Long Unpublished

a Hey Arnold fanfic by Pyrex Shards

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"Hello Helga!"

"Hey Phoebs."

"How are you today?"

"Same old same old. You?"

"I'm doing good. When was the last time you saw the sun?"

"Last week sometime. I have a respectable moon tan. Why?"

"Goodness! We need to get you out of your apartment. What do you say to Japanese noodles, eleven o'clock at Fuji's?"

"You paying?"

"Of course!"

"I'll be there. Bye Phoebe."

"Bye Helga." A slender hand returned the cordless phone to its place on the counter top.

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Two friends, as close as sisters, sat facing each other at a small table in the front of Fuji's restaurant. It was a small place; a literal hole-in-the-wall. On the sign outside there was a stylized representation of Mt. Fuji behind the Japanese styled brush script making out the name of the establishment. It was one of Hillwood's little secrets tucked away in one of its more artsy districts along "cherry street."

It was also a pricey noodle place, but Phoebe knew the owners, and could get discounts for herself and her friends by merely showing up. She sat, eating her noodles like a pro, while Helga slowly tortured a single noodle with her chopsticks. She pinched it apart into equal segments and counted to about ten smaller noodles until Phoebe spoke up. "Gerald's got a promotion yesterday. We're thinking about moving uptown, to Hillwood Estates."

Helga looked up and allowed Phoebe a genuine smile. "That's great news Phoebs. I'm proud of you both."

Phoebe beamed. "Why thank you! That's very kind. But..." Phoebe shook her head. "We won't be able to hang out at lunch like this anymore."

Helga blew a strand of blonde hair out of her face and idly brushed it back into her unruly bangs. "Don't say that Phoebe. We'll spend time together. I do have a car you know." Once she was certain she had her short hair somewhat presentable she returned her attention to another half mutilated noodle.

"Well, we can pick you up sometimes." Phoebe spoke meekly, concern in her voice, then looked her friend in the eyes. "Can you really trust that thing up those hills." She idly gestured outside at the old brown Cadillac sitting across the street.

Helga merely smiled. "It may have a lot of miles to it, but that 'ol Cadillac has a lot of spirit left."

"But you've seen the way it smokes when you hit the gas and the way it diesels when you cut the engine."

"It just needs new rings, and a gasket, spark plugs, and a..." Helga shook her head. "Look, Phoebs. I appreciate your concern, but that's my problem, alright? Don't worry about it. I'll manage."

"Whatever you say, Helga."

"So. Did Gerald get any word on my latest draft?"

Phoebe's expression turned into a consoling frown, as she pouted. "I'm sorry Helga. Gerald said that they rejected..."

Helga groaned in frustration and stabbed her hapless noodles with her chopsticks, she averted her gaze from Phoebe and stared at the street outside, at her brown rusted Cadillac sitting across the street, with its balding tires and its missing front bumper. It was quite literally the only thing she could afford.

"I'm sorry Helga. There is some good news. You're going to like it, a little."

"Huh?" Helga turned to Phoebe, and the Asian woman reached down to her purse. She withdrew a small envelope and handed it to Helga.

Helga took the plain envelope and opened it. She unfolded the paper inside.

"They were going to send this to you, but Gerald and I felt we owed you an explanation, before you got the wrong idea."

"This... This is an offer letter. But I don't understand," Helga looked up at Phoebe. " You said they rejected my draft."

"They did. This is for the other draft."

"Other draft?" Helga arched an eyebrow at her Japanese friend, and then when realization hit, she closed her eyes and shook her head. She calmly sat her hands down on the table for fear of what she would do with them to the table or other items if she kept them up. "You didn't..."

Phoebe was quick to reach out her hand and brush Helga's. "Gerald and I want what's best for you, and if you're too afraid to admit that you are sitting on a solid piece of work that could make you rich, well, we had to push."

"You had no right."

"Helga."

"To take my childhood."

"Helga."

"And turn it in to those corporate heathens. Do you know what they'll do with it?"

"Listen to me for one second."

Helga folded her arms and stared across the bowl of noodles. She could never recall being as mad at her own adoptive sister more than right now.

Once Phoebe was satisfied she had Helga's full attention, she stirred the noodles in her bowl. "Gerald says that they were so impressed by it that they want to see more. I only gave them the first chapter. He says this is huge, not quite on the level of Harry Potter as far as sales, but you will be making some serious money. You won't have to work at Big Al's anymore. You can devote all your time to writing."

"This isn't something I can just release to the hounds. That's my life story in those chapters. There's some very personal stuff in there."

"But it's a work of fiction, isn't it? And weren't you the one to tell me that a true writer has to bleed on their paper?"

"Not for vampires, and certainly not for Wellington Lloyd Publishing."

"Please, Helga, consider this. You know we're right. We both love you. Your practically my sister. And besides, you could get a new car? I know you've had a rough life, but this is your chance to stick it to the world."

"I just want the world to work with me Phoebe. How come none of my other drafts worked out? Why do they want my own sob story instead?"

"I can't tell you that." Phoebe stood up, withdrew a small amount of bills from her purse, and placed them on the table. "But I can tell you this much. If you don't do this for anyone else, then do it for Arnold. He'd want to see you happy. Goodbye Helga. Gerald is awaiting your decision. You have his number."

Helga didn't frown, nor did she smile. As Phoebe bid her goodbye and walked out of the restaurant, Helga stared intently at her untouched bowl of noodles, then at her mid-eighties rust bucket parked outside, then to the offer letter, sitting on the table, one third of its fold swaying slightly from the breeze of a nearby air conditioning vent. Swallowing once for courage, she made her decision...

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"Where's the title?"

"It's unfinished."

"Well, these things have to have a title, right?"

"Criminey! I said it's unfinished."

"That's the name of your imaginary friend?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there's your title."

The nine year old, Helga, with her trademark Unibrow, and her unadorned blonde hair cascading down her back, smiled at her best-friends persistence as the petite Japanese girl fingered a piece of dialogue on the paper. Phoebe had a point. She looked at the top of the page, and with number two pencil in her small hand, set about writing the title, mouthing the two words as she went.

"Hey... Arnold!..."

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Authors Notes:

This came to me while my clothing was spinning in the washing machines at the laundromat. Not that it is that important, but we get inspiration in the strangest of places.

Feedback is much appreciated.

Thanks for reading!