This one took a bit longer than expected, but overall I'm quite happy with it. It gets a bit sad in the middle of the story so bear with me, but as they tend to do, things end very well. Friday is your update day, should have four or five chapters total. Tell me what you think as you read it, and as always, enjoy! -AG
Chapter 1: Friday Morning
The sweet smell of chocolate slowly wafted by his face, bringing him gently out of sleep. He opened his eyes and looked out in the warm room, illuminated by the soft sun coming in through the skylight in the roof; it was snowing out.
"Happy birthday kiddo," his dad said, setting a tray of chocolate-chip pancakes down on the edge of his bed.
Arnold smiled as he sat up in bed. "Hey dad,".
Miles turned around back toward the door and smiled at his wife as she came in behind him, holding a cup of tea. Stella went over to Arnold's bed, leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. She placed the mug down on the tray and stood back up.
"Happy birthday. Now eat up and head downstairs when you're ready. Grandma and Grandpa are waiting," Stella said.
Arnold looked up at his parents; they both had a mischievous twinkle in their eyes.
"What is it?" He asked smiling.
"Well you'll just have to wait and see won't you?" Miles said.
They both turned and walked out of the room. Stella poked her head around the corner before closing the door. "See you downstairs,"
Arnold laughed quietly to himself and leaned his head back on the pillow. The roof was blanked with soft snow, giving everything in the room a warm glow from the fresh pack. He loved it when it snowed. The smell of warm chocolate again invaded his senses, and he reached down and pulled the tray toward him. He grabbed the fork on the red folded napkin and tore into the first pancake, the chocolate chips breaking softly away from the warm center. They were the best he'd ever had and he devoured the plate in minutes. Setting the tray on the edge of the bed, he threw on a sweatshirt and headed for the door. Arnold crept down the staircase and inched in the doorway of the kitchen. His mom and dad were sitting at a table with Phil and Gertie. His grandparents got up and hugged him when they saw him enter.
"Happy birthday Shortman," Phil said warmly.
Miles got up and patted Arnold on the shoulder. "Come on in the living room," he said smiling.
Arnold followed his dad into the parlor, rounding the corner and seeing a brand new Roland RD700 electric piano, covered by a large red bow. His face lit up as he saw the glorious instrument and he looked back at Stella and Miles, unable to contain his grin. They returned the smile, hugging each other as they watched their son walk over to his present. The glorious metal body felt cool as he ran his hand slowly over its revered surface. He had been lusting over this piano for months and it now stood right in front of him. It was his.
"Mom, Dad, thank you so much!" Arnold said triumphantly, running over to them.
The three of them hugged and he never felt so at peace; he was truly happy. His feet felt cold. He shifted them around to try to warm them up but they kept getting colder. He couldn't feel the soft carpet anymore even though he was standing right on top of it.
He slowly opened up his eyes, staring at the cold grey morning light invade his window. The covers had fallen off the end of his bed, leaving his feet exposed. Arnold shut his eyes tightly, trying desperately to get back to the dream. He sighed heavily and groggily sat up. He reached for a small drawer next to his bed and pulled out a picture of his parents. He held the picture carefully, running his fingers slowly over the worn edges.
"Hey Mom. Hey Dad,"
He felt his throat tighten and slammed his eyes shut as they began to water. He coughed and wiped at his face, stiffly getting out of bed. Placing the picture gently down on the covers, he crossed the room and walked up the small ladder leading to the roof. It was just past seven in the morning and the sun had so far been unable to pierce the thick layer of fog that blanketed the city. Arnold crawled out the small opening and headed over to the wall on top of the house, overlooking the street. He sighed again and looked up at the sky. A plane flew overhead, its engines letting loose low pitch hum that rocketed in silent symphony far above the early morning city noise. Arnold wondered where it was headed, maybe Washington or maybe father up to Canada; maybe Japan. He closed his eyes and pictured the three of them, together again and heading to Canada. He'd never been, but it wasn't like it mattered. He'd give away everything he had for a trip to Wyoming if it meant being a family again. He brought a fist down and slammed it into the railing on the edge of the roof. The instant sting of the shingles stabbing into him felt good. It hurt, and that was grounding. It meant he wasn't dreaming anymore.
Arnold went back into his room, shutting the skylight on the way back in. His alarm clock read 7:27AM MAY 10TH in hazy digital letters-three minutes until it was set to go off. He switched it off and sat down on his bed, carefully placing the picture back in its box. It was then he realized how early it was and how little sleep he got the night before.
It's going to be a long one today he thought begrudgingly to himself. He got up and headed downstairs. Well let's get this show on the road.
Arnold walked downstairs a while later, backpack hanging off one shoulder, and into the kitchen. Given his head start, he still had a good fifteen minutes before the bus would show up. He slid his pack off his shoulder and let it flop against the door frame as he scooted a pair of bent legs, their body waist deep in the open refrigerator.
"Morning Grandpa," Arnold said.
"Morning Shortman. Orange juice?" A hand shot out from the fridge holding a Tropicana carton.
"No thanks, I'm alright for now," Arnold said. He had spotted a tin of some sort of pie on the counter and was moving in to investigate.
"Well suit yourself. If you change your mind though, you should have some before Oscar gets down here. Bastard goes through more juice than a Fiji fruit fly," Phil said, still buried in the refrigerator.
Arnold grabbed a fork and poked at the pie; it looked like it had raspberries in it. Satisfied, he dug into the side of the bowl, raising a forkful to his mouth.
"And whatever you do, don't touch that cobbler on the counter. Stuff's been sitting out for God knows how long, started to grow fur last night. It's bad cobbler,".
Arnold stopped right as the pastry was about to pass his lips. He spun the bowl around and sure enough, the entire left side was covered in furry mold.
"Ugh, duly noted. Why do we even still have this anyway?" He asked, shoving his fork and the bowl away.
"Well I was planning on letting Kokoshika find out the hard way, revenge for eating the ice-cream sandwiches last week y'know, but now it's just getting out of hand. Might grow legs and walk away if we're not careful!" Phil said, finally stepping out from the fridge. "I was thinking about making some pancakes though, if you want to stick around for a few minutes," He said, opening up the pantry. "Think we even have some chocolate chips in here somewhere!"
Arnold looked up suddenly and then down at his feet. "That's…you know I'm not really hungry. I think I'll just head down to the bus stop a bit early,"
"Alright suit yourself," Phil said.
Arnold turned and crossed back into the hallway. He grabbed his backpack and headed quickly for the door. The wooden walls were closing in on him and he felt nauseous; getting outside and away from the house sounded like heaven. He jerked open the door and slipped outside. The cold midmorning air swept over his face, instantly cooling him down. He stood on the stoop for a moment, taking in the air and calming himself down. Satisfied, he started slowly pacing the block and a half to the HillTrans stop that would run all the way to school. The dream had been bombarding itself against his skull ever since he got up, each vivid detail painfully resurfacing for him to relive. He focused down on his black Converse, looking at every stitch and line in the canvas, watching how the rubber soul lifted and fell on the cracks in the sidewalk, anything to break the cycle his mind was in.
Man I hate these things. It's been so long since the last one, I thought they were over. It's this stupid holiday. It always is.
After his thirteenth birthday, Arnold had had somewhat of a revelation: he hadn't necessarily given up the hope that his parents were still alive and would one day come back, but he began to realize just how long a time eleven years really was. The chance that they were still alive, and hadn't contacted anyone whatsoever, seemed less and less as the days went by. It was rough at first, but he began to accept the inevitable and move on. He started to return to his old self, living each day and trying to get by. A year and a half later, he liked to think he was doing a pretty good job at it. There were three days out of the year though that he really hated, and the second Sunday of May was one of them. To him, Mother's day, right along with Father's day and the rest of the Hallmark holidays, weren't just more pointless celebrations, they were insults: constant reminders of what he was missing. He knew it was a ridiculous thought, that the holiday was catered just to annoy him, but he couldn't help the feeling of it growing at the back of his mind every year.
He let his mind wander the rest of the way to the bus stop and leaned up to the cold metal post. He still had about ten minutes to kill. His hand had started to throb from the shingles on the roof earlier, and he rubbed the side of it tenderly.
'Cause that was a good idea. Hitting stuff never, ever, solves anything. You know that. He scolded himself, shaking out the sting.
"Hell of a morning for the start of summer right?"
Arnold turned around at the voice to see Gerald had rounded the corner and was walking up to their usual morning meeting place.
"Morning. Yeah, well, I'm sure it'll be nice out tomorrow. The weather guy said it was just a low passing front, or…something," Arnold said, putting on his most cheerful face.
"Man, you look like hell. You okay?" Gerald said, leaning against the bus signpost.
Arnold smiled softly and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah I'm alight. Rough night, I didn't get much sleep,"
Gerald nodded.
"Weird dreams," Arnold finished before he could ask.
"Hmm," Gerald said, seeming to understand.
The two were quiet for a moment, Gerald noticing every second of the awkward silence and Arnold just happy to be with someone else other than his mind.
"So, uh, this might be a bad time but, you're still good to help me cook on Saturday night right?" Gerald asked timidly.
Arnold smiled. "Of course. I'm not about to bail on you when your own brother skipped town,"
"I know right? Of all the times to get an 'unplanned internship'," Gerald said exaggerating air quotes. "On Mother's Day? Jamie-o really does have some balls," he continued, glad for Arnold's answer.
"Well at least he's got imagination. Did your parents buy it?"Arnold said.
"Who knows? They let him get away with it. I doubt they know about Violet though. Now that would be a different story!" Gerald said.
"He's got to bring her back sometime I guess?" Arnold said.
"Eventually. Unless he dumps her, which is looking more and more unlikely as the months go by. All I know is now it's just me, and I am not letting Timberley in the kitchen again after what happened last time," Gerald said.
Arnold chuckled as the 34 bus pulled up. They both got on and walked back to their usual seats and the driver quickly swung back into traffic.
The bus rolled on down the street, on its way to Hillwood High. The ride was relatively short, but it provided a nice ease in to the morning routine. The 34 line was installed to ease the morning commute for the city's high-schoolers, and went through most of the lower residential sections and then straight to the uptown campus.
"Seriously though, thanks for doing this. I owe you big time, I know it's been kinda…well, I know it's weird…," Gerald started as they sat down.
"Don't worry about it, it's fine. I don't really like to be in the house much over this weekend anyways," Arnold said, smiling.
Yeah FINE: freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional Arnold thought to himself. I owe it to him though, he can't really cook. Especially not four whole Cornish hens.
Arnold laughed as he thought of Gerald running around with an exploding kitchen, wearing a chef's hat that had burst on fire.
"What?" Gerald said defensively.
"Nothing. How did you say you were going to cook those hens again?" Arnold said, still chuckling.
"Um, fry them?" Gerald said sheepishly.
"You're hopeless," Arnold said shaking his head.
"Well excuse me Gordon Ramsey, I didn't know you were an authority on hen cooking," Gerald said as the bus pulled up to its next stop.
The driver swung the doors open and the entire frame of the bus dipped down as its next passenger stepped on. He was massive, built like a linebacker and dressed in a tight black sweatshirt. His hair was cut tight to his head in a buzz cut and he wore black leather driving gloves. By now the bus had quite a lot of other kids on it heading up to the various Hillwood schools, and they all turned away trying to avoid eye contact with the newcomer. He went straight for the back of the bus and slammed himself down against the farthest window seat. The smell of stale weed and stale booze followed him in a cloud as he passed Arnold and Gerald.
"Phew, he really reeks this morning. I didn't know Wednesday was a big party night but I stand corrected," Arnold said under his breath.
"Every night's a party night for Lon. Did you hear what he did to Curley?" Gerald whispered.
Arnold looked back at Gerald, surprise in his eyes.
"I guess he put oregano in a bag and sold it to him for twenty bucks. Said it was some crap Mexican pot or something. Lon wasn't very happy with him after that," Gerald said.
"He's insane. I'm surprised he's still alive," Arnold said.
The bus stopped again and, as if on cue, in walked Curley followed by Helga and Phoebe; the right side of his face was swollen to match a giant black eye. Curley took a seat in front while Helga and Phoebe sat behind Arnold and Gerald.
"Good morning Gerald! I'm assuming you heard about what happened to Curley?" Phoebe said, setting her messenger bag on her lap.
"He's totally stupid. I can't believe he did that," Gerald said.
"Talk about stupid, what about 'ol Loney boy? Buying an eighth for twenty bucks? I mean come on. I guess that's why the guy keeps getting DUI's. Dumb as a post," Helga said, rifling through her bag for a pack of gum.
"He got another one?" Arnold asked incredulously.
"Oh yeah, why do you think he still takes the bus all the time? Kid's eighteen and a half, taking the reunion tour of senior year, and I'm sure has a record longer than most felons," Helga said, finally pulling out her pack of gum.
The three of them slowly looked back at Lon, being as discreet as they could. Lon was repeatedly kicking the back of a younger kid's seat in front of him. The younger kid sat in horror, eyes locked forward refusing to turn around.
"Yeah I guess you're right," Arnold said, turning around.
The bus ride helped to clear his head a little, but Arnold was still running the dream around in his head. As per their usual morning routine, Gerald had taken off with Phoebe for AP biology after the bus, leaving Arnold and Helga to a short walk to English class. He turned down a side hall and stopped at his locker, Helga right behind him. She stepped three rows to the right and started working the combination to her own locker.
"Well I certainly don't pity your second period Shortstuff," Helga said, taking out a copy of Nineteen Eighty-Four.
Arnold looked up at her questioningly, stuffing his Calculus and Government texts in his bag.
"Gym class? With Lon? He seemed in an even more pissed off mood than usual. Giving him an actual excuse to run around and hit people sounds awesome," Helga said.
"Oh. He usually doesn't give me any trouble," Arnold said flatly.
"A do-gooder pussy pants like you? I'd imagine he'd be all over you. Maybe he just doesn't know you well enough," Helga said mockingly.
"Whatever. It'll be fine," Arnold said.
He closed his locker and turn to head to their English class.
God I wish she'd lay off for just one morning. I'm really not in the mood for this right now.
She jogged up to him and slowed her pace, falling into a stride beside him. He kept his face locked down to his feet; he could tell she was looking at him, trying to get a response out of him.
What else is new?
She coughed a little. "You okay? You seem a bit…distant this morning," She said, turning her head slightly to the side. "N-not that I care or anything, but it might actually make me feel bad about giving you shit if you keep acting like this," Helga added quickly.
Arnold looked up at her just as they got to the door of the classroom. "Oh, no I'm okay. Just…didn't get much sleep last night I guess,"
"Oh. Well…don't make a habit out of it Football Head, if you're not exhausted after the end of each day it means I'm not doing my job right," She said, forcing a weak smile.
"I'll keep that in mind Helga," Arnold said turning to walk to his seat.
Helga Helga Helga. Why do I put up with that. Why don't you just go tell her to leave you alone. In fact, go over there right now!
He laughed slightly to himself as he plopped down in his seat. He took out his red spiral bound notebook and flipped to a random page. He scribbled S.S.D.D. across the center of the page. The teacher walked to the front of the class and began talking as Arnold began to fill in the letters and twist them into a skyline.
He let his mind wander as he absently drew, half listening about controlling the past to control the future and to the birdsong outside the foggy class window. He glanced down at the page and saw that he had began to draw the outline of a biplane, dotting the tops of his SSDD clouds. Arnold stared at the drawing a moment, staring it down, and then slammed the notebook shut.
"Something to add Mister Short?" the teacher said, raising his eyebrow in annoyance.
Several other students around him had looked up from their notes and were now staring along with the teacher.
"No I, uh, sorry," Arnold said blushing.
He heard a few soft snickers as the boring lecture commenced. He slowly looked over his shoulder toward the row behind him. Helga gave him a sarcastic thumbs up before going back to her iPhone tucked under her copy of George Orwell's thesis on modern society.
The bell rang shortly after, and Arnold slammed the rest of his things in his bag and headed for the door.
"Nice trip there space cadet. How did you survive in school this far if you don't know how to make it at least look like your paying attention?" Helga said catching up to him in the hallway.
"Maybe I actually like to learn something once in a while instead of texting all class" Arnold said bitterly.
"Ooh, Arnold, I'm hurt. It was a good conversation though, nice and juicy,"
"I'm sure it was fantastic Helga," Arnold said.
I wish she'd just leave.
"Man you really are out if it today aren't you?" Helga said.
"I told you, I'm just tired," Arnold said, rounding the corner.
He spotted the doorway to the quad, and ultimately the locker room.
Just a few more steps.
"Okay, well…I'll see you at lunch. And uh, take it easy okay?" Helga said, slowing down as he walked on.
"Will do. Seeya Helga," Arnold said, making a beeline for the courtyard.
He stepped through the doorway and was finally outside.
One period down, six more to go.
Chapter 2: Lorin Silver and the Locker Change
8/12/2011