Hey Arnold!: The Unexpected Life

A/N: Guys! My muse is back full force and I can hardly fit in all the writing my brain is coming up with! I'm so excited to share this with you! I've had this idea in my head for 2 years or so and the other day I woke up and the whole first 3 chapters were laid out in my head.

So the plan for this story is as follows: I'm looking at it as episodic in style. Each episode will be 3 parts. I will post one and then the next one the following one and the next one the week after that. And I will never start posting and episode unless all 3 of each episode are finished. That way if I ever had to take a hiatus there will be some form of closure in my absence. So the first three I'm naming Episode 1 (Parts 1, 2, 3). Hopefully you followed that. ALL the characters will have their time and in your review please tell me which characters you'd like to see and suggest conflict, drama, etc. It's a tv show style drama so I'd love hear what you want to see.

And lastly, if you know me, you know I'm a Shortaki supporter so be patient, my friends!

Enjoy! Remember to review!

Love,

Arnold's Love

Hey Arnold!: The Unexpected Life

Episode 1, Part 1

August 2018

"And one, two, three, four and turn, two, three, four…"

Clapping a steady beat, Helga watched the group of dancers as they practiced their routine. With only a few weeks until their incredibly important performance, mistakes were not an option.

"Mony, watch your footwork there! Make sure you're stepping on the right beats. And Kelsey, your lines need to be straighter—especially for this dance! It must look sharp and precise! From the top! And one, two, three…"

The young girls twirled and stepped together in unison, their movements fluid and graceful. There was something about dancing that just allowed Helga to escape the cares of life and just be in the moment. Practice that whole mindfulness thing that seemed to be all the rage lately. It was like physical poetry, moving to a synchronized beat, each motion a stanza or a perfect rhyme flowing across the page like pen on paper. Almost nothing could pull her back to the world.

Almost nothing.

A loud grown erupted from her midsection. Her painful and growling stomach was far from happy and the dreaded Pataki-hangry was only minutes away. Hopeful, she glanced at the clock and breathed a sigh of relief when the clock read that class was indeed over, and her lunch break was mere minutes away.

"Alright, class, great work today! I'm proud of you guys for learning this dance so quickly," she smiled as the young teens gathering around her excitedly. "Please, make sure you practice at home as well. This is a big deal for both me and the studio—and of course for each of you. It's a great honor to be a part of a Wellington-Lloyd event. See you guys Monday."

The room erupted in giggles and twittering from the students—still something Helga didn't fully understand and would probably never relate to. But she smiled all the same, happy to see her students so excited about something. She could feel the bubbling of excitement in her own body, just as she did before every performance. She was proud of her students and dance school. It had all come a long way from the one roomed dump on central she'd started with years ago. The studio she now ran was something to be proud of and to brag about. The architecture on the outside designed by one of Wellington-Lloyd's finest architectures was modern, chic, and an artistic beauty, boasting numerous large wall-length windows, sleek white walls, and wonderfully contrasting floors. Helga had to admit Rhonda had an eye for quality and artistry.

With her students finally gone, Helga danced around the room, tidying up before heading out into the lobby. She pulled her purse and jacket from behind the door of her office and was almost out the door—

"Ms. Pataki, you've got a call on line one!"

Helga tensed up, before slowly turning around with a grimace. "Timberly, why don't you tell them I'm at lunch."

Timberly's face actually winced. "Well, she wouldn't listen. She just kept yelling at me. I really think you ought to answer it. She seems pretty upset."

Helga sighed and picked up the phone, biting back the 'hanger' inside of her as best she could, and shooting Timberly a forgiving smile. She couldn't blame the young women, few people would relish the thought of dealing with an upset client. "Hello, this is Ms. Pataki speaking."

"You!" the voice on the line fairly screamed. Helga pulled the receiver farther away from her ear and cringed.

"That is what I said." Helga rolled her eyes heavenward in irritation. "How can I help you?"

"I'll have you know, Ms. Pataki that my daughter is in her room in tears! She's an absolute mess!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sure that's very awful, but I'm not sure why it's any of my concern?"

Timberly's eyes widened at Helga's response. Helga shrugged at her.

The woman made an angry sound before talking again. "It's your fault, Ms. Pataki. That is why it should concern you. You told her she looked like a lame goat during dance lessons and she's beside herself with grief."

"Well, first of all, I'm not sure you're using the term 'grief' correctly but I'll let that slide—"

Another angry huff interrupted her.

"And frankly, Mrs. Abernathy, she did look like a lame goat. Tell her to practice outside of class occasionally instead of…well, never practicing, and she'll soon be looking like a graceful swan instead. Good day." With that Helga reached over the counter and placed the phone back in the receiver.

"Helga! What are you thinking?" Timberly asked, her expression terrified.

"I'm thinking parents these days coddle their children and it's ridiculous. You want a successful child, give them a reason to try harder to succeed."

Timberly shrugged, a small smile on her lips as Helga turned to leave. But her smile faded instantly as the phone began ringing again.

Glancing over her shoulder Helga raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't answer that. Best take your lunch break now as well. I'll lock up behind you."

Stepping outside, Helga breathed in the fresh air. It may have still been summer, but the breeze in her hair whispered of the chill of the coming fall and all the goodness that always came with it.

As he listened to the other line on his phone, Miles fiddled with the family picture on his desk. He'd thought about updating the picture numerous times, but something about it made him feel complete. His family all together for one of the last times. His father giving him bunny ears while his mother dressed in a rather bohemian outfit, hugged his father around the waist, Miles' arm around his wife, both her arms tightly around him, hugging his close. And his son, eighteen years and donning his blue graduation cap and gown, holding his 3 year-old sister Andrea. His wonderful family whole for the last picture ever.

"Don't worry," Miles said, refocusing on the conversation at hand, "everything will be ready for you next week. Please, don't worry." He paused, waited for her response. "Alright, bye!"

Hanging up the phone he heaved a relieved sigh. "That woman and her charity event is going to be the death of me."

"What woman?"

He turned around, his daughter Andrea, or Andy as they called her, leaned casually against the doorway of his office, hardly the tiny three year-old she was all those years ago. She was sixteen and beautiful, with large, bright green eyes, small nose, freckles, and her mother's wavy brown hair. Not to mention the fact that as she'd matured so had her body, not something a dad can ever be happy about and he found himself ever worried about those high school boys she was surrounded by at school.

"Mrs. Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd," he told her, putting the picture back in its rightful place.

Andy let out a sardonic whistle. "No doubt."

"At least this event should bring in some money for the museum. Heaven knows we need it."

"By the way, Dad," she said approaching his desk and pointing at the wall behind him, "you're watching the clock right? We've gotta be home soon to help with all the unpacking."

Miles glanced down at his watch, surprised at the late hour. "Wow, how the time flies when you're talking to a crazy lady on the phone."

Andy covered her mouth to silence a giggle before giving him a reproachful look. "Dad."

"What?" He shrugged. "Everyone knows that's woman's got a few screws loose."

"Dad."

"Fine. I'm sure she's a lovely lady. Go grab your stuff, let's head out. I'll let Suzy know she's in charge for the rest of the day."

Andy shot him a thumbs up before head out the door to finish up her work and grab her things. Miles smiled. He was so grateful that he was able to watch Andy grow up instead of missing out on so many years like he had missed out with his son. A painful stab in his chest caused him to flinch, and that all-too familiar regret washed over him. If only…

But worrying about what might have been only caused one to miss out on more of the present, something he had to constantly remind himself.

Before too long they were sitting in the car, listening to the radio, Andy's melodic voice synchronizing each word with the singer.

"How was your day?" Miles asked, as excited as always to hear anything about his kids' life.

"It was really great, Dad. Thanks for letting me work the summer at the museum. It's been a blast. Especially with that Egyptian exhibit here this year!" She clapped her hands together, her green eyes twinkling. "It's been so much fun!"

"I'm glad you've enjoyed it. You're a much better help than last year's assistant."

"Tonight's the show choir retreat, by the way," Andy added. "You didn't forget, right?"

"Oh, that's right! Are you excited?" He was so proud of her. She'd worked hard and nailed the audition. Show Choir was every musical student's goal, and she had made it and he couldn't be more proud.

"Of course!" she replied, but then paused a moment, her expression changing to more serious. "But I'm also nervous. It's scary being the only junior girl to make it. I don't really know very many of the other members. I've just seen them in passing, you know what I mean?"

Miles could tell from her expression that she was more than just nervous. She looked almost terrified. Andy was a bubbly, friendly girl, but at the same time she was introverted and sometimes putting herself out there among people or groups she was less familiar with, was very hard on her. "You'll do fine, Andy. Just be yourself. You can't go wrong," Miles comforted, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sure you're right, Dad." Andy grinned at him. "I mean look how great Arnold's turned out. I bet a lot of that's thanks to you."

His smile faded as that old pang of regret returned once more. Twenty years later, you'd think he'd learned to move past it. "Well, I think your grandparents might have had a bit to do with that too."

She giggled. "Dad, just because some bad things happened that kept you away from Arnold—things you couldn't control, by the way—doesn't mean you failed him, you know. You're an amazing dad. And even if Arnold and I are fifteen years apart I've been around long enough to see how much you've taught him." She leaned over putting her head on his shoulder. "He's a good man, just like you are."

Miles laid his head on hers, putting his arm around her gently. "Andy, you're a good kid. I'm very blessed to call you daughter."

Pulling up to the house they smiled at each other as they spotted a moving truck pulling up as well.

"Perfect timing," they said together before breaking into laughter. Andy flung the door open excitedly, racing up the driveway, and Miles smiled to himself. I do have great kids.

Where else would Helga eat, but the Lemon Puddin' Café? Lemon pudding may have been their specialty, but they had much more delicious home cooked food available as well. Helga shook her head. To think she spent years mocking one of the owners for his love of lemon pudding, only to end up coming to his café multiple times a week to enjoy his amazing recipes.

"Helga!" a high-pitched, but sweet voice exclaimed as she walk in, the chime above the entrance ringing softly. She glanced around, but didn't see anyone, and grinned to herself in amusement.

"How do you know it's me?" Helga asked, stepping around and still trying to find the owner of the voice.

"It's Friday at noon, who else would it be?"

"Absolutely anyone else who works nearby and is on their lunch break," Helga teased, leaning over to look behind the counter. "You've got flour on your cheek."

Lila giggled, lifting up her apron to wipe at the wrong cheek before redirecting her attention to the lovely display of deserts she was arranging. "Maybe I'm psychic and that's how I knew."

"Or maybe your mother's intuition has developed even more levels of power," Helga laughed, as Lila stood up to stretch her back, her large expectant belly popping out even more as she did so.

"If that were the case I'd sure understand my preteen a lot better," she said with a sigh, waddling around the counter. "Now, you owe me a hug! You know I can't let a friend come here without a hug."

"Are you sure you can manage with that wide load out front?"

"Har-har," she laughed, throwing her arms around Helga, who returned the hug willingly.

"So where's the Stink-meister? Yo, Stinky!" Helga hollered towards to back of the cafe.

"Hi, Helga! What'll it be today?" Stinky greeted, popping his tall head out from behind the half wall that separated the counter from the kitchen in back. Helga was still convinced she'd never met anyone taller than Stinky Peterson. At 6'7" than man towered over everyone, including his short, petite wife. They were quite the pair to look at, but perfectly matched in marriage.

"How about one of your amazing bacon burgers?"

"Coming right up!"

Helga's phone began buzzing then. She glanced at the ID before apologizing to Lila and answering. "Hey, Princess, what can I do for you?"

"Helga, now, I just want to make sure that everything is going to go perfectly for Friday."

Helga shook her head in amusement. "Rhonda, I've got it covered. I promise."

"But, Helga, you don't understand," Rhonda rushed on anyway, "I'm counting on your for the entertainment and everything must be just right. Johnson, please don't put the flowers there. They will clash with my Boca do Lobo sofa."

"Rhonda…Rhonda!"

"I'm sorry, Johnson's eye for décor isn't always on par."

"Focus, Princess. Listen to me," Helga continued. "Quit worrying, nothing will go wrong. All the dancers are doing great. You've got to calm down. Don't you trust me?"

"Well, Helga, it's not you I don't trust, it's the children! How can you be sure they won't mess something up? I mean I remember the problems we caused as kids, so I can only imagine this generation—"

"Because they won't," Helga interrupted. "They'll all have their routines down to a T. Mark my words, you have nothing to worry about." Helga knew that even reassuring Rhonda as she was would do little good until after the event ended in a success. Rhonda had a history of being high strung until things were over.

"Well, I really hope—oh, I've gotta run, darling! It's the museum curator! Just be sure your dancers have their routine's down perfectly. Ta-ta!"

Helga hung up, tossed the phone on the counter, and dropped her face into her palm. "That woman is exhausting," she sighed from inside her hand.

Lila giggled. "I know what you mean. She means well though. And at least it benefits you as well this time."

Helga lifted her head once more and smiled at her friend. "That is a big plus. Now let's get down to business. So for the food on Friday…"

Lila tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, before taking her daughters hand and walking across the street towards the dance studio. Why she decided to walk to the studio at nine months pregnant was lost on her. Her breath came in short huffs and her sides were beginning to ache. Round ligament pain the doctor had called them. Perfectly normal. She'd like to punch the clueless idiot in the face. Men shouldn't be allowed to be OBGYNs unless they found a way for them to suffer the same pains and come out of it feeling actually empathetic.

"Have a great time, Mae!" she called, interrupting her own less than kind thoughts. "Listen to Ms. Pataki, and do your best." She watched her little nine-year old daughter skip her way through the door, her red braids bouncing behind her.

Once Mae was safely inside, Lila collapsed on a bench on the side of the building. She toyed with the idea of calling someone to come pick her up. At the very least she was going to have to rest there a long time before walking again. The baby in her belly kicked, and she smiled down at it, rubbing the sides gently, playing with the little one inside her.

Some people thought they were crazy. She knew it because these days, people didn't stop to think before they spoke. A sixth child on the way sort of made people judge them harshly. Something that irritated her more than it did Stinky. He didn't seem to care what anyone thought, but Lila did. She didn't understand why people wouldn't looked past the number to see how happy they were—all eight of them. Or the fact that even with five going on six, they still managed be well involved in their kids life and not a bit neglectful. But she supposed she'd better get used to it and try to ignore it.

As if on cue, her phone began ringing. Caller ID told her it was her home number.

"Hello?"

"Mom, where's my Incisions t-shirt?" the snippy voice on the phone asked.

"Hi, to you too, Franny."

"Ugh. Mom! Just answer the question. Where's my shirt?"

Lila sighed. She wondered if Francine's behavior was normal for a preteen. "Which shirt is that one?"

Even though she couldn't see Francine's face it was almost as if she could hear her rolling her eyes. "The black one." When Lila didn't respond she continued in an irritated voice. "The black one with the crying iron maiden on it that says 'Incisions' along the side in big, bold letters."

Lila grimaced. The rude sarcasm in her daughter's voice wasn't lost on her. "Watch your tone, Francine. That shirt's in the dryer."

There was a pause and Lila assumed Francine was searching through the dryer for it. She didn't have to wait long. "Ugh. Mom!" she whined. "It's a wrinkled, pathetic mess! Can't you do anything right?" She slammed the phone down Lila's ear.

Lila hung her head, feeling suddenly more exhausted than ever. Her phone buzzed again and she groaned.

"Hello?"

"Lila Peterson?"

"Yes, this is Lila."

"Hi, my name is Jeremiah Goldstein. I'm calling from The Bank of America."

Lila felt herself stiffen. The bank had never called her before. Suddenly she worried that she'd left her credit card somewhere and someone had been running a balance up on her card. "Okay, and what is this regarding?"

"Your over-due mortgage payment for the property at 400 Parker Street."

Lila's heart froze. Surely this was a mistake. "What do you mean over-due?"

He paused on the other line before replying. "As in you haven't paid it in six months."

"What? But our investor—"

"Ma'am, I'm afraid you'll have to take this up with them. All I've know is your payment is late and if you don't get us the missing payments by the 30th, we'll have to begin the foreclosure procedure."

"But, wait, I mean, that's not very much time!" Lila exclaimed panic taking over her already foggy brain.

"I'm sorry, that's all I can do. Please call us if there's anything else we can help you with. Have a good day, ma'am."

She ended the call and leaned her head back against the wall. "Have a good day? Yah right."

Helga waved to Mae and Lila as they turned to head to the crosswalk. Watching Mae was like stepping back into time and seeing Lila when she was nine too. Red braids, freckles, and overly perfectly perfection about her.

Her phone buzzed with message. She opened it to read.

Your bow was pink

My hat was blue

Nothing rhymed but the kitchen sink

So happy bad poetry day to you.

-Arnold

Helga chuckled out loud, a spot in her heart warming at the horribly awful poem on her phone screen. He never failed to send her a god-awful poem on August 18th. How many years had it been now since their freshman year in high school?

She shook her head not wanting to enumerate the years. But ever since then it had become a tradition and one that she cherished dearly. Arnold Shortman, bad poet extraordinaire, never failed to send her a poem each and every year. And each and ever year Helga stashed away and saved his horrible poems. And every year (well, more often than once a year if she was honest with herself), that painful ache of the lost love-of-her-life came back full force, instead of it's constantly-in-the-back-of-her-mind ache.

Quickly she texted him back.

I can't help but chortle

When I think of Arnold's lame poetry

It's just so darn dreadful

Especially that one about his knee

Before she had even put her phone back in her back pocket it buzzed again.

Hey, that knee poem was one of my best! LOL

I'm sorry, is August 18th also opposite day? My apologies for not knowing. LMAO

She chuckled, and slipped the phone into her pocket. The teasing breeze tickled the fallen wisps of her pale hair and she glanced to her left. It had been a long time since she walked down Vine Street and August 18th—their day—felt like the perfect timing to take a stroll.

She ambled down the road, a rare pace for her, but one she enjoyed occasionally when walking down Vine. She passed Mrs. Vitello's Flower Shop and waved to Harold at Green's Meats. All in the anticipation of her ever familiar and forever favorite location on Vine.

The Sunset Arms boarding house. A place full of so many memories—good and bad—and so much of her young heart. It amplified those heart aches, but she'd grown used to the endless pain in her heart—accepted it would always be there—always be a part of her. And that was okay. She'd come to accept that.

Although Sunset Arms wasn't currently a boarding house. It had fallen into bad shape a few years back and Arnold's parents had been working hard to fix it up, though it seemed to not look much different than it had years ago. Helga assumed they were focusing on the inside first.

That was until she spotted a moving truck out front. Okay, then, she thought, I guess they were only fixing the inside. It would seem it was once more a boarding house. The moving truck was large, at least a twenty-seven footer and Helga wondered how the new tenant planned to fit everything inside.

She stood across the street, reminiscing, old feelings and memories tickling her senses. One particularly special person touched her mind then and she glanced down at her watch wondering if there was still enough time grab some flowers before dusk and pay a visit.

"Oh, no! He's got me!" Andy exclaimed leaning back as the one year-old, Dean, jumped on her stomach. "But he forgot one thing, I am Andy the Great!" She growled dramatically, picking up the little guy and tossing him roughly on the couch. He giggled and reached up his arms to her.

"He wants to do it again," Gertie explained, translating for her little brother.

"Andy, it's time for you to leave for the retreat," Stella called from the kitchen. "We don't want you to be late. Cassandra is going to give you a ride."

"Okay, sound good! Alright, my littles," Andy smiled, turning to the two little kids, "Auntie's gotta go, so now it's time to go get Grandpa! Get him!"

The two little ones erupted into giggles tackling Miles to the ground. "Oh no! They've got me!"

"Grandpa! We were playing chess!" the nine year-old Phillip groaned, crossing his arms across his chest in disappointment.

"I'll be back in just a second, Philly," Miles replied as Dean sat on his face. "Whoa! Someone needs a new diaper!"

"Better make it quick," Stella called peeking into the living room. "A pipe just burst in the kitchen." She grimaced in apology at him, even though it wasn't her fault.

"I'll be right there," Miles called. "Sorry, Philly, you'll have to be a patient a little longer."

What was it about graveyards that make it so year round there's dead leaves littering the ground and crinkling as they blow across the headstones. Helga shivered in spite of herself, and continued walking focusing on the still green grass and the still green trees with their leaves fluttering in the wind. Ignoring how the sky darkened with clouds, as if they felt the missing piece of her heavy heart.

Hillwood's cemetery was large and expansive and old. The city's founders and first settlers were buried there in the beginning and so many more since in the every growing, bustling city. She never forgot the path though. Even ten years later. It was engraved in her mind. Not because she visited frequently, but it had been engraved in her mind the day of the funeral.

It had been hard for her. So hard. Companionship had been a rare priveledge throughout Helga's life, but so needed. And that hole had been filled for a while, until suddenly it wasn't anymore and all that was left was a cold, gray headstone where a kind, loving face should have been.

She looked down at it sadly, the hole in her heart aching softly. She bent down and placed the happy daisies against the stone, tracing the words with her fingers.

Gertrude Shortman

1917-2007

Loving Grandmother, Mother, and Friend

No freer spirit has there ever been

Helga felt the tickle of a tear on her cheek. But she suddenly sensed she wasn't alone and heard the soft sound of a step and a throat being cleared. She reached up and brushed a tear away just as that unforgettable voice spoke softly behind her.

"Hello, Helga."

A/N: Next update coming: June 27th!