Hey guys! This is my first Hey Arnold Fanfic. The gang are all in high school. This is set as if the projected events in the Jungle Movie did not happen. I'm going to be exploring the relationships and characters of Helga and Arnold, of course, but also Lila. I'll rotate through their point of views.

Just as a warning: I am a literary nerd, so there are references and quotes galore in here. Embark at your own risk.

Lastly, I do not own Hey Arnold or the characters, obviously. If I did, there would be no need for any fanfiction, because Helga and Arnold would already be together and everyone would be satisfied...Enjoy!

"There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired."

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

The rising sun beat through the panes of a window in New York City, casting a sharp glare of light into the bedroom within. It strained against the eyes of the girl who lay sleeping on the bed, creeping underneath her eyelids, demanding to be seen. She stirred slightly and lay an arm over her eyes in an attempt to shield herself, but the glare persisted, creeping through the crack between arm and face. With a snarl, Helga jerked herself upright and scowled at the unyielding daylight.

"Fine, you win." She snapped, swinging herself off of her bed and groping for the clothes she had thrown on the floor the previous night.

They were wrinkled-her shirt still smelled like the refried beans she'd been forced to scavenge for her dinner-and there was a dark coffee stain on one of her socks. But what choice did she have? She had outgrown nearly all of last year's clothes, and convincing Miriam to shop for new ones-or even to give her the money to do so herself-was out of the question these days. It was enough work to get her to shop for groceries before the pantry was empty.

She shrugged out of her pajamas and threw them over the chair by her desk, tugging on her wrinkled pink T-shirt and squeezing into her long-outgrown jeans, which barely reached halfway down her shins. She glanced in her mirror, trying to assess exactly how stupid she would appear to the world on her first day of high school.

"Pretty damn idiotic." She muttered to herself as she surveyed her reflection. Her short jeans covered stick-like legs and hips, their tightness exacerbating the meagerness of her curves. Her plain pink shirt, falling in an uninterrupted sheet over small, childlike breasts, contrasted almost comically with her darkly disapproving expression. Her contracted eyebrows met in the center of her forehead, dark and forbidding, over blue eyes which were the only softness in her set, angular face. Her blond hair, ruffled by sleep, stuck out in two messy pigtails from the sides of her face.

"Oh well." she said, smiling a little at the mirror as she caught sight of her book of Sylvia Plath poetry on her bed stand. "I guess you're going to tell me that you are not cruel, only truthful. You'd be right, there. It's not your fault I look this way." Her face sank slowly into a frown at these words. "But it sure as hell isn't mine, either."

Averting her gaze from the reflection, Helga stalked out of her bedroom and towards the front door, pausing only to run a brush several times through her unruly pigtails and to grab her backpack out of the hall. She noticed Miriam in the kitchen as she walked by, her head on the table, an empty bottle of vodka in her outstretched hand. Experience had taught Helga not to try and rouse her- not to think about how much she had been drinking-and not to care. With not so much as a backwards glance, Helga walked out of her house and slammed the door shut.

The morning was crisp and clear, and the wind blew pieces of unkempt hair into her eyes and mouth as she walked. She blew them back out of her face impatiently, bowing her head and scuffing her feet along the sidewalk. After a block, Helga stopped and checked her cracked watch. She had a few minutes before her scheduled pickup time-a few minutes to compose herself before the school-year began.

High school was a subject of great anticipation for some, and great fear for many. Phoebe was thrilled to be able to take more advanced classes; Rhonda was desperate to prove herself to the older girls; Gerald was intimidated by the jocks with whom he would now have to compete; Eugene was ingenuously excited to begin what he perceived as "the next new adventure;" Harold was steeling himself to appear tough, even amongst the tougher, more practiced bullies; Stinky was frightened to death of being jeered at for his slowness. And Helga? How did she feel?

Helga let out a long, deep sigh and watched the traffic trundle by. She didn't know how she felt about high school. The older students, the classes, the teachers, held no fascination or trepidation for her. She was master of any situation, and she cared very little for the novelty of the new school in that regard. As far as she was concerned, high school was no different than middle school and elementary school-there was work to be done and people to be ignored or associated with as she chose. There couldn't be any difference for her.

And yet.

Wasn't there?

Helga's fingers closed on the golden, heart-shaped locket which she still wore, hidden underneath the wrinkles of her shirt. She wrapped the cold chain around her thumb and closed her eyes.

Arnold.

The beautiful, football-headed boy who was both caring and insensitive, understanding and naive, considerate and cruel, yearned for and completely inaccessible; Arnold, the boy who was all that she both adored and abhorred-the boy whose very name evoked such ecstatic pleasures that almost-almost-made up for the unbearable pain which inevitably, inexorably, accompanied them.

What would the new school-the expanded student body, the inevitable separation of the tight-knit class which they had until now been constantly thrown together with-mean for her chances with Arnold? Would she ever be given the opportunity to look upon the face, to hear the voice, to jealously watch the step of he who was her pain and her pleasure, her misery and her pride-who was her everything?

Helga opened her eyes and glared at her own reflection in a puddle at her feet. Her chances with Arnold. Who was she kidding? How many years could she spin herself the same pathetic hope? How long would she cling to a future which would always be beyond her grasp? When would she finally accept the futility of dreaming and yearning and working towards a boy who had long since proved his own indifference to her? Could she ever rid of herself of the desperate longing which day by day had grown less and less likely, more and more desperate?

A passing car drove through the puddle, flecking Helga's shirt and face with grey water. She swore under her breath and stepped back from the curb, releasing the locket and roughly wiping her face with the back of her hand. For a moment she stood there, lost to the world around her, surrounded by the hopeless dejection that filled her every pore.

As she removed her hand from her eyes, the school bus stopped in front of her. The doors shuddered open, and she stepped on, eyes cast down, sinking into the first available seat with hardly a glance at anyone else. Only when the bus had resumed its motion, and the eyes of the occupants had slid away from the newcomer, did she dare to search for him.

She heard his voice before she saw his face. He sat three seats ahead of her, laughing with Gerald, his face turned away from her so that she only saw the back of his head. Her heart rose into her throat as she looked at him, spellbound by the messy parting of his blonde hair, entranced by the timbre of his laugh, which, even though his voice had deepened slightly over middle school, still retained that boyish, light-hearted quality which she had always loved.

It's hardly any wonder that I can't rid myself of you. Helga thought. Who could ever resist you? She continued to watch him, hungrily surveying all she could see of him, noting every slight change in his appearance, until the bus made an abrupt stop several blocks later, and she was compelled to look up.

A girl with red hair, tied into two braids, stepped on board. She wore a light green dress and an carefree smile which heightened her inherent, almost tangible femininity. Helga watched her as she walked up the aisle. She watched Arnold's back immediately straighten at the sight of her, watched his head turn to meet her eyes, watched as a pitifully eager, disarmingly hopeful look spread across his face-and all of a sudden her insides had turned to dust, and venom was coursing through her veins, scorching and searing the underside of her skin. She had to look away. She tried to stare fixedly out the window, trying as hard as she could to ignore the pain stabbing at every part of her, but she could still hear him-and she sat, trapped under the heady influence of his voice, desperately willing herself not to feel.

"Lila," he said breathlessly, every word a knell to Helga's heart.

"It's ever so nice to see you Arnold." she replied, pausing to look at him.

"You too," he responded, his tone betraying his excitement. "Are you looking forward to today?"

"Yes," she replied. "Very much." And without waiting for a reply, she said, hurriedly: "Well, I'll be seeing you around."

She made to move, but he spoke again, stopping her once more in her tracks. The bus rumbled forwards.

"A few of us are going to meet up tonight, to go see a movie after we're done with school. Do you want to come with? I'd-I'd really like to see you there."

Helga thought she could hear Gerald muttering "Mm, Mm, Mm" under his breath. As if Lila had caught the hint, she said, hesitantly, "I'd love to Arnold-ever so much. But I told Sheena and Nadine that I'd meet them after school. Thanks, though Arnold."

Again, she tried to start forward, and Helga closed her eyes, willing her to leave him with all her might-but Arnold, wildly looking for any excuse to retain her conversation for even a minute longer, said, quickly: "But maybe another time soon, Lila?"

A barely discernable sigh escaped Lila's lips. Her smile momentarily faltered. "Maybe, Arnold." She said hesitantly, and without waiting for another interruption, she moved down the aisle.

As Arnold slowly turned towards the front again, the hunched line of his back betraying his disappointment, and Lila sank into the seat opposite her, Helga pressed her face into the window, trying valiantly to hide the emotion which forced her to turn away from them. The love and jealousy which had plagued her every waking moment at nine years old had only intensified as she grew older. They tormented her at every turn, a constant throbbing headache which clouded her every thought, threatening to overwhelm every breath she took. She was helpless in the face of them-they ruled her every action.

Although she couldn't trust herself to look, she listened hungrily, desperate to hear Arnold's voice, to gauge the real extent of his disappointment. She heard Gerald speak first.

"Man Arnold," He said, his exasperation evident, "When are you going to give it up?"

"Give what up, Gerald?" Arnold said evasively, picking at his jeans.

"You know exactly what I mean." Gerald said, sounding even more annoyed. "This obsession of yours, when are you going to accept that she's not interested and move on?"

"I can't do that, Gerald." The suppressed pain in his voice tore into Helga like salt rubbed into her wounds. "I know I've got a chance-and if I do, how can I give up?"

"You're delusional, my friend." Gerald said skeptically. "Come on, Arnold, how many times can the girl say no before you'll believe her? Let's face it, she even liked Arnie better than you back in elementary school, what does that say for your chances?"

Arnold remained silent, fumbling with the folds of his plaid red shirt.

Gerald, made uncomfortable by the lack of response, said, trying hard to be patient: "Look, I didn't mean it that way, Arnold. You're a great kid. I don't understand why she won't go for you, but facts are facts, and the fact is-" He grabbed Arnold's shoulder, and made him turn towards him. "She just likes you, man. Nothing more."

"I know." Arnold said quietly.

He shrugged Gerald's hand off his shoulder and stared resolutely down at his feet again. He sat, silently, trapped in thoughts of Lila, and himself, and everything that he believed, one day, could be.

Lila stared disconsolately out the window, watching cars slug along the road in the early morning traffic. She could see her own bleak expression reflected in the dark window-she counted the 6 freckles which stood out against her milky white skin, glancing over the stiff red braids which framed her face. Her eyes caught the plaid green sleeves of her dress, and her mouth dipped into a frown. Her country dress. Quaint, the girls had called it. Just as they saw everything about her to be-quaint, adorable in her cute little country style. But Arnold had told her she was quite the city girl now.

Arnold.

She sighed, a short, tired, disappointed little sigh, as she thought of him. For years now she'd tried to push him away from her, tried with all her might to assure him that she could never return what he hoped for. And yet he stuck to her, like the admirably stubborn and hopeful boy he was. It was beyond her nature to be outright rude to him. It would have hurt her to even forgo her customary niceness towards him. She tried, in her own, quiet way, to rebuff him with disinterest, to prove her indifference through commonplace friendliness-but he still seemed to think there was hope. He was a very nice boy, but she was sure she could never feel that way about him, even if there was no question of-

Lila blushed a little, feeling the heat creep up into her face and around her ears at the thought of him. Of Arnie.

Perhaps it was hypocritical of her to be annoyed at Arnold's constancy, when she herself had never wavered in her love for Arnie since their first meeting 5 years ago. But surely it was a different case! Arnie had loved her once. They were made for each other-no girl could ever love, or even appreciate him as much as she could-and did!

To be sure he hadn't exactly been the perfect picture of constancy, but he must have returned to her side after he was so rudely and completely rejected by Helga. Hadn't he told her, later that day, that it was nothing, just a passing attraction? And every time she had seen him since, hadn't he acted like the Arnie of before, spending time with her, talking and laughing with her, accepting her presents and smiles and attention? Time and distance hadn't changed her opinion of him one bit, except to make her love for him even stronger, so how could he, who was so infinitely stronger and better than she, possible change? Oh how she wished he would come again to the city...she could see his perfect face again, hear his voice, feel once more assured that his feelings for her hadn't changed, despite the months they had been forced to be separate…

Almost as though her silent plea had been heard, a voice floated back to her from a few seats ahead.

"So when IS that wacked-out cousin of yours coming to visit?" asked Gerald.

Lila held her breath, hoping against hope that her desire would be answered.

"Pretty soon, actually." Arnold replied, and Lila's heart leaped with joy. Arnie would be coming! Her Arnie would be coming! "His school is year-round, and he has a break coming in the middle of october. He'll visit then."

October! A whole month away! Oh how could she bear waiting so long?

"Just as long as you tell me when he's here so I know when to avoid your house." Gerald said, yawning. "If he's still as much of a label-reading freak with a gum fetish that he used to be."

Lila blushed for Arnie's sake. They couldn't possibly understand him as she did. They couldn't know what a deep, considerate, thoughtful personality he had. But-was her dear Arnie changed? Could he change in all those things he loved best about him? Would she recognize him, her darling, her only, the captain of all her hopes and dreams?

"Some things don't change, Gerald." Arnold said feeling a bit awkward. He still was a little uneasy about letting his friends insult Arnie all the time, especially when they mentioned his gum fetish. "But I think he's gotten a little less antisocial. Last time I talked to him he rambled on and on about his new girlfriend Sarah-"

Had time gone still? Or was she trapped in the moment, frozen, watching as the rest of the world travelled on, sickeningly, around her? All Lila could hear were those words, reverberating inside her eardrums:

Sarah?

Girlfriend?

Arnie?

Her world-her carefully constructed fantasies, all her hopeful dreams-had been struck down and were crumbling around her. She couldn't see, she couldn't breathe-all she could do was sit, mutely,listening to those accursed words echoing over and over and over inside her head. For a moment, she couldn't even feel. Could it possibly, possibly, possibly be true?

She heard Gerald's astonished exclamations as though he were a hundred miles away, and she wished she was alone-not alone in her bedroom in this city, but alone on her old farm, alone with the fields and her horse and the sun and her numbness and-It couldn't be true, it couldn't!

She couldn't understand it. They had never officially gotten back together, but hadn't everything he said and did proved that his love was hers? Hadn't all the time they spent together meant something? Up until this moment she had been perfectly convinced that he loved no one but her-so how, how could he now have a girlfriend?

The bus rumbled to a stop, and the people around her were getting up, ready to leave, but Lila hardly knew where she was. She felt dizzy and sick, and this first day of school, which she had been anticipating all summer, was suddenly more than she could handle. How could she go on? How could she go forward, happy and unaffected, and suffer through that entire, endless day without raising suspicion about how badly she was hurt?

But she'd done it before, hasn't she?

She'd hidden all of her woes under a shining naivety, suffocating her pain under layers and layers of charm. She'd done this before-oh, how many countless times had she hidden her emotions before! And if she could do it then-then by God, she could do it now. She had to.

So slowly, painstakingly, Lila put on her mask. She smoothed back her hair, wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, and forced her lips to curve into her signature, hollow, carefree smile. When her turn came, she slid her backpack over her shoulders and walked up the aisle. Head held high, eyes shining, perkiness in every step she took.

Icy shards of pain piercing her all the way down.

I hope you liked it! The reference to Sylvia Plath was from her poem, "The Mirror."