A collection of one-shots, in a universe where Helga was never a bully.
A five-year-old Helga looked down at the purple paint that was splattered all over pink overalls. At first, she was shocked, but just as soon as her surprise had come, it was taken over by anger. She looked up again, her hands in fists at her sides and a deep scowl on her face. "Arnold! What did you do that for?"
Arnold looked a little nervous under her glare, but he managed to say, "I'm sorry, Helga, it was only an accident -"
"No, it wasn't!" Helga insisted, taking a dangerous step towards him. "You did it on purpose!"
He furrowed his eyebrows, a frustration of his own masking his apologetic response to the accident that caused him to spill pain all over her. He didn't mean to trip over a wooden block that somebody, (cough, cough, Harold), forgot to put away, and he didn't mean to stumble into her with a can of open purple paint in his hand. "No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did!"
"I didn't!"
"Did!"
"Did not!"
"Did so!"
At that point, both children were fairly close to each other, fists at their sides, eyes narrowed, and cheeks pink with anger. They were attracting the attention of all of their other class mates, some of which were entranced by the fact that mild-mannered Arnold was shouting, (although Helga was generally a pretty good kid, she still had a short temper), and others were interested in the sheer drama of it all. Arnold and Helga usually got along great. Sure, there were a few slip-ups and arguments, but they tended to play together well. In fact, sometimes it seemed like they never left each other's sides, always playing together, and eating together, and sitting together in the corner and laughing about something or other. In other words, they were attached at the hip, and, after two years of seeing them so close, it was... intriguing sight to see them, not only disagree, but to be so vocal about it.
"Why do you always get so angry, Helga?" Arnold asked loudly.
"Well, I wouldn't if people wouldn't make me angry!" she answered. "And you know what's making me angry right now, Arnold?"
"What?!"
"Your stupid sweater!"
Arnold made an angry growling noise. "What's so stupid about my sweater?"
"It makes you look like a geek!"
"Yeah, well, your one eyebrow looks funny!" four-year-old Arnold said angrily, putting his hands on his hips. The entire class gasped at the nerve of him, their eyes glancing to Helga to see how she would respond.
Steam was practically blowing out of her ears, but she just mimicked his stance, her anger matching his, as she responded, "Your tiny blue hat is way too small for your giant head!"
"Your nose is too big!"
"Your ears are too small!"
"Your teeth are all wonky-looking!"
"You've got a... your head is shaped like a... like a football!" Helga retorted heatedly. She glared at him for a moment, before she blinked slowly and said in a monotone voice, "You're a... Football Head." Despite the fact that she was supposed to be mad at Arnold, for a reason she no longer cared to remember, her newly developed nickname for him was too amusing for her to contain her giggles. "Can I call you Football Head?"
Arnold frowned and was about to decline when he noticed how soft and cute her giggle was. He'd only heard it once before, and it was one of his most favorite noises in the whole world. Come to think of it, maybe he didn't find that name so bad. She giggled when she said it, and hearing Helga G. Pataki giggle was one of the most coveted noises that Arnold could even think of. "S-sure," he stuttered out, reaching for her hand and gently taking it in his. She beamed at him and he smiled back. "You can call me Football Head."
The entire class just gaped at how fast the two seemed to make up, and as Arnold led a giddy Helga to the sink to help clean her up, the two laughing and smiling, (and offering each other sincere apologies), the eyes of the other kids followed them the entire way.
"Mmm mmm mmm," Gerald said, turning around in his chair to continue his crayon drawing. "Those two are something else."
