Hello again Hey Arnold fans! You may have read my old stories, written ages ago under the penname CoSmIc DrEaMeR (Which as you can see, i've changed so as to be a tad more tasteful) Well, i stopped writting for a very long time but would really like to get into it again as writting is something i truly love. I feel in need of some practice though before i get cracking for real, and these stories were always wonderfully fun to write, and to this day Hey Arnold is still one of my all-time favorite cartoons (even though i guess i'm what you'd call an adult now)

I wrote this in a little over 12 hours while battling insomnia. It's going to be Helga Arnold, I promise (I'm a huge sap), so i'd appreciate feedback, constructive critisism welcome! If no one likes this premise, then i'll start over with a new idea.

Disclaimer- Totally not affiliated with Hey Arnold.

Beautiful Red

Prologue: The Spark

Looking at the girl, the first thing you could say about her was that she certainly wasn't pretty. A more tactful word would've been Striking, but let's face it...not many ten year olds are tactful. If some poetic soul set out to describe her eyes, no doubt the phrase 'electric sapphire' would appear, for more than the obvious reason of colour. There was a charged, unstable sort of energy to her gaze that made people look past the colour, to the sheer penetrating uncomfortableness of it being cast their way. When she set her eyes on you, lovely though their hue was, it was more often than not in the throes of boiling rage or frigid jeering. When she looked at people, usually all that concerned them was how to get her to stop.

...yes, at first she looks like she's been awkwardly put together, like that great celestial creator was just about to clock out for the weekend and threw some bits together from the leftover bin so they could close up early and still meet the quota. The hair is right, though, you had to admit she had good hair, if you ignored how she kept it. It was thick and a light gold that shone like a polished sword, and everyday she wore it in stiff pigtails that stuck out from her head like a scarecrow's arms, donning a huge and ridiculous pink bow that dwarfed every other feature...Except her unfortunate unibrow, mysteriously many shades darker than her hair. It should be mentioned that there had been adults who had seen her and had quipped (once she was well out of earshot) whether later on in her life as a woman, the carpet would match the curtains, so to speak. Most adults are just the same tactless children they were, who grew into tastelessness as they went along. Her lips were the shape that the famous Clara Bow only drew in and dreamed of, but she kept them in a thin, down turned scowl that made it indistinguishable. No matter how much sun she got, she remained porcelain pale, which most people less eloquently referred to as 'Good God, you're freaking white.' Her ears didn't exactly fit her face though, and her feet are too big. She's tall and very thin, a model's body, minus the poise and grace that comes from being comfortable within it. This could be because since the summer before Fifth grade, she was horrified to find that she was one of those girls who's body was Developing Early, completely without her permission.

...or it could just be because she's clumsy.

She now had two bumps for a chest, much to her alarm and dismay. She'd stolen her father's Tensor Bandage that he used to wrap an old shoulder injury that acted up from time to time, and now mummified a portion of herself daily to rectify the situation.

All this wrapped up in a dress like a pink sack and a temperament that would make a haggard army drill sergeant seem positively charming, made her look like she was built...wrongly.

Look closely though, at every feature individually.

This is not an ugly girl.

This is a girl who is very, very good at making it look like she is.

...Morgan grinned thoughtfully, and closed her Journal.

One Week Ago

She sat in PS 118's lunchroom, wistfully watching him from afar, head resting in the palms of her hands. Bewitched by the mere sight of him, she didn't notice that one of her elbows had landed rather comically in her chocolate pudding. Seated beside her, a fragile Asian girl in glasses nudged her blonde companion for attention and nodded down to the confectionery mishap, holding out an unfolded serviette while the rest of the table look at her quizzically.

"I was uh...I was just checking the consistency. Yeah, you know me, hate runny pudding. Can't expect these throw-pillows to get it right." Helga babbled loudly, snatching the proffered napkin and wiping the remains of what would've been her desert away.

It was one of those days.

A thin, warm smile crossed Phoebe's face, "Of course Helga. Naturally, pudding can be such a trial..." the smile was replaced by and impish smirk, "Perhaps you would've preferred Ice Cream?"

Helga, who had just taken a big glup of her Yahoo, spurted it across the table. When she opened her eyes, she was met with the shocked expression of Rhonda, mad as hell and dripping wet with backwashed soda. The other girls at the table gasped.

"Easy there, Rhondaloid--" she began.

"Helga, you low class clutz!" she yelled, in the kind of fury reserved for those higher up in the worlds caste system, "This shirt was imported specifically for me! It was hand made by Valentino! It's priceless! It's one hundred percent silk! Do you know what soda does to silk you idiot?!"

The entire lunch room had come to a halt to watch this display. People sat and stared with utensils halfway to their wide, open mouths, still in mid-chew.

Phoebe rallied, "Now Rhonda, I'm certain if we make our way to the washroom a solution can be--"

"Are you deaf?!" Rhonda shrieked, too angry to now to focus the rage on any one person, "It's ruined Phoebe! That troll of yours destroyed it! You know, your big oaf of a friend?! That fashion victim beside you?! Do you need me to translate that into Japanese for you to get it?!" Phoebe shrank back, deflated, hand over her mouth.

Like a demon rising from The Pit, Helga stood up.

I grab Phoebe's hand and put her behind me, well out of harms way, because i had a feeling it was making a detour through this general location within the next few minutes. Still, no one yell at Phoebe, and no one insults me. There is a wrath I feel prickling underneath my skin, making me fume. I walk slowly to the other side of the table, past the silent figures of Lila, Sheena and Nadine, whose mouths and eyes are opened wide, like awestruck puppets. When I was face-to-face with Rhonda I set my scowl into overdrive, glaring at her and cracking my knuckles. Her eyes twitch, hardly a nanosecond of an expression change, but I'm an expert. Somehow this doesn't feel right.

"Want to repeat that?" I say to her. She rolls her eyes at me. "Go on," I growl, good and low, "I'm right here now, Princess. What, this too fair for you? Phoebe's a pushover, but you know I can take it. So say it again, with me right here."

It wasn't working. She looks around the room at our aquired audience, and scoffs.

"Please," her voice drips with contempt, "I don't cater to anyone, especially the castaway of a trashy family. We have servants that we bought for our servants who do that sort of thing. They walk our dogs too, who I must admit, are better looking than you." she grins triumphantly.

"Rhonda stop it!" Arnold's voice.

I can feel the thick clouds of temper and feriocious offence, peeling my skin back, leaving me raw. Vile, black rage is bubbling up inside me, threatening to spill over, "Shut up, you pampered prissy prat, or I swear I'll..." my mind goes sweetly numb and fills with options.

She wasn't stopping, she was giving me her best Heiress Half-smile. I'm grinding my teeth.

"Tisk tisk, Pataki." she mocked, waving a finger back and forth, " Do try to have some manners. I know it's hard considering your upbringing. Wolves could do better." she giggled maliciously.

I feel Phoebe's delicate hand on my shoulder blade. I think she's saying my name, but all I can hear is Rhonda, and my blood, the sound of it pounding in my ears.

She keeps her finger in place, but moves a closer to me, "You know, you're such an angry girl, Helga dear, and I've always known why, I've been too polite to say it, but tell me..." She moves in, until her mouth is to my ear. I can't even breathe. I'm staring at her finger.

"How does it feel?" she whispered, "To know everyone loves Olga, but not you?"

Everything went red.

"...And that, Mister Pataki, was when Helga broke Miss Lloyd's finger." finished Principal Wartz.

Helga sat across the room from him. Bob was on Speakerphone, unwilling to leave work on her account. Mirium hadn't picked up at home, which didn't surprise Helga. She was usually completely, incoherently trashed on Smirnoff Smoothies by around 9:30 am these days.

"Damn it Helga!" roared Big Bob the Beeper King, "What in crimany do you think you're doing?! Huh?! Pulling this crap on me when you know the Beeper Empire is trying the expand into cell phones?! What in God's name is your problem?! There's going to be hell to pay for this shit, missy, no two ways about it! Christ!"

Helga narrowed her eyes at the machine, "Whatever, Bob."

Wartz didn't so much as bat an eyelash, "I'm very sorry, uh, Mister Pataki, but Helga will have to be suspended for two weeks. I'm afraid this is a serious offence, and we must make an example of her, to show the rest of the students that this sort of behavior won't be tolerated. We're just lucky Miss Lloyd's family has agreed to keep this matter private."

"What?!" Bob boomed, causing the balding principal to wince, "Just what in holy heck am I supposed to do with her for two weeks?! If you think I'm letting her tag along with me you've got another thing coming, Bucko!"

"Yeah, God forbid you should take care of me." she muttered

"Can it, Olga!"

"It's Helga, Bob."

"I could give less of a damn right now!"

"Yeah, right now or any other time!"

"NOW YOU LISTEN HERE--"

"Please, please!" Principal Wartz interjected, "If I may, the school board has found an Anger management support group that comes highly recommended here in Hillwood. It's group therapy that takes place in the day, it would fill Helga's time away from PS 118."

Helga snorted at him, "If you think I'm going to tiptoe in the tulips and talk about my 'feelings' with a bunch of touchy-feely pansies--"

"You better believe you are Missy!"

"Helga," Principal Wartz folded his hand on his desk and looked her squarely in the eye, "because of the special circumstances that have arisen due to this...incident, I have to tell you that the board of education is being...rather insistent about this. They're requiring that you do this..." he trailed off, eyes shifting around the room. Helga's heart sank as realization dawned on her, "There's an 'or else' attached to the end of that, isn't there?"

Principal Wartz took a deep breath, "It's that or expulsion, Miss Pataki."

I trudge out of Wartz's office, crestfallen and defeated. My feet are like lead and I drag them all the way to my locker, shoving every textbook into my bag. After all, I'm not going to be here for awhile.

"Helga?" Arnold. At times like this it always had to be Arnold.

Well, They say Angels come when Devils cry. And what is my love, if not angelic?

"What do you want, Footballhead?" I sneer, but there's no real venom to it.

"Phoebe! She's here!" he shouted, and Phoebe came darting around the corner, petite little body gripping me in a hug I don't return, "Helga, what happened? I've been so worried!"

I, not we. I can't help but notice. I glance at Arnold, who's looking at me intently, glorious selfless wonder-boy that he is. How I adore him.

"Quit staring at me, Arnoldo." I spat out.

His brow furrows for a moment, "I will Helga, but first tell us what's going on."

"Well, if it'll get your creepy peepers off me, what's going on Footballbrains..." I chuckle coldly, "Is I'm getting a two week vacation from this miserable hole."

Phoebe's mouth drops open, "Oh Helga no, you've been suspended?"

I grin at her darkly, "Yep, and it would be perfect too, only they're making me go to this anger managment thing with a bunch of hippy fruitbaskets. How lame is that?"

There was a pause where they were both silent. It went on for just a bit too long.

"What? You two think I actually need this new-age crap?"

They both looked at eachother, then back at me, wordlessly. I had been dreading this. I was hoping maybe it had been embelished because I had a record. A history of violence would be putting it mildly. Still, I couldn't remember anything but red...and a wonderful, numb, nothing sensation that made me shiver to even think about now. At the time though, it had been so dulling, and painless and rich and...warm. So different from what I usually feel. I remember thinking, this must be what heroin feels like...

I hoisted up my bag and walked a few steps away, while they remained glued in place, like figurines. Well, Helga ol' girl, you've gotta know sometime.

"I really broke her finger?" I said quietly, still with my back to the two of them

I hear one of them take a step forword, "Yes." says Arnold softly, almost in a whisper.

It's hard to swallow as I look down at my hands, and think about the motions, think about what it must have looked like. How she must have screamed, "Is...is she okay?" I ask, trying against all odds to make my voice even.

Phoebe answers, "She's going to be just fine Helga, don't worry. It'll be okay, she spoke to her parents and they're not pressing charges." I cringed, "She knows she pushed you, everyone knows. Everyone could tell that you weren't...yourself."

"You really don't remember anything about it, do you Helga?" Arnold inquires, "You really did black out?"

I shake my head, "Not black," I tell them, "...Red...the most...beautiful Red..."

I cleared my throat, trying to play off what had been said, "Well, see you clowns in the funny papers."

Neither of them followed.

End of Prologue

paleMistress.