Part One
Helga Pataki slammed her green locker shut, shifting the books under her arm as she marched down the hallway, scowling at anyone who dared look at her. She entered Mr. Simmons' classroom and made her way into her seat—second row, closest to the wall. She was the first one here, as usual, seeing as she left her house a full fifteen minutes before anyone else did. Fifteen minutes more, so she wouldn't have to endure Bob's screaming for shaving cream and Miriam's half-awake attempts to make a simple coffee.
The nine-year-old sighed and slumped in her seat, gazing at the desk in front of her. Arnold's desk. Arnold, the love of her life, whom her heart had ached for since age four…Arnold, the boy who she had helped just last week, saving their rundown neighborhood of Hillwood City from total demolition and modernization. Arnold, the boy to whom she had confessed her love just seven days ago.
In the span of those seven days, not much had changed. At first, Arnold was nicer to her in school, holding doors open for her and complimenting her more often. Helga, of course, scowled and berated him in return, wanting him to think she had been completely delusional on that FTI rooftop last week when she had made her confession.
Helga sighed and held her books to her chest, hugging them. The truth was, she hadn't been delusional; she had been completely honest. She was head-over-heels, crazy in love with the kid. She almost regretted taking her words back, as she often wondered how he would act to her then.
"Helga?...Helga…"
Helga opened her eyes. Arnold was standing next to his desk, staring at her half-closed eyelids and the books she was squeezing to her chest. Helga slammed them on her desk. "What, Football Head, what?"
"Are you okay? You look a little…"
Oh Arnold, so caring, so kind and thoughtful. "I would be fine, Arnoldo, if you weren't butting into my business every three minutes! Can't a person have a little peace around her? Yeesh!"
Arnold shrugged. "Sorry, Helga," he replied, taking his seat as the rest of the class began filing in. Sheena, Nadine and Phoebe were gathered around Rhonda Lloyd, who was proudly showing off the new, shiny silver bracelet on her wrist. "My parents bought it in Italy from a private collector for my birthday. Who knows how much this cost?"
Harold walked in next, already taking bites out of his lunch. Eugene was behind him, looking down and absorbed in reading a book he was holding. He crashed right into the wall next to the doorway. "I'm okay!" he said, picking himself and his book up.
Stinky and Sid walked in, talking amiably about their weekends. "Boy howdy," Sid was saying, "When I got to the park, it was nearly 90 degrees! I almost had to jump into the pond."
"Inn't that against the park rules?" Stinky drawled in his Southern accent. Sid shrugged. "Yeah, but it sure cooled me off!"
Gerald Johansen, Arnold's best friend, walked in next, tapping thumbs with his best friend before sitting in the desk next to him. The classroom was alive with the sounds of the fourth-grade class talking, laughing, and in Harold's case, belching.
Mr. Simmons was the last person to walk in, just as the bell rang. "Hello, hello class! Settle down, please. I have a very important and special announcement to make."
Helga rested her face in her hand, her elbow propped up on her desk. "Oh, brother." Simmons had an "important and special" announcement to make at least twice a day, most of which were concerned with teamwork and cooperation. Slowly, the class quieted down and took their seats, all attention placed on Mr. Simmons.
"Thank you, class. I got a letter yesterday from the school board, about a very special contest!"
"A contest? Willikers. Will there be prizes?" Stinky asked.
"Yes, Stinky, and this prize is particularly special. The writer of the winning essay will receive an all-expenses trip to the jungles of South America—with his or her whole class!"
Various gasps and interested whispers filled the room. Helga noticed Arnold sitting up straighter at the mention of a jungle. "What is the subject matter of the essay?" Phoebe asked.
Mr. Simmons picked up a letter lying on his desk. "Well," he said, his eyes scanning over the paper, "All you have to do is write a 200-word essay about why you want to visit South America."
"That's a snap. All you have to do is make up some bogus about how interested in the history you are," Helga snidely remarked.
Mr. Simmons smiled. "Ah, yes, Helga, but the history of South America is indeed very special. The jungles alone have been inhabited by civilizations such as the Olmec, the Incans, the Mayans, and the Aztecs, before the Spaniards conquered and took over. There are many special monuments to explore and ancient hieroglyphics written…"
"Not to mention the unique culture of the Mestizo peoples," Phoebe remarked.
"Aw, what's so great about history?" Harold whined, taking ferocious bites out of his ham-and-cheese sandwich. "History's boring!"
"Yes, but the South Americas are home to some of the most ethnically rich foods, Harold. Think about all you could learn about bananas, coffee, and even chocolate! The Aztecs were very…"
"Did you say chocolate?!" Harold exclaimed. "I'm in."
"So, who wants to enter the contest?" Mr. Simmons asked. "The application forms and rules are right here on my desk."
Helga leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms as she watched Gerald, Phoebe, Harold, Stinky, and Eugene walk up to the desk and grab a sheet of paper. Gerald noticed Arnold staring down at his desk, his hands folded on the wooden surface. "Hey, Arnold," Gerald said, "You entering the contest?"
"I don't know, Gerald. I mean, on one hand, I'd really like to go and all, but on another hand…I don't know if I could handle it."
"You mean, finding out something about your parents?" Gerald asked. Helga leaned forward slightly. Arnold was the one thing that occupied her mind most, and she knew next to nothing about his parents.
Arnold nodded. "I just don't want to get my hopes up about finding something out, and then having them fall through."
The bell for lunch rang, and Arnold and Gerald continued talking, Helga making sure to keep close behind them in the hallway—without looking too suspiciously close. "C'mon, man, I think you should enter," Gerald said. "You could write a really sentimental story about your parents, and they'd have to choose yours to win."
"Wouldn't that be like selling out, though, Gerald?" Arnold asked, joining the lunch line. Helga stood behind Gerald.
Gerald shrugged. "Beats me. Hey, it's okay if you don't want to enter. I was just makin' a suggestion. But I just think it'd be a great way for you to figure something out."
"Figure what out?" Helga loudly inquired, her curiosity getting the best of her.
"Nothin', Helga," Gerald sighed, examining a green blob in a bowl before shrugging and setting it down on his plate. Arnold didn't reply, instead opting to stare at his tray with an empty look on his face. Helga reached over and snapped her fingers. "Hey, Football Head! Are you going to just stand here or are you gonna let the rest of us get some food?"
Arnold looked up, grabbing a bowl of green blob. "Oh. Sorry, Helga," he replied in a spacey tone, following Gerald to their usual table.
---
"So, didja think about it?" Gerald asked, kicking a pebble down the cracked sidewalk that stretched along Vine Street. School had just been let out for the day, and he and Arnold were walking home.
Arnold shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. I think I'm going to enter, Gerald. I need to find out what happened to them. But, Gerald…I didn't take one of those applications from Mr. Simmons."
"No sweat, you can have mine," Gerald said, fishing through his backpack and handing over the slightly crumpled paper. "I knew you would change your mind, so I grabbed an extra for you."
Arnold grinned and tapped thumbs with Gerald, as they reached the Sunset Arms boarding house. "Well, see ya tomorrow, Gerald." He opened the door to his home, stepping aside so Grandma's various pets could run out.
"I'm home," he called out to no one in particular, dropping his backpack by the front door and bringing the application into the kitchen. His Grandpa was sitting at the table, his face concealed by the daily newspaper. "Hi, Grandpa."
Grandpa lowered the paper. "Well, if it isn't Short Man," he said, grinning. He gestured to the stovetop, where a plate of cookies rested. "Have some cookies and milk. But be careful, Pookie made those. Who knows what she put in them."
"Didn't you have any?" Arnold asked, grabbing three cookies and putting them on a plate.
"What are you, crazy? Of course I didn't have any! I haven't had one of her cookies since that disgusting pickle-oatmeal combination…"
Arnold slowly placed the cookies back on their original plate and opted for a glass of milk instead.
"So how was school today, Arnold?" Grandpa asked as Arnold sat across from him at the table, glass of milk in hand.
"It was alright, Grandpa. Mr. Simmons told us about this contest."
"A contest, eh?"
Arnold slid the application to his grandpa. "The writer of the winning essay gets to take his class on an all-expenses field trip to…"
"…the jungles of South America," Grandpa finished as he read the contest application. "Well, sounds like a perfect opportunity for you, doesn't it?"
"I guess so, Grandpa. I just don't want the contest judges to think I'm making up a story so I can win." Arnold took a few gulps of milk.
Grandpa smiled and gave the application back to Arnold. "As long as you know you're telling your story straight from the heart, there's no reason for anyone else to think otherwise."
"Thanks, Grandpa."
Arnold and Phil's conversation was interrupted by a figure dressed in red and blue spandex, as well as a red cape, went running by. "I'm off to save the downtrodden souls of the missionaries!" Grandma exclaimed, running out the door. Grandpa and Arnold smiled at each other, rolling their eyes.
---
Later that night, Arnold sat his desk, pencil in hand. The only light in his room came from the desk lamp sitting on his left. A blank piece of paper sat in front of him, with several attempts at an essay lay in crumpled balls on his floor. Arnold set his pencil down, then picked it up, then put it down again.
"My name is Arnold, and I really want to go to South America to find out what happened to my parents…" Arnold crumpled his latest attempt and tossed it in the general direction of his garbage can. His pet pig, Abner, walked up to it and sniffed it.
Arnold sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't do this, Abner. I can't even write a good essay about this." Abner snorted in response and ran downstairs. Grandpa's words suddenly echoed through Arnold's mind. As long as you know you're telling your story straight from the heart…
Arnold took out a fresh sheet of paper and began writing.