A/N: This could've been a multi-chapter story, but honestly, I'm really lazy. I never expected this to be so long.
Arrested Development
Why are there so many teens in Hillwood's Police Station?
Things happen. It's the course of life - living causes actions, which bring reactions and consequences.
Except these things were tragic, heart-breaking and made everyone involved a little bit more bitter about the world, about life itself.
They happened as Mr. Simmon's fourth grade class got older. The students still went through puberty, changed schools, fell in love, broke up, passed and failed classes, got in fights. The kids found out what they liked, what they didn't, who to trust and who to toss aside. They matured, grew up, began planning their futures. The teens moved on.
But some weren't so lucky.
Helga G. Pataki took nobody's shit. Her father loved to compare her to a shark when she got into fights; a beautiful, strong predator who attacked ruthlessly until her prey was dead. She'd broken her hand a few times, too.
She was known at Grant High School as the solitary girl who smoked in the courtyard at breaks, dyed her hair pink, and got a new piercing every few months. She had four holes in her ears, one in her nose and another one in her tongue. She was thinking about getting her eyebrow pierced next week.
Her father, Big Bob, had been furious when she got her first piercing at twelve. It was just her ears, so she didn't get why he cared so much. Just because her body was no longer perfect, like her wonderful older sister Olga's, it meant she was an awful daughter.
So she kept piercing just to piss him off. She liked seeing him red in the face, the vein in his neck bulging as if he was trying to grow a second head. Hilarious.
Well, now Olga would look even better because Helga was being dragged into the local police station by a fifty-year old cop who looked like he'd been permanently punched in the face, it all just caved in. His moustache was the nicest thing to look at, and even then it was disgustingly brown with gray curled hairs.
Ugh.
The Hillwood Police Station was three blocks from Tina Park, settled right next to the library. It was pretty underfunded by the local government, the navy blue paint of the building was faded from sunshine and rain. Inside was not much better, the white paint was chipping and falling like snow onto the scuffed tile floor. Black marks from sneakers of the convicted struggling to escape flowed like dance steps being drawn on the ground. The building itself was just one large room, with a row of six desks in the middle. There was a fan hanging from the ceiling and only one other door, marked restroom.
The cops weren't really needed much outside of acting as security guards for local events. It was a shame, really, but there were many volunteer vigilantes that prowled the streets.
Except today Helga didn't get so lucky. She'd usually talk her way out of a scrape with Monkeyman, who hated to punish her because she was just a "poor, misunderstood teen." No, today, George Moustachio had to find her.
He didn't even look that threatening. he was kind of skinny to be a cop. His uniform was just navy blue polyester with a few Hillwood City badges here and there. He didn't even have a belt, just a night skick hanging in his pocket. His bald head was hidden under a cap, declaring him part of Precinct 18.
Helga was shoved into a gray plastic chair, the only other things in the building. There wasn't even a jail! Ha.
Her handcuffed wrists were digging into her side as she struggled to catch herself from face planting. "Hey!"
"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," Officer George reminded her. She stuck her tongue out, flashing her star-shaped barbell.
George reclined in his desk, which was the last in the line. He propped his feet up, dropping three cans of her spray paint onto his table. He leaned back in his chair, relaxing after his arrest. His weight made it creak as he rocked back and forth against the worn spine.
Helga rolled her tongue ring against the roof of her mouth and contemplated who she could call. No one would answer her phone at home. Her mother, Miriam, was probably passed out in front of the couch from her daily "smoothie," a cover up for her alcoholic tendencies. Big Bob would be at work, running a smart phone empire. He was the only electronics store in the city, completely overtaking investments and owning a nice skyscraper downtown. He'd never leave work for her.
And Olga. . .well, Helga made a point to not memorize her sister's number.
Maybe she could call Phoebe. Just because they hadn't spoken in three years didn't mean eleven years of friendship was forgotten, right?
The door opened and a blonde woman walked in carrying a pink box. She looked to be a few years older than Helga, twenty at the oldest. Her dentist commercial smile and overbearing aura of happiness made Helga internally groan. The girl walked over to George and opened up the box, revealing a dozen assorted doughnuts.
Helga snorted, "You're such a cliché."
The girl continued to smile, "It's just across the street. Two minutes away."
"Right, because you're so overloaded with criminals here."
George fell forwards, hand smacking the table as his feet hit the floor. "Hey, I warned you! Don't talk back to Savannah."
Helga rolled her eyes. "Shove it, Moustachio!"
Savannah just shook her head and took her spot at the desk in front of George. She opened her laptop and began typing away, probably recording Helga's sass.
The door opened again, letting in a wave of afternoon heat. Hillwood's weather was the worst thing about the place, in the spring it went from hot to cold every day. At least now it was constant, overbearing heat in the summer.
An officer dragged two teens inside, tossing them into the chairs beside Helga. She not so subtly shifted three seats away from them.
"Didn't know I was so repulsive, Pataki."
Her jaw set as she looked into familiar brown eyes. "Long time no see, Geraldo. And yes, you are repulsive. I can feel your STDs."
Gerald Johannsen and Helga never really got along. They went to the same elementary school, P.S. 118, but always found themselves arguing about one thing or another. And it didn't help that Helga's best friend had liked him back then. They were seventeen now, and hadn't spoken since a dramatic fight after eighth grade. The African American boy had grown, his height now topping over six feet. His dark hair, which used to overtake his height, was cropped short.
She'd heard about Gerald through the hallways of her school, even though he went to Jefferson with a majority of her old classmates. Hillwood had started redistricting during their middle school years. Helga was on the edge of the "Low Rent" District and sent to Grant.
Gerald was known as a notorious ladies man, a smooth and cool guy, always talented with sports. So Helga wasn't really surprised to see him half-dressed and covered in lipstick. She started laughing, "Arrested for public nudity?"
Gerald cleared his throat and leaned back, closing his eyes.
The girl he was with leaned forwards and glared at Helga.
What was this, an old classmate reunion?
Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd was a mess and Helga had never been happier in her life. Growing up, Rhonda always bragged about how rich she was and how fabulous her clothes were. She annoyed the hell out of Helga. At least all clothes looked the same when they were piled on the grass. Rhonda's raven hair was disheveled, curls unraveling against her face. Her makeup was streaked, from sweat most likely, and there were dark grass stains on her white jeans and arms.
Ew.
"You here for your weekly parole visit?" Rhonda smirked as she wiped some grass off her cheek, seemingly unmoved by her handcuffs.
Helga would not go down without a fight. "How's the chlamydia?"
"Still working out your daddy issues, I see."
"I've noticed you're still fucking for love. And to stoop so low as Gerald?"
"Hey!" Gerald opened his eyes again.
"Shut up!" Officer James shouted, unbuckling his gun from his belt and sitting it on his desk. George and Savannah nodded.
No one spoke again.
Gerald couldn't even imagine how enraged his father would be.
His older brother Jamie-O had messed up a few times during high school, but never like this. There had been problems with girls, neighbors, teachers. But not the police.
He was going to be disowned. He knew it. (Plus, he'd be murdered if the cops did a search and found his joint in his pocket.)
But this wasn't really his fault (the sex, not the weed). Not that he liked pointing the blame on a totally gorgeous girl like Rhonda, but she was the one who dragged him behind the large tree at the edge of Tina Park. She was the one who kissed his neck and stuck her hands in his pants.
He did nothing wrong. It was a natural reaction to her touching him. He had no say in the matter. It was his body and hormones and if it was his choice he would've waited until they got back to his house.
A lot had changed in his life since he was a kid.
The downtown area of Hillwood seemed to have grown overnight into a bustling metropolis, bringing in more and more kids in need of schools. Two new high schools were put up by the time eighth grade started. Hillwood High, Grant HS, Jefferson HS, The Downtown School of Art, and Ackerman Gifted School were now overflowing with students.
It was easy to have so many girlfriends at one time. A couple from each school, girls who didn't talk to each other. The only time it got dangerous was when he played travel games against the school. But he'd never been caught yet.
Gerald didn't know when, or why, his life became all about girls, occasionally sports. It had to have been around the end of sixth grade, a little while after his parents sat him down and told him there was probably a reason his best friend stopped writing letters.
He knew some shrink would say he was looking for a replacement, some way to fill the hole in his heart. He thought his best friend was dead and he went out chasing ass.
Everyone mourned the loss in different ways.
He remembered the horrified look on Helga's face when he told her. The hurt and confusion, the shaking of her hands as she gripped his shirt, seething, "Don't lie to me." It haunted him a few times through the years, when he'd see her walk past him on old neighborhood streets, eyes downcast, hair hidden under a beanie. Her grieving process included fights with high school kids and one close call, purposely eating a strawberry pie Olga made.
They were just kids then, didn't know how to react, how to move on. No one knew what to say.
Gerald still never fully accepted it, he knew Arnold was out there in the jungles somewhere, working with his parents. Arnold would never get into a dangerous situation. He would never have left without saying goodbye.
Rhonda's butler arrived an hour later, and just before he could negotiate her release, her father called. Rhonda would not be receiving bail until she understood why she was arrested, why what she did was morally wrong, and blah blah blah. Rhonda was in tears by the time she hung up the phone and her butler quickly fled the office.
She knew it was her fault they got into this. But Gerald was just so hot. Well built, charming, and a very good listener. He said it was because he had a little sister who always blabbered to him about boys. She and Gerald had always been friends, so he knew a lot about her already. It was comfortable.
She had been known throughout the high schools as a whore, for sleeping around with guys, looking for attention. She had only slept with three guys, two of which were serious boyfriends and Gerald. He was just a friend to fool around with.
Her reputation was trashed when guys liked to brag about getting with her, even if they'd never even spoken. She was a victim of slander, and no matter how hard she'd threaten them, no one would take back what they said.
So by the end of sophomore year she accepted her fate, but still ruled over the girl population at Jefferson. They feared her wrath and respected her cunning attitude. They were jealous of her clothes, looks, money, but it didn't matter. She didn't trust any of them.
Her parents had grown distant from her over the years, their business empires expanding to locations around the world. They were always traveling, only coming home on holidays. And her parents didn't even travel together, one would jet off to California, the other to Europe.
Maybe Helga was right. Maybe she was fooling around for love, to be liked, but she had no one to talk to. No one to giver her advice. It was times like these, when she was at her lowest, that she missed Arnold the most. He was the greatest guy she ever knew, and she couldn't believe he was really gone.
Nadine tried to help her, but she could tell her best friend just wanted to cheer her up. So what if she did immoral things? Helga fought kids because she missed Arnold and Gerald chased after girls as if they were covered in chocolate.
They were all screwed up in their own special way.
Helga was getting impatient and her wrists were hurting. She had to vandalize walls with these hands later! "When am I getting out of here, bucko?"
George was busy picking doughnut jelly out of his teeth, so Savannah replied, "We're waiting for Chief Anderson. He should be back soon."
Another forty-five minutes rolled by before there was any word. George's radio began buzzing with static. Everyone groaned while he adjusted the frequency to hear Anderson, "Yeah?"
A deep voice was speaking clearly into the mike, "56-71. I have Jackson and the culprit with me in the car. We'll be at base soon."
George hung up while Savannah began typing even more furiously, trying to get as much paperwork completed before Chief arrived.
Two burly male officers arrived shortly after, dragging a teen boy in by his arms. The kid was putting up quite a fight, making himself a dead weight and shaking his shoulders trying to be freed. "I was wrongly arrested!" he shouted. "You can't do this!"
He was tossed into the chairs between Gerald and Helga. Helga groaned and rested her head against the wall.
The boy used his limited mobility to get back onto his feet, leaving one chair in between him and the other 'criminals.'
Chief Anderson took the first desk, glaring at the four teens with harsh gray eyes. Rhonda shifted uncomfortably under his gaze while Gerald and the blonde boy just looked away. Helga hardened her stare at him, waiting for him to blink.
Anderson flinched when the door opened.
Helga smirked triumphantly as the final officer arrived, bringing along a petite Japanese girl.
Holy shit. Helga's jaw unhinged at the sight of her old best friend, Phoebe Heyerdahl, being lead into the police station. She was in a white lab coat with goggles around her neck, but everything was charred black.
"Arson," Officer Clint announced, tossing Phoebe next to Rhonda. Phoebe immediately slid over to the last chair, giving her space.
Helga leaned forwards, eyes still bulging, "Phoebe?"
Phoebe leaned too, smiling despite the seriousness of the situation. "Hi, Helga," she replied timidly.
"So you finally snapped, huh? Tried to burn down your Gifted School?"
"No, it was an accident. I was working with dangerous chemicals and mixed the amounts incorrectly. The lab went up in flames."
"Are you okay?"
Helga narrowed her eyes at Gerald. Why did he care all of a sudden? That bastard broke her heart, he didn't get to care anymore.
"Fine," Phoebe replied quickly, turning her head towards the door.
As Helga leaned back into her chair, she caught a glimpse at the blonde boy's face. He'd kept his head down the entire time, hair in his face, eyes on the ground. Her breath hitched a bit when she saw an emerald color peeking out from dark lashes.
Gerald turned to the boy, "What did you do?"
"Trying to save a family of birds apparently counts as kidnapping here," he said to the ground.
Helga chuckled and watched the boy wring his hands as best he could. They were large and the pads of his fingers looked worn, like he'd been doing manual labor for his entire life. His handcuffs were covering up his wrist tattoos.
"That sucks, man."
"That's life in the city, I guess."
Rhonda's voice piped up, "You're not from around here, are you?"
"I've lived here before, but I don't really remember much. I moved to San Lorenzo when I was ten."
Everyone fell silent. Helga, Phoebe and Gerald were gawking at the teen, hearts threatening to burst with joy.
Rhonda was still thinking back, why did that place sound so familiar? What was it, someone went there. . ."Holy fucking shit," Rhonda screeched. "Arnold?!"
He lifted his head at the sound of his name.
Gerald didn't know if he should start crying or beat the living hell out of him. He could probably manage both. "Oh, my God! I thought you were dead!"
Arnold's head fell again, this time in shame, but he forced himself to look into his friend's eyes. "I am so sorry, Gerald. I never meant to stop writing, but my parents and I moved around a lot to even more remote places in the jungle, and I could never get enough time to send you mail. I didn't even have an address."
"I just. . .can't believe it! Arnold! You're okay!" He wanted to hug Arnold, but the handcuffs made him hesitate. Gerald made a thumbs up sign with his right hand, grinning as Arnold's fist connected with his.
"Been a while, huh?"
Helga refused to look up. She was focused on a black scuff mark that looked like a whale. She could not look at him. He already knew it was her, which sucked because she could've just ignored him the entire time and acted like she wasn't in love with him. Damn it.
He was alive.
Arnold smiled at Phoebe and Rhonda, "I've missed you guys." He turned to face the girl with bright pink hair, "Even you, Helga."
Phoebe's voice drew his attention off of Helga, "So what happened? What were you doing for the past seven years?"
Fifth grade had been the most exhilarating time of Arnold's life. He'd managed to win an expedition to San Lorenzo with his classmates. He used this chance to find his parents.
It had been an interesting trip full of chaos, missing children, and a fight for his life against some asshole named La Sombra. In the end, all was well. He found his parents and The Green Eyes, the original inhabitants of San Lorenzo.
His said goodbye to classmates and everyone promised to write. And for the most part, they did. . .except Helga.
He knew why she didn't.
She was mad at him for staying, leaving Hillwood. Leaving her.
Their relationship was complicated, like asking questions about the universe. There was no way of knowing the right answer. She loved him, he knew that, she knew he knew that. . .but what could they do about it? He was in the jungles, she was back in the city. He liked her back, he told her straight-up he liked her, and they were about to kiss. . .then Gerald intervened.
And it was really unfair now that so much time had passed. He heard what she was doing through other people, but never her. He'd write to her every week for a year. No answer.
And everything just got worse now because she. . .she grew up.
He had to keep his head down just to keep his breaths steady. He'd learned all about puberty, it helped having two doctors for parents, but that didn't mean he knew how everything felt.
He saw her muscles flex in her pale thighs, peeking out from jean cutoffs covered in paint splatters. She was wearing fingerless gloves, which were also covered in paint, and a low cut t-shirt with some band logo on it. She had a tool belt hanging around her hips, attached with suspenders around her shoulders, and a black scarf hanging around her neck, used to protect her against paint fumes.
It didn't look like this was her first graffiti vandalism.
He had to push the ideas of her body out of his mind and think about something to say to Gerald. His best friend of eight years - he was pretty sure Gerald had moved on, forgotten him - was sitting less than a foot away. Arnold had to say something. Apologize. Ask him how his life was. And why the hell Rhonda was here.
But they wanted information, and he owed them some explanation.
"We worked our way through the jungles in search of other cultures. The Green Eyes talked about their enemies to the north, so we wanted to see if they were still around. It took us a long time to search every area, over a year. I was twelve at the time. We were about ready to leave, but we were attacked by Los Osos."
"Wow," Gerald let out a low whistle.
"Were you hurt?" Phoebe asked.
"Not really. A little banged up, but we healed." Arnold pushed his handcuffs higher on his arm, revealing his two tattoos. Both were black geometric symbols. On the left, there was a line running through a thick square with a large, swirling circle drawn in the middle. "The one on the left means captive, prisoner. They do it on the left because of the veins that go into your heart. They believe once you're in their prisons, you feel locked forever. Right means freedom. They'd never done tattoos for freedom before." It was a thick circle with a line running half-way through it. It looked like a clock with only an hour hand.
"Why were you freed?"
"After six months being captive, their chief fell ill, contracting the same disease my parents had wiped out within The Green Eyes, a sleeping sickness. My father instructed how to cure him through prison bars. And when he woke up, he demanded that we were released."
Anderson's ears perked up at the word 'chief.' He listened to the kid's story with interest now. He probably should've been focused on them instead of playing solitaire on his computer, in case they were planning escaping or something. The other officers were too busy not doing work to care.
Helga studied his hands again, then glanced at his arm, realizing there was a thick scar wrapping around his left bicep. It was jagged, like a child cut into him with funky scissors. The skin was still pink. "How'd you get your scar?"
"Los Osos wanted information."
Chief Anderson was enthralled now. He got up from his chair, leaning against the front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. "These guys tortured you?"
Arnold nodded. "Wanted to know about The Green Eyes, if they were dead or planning an attack. I was the first to refuse to speak, screaming profanities at them. They wanted to make an example of me to my parents. They took one of their knives and just. . . dug in. I thought they were going to cut my arm off. They chose a place where I couldn't get my arm back if they did make it that far. It sucked, being chained to the wall, unable to fight back. They got into my muscles before my father lied, saying they died off, and that's why we were moving." He cleared his throat, "Sorry. It's. . .uh, it's pretty bad to think about."
The other cops noticed Anderson's discussion with the teens and got to their feet. "What's up?" Savannah asked.
Anderson gestured to Arnold, "This kid got tortured, yet he's not trying to break out of here."
"Well, if he was tortured, do you really think he'd fight again?" George asked.
"Good point," Clint added before munching on a doughnut.
Jackson cracked his knuckles before leaning down in front of Arnold, key slipping into his handcuffs lock, "Why didn't you just lie and say they died in the first place?"
"Didn't cross my mind. It was just anger and pain at that point." Arnold didn't move from his spot once his hands were freed. Instead, he rubbed the tender skin and sat back.
"You gonna leave?" James asked.
Arnold shrugged. "No good soldier leaves a man behind."
Phoebe was in awe. Over her arrest, seeing Gerald, seeing Arnold, listening to his stories.
Her fire had been a complete accident, of course, you never mixed ethanol and calcium hypochlorite. She was so stupid! Totally distracted by her hot lab partner. Luckily, he stepped outside to take a phone call before the entire room just flashed with painful heat. Thankfully she wasn't burned, but definitely blown back in surprise.
The cops arrived after the fire department. Their teacher had to tell them who did it, but Phoebe didn't expect arrest. She knew now her father would get a lawyer, clear her name so she could still apply to college with a clean record. She just wished the cops would offer her a chance to call someone.
Seeing Gerald did make her feel awkward, even worse that he was clearly in trouble with Rhonda. She was reliefed to see Helga. Helga would protect her against anything Gerald said or did.
Phoebe and Gerald had been close to being an item, through fourth grade to eighth. They were always wading in the water, too scared to take the risk to becoming a couple.
And then she and Helga saw him kissing another girl after school one day. Helga punched the shit out of him and said if he ever looked at Phoebe again he would never have children.
Phoebe would be eternally grateful for that, even though she thought the violence was extreme. But that was Helga. She did what she wanted, never cared about the consequences.
She couldn't even imagine what was running through her old best friend's head at seeing Arnold again. She remembered how crazy Helga was about him, how goofy she acted when she talked about him. Staying behind definitely hurt her. But Helga G. Pataki never showed it. Instead she fought, trying to prove to herself, and everyone else, she was strong.
The two drifted apart shortly after Phoebe transferred to the Ackerman Gifted School of Hillwood. They'd tried to stay in touch through social media and cell phones, but eventually the work piled on. Phoebe had reports due every week, extensive reading, had to conduct her own scientific study. She lost track of time and became obsessed with working. She became obsessed with perfection.
She needed the perfect application to get into college. Her goals were high; every Ivy League would be receiving an app from her. She had volunteer hours, an internship at the local hospital, an outstanding GPA and award records.
She missed her friends, missed going to the mall or hanging out at the pier. Simple things, like relaxing, were suddenly out of her vocabulary.
What if this made her parents rethink her attendance at Ackerman? What if she couldn't apply to college?
Phoebe sighed and shut her eyes, leaning against the wall. She should just die here, her future was done anyway.
Gerald and Arnold were busy rehashing old stories and laughing until tears stung their eyes.
"I cannot believe we managed to get into the sewers in the first place," Arnold gasped between breaths.
"The Sewer King was bat-shit insane," Gerald agreed.
Rhonda, Phoebe and Helga looked on with amusement. Helga felt like she was a fourth grader again. No worries, just laughs and stupid adventures through the neighborhood.
"I thought I'd forgotten a lot of this, but I definitely remember."
"I never forgot."
"Aww, the bromance is alive," Rhonda teased, making kissing faces as the girls laughed.
The teens had officially spent three hours in the police station. Helga was topping almost four hours, but it didn't really matter. She was beginning to enjoy the little reunion.
Chief Anderson had softened and allowed them to take off their handcuffs and call an adult. Arnold called his parents, who were at the hospital and agreed to get him as soon as they could. Gerald called Jamie-O, incredibly grateful that he was home for a week. Rhonda called her butler. Phoebe's parents offered to pick up both her and Helga, which made Helga force herself to blink back tears. Three years apart and Phoebe was still taking care of her.
Helga knew she wasn't strong enough to take care of herself, especially after losing Arnold.
Phoebe knew it, too. She'd missed the chance to help her, but now she could step up and fix it.
The only other person who had ever helped Helga was Arnold. Whether she wanted it or not, he nudged himself into her life, her home, her thoughts. Her heart. The impenetrable fortress that Phoebe had never even bothered asking about was cracking every second Helga sat next to him.
Phoebe just hoped this time Arnold was staying.
With their hands newly freed, the teens walked around the station. Gerald and Anderson became locked in an intense game of solitaire while Savannah and Rhonda were discussing some new work out program. Clint, who showed off his many back tattoos, asked Arnold about his process.
Helga and Phoebe slid next to each other and talked. About everything. What happened in the past three years, school, old classmates, parents, boy drama.
"So, you've taken up art, I see."
Helga laughed and nudged Phoebe's shoulder, "Someone's gotta pretty up this town. Might as well be the girl with no friends."
Phoebe knew she didn't direct that comment at her, that it wasn't meant to be hurtful. She still felt the sting. "I'm sorry, Helga."
"Me too, Pheebs. Me too."
Now bored with their new friends, Rhonda, Arnold and Gerald joined the two girls. The criminals created a circle on the floor so they could talk without geting too loud. Helga tried to ignore the fact that Arnold was pressing his knee against hers.
For once in her life, Helga was grateful that Rhonda was around, keeping Phoebe and Gerald separate.
Officer James groaned and directed his eyes towards the ceiling, twirling his nightstick around. "What's for dinner?"
"Do we get a say?" Helga asked.
"Sure, why not, we already let you free, let's let you pick dinner too," George replied, rolling his eyes.
"I'm down for Mexican," Gerald offered. Clint, Jackson, Anderson and Savannah agreed. 4-2 cops vote, with Helga, Rhonda, Phoebe and Arnold just shrugging their shoulders. Savannah and Clint took their squad car out and picked up dinner with everyone's orders. Helga paid for the four teens, surprising everyone with the amount of cash she was flashing.
"Please tell me you don't sell your body," Gerald smirked.
"No! You perv." That earned a smack against his shoulder, "Big Bob always forgets how much money he gives me for lunch every day. He's up to a hundred a week at the rate I keep lying to him."
"You conniving bitch." Helga's hand readied to beat Gerald again, "I love it! It's totally genius and not illegal."
Phoebe's eyebrows knit in concentration, "So why didn't you pay off your ticket and get out of here?"
"They've got me pinned for more than just the one graffiti, meaning I'd owe upwards of $3,000 for damages to city property."
Arnold smiled at her, "How many drawings do you have?"
"Over a hundred. Some of them are just small, almost invisible. My most recent project was too extravagant to do by myself, but I don't know any other artists to help me."
"I always thought you preferred writing."
Helga stiffened a little, biting her lip as Phoebe counted the seconds of silence. "Graffiti speaks to me more."
After Arnold left in fifth grade, Phoebe watched Helga destroy a book of poetry. She ripped it apart, page by page, tearing the cover in half and throwing the spine on the floor. Phoebe was completely torn up by the action, she began crying right along with Helga as she threw her books against the wall. Phoebe didn't know she stopped writing completely.
"Maybe you could take me around and show me your stuff."
Helga's heart kicked in her chest. How could he make it sound so damn causal? He was gone for seven years, went through really traumatic stuff, comes home, is arrested, but makes plan to see his ex-bully anyway?
He broke her heart, but she found herself falling right back in.
She didn't know how she managed it, but she responded, "Sure. We could see how much you recognize this dump."
Rhonda laughed. "I'll agree with you on that, Helga. Hillwood really needs to clean up."
"You just want more designer shops," Gerald teased.
"That may be true, but seriously, this is a dirty place."
"So glad I came home then," Arnold joked, causing a round of laughter to make the officers suspicious.
Dinner arrived shortly after and everyone ate in silence, enjoying the dinner.
Helga inhaled her food, it was the first solid meal she'd eaten all day. "Good choice, Johannsen," she mumbled as she finished off her burrito.
"Did you just. . .compliment me?" Gerald dramatically gasped. "I am shocked!"
"I thought you guys worked stuff out years ago," Arnold added. Phoebe looked away from the group and Gerald clenched his fists. Helga just hardened her stare at Gerald, nudging Arnold's knee a little too hard. "Ow. What?"
"Icksnay on the upidstay," Helga hissed.
"What?"
"Shut up!"
Phoebe now got to her feet and walked into the bathroom. Rhonda just blinked at the scenario, eating her taco salad, unmoved. Gerald glared at Helga before getting to his feet and hovering towards the door. Anderson kept his eyes glued on his back, just to make sure he wouldn't run.
"Mind filling me in?" he whispered.
Helga crunched a tortilla chip in her fist. "You remember how in love Phoebe and Gerald were all our lives?"
"Of course."
"He never asked her out. Never moved their relationship forwards. I was getting sick of it, but Phoebe said Gerald wasn't ready to be with her. That he was too emotionally immature."
"So they never went out?"
Helga shrugged, "Nope."
"So why do you hate him now even more than you did then?"
"He was on the verge of asking her out, I could feel it. But then. . ." She growled, getting to her feet, shouting at Gerald, "He went behind her back and sucked Jessica's face off!"
Gerald turned around, clearly as angry as Helga was, "I loved Phoebe, okay? I didn't kiss her! Jessica grabbed me!"
"That's a lie and you know it!"
Anderson and James were on their feet now, detaining Helga and Gerald in headlocks as the two continued screaming at each other. Years of pent up anger at him made Helga just want to rip his head off. What better place to do it in than a police station?
Rhonda and Arnold just stared, scared and stunned.
Helga and Gerald were given handcuffs again, this time their ankles were locked onto the legs of the chairs. Gerald was at one end, Helga the other.
"I hate you, Gerald. And if we weren't in cuffs you'd be bleeding to death."
"Yeah, right, like Ol' Besty and the Five Avengers could do damage against me."
"They did once."
"Before I beefed up."
"Before you took 'riods!"
"You'll believe any rumor, won't you? You're so gullible, Pataki. You're stupid, totally hopeless."
Rhonda gasped at the verbal slap to the face. Helga shut her eyes and turned her back to Gerald. A few nasty words couldn't get to her, right? Her heart was impenetrable.
Phoebe finally came out of the bathroom, looking a little pale and shaken, but at least she'd cleaned off her ash. Arnold watched her mouth "I"m sorry," to Helga before returning to her spot on the floor, back to the chairs.
No one spoke again.
Arnold took the seat equal distance between both friends.
It hit him that he missed a lot. He missed growing up with them, missed the drama, who dated who. He didn't know what they went through. He felt helpless, he didn't know what to say. This was out of his zone.
He knew how to speak Spanish, how to assist in medical procedures, how to survive torture and being imprisoned. But he didn't know how to fix his friend's problems. Love triangels were things out a movie for him.
Arnold leaned to Gerald first, whispering, "You really kissed her?"
"I didn't want to. She just forced herself on me. I swear, I never wanted to do anything like that to Phoebe."
"Did you apologize?"
"A million times."
Arnold sighed and massaged his temples. "Maybe you two should talk. Without the pink devil interfering."
"She won't want to talk to me."
"If we're going to be stuck here for a few more hours, I think you can manage a conversation."
Gerald rolled his eyes, knowing that Arnold was right. Gone for seven years, but still never lost his talent of perfect advice giving.
Rhonda and Phoebe had their backs to the chairs and were whispering as well.
"You still like him, don't you?" Phoebe's cheeks reddend but she shook her head. "Phoebe, we've known each other since we were kids. If you like him, you can tell me. I'll stop fooling around with him. Growing up, I could always trust you to be honest with me and listen to me. I know we've grown apart, but. . ."
"I'm afraid I still do have some feelings for him."
"Okay."
"That's it?"
Rhonda nodded, "I won't see him again. It's Girl Code: chicks before dicks."
Officer James finished his paperwork about Rhonda and Gerald and decided to call it a night. Savannah, James and Jackson agreed, leaving George, Anderson and Clint behind.
It was 9:30 p.m. and no adults had arrived to bail out their kids.
"God, I've wasted six hours of my life in a police station," Helga shook her shackles, glaring at George.
"Didn't know you even had a life," Gerald replied.
"Really, Gerald? Really?" Arnold asked.
Helga finally looked away from the wall, "I don't need you defending me, Football Head."
Arnold looked like he might cry.
Gerald glared at her, "Oh, my God. You finally did it, Helga. You finally broke him."
"Shut up, Hair Boy!"
"No, it's okay," Arnold laughed and turned to Helga again, "It's just. . .I really missed the nicknames. I thought I wouldn't, but I did."
For a second Helga forgot she was in a police station, cuffed to her chair. All she could think about was Arnold. For the first time in years she let herself smile when his name came into her thoughts. She let the feeling warm her cheeks.
She tried so hard to forget him, move on. It didn't work. She tortured herself with nightmares about his supposed death, she was pretty sure she'd cried herself dry. She never wanted to believe he was gone. Now she was glad she didn't.
"I really missed you, Helga."
She was nodding, definitely struggling to hide her pink cheeks. Luckily, her hair fell into her eyes and she could advert her gaze.
Arnold leaned forwards, pushing her hair back behind her ear. "Why did you dye your hair?"
How could she make her voice not shake? "Wanted a change."
"And the piercings?" His fingers traced the shell of her ear, running over the hoops and studs. He gently tweaked the diamond stud in her nose cartilage, grinning. She finally turned her head back, sticking her tongue out. Arnold's eyes went wide and he bit his lip. "Whoa."
"I get them done for looks like that," she replied before flashing the star again.
Rhonda and Phoebe had been locked in a serious discussion for almost an hour. They were speaking incredibly low so their whispering could not be heard. Helga knew what they were talking about, and she'd be in the discussion if she wasn't held against her will. Fucking George.
Arnold joined the girls on the ground, laughing as Officer Clint patted his head before leaving. Most of the florescent lights had been shut off, casting George and Anderson in a haunted glow as the fan spun under the lights.
"I think you guys should talk," Arnold whispered, eyes casting from Gerald to Phoebe.
"What do you think I've been trying to do?" Rhonda replied.
Phoebe half-heartedly smiled, "I appreciate the effort, but it's not the right time."
"It's never the right time," Rhonda replied, her hand on Phoebe's knee supportively. "Emotions suck. But you need to be honest with him. I'll talk to him, tell him it's over, and then you can swoop in to cheer him up. Or something." She looked at Arnold, "I know it's in your genes to help people, but let Phoebe handle this."
He nodded, getting to his feet and asking Anderson if he could let Gerald go, or at least release his ankles. Anderson sighed, but agreed. Rhonda whispered into Gerald's ear for a few seconds before walking away.
Gerald and Phoebe then ambled into the dark side of the police department, voices dropping low again.
"Gonna let me go?" Helga asked, lips curled into a snarl.
Anderson twirled the key around his finger, "Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because you're dangerous."
She narrowed her eyes, flashed her middle finger and leaned back in her chair. Arnold laughed as he and Rhonda took seats beside her.
Gerald was really nervous. He hadn't spoken to Phoebe in three years, but her she was, ready to listen and still as beautiful as ever. He had never been so scared when he saw her walk in charred. But the soot cleaned off and she was unharmed, which made him relax.
It wasn't his fault. Their growing apart happened because Helga convinced Phoebe not to forgive him. Not that he blamed Helga, no he completely understood her reasoning, but it still hurt.
They had been sitting in silence for so long, lost in their own thoughts, that they didn't even notice they weren't speaking.
Gerald cleared his throat, gaining her full attention. "I'm sorry for. . .everything. What I did was wrong and I wish that we hadn't lost the past three years."
Phoebe had forgiven him a while ago, but she couldn't stand to look at him without remembering that horrible image. "You destroyed my trust."
"I know," Gerald sighed. "I'm sorry." There wasn't much more he could say, really. Either she'd forgive him now or. . .or they'd never speak again.
Damn it, even when he tries to look humble he looks too good. "Okay. I accept your apology."
Gerald looked up from the ground, grinning. "Really?"
"Yes. I think it would be better if start off as friends."
"Absolutely," Gerald got to his feet and held his hand out for her. She tried to ignore the familiar sense of warmth as his fingers brushed against hers.
Had it really been three years?
"I missed you, Phoebe."
Her cheeks betrayed her as they walked back to the lit part of the police station. They took their seats, this time sitting shoulder to shoulder.
It was weird how stupid it all seemed now.
10:00 p.m. was when Rhonda's butler arrived. Her father had decided that seven hours in a police station was enough punishment.
"Oh, thank God!" she ran to Arthur gratefully, hugging his shoulders tightly. He paid her bail, thanked the officers, and waited for Rhonda to say goodbye. "Not that this hasn't been all kinds of fun, but I really want to get back to my own bed. I'll see you around." Rhonda gave one last wave, "It's great to see you again, Arnold. We've missed you around here."
Phoebe's mother, Reba, arrived shortly after. She embraced Phoebe in a weeping hug, asking her how she was feeling, if she was injured or suffering side effects from the fire.
"I'm fine, Mom, really, thank you."
Reba had to admit, it was a funny sight to see Helga Pataki chained to a chair, the only thing movable was her head.
"I take it you upset the cops?"
Helga rolled her eyes, which caused Phoebe to laugh. Reba then went to deal with the issue of release. Technically, she was not Helga's legal guardian, but she knew they'd never check. All they cared about was money. Phoebe would have to help pay for a rebuilt chem lab, $5000 or so for supplies, even though insurance covered most of the costs. But Ackerman was not pressing charges, even though the cops thought otherwise.
Helga's tickets had added up. She had been pinned for a few of the larger grafitti's on city property.
Reba had to put a $9,000 deposit down in order to release both girls.
Anderson cautiously approached Helga, making sure his stun gun was on full display. He unlocked her hands and braced himself to an attack, but none came. She just simply rubbed her sore wrists. After her ankles were free, Anderson jumped back behind his desk.
Helga finally became vertical, blinking back a head rush as she walked over to Phoebe. No words were spoken, just simple glances from the chairs, to the shadowed part of the station. Phoebe knew what she meant. She pulled Helga in for a hug, promising to call her so they could hang out again. Helga thanked Reba and swore on her life she'd pay back her bail.
Three criminals were left.
When Jamie-O arrived at eleven, he had been fully ready to reprimand his brother, but as soon as he saw that head of blonde hair, he ran towards it. "Oh, my God! Arnold!"
"Hey, Jamie-O," Arnold replied as he was lifted off the ground.
"Wow. This has been just the craziest day." Jamie-O then tugged on Gerald's collar. "You're lucky I covered your ass. I had to wait until Mom and Dad were asleep. I said you were studying for a group project at the library."
"They bought that?" Gerald laughed.
"Let's go." He turned back to the almost empty police station, "It's amazing to see you, Arnold."
Arnold gave another wave. "I'll swing by tomorrow to see your parents."
And then there were two.
George cracked his knucles against the edge of his desk. He and Anderson were starting to get impatient. It was almost 11:30, they wanted to at least be ready to leave before the next shift of officers started.
The phone rang.
"Hillwood Police Department, what's your emergency?...Okay...Yes...No, no, I understand...Yes, he'll have to be here...See you tomorrow." Anderson hung up the phone. "Sorry, kid, but your parents are stuck in surgery until tomorrow."
Arnold sighed. "Okay."
Helga tapped her foot against the ground, "How much is his ticket?"
"$250." Helga reached into her pocket and pulled out three $100 bills. She dropped it onto Anderson's desk. "Keep the change."
"I hope we don't see you again," George said as he gave back Helga's spray paint. Not the smartest decision, but the guy was running low on sleep.
"I hope so too," Arnold replied as Helga pulled him out of the police station.
She threw her arms up and inhaled, breathing in the summer night air, "Freedom!"
"I don't want to go home yet," Arnold agreed, stretching. Sitting for so long definitely gave him a pain in his back.
"Then let me show you something."
Arnold gasped at the painting. It was too beautiful to be called graffiti or even street art. It belonged in a gallery.
Helga was an incredible artist.
She'd covered a wall of P.S. 118 with a very detailed drawing of San Lorenzo. She captured the bark of the trees, every leaf, the color or the sky on their last night. It was like he was there again, he could almost hear the rush of the water, the chatter of birds in the trees. He felt like he could stare at this for years and still find new details.
She was halfway through painting The Green Eyes' temple, complete with football headed statue at the top.
"Wow," Arnold pressed his hand to the river, fingers tracing the motion of the white-crested waves. "This. . .this is incredible."
"Definitely worth my arrest."
Arnold tugged on her wrist and pulled her back so they could just stand and admire the thirty foot wide painting together.
"I picked up art on accident. I was assigned the class freshman year, but it shortly became all I cared about. I screwed up in all of my other classes but passed art with flying colors." She shook her head, "Literally. For my final project I threw paint on a statue I carved."
"So you really do everything?"
"Yeah, I try all art forms at least once." She sighed, tilting her head to the side, "I wish I had someone help me color this, I think I got the shading wrong here. . ." she gestured to the invisible light source and the angle it fell on the temple steps. "I wish I had a photograph to look at."
"You did this free hand?"
"Memory."
"Holy. . .Wow." It seemed to be all he could say.
She continued to gesture across the painting, "I want to finish the statue, think you can hoist me up?"
His head fell back to look at the top building. "How did you get up there in the first place?"
"Ladder and a pulley system. Cops confiscated it. Cost me $400, but so worth it. I'll show you another one of my high and mighty drawings later."
Arnold was distracted by her tongue ring, totally focused on her lips.
He caught himself staring and cleared his throat, "Yeah, I can lift you up. I had to carry my father down the temple steps after he twisted his ankle. And he's almost two hundred pounds of muscle."
"I'm much less than that, I promise." Helga laughed as she shook up her gold paint can. She untied her black bandana, "You might want to put this on. Can't risk damaging your brain cells."
"Oh, and yours are fine?"
"They've already been damaged by Hillwood's public school system," she pushed it into his hands, "I sucked in this stuff for years before the guy at the art supply store started to worry. Just do it, Arnoldo." He bent down under the mural and waited for Helga to get on his shoulders. She pulled her shoes off and waited for an okay. She was very hesitant, carefully wrapping her strong legs around his neck. He held in the urge to run his hands up and down the soft skin. "You okay?"
"Yeah, don't worry." She got to her feet, her bare heels digging into his shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable, but definitely not a serious problem. He pulled the bandana up and locked his hands around her ankles. He was not going to drop her.
Helga pushed one hand against the wall, using the other to paint along the faint chalk lines she'd drawn.
The process took about twenty minutes. Once it was all colored in, she looked down, "I'm done." Arnold waited for her to drop the can and brace her hands against the brick as he lowered himself to his knees.
Helga slid off his back, heart beat echoing her ears. She picked up the paint can and slipped it into a pocket on her belt, clapping her gloved hands together.
"I'll finish the sky when I can get my ladder back," Helga mused to herself as she tilted her head to the side. "I hope I got the colors right."
"It looks perfect. I really feel like I'm standing on a mountain, looking down at everything." She really had captured a great perspective on the piece. It reminded him of his first hike he took with his classmates. The view was breathtaking.
She beamed with pride as she stepped back from the piece. Arnold traced her signature, pink cursive with a heart over the 'i'. It stuck out against the dense dark forest tree tops. "Why Geraldine?"
"Middle name. Needed an alias, couldn't get arrested," she shook her head and tapped the brick with her signature. Their fingers brushed and she pulled back quickly, as if his body was toxic.
Helga had started the painting as a memoriam to Arnold, his parents, The Green Eyes. Her weeks there were the most incredible and terrifying time in her life. But now that Arnold was back. . .well, she look at the art differently. It seemed happier now, like the sunset was romantic instead of tragic.
"What's one thing you've always wanted to do, but couldn't since you were in the jungle?"
Kiss you, he thought immediately, almost saying it aloud. But he caught himself. "Sit in a desk in a classroom and learn. I loved my homeschooling, if you could even call it that, but. . .there was something comforting about Mr. Simmons' classroom."
Helga grinned, unlocking one of her paint can straps, revealing a lock picking set. "I can get you in in five seconds. Come on," she pulled his hand and together they ran around the building and Helga worked on the first window she could find.
"Do you really want to get arrested again?"
"That's half the fun. Besides, Anderson is totally cool. He'd let me go with a warning," she winked as the window's lock popped open. She lifted up the glass frame and slipped inside. Arnold was quick to get in after her, shutting the window just incase. He couldn't believe he'd just assisted in a break in to his old school.
Well, he also assisted in defacing the property too, so what did a little B&E matter?
She pulled on his hand and ran through the hall, singing the P.S. 118 alma mater at the top of her lungs. Arnold was laughing and singing along, surprised he could remember it. By the time they reached Simmons' classroom, they were out of breath. It took Helga two flicks of her lock picker to open the door.
Arnold stood in the dark doorway in awe.
He was really here. This wasn't one of his dreams when he was held captive. He was awake, feet firmly planted on the ground.
Seven years and everything was still the same. The same old wooden desks lined up in rows, classroom supplies lined up on the shelves underneath the windows. The chalkboard had the faded works of a long division math problem, and Mr. Simmons' desk had a statue for his Teacher of the Year award when he was in his class.
Arnold ran his hands along each desktop as he walked to his old seat. The plastic chair seemed so much bigger when he was nine. He managed to wedge his knees under the table, uncomfortably, but he'd take it. He just sat there, counting his breaths.
Helga was sitting on Mr. Simmon's desk, smiling as she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. Arnold was staring at her, smirking like he had a bad idea running through his mind. Poor jungle boy, she thought, such a repressed sexuality. She thought the smile he gave her after he said "I missed you," was the greatest moment of her teenaged life.
But this moment was so much better.
There was some dangerous lust gleaming in his stare. Like if the desk wasn't holding him down he'd be kissing her senseless.
"I wish I had some paper," Helga mumbled as she hopped onto the ground, hands tracing the backs of every other chair.
Arnold scratched the back of his head as a reflex. "That I could live without."
Helga took her seat a few desks behind Arnold, only this time he turned around and watched her. She just sat there, sticking her tongue out at him.
"Teach me something."
She leaned back in her chair, "What?"
"Teach me something I could've only learned in school. Please?"
Helga overdramtically groaned and got to her feet, making a fuss as she looked for something to do. She decided to stick to something English related, so she grabbed a vocabulary workbook off one shelf. She scanned through the words, even though the level was for sixth graders, she figured he knew most of these. There had to be one word she'd never used after learning it. She got to the third lesson before finding a word: vista.
Helga quickly picked up chalk and scribbled the word in cursive on the board.
"Vista," Arnold repeated.
"Noun. Definition: a pleasing view, especially one through a long, narrow opening." Helga did a quick sketch too, drawing a beach through a small, narrow window.
"Thanks. I'll definitely remember that," he smiled and forced himself to take in every detail. The streetlights peeking in through the blinds, casting shadows across the chalkboard. Helga had written the word in a string of light. He could tell she was an artist, even her words looked like a masterpiece. She was standing with her back to him, one hand on her hip, the other running through her hair.
Arnold shifted his legs out from underneath his desk and stood up. They were starting to go numb from the pressure against the wood. He walked to the desk and picked up the chalk, erasing the word and wrote a note:
Dear Mr. Simmons,
Sorry for breaking into your classroom, but I just had to see it again. I've really missed my time in the states, P.S. 118 especially. I hope your life is going well. I'll have to come back some time and brush up on my long division and complete one of your special projects.
Thank you for everything,
-Arnold
"That's sweet," Helga mumbled, taking the chalk from his hands. She rolled it between her fingers as she contemplated a message, tapping it against her chin thoughtfully before an idea struck her.
dawn breaks and I remember
the sound of your voice testing my eardrums
smiles reach across the playground all tracing back
to you
seasons have morphed since our time here
a new sunshine kissing my skin
yet I never forgot
the valuable lessons
everyone is special
love the world
read often
dawn breaks and I remember
your final wave
a promise that tomorrow I would be okay
because you taught me everything
She crossed out her name, then erased it completely, replacing it with 'Anonymous.'
Arnold watch her write the poem, rewriting each line at least twice until she was satisfied with every word. She dropped the chalk and clapped her gloved hands, flashing a satisfied grin. It was the first poem she'd written in years. And it wasn't about Arnold. That deserved a pat on the back.
"Let's get out of here," Arnold took her hand and together they fled the property.
They walked around the city, Helga pointing out which buildings changed, were torn down, or still existed. He knew most of his neighborhood was still in tact, but the other parts of Hillwood were mysteries to him.
It was long past midnight and he knew he needed to get home, get some sleep, call his parents. But he couldn't bring himself to leave. It was nice seeing the city so quiet, despite the darkness giving him a sene of danger.
They made it to Tina Park, and Helga forced them to stop on the bridge. The wood had been worn over the years, and she was sure she'd get a splinter, but she wanted to see their reflections. See how much they changed.
Arnold stood close to her, watching their reflections bounce against the water, the light of the moon catching her earrings.
Arnold was tall, tan, muscular. . .broken. His scar was visible in the river, his bicep's one imperfection. The pink and torn flesh clearly never healed as well as it should've. His eyes looked like they belonged on a forty-year-old's face. The emerald gems held so many stories, so many scars, traumatic memories. He didn't look seventeen.
Her hand clenched into a fist against the wood. She'd never hated her reflection more than at this moment. Dark unibrow still unkempt, pink hair ready to fall out any second from the constant chemicals. She missed the blonde. It was something she and Arnold had in common. And her earrings. . .they looked so gaudy. Maybe she could take two or three out without damaging her skin.
The rest of her body wasn't too terrible. Her exercise came from outrunning cops and chasing kids who screwed with her art, and she ate what she could. Not because of a diet, but because of a lack of food.
Big Bob was fabulously wealthy, yet chose to live in a crummy neighborhood and drop his dollars on expensive cars and trinkets. Yeah, Helga lied about her allowance, but it always went to art supplies. Lately, she'd been saving for college apps.
She had no idea where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do. She knew art was her deciding factor, but there were only a few really successful artists in this day and age.
But Arnold thought she was talented, that she had a future. And that meant more to her than getting into the top rated art school.
"Do you ever think about college?"
Arnold shrugged, finally tearing his eyes from her reflection, "Not really. I figure I need to go back through school, you know, Billy Madison style before I can reach that."
"Look at that, you're back for a few days and make a pop culture reference." Helga pushed her hand into her back pocket, pulling out a cigarette carrier. She searched around her spray paint belt for her lighter.
"Smoking?"
"Better than drinking like my parents," she mumbled with the cig between her lips.
His eyes dropped back to the river, "I'm sorry."
"I'm not." She cupped one hand around the lighter, waiting for the spark, then inhaled as the nicotine filled her lungs. She breathed it in deep, letting the falling ash burn her fingers. She exhaled to her left, avoiding Arnold completely. She held it in her left wrist, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes, "Not that I'm trying to peer pressure you, innocent child, but would you like to try it?"
"Innocent child?"
"Arnold, you may be seventeen in body, but you're still ten in your mind."
"Just because I went to the jungle-"
"I know, your parents are brilliant. Doesn't mean you know how to act at a crowded concert, what the symbolism in Moby Dick is, or how to save yourself during school when you're getting bullied. I know you don't know what Facebook is or how to even make out with a girl, let alone what second base is. You suffered a lot in the jungle, and it's a known psychological fact that in times of traumatic incidents, your defense mechanisms kick in. Deflecting the emotions and acting like a child is one of them."
"Don't lecture me about psychology, Helga."
"Why not? Jealous that I got to learn it last year?"
His eyes focused on the cigarette, watching her bring it to her lips, inhaling the smoke and holding it in, rolling the edge of her tongue ring against the paper.
"Give me it." He waved his hand in her face.
"Slow down, Football Head. I was just teasing you. There's no need to get that desperate to prove me wrong."
"Give me your cigarette." Helga rolled her eyes and handed him the tobacco filled paper. He tried to imitate the way she held it between her middle and index finger, but he felt awkward.
"Relax your wrist a little." He did as he was told before bringing it up to his lips. "Suck in. You're definitely going to cough."
Arnold used his lungs to pull the smoke out of the paper, feeling some ash burn against the back of his throat. He exhaled quickly, hacking as the burn subsided.
Helga plucked it from his hands, taking a few more drags as Arnold continued coughing. "Ugh, my mouth taste weird."
"So don't kiss a smoker."
He wiped the tears from his eyes. "Do you smoke a lot?"
"Whenever I'm stressed or upset. So. . .yeah, pretty often."
"I know I don't have a right to tell you how to live your life, but-"
"Oh, God," Helga rolled her neck, creating an unsettling popping sound. "Don't start with the lung cancer, self-righteous shit, Arnold. You were gone for years, you lost the right to tell me to do anything."
He sighed, running his hand over his scar, lowering to trace his imprisoned tattoo. "I thought about you all the time."
Her cigarette fell from her hands.
"For the first few years while I was still with The Green Eyes, Gerald and Phoebe and everyone would fill me on what you were doing. They always thought it was weird that I'd ask. I wrote to you all the time. I never got an answer back. For a while I thought you honestly hated me, that your silence wasn't an act."
She just clenched her jaw as a response.
"And then when we were on the move, I kept thinking about you. How much you would've loved hiking, exploring, writing about it all. And when I got captured, you kept me from losing it, the idea of being free and getting to see you made me strong."
Helga shook her head. "Stop."
"Didn't you miss me at all?"
"That's not fair. I thought you were dead!"
"For a long time I wished I was."
"Don't."
"After I got my freedom tattoo, I started sobbing. I fell to my knees and cried. The tat became a mark I was proud to wear, a symbol that I survived. It made me work harder to get back to you. But my parents were screwed up. We all were, really. The Green Eyes nursed us all back to a state of mental health. We stumbled on another exploration party that agreed to take us home."
"Why did you keep your arrival a secret?"
"I didn't know if you, or anyone, wanted to see me. I didn't know if you even remembered me."
Her eyes shut, head turning back to the water, "How could I forget the guy I was in love with?" Her eyes opened, glare shooting daggers into his skin, "And don't you dare stand there and say you care about me too. You don't even know me anymore."
"You're still hiding your emotions behind anger. I can tell you're bottling up your grief about my supposed death, you're repressing your love for me. I know you, Helga. But I'm right here. I'm alive. So you can finally move on."
"Don't lecture me about my feelings," she seethed, taking one large step away from him. Her cigarette crunched under her sneaker. "Don't even act like you know anything about what I went through."
"Try me."
"I got in fifteen fights in one semester. I broke my fingers three times, got my nose broken by a sixteen-year-old. I was twelve. I stopped writing poetry, stopped eating, stopped living. Phoebe had to physically drag me out of bed every morning, and even then I wouldn't want to move. Gerald was in the same shape I was. We just sat across the street from your boarding house and tried not to cry."
"I'm sorry."
Her laughter was bitter. "Take your sorry and shove it. Once you got freed, you could've written. You could've at least tried."
"Almost five years passed since we said goodbye. And you hadn't replied to me once. I knew you hadn't forgiven me, wouldn't want to talk to me. And Gerald, well, I figured he moved on, made more friends."
"Well, he didn't. Instead he fucked girls until his dick was raw." Arnold looked horrified. "Disgusting, but true." She ran her hands through her hair, trying to hide her shaking, "We just sort of fell apart without you."
"I. . .I don't know what to say."
"There's nothing to say," her glare hardened again, "the damage is done."
"Doesn't mean I can't try to fix it."
"You need to fix yourself first before you try to save our damaged souls."
"That's deep."
Helga rolled her eyes, "It's the poet in me." She turned her head back into the water, another brilliant idea turning on in her mind. She backed away from the edge and unclipped her utility belt. It fell onto the wood with an unsettling slam. She kicked off her sneakers, socks and began unbuttoning her shorts.
"What are you doing?" Arnold covered his eyes with his hands.
"Jumping in." Helga shrugged out of her shirt and pulled off her gloves. She climbed onto the edge of the bridge, arms up over her head, preparing a divers stance.
"Why?"
"YOLO," she replied before laughing. That was the first time she ever said that. Usually she teased people for using it.
"Yo-what?"
Helga sat down on the ledge, turning to Arnold, "It's a stupid acronym from a rap song. Everyone says it before they do something stupid to justify it. Because you only live once."
"Oh. Ha, I get it."
Arnold opened his eyes, but directed them to the water instead of the half-dressed girl a few feet away. "The river's not that deep. It's maybe ten feet, you'll crush your head."
"I'll survive," she replied, getting back to her feet and looking at the water. Maybe it was shallow, but that was part of the fun.
Arnold jumped up, pulling her hand. "Wait." He kicked his shoes off and pulled his belt off before shrugging out of his shirt and pants. Helga watched, confused and a little awestruck at his body. Damn.
He jumped up beside her, slowly taking her hand. She felt her heart drop a little, clinging to her ribs as she experienced shallow breaths. Arnold ran his thumb on the inside of her right palm, tracing the scar she had.
Another reason why she wore those gloves.
"Accident with a knife," she whispered, "distracted while cooking."
He knew she was lying. Helga never cooked for herself. She'd stressed to him before that she could never find her way around a kitchen. His thumb stopped moving and instead squeezed her hand. It was all his fault. "Ready?"
She faced him, "Are you nervous?"
"No," he replied immediately, "it's just a little jump."
"You're scared," Helga teased.
"I've fought hand-to-hand combat with a soldier from Los Osos and you're saying I'm afraid of jumping into a little creek?" He was lying. And he didn't know why.
Why did this seem so much scarier?
...Because she was still holding his hand.
Before he could blink, Helga had pushed him forwards, and together they fell down into the river.
It wasn't that deep, Arnold's feet could just barely touch the bottom, but it was cold. A shock to the system. He hit the air, gasping and pushing his hair out of his eyes. "What was that for?"
"You never would've jumped otherwise," Helga replied, swimming to the bank and getting out. She dropped to the dirt, wringing her hair out like a wet rag. She stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes to get some feeling back. "Man, I'm wide awake now."
"It's nice," Arnold replied, lying on his back and floating on the surface. The night sky was a little cloudy, a slight haze passing over the full moon.
Helga started shivering so she slipped back into the water, splashing Arnold as she crept over to him. Shark Mode: Activated, she thought. She swam underneath him before shooting out towards the bridge, hovering under the shadow. Arnold got off his back, feet kicking furiously in the water as he swam towards her. "Helga?"
She used the edge of the river to push herself off, diving so her hands could wrap around Arnold's foot and pull him under. He screamed until his lungs filled with water and he looked at Helga underneath the waves.
She kicked herself up to the surface again, laughing hysterically, wiping a fake tear from her eye. "You are so easy to freak out."
He just swam closer to her, sticking his tongue out, which made her do it too. He smiled at her tongue ring, "Does that hurt?"
"It did for a few days, but I love it now. It's fun when you make out."
"Do you," he blushed a little, "do that a lot?"
"What? Make out?"
"Yeah."
"Once every couple months, you know, when I got to a party. It usually takes a few drinks, maybe a hit or two to loosen me up-"
"Hit?"
"Off a bong."
"A what?"
Helga laughed, shaking her head in the water, "I smoke weed. . . Oh, this is great. I totally have to get you high sometime. You were already a little spacey, but this would fuck with your mind."
"Okay."
"No peer pressure or anything. Actually, you might not want to. Your sensitive lungs and all."
"I'm fine."
Helga rolled her eyes and swam back to the bank, walking up towards the bridge. She hopped over the ledge, once again wringing out her hair. Arnold watched her become a silhouette, her delicate body dancing across the bridge as she picked up her things. He took in her curves, starting at her legs and working up. Skinny but strong. She had stopped moving now, and was just leaning over, looking down at him. She crossed her legs, hips leaning against the wood. Her arms pressed tight against her sides, and now he directed his vision to something else instead of her chest, which looked about ready to fall out of her bra.
Helga was watching him wade in the water. She touched her heart, searching for her locket. . .when she remembered she stopped wearing it last year. "I missed you, my love," she whispered before turning her back to him.
Arnold got out of the water and hoisted himself back up onto the bridge. He reached his hand through one of the beams and grabbed Helga's ankle, which made her scream and jump back. He laughed at his little stunt before swinging himself up.
Helga glared at him as she dressed herself. "Ready to go home, Hair Boy?"
"I think I should be the one walking you home." He looked at her as she rolled her eyes. "Old habits die hard."
Believe me, I know, she thought as her belt clipped back around her hips. "Let's hurry, I'm freezing."
After leaving Tina Park, Arnold's resolve started weakening. His hand would twitch, fingers wiggling as he wished he could reach out and take hers. He'd told himself he wouldn't get involved again, he couldn't. Too much time had passed.
He didn't know her anymore. Helga G. Pataki was a stranger. A stranger who had loved him seven years ago, a stranger who had kissed him three times, but picked on him to hide her feelings. Now she had a tongue ring and smoked cigarettes and weed. She owed the police station $3000+ for graffiti charges. She'd had an accident with a knife and mourned his moving as a death.
But she was still in there, the ten-year-old girl he knew and had developed feelings for. Helga G. Pataki, the girl with the blonde pigtails and pink bow, was buried under years of unresolved anger and hate towards the world.
"Helga?"
Fear made the nerves in her spine tingle, a warning sign for her to run. Instead, she looked up at Arnold, who was biting his lip and wringing his hands. He sighed and stopped walking, prompting her to freeze mid-step. "What?"
"I never should've stayed in San Lorenzo." Helga started shaking her head. She couldn't handle this right now. Their last discussion was still ringing in her mind. "I should've convinced my parents to go back. We never would've been tortured or locked up or-"
"Those things happened. You can't go back and change it. Whatever happened to you made you strong."
"You made me strong."
Helga directed her vision to the nearby stoop, arms crossed over her chest. "You just liked the idea of me, that I was back here waiting for you. But I wasn't. I moved on-"
Arnold grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him, "Look me in the eyes and say that."
He was touching her. He was wrapping his hand around her waist. He was staring at her. She could feel his eyes focused on hers, trying to get her to look up. Her hands coiled into fists, pushing against his chest, but he wouldn't let up. Her eyes were focused on the collar of his t-shirt, the movement of his adam's apple as he swallowed.
"Tell me you don't still love me."
"It's not that simple!" With newfound strength, she pushed herself free. He was fast, and managed to catch her glove, unwrapping the velcro. With her distracted, he pulled on her hand, so they were pressed palm to palm.
"How did you get your scar?"
She tried to pull back her hand, "I cut my hand with a letter opener."
"A letter opener?"
"Yes. When you hold them the wrong way, they hurt."
His fingers curled around hers, stilling her movements. "Which letter of mine was it?"
She looked down at their interwoven fingers. "Your last one."
He dropped her hand, which caused her to finally look into his eyes. Hers were glassy with a build up of tears. And before she could shed them, she ran.
Her feet had never carried her faster, her heart had never ached this much. She was sobbing now, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Helga had just started to accept his death and then he shows up, alive and well, acting like nothing had happend. Like seven years had never separated them.
She turned down her street, breaking into a full sprint as her house came into view. She was close.
A high pitched scream escaped her when an arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her against her neighbor's house.
Helga pulled her hair out of her eyes and tried to steady her shaking breaths. "Jesus Christ, Arnold!" He took two more deep breaths before relaxing. "Don't ever do that!" she screamed and punched his arm. Helga was pretty sure her heartbeat would never go back to normal after a scare like that.
Arnold leaned into her again, wiping away her tear streaks, rolling his tongue over his bottom lip before taking it in between his teeth.
Helga watched the innocent action with a blush on her cheeks.
"Do you still love me?"
She'd avoided it for seven years. Seven long, difficult, spirit-breaking years. Helga never allowed herself a minute of true happiness with him gone. Even when he wrote to her, she was still miserable. He was going to kiss her back then, but instead he left her. He had died, that's how her heart had taken it. He didn't get to come back and ask that question now, he had no right to!
So who in the hell did he think he was, trapping her in a corner and still biting his lip like he was fighting an internal battle?
Helga pushed off the wall and grabbed Arnold's cheeks, pulling him in so quickly he didn't even have time to realize she was kissing him.
He wasn't sure who was crying, or if they both were or he was just imagining it, but as he pulled her into him, returning the kiss with the same amount of force, she suddenly pushed back.
"Goodnight, Arnold," she whispered as she ducked around him, sprinting up to her house and inside.
Arnold walked home in a daze, completely unaware that his wet clothes were sticking to his skin or that he was shivering.
He snuck back into the boarding house via fire escape. As he reached the top, he swore he heard Helga's goodnight in the wind.
He'd definitely felt her tongue ring press against his teeth, catch on his lips. He sighed, letting his hands run over his arms, fingers trying to remember the feel of her skin against his.
Arnold looked out into the city, his home, the darkened rooftops catching shadows of the full moon. The street lights were shut off, and only a few houses had rooms lit. Probably kids staying up late, watching tv or talking online. The overpass was quiet as well, only a few delivery trucks rushing past.
Arnold's eyes ran along the cityscape, the only thing significantly different was the giant skyscrapers peering up from downtown. But that was understandable. He'd rather have more tall buildings than a torn down neighborhood.
He was about to turn around and head in when a dark, shadowed spot caught his eye.
He willed for his eyes to focus, to make sure what he thought he saw wasn't a trick of the light. Was he delirious from a lack of sleep and too many fluorescent lights? It couldn't be.
Arnold found himself in that exact same spot six hours later, hands digging into the concrete ledge as the sun rose over the horizon.
The city began to awaken, more cars were rushing past on the highway. Horns honking, radios blasting. Noise began to fill the background, the neighborhood below was enjoying their Sunday morning. Pets were running free to bark and meow at the changing sky while parents left to pick up breakfast. Neighbors holding coffee cups waved hello while the paper boy dropped off the daily news.
Arnold's eyes lifted off the ground to see what he hoped was there.
He gasped when he saw the bright red spray paint forming a heart, two initials scribbled hastily in the middle.
There was no doubt in his mind.
It was Helga's heart.