and you had to mess it up I HATE YOU for doing this to me YOU KISSED ME you ANGEL HOW I LOVE YOU—

Romeo’s death was Friar Laurence’s—Stinky’s—cue to enter. “Romeo! Oh, pale! Who else? What, Paris too, and steeped in blood! Ah, what an unkind hour is guilty of this lamentable chance!”

That was Helga’s cue to wake, which she did, gladly—maybe saying her lines would get her out of her trembling.

“The lady stirs!” Stinky said, as if anyone needed to be told.

As much as her insides were shaking, Helga was surprised at how well she managed to say her line—it was still shaky, but considering Juliet had been in a coma for forty-two hours, it seemed appropriate. “Oh, comfortable friar, where is my lord?” she said slowly, hoping to catch herself if her voice trailed too much into her still raging fervor. “I do remember well where I should be, and there I am. Where is my Romeo?”

“Come, come away!” Stinky said. “Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead—” Helga looked down at Arnold and allowed herself to gasp as if she really had discovered her beloved had died—“and Paris too. Stay not to question, for the watch is coming. Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.”

“Go, get thee hence, for I will not away!” Helga moaned in anguish, cradling Arnold’s head in her arms.

“Okie-dokie,” said Stinky amiably. That wasn’t a Shakespeare line, but it didn’t seem out of place.

“What’s here? A cup, closed in my true love’s hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end!” Her voice was shaking more and more—but again, it seemed appropriate. “Oh churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips.” She touched them, traced their outline with her finger, remembering their touch on hers just minutes before. “Haply some poison yet doth hang on them to make me die with a restorative.” There were tears running down her cheeks—hadn’t she cried them all out earlier? Oh well. Again, they were appropriate. And right now, she didn’t really care how she might seem to the audience. Her composure had disappeared the instant Arnold’s lips touched hers, and there was no way on earth she could fight it right now—so why not run with it?

Besides, now it was time to kiss him.

She leaned in with no hesitation this time, pressing her lips against his and just kissing, kissing, kissing him, thinking about how he had only just kissed her and much she wished that kiss could have lasted forever—or at least a couple seconds longer. Oh, how amazing it was, their lips touching! How perfectly they melded together—if she had needed any more proof how much he was meant for her, the way his lips fit perfectly with hers had to be it. It was amazing. And yet it couldn’t last forever—tomorrow she would go back to being Helga and he would go back to being Arnold, and as much as she wished otherwise, kissing was not a crucial component—or even a component at all—in the play of their lives.

This was it. This was really it. She wouldn’t ever get a chance like this again—at least, unless she ever worked up the guts to tell him she loved him and then she could kiss him like this again—but that wasn’t going to happen, she knew, not for a long time, if ever. This was all there was left for her—don’t waste your moment!

So she kept on kissing him. And kept on kissing him. …And kept on kissing him.

It was finally lack of oxygen that forced her to tear away, panting for breath as if she had just run a marathon—and with her heart beating as furiously as it was, it felt like she had. Okay, now back to the play—finish this off and you can go home and squeal and swoon and write all the poetry you want but you have to FINISH THIS!

“Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief!” She dropped Arnold quickly, making him hit the floor with a painful wince yet again. Inwardly she winced with him, appalled that she could hurt him like that again, but there was no time to get mushy—mushier—right now. She grabbed the retractable prop dagger from his belt. “Oh happy dagger! This is thy sheath! There rust, and let me die!”

She pushed the prop dagger into her abdomen and let herself scream in anguish, giving voice to her pounding heart and pounding head. Again, probably longer than necessary, but she had to let something out. Finally, she stumbled over, toppling not so coincidentally right on top of Arnold. The curtains closed.

The audience cheered as the rest of the cast made their way back onstage for the bows.

“Ugh!” Helga muttered. It was the first thing out of her mouth, and she wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t quite get herself to stand up, despite Arnold’s nudging, as he was still pinned underneath her.

“Uh, Helga, we have to get up for the bows—”

“I know! I know! That fall took a lot out of me,” she said shakily—oh, huge understatement!—and tried to stand up. She only succeeded in moving enough so that Arnold could climb to his feet, however. He grabbed her by the hand and helped her up.

“Th-thanks,” she murmured, forgetting to be mean to him. Arnold smiled at her.

The curtains opened to show the audience enthusiastically clapping, many of them in tears. Helga looked out at them in shock—she was aware that she had moved herself to tears, but everyone else?

Arnold noticed it, too. “I guess we did alright, Helga,” he said to her with another smile.

“I guess so,” Helga said without thinking, still surprised at how she had affected the audience. Then she suddenly remembered that she wasn’t Juliet anymore. “Except for that disgusting kiss. Yuck! I practically threw up!”

They all took a bow.

Arnold was silent during the bow, perhaps wondering just what kiss she had meant. “Then why did you kiss me so long?” he finally asked, identifying the last one—the one she had initiated.

“Hey, I was acting, football head, I was being professional—did you think I wanted to do that? I practically gagged.”

They bowed again.

Arnold sighed. “Whatever you say, Helga,” he said, giving her a good-natured smile.

Helga let herself sigh and smile, too.

…………

As Helga changed out of her costume and back into her normal dress, she felt as if she were floating. No, really, floating outside of her body. And as anxious as she was to get back home and squeal some more like the lovesick moron she was and write probably twenty more poems about this long, confusing, amazing, dreamlike day, everything that had happened to her that day had finally caught up to her, and so by the time she was finally finished backstage (except she still had the braid in her hair—she wanted to keep at least some part of Juliet for as long as possible), she realized that almost everyone else had left.

“Time slows down for you when you’re in a daze,” she murmured. What a lame observation. That just proved it—she needed to go home and go to bed, she was an incoherent blob of jelly. She pushed open the door to the girls’ dressing room and stepped out into the hallway.

Mr. Simmons was there, picking up discarded programs and conversing with the few people left in the building. When he saw Helga, however, he turned his entire attention to her. “Helga! You did a fantastic job tonight!”

“I did?” Helga said, surprised not only at his words but also his enthusiasm.

“More than fantastic—superb! Incredible! You definitely have an acting career in your future.”

“I don’t want to be an actor, I want to be a writer,” Helga said without thinking. Oh, crap, wait, this isn’t the time for heartfelt confessions of hopes and dreams!

“Well, if you ever wanted to embark on a double career, you certainly have the capacity for both!” Mr. Simmons said.

“Thank you,” Helga murmured. There she was again, too surprised by praise to be able to react in any way other than gratefully. Which went totally against her reputation—thank God no one else was here to see this—

Mr. Simmons focused his attention on something behind Helga. “Arnold! You did a great job, too!”

Helga’s eyes looked up to the ceiling hopelessly. Oh God, WHY?

“Thanks,” said Arnold warmly.

“All those lines you had—and you did great, you remembered them all… well, with a few trip ups here and there, but nobody’s perfect!”

But he’s the closest to perfect the world has ever seen, Helga thought to herself, taking a step away from them and towards the main doors.

“But Arnold, I have to ask,” said Mr. Simmons. “Why exactly did you kiss Helga?”

Helga stopped and turned around.

Arnold’s cheeks flushed apologetically. “Well, actually, Mr. Simmons, it was because of what you said to Helga.”

“What I said?”

“Yeah… when you were telling her that she had to act more natural, that she had to imagine that she loved me and that if I was dead, she wasn’t going to be harsh and unfeeling. And that made me think…” He glanced at Helga. “When I thought that she was dead, I mean, when Romeo thought Juliet was dead…” He shrugged, still looking Helga directly in the eye. “If I love her and I think she’s dead, I’m not just going to kiss her hand. I mean, if I really loved her, I’d kiss her like… well, like I really loved her. So I did.”

Helga’s jaw was hanging open.

“Well, Arnold, I think that really added a great touch,” said Mr. Simmons with a smile. “And you’ve certainly embraced the message of the play—”

“The play is stupid,” Helga suddenly said.

Both Arnold and Mr. Simmons stared at her.

“I mean it! This play has the worst possible message any romantic play could ever have!” Helga continued. Because she had to continue. Now, after Arnold’s explanation for the kiss, she knew she couldn’t make it home without bursting, so she’d have to start her bursting here. And there was only one way she could do that without completely and totally humiliating herself. “I mean, come on! They kill each other after knowing each other for what, four days?! Oh, that’s real romantic! And a great message to show to audiences everywhere! I hated playing Juliet, because she’s an absolute moron! And don’t you dare tell me she’s moronic because she’s in love! Because she’s not in love! Real love isn’t like that! If I’d’ve written this play, I’d’ve written her way differently.” She paused, took in a couple of deep breaths, and alternated between glaring at Arnold and glaring at Mr. Simmons, daring one of them to prompt her further.

“How would you have written it, Helga?” Mr. Simmons finally asked.

Helga took another deep, shaky breath of preparation. Oh, God, she was really going to do it. Under the guise of acting as though she was acting, she was going to tell him the truth, everything that she had longed to say but never had the courage to for years. “If I were writing a romance play… I’d write it something like this.”

She took a step forward and grabbed Arnold by the shoulders.

“I love you. If there’s only one single solitary truth in this entire miserable world it’s that, you have to believe that. I know this is clichéd, but because of you, I hear birds singing and flowers blooming and I see, I see people with goodness in their hearts and I know that somehow, somehow, the world is okay! I light up with happiness every time I see you, because in you more than anyone else can I see that very goodness that makes life worth living. Because you bring it out in other people and you help people see how amazing they can be, and the amazing things they can do. But you, you’re the amazing one for being able to see that in the first place in people and things that everyone else has completely given up on. And I don’t know what I’d do without you. If you died, oh God forbid,I’d be devastated. I’d—I’d—I don’t know how I’d be able to go on. But I do know that I somehow would go on, for your sake. I would go on and do everything in my power to bring out the best in people, just like you do. I couldn’t just end my existence and ignore everything you ever taught me—I—I love you too much to do that.”

She let go of his shoulders.

“That’s… that’s how I’d write it,” she finished weakly.

It was now Arnold’s and Mr. Simmons’s turn to stand staring with their jaws hung open.

“I’d probably better go home now,” said Helga. Because if I don’t get out of here soon I’m going to absolutely faint.

“Helga,” Mr. Simmons finally said, in complete awe, “if I ever needed any more proof of your writing and acting potential, that was it!”

“Oh come on,” sighed Helga, “I don’t really—”

“He’s right,” said Arnold, with equal awe. “That was… amazing, Helga.”

“What did you say?” she whispered.

“I mean, if you can do that kind of thing all the time…” He looked almost as taken aback as Helga was sure she herself looked. “That’s talent. You could really move a lot of people with your words.”

Helga’s knees began to shake. As much as she wanted to stay and hear his praise, she knew that she had to get out of there right NOW.

“Thanks—I need to go—”

She took one step backwards, then another, then another, then turned around and headed straight for the door, without looking back.

…………

She was too tired, too giddy, too mixed-up, too confused, too completely and utterly happy to focus on writing anything when she got back home and in her room. There were so many amazing things to focus on—the fact that she had kissed Arnold four, four, times in one day; the fact that she had moved the audience to tears; the fact that Mr. Simmons and Arnold thought she was amazingly talented; the fact that her parents had actually waited for her outside the school, despite how long she had taken in getting out, to congratulate her and drive her home—but the one and only thing that was running through her mind, flashing with bright neon lights and underscored by beautiful, sweeping music was that

HE KISSED ME.

Helga clutched her pillow to her chest in rapture. “I love him I love him I love him I love him I love him!” she chanted. Normally she was far more articulate, even—especially—concerning her beloved, but right now those three words were the only ones her mouth seemed able to form. She loved him. She had kissed him four, count ‘em, four times. And HE had kissed HER.

Five times that blissful night their lips had met.

Five times.

She had gotten Shakespeare’s original deal after all.

“I’m sorry, Will,” she murmured with a giggle, climbing into her bed and pulling the covers up around her. “I guess your play’s not so stupid after all.”

She still had her arms wrapped around the pillow, however, and stroked it slowly. “Oh, Arnold,” she murmured, “please, please understand that those words I said were meant for you. Please, in some unconscious level in that football-shaped head of yours, realize that I meant everything I said, and that I meant it for you… please remember what I said…”

…………

At that very moment, laying in his own bed and staring up at the night sky through his skylight, Arnold was doing just that.

Her words were running through his head, over and over, and he couldn’t tune them out. Nor could he tune out the earnest, sincere way with which she had looked him straight in the eye when she had said them.

What an amazing actress she was. So good, in fact, that as she had said those words to him, directed to him only because he happened to be within arm’s reach and for no other reason… but even so, for a moment he found himself starting to believe her.

He rolled over on his side. That was silly—she obviously didn’t feel anything remotely close to that for him.

But, man, could she fake it well.

“I can’t get it out of my head,” he said aloud. “And I can’t believe that something like that could come out of someone like her…”

He suddenly felt himself smile. She had just proven him right. There was someone good and caring inside of her. Even though she didn’t love him like that, she could at least imagine, structure, and define love in an amazingly beautiful way. No one who was truly harsh and cold-hearted could say what Helga had just said, even if they were just pretending. Even pretend emotions had to come from somewhere.

It would be nice to be loved like that, Arnold felt himself think. Not right now, of course, I’m only nine. But maybe someday, when I’m older and ready for love… I’d like to be loved the way Helga said. Not loving someone that you’d die for them… but loving them that you’d LIVE for them. Because she’s right… that’s what true love really is.

He closed his eyes and rolled over on his back, still smiling.

After all, “live” and “love” are only one letter apart…