A/N: Hi guys! Long time no see! Bet you never thought you'd see a story from me again, huh? I'm still lurking around the fandom, but I haven't really had a story that compelled me to write it until this one. I have to say, this is the longest one-shot I've ever written, so I'm quite proud of it. It was inspired by the song "Calling All Skeletons" by Alkaline Trio. I was listening to the song and realized that, framed as Arnold speaking to Helga, it was easily a story in and of itself. I wanted an opportunity to share that perspective of this song, so I came up with a scenario in which Arnold would need to use the song to express something to Helga, and then I pooped this out. It might be a little rushed. If I was the sort of writer who could sustain a story well over time, this probably would have made a very good multi-chapter fic, in which Arnold's struggles with Helga are vastly fleshed out. But hey, just be glad I managed to get through nearly twice as much text as usual without getting bored or giving up. Plus, keeping it short allowed me to make this something of a prelude to TJM, to that's kind of cool. That's why the characters get introductions by the way. Movies generally don't assume that all the audience members know the characters from the start, and I liked having that sort of movie-like feel in the story, so I wrote it in that style. One last thing to note is that I altered one lyric of the song, changing the f word to "messed" since I wanted to keep this story rated G. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy it, because I had a lot of fun writing it.
Oh! And although you don't have to, it would add a lot to the fic if you'd look up the song Calling All Skeletons on youtube and play it when Helga plays the song. It's really catchy, so it's a fun song to hear even if you don't really care to play it while you read this.
I don't own Hey Arnold!, Calling All Skeletons, or Matt Skiba (who is the lead guitarist of Alkaline Trio, although I know nothing of his personality and really just named a character after him.)
Enjoy!
Calling All Skeletons
"Hey Arnold! Hey Arnold! Hey Arnold!"
It's time to wake up. I slam my hand down on the alarm-clock to my left and slowly, groggily force myself to sit upright and get out of bed. Today is just another day, and it is time for me to get ready for school.
My name is Arnold, in case you haven't already guessed by the sound my alarm-clock makes. Really, I'm just your average fifth grader: I like sports, junk-food, music, all the average kid stuff. Not all of my problems are average, but, well, I deal with those as they come. And right now, my main problem is that of getting to school on time.
I brush my teeth and take a shower, careful to blow dry my little blue baseball hat after I get out. I guess that's one thing about me that seems abnormal – that I shower wearing a hat – but it makes sense if you know me. The story behind it is kind of a long one, and I don't really want to talk about it right now, if that's okay with you.
Anyways, once that's done I quickly get dressed and gather my school supplies into my book-bag, and then I head downstairs for breakfast. Most mornings I'm done eating with just enough time to get to the bus, so when I'm on my way down the stairs and hear my Grandpa call, "Hey, Arnold! Come here!" I know I'm going to be eating something quick today, like toast. I'm not bothered though; I'm actually a little excited. See, there's this letter I've been waiting to get in the mail, and since the mailman drops off our letters just before I start breakfast most days, I'm really hoping that Grandpa has a letter for me.
I run into the kitchen, and am disappointed to find that Grandpa isn't holding any letters for me. Instead, he is standing next to an unfamiliar man. The man looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties; he has short, dark hair and the sort of nose that looks just a little bit like an upside-down clover. He's wearing sunglasses, black shorts, and a black tee-shirt that's covered in red writing, but his smile is friendly, and I'm put at ease.
"Arnold," says my Grandpa, "I'd like you to meet our new boarder! Mr... sorry, what was your name again?"
I don't think I've mentioned it yet, but there's one other way that I'm not quite so average – I live in a boarding house with my grandparents. Sometimes we get new boarders and sometimes old ones leave, but the ones who stay for a long time really do become a part of my family. So I have a family just like every other kid my age, but its a little bit different.
It's at this point that I notice all the luggage piles up at the new guy's feet. A couple of duffel bags, a suitcase, and – woah, is that a guitar? The handle seems to be just peeking out of the top of the case.
I vaguely hear the man tell my grandpa that his name is Matt Skiba, then he turns to me and says, "You wanna see her?"
"Huh?" I ask, tearing my gaze away from the guitar. I guess I was being kind of obvious. I got really into guitar music over the summer when I was looking for songs to play at a block party we were having. Jazz music used to be thing, but now…
Mr. Skiba goes over to the case and pulls out an electric guitar, and it's beautiful. It's not fancy, just black and white, but it shines like new. I can tell he takes excellent care of it.
"You like music kid?" He asks.
I nod.
Grandpa pipes up then: "Mr. Skiba here is in a band! They've got a record and everything! We've got a bonafide rock-star living with us!"
Mr. Skiba laughs, "Hah, not yet, but I'm working towards it. And hey, please call me Matt. Mr. Skiba is my dad's name."
Grandpa laughs, like he's supposed to, but I don't really care about being polite right now, because I'm looking at that beautiful guitar and wishing I could play it. Matt must reads minds, because the next thing he says to me is
"Do you want to learn to play? I give lessons between albums, you know."
"Really?!" I ask, the excitement all over my face. Grandpa is skeptical though.
"Well, I don't know Arnold," he turns to Matt. "How much is this going to cost?"
"Well," Matt says, "since your putting me up for so cheap, how's $20 a lesson sound?"
Grandpa smiles and puts out his hand for Matt to shake.
"You've got yourself a deal!"
I look up from their shaking hands and notice the clock on the wall. It's nearly 7:00.
"I'm gonna be late!" I exclaim. How could I forget the bus? No time to eat anything today. Instead I head straight for the front door and book it all the way to the bus stop. I arrive just as the bus pulls around the corner.
"I made it," I tell myself quietly, resting my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath.
"Move it, Footballhead!" I hear from behind me, and suddenly I feel an elbow dig into my shoulder, shoving me aside.
That's Helga G. Pataki. She's the biggest bully in all of P.S. 118, except for maybe Wolfgang, and I'm her favorite target. I didn't know why until recently, but... well, it's a long story. Remember that block-party I mentioned? We threw that party because a greedy man named Scheck came to Hillwood, and he wanted to tear the neighborhood down. We all really wanted to save it. Everyone except Helga and her dad, who were gonna get rich off of the deal. But the block-party didn't work, so my best friend and I had to do some real super-sleuthing to take Scheck down – for a while it really felt like we were secret agents. We even had a secret informant, a man who called himself Deep-voice. We kept getting mysterious calls from him right when we needed them. And at one point, I'm about to escape Sheck's office building with the evidence I need when I get a call from Deep Voice, and see the shadow of a mysterious man through the window on a door leading to some balcony. So of course, I'm going crazy trying to figure out who this Deep-voice guy is – he must be following us around – and I take the chance to find out. Lo and behold, Deep-voice is none-other than Helga Pataki, standing on stilts and speaking into the telephone through a voice-transformer.
You've got to understand here, Helga is usually a very selfish person, and she was going to be filthy-stinking-rich. Helping us out was completely out of character for her. I had been running around all day, under a lot of stress, and just this once, I didn't have the self-control to let her weirdness roll off my shoulders. I asked her why she did it. And when she came up with the predictable lie, I didn't leave well enough alone like I normally would. I asked again. And then I asked again, and again. And then, Helga just cracked. She said all this crazy stuff – she had been in love with me for years, she wrote poems about me and followed me around – that actually made sense once I had the time to think about it. As absurd at it sounds, the idea that the girl who's claimed to hate my guts for the past six years and put me through endless ridicule did all that to hide a crush made sense. Then again, I might just think that since my Grandpa suggested it to me once.
Of course, at the end of the day I was still feeling overwhelmed, so I helped her come up with a way to take it all back.
"You really hate me, don't you?"
Darn right she did! So she said. And she's been treating me like dirt ever since.
As I watch Helga barrel her way onto the bus, my best friend Gerald comes up beside me.
"Mm-mmm-mmm," he shakes his head as we board, "you have got to do something about that girl, my man!"
If only he knew.
"What do you want me to do about it Gerald?" I ask.
"You know what, man! Stick up to her! Give that girl a taste of her own medicine!"
"I'm not going to stoop to her level, Gerald" I say automatically. We have had this conversation many, many times before.
"You know man," he says, "I know two wrongs don't make a right, but sometimes they can make your life easier. You're ten years old! You can do the petty thing sometimes!"
"I really don't think being mean to Helga is going to make my life any easier, Gerald," I sigh.
Gerald sits down in the window seat and sighs back.
"You can't say I don't try," he says. Then he turns to look out the window, and stays that way for the rest of the bus ride. I don't mind, some mornings quiet is best. I spend the bus ride thinking about the letter that I'm waiting for, imagining what will happen when it arrives.
We get to class and it's not long after I sit down in my desk that I feel a slimy little object splat against my neck. My thoughts are immediately pulled back to Helga. It's hard to avoid thinking about someone while they're pelting you with spitballs. I know this is what I asked for when I suggested that she still hated me, but lately I can't help but be bothered by it. More so than usual, I mean.
The thing is, I didn't really realize it until this year, but it used to be that every once in a while Helga would let her guard down. It wasn't always anything big. Maybe she'd notice I was having a bad day, and let up on the spit balls. Or maybe she'd smile at me briefly, without snapping my head off the moment I looked. I used to think those moments were once in a blue moon, but they must have occurred a little more frequently than that, because it's only been three and a half months since we took down Scheck and the lack of those little moments is really bothering me.
Helga has always been a little bit like this magic trick I tried pull off last year, where I made her disappear for a little while. I still have no idea how I did that. But what I mean is that she'd always be standing right in front of me, mean and tough and caustic. Then I'd look away for a moment, and the Helga that I thought was there has just vanished. In her place is this really nice, normal girl who's actually a lot of fun to be around. We get along really well when she's like that. Last thanksgiving for instance, mean Helga disappeared for the day and Helga and I spent the whole afternoon together. It's one of my favorite memories. It's moments like that, when all the pretenses are lifted, that I'm reminded she is my friend in spite of how she often treats me. And I never thought I'd say this, but I find myself missing Helga lately. Her cruelty has always hurt me, but now it hurts more than ever because the walls she's built up around herself never go away anymore. The nastiness is constant now, and I don't know how much longer I can take this. I think she may have given up on me, and though I can't blame her, I find myself wondering if maybe I should do the same. How can things ever get better between us if she never lets me in? Yes, it's still a little weird to me that she has a crush on me, but that doesn't mean I want to stop trying to be friends with her.
See, even when I have the missing puzzle piece that should let me completely figure Helga out, I'm still as confused as ever by her. I hate to say it, but that intrigues me. She always has. Helga G. Pataki, the biggest conundrum of my ten year life. And without those little moments where she stops hiding and comes out into the open, I no longer have any pieces with which to continue working on the puzzle. But maybe this is my fault. I essentially asked her to go back to hating me; she probably thinks I don't like her at all.
I spend the entire bus ride home from school trying to think of how I can let her know that that's not the case.
When I get back to the boarding house, I head upstairs for my first guitar lesson. Matt is already waiting for me, sitting on his bed with the guitar out and a music stand in front of him. He pats the bed next to him where he wants me to take a seat, and begins by teaching my how to hold the guitar. It's not the same guitar he showed me when we first met; he says that Grandpa dug it out of the attic for me. He's already tuned it, so we can start immediately.
I'm much smaller than he is. My fingers don't reach all the strings as well as they should, but he is patient with me. He helps me adjust my grip so that I'll be able to play, even if my hands are small.
First, Matt explains to me how to play a scale, and after I've practiced it for a while, he teaches me how to read guitar tabs.
The whole time during the lesson, I can't help but wish communicating with Helga was as easy as this. I am learning to make music through touch and sound. It would be much easier to explain myself to Helga if she could just feel what I have to say, instead of me saying it.
When the lesson is done, I finish out the day as I normally do; completing my homework and any chores I have around the house, then reading comics until bed time. The Helga issue is still swirling around in my brain as I try to fall asleep, but that's not so different from most of my days lately. I don't know when I finally pass out, but before I know it, it is morning again.
I make it to the bus stop without incident, but as I am getting on the bus Helga feels the need to violently shove me out of the way so that she can get on first. I don't let it bother me today, or at least I don't take the time to think about how it bothers me. Instead I follow her to the back of the bus where she sits next to Phoebe, and sit down in the empty seat behind her.
"Hey Helga," I say.
She turns around and glares at me, "What do you want Footballhead?"
"I've been thinking," I say, "about this summer, and – "
Before I can say anything else she turns away from me and loudly starts a conversation with Phoebe.
"Hey Pheebs! What's cookin' today? How was last night? Do anything interesting? Like, uh… homework?" She asks lamely.
I don't give up though. Every spare moment I find through-out the day I try to talk to her. I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to say, but she needs to know that I can't keep doing whatever it is that we are doing anymore.
Unfortunately, Helga is a master escape artist. Every time I try to corner her she is five steps ahead of me, out of reach or engaged in conversation before I've managed to close even half of the distance between us.
I come home grumpy and exhausted, and it must show because the moment I walk into Matt's room he puts the guitar down beside him.
"Hey little man, you got something on your mind?"
I don't know Matt very well yet and I'm not sure if I want to answer. However, I stop and think of who I could talk to about this. Everyone I know knows Helga, even my own Grandparents. Sometimes you need an outside perspective on your problems, and sometimes a new acquaintance is just the sort of person to give that perspective. Plus, Matt is a really nice guy, and I feel like I can trust him. So I sit down next to him on the bed, and tell him everything. How Helga and I have known each other for years, how this past summer she told me she loves me, and how she's been acting lately. How the way I'm feeling about her and our situation is starting to change, and how I don't know what to do about it.
He sits on his bed looking like The Thinker, seriously considering everything that I have to say. I find that I'm glad I decided to talk to him after all, because he is an excellent listener. It has been a long time since anyone has given me their full, undivided attention like that. If he hadn't become a musician, I think Matt would have made an excellent psychologist.
When I am done talking he remains quiet, processing everything I've had to say, and then he sits up straight.
"Arnold," he tells me, "I think I can help you out with your problem. I'm gonna cancel lessons for today. Come back tomorrow after school, and I'll have a solution for you."
I don't know what solution Matt could possibly have by tomorrow that he can't give me today, but I agree and thank him anyways, because really I feel better just having gotten some of my problems off of my chest.
When I come back the next day, I find him standing next to the bed with his guitar strapped onto his chest and all hooked up to his amplifier.
"Take a seat, Arnold," he tells me.
"What you told me about yesterday reminded me a lot of this song I've been working on. I had put it on the back-burner for a while because I was having some trouble with the lyrics, but hearing everything you had to say sort of, I dunno, completed the story for me I guess. So once you left I pulled out the sheet music I had started, and spent all afternoon finishing up the song. I even went to my friend Ned's this morning – he has an at home recording studio set up in his basement – and made a CD of it for you. So if you think I did an okay job putting your words to music, maybe you can give the CD to this girl you've been trying to talk to and she'll finally be able to listen to what you have to say."
I don't mean to be a downer, I rarely am one, but I do have to ask. "Why would she listen to a song if she won't even speak to me?"
"Sometimes," Matt replies, "people handle the tough stuff better if you mix it into something beautiful. Plus," he grins, "If the CD is sitting around her house, she's going to go crazy wondering what's on it."
I laugh at this. He's right. He doesn't even know Helga, but that is exactly the sort of thing that would get on her very last nerve.
Seeing that I've accepted what he's said, Matt twangs a few notes to make sure his guitar is in tune, and then he begins to play. And I have to tell you, he did an amazing job. Almost every word of that song feels like it describes my situation perfectly, and it is unbelievably catchy. When he is done playing, I cannot applaud loudly enough. He tells me it's nothing as he puts the CD he made into a paper sleeve and hands it over to me, but I go upstairs to my room thinking that Grandpa what right when he called Matt a rock-star. He may not be famous yet, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that he will be. Probably soon.
I listen to the CD on my stereo all afternoon, memorizing every word of Matt's song. I really can't get enough of it. Then, before it's time for bed I put the CD away, and spend a few minutes at my desk thinking of a note I can leave on the paper casing for Helga. I slide the whole thing into the front pocket of my school binder and pack my book-bag for tomorrow. Then I crawl into bed and turn out the lights. I get a better night's sleep than I have in ages.
I get the CD to Helga the next day just before recess. I want to make sure no one sees what I'm doing, so I make sure to take a long time putting my books away, making me the last one to leave the classroom. I think Gerald knows that I'm up to something, but he doesn't ask, so I don't worry about it. He leaves with the others. Then I am the last person aside from our teacher, Mrs. Nelson, left in the classroom. She sees what I am doing, but just smiles softly to herself, so I don't think that she intends to tell Helga or anyone else. At any rate, Helga is going to find out soon enough herself. I head over to Helga's desk and open the lid, slipping the CD on-top of her notebooks. I close the lid and head out to recess. Now I just have to hope that everything works out alright.
"Hey, watch it!"
"Move it Geekbait!"
"Can't you see I'm walking here?!"
Crimeny, what a load of buffoons. They can't even stay in line long enough to get from the blacktop to the classroom! Not that I'm one to talk, but that's what happens when Helga G. Pataki isn't at the front of the line. I'm leading the way, Bucko, and you better get used to it.
I wave goodbye to Phoebe – she's in a different class than me this year – and head into my classroom. At least I still have class with Arnold. Oh Arnold! My soul! My desire! My love.
But alas, ever since I confessed my most closely guarded secret feelings to you this summer, things have been going poorly. You asked me if I still hated you, and it was only after the adrenaline of our arduous journey had worn off that I understood what you meant – you cannot return my feelings.
I suppose it was to be expected. After all, how could a god, and angel such as yourself ever fall for a wretched, twisted soul like mine?
Truth be told, I'm glad you wanted things to go back to normal. Tormenting you makes it easier to ignore how much I am hurting. Oh, how admirable you are! That even in denying my feelings you might offer me some form of comfort! If only I could take you in my arms and…
Oh well, I have learned my lesson. You do not have to worry about my loving you anymore. You shall never hear of the poetry that beats in my heart again, and I shall watch your glory from the edge of a pier, in suffering and silence.
Ooh, that was really good. I ought to write that down.
The lesson is starting anyways, so I grab my trusty purple pen and open my desk to pull out some paper.
What the? What is this?
It's a square piece of paper… no, a CD sleeve. And there is a note on it.
Helga,
Please listen to this when
you get home.
- Arnold
Arnold?!
I look over at his desk, which is two rows to the right and one row ahead of mine this year. He's been watching me. When he sees me look his way he smiles, and then turns back to his school work.
What the heck is that supposed to mean?! I mean, crimeny, I thought the guy wanted nothing to do with me! Not that I could blame him.
I know what this must be; it must be his way of telling me that he can't return my feelings. You know, officially. It is only natural of his noble and tender-hearted nature to think that he owes me a formal rejection. How bitter-sweet, how beautifully cruel! Oh Arnold, dare I take your message home with me? If I hear you tell me that you cannot love me, although I know it to be true, I think my heart might just break! I have no need of such barbed words, ready to bleed me dry at the slightest prick. No, I will not listen to your CD Arnold, I refuse!
Even as I say this to myself, I know I will listen to it as soon as I get home.
The school-day seems to speed by in a blur, and before I know it I am unlocking the front door to the shabby little blue townhouse that I live in.
"I'm home!" I yell when I get through the front door. I don't expect any answer. I'm not sure why I still bother to let my parents know when I get home after school since they obviously don't notice or care, but for some reason shouting out that I'm home has become a habit for me. I guess at one point, I must have been hoping they'd notice. Now, even though I don't care, the action is automatic.
I slam the door shut behind me a little louder than necessary, and rush upstairs to my bedroom. Locking the bedroom door behind me, I swing my book-bag around and pull the CD Arnold left for me from the outer-most pouch. I stop a moment to sniff the sleeve; it still smells like his hands. Oh, rapture! With a sigh of pleasure, I move to drop my bag near the foot of my bed, and take the CD with me into the closet.
Once the door is securely shut behind me, I flick on the lights. This little closet is my sanctuary and my masterpiece. An ode to my beloved. In front of me is the shrine that I finally completed last week; the head is made from paper maché using only newspaper clipping that extol my beloved's heroism in saving our neighborhood. The hair is made of bendy-straws that he throws away at the end of lunch, the eyes are pins from his Block-a-palooza event, and his hat is a little blue tea-cup that I found at a yard-sale last week. It is the perfect color. I think I may save it to use in future incarnations of my shrine.
I keep a small boombox in my closet next to the shrine, so that I might listen to music as I show my dedication. I pull it in front of me now to insert the CD. This is the moment of truth. Do I really want to know what Arnold thinks of me? I tell myself that I won't be able to live with myself if I never know. I press the play button before I can change my mind.
The audio warps for a moment, and then a voice comes through the haze.
"Hey Helga," it says. "My name is Matt, and I'm a friend of Arnold's. He came to me yesterday, saying that he had some pretty important things to say to you, but that he didn't know how to get you to listen."
I felt my face flush when I heard that. Is that why he kept pestering me the other day?
"He explained what he needed to say to me, so I thought I'd help him out by putting his feelings into a song for him. So listen to the lyrics of the song I'm about to play for you. They were written with you in mind."
Music? This… well, it's definitely not what I was expecting. After a few moments of silence, I hear the sound of a guitar being tuned, and then the song begins.
Here it is again, yet it stings like the first time
Seems it never ends, Double nickels on your dime
I thought we were friends, I guess it just depends who you ask
These feelings tend to leave me with a hole in my chest
A hole, a hole in my chest
Yeah a hole, a hole in my chest
Now the time has come I just wish I could erase
All the damage done to your name and your keepsakes
It's only just begun, it's been fun, we were blind, deaf and dumb
There's a party in my closet calling all skeletons
All skeletons...Calling all
Where did you go as the lights went black?
Look what's become of me
I've grown to love your disappearing acts,
Do one more pretty please
Now the time has come I just wish I could erase
All the damage done, all this pain, all this heartache
It's only just begun, it's been fun, we were messed up and numb
There's a killer on the corner and he's looking for love
He's...Looking for love
Yeah he's looking for (you my –)
Where did you go as the lights went black?
Look what's become of me
I've grown to love your disappearing acts,
Do one more pretty please
And to tell you the truth I lost my faith in you
(You gotta stop sneaking off on me)
And these unspoken lies appear at the worst times
(You gotta stop sneaking off on me)
They're hiding just behind your eyes
Where did you go as the lights went black?
Look what's become of me
I've grown to love your disappearing acts,
Do one more pretty please
Where did you go once the lights went black?
You nearly gave us a heart attack
We thought you might've swam out to sea
You gotta stop sneaking off on me
You gotta stop sneaking off on me
Once the song is finished, I pressed the stop button, and then I play the track again. And once more after that. This song is really cool, but the lyrics are confusing to me.
The first verse seems pretty straight-forward. It's saying that Arnold is being hurt by how I treat him (even though he's the one who suggested that I go back to hating him, the hypocrite).
The second verse is more complicated but, dare I think it, sweet? He wants to erase my pain! Oh, how thoughtful he is, how selfless! The part about being blind, deaf, and dumb must refer to how Arnold was before I told him my true feelings, and how now that he knows, a new stage of our relationship is beginning. But I thought he wanted to go back to the way that things were… And the part about the closet skeleton party? I guess that's about the fact that I have so many skeletons in my closet. Maybe he has some of his own, too. Crimeny, this friend of Arnold's is a heck of a lot more poetic than him. I really have to work at this.
Why couldn't the paste-for-brains have just written me a letter, like a normal boy?!
Then again, I wouldn't have gotten a song of Arnold's feelings written just for me if he had done that, so I guess that it's a worthwhile sacrifice to make.
The refrain is really the confusing part. What disappearing act is he talking about? I mean, apparently he loves (Loves! LOVES!) it, so I definitely want to do it more. I'd say he's talking about how I tend to hide behind my anger and rage, but that's all I've been doing these past few months, and according to the first verse that's hurting him. So… what?
Maybe it's supposed to be the opposite. Maybe he's saying he likes it when my blustery front disappears and I treat him like a person. That would make sense. But doesn't he understand that my toughness is part of who I am?! I can't not be sarcastic and cruel! Although, I guess I could try to lighten up just a little bit.
The third verse seems to reiterate the ideas of the second verse, although the "killer… looking for love" is probably me. Hah! I couldn't have thought of a more perfect description of myself if I tried. I kind of want to meet this Matt guy now, I bet he could give me some really good pointers on writing poetry.
Anyways, then there's another refrain and… oh, here's the part that scares me.
"And to tell you the truth I lost my faith in you"
Well, crap. That's not good. Please, please don't lose faith in me Arnold! I mean, crimeny, here you are getting all my hopes up and then you say you have no more faith in me?! That's not like Arnold at all. Maybe something was lost in translation…?
Perhaps what Arnold meant to say is that if I can't change, he is going to lose faith in me.
It's a scary thought, but at least this one I can do something about.
I don't really want to. Last time I opened up to him, he basically ripped my heart out.
If he thinks I can just get over that-!
If he thinks that what he's said and done can just be forgiven like that-!
...But what other option do I have?
I have to try, don't I? Fine then, I'll do it. I'm going to do the scariest thing I've ever had to do for you Arnold, so you'd better appreciate it. I'm going to try not to hide behind my fists.
Maybe then you'll fall in love with me.
"Hey Arnold! Hey Arnold! Hey Arnold!"
I slam my hand down on the alarm clock to my left. I'm feeling much better this morning, now that I've done what I have to. It's Helga's move now. All I can do is wait, and that takes a burden off of my shoulders.
I get up and out of bed like normal. I brush my teeth, shower, and get dressed. Then I head downstairs for breakfast. Just as I reach the second to last step, the doorbell rings.
When I open the door, I see Harvey the mailman waiting for me with a big smile on his face.
"Today's your lucky day, Arnold," he says.
"You mean?" I ask, letting the unspoken question hang in the air.
"Well, there's a package here, and it's got your name on it. I just need you to sign here."
He holds out a clipboard for me, and I quickly scribble Arnold Shortman across the dotted line before grabbing the package and our other mail, giving Harvey a hurried "thanks," and turning back inside.
I don't even bother to go to the kitchen, I put the package down and rip it open right there in front of the door. On top of the contents of the package is a letter. I pick it up and read:
Dear Mr. Arnold Shortman,
We are pleased to inform you that your entry to the Worldly Class essay contest has won first prize! You and your classmates will be spending two weeks in the over-seas destination of your choosing...
I can't believe my eyes. I can't even feel myself moving. Before I know what's happening, I'm running into the kitchen, waving my letter wildly in the air.
"Grandpa! Grandma! I won! I won!"
The End
(or is it just the beginning?)
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