Note to readers. Read "Scrapbooks" first. It will make more sense.

The classroom for P.S. 118's fifth grade class was, without a doubt, one of the most worn out, run down, oldest classrooms in the entire school building. The grey of the concrete wall was showing in places where the paint had chipped off. Many of the desks were held together with little more than a prayer. One of the lights was a taped off socket so the rear of the classroom was perpetually bathed in shadow. Most of the chairs sat unevenly on the floor because of lost metal feet, so that they tipped like a rocking chair as weight was shifted on them. The drawers in the teacher's desk stuck so badly they didn't open even if Mr. Simmons used both hands to try to open them. Except once, when the drawer had shot open, startling him. In short, nothing worked!

Most importantly, the classroom needed new textbooks. The ones Mr. Simmons found on the shelf at the rear of the debilitated room had more graffiti in them than math problems. Also, these tomes had endured ten years of abuse at the hands of schoolchildren. So much so that when Sid lifted his math book up off his desk on the first day back from summer recess, the spine split in two halves and dropped to the floor. It was enough to make Mr. Simmons almost cuss, "oh, fudge!" More embarrassingly, Harold Berman had opened up the class history book from their new "reading nook" and read his own parents names penned into the back cover with a little heart shape inked around them. Harold had frowned and squinted at the ancient graffiti with a disgusted look.

"Ew! Spew!" he had spat while dropping the offending classroom book. Stinky Peterson had nodded sympathetically over his friend's shoulder. "Now that's a history lesson!" the boy declared in his slow southern drawl.

It was the beginning of fifth grade. Because Arnold's class was known to be a notorious, rowdy bunch, it had been decided amongst the faculty that Mr. Simmons would be continue to teach his fourth grade class for a new year. This meant a move to a new classroom and whole new curriculum. But as glad Mr. Simmons was to stay with his old class, he was discovering plenty of reasons to frown. As glad as he was to see his old students, a little older and with fresh sun bronzed faces, they murmured unhappily at their new surroundings. Especially Rhonda.

"Ugh! This simply won't do!" she said tipping her chair sideways then righting it for the millionth time. Every time she crossed her legs, the support of her own leg was lost and the chair nearly turned. After the fifth time, Mr. Simmons stood up and moved to his old podium. The podium was something he himself provided to the classroom because it was his "style" to give lectures like a university professor.

"Rhonda! Here you go. You can use my seat for now," said Mr. Simmons. He scratched his chin as Rhonda silently took the chair and arranged it behind her desk. The girl sat behind her desk, much calmer.

"You know class, I think we are going to have to do something to… ahh, make our classroom more comfortable!" said Mr. Simmons, mincing his words in case Principal Wartz overheard. He did not want to upset their moody Principal by telling him outright that the room they had been assigned was terrible. Mr. Simmons held his hands clapped together and grinned his fake, nervous grin as he waited for his students response.

"We can protest!" one of the this year's new students said, waggling a fist. But Mr. Simmons pressed his hands down in two gentle sweep. The gesture was a calming motion, a symbol for "settle down!"

"Now class," said Mr. Simmons going to the board and writing, "Ideas," on it in big wide, chalk letters. "The school budget for this year," said Mr. Simmons wringing the collar on his neck, "is extremely thin. We're going to have to find a way to raise money for the supplies ourselves. Any ideas?"

"A fundraiser!" said Rhonda leaning both hands forward across her desk. Her eyes glittered. "Mummy and Daddy will come and spend lots of money!" Mr. Simmons smiled. This was sounding promising already.

"A bake sale!" said Sheena. But Rhonda puffed out her breath in disgust.

"A bake sale?! Oh, please! We need something bigger, flashier! Like a Gala Ball!"

"It's a little early in the year for dances," thought Mr. Simmons. "Hm. How about a contest?"

"What kind of contest?" asked Sid. He and Stinky looked at one another, interested, but wary of the idea.

"A pie-eating contest!" said Stinky rubbing his belly with hunger.

"An all-you-can eat chili cook-off!" shouted Harold rubbing his greedy hands together. But Rhonda Lloyd was being evil.

"A dance contest!" she said looking up from her painted nails to unroll a magazine from her bookbag. "It's all the Nouveaux, right now!" On the cover of the famed magazine was a tall, thin man in a tux dancing with a woman in a crinkly red dress.

"I dunno. I think we should all shoot some hoops!" said Gerald. Arnold stared hard at the magazine Rhonda waved in his face.

"That's charming, Princess," Helga muttered coming late to class. She appeared at the door with one bowtie lopsided and her dress covered in mud. With a scowl she prowled up to Rhonda Lloyd at the desk right behind Arnold's. "That's nice, Princess," Helga repeated with bone-chilling stillness. "Now get out of my seat!" Rhonda Loyd clutched her magazine to her chest and stood up in a hurry. Then she walked up with a sniff, her nose in the air.

"Alright, alright! No need to get worked up about it!" Rhonda said before moving to the third row. Helga sunk deep into her territory, unlatched the desk top and poured all her things into the desk from her bookbag before reaching up to fix her pigtail. Arnold leant his elbow against the back of his chair. Half-turned, he dragged his curious eyes up and down Helga's bedraggled state.

Hi, Helga," he began nonchalantly. "You're late. Did something happen to you on the way to school?"

"Oh, nothing much, Arnoldo," said Helga, a little cross still but smiling softly at her favorite boy. She was a lot calmer these days, since more often than not she spent them with her 'friend' Arnold. "Miriam put all my good dresses in the washer and forgot to dry them. By the time they were dry I had to run 'cause I missed the bus. Then I split my lunchbox thanks to some crazy bicyclist," said Helga rolling her eyes, "so I stopped by the minimart to buy lunch. Then some truck mucked me with a puddle."

"That's too bad" Arnold remarked before lifting up his hand to point. "Uh, Helga, your hair is still a little crooked," the boy said lifting up a hand to try to straighten the pigtail himself. But Helga scooted back and lifted up a hand to block Arnold's own. Her cheeks flushed. She fiddled with the tie to her pigtail quickly, yanking it tighter.

"That's okay, Arnold. I've got it!" she declared before lowering her hands to the desk again. Helga took a deep, heavy sigh to slow her rapidly beating heart. But Rhonda Lloyd watched the encounter. Her evil grin spread as she thrust the magazine in Helga's face.

"Helga. You and Arnold make SUCH good dancers! Wouldn't you like the chance to dance again at our fundraiser?"

"What fundraiser?" asked Helga. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she instinctively took the magazine from Rhonda's hand as the girl offered it to her.

"The fundraiser to remodel our classroom of course! And get new books! These tacky surroundings simply won't do!" said Rhonda gesturing to an orange bookshelf the same shade as a construction yard cone. Helga's eyes darted around the room.

"A fundraiser, huh? Not a bad idea. These digs are mighty shaggy!" Mr. Simmons smiled.

"Well then, class it's decided! Our first fundraiser will be a neighborhood dance competition! We'll have separate divisions for grownups and for students! Arnold. Helga. I hope that as our classes' celebrity dancers," Mr. Simmons said with a wink, "you'll be the first to sign up for the competition."

"What do we win?" asked Helga slapping the magazine face down on her desk as she leaned forward. "Is there a good prize?"

"Well," said Mr. Simmons thinking. "I have to work things out with the faculty, but I believe we could sell tickets and collect small entry fees to make a cash prize of say, oh, five hundred dollars?" Mr. Simmons offered in the manner of bargaining. There were whispers of interest around the room instantly.

"Five hundred dollars! Boy howdy!" said Sid.

"Arnold, you've got to enter that competition!" Gerald whispered from his chair. He, too, sat in the first row of desks, but to the left. "You're a pretty mean dancer! You'll win for sure! Five hundred dollars!" Gerald ended dreamily. He lifted a hand up in thought. "Ya know, maybe I'll enter myself." But so far, Arnold had not agreed to anything. Instead he kept his brooding silence for as long he was able.

"So!" said Rhonda Lloyd loud enough for the entire room to hear. "Are you going to enter, Arnold?" But Arnold frowned a nervous smile instead of smiling.

"I'll think about," he said. Then he picked up a loose pencil from his desk top and began to scribble on a blank sheet of paper.

The air between Arnold and Helga had become tense. For the remainder of the day, they avoided one another. The next day they both agreed that Mr. Simmons had forgotten all about the contest and became good friends again. Then, when Mr. Simmons finally hung a poster for the event on their classroom door, they both rushed over to see it so fast they both nearly knocked one another over by bumping shoulders. Rubbing away the bruises, they fell silent to read. It was official then. The dancing competition was really going to happen.

"It isn't tango," Helga breathed out in relief. Arnold nodded.

"Yeah."

While the tango they had shared at the April's Fool's Party had been sweet indeed, it had been almost TOO pleasurable. After that dance, both of them had been left with a super-charged high of emotion. The cool pool water had helped them both to dull their raw attraction to one another. But long after the event, a bit of flame sputtered. Neither Arnold nor Helga were keen on reviving it from embers. They feared the invitation to a romantic moment because the crush they shared with one another these days was a forbidden topic. Their secret. Like FTI, the April Fool's dance, too, had threatened to sweep their truce of friendship away with something of a more wild nature.

They both longed to forget, just to gain a bit of sanity between them. But for a mere moment, the two ten year olds stood, exchanging a glance. They relived the memories. The flames smoldered between them in their eyes until abruptly, they both looked away at the same time to clear their throats. Then, calmer now, they both looked at the poster again.

"It's a waltz. So?" asked Arnold as calmly as he could manage it. "Should we sign up? I'd hate to disappoint Mr. Simmons."

"It's five hundred dollars!" said Helga. "Of course we'll sign up! But how to do we break the money? Fifty-fifty?"

"Uh, Helga that's presuming we even win the contest," said Arnold opening the door and holding it wide so they could enter the classroom. He sat down at his desk. "Let's worry about signing up first."

"No way, Arnoldo.' said Helga surprising him, as always. "I'm not signing up for anything with you until we've got a deal in place! Phoebe!" belted out Helga. Her loyal subordinate came nearer.

"Yes, Helga?"

"Draw me up a basic contract. Arnold and Helga. Fifty-fifty, equal parts partnership! I want your signature on this so you don't back down!" Helga gave Arnold her most piercing look. The newly astonished boy rolled his eyes.

"Okay, Helga. If it makes you happy."

"It's finished!" Phoebe Heyerdahl chirped before shuffling a sheet of three-ring notebook paper into Helga's hand. She studied it, then endorsed the page herself. Then, with a glare, Helga held the page out to Arnold to take.

"Sign it Football-Head!" she snapped. Arnold sighed and took out his own pen, looping his signature on the page.

"Whatever you say, Helga," Arnold said, offering the paper back to Helga. She handed it to Phoebe.

"File it, Phoebe!" Helga snapped with glee.

"Right!" said Phoebe. She handed the document to Curly who ran around the room in circles showing it to people. "File it, file it!" Curly shouted madly before handing the sheet off to Lorenzo, who stuffed it inside his briefcase.

"Okay," said Arnold shaking off the shock of the weird way of doing things those in his classroom had worked out. He turned back to Helga.

"Well, since this is a waltz, it should be easier. But have you ever danced the waltz before, Helga?" the boy asked keenly. He kept his gaze firmly on Helga's so that she could not squirm away from answering.

"No, I haven't," Helga answered with honesty.

"Right," said Arnold. His throat was full as he spoke, as though he had come to an important decision. And he had. "In that case, how about you come over to my house after school tonight? We should practice. My grandma is a pretty good dance instructor. She'll have you waltzing like a queen in no time!" Arnold promised boldly. But he was that confident in his Grandmother's abilities. Helga flushed pale.

"Your house? Well….ah...ahh.. I guess I sorta could do that Football-Head," said Helga sinking low in her chair as she spoke. "But just to practice our dancing!" Helga flushed a deep scarlet when she realized she had just used the word, "our," out loud!

"Great!" said Arnold who now was feeling awkward himself. He turned back toward the blackboard and busied himself with notes.

To prepare for a contest was no little thing for either of them. Both Arnold and Helga had too much pride to fight for anything but first place. So it was that Helga skipped her bus stop. She waited until the school bus drove all the way to Vine Street and paused in front of the Sunset Arms Boarding House. Then she followed Arnold so timidly off the bus that Arnold could not help but stare, his eyes as wide as they could go as Helga fiddled with the strap of her schoolbag and looked at her little white shoes.

"Uh, Helga? It's okay. You've been here a million times before," Arnold remarked. It was true. Helga had hung out on the street outside Arnold's house countless times, skipping rope or playing baseball with the other kids. There was a whole bunch of times Helga had snuck into the house for one reason or another. On two occasions, Helga had even entered the house by invitation. The first instance was during a school project. She and Arnold had unpleasantly lost their egg for their school project before it was found. Then second visit came when Arnold's entire class had borrowed his living room to watch the documentary that had been made about their ninth-grade class. Helga's quiet evaporated instantously. She balled both fists against her waist and snapped.

"Well, all this is your idea, Arnold! Don't blame me if I stink!" Helga finished flipping her pigtail back as she stopped to stare off into the distance with her arms crossed. Arnold blinked.

"I'm sure you'll pick it up in no time. You're a fast learner," Arnold said standing aside of his front door to let the usual stream of pets pour out of it. Then, when it was safe, he strode through the door followed by Helga. He flicked on the hall light.

"Grandpa? Grandma! I'm home!" Arnold shouted to the interior, then shrugged. The boarding house was large and he often had to play hide and seek to find them. Arnold dropped his schoolbag on the kitchen table and took out a package of crackers. He stuck his hand inside and pulled out a handful of wafers, then offered the box to Helga. "You want some?" Arnold asked politely before stuffing several crackers into his mouth at once.

"Wow. You're sure hungry," remarked Helga. She delicately selected a single cracker from the box and threw it into her mouth with a flip. Arnold shrugged.

"I don't know. All of a sudden these days, I have an enormous appetite. It's like I can't eat enough or something."

"Well," said Helga her eyes sparkling, "that's good! It means that your legs might grow a little!" She pointed down at Arnold's legs and he narrowed his eyes in a mildly cross expression.

"Maybe," the boy answered carefully to avoid sounding offended. He replaced the cracker box back onto the kitchen shelf. "Come on, let's find Grandma."

The two schoolchildren paced the downstairs of the boarding house. They spotted Phil fiddling in the basement with one of the washers, but Arnold did not feel like hearing his Grandpa's wisecracks right now. Who knows what he would say in front of Helga? Instead, Arnold softly tread the carpeted stair up to the second floor. Grandma was just about to vacuum the hall. Arnold stepped carefully across the vacuum's cord.

"Grandma!" he uttered loudly before his Grandma could switch the machine on. "I really need your help with a project for school! Could you teach Helga to dance?" Arnold held his breath. His Grandmother blinked at the blond-haired girl behind him. Then she moved in on Helga like a hurricane.

"Why Eleanor!" said Pookie grabbing hold of Helga in a firm hug. "I'm so glad you could come and join us! You've got to stay for dinner!"

"Eleanor?" Arnold asked out loud. His Grandma's nickname for Helga never made any sense. But then again, she seldom did. Arnold tried again.

"Look Grandma," Arnold explained. "Helga and I need to go to a dance competition to earn money for our school! We'd really like to win. So will you help us?" His Grandmother's soft grin grew wider.

"Of course, Arnold!" Pookie declared. "I'd glad to! You be Prince Rudolf and she can be Princess Marguerite! I'll get the two of you ready for your costume ball!"

"Costume ball. Right," said Arnold, slightly flustered. At least his Grandma wasn't making him dress up as a raja in a turban and cloak. But alas, his Grandmother did have props. For Helga, she made her wear a pink frock much more lacy and more draping than her usual wear. It had to be pinned up from where it draped on the floor. For himself, a jacket of sky blue with a hideously wide collar sufficed.

"Can we dance now?" said Arnold impatiently as his Grandmother finished the last of her pins. Helga stepped down from her box.

"Of course, Prince Rudolf!" his Grandma said, unrelentless in her pursuit of characters. She lifted Helga's hand and thread it together with Arnold's. Helga was forced to shuffle closer until Arnold could grasp hold of her waist. Helga's eyes fixed on Arnold's face, wide-eyed and scared.

"Just relax and follow the footsteps. Listen to the music in your head!" Arnold advised. He already knew the waltz himself. It was merely a matter of getting Helga to memorize it, too. Grandma Pookie flipped the switch button of the tape cassette. A full second after its pleasing click, the tape wound and began to play. Grandma Pookie waved her fingers above her head as though directing an orchestra. "That's the way, Arnold! One-two-three, one- two-three!" she declared with a grin.

Arnold and Helga danced for twenty blissful, emotionally painful minutes. The crush they held in both their hearts came out in their shoes and it took all of Helga's reserves not to sag against Arnold's chest and sigh in delight. Similarly, it took all of Arnold's mastery of himself not to pull Helga further into his arms than required. At the very last, when the tape cassette ended, he did indulge himself by bowing down and kissing Helga's fingertips softly. But then, it was over, and he had to let her go.

"So," said Grandma Pookie with a shrewd grin. "Would you like to stay for dinner, Eleanor?"

"Oh no! I couldn't!" Helga protested. But Arnold had been energized with hope by his Grandmother's suggestion. His hair stood up on end and he stood up straight and taller than usual. The opportunity appealed to him.

"Oh yes! Please stay for dinner Helga!" Arnold mumbled out quickly. "If we start now, you can be home before sunset! You can use our phone to call your parents if you have to!" Arnold promised. Helga slouched forward, her hands held against the sides of her hips and her long, black monobrow tried to work out Arnold's behavior. For once it almost seemed he was... glad that she was tagging along. Come to think of it, he had been that way all summer. Helga shook her head softly, clearing it.

"So, Football-Head!" she said with a soft grin. "Whaddya have for eats?"

"Let's go cook it and find out!" said Arnold following his Grandma.

"Me? Cook?' asked Helga pointing to herself.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Arnold amended quickly. "You can just watch!"

"I'll do that," said Helga. Yet, when sat down at the kitchen table and found a pot of unpeeled potatoes nearby, Helga found herself reaching for the peeler.

"You don't have to do that!" Arnold protested. "You're the guest!"

"Yeah?" said Helga waggling the potato peeler at him. "Well, I'm a champin' potato peeler, thanks to Olga! I can peel this pan of potatoes in no time flat!" said Helga proving her words. Arnold and his Grandma bustled around the kitchen and soon dinner was in the oven, baking. Arnold left the kitchen to set the dining room table. Helga stood up.

"Hm," she said rummaging through the cupboard. She pulled out a can of yams and stared at it. Then she pulled out a bag of flour. "Do you mind if I borrow the kitchen for a few minutes, Grandma?" she said. Pookie smiled.

"Of course you can!" she said. "I'll help!"

Dinner was a loud and noisy affair in the boarding house, as usual. It was especially chaotic in that dinner was called at six instead of seven because of Helga. Arnold rang the chime, then sat at his chair with his hands folded as the boarders filed in. He expected quite a few excited shouts because of Helga, but Grandpa had appeared on the scene. Hence, Arnold was rescued.

"Oh, leave the boy alone!" The head of the household snapped. "'The boy can have a friend over if he wants to!" Helga perched nervously on a chair beside Arnold. Then Grandma Pookie came in carrying a large roast chicken on a platter.

"Ohh!" said Mr. Hyunh, impressed. "What's the occasion?"

"Why, Eleanor of course!" said Grandma nimbly returning with a bowl of mashed potatoes. "It's so good for her to find happiness again after what happened to poor Mr. Roosevelt!"

"Right," said Arnold shuffling his eyes away. As ever, his Grandma was a little batty. But Helga didn't say a word. She grabbed a dinner roll instead.

"I call seconds on the chicken!" she said. "If there is any," she said admiring the large group. "Wow, Arnold! Your family is huge!" Arnold stared back at Helga in shock. A thought like that had never occurred to him. Ever.

"I guess you could say that," the boy mumbled. He offered Helga a smile in gratitude.

The rare treat of a fresh baked, plump, buttered chicken disappeared within ten minutes. It was torn apart to shreds rapidly, but then Arnold's Grandma surprised Helga by walking around the table to hand her the wishbone. The Y-shaped chicken bone had been cleaned of meat and was a grisly gift, but Helga accepted it all the same.

"Here you go, Eleanor!" said Grandma. "A wishbone! I loved to crack these things when I was a little girl! If you make a wish on it as you break it, then your wish will come true! But you have to keep it a secret!" Grandma Pookie ended with a wink. Helga held up her odd gift.

"Uh, sure. Thank you," she said holding up the bone into the lamplight. Arnold caught the second side of the Y.

"Share?" the boy offered, surprisingly Helga.

"Uh, sure," Helga muttered.

"Then twist!" said Arnold adding pressure to the chicken bone. "In the opposite direction! Did you make a wish?" he asked as the bone splintered with a satisfying snap.

"Er. Yeah," said Helga rolling her eyes away. But the only wish that had been in her head had been to be with Arnold forever. She had felt so little time to think! If only she had wished for a million dollars or something…. Then maybe all of this would be simpler. Not that she believed in chicken bones. At that moment, a timer went off and Helga got up.

"You wait here!" she demanded, then left the table. Five minutes later, Helga walked back into the boarding house dining room with two oven mitts and a steaming hot pie. With an arrogant smirk, Helga plopped it down on the table in front of Arnold.

"What do you think about that?" Helga bragged as she grinned devilishly. Arnold stared at the pie.

"You made this?"

"Yeah. It's yam. You didn't have any pumpkin but if you use yams in the same recipe for pumpkin pie, it pretty much tastes the same."

"I didn't know you knew how to cook!" said Arnold still staring at the cooling pie. He chopped out a large hunk with his knife and laid it on his plate.

"I picked some stuff up from that nanny," said Helga, reluctant to mention Ingrad. "Then after that I pretty much taught myself. The old Boob-Tube helped, of course," said Helga referring to the television. She had added cooking shows to her schedule of television viewing. "I guess I realized that I'd better become more self-sufficient. What with Miriam being so unreliable." Arnold stared as he absorbed Helga's long explanation.

"Well, I think it's great!" Arnold offered as compliment before digging a fork into the cooling pie. He spooned it experimentally in his mouth. His lips rounded out into a broad smile and he dug into the pie for a larger forkful.

"This is great, Helga!" repeated Arnold "Thank you!" He gobbled down the first piece. Across the table, Mr. Kokoshka reached for the pie, but Helga snatched it up in a flash.

"Oh no!" she said incensed. "This pie is for Arnold!" Arnold swallowed a mouthful, then wiped his chin with a napkin.

"You can make me another pie, tomorrow, Helga," Arnold offered, trying to make peace between Helga and the boarders. "How about this? I have one more piece, and they can share the rest?" Arnold grinned, trying to win Helga over to his side.

"Fine!" the girl snapped. She sawed out an enormous pie piece for Arnold's plate. Then she slid the pie tin across the table toward the boarders. But there was only half the pie remaining. The pie piece she had made for Arnold had been one-third of the entire pie! The portions the rest of them would be getting were mighty small. But mention of tomorrow had reminded Helga of something. She checked her watch.

"Well, I'd better be going, Arnoldo," said Helga standing behind his chair with one hand on the uppermost wooden rung. "See ya tomorrow?"

"Sure," said Arnold without a smile this time. The afternoon had flown by far too quickly.

"It's no fair, Arnold!" wailed Mr. Kokoshka as Helga shut the front door. "Your sweetheart is mean to me!" the middle-aged man complained loudly. But Arnold didn't look sympathetic. Instead, he took a spoonful of his pie.

"She's mean to everyone," Arnold tossed as if it was no big deal. "Get used to it." He finished his pie and leaned back in his chair, content. Grandma and Grandpa both bent their heads close together. They had to share a smile for that!

The day had been like a fantasy for Helga, but the pleasant dream were about to end. When she swung open the front door to her house, Helga expected no one to care about her absence as usual. But there in the entrance hall stood Olga Pataki, her mascara blurred and runny.

"Baby Sis!" shouted Olga as she launched toward Helga in a frantic hug. "Where have you been! When you didn't arrive home on the school bus, I was so afraid for you Baby Sis!" said Olga, a few fresh tears leaking down her face as she crushed Helga unpleasantly in a tight bearhug. Helga grit her teeth and tried to get a breath of fresh air. When she managed that, she worked her arms free enough to shove Olga away.

"Woah, woah! I'm fine, Olga! I just was over at Ar… I mean, a friend's house. We had dinner."

"Wait!" said Olga standing still as if thunderstruck, her elegant hand lain across the cheek of her face and her other hand on the edge of her skirt as she posed on one toe. "You were having dinner at a boy's house!"

"I didn't say it was a boy!" spat Helga, trying to cover her mistake. But Olga continued on regardless.

"A boy?! Dear, sweet Baby Sis! So young and so innocent! To be exposed to the heartache of love at such a tender age!" Helga watched her sister, wide-eyed. Her parents had never given a rats when she had gone out or with whom. They had no idea she had gone on dates or had a temporary boyfriend at age nine. But apparently Olga was different.

"I must protect you from this!" Olga raged on in dramatic fervor. "I must talk to mummy and daddy about this! You must simply not be allowed to date anyone until you are at least sixteen!" said Olga Pataki shaking her head proudly. Then she whirled about on her toes and pranced off into the living room of the Pataki house to find their parents.

Olga pranced away with a delighted smile on her angelic face. Helga watched, her jaw a gap in horror. Then she bolted up to her room and locked the door. Helga ripped open her cellphone and rapidly dialed a now familiar number. 555-123. The phone rang. Arnold picked up on the other side of the line.

"Hello?" he said, wondering who might be calling.

"Arnold!" Helga whispered, her hand curled around her mouth and the phone. "We've got a problem! You know how we're supposed to practice dancing tomorrow? Well, it looks like I'm not gonna make it," she said before diving into a rapid explanation.

"You're kidding me!" said Arnold when Helga's explanation was through.

"No, I'm not."

"Well, you're right," said Arnold with a long, deep sigh. "This is going to be a problem! We'll talk about it at school tomorrow. Don't worry, Helga," said Arnold. "We'll find some way to practice for the dance contest."

"Okay. Bye," said Helga hanging up the phone. But it wasn't just the dance contest that had Helga worried! She opened her closet door and knelt before her Arnold shrine.

"Oh blasphemy!" said Helga curling her wrist across her unibrow in tortured lament. "Sixteen, Olga? Are you really to make me your foe, standing between me and my one, true love?" said Helga pulling out the Arnold locket from around her neck and giving it a fond kiss. Helga put the locket away and fisted her hand instead.

"No!" the pink-bowed girl shouted to no one but herself and her shrine. "Not when I am so close to my beloved! I must thwart my sister's bossy, all-knowing schemes! Oh Arnold! My love!" she wisted. But there was little Helga could do about the problem now. As Arnold Shortman had stated, they would have to talk about it at school tomorrow. Between the two of them, of course they would craft a plan to outwit Olga Pataki!