The Basket or How I Broke Into Your Locker
By: PointyObjects and Mr. Husband
'...she was really upset…'
'...you guys almost ruined the play…'
'...don't tell her I told you, but she ate only dairy products for two weeks…'
Monday morning met Arnold with an otherwise normal routine. He met Gerald on the bus, burecounted their unorthodox Friday night that preceded Helga's food based play, and he entered the school with little expectation of his day going any differently than the days prior.
Until Phoebe stopped him on the front steps of the school.
She asked if she could speak with him on a matter of 'utmost seriousness', which in Phoebe-speak meant something was wrong that she might need his help fixing. Phoebe rarely needed his altruistic advice or help, and Gerald was equally suspicious, lingering at his side for a moment more, before making his way into the school. She motioned for him to have a seat on the concrete steps, barely warmed by the morning sun.
"Pardon my bluntness, Arnold," Phoebe began, smoothing out her words and the blue skirt over her lap. "But I would be remiss if I didn't inform you that, despite you and Gerald's last minute entry into the play effectively rescuing the finale, and resulting in a standing ovation, your considerable delay was felt by the entirety of the cast, most especially our director."
Arnold blinked. Processing Phoebe's version of a diatribe took only a few moments, but he understood its intention. He (as all of his castmates) were expected to be at the school prior to the show's starting, so Helga could rewrite lines, inspect costumes and generally berate them before their student body had the opportunity to do so as well. He and Gerald's impromptu trip downtown resulted in missing the preshow, much of the first two acts, and very nearly the entire play. He convinced himself over the weekend that donating most of the suspiciously acquired money to a family in clear need of it, overpaying his cab driver and making it to the stage just in the nick of time was enough penance for being momentarily thoughtless. Clearly, this was not the case.
"And while I would never dictate to you any action to take, I suppose as Helga's best and only companion, and stage manager, that she was really upset that night. Please don't tell her that i told you, but, she informed me that she ate only fairy products for two weeks leading up the performance. I, of course, mentioned the absurdity of such a diet and that havoc it would wreak on her already compromised immune and digestive system-"
"So, she was actually upset?"
"Arnold, you two almost ruined the play…"
"...I didn't- I mean, we didn't mean to," he told her, the guilt he was able to avoid now washing over him. Of course Helga would be upset. She'd managed to write a musical, no small feat for a fourth grader, and got the school board to allow her to direct and perform it for the school.
"I'm sure you didn't, Arnold," Phoebe replied, lifting herself off the step and giving Arnold a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Even so, I would suggest a sincere apology."
Arnold thanked her with a nod as she walked off. He contemplated what a sincere apology to Helga Pataki should look like. If he prostrated himself at her feet in public, she would only deride him and hold it over his head. He considered a grand gesture, perhaps a musical number of his own, but that idea was quickly discarded as well. Arnold did not see himself as musically inclined without proper direction.
As the school bell rang out, Arnold was struck with an idea. It would inevitably make him late to class, but only if he could make haste. Running down the block and narrowly avoiding a traffic collision, Arnold reached the local corner store and rang the bell at the produce counter. He stated his needs hastily, and after a good-natured inquiry about whether he was trying to put on weight to sign up for the Army, Arnold paid for his purchase and ran in the direction of Ms. Vitello's Flower Shop, in search of a suitable receptacle for his gift. A basket with a ribbon, he thought, would be nearly perfect.
"Hey! What are you doing creeping around my locker, you little weirdo?!"
Even though Arnold stood at the junction of the hallway for a solid seventeen minutes and watched Helga approach out of the corner of his eye, her brusque voice still startled him. He jumped slightly, turned and tried not to stammer out his practiced speech.
"Uh, nothing. I was just...I wanted to...apologize."
"For what?" Helga spat, narrowing her eyes at him.
"For Friday. Me and Gerald should have been on time for the play. I guess we didn't realize how important it was to you-"
"Save it, Hairboy," Helga interrupted with a hand extended. "At least you two clods were the final act, so you didn't ruin everything. Feel free to repeat this lame apology in twenty years, after I win my first Tony." Helga looked down at him smugly, no trace of the disappointment that Phoebe spoke of that morning. Arnold guessed that she had the entire weekend to recover from her first play almost crashing and burning at his hands.
"Well, either way, I'm sorry," he repeated.
"Yeah, yeah," Helga told him, her hand now waving in his face and dismissing him. "Now, beat it, would ya? You're crowdin' me."
Arnold walked down the hallway, in the direction from which Helga came, turned the corner and watched. She ignored his departure, and entered the combination on the the locker in front of her. Arnold briefly worried that he left his gift in the wrong locker, but when the door gave way, he was certain that he didn't.
Helga looked around suspiciously, extracted the card from the basket, and looked to release a sigh, though whether it was good or bad, Arnold couldn't say. Smile still in place, Helga replaced the card, took one of the two dozen bananas with her, shutting the locker loudly and peeling her banana as she went.
Arnold moved in the opposite direction, feeling equally happy, and longer than he'd felt in days.
A/N: She lives! This is entirely dedicated to my husband, who came up with this idea about...an hour and a half ago. Note: it is about 3:30 A.M. When your significant other wakes up to give you fanfiction ideas, that counts as a convert to the fandom. Haha. Thanks, love.
Fun Fact: My mom applied to join the army twice, but was rejected the first time because she didn't meet the weight requirement. The second time she went in, she'd spent the entire night eating bananas to get her weight up. She weighed in at a whopping 101 lbs. the next morning. In case the "army recruitment" joke needed clarification.
Also, Avalanche is not abandoned. I just went back to work for two jobs, raising a baby and trying to carve out a little time for myself for normal things like getting my nails done, and dinner with friends, and making my readers cry with angsty, fluffy fanfiction. It's a lot, y'all, but I'm getting it done. Sort of.
Okay, let me know what you thought of this little piece! Thanks!
-PointyO