This is a request for Gakuto1991, and should be the last of the Hey Arnold fanfics I write for a while. With one exception. I will be taking some time off. Thank you for all of your support.
Holiday's Home Furnishings is a storefront right next to a pharmacy along Vine Street. On Thanksgiving, its front windows are decorated with fancy place setting and dioramas of families enjoying themselves, in order to entice adults to purchase new dishes for their tables. The contents of such a store always held little interest to Arnold. His family already had an abundance of dishes, which they reused even if there was a minor blemish or crack. But Arnold was interested in the identity of the man he saw standing within the store as he passed by its window.
"Say," Arnold pointed out to Gerald. Their footsteps stopped. "Isn't that Mr. Simmons?"
It was, indeed, their friendly, now fifth grade school teacher. Mr. Simmons studiously examined a large paper price tag affixed to a large desk. When he found the price not to his liking, he dropped the tag, then moved to another, less ornate desk to study it, his finger tucked under his chin as he narrowed his eyes in concentration.
Mr. Simmons roamed the store for many minutes. He looked backwards over his shoulder at something which suddenly interested him.- a woman customer was conversing with the shop's owner. As she placed an order, it occurred to Mr. Simmons that the person in question was someone he knew- though not very well.
"Morgan Vail?" the school teacher innocently said. He extended a hand to offer a polite handshake. "The newest fourth grade teacher at P.S. 118? Hi, it's me!" Mr. Simmons smiled and clapped a hand against his heart beneath his sweater vest. "It's me, Mr. Simmons, fifth grade teacher at P.S. 118?"
"Oh," the woman said with diffidence. She was dismissive, yet enchanting. "How do you do? I AM Morgan Vale."
"So when are you starting?" Mr. Simmons shook the hand thoroughly before dropping it with an honest smile. He received none in turn.
"Oh, not for for a couple of days. I'm just settling in here."
"I can see that." Mr. Simmons smiled. But Arnold had his nose pressed to the window of the shop. He made a disgusted expression before removing himself from the windowpane.
"Who is that?!" Gerald vocalized his doubt of the stranger nearly as loud as the expression on Arnold's face did.
"Morgan Vail. I think she's a relative of Lana Vail."
"Lana? Who's that?" Gerald asked. Arnold rolled his eyes with discomfort.
"A REALLY creepy person who used to rent in the boarding house a while back. But she was so creepy, Grandpa kicked her out. He didn't renew her lease."
"Creepy? Evener creeper than Ernie or Mr. Hyunh or Oscar?!"
"Well, she was WAY creepy. I don't know all the details, but Grandpa decided she had to go. Also the guy who tried to keep chickens in his room. He got kicked out, too!"
"Well, that's to be expected!" Gerald complained. "So do you know her?" Gerald pointed to the teacher, Morgan Vail.
"Tsck. No. And I don't want to. I'm glad Mr. Simmons is our teacher." Arnold sniffed.
"Yeah! Mr. Simmons is a good man. A real good man," Gerald declared firmly.
Arnold and Gerald forgot all about the sighting of the new fourth grade teacher. They had moved up a grade, along with Mr. Simmons to educate them. As a new school day began, they marched into their desks and the day began like clockwork. Everyone read from textbooks, scribbled notes, and passed out flyers. They threw airplanes, chewed gum, and nibbled pencils, too, until the clock had a new recording of the hours that they liked. Afternoon had come.
"Now class, class!" Mr. Simmons called them all to attention. "I have an important announcement! Tomorrow, we are all going to assist with the production of our newest school play! It has been decided that the fourth graders will be doing a SCARY play," Mr. Simmons said giving his fingers a wiggle, "of Count Dracula versus the Easter Bunny, for the first half hour of the program, while we, the fifth graders will do a second SCARY play for the second half! So, time to brainstorm some ideas! Does anyone have any SCARY ideas to use?"
"Oh, me, me!" Sid said waving his hand in the air above his head.
"Yes, Sid?"
"I find hair dryers absolutely terrifying," the boy said with a shake. Mr. Simmons twisted his face sideways with momentary disbelief- disbelief that the thing a kid would be most terrified of was a hair dryer.
"Ah, no Sid. This isn't supposed to be scary in a might-get-cavities sort of way. I mean, like monsters and ghosts."
"You mean like Halloween?"
"Well, it isn't Halloween yet but something like that, yes."
"Dragons!" Helga shouted, her hands fisted up in the air.
"Werewolves!" shouted Harold.
"Gnomes," uttered Eugene.
"One at time, kids! One at a time! I'll write these things down! Now where is that box of chalk?" Mr. Simmons looked around, then reached for the drawer of his desk. It was swollen shut, so after a few, futile tugs, Mr. Simmons put his foot on it to get the drawer free. He almost fell backwards when the drawer sprung loose.
"Ah, see? There!" Mr. Simmons began to scrawl on the chalkboard with his chalk.
"Ah, Mr. Simmons?" Gerald said. "Maybe you need to get yourself a new desk."
"Well," Mr. Simmons said with pride as he set down a scrap of chalk on the thin metal rim of the board. "Remember that fundraiser we held at the beginning of the year? We still have a little left, and the school directors agreed to combine that amount with some from a general fund to buy me a new desk. Isn't that exciting?!"
"Hm. I'm happy for you, Mr. Simmons," Gerald said before falling into silence. The whole class waited at attention for their favorite instructor to speak. Mr. Simmons smiled at all the familiar faces before him, pausing to savor each. Helga blinked and tipped her head with confusion as his friendly gaze drifted across her in turn.
"Alright, class!" Mr. Simmons said with a smile as the bell rang. "Time for lunch, but please keep your mind open for more ideas for our half of the play!"
The kids of Mr. Simmon's class stomped out the door and on their way down the hall. The first mission of the moment was to find lunch. It was spaghetti and meatball sauce.
"You know, we could do something on 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea," Eugene said holding a spoon to eat his food with instead of a fork like everyone else.
"You mean, with a giant squid and tentacles and everything?" Phoebe asked, narrowing her eyes behind her glasses. Phoebe waved her fork from side to side so that some of noodles swayed like tentacles.
"That's nothing!" Sid exclaimed. He took up a spoonful of meat sauce and let it drip from the spoon. "A giant squid is not nearly as scary as this meat sauce! We could do a consumer review."
"I say we get some jello and stuff, and make some goop that looks like people have exploded when rays guns hit them," Harold grinned, full of mischievous glee. He lifted his cube of red gelatin in front of Sheena's nose. The girl crumpled her nose with discomfort, then collapsed. Sheena, still wearing her flower-power shirt, was intolerant to blood and violence.
"Perfect!" Helga grinned back at Harold as the boy looked even more wicked. "Now if any of you have any more scary ideas for the school play, we'll try them on Sheena, first!"
Disregarding how scary their lunch meal looked, the kids shoveled their lunch down. But many days later, it was time for them to all to meet up on stage for their first rehearsal.
The fourth graders all set to work on a piece that looked like a castle. One of them tied fake bats to a stick. But in Mr. Simmon's class, they had taken a more modern approach. Arnold put on a fake space helmet and received a thumb's up from Gerald for his look. Sid yelped as Harold wobbled realistically in a monster blob costume, although his fake tentacles were less realistic since they were streamers attached to poles he held in either hand.
"I got the pails full of monster slime!" Sid said helpfully after recovering. "See?"
"Oops." Eugene sputtered as he tipped over one of the pails, landing in a purple goo. "Sorry."
Standing next to Phoebe, Helga had a yellow, fur-lined hunter's cap as well as a yellow army-style coat paired with brown trousers and boots.
"Here you go, Helga!" Phoebe said holding up a box. "Banana ray-guns!" Helga took the two very odd, banana-like objects out of the box. Maybe they really were just fake bananas?
"Now say your line!"
"Banana Ray-Gun!" Helga rehearsed. She took aim at Stinky Peterson who clutched himself around his ribs, then faked a fall over. "Oh, I am done fer! Avenge me, my carrot comrades!"
"You'all are doin' a good job!" Gerald complimented as he stood, dressed in an orange costume. He wore carrot pistols instead of banana ones.
"Of course it is! I can remember ALL my lines, no problem," Helga sniffed with pride.
"'Monster Hunters Galactica versus the Toxic Slime that Devours the Universe' will be a huge success!" Phoebe said scribbling on a clipboard.
"Hm? Who wrote it anyway?" Helga snatched Phoebe's clipboard, then read it. She shrugged, then handed the clipboard back to Phoebe when she discovered no hints there.
"Actually, I think we're ripping it off from a comic book. See?" Phoebe pointed to Brainy, whom was holding a clipboard and a comic book. He gave his fellow classmates a friendly wave.
"Ah, well," Helga rearranged her hat to look in the mirror. "I need some badges. Also, do you think I should have my hair curled?"
"Absolutely!" Rhonda said, overhearing. "I volunteer to be your makeup artist!" Rhonda, too, was dressed in a yellow-themed costume, but she rocked hers.
The kids of Mr. Simmons' class were in good spirits. But not so much the kids of the fourth grade. They looked as gloomy or fearful as the Dracula castle they worked on. Their faces were grim, their lips silent. Standing behind them, half hidden in the shadow and with glinting, predatory eyes was Morgan Vail. Mr. Simmons took note of his fellow teacher, then walked forward for a polite, yet uneasy hello.
"Morgan! How are you doing today?" Morgan Vail's sharp smile slouched into a slight frown.
"Just fine. My students and I are doing just fine, Mr. Simmons."
There was a touch of defensiveness there. Heart uneasy, Mr. Simmons walked into the school's dressing room closet. He found a little boy huddled there, crying and sniffling.
"Hello?" Mr. Simmons asked the crying child. "What's the matter? Won't you tell me?" The little boy wiped a tear from his eye and looked up at the teacher whom had knelt by his side with an look of honest concern.
In what was an unexpected spectacle, Arnold and Gerald's after school conversation on the school's front steps was interrupted by Morgan Vail being driven from the school by none other than Principal Wartz. The balding, lump-nosed man glared down at the woman hurrying down the steps. As the Principal stood on top of the steps, feet spread and braced in a dominant position, he lifted a fist and shook it through the air at Morgan.
"And don't come back to this school, you hear! You know I run a tight school, and you should have known better than to cross the line! This isn't the last you've heard of this, I swear!"
"Humph!" Morgan glared back, not at Principal Wartz, but at the teacher cringing behind Principal Wartz."
"It's not the end of this for you, either Mr. Simmons! I swear, I will drag your name through the mud for this! I will tell everyone every awkward thing about you for revenge!" The woman stomped away down the street as the kids all looked on in awe of the sudden firing.
"Don't let her bother you, Mr. Simmons," Principal Wartz said with rare kindness. "You acted in the right, my friend." Still, an anxious tug worked it's onto the side of Mr. Simmon's mouth.
Everything seemed to go back to normal for Mr. Simmon's classroom. A substitute was found for the fourth grade class and the school district psychologist dropped by a lot, but Mr. Simmon's class celebrated their time together but putting up pictures and classwork on the bulletin board. They all worked together as a team, some handing papers or tacks to others, some placing things on the board, some sorting things to be placed. Mr. Simmons watched all of them, a smile of profound pride gracing his lips.
But as he watched, two of the school staff, the school nurse and a square-jawed teacher, both came into the room through the open door to hand Mr. Simmons a newspaper. Mr. Simmons read the page, and his mouth made an even grimmer frown. He shoved the page into his desk.
"Mr. Simmons?" Principal Wartz popped up from behind the open door, next. "Can I have a word with you for a minute?" Mr. Simmons walked through the open door to stand in the hall for conference.
"Yes?" Mr. Simmons said, his hands clasped together with some mild, underlying anxiety.
"Mr. Simmons, I just came by to inform you that the school board has decided not to purchase the new desk we discussed, this year. I'm sorry. I'll try to make certain you get one next year!"
"Oh," Mr. Simmons mumbled. "That is a surprise. Do you know why?"
"Oh, it's not your fault Mr. Simmons!" Principal Wartz declared with intensity. "As I said, you did the RIGHT thing Mr. Simmons. But Morgan Vail did sling quite a few insults at you, Mr. Simmons, with intent to drag your reputation through the mud. A spiteful little witch. I promise you, Mr. Simmons, I will do everything I can to uphold your reputation. But some of the board of directors are divided because of your… er, background. You don't fill the mold of a typical instructor, you know? Your… err, non traditionalism is a cause of concern for one member of the board."
"Oh," Mr. Simmons said, reading the unwritten subtext. "I see. That's too bad."
"Not to worry, Mr. Simmons!" Principal Wartz said, slapping the man on the back. "As long as I'm Principal here, I will back you up as a man of utmost professionalism and integrity."
"Um, well thanks!" Mr. Simmons cracked a smile. But when he walked back into the classroom, he stopped, so drooped with sorrow that his tie fell free of his chest. Arnold noted their teacher's dejection immediately.
"Mr. Simmons? What's wrong?"
"Oh! Well, Arnold," Mr. Simmons answered sadly. "It's like this. I know I'm special. But sometimes others think I'm not special. And when they say that, it hurts. Prejudice is an unpleasant thing, Arnold. I'm not sure what else I can say."
These words bothered Arnold. With eyes wide and solemn, Arnold made his way home after school. He needed to speak to his own oracle- his grandpa, Phil. The aged, completely bald man in suspenders was rustling through a few books on the shelf. He squinted, selected one, and lay it spread open across his knee as he sat on his couch. Then Phil turned his head to see Arnold standing in the doorway to the living room. He had not heard the boy coming.
"Oh, Hello, Arnold." Phil patted on the couch beside him. "Take a load off. You look ghoulish. Something happen to you at school today?"
"Well, no Grandpa," Arnold uttered as he took the seat. He crossed his ankles, then interlaced his hands, too, for a moment before he took on a more relaxed gesture. It was good, here, talking to his grandpa. He let his shoulders relax.
"Something did happen at school today but it has little to do with me."
"What? Somebody put pickled jalapenos on your peanut butter sandwich? That happened to me once. Jimmy Kafkah!" Phil narrowed his eyes in memory.
"Nah. One of the teachers, Mr. Simmons said that people don't like him because he's different."
"Oh, that kind of problem!" Phil rubbed his chin in thought. "Prejudice is tricky, Arnold," advised Philip. "Opinions, too. The difference between a flower and a weed is a judgement, Arnold. Take roses for instance. As far as I consider, roses are all weeds on account of the thorns. But am I right? No! Not really. 'Cause everyone else disagrees."
"I just wish there was something we could do to help him out," Arnold concluded.
"Humph. Well, you keep thinking on it, Arnold, and I'm certain you'll find a way to help your friend." Tilting his nose downwards, Phil returned to his place in his book. Arnold left him to read in peace.
But it was Rhonda Lloyd who was to discover the way to help Mr. Simmons. "No desk for Mr. Simmons?!" the girl said, slapping her palm on the top of her own desk, annoyed. "That simply will not do! Our teacher is the best, and so he deserves the finest of office equipment! We simply MUST have another fundraiser!"
"Or we could make another desk for Mr. Simmons!" spoke up Sid.
"Or repair this one!" Eugene said, pointing.
"Yeah! Let's do it!" Harold waved his fist above his head.
"But which of us all knows woodworking?" Stinky pointed out. "I do a little whittlin' myself."
"I'm sure we can manage it, Stinky," said Arnold with a smile. "We can all meet up in my Grandpa's basement! He has tools there!"
"I'll bring a desk!" said Eugene. "Or rather some parts of desks. "I've broken quite a few over the years. Don't ask."
"I'll bring fancy trim and stuff," volunteered Helga. "We've got some scraps in the basement!"
"I get to pick the paint!" Rhonda sniffed.
The kids all gathered in Arnold's basement. In a Frankenstein project, they made a desk out of the old one, perfecting it until it was a better desk than any that one might buy at any furniture store anywhere. The janitor, Varkas, was the one to roll it into the classroom to its place. Rhonda set an expensive lamp on the corner of the desk, and Arnold placed a shiny red apple on it for one last finishing touch. Then all of the kids sat down in their seats early and waited for Mr. Simmons to appear. Principal Wartz was also hidden in the room with them- it was he who had allowed them to take the desk.
"Is he here yet? Is he here yet?" the man said, crouched with a bowl of confetti.
"No yet, Principal Wartz," said Arnold. But then, the doorknob to the room juggled. Everyone tensed.
"Hello, class!" the man said, entering the room. He did a double-take as he saw the desk.
"What do we have here? Where did this come from?" he asked.
"Surprise!" Principal Wartz got to throw his confetti at last as all of the students yelled. The principal laughed once. "All of your students came together to honor you and revere you as an educator. I wish I was that lucky."
"Why, class!" Mr. Simmons said. "I'm touched. Thank you, thank you all!"
"We just wanted to let you know you're a great teacher!" Rhonda said suavely.
"The tops!" Stinky said. Harold fidgeted his fingers together.
"Yeah. Mr. Simmons, when I don't understand stuff you don't call me stupid or nothing. You just explain it over and over again. And you forgive me stuff for like when I switched your grading pen for an invisible ink pen. So Mr Simmons, I just wanted to say... Thank you!"
"Oh, thank you so very much!" Mr. Simmons sniffed. "And thank you for accepting and supporting me! I am proud to be your teacher!" Mr. Simmons walked to the desk. He tried to pull the drawer open.
"Um, that's funny," Mr. Simmons smiled weakly. "The drawer won't open."
"Oh, that's 'cause we couldn't fix it," said Harold. "So I just nailed it shut." Mr. Simmons slapped his palm to his face.
"Well it's the thought that counts!" Mr. Simmons smiled. Crowded by his friends and students, he examined his new desk. The end.