Sadly, none of these characters are mine,
but thanks to Craig Bartlett for letting us play with them.
Rated T for adult situations, language, and Sheena's huge boobs.
Lemme know whatcha think!
1 Hurricane Girls
It had all begun, as so many things had, at one of Rhonda's ubiquitous parties, in this instance, a post Homecoming dance bash (not to be confused with the PRE-Homecoming dance bash). Phoebe, Sheena and I made an entrance with all the subtlety of the Normandy Beach landing, and proceeded to dominate the proceedings.
Phoebe was dressed right, in leather mini-skirt, Doc Martin's, and her favorite "Angel On Probation" cutoff tee, while Sheena sported a hypnotic tube top over her prodigious bosom and jeans, her calf-length hair done into a lethal ponytail. I modestly wore one of my dad's "Beeper King" tees, cut sleeveless and "Queen" overwriting the "King". We were lookin' good and lookin' for trouble.
Mounting the stage, we bullied the band into a makeshift Karaoke machine, and proceeded to wail like banshees, much to the delight of the crowd below.
After three songs, I exited the stage to rustle up a drink, but Sheena and Pheobe still had a few tunes left in them. Working my way through the jubilant crowd, I spied the queen herself, and I gave her a little wave. Seeing me, Rhonda just shook her head slowly and gave me that "What Am I Going To Do With You" look.
In the rarefied air of the social ecosphere of the Senior class of P.S.218, Rhonda and I were equals, both enjoying a great deal of control over the hearts and minds of the senior class, and often worked in concert for a common goal. But our motivations and long term goals were different, and while she respected my clout, she didn't fear me (a tricky balance to maintain). Smiling innocently, I made a beeline for the keg table, made all the more difficult by the teen maelstrom that whirled around me.
As I extracted my beer of choice from the cooler, I saw Rhonda glide easily through the crowd towards me. "Y'know Pataki, I think I need to set a limit to the number of parties I let you guys wreck every month." she smiled, and grabbed herself a wine cooler from the ice. She was dressed magnificently in black and gold, accented bits of red and orange, looking like some earthbound goddess slumming in Hillwood.
"Stop serving Dos Equis, and we'll stop coming, it's as simple as that" I quipped, waving my lime wedge for emphasis. Despite her joking, Rhonda knew the sad and sorry truth; without the "Hurricane Girls", she had no party, and we certainly couldn't have that.
She leaned in for a whisper, "Stinky's suppose to stop in for a while tonight". I looked genuinely amazed. Puberty had been kind to almost all my grade school pals, but Stinky Peterson especially so. His tall, lanky frame filled out with VERY effective muscle mass, and his performance on the basketball court made him the darling of the entire Western Division. In spite of this, he was still a shy and gracious country boy who shunned the public eye. Getting him to attend one of her parties was another coupe for Rhonda in the dog-eat-dog world of society divas, and one that she would make sure that all the other bitches knew about.
"Great," I grinned, " I haven't seen him in months. I'll keep my eyes open." Moving off from Rhonda's orbit I caught sight of Sheena and Phoebe relinquishing control of the stage back to the band, and heading for the dance pit. It had taken us several months of ceaseless work, but Sheena and I finally got Pheobe to open up and start living her life like it desrved to be lived. My oldest friend, even as we entered high school she was a dictionary examlpe of the porndexter, which when we were in grade school was kind of cute, but by the tenth grade was just sad.
Despite my merry facade, my own troubles were starting to creep back into the front of my mind. Puberty had been generous to me as well, gracing me with a slim, curvy figure and modest (at least in comparison to Sheena) but pleasing bustline. By eighth grade, I had began a scorched-earth Champaign of academic excellence and no test or challenge could withstand my onslaught. With one small exception, my high school years were an unbroken sea of "A's". Big Bob and Miriam slowly began to take notice of my cranial prowess, and for a short time there was talk of the "Pataki Standard of Academic Excellence" in our new townhouse.
But as my stock within the clan Pataki rose, Olga's seem to decline, which I gleefully documented in my journals like Jane Goodall. More broken engagements, more squirrelly career decisions, and more capricious stunts, had all contributed to Olga's lose of the Golden Child championship belt, now worn by your's truly. Olga's all too frequent returns to the home of the beeper king were greeted more with dread and apprehension than anything else... which I found more than a little bit satisfying.
But with graduation fast approaching, a gentle heat was being applied to my backside to decide on an academic game plan. But crimeny, don't I deserve at least one more year of watching Olga fail before scholastic immersion? That's MORE than fair in my book. Lost in my own thoughts, I looked up just in time to spill my beer on.
"Arnold!" I gasp as the better part of my Dos Equis ran down the legs of his jeans.
He recovered quickly from his hopps brewed baptism to joke, "You could have at least called me Football Head first, Helga!" As he brushed himself off, he winked at me and gave me that crooked little smile I hadn't seen in three years. My legs almost gave out under me as I sputtered a weak apology but I was living in the world of that smile and having a little trouble keeping up with current events.
With no time to react, he scooped me into his arms for the nicest hug in recorded history, "How've you been, hot stuff? I hear you rule the senior class." Releasing me from the hug (NO!) but not his grasp, he transfixed me with those crystal clear blue eyes and said, "Top Honor Student four years running. Planning on giving someone else a shot at it?"
At this point he could have unhinged his jaw and begun swallowing me whole and I wouldn't have protested. Seizing the initiative, I counterstruck with a bear hug and whispered in his ear, "You ninny, why didn't you tell me you were back in town!" and MY hug would not be so stingy.
By the sixth grade Arnold and I had settled into a (very) comfortable friendship and were a fixture at most functions in our grade; not boyfriend/girlfriend mind you, but a level of trust and intimacy that many married couples never pull off. After he and his parents moved down south, we still corresponded quite regularly, keeping each other up on each others day to day world... until last year.
Without another word, he grabbed my arm and guided me towards the edge of the crowd, all the while scouting a quiet spot where we could talk. As we reached the far edge of the pool, we heard a squeal, a crash, then a mighty whoop from the crowd followed by applause and demands of 'Again!'.
Arnold stopped for a moment, looking concerned.
"Don't worry. It's either Sheena or Phoebe, most probably the latter..." I smiled, and we continued to the solitude of the dark end of the backyard.
Settling in behind the big oak next to the garage, I spun Arnold around towards me to get another look at him. Dear god in heaven, he's gorgeous! Remember what I said about the genetic lottery? When it came to getting good looks, Arnold showed up on Double-Helping Tuesdays. And while Stinky and Harold got the powerful builds of Greek Olympians, Arnold got the sleek grace and lines of a panther. His sandy blonde hair and liquid green eyes were twice as intense as I'd remembered, and he still knew just how to use them on me.
We stood silently gazing at one another for what seemed like a small eternity, when I decided to make my move. Closing my eyes, I moved forward on my tip toes for a kiss.
"Helga, I have a confession to make..." he said softly.
NO! NOOOOO! DON'T BE GAY! PLEEEEEAASE, I'M BEGGING YOU! Nightmare images of Arnold and Eugene shopping for furniture filled my head.
"I, um... I came to the party tonight looking for you."
I opened my eyes. That smile and those green eyes were the only thing that existed for me.
"Why did you stop writing, Helga?" he asked with just the slightest hint of hurt in his voice.
Gulping hard, I fought to find the words. "I...I..."
Why is it lightning never strikes you when you need it to?
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again...and..."
He raised an eyebrow "And?" I fought for composure.
"And I thought it was unfair to hold you back. I...I didn't think a long distance relationship was..."
"...healthy." I lied.
He shifted a from foot to foot, then finally just sat down in the grass. "Y'know...I was doing okay until you stopped writing..."
Off in the distance, another crash, more whooping. Defiantly Phoebe.
"For years, I thought we were just really close friends, and y'know I thought I was good with that... but... but when I lost that little bit of contact I still had with you...well, I... I found out that I really needed that. That little part of you still in my life."
I sat down beside him, snuggling in close and met his gaze. My second attempt at the kiss met with more success and no protest. His lips were firm and eager, yet velvety soft. Placing my hand on his cheek, I played the tongue card, and was dizzied by the sensation. We had kissed in the past, that sort of curious exploration kids indulge in... but it had never been anything like this. Breaking our lip lock and I pushed back from him slightly, the two of us wheezing like marathon runners.
"I'm SO sorry... I... I never mean to hurt you! I..." I managed to whisper.
He pulled me back to him and again my head was swimming. I was so totally unprepared for this encounter, but so ready for it!
Arnold was right about one thing though; as much as it had hurt to cut him loose, seeing him again just reinforced the dull ache I'd felt without him.
"We need to talk. You wanna take off?" He struggled to his feet, then helped me up. "Hold on" I said and made my way back towards the heart of the crowd. Finally spotting Phoebe, I inched my way towards her. Drink in hand, she regaled a small crowd with the story of how we broke up the carjacking ring, a true story, but over exaggerated with time.
It took me a second to realize that she was wearing someone else's shirt... and someone else's pants. Pretending that I didn't notice, I pulled her aside. "I'm taking off, have Sheena drive you home." She spied Arnold standing behind me, then looked back to me, then Arnold, then me.
"Should we wait up?" she cooed and hit me with the naughty girl eyes.
"No..." I handed her my car keys, "And I'll be expecting a full tank when I get back, dig?"
Phoebe made no attempt to hide an ear to ear grin and replied "Bwanna bwanna, Mem Sahib!"
Sheena appeared just in time to see Arnold snake his arm around my waist and tuck his hand into my back pocket. "She keeps her cash in her front pocket, dude. You'll never make it out of pick-pocket school!" she grinned.
Arnold shot her a smile that was rightfully mine (grrrrr) and we headed out to the parking lot to find his car.
To Be Continued...
The hook of this story is based on the idea that who you are in grade school, is not necessarily the same as who you are in high school. Puberty tends to change people, in more ways than you think. I also have future plans for the Hurricane Girls; Helga, Sheena and Phoebe. Hope you like em!