Eugene Horowitz, the bonafide, undisputable jinx of P.S. 118, was never supposed to be lucky. It was against the laws of nature somehow for the boy to avoid unusual, tragic accidents for very long, some of which resulted in broken bones. Which is why, when Arnold watched Eugene walk around a manhole without falling into it for the first time in his life, Arnold walked straight into the stop sign beside the hole himself.
"Ow!" Arnold complained while rubbing his nose. Then he jogged forward to meet up with Eugene, just in case his eyes had mistaken him for another boy. But no, it was Eugene all right! No one else wore white socks with sandals or kept their shirt tucked into his underpants. No one else styled their red, curly hair into a billow, either. Eugene also had the most freckles of any boy in their class, hands down.
"Eugene?" Arnold asked the redhead as his feet fell in step with his. Eugene swiveled his head around as they both reached the school gate. Eugene lifted one hand, almost as if to shake hands. But instead, he merely held it aloft.
Oh, hi Arnold!" Eugene chirped. He hummed. "It's so nice to see you! What beautiful weather we are having! Isn't it great?"
"Yeah," said Arnold rolling his eyes upwards towards the heavens. He could have sworn that yesterday the weatherman had predicted rain. But not a single cloud drifted through the sky. It had taken on a complete and unadulterated, luxurious blue. "It is nice," Arnold said at last with a shrug. Just then, both boys heard the little bark of small dog. Arnold's eyes wandered slightly down the paved street. The ever go-lucky Eugene, meanwhile, picked up his sandaled foot. A white terrier with a brown spot sniffed him.
"Aw!" said Eugene plucking up the small dog from the ground and holding him aloft. "Aren't you the cutest thing?" The spotted terrier wagged his tail and drooled.
"Hey, look Arnold!" said Eugene pointing toward the nearest telephone pole. A "lost dog" poster was plastered on it. Eugene compared the dog in his arms to the photo on the poster.
"Aw, this must be dog from the wanted poster!" Eugened cooed, holding it closer to his chest as it wagged its whippy tail. "Don't worry, boy! We'll find your owner!" The dog wagged its whippy rail and drooled some more. Just then, a deeply-tanned man wearing a Hawaiian flower shirt and a kangaroo hat rushed up the street.
"Aw, you found, Spunky!" he declared with an Australian accept, accepting the dog from Eugene. "Thanks a lot, kid! Here, the reward money! Fifty bucks!" the man said stuffing Eugene's fist full of cash. The man took his dog and walked away. Arnold stared at the wad of cash that had suddenly materialized in Eugene's palm in awe.
"Wow, Arnold!" crowed Eugene. "Today must be my lucky day!"
"You know what," Arnold told Eugene. "For once, I think you're right about that."
"Here, Arnold!" said Eugene counting out a few of the bills from his hand. "You take half! I mean, you're just as responsible for finding the lost dog as me!"
"Well, thank you Eugene!" said Arnold, warming up to the idea. "That's really nice of you!" Arnold stretched out his hand and accepted the bills. Just then, a wind whipped up from nearly below his feet and ripped the bills he held gently in his hand and shucked them into the sewer drain.
"Oh! Oh, too, bad Arnold!" said Eugene biting his nails before he became happy again. "Don't worry! Things like that happen to me all the time!"
"Er, yeah!" said Arnold faking a smile. He nearly stumbled when Eugene slapped him on the back.
Feeling a sense of dread, Arnold walked into Mr. Simmons classroom and sat down at his seat. Helga was seated at the desk behind him as usual and Arnold turned to look toward her for reassurance that nothing was out of the ordinary. Helga gave Arnold a wary, perplexed look that promised she would ask him what was troubling him later. But just then, Mr. Simmons walked into the classroom and class began.
"Alright, class!" said Mr. Simmons walking up to the board and erasing a doodle there. He clapped his hands together. "Now I know that today was scheduled to be movie day, but I have some ill news. The film we were to be seeing today, "The Desperate Maserati's Race Killington Alp", tore, so we will be viewing a different film instead!" Mr. Simmons held up a VHS cassette box. "Instead, we will be watching Rats on Ice, the Christmas Special! Isn't that exciting!"
"Wow!" said Eugene and Sheena grinning at one another.
"I think I'm gonna be sick!" said Helga folding her arms and glaring as she sunk low in her seat. Arnold shared similar sentiments. Gerald stuck his tongue out like he had swallowed a stink beetle. Phoebe blinked down at her desk, downcast.
"Well, we have that to look forward to after lunch!" Mr. Simmons declared putting the offending tape away. "For this morning, we are going to have a pop quiz! Now, I know it's out of the ordinary, but looking over my logbooks yesterday, I realized we hadn't had a quiz for while. Pencils out, textbooks down!" said Mr. Simmons whipping out a stack of sheets. The class groaned.
"Oh, boy!" said Eugene grinning "This is the perfect time to test out my new, super-spring, patented, mechanical-pencil!" the boy said pulling out a gray pencil that was easily double the size as the norm. He hummed as he scrawled his name on the test paper.
"Argh," Arnold slammed his locker shut a bit later. "Is it just me, or is today just not normal?" Arnold stood aside and watched as Eugene walked down the hall without tripping. Then Nadine and Rhonda passed by, only to collide with Big Patty as they rounded the bend. Arnold eyed the three-girl pile accident sprawled out on the floor.
"Um, I don't know!" Gerald commented, mildly. "Nothing really strange has happened to me!"
"Yet," Arnold warned.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Gerald, flexing his eyebrow.
"I dunno. Well, you know how I'm always saying that Eugene is not a jinx? Well, now that he's having a really good day for a change, it feels wrong. Really, REALLY wrong! Especially since bad things have happened to me instead."
"Nah, it's all just a coincidence," said Gerald waving a hand through the air in dismissal. The corner of Arnold's lips turned up in a smile.
"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"
"Not today it isn't!" said Gerald. The two best buds walked into the school cafeteria.
"I wonder what's for eats!" said Gerald rubbing his belly. "I'm starvin'!" Their question was answered when they heard Eugene's excited shout ahead.
"Strained beets and matzo balls!" screamed Eugene. He bounced from one foot to the other, giddy with delight. "My favorite!"
"Ahem," Gerald said coughing into his fist. He walked in the other direction. "Maybe I'll just get a little something from the vending machine."
"Good idea," said Arnold. He followed Gerald over to the candy vending machine. Gerald squinted at it in disgust.
"Ah, man!" he said pointing his finger at a little red glowing light. "Sold out, sold out, sold out!" He traced his finger down a long line of similarly glowing red buttons. But a single one was not lit.
"This one's not sold out, Gerald!" Arnold noted. He gestured to the dispenser's lowest button. It read, "peanut brittle."
"Yuck," said Gerald. "Not really my thing, but let's give it a go!" Gerald inserted his quarters. The machine whirred, slowly edging the peanut brittle closer. But just then a heaviness of silence consumed the steady drone of fluorescent lighting. The lights above them in the school cafeteria had blacked out quicker than they could blink. Principal Wartz's voice crackled on the intercom, pleading for the students to stay calm just as the light flickered back on again. The lights had dimmed and returned in less than a minute, but still it had interrupted the vending machine long enough for it to have stopped dispensing.
"Hey!" Gerald cursed a few moments after he finally realized that because of the blackout, the machine had swallowed his quarters with a metallic clink but kept the candy.
"I'm sorry, Gerald," Arnold said with much commiseration.
"Well, thank goodness for boxed milk!" was all Gerald could say as they both sat down before hot lunches that looked more like slop than food. Gerald took a sip of his carton of milk, then held the box back a bit to study it.
"Is it just me, or has this milk gone a little sour?" Arnold tried his, then looked at the expiration date.
"Yeah, it is a little old," complained Arnold. "But you know what, I'm going to drink it anyway." He guzzled down his carton of milk.
"You man, have an iron stomach!" said Gerald. Arnold wiped the milk from his lips.
"It comes from eating the boarding house food," Arnold explained mildly. "Grandma makes all sorts of weird dishes. I just don't want start eating herring sandwiches like grandpa."
"I hear seafood is good for you!" Gerald reasoned.
"Yeah, but I prefer it without the eyeball," said Arnold frowning. "It makes me feel savage somehow. I can't deal with the guilt!" Arnold picked up his spoon. "Well, I guess it could be worse than strained beets," Arnold said managing two spoonfuls of the goop.
As Arnold spoke, Helga sidled up next to Arnold and set down her tray on the same round table. Phoebe sat down beside Gerald. The four friends had given up eating their lunches separately since Gerald had come to spend much of his lunchtime basking in the adoration of Phoebe. This way, things were much simpler. As Gerald grinned and the slender, raven-haired girl giggled, Arnold turned his attention away from the familiar yet faintly annoying sight towards Helga.
"Hey, Helga," Arnold said picking at his food.
"Hey, Arnold," said Helga turning towards him with a grin. "What's eatin' ya? The prospect of having to watch 'Rats on Ice' got ya down?" She took a bite out of her sandwich.
"Well, no! I'm just having a bad day is all," Arnold explained before reciting what had happened to him this very morning.
"Twenty-five bucks! Criminy!" Helga lamented for him. "No wonder you're glum! That's like losing out on the five-dollar matinee five times!"
"Yeah, well, I'll be alright," said Arnold. "Easy come, easy go, I guess. But you know the really weird thing? Well, it's… Eugene. He seems to be having really good luck today."
"You think?" asked Helga. Momentarily, she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair so that it was slightly tipped as she cradled her hands behind her back. Arnold admired the content look on Helga's face for three seconds before the chair leg snapped and she fell down. Simultaneously, the leg on their table on her side dropped, too, so that all of their lunches slid to the floor.
"Are you okay?" Arnold asked. The boy leapt up onto his feet, then bent. He picked Helga up gingerly. Helga was somewhat surprised and blinked to find her arm wrapped around the back of Arnold's neck as he helped her into what was once his chair. The laughing in the lunchroom died down. Harold Berman's voice was heard instead.
"Hey, ARRNULD," the boy taunted in a bullying voice. "How does Juliet maintain a constant body temperature? Romeostasis!" Jeers and catcalls sounded across the room.
"Ah, ignore them!" Gerald declared. He gave the boys across the room an angry look. They were messin' with his bro'.
"Besides I've got a better joke than all, that!" Gerald promised. Gerald pointed to his sandwich that, due to the fact that Gerald had been eating it during the time of the table's collapse, had survived the accident. "What do you call a piece of cheese that likes to shoot hoops? Swiss!" Phoebe giggled into her hand.
"What do you call a fake noodle?" the raven-hair asked. "An impasta!"
"Pfsh!" said Helga waving a hand in dismissal. "That's nothin! What did the mayonnaise say when someone opened the fridge? Close the door! I'm dressing!"
"Oo, ooh!" said Rhonda Lloyd who, upon overhearing, was swept up into the conversation. "How do you organize an outer space party? You planet."
"Oh, I love jokes!" Eugene admired walking dangerously near. He clenched his fists together with joy and his eyes sparkled. "Hey, I've got one guys! Why did Beethoven get rid of his chickens?" Eugene laughed. "Can you guess? No? It's because they kept saying "Bach-Bach-Bach!"
"Bach!" an angry live chicken flew onto Gerald's head. A whole flock of white feathered fowl streamed into the lunchroom through the open play-yard door, clucking and shrieking, and shedding feathers. Arnold looked down at a chicken which had snuggled into his arms after having flown into them. Helga held up a lunch tray to ward several chickens off. Gerald, meanwhile, had to knock the one on his head off to dislodge it. Rhonda Lloyd spun around, a chicken riding her back as she ducked. Meanwhile, a lone hen bothered the lunch lady at the foodline, leaping up onto the food counter and dancing in the strained beets until the lunch lady swiped at it with a spoon. Phoebe, luckily, had escaped most of the invasion, although a mannerless chicken dipped its beak into her cup of juice to drink it with a satisfied appreciation. When the chicken left, Phoebe looked at the cup in disgust. She really didn't want to drink the rest after that! Harvey the mailman stomped into the school and snatched two of the chickens up under his arm, including the one Arnold had 'caught'.
"Sorry, man!" their local chicken-loving postman said. "I don't know how they got out of my truck!" Harvey stomped back out the door.
"I'll help you, Mr. Mailman, sir!" said Eugene picking up one of the chickens and jogging out the door after Harvey.
"Ah, man!" complained Gerald brushing the feathers out of his hair. "Now I'm convinced! Eugene is rubbing all his bad luck all over the place! We've got to do somethin', man!"
"Well," said Phoebe speaking up in her soft voice. "Technically, luck is a myth perpetuated by trends in the mathematics of statistical averages, but if you do believe in luck, then there are traditional ways to seek to be more lucky."
"You mean like get a four-leaf clover or something?"
"Well, yes," said Phoebe. "Or conversely, you could try to make Eugene more unlucky."
"You mean recurse the jinx!" said Gerald thinking.
"Gerald!" Arnold warned. "You shouldn't do it!"
"But if we don't!" argued Gerald biting his fingernails, "we may never get out of school alive! Or at least not without missing eyes or broken bones."
"Shh! Eugene is coming back!" said Rhonda Lloyd pressing a finger to her lips.. They watched fearfully as Eugene walked back into the school cafeteria. To one side of him, a kid tripped on a shoelace and fell face forward into their strained beets. On the other side of Eugene, another kid slipped on a banana peel and slid into a wall where Arnold, Gerald, Helga, and Phoebe were still recovering from the chicken attack. As the boy fell over backwards, he landed on one of the remaining chickens. "Bach!" they heard again.
"Well," said Helga with much practicality, "if today is going to be our last day on earth, there's only one thing we can do about it!" she declared.
"What's that?"
"Go to recess while we still can!" said Helga. She gathered up her split lunch, chucked it, then walked outside to the sunny school playground. In the background, some kid was getting whapped in the face by a tetherball, but things seemed mostly safe for the moment. Helga looked up, admiring the sunshine.
"So, Phoebe," asked Helga. "Wanna go sit on top of the jungle gym? I'll bet it's warm and breezy up there!" Helga looped her hands round a rung and clambered up.
"Coming, Gerald?" Arnold asked mildly.
"Nah, you all go ahead!" said Gerald. "I'm going over to those bushes Harold planted last year. I think there was a little patch of clover over there. You all have fun."
Arnold climbed onto one of the lower rungs of the jungle gym and just sat there to enjoy the sensation of having his feet dangling high off the ground. It was almost like he was three feet taller and the world looked curious at this angle. The elementary school, especially the doors and windows, looked a little different at this height. Somehow it was more like a cozy little brick house than a big, scary institution. It was almost...quaint. After all, P.S.118 had begun with only enough classrooms to cover kindergarten through 6th grade, twice, for there tended to be exactly two or three teachers for each grade level. But with the new additions at the rear of the school, it had expanded so that there were now three or four classrooms per grade, which helped. The people of Hillwood were not holding back on having large families, providing the school with lots of new students each year.
It was as Arnold contemplated, dreamy-eyed, on the future of Hillwood that he heard a loud rip from nearby. He heard Phoebe gasp.
"Oh, my! Helga!" said the girl.
"Just get me down from here," said Helga like a curse under her breath. Arnold spun his gaze to Helga hung upside down from the monkey bars. But her problem was that somehow, the edge of her dress had got caught on a loose peg of metal. Fortunately, the welding of the playground equipment was still sound, but Helga was stuck. Phoebe tried to tug Helga's dress free, fruitlessly. Still upside down, Helga crossed her arms and glowered.
"I'll help!" Arnold promised. He scrambled to his feet and climbed until he was perched beside Phoebe. He tugged at the fabric.
"Anytime, now!" said Helga. "I'm getting dizzy!" At this remark, Arnold felt a little remorse at what he about to do but he did it anyway. He used his full strength rip the fabric free. Exactly as he anticipated, the dress tore even worse. Arnold helped Helga down to the ground. He expected him and Helga to both have cause to blush, but instead he gaped.
"Uh, Helga?" the boy asked delicately. "Why are you wearing red boxer shorts?"
"Are you kidding me, Football-Head?" said Helga. "Do you think I want any of these perverts seeing the REAL panties I wear underneath? Of course I'm careful not give them the opportunity to sneak a peek! I'm a girl with class!"
"Oh," said Arnold mildly. Phoebe grasped Helga by the arm.
"Come on!" the girl in the cute little blue outfit said. "I've got some thread in my locker! I'll fix you up!" Arnold walked away from the jungle gym. He'd have to tell Mr. Simmons to have it fixed but for now, Arnold was distracted by Gerald's return. The boy now wore a wide grin and a four-leaf clover in his hair.
"I am Eugene-free!" Gerald declared with delight.
"Oh," said Arnold, waiting quietly. "You didn't find another one of the those did you?"
"Nah," spoke Gerald
"I thought not." The class bell rang and they filed in to watch 'Rats on Ice', the musical.
A long hour and a half later, the dreaded movie was over at last. Eugene and Sheena had loved it, giggling and singing along. Curly had tolerated it, along with most of the class. But when Mr. Simmons flicked on the light switch, returning a soft yellow incandescent glow overhead at last, the haters had much to say about it.
"That was SO stupid!" Harold complained pounding his fists onto the top of his desk and scowling. Angered, the boy narrowed the yellow, beady eyes in his broad head. Gerald shaded his own eyes with one hand.
"Ah, my eyes!" Gerald wailed. "I think the image of men wearing ugly rat costumes is permanently etched into my brain!"
"Not, me!" said Helga. "I borrowed Phoebe's spare glasses."
"I didn't know you need glasses," Gerald remarked, suddenly confused.
"I don't, but I taped little circles of black construction paper inside. Didn't see anything! The music was torture enough!"
"Bleh," said Arnold holding his stomach. "I feel sick! Either it was the movie or that sour milk..."
"Or both," said Gerald as Arnold rushed off the boy's restroom.
"Okay, class!" said Mr. Simmons when Arnold had returned. "Now that we've had that inspiring musical to listen to, I thought we'd all go over to the auditorium and discuss our next theatre project! We'll be doing two nursery tales of your choosing! Isn't that exciting?"
"Eh," Helga shrugged. "At least the auditorium is huge. We'll have more space to get away from Eugene and his cloud of jinxes."
"I'm not even gonna argue about it anymore," said Arnold, weary by the whole thing. "Let's just say that there are some mysteries no one are meant to understand."
"Amen, brother!" Gerald sang. The whole class slowly filtered over toward the school's auditorium.
"Okay, class!" said Mr. Simmons standing up on the stage. He opened a trunk full of old costumes. "Now I want you all to use your creativity to come up ideas for our play's program!"
"Ooo!" said Rhonda finding an old gray fur scarf to wrap around her neck. "I want to be a rich aristocrat! So Cinderella or something!"
"Nah, ah!" said Gerald. "That's a chick flick! I want to do something a little more interesting, like The Three Musketeers!"
"Ah, ah!" said Mr. Simmons shaking a finger in the air. "We're doing nursery tales. Not French pulp fiction from Imperial times. Nursery tales are short, primitive tales like Mother Goose or Aesop's Fables. I suppose we should go over it in class. But try to think of quick, two page stories like, "The Three Little Pigs," for example.
"The Emperor's New Clothes," Helga said with a wicked grin. "Only who'd want to play the Emperor?"
"I have always favored 'The Dancing Princesses' myself," commented Phoebe.
"Me, too!" said Helga finding a beautiful gown in the chest. "Of course, I get to be one of the Princesses!"
"Humph!" said Gerald with disgust. "Princesses again? What we need is a man's tale!"
"Okay, okay, class! Settle down, please!" said Mr. Simmons "Now, please, everyone wait quietly, and I'll ask for your idea one at a time!" said Simmons dragging out a clipboard and pencil. "Now, Eugene!" the school teacher said. "Come over here with the rest of the class. I want to hear your idea for a nursery tale, first."
"No, no! Not the jinx!" Harold declared with terror. "Don't let him come any nearer!"
"I'm sure there's nothing to be scared of," Arnold began out of habit as Eugene walked closer to them all, a rope (attached to a lever) trailing from his leg. Just then, the floor swung open and half the class fell through a trapdoor into the theatre's storage pit.
"Ow!" was the collective groan.
"Ya missed me!" Gerald declared in victory. He took the four-leaf clover down from his hair and kissed it.
"Okay, class!" said Mr. Simmons speaking to the students who were now seated in chairs in the front row of the auditorium. Some of them, like Harold and Stinky Peterson, now wore bandages. "I know things haven't been going well, but before the bell rings today I'd like to get your ideas down on paper. Then on Monday, we'll all put them up on the chalkboard to have a round of votes. So, can I have your idea, Arnold?" Arnold's eyes shifted around or inspiration. They found it in Sid, who had his ballcap off. His pet frog Sydney was seated on his head, gently croaking.
"Um, the Frog Prince?" said Arnold hoping it counted as a nursery tale. Eugene had his hand up in the air. It trembled out of excitement.
"Yes, Eugene?" asked Mr. Simmons pointing with the eraser tip of his pencil. "Do you have an idea?"
"Yes, yes!" said Eugene clasping his hands together in ecstasy. "How about we do the Tale of… Chicken-Little?!"
"Bach!" an angry live chicken flew into the auditorium. Soon, five white feathered fowl streamed into the auditorium, clucking and shrieking, and shedding feathers. They leapt up onto the front seats and one settled itself onto Arnold's head like a nest. Rhonda Lloyd spun her arms in circles, making a forcefield to keep the chickens at bay. Harold just ran away, screaming, "Mommy!" Harvey came marching into the auditorium.
"Sorry, man!" the chickens' owner said. "I don't know what's gotten into them today!" He stuffed the five chickens into a pet carrier and took them away. The school bell rang.
"Whew!" Gerald said for all of them. "Saved by the bell!" They all went home to wash the chicken feathers off, long after Eugene had gone, of course.
The next day, the school day passed without any major incidents. Arnold and Gerald met up with Helga, Harold, and the other kids for a game of baseball. As they all stood just outside the the steps of P.S. 118, Eugene jogged up to them. "Oh, hey guys!" the perky boy said. "Going to Gerald's Field?"
"Well, yeah," said Arnold, evidently forgetting about yesterday and all its disasters. "We're going to play ball for a bit, then pool our money together to buy a tub of fried chicken."
"Pstt! Arnold!" said Gerald pulling Arnold aside with a loud whisper. "Don't let him call the chickens again, man!" Gerald said cringing with fear.
"Oh, boy! I love fried chicken!" said Eugene. Arnold and Gerald tensed in fright, but when no chickens came hurdling from out of nowhere to harass them, they relaxed.
"It'll be okay! You'll see!" said Arnold as the kids all made their way to Gerald's field, Eugene among them.
A surprise to most, they made it all the way to the baseball field without incident. Helga took her usual station crouched at the pitcher's mound wearing her face shield. Harold swung at bat.
"I got one!" shouted Harold with happy surprise as the bat connected to the ball. He began to jog round the field.
"I got it, I got it!" hollered Eugene backing up. He backed up nearly to the end of the field and caught the ball, but then, out of nowhere, an entire flock of white chickens showed up and swarmed the boy.
"Ah! Stop, pecking, stop, no! I promise never to eat fried chicken again!" Eugene hollered loudly enough for it to echo. Arnold and Gerald met up to stare at Eugene and his plight.
"Well," said Gerald, a contented smile spreading across his face. "I guess everything's back to normal!"
"Yeah!" said Arnold. He shared a thumb shake with Gerald.
"So you admit it, right?" asked Gerald to his best friend. "That boy's a jinx!"
"I'll never admit it!" Arnold shook his head stubbornly. "Even if it could be true. I'm not gonna say it!" Meanwhile, across the field, Helga was having a very interesting talk with Brainy.
"Look, Brainy," she said to the boy with spiky hair, crooked teeth, bent glasses, and a horrible nasal sound as he breathed. "I'm glad you came to today's game because well, there's something very important I have to tell you. You see, I've come to realize you have needs, and perhaps I've been a little inconsiderate to you! So to make it up to you, here's a phone number for you to call! Alright?" Helga gave Brainy a small name card and walked away. Stunned, Brainy sidled over to Rhonda Lloyd and borrowed her new cellphone from her.
"Tsck!" said Rhonda Lloyd with disgust. "But be careful! This cellphone is BRAND NEW!" the girl scolded. Brainy dialed the number on the card Helga had given him. The phone rang three times.
"Hello!" came Helga's saucy, sultry voice. "If you've called this number, then you must be in need of being punched in the face! Please press one to have your face punched!" the voice recording sang out. Brainy pressed, 'one'.
"You've pressed one to have your face punched. I am sorry, but no one is available to punch you right now. Please stay on the line and the next available operator will be able to assist you in the punching of your face." Smooth jazz then began to play. Brainy listened for a minute, then twitching like he was about to have a seizure, Brainy punched himself in the head. He collapsed to the ground in a heap. Rhonda caught her cell phone just in the nick of time as it flew up into the air.
"I SAID to be careful!" the angry girl said looking down at Brainy with fury.
"Well, there's one thing for sure!" observed Gerald. "There are geeks among us!"
"Yeah," said Arnold. "But I guess they have their place in Hillwood, too. I'm just really glad I'm me, instead! Short legs or not, I can deal with it!"
"You said it, brother!" Gerald spoke up with joy. He stepped back as Helga prowled up to Arnold. "Say, Arnold! How about we all break for that fried chicken?"
"Sure," said Arnold with a smile. As Helga marched away to fetch Harold, Arnold kept his eyes on the girl.
"Um, hum! So you like your 'chicks' sassy with feathers of gold! Right Romeo?"
"Nah!" Arnold said with a nervous laugh. "We're not like that!"
"But maybe you could be someday!"
"Maybe," said Arnold. "But how can I know that? Love is even less predictable than luck is!"
"You guys coming or not?!" Helga yelled from across the field. She had rounded everyone together more like a rooster than hen.
"Yeah!" Arnold called back. Arnold and Gerald walked across the field to join up with other kids on their quest for a tub full of greasy chicken. The end.