So just to give you guys some background, this takes place when they're in ninth grade, after the Jungle Movie. They're all fourteen except Arnold, who just turned fifteen.
It was a rare occurrence for Phoebe to ask Helga for a favor. So rare, in fact, that Helga had no defense mechanism against her pleas. So whenever Phoebe wanted a favor, Helga would give in. The two girls knew this fact very well. Phoebe loved it, Helga hated it.
"Helga?" Phoebe began timidly. Helga nodded to indicate she was listening, but her fingers kept flying across the keyboard. The two of them were in the library of the junior high school, as usual. Helga was in the middle of writing that history paper on the European exploration of the Americas.
"I want to ask you a favor," Phoebe said. Helga's fingers froze for a second over the keyboard. A favor. This would be good.
"Depends on what it is," Helga said, her eyes never leaving the computer screen. Phoebe began to twirl a pencil in her hand.
"Well, um, you see…" Phoebe glanced around, making sure there was nobody around. "I kind of like Gerald."
Helga didn't react. "Okay, I knew that already. I won't tell anybody, though, if that's what the favor is."
Phoebe shook her head. "No, that's not it. Not exactly." She blushed and cleared her throat for what she'd have to say next. "You see, I like him. Like him, like him. But, I just don't know if…"
Helga finally looked at her friend. Phoebe was nervously staring at her shoes: probably mentally naming the different parts of them to keep her mind off things (sole, lace, aglet).
"You don't know if he likes you back," Helga finished. Phoebe nodded. "Pheebs, if Geraldo isn't head-over-heels for you, then he's got a couple screws loose up here." Helga tapped her own head with her knuckles. "But I guess I could talk to him for you. Is that what the favor is?"
Phoebe looked nervous. "Well, not exactly."
Helga crossed her arms. Oh, boy. She had a feeling that she may not like the favor.
"You see, I don't what you to go directly to Gerald. I don't want him to know I like him if he doesn't. That would be highly embarrassing. So it would make me very happy if, as my very best friend in the world, you went, shall we say, 'through the ranks' instead of directly to the source."
"Through the ranks?" Helga said, confused. Then it hit her. "You want me to talk to Arnold." A wave of dread washed over her. They had hardly spoken two words to each other since they left the jungles of San Lorenzo on that eighth grade class trip. A lot happened. Helga and Brainy got kidnapped by river pirates, Stella and Miles Shortman had been found, the Green-Eyed people were saved, and there were times where Helga was so sure that Arnold was acting like he liked her, liked her. And if a certain tall hair boy hadn't interrupted, they might have kissed, too. She lied, got kidnapped, busted out of pirate prison, nearly died from a poisonous snake bite, and got to see the boy she had been pining for since she was three reunite with his parents and finally be happy. But they had been avoiding each other ever since they got back. That was June, now it was October. Not one word from the guy. Was it too much to ask for Arnold to make the first move? Apparently it was.
"Please, Helga? Please! I won't ask you to talk to him ever again! You can even just run up and say 'Hey, does Geraldo like Pheebs?' and then when he gives an answer you can run as fast as you can to find me so you can tell me what he said!"
Helga crumbled under the pressure. "Fine! But just you remember that I am probably damaging my mental and emotional health for you and I'm only doing it because I am the greatest friend you will ever have."
Phoebe squealed in delight and hugged Helga. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The small girl seemed to bouncing in delight for the rest of the day.
Arnold sighed and hit the ping pong ball back to Gerald. "Gerald, I know you like Phoebe. Personally, I think you should just ask her out."
Gerald shook his head. "Are you kidding man? What if she doesn't like me, like me? If I just ask her out on a date, she'll know that I like her, like her."
Arnold was confused. "That's a bad thing?"
Gerald completely missed the ball to take the opportunity to hit his hand to his forehead. "Dude, if a girl doesn't think the same way about you and you ask her on a date, then they flip out! They go nuts! Then they'll never talk to you again! That's why you always ask them to hang out first."
"OK, so ask her to hang out," Arnold suggested. Gerald looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
"I don't want to go hang out with her! I want to take her out on a date. Big difference, Arnold. Big difference."
"So, let me get this straight: you like Phoebe, asking her on a date will scare her away, and hanging out with her is not an option." Arnold sighed in defeat. "I don't know what to tell you." Gerald rolled his eyes.
"I need you to find out if she likes me. But this is the catch: you can't ask Phoebe."
Arnold missed the ping pong ball completely and it rolled away to a distant corner of the rooftop. "You want me to talk to Helga?" Normally, talking to her wouldn't be a big deal, except Arnold had been careful to avoid Helga ever since they had returned from San Lorenzo. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her. Truth be told, Arnold was scared to even glance her way. He knew that Helga liked him, liked him and there was a good chance that he liked her, liked her. But he lost the courage to actually do something about it. At first he told himself that he needed time with his parents and he'd talk to her after he got to know them again, but he kept putting it off and putting it off. It had been almost four months to the day since he last spoke to her.
"Arnold, I know she's hated your guts since we were in preschool, but you have to talk to her! She's Phoebe's best friend! Heck, she's the only person Helga's even spoken two words to in months! If anybody knows, it's her!" Gerald was on the verge of begging now, which was making Arnold squirm. His nice guy instincts were slowly starting to wear at his resolve to not talk to Helga.
"I don't know-"
"Please, Arnold? Come on, man! Do me a solid! I just need you to talk to her for five minutes. Five minutes won't kill you. I really want to ask Phoebe out! Don't you want to see your best friend happy?"
And the nice guy instincts won over once again. "I'll talk to Helga," he grumbled.
One Year Earlier
Helga saved her essay. "Done! Finally!" She stretched her arms above her head, feeling stiff. As absorbed in his essay as he was, Arnold's eyes were drawn to Helga. Even underneath the baggy t-shirt and jeans, Arnold could see the new figure Helga had acquired since the sixth grade. He blushed and looked back to his computer screen.
"Me, too. Well…I'm almost done," Arnold amended. "I'm just trying to figure out how to word this last sentence." There was an essay contest for their history class (taught by their old fourth grade teacher Mr. Simmons). The winning student would take their class to whatever country they picked. Of course, it couldn't be any country. A list of acceptable countries was given to the class. Helga personally wanted Italy or Greece, but she couldn't help overhearing the conversation on the bus later that day between Gerald and Arnold.
"Gerald! Look!" Arnold had said. "San Lorenzo is on this list!"
What was so exciting about San Lorenzo, anyway? Helga wondered. Gerald answered her question. "Isn't that where your parents went?"
Arnold nodded. "Yeah. Gerald, if I win this contest and I can get to San Lorenzo…even if they aren't…I can still try to find out what happened to them. I have to."
"Well I'm sure you'll win," Gerald assured him.
Arnold sighed sadly. "I don't know, Gerald. I'm not the best writer in the world."
"If I say you can win this thing, then you can win this thing. I bet you'll write the best essay about the importance of preserving our history in the whole class."
So here they were, Arnold and Helga working in the library after school, putting the finishing touches on their essays. Helga stood at the printer, waiting for her essay to slowly churn out.
"Done!" Arnold announced. He scrolled through his essay again, satisfied. This was the best work he had ever done.
"Jeez, Football Head, how many pages did you end up writing?" Helga joked. After elementary school, the old nickname had become a term of endearment instead of a semi-insult. But, looking back on it, it always seemed more like a nickname to Arnold. The two had warmed up significantly to each other, actually becoming something like friends.
"Ten, not including the cover page," Arnold said. "What about you?"
"Same," Helga shrugged. The doors to the library opened and Coach Wittenburg poked his head in.
"Arnold! There you are! I need to talk to you!" he barked. Arnold sighed.
"Okay, Coach. I'll be right there," he said. "Helga, if I printed out my essay, could you staple it together and bring it down to Mr. Simmons' room? He should still be here."
"No problem, Arnold." Helga said, still shuffling her papers in to the correct order.
"Thanks, Helga!" he said, hitting the print button. "I'll meet you by the front doors. I'll walk you home."
Helga rolled her eyes. "How many times have I told you this year that you don't have to do that?"
"Same number of times I've completely ignored that and walked you home anyway," Arnold retorted. Her wit was beginning to rub off on him. She couldn't help but smile.
"Well, get going then," she urged. "Coach Wittenburg doesn't have the time to just stand around and wait for you to argue about taking me home."
"That's right!" the coach growled.
Arnold laughed a little, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. "Whatever you say, Helga."
She waited until he was out the door before she started looking at the pages of his essay. She was curious to see his writing style, how he argued, what points he used. Imagine her shock when she saw that Arnold was a terrible writer. He had not been lying when he had told Gerald on the bus.
"He'll never win that trip with this junk!" Helga whispered to herself. Simmons had always praised her for her superior writing skills (always in private, never public) and so she was pretty confident that she would win.
"I could choose San Lorenzo," Helga reasoned. "But everybody's already heard me talking about Italy and Greece! If I choose San Lorenzo it'll look suspicious. Plus, it wouldn't be the same if I won and chose San Lorenzo. This is Arnold's chance to find out what happened to his parents. He could finally be happy or finally have some closure in his life. He doesn't deserve to be miserable and left in the dark! Not after everything he does for everybody. So Arnold has to win. He has to. But how can he win with this terrible essay?" She looked down at the two essays on the table. They both had the same number of pages and a similar word count. The only thing that differed from the two were the names on the cover pages. Then Helga knew exactly what she had to do.
Before she could change her mind, Helga switched the cover pages and stapled them together. Sure enough, Arnold won the contest. The trip to San Lorenzo would soon be underway.
Arnold spotted Helga sooner than he would've liked, sitting on the bus by herself. There were still a few stops before Phoebe got on. He took a deep breath. He could do this.
Helga caught a glimpse of Arnold walking toward her and told herself not to freak out. It just happened to be a coincidence. He didn't want to talk to her about anything that happened in San Lorenzo. Her heart still did somersaults every time she saw him, but she had given up hope that he'd ever speak to her again and-he was coming toward her to talk to her! Helga cursed herself for dressing like a slob that morning. She kept her head buried in the book she was reading. She couldn't speak to Arnold first. He'd have to talk to her.
She felt the seat sink next to her and that wonderfully Arnold scent filled her lungs. Oh, she had missed that smell. She waited anxiously for him to speak; how she had waited for this day!
"So…what're you reading?" Arnold finally asked.
She had been waiting four months for that? With a great sigh, Helga held up the book even higher so he could read the cover.
"The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe," Arnold read. "Appropriate with, um, Halloween coming up and all." Then he fell silent. Neither of them said anything. For a few agonizing minutes, they both sat there and didn't say a word. Arnold couldn't get the words out. Helga realized she had been reading the same line of The Raven about a million times now. And Arnold still hadn't said anything. So maybe he didn't want to talk about anything after all. Well that was just fine by her. She had some talking of her own to do.
"Alright, let's cut to the chase," Helga snapped, closing the book. "Does Geraldo like Pheebs or not?"
Arnold was surprised not only that Helga spoke, but she had the same thing on her mind that Arnold had on his. "Actually, yeah, he does. He wanted me to ask you if Phoebe likes him."
Helga cleared her throat and flipped the book open again. "Well, she does. So go run off and tell him." Without another word he left her and sat in his and Gerald's usual seat. Helga sighed. So much for that last bit of hope she'd been holding on to.