"Where are my cigarettes?" asked the senior, an older boy. Rolling her shoulders, Helga brushed him off. Who was this guy and why did she agree to leave that party with him? Her reasoning was blurry right now, especially under the glare of his hot temper.

"Where are they?" he demanded again. She didn't like how upset he was with her, as if she kept tabs on this guy's cigs at all times. He slammed a fist against the dashboard for her attention, the car swerving as he did so. She didn't like how hot things were getting. Helga opened the car door, the wind whistling outside in protest. In the late night, early morning darkness it was impossible for her to see the pavement. Beneath the car was black cement, absent of any distinguishable traits after the paint had been worn off after a great many years of use. Helga grabbed for her seatbelt, the blaring of the car's radio serving as an act of defiance.

"What are you doing?" called the senior, more shocked than angry now.

"Leaving." Replied Helga casually. The teen's driving had slowed with distraction, and when Helga tumbled from her seat to the wet pavement she was able to control the damage done. Going from the road to the grassy ditch, Helga hissed at the scraping of her knees. Ahead the beat up sedan braked, its red lights illuminating the empty side streets. The guy must have reconsidered going back, for he sped off shortly after, leaving Helga to rot. She sighed; this was a definite low for her. Rising, she tried to spot street signs. She was in the suburbs, and there was no way she could walk home before her parents found out. Stumbling up the grassy slope, she sought out a payphone.

"What were you thinking?" hissed Phoebe.

"I don't know, I was just, god, if I wanted a lecture I'd have called my parents." Helga replied in a light manner. This wasn't a familiar scene, but then again, it wasn't as rare as either of them would like it to be.

"I can't do this again, I won't." Phoebe muttered mostly to herself.

"You shouldn't, and you won't have to."

"I wish that were true Helga, but I won't be hearing from you again, I know, unless you're about to be killed or worse by some drop out freak." Phoebe gripped the wheel tighter, her words high with emotions. Helga laughed, feeling Phoebe's worries to be a bit extreme.

"Don't worry, I can deal." Leaning back in her seat, Helga rested her eyes. It had been a long night. Phoebe did not say much else. When they pulled up to Helga's home, the same if not in need of some TLC all these years later, Phoebe turned to Helga.

"Helga, I really can't do this anymore."

"Alright, I get it, yeah, yeah, yeah. You have a life too."

"No, you don't, and really, this is it. I'm not going to be your chauffer again. The next time you call, I won't pick up the phone." There was a severity to Phoebe's tone that Helga knew to be very serious. At the time, Helga was too tired to fight, too tired to save her most precious friendship. She opened the door to her friend's parents' new car. So, instead of thinking of an impassioned speech, one that he, not that he would ever have to be in this position, she simply said, "thanks," closing the door behind her. Helga would never know the tears that flowed from her friends eyes on the car ride home, and the remaining hours until dawn shed silently and undignified.

When Helga closed the door slowly behind her, she knew there was no need. It was all for show, but she didn't know for whom. Her dad had moved out a couple weeks ago and her mom was still in the hospital. Though her dad spoke of fixing up the place and moving back in, Helga had grown accustomed to the idea of him staying in his little bachelor pad for good. He was living where Arnold Shortman had once lived. It was a strange paradox, two guys who were both important to her in separate ways. Her mom said nothing of their home. Despite having knowledge of her husband's departure, Marion spoke as if he were still at home.

"Tell Bill that he should replenish our Funky Flakes, I know you adore that cereal." She had said to Helga as she left her hospital room yesterday morning. At the moment, it was Helga all alone in their spacious urban home, and for the time being she was there to stay until her mom was able to leave rehab and successfully find a new place to live and employment. Going to her dark room, Helga flopped on her bed, turning on her bedside light. Reaching bellow her bed, she grabbed for some pink stationary. Beside it was a fountain pen, a really nice one she had taken from the offices of Bob's Beepers long ago, back when all they sold were beepers. Flipping open the card, she prepared her pen.

"Arnold," she wrote, for she was rarely formal with him, "today I went to a party. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a party girl or something. Sid told me about it and what can I say? Sid knows all the good parties. I bet you don't have those where you are. I still-."

Halting her writing, Helga contemplated what she was to say next. Carrying on, doubt filled the page.

"I still think about you, obviously. This is what, my millionth letter? Maybe I should actually send this one this time?" Again, Helga ceased writing, this time for good. Crumpling the letter, she tossed it aside, and covered her eyes with the nook of her arm. She wondered how many letters she had written and tossed aside in this way. It was not that she did not have a journal, no, she would be writing in that one shortly. Each night, she would tell Arnold, her childhood crush all about her day. How she felt, her perspective on things. It was all because of a half-kept promise. When she, and most of PS. 118 plus quite a few others, had seen that Arnold found his parents, she was able be the supportive person she had always wanted to be for him. Before she left, she confessed to all her feelings and secret admiration. This time, she did not take her words back. To her surprise and delight, Arnold did not reject her, and she kissed him.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm going to miss you Helga." he said, his cheeks red from their short kiss. At the time Helga was so caught up in the moment she was in a daze.

"Yeah, me too." she agreed dreamily.

"Send me letters, okay?" He said, leaving her to rejoin his parents who were readying to enter the jungles of San Lorenzo once more.

"Yeah." She said. Arnold then left, going off to join his parents to aid them in their aid of foreign cultures and adventure. He was to stay as long as his parents stayed, but he was sure to talk to everyone that had helped him. It was his promise to everyone that one day, when his parents' work was finished, he would return with them. Not until she was leaving on the plane did Helga become familiar with the gravity of her promise.

"Wow Helga, you got it BAD." teased Gerald, who found the whole situation annoying. Helga, still caught up in the moment, was weak in her defenses.

"Shut up!" she finally shot back. Gerald laughed in return.

"You're going to write to him every day?" he asked mischievously, with emphasis on the words every day.

"What?" asked Helga.

"You agreed to writing to Arnold letters Helga." piped in Phoebe, who had been listening from her seat beside Helga.

"Oh, yeah, that. Of course not! I just said that stuff to make that football-head get over me." She said, lying through her teeth. Phoebe rolled her eyes, but Gerald, believing her story, shook his head and dropped the subject. So here Helga was, almost seven years later, writing to Arnold.

"This was the last one." Helga mumbled. Her eyes were on the letter on her floor. It was something she had said so many times before, but this time, she was keeping her promise. Across town, where Helga's father had been staying, there was quite a commotion.

"Grandpa!" cried Arnold, almost but not quite a grown man. There were tears in his grandfather's eyes. This visit was much unexpected.

"Short man!" he said, despite his grandson towering above him. Arnold's grandmother descended the stairs.

"What's all this noise?" she demanded, "Cat burglars? Little do the fools know: you can't out-cat the cat burglar queen!"

Arnold laughed in joy at the well-known eccentricities of his grandmother.

"Grandma!" he called to her. Adjusting her glasses, Arnold's grandmother eyed him from the landing of the stairs. Soon, she too was overcome with tears.

"Arnold!" She cried with all the love that time had not served to undo. Soon Arnold was in the arms of his grandparents, who pushed aside their questions with the oppressive emotion. Luggage taken from the stoop, taxi cab fare paid, he was ushered in for a very late dessert/early breakfast. Together they discussed his situation, and why he delighted them with his sudden visit. Once his story came to an end, and it was made clear that he would not be staying with them for good, just until his parents could find a home in the area; it was time for his grandparents to explain.

"Sorry short man, but your room isn't exactly your room anymore." said his grandfather. Arnold was perplexed, and as usual, the explanation was long drawn out, and the conversations of his grandparents were hard to follow.

"Well of course it is always yours." said his grandmother.

"Not right now." muttered his grandfather. After going round and round in this matter, finally Arnold was included in the conversation.

"I'm sorry Arnold, but we've rented out your room for the month." his grandfather confessed. Arnold was floored.

"You rented my room?" Although he could not blame them for it, Arnold was still hurt. Not one to dwell however, he quickly let it go.

"So I guess I'm going to have to stay in the hotel with my parents." He said, mulling over the idea. His grandmother shot up from her chair with surprising speed for someone her age and put one foot on the table.

"Not my grandson!" She declared. "This is a family of pioneers, and you, Arnold, in the spirit of Walt Whitman's mighty drums shall YAWP barbarically, camping out under the stars."

"So I'm going outside?" asked Arnold.

"Correct." answered his grandmother with a smile. She left him in search of a sleeping bag that Arnold guessed to be as ancient as Walt Whitman's poems, if not older. Unfortunately for Arnold, his grandparents did not grant him a full night of sleep. He was awoken to eat a big breakfast with all the old boarders and even some new faces. Come Monday, despite his protests, his grandfather decided he was to go to school and to school he would go. He was even granted a ride by his grandfather in the roaring beast of an old car that his grandfather drove. It was then that Arnold began his first day of high school, despite not being enrolled. Across campus from where he'd been dropped off, Helga was roaming the halls.

"Sid," she called, finding him leaning against lockers.

"Hey," he said, adjusting to look her. Beside him was Stinky and Iggy.

"Cool party last night." she said, looking to initiate conversation.

"Yeah, I told you." Sid said, rolling his eyes. Stinky stepped forward.

"You left early, where'd you go?" he asked.

"Yeah, that…" began Helga, she was cut off by some shouts. From down the hall she could see the approaching senior she'd left behind on Saturday. Her heart sank, but she was ready for the challenge.

"Dumb bitch, what, do you want to be killed?" The boy was less concerned about Helga than he was over his pride. Spotting her talking to Sid, Stinky, and Iggy, he was sure she was spreading unflattering stories that would bite him in the ass wherever he went. Rushing towards her, he had Helga backed up to a locker, his arm extending over for the proper effect. Helga puffed up her chest, unwilling to back down.

"What are you talking about?" asked Sid in less of a questioning manner and more of an irritated drawl.

"Back off." ordered Helga. With a shove she allowed herself more space, sending the senior back only about a foot. Only serving to enrage the senior, Helga kept a brave face as the boy stepped closer. Before he could say anything further, the senior thought better of it, and walked off. Helga let out the sigh she had been holding back.

"What was that?" Iggy asked. His expression was difficult to read under his dark circular sunglasses. Helga shook her head.

"Some loser I guess." The first bell rang through the halls, and the friends said their goodbyes. Walking to her class, Helga found Phoebe, who had her eyes fixed to a flier stapled to the wall. Approaching as close as she dared to her once best friend, she read the announcement over Phoebe's shoulder.

"Cheerleaders and water girls wanted!" It declared in a bold font. Helga could not suppress her disapproval.

"Aw, come on Pheebs." she whined, using the old nickname she'd given her friend. Phoebe spun around flustered.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Phoebe, using anger to hide her embarrassment.

"I'm just heading to class."

"Well why are you bothering me?" Phoebe asked abrasively, leaving Helga behind to get to class.

"I know why you're doing this, and it's stupid. He's a complete jerk to you Phoebe!" argued Helga. It was no use, for Phoebe had arrived at her classroom, closing the door behind her defiantly. When Helga had said "he" she meant Gerald Johanssen, football player and an old time friend of Arnold Shortman. Since Arnold had left, Helga had found Gerald to be too annoying to bother with. Phoebe on the other hand, still carried feelings for Gerald after all these years. Not feeling up for class so early, Helga decided that she deserved a coffee break. Going down the hall, she stopped, encountering a boy with a football shaped head.

"Excuse me," he asked, "but do you know where the library is?"

Helga's heart pounded, her blood ran cold, and a golden locket once held close shined a little brighter under a stack of clothes in Helga's room.

"Arnold?" she asked.