Chapter 1
DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. Characters from the cartoon TV show "Hey Arnold." "Hey Arnold" was created by Craig Michael Bartlett.
Hello all! This is my first fan fiction, so please take care of me. I know this first chapter isn't much, but it sets up the scene for the next one. I would love feedback, comments and advice on furthering the story later on.
This story is rated M for language, sexual content and violence.
"You're telling me there's nothing to do?" Arnold asked, flipping his blonde hair out of his face.
He looked across the cluttered dorm room at Gerald's slumped form on the twin size bed. He hadn't looked up from his phone when Arnold spoke.
"Earth to Gerald," he called through cupped palms.
No response. He sat up from his own mattress, pulling at the down-filled pillow he was resting his head on and chucked it at Gerald's face.
His roommate batted the pillow away without tearing his eyes from the screen.
"Man, I heard you the first time you asked," Gerald said, finally looking at Arnold with narrowed eyes. "And for the hundredth time, no, there's nothing to do."
Arnold wrinkled his nose, the freckles on the bridge curling with the skin.
"It's college," he said. "How's there nothing to do on a Friday night?"
"I think the question you should be asking, my man, is what haven't we done?"
Arnold shrugged and turned away from Gerald. His gaze fell on the two separate mountains of clothes piled on the floor at the foot of their beds. They were divided between their owners, but the boundary lines had blurred; between the bar shirts and basketball shorts, Arnold could no longer tell which items were his and which were his roommate's.
In his defense, the room wasn't meant for two people. If anything, it was more like a janitor's closet passing off as a standard dorm room. The two extra long twin beds took up the most space, placed parallel to each other on opposite sides of the room with a walkway between them to the door. A red mini-fridge and matching microwave stacked on top dominated the far left corner, jammed between drywall and the space heater that had seen better days. The last remnants of room were left to a desk they shared but neither used productively. Instead, its surface, like most others in the room, was caked in dust, empty Easy-Mac cartons and PopTart wrappers.
Maybe I'll just stay in and clean up…Arnold thought. He sighed, dreading a night-in on a lively Friday.
"Are you sure—"
"Stop," Gerald interrupted. "Just stop. Listen to me closely. There's nothing to do."
Arnold sighed again.
"You know what," Gerald said, resting on his elbows to look at Arnold, "there is something to do. There's plenty to do. The problem is, you don't want to do anything. I told you we could hit McAlister's but you said no. I said we could crash the party at the Omega house. You said no, you'd rather go to the Beta house, but they're under probation and can't host anything for two more weeks. I asked if you wanted to be my wingman—which is one of your civil duties as best friend, by the way—for this chick I'm talking to on Tinder right now, but no. You'd rather sit and complain about there being nothing to do."
Arnold blinked, his blue eyes staring blankly at his friend.
"I just want to do something different, Gerald," he said. "We do the same shit every weekend."
"Not me, brother," Gerald said and rolled off the bed to stand on his feet. He rummaged through his clothes pile and pulled out a shirt with fewer stains than the rest of its peers. His nose sniffed at the clothe. Satisfied from it's lack of stench, he slipped it on over his bare shoulders.
He took a mirror and comb from the top desk drawer and smoothed the black curls on his head. When he was happy with his hair, he dabbed his favorite cologne on his fingers and rubbed them into the pressure points behind his ears. Arnold noticed it was the scent he used, as Gerald had once put it, to "sweeten the honeypot."
"Alright, I'm out," he said, turning back to the blonde.
"Where are you going?" Arnold asked.
"I told you, I got a date," Gerald winked and snatched his leather jacket from the back of the desk chair.
"Don't just sit here," he said, slinging the coat over his shoulder and headed for the door. "At least try to find some pussy."
"Gerald!" Arnold blushed and tried to think of a clever retort, but his friend was already out the door.
Arnold waited another thirty minutes before deciding to listen to Gerald and attempt to venture out on his own.
He thought about grabbing dinner, but he'd spent his last few dollars the night before to enter yet another frat party. Thirsty Thursday gave a new meaning to the bone-dry wallet in his pocket.
Meal-points at the dining hall were going to have to sustain him for the next few days until he got his next paycheck. But he wasn't in the mood to try to stomach dorm food.
He left the dormitory and headed down the sidewalk of the main road leading into campus, following the streetlamps without a conscious thought of where he was going.
The cold air nipped at his forearms and he shoved his hands further into the front pockets of his jeans. It was officially April, but the chill of winter had stuck around with a stubborn front.
He watched as clusters of students crossed the street, walked down the sidewalk and jumped in cars to head towards the nearest get together. Everyone was dressed to impress but somehow, they all seemed to look alike. Men sported khaki's, Sperry's and collared shirts. Women clomped around in high heels, glitzy jewelry and at least one item of black clothing that didn't fully cover skin. Arnold would usually be right there with them, but tonight, he was just an observer, looking in on the private lives of strangers he usually called friends.
He had made his way down to the inner part of campus, and the presence of other students dwindled. Arnold was coming into uninhibited territory full of academic buildings and campus facilities. He was about to turn around when he spotted a chalked message on the concrete beneath his feet.
"Poetry Slam 9 p.m. Atlas Café"
He checked the watch on his wrist. 8:43. Atlas was only about a ten minute walk from this part of campus. He pivoted on the sidewalk and headed toward the café.
Can't hurt to check it out.