Disclaimer: Not mine; don't kill me.
"Arnold...what a boob...what a pathetic do-gooder...how I loathe him...and yet...I love him. Those deep, soulful green eyes, that untamed hair...oooh..."
He could not believe the things he was hearing, and from Helga, of all people! She loved him? Helga G. Pataki, self-proclaimed girl terror of P.S. 118 loved him? Shrugging, he walked on, only stopping to sip some water at the water fountain, and went into the classroom. If anyone were to ask him what Mr. Simmons lectured on that afternoon, he would never remember.
When the school bell rang, he cleared his desk and joined the mad dash to the busses and ran smack into Helga! He held a hand out to help her up, but all he got for his troubles was a snarky, "Why don't you watch where you're going, paste-for-brains!"
Arnold sighed, shaking his unruly locks. "Whatever you say, Helga. Listen, uh, can I walk you home?"
"Whatever floats your boat, football head," she snapped, but secretly she was about to pass out.
Arnold smiled. As they walked, he stole several glances at his tormentor/secret admirer, wondering how best to break the ice.
"Look, Helga, I...well...I don't exactly know how to say this," he began awkwardly. "But...I...uh...overheard you as I was coming back from lunch today."
"You WHAT?!" she yelled. "That was...that is, look, Arnoldo, I don't know what you think you heard, but it wasn't me!"
"Helga, listen to me," Arnold pleaded. "For what it's worth, I'm glad I overheard you. Then I wouldn't be able to do this."
And he kissed her. It was a chaste kiss, quick and questioning, but Helga melted all the same.
Yes, she would be able to die happily now. Her beloved had kissed her, and of his own free will.