Disclaimer: I own nothing! Thanks for reading. :)
"Look, are you gonna let me help you or not?"
"Okay, okay. Fine. Shoot, Arnold."
Helga didn't know how this was supposed to help her, but Arnold had insisted she come over to the boarding house that afternoon. She was sitting with him on the floor in an empty room off the hallway. Her eyes wandered to a puddle of sunlight on the worn carpet.
Helga shrugged. Whatever happened, at least she was close enough to Arnold to detect the unique scent of the shampoo he used. She needed to remember to ask him what brand it was, hoping her face didn't betray the loopy-ness she felt.
"Okay. Now, cross your legs like I'm doing." Arnold slid around on the patterned yellow carpet so that he was facing Helga and put one leg over the other, locking a bare foot into the crook of his knee. The loose white pants he was wearing looked much more comfortable than Helga's jeans. "It'll be hard to do with your shoes on, here…"
Helga watched helplessly as Arnold reached across and lifted her foot to start untying a shoelace. Before she could open her mouth to sarcastically quip that she was no Cinderella, he was already pulling off her sock. Helga closed her eyes and froze. It wasn't the first time he'd held her bare foot in his hands, but the last time was in fourth grade and he hadn't done it of his own honest volition…
Arnold seemed not to notice her reaction as he gently placed that foot on the ground and held his hand out for the other one. Helga stared at his hand for a second before stuttering, "N-No, it's f-fine, I know how to take off my own shoes, doi!" and she hastily ripped off her other shoe and sock and tossed them nonchalantly over her shoulder.
"Okay, now tuck whichever foot feels more comfortable under your knee like this," he indicated his own legs with a sweep of his hands.
Helga's legs were by far longer than her companion's but she managed to mirror him. "Like this?"
"That's great! Just, here…" Arnold reached over to adjust Helga's knees so that they were about the same height and then straightened back up across from her. "Okay, you're almost there."
Helga sighed, not for the first time that day. She had been greeted at the door of the boarding house about ten minutes earlier by Gertie, who was decked out in full martial arts gear, complete with black belt. "Will you be staying for dinner, Eleanor? We're having soup!" she offered briskly, as she crouched stealthily towards the kitchen, fly swatter raised. "You'll love it—this recipe's full of protein…"
Before Helga could gather her mind enough to give an answer, Gertie stated matter-of-factly, "Kimba's in his room dear. Just show yourself up; you know the way."
Laughing nervously and mumbling something inarticulate, Helga had backed out of the doorway and only turned around as soon as one of her heels found the bottom stair. Halfway up to the second floor Helga's eyes widened and her shoulders flinched at a grand "HEE-YAH!" that came from the kitchen. She shook her head and muttered, "Crazy as a loon…" and turned the corner, running almost slap into Arnold's grandpa.
"Why, hello! If it isn't the angry little girl we all know and love—good to see you've started using the front door again—"
Helga's nervous laughter cut across him and she said hastily, "Yeah, yeah. What's shakin', Phil?" Helga made an attempt to lean casually against the wall and crossed one leg in front of the other. Her supreme effort to appear bored and unaffected apparently wasn't lost on Phil—he only smiled wider with a twinkle in his eye.
"You must be looking for the Shortman. Go on up, he's in his room." Phil wiggled his eyebrows and nudged Helga's shoulder with a bony elbow, internally cackling at her loss of composure. He left her stunned and gaping in the upper hallway as he strolled down the stairs, rolled up newspaper in tow. "And don't call me Phil!" he called behind him. "What is it with these kids…"
Helga waited until she heard him reach the bottom step before she continued down the hallway. At the foot of Arnold's pull-down staircase she paused, reflecting on the many times she'd been in this very spot uninvited. Steady, Old Girl. Shaking her head, she shuffled her way up to the bedroom door and knocked.
"Hey Helga!" There he was. He had been waiting, she noticed, just for her. "Come on, I've got the perfect place—" and he was pulling her down the stairs by the hand much faster than she had willed herself to climb them.
Helga realized suddenly that she had been sitting on the yellow patterned floor and staring at Arnold blankly without listening to him. He was looking at her with a puzzled expression, a question on his face.
"Huh?"
"I was saying, are you ready?" He looked so… she couldn't quite place it. Apprehensive didn't seem right, but that was the closest thing she could come up with.
"Yeah, let's get this over with, Arnoldo." This wasn't the first time Helga had been alone with Arnold, but without a school project to argue about with him, Helga was at a loss for content to supply a steady barrage of sarcasm. It was just Arnold, teaching her, and it had a surprisingly quieting effect on her.
Well, that was why she was here in the first place, wasn't it? Yesterday morning had been a particularly bad start to her day. Helga had woken up in an uncharacteristically good mood before picking out a pair of jeans and t-shirt and trotting down the stairs with a plan to finally eat breakfast on time.
Only there wasn't any breakfast. The last apple was gone. There wasn't any milk in the fridge, but it didn't matter because there wasn't any cereal either. Sighing, Helga squatted down to open the lower cabinet to root around for her secret stash of granola bars, but straightening up, she discovered the last one had been eaten. "Bob…"
She had stood at the bus stop, alternating between a furious desire to punch someone and a dull emptiness that wouldn't go away no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. Bob had been yelling at Miriam about something or other, probably Miriam had forgotten to pick up his suits from the drycleaner again.
Helga fumed to herself. Bob hadn't even bothered to throw the wrapper away but had wadded it up and stuffed it back into the empty box. But it was too late to address it. Helga climbed onto the bus, brandished her bus pass with a flourish, and pushed her way to her favorite seat next to the window. She was determined to at least enjoy that—and at least Phoebe's stop was coming up soon. She stretched out across the bench to take up as much space as possible, her feet poking out slightly into the aisle, to ensure her best friend a spot.
"Hey Helga?" a familiar voice behind her floated over the vinyl.
"What, Hair-Boy?" she didn't even have the energy to turn around and glare at him.
"Are you feeling okay? You don't look too well." She almost sighed at the concern in his voice.
"I'm just peachy. Right as rain. Oh yeah, except for the fact that I'm starving."
"Well, you're in luck—" a bright yellow banana fell with a small plop from above into her lap. "Grandma gave me an extra one today."
Filled with sudden effort, Helga turned, fully touched by Arnold's kindness, and before she could stop herself she blurted out, "I can't take it anymore, Arnold—they're bugging me so much that I can't think straight!"
Arnold didn't bother to ask who was bugging her. He leaned with one elbow over the back of her seat. Gerald had his headphones on, but Helga couldn't help notice his puzzled glance at the pair of blonds. "Did you try to talk to—never mind." That was a useless question. Helga was now absently chewing a hearty mouthful of banana and didn't bother to acknowledge the slip.
"Well… what about meditation?"
"What about it?"
"Maybe it will help you relax? Take your mind off it." He didn't waver under the look she gave him. "If you can't change the people around you, you can only change yourself, you know…"
"Tell it to the funny papers."
"Just give it a try?" He tilted his head casually towards her. "For me?"
"Well..." Helga hesitated and glanced carefully again at Gerald. He had his eyes closed, nodding his head to his music. "Fine, sure. But only because I know you won't drop it… What do I have to do?"
"Just meet me tomorrow afternoon at the boarding house. I'll show you how." His answer was quick and to the point, almost business-like. Helga narrowed her eyes suspiciously. That was her forte, and if she'd been the one to say it, she would have thrown in a casual eye-roll and a flippant examination of her fingernails.
"Is there free food in it for me?"
"Only if you can tolerate my Grandma's, um… avant-garde cooking." He laughed, but he looked partially serious.
"Don't worry, I'm no stranger to experimentation… Miriam's been confusing whipped cream and shaving cream for years. I've got somewhere to be most of Saturday afternoon, so I'll see you at 5."
"But where—"
"None of your beeswax. 5 PM. See you in math," and Helga was already off the bus hurrying towards the double doors. She hadn't even noticed moving her legs for Phoebe to sit down—she almost jumped out of her skin when Phoebe nudged her and gave her a wink as they headed side-by-side into school.
"Shut up, Pheebs."
