The Birthday
Helga put her head between hands and stared blankly toward the front of the room. Mr. Simmons was rapping off words like ice cream on a hot day and Harold, who was sitting uncomfortably in front of her, was leaning his large head on the desk and blocking Helga's view. "Why must everything be so dull?" she scribbled anxiously into her little diary. "My pencil, my class, and my LIFE!!!!!" She dotted the final mark with such enthusiasm that weary Harold lifted his head in surprise.
"Helga?" She heard her name called from across the room and closed the book hurriedly. "Helga Pataki?"
"Y-yes, Mr. Simmons?" she answered semi-casually, eyeing Arnold, whose face was turned to the back of Lila's neat head. She spat and silently cursed at L'il Miss Perfect. Mr. Simmons raised a cautious eyebrow and went on explaining about Alexander the Something-or-Other from back way before anyone cared. Phew. Helga opened up the little book again, only to be interrupted by the recess bell.
The sun beat down on the playground as jump ropes beat the floor. "Have you heard the latest news?" a group of girls crooned as Nadine hopped through the ropes with grace. "Rhonda's got some cool new shoes. How many will she have to buy? Listen here, I'll tell you: 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, 45…" As Nadine tripped, the chorus giggled. How idiotic! Helga thought, staring at the group with a look of disgust. As she moved along blindly, she bumped into someone.
Books falling from his hands, tousled-haired Arnold looked up at her. "Sorry, Helga" he said with a small smile, picking up the fallen items. The smile was a genuine one, something the girl received rarely from anyone. She breathed out; ready to say something, ready to tell Arnold how much of a clumsy football-headed jerk he was…when Phoebe came sprinting toward her.
"Hello Arnold!" said the sometimes-nerdy girl energetically. Phoebe grinned up at Helga with over-enthusiasm and twirled in a small circle. Helga returned the gesture with a confused grimace. "Do you not realize what day it is?" she shot out, staring at the two with amazement. "It's your BIRTHDAY, Helga!" she breathed, shoving a colourfully wrapped box into her friend's hands. It had a pink bow; matching the one Helga wore poised on her hair, pinned neatly to the shocking blue wrapping paper.
Already another year old? Helga thought blankly. She was ten, and no one, least of all her, had remembered the day. As if Bob and Miriam ever made it something to celebrate! If they managed to remember, all she'd get was a beeper-shaped cake from the display of them Bob was selling for a ridiculous price. Maybe Miriam would get her a doll or something, or maybe a pair of Olga's old clothes. It didn't seem to matter. It was just one year closer to when they could get rid of her.
"It's your birthday, Helga?" said Arnold with interest. She nodded, surprised as he was. "Congratulations!" She beamed inside, but showed outwardly a bored grimace. "I'm sorry I didn't know…er…Why don't you take this?" He pushed a book into her hands and walked quickly into the distance, leaving her staring at the torn cover. It was brown, blank, and boring. No pictures, no words, and torn at the edges. She pried open the book.
It was a photo album - quite an odd one too - filled almost completely with drawings of planes and clouds. Stuck in between were a few scattered pictures of Arnold's parents and grandparents. Why did he give this to me? Helga whispered to herself, turning page after page with confused interest. On the final one, there was a note stuck in, written in rushed cursive. "I carry this with me always" it read, "and will give it up with the same devotion. If you read this, you are true friend. -Arnold". A true friend. Helga stared at the words with wide-eyed delight. The recess bell rang, ending the break and this story.
The End
Helga put her head between hands and stared blankly toward the front of the room. Mr. Simmons was rapping off words like ice cream on a hot day and Harold, who was sitting uncomfortably in front of her, was leaning his large head on the desk and blocking Helga's view. "Why must everything be so dull?" she scribbled anxiously into her little diary. "My pencil, my class, and my LIFE!!!!!" She dotted the final mark with such enthusiasm that weary Harold lifted his head in surprise.
"Helga?" She heard her name called from across the room and closed the book hurriedly. "Helga Pataki?"
"Y-yes, Mr. Simmons?" she answered semi-casually, eyeing Arnold, whose face was turned to the back of Lila's neat head. She spat and silently cursed at L'il Miss Perfect. Mr. Simmons raised a cautious eyebrow and went on explaining about Alexander the Something-or-Other from back way before anyone cared. Phew. Helga opened up the little book again, only to be interrupted by the recess bell.
The sun beat down on the playground as jump ropes beat the floor. "Have you heard the latest news?" a group of girls crooned as Nadine hopped through the ropes with grace. "Rhonda's got some cool new shoes. How many will she have to buy? Listen here, I'll tell you: 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, 45…" As Nadine tripped, the chorus giggled. How idiotic! Helga thought, staring at the group with a look of disgust. As she moved along blindly, she bumped into someone.
Books falling from his hands, tousled-haired Arnold looked up at her. "Sorry, Helga" he said with a small smile, picking up the fallen items. The smile was a genuine one, something the girl received rarely from anyone. She breathed out; ready to say something, ready to tell Arnold how much of a clumsy football-headed jerk he was…when Phoebe came sprinting toward her.
"Hello Arnold!" said the sometimes-nerdy girl energetically. Phoebe grinned up at Helga with over-enthusiasm and twirled in a small circle. Helga returned the gesture with a confused grimace. "Do you not realize what day it is?" she shot out, staring at the two with amazement. "It's your BIRTHDAY, Helga!" she breathed, shoving a colourfully wrapped box into her friend's hands. It had a pink bow; matching the one Helga wore poised on her hair, pinned neatly to the shocking blue wrapping paper.
Already another year old? Helga thought blankly. She was ten, and no one, least of all her, had remembered the day. As if Bob and Miriam ever made it something to celebrate! If they managed to remember, all she'd get was a beeper-shaped cake from the display of them Bob was selling for a ridiculous price. Maybe Miriam would get her a doll or something, or maybe a pair of Olga's old clothes. It didn't seem to matter. It was just one year closer to when they could get rid of her.
"It's your birthday, Helga?" said Arnold with interest. She nodded, surprised as he was. "Congratulations!" She beamed inside, but showed outwardly a bored grimace. "I'm sorry I didn't know…er…Why don't you take this?" He pushed a book into her hands and walked quickly into the distance, leaving her staring at the torn cover. It was brown, blank, and boring. No pictures, no words, and torn at the edges. She pried open the book.
It was a photo album - quite an odd one too - filled almost completely with drawings of planes and clouds. Stuck in between were a few scattered pictures of Arnold's parents and grandparents. Why did he give this to me? Helga whispered to herself, turning page after page with confused interest. On the final one, there was a note stuck in, written in rushed cursive. "I carry this with me always" it read, "and will give it up with the same devotion. If you read this, you are true friend. -Arnold". A true friend. Helga stared at the words with wide-eyed delight. The recess bell rang, ending the break and this story.
The End