But two weeks passed by swiftly. When they did, the new addition to their class definitely wasn't a female. Gerald startled when he found out the new kid to their class was someone he actually recognized.
"Hi, I've just moved to Hillwood with my family," the boy with black spiky bangs and long hair at the nape, a serene smile, and his hands rested on his lap as he sat in his wheelchair. "I'm Blake."
Gerald was stunned. The last person on earth he would have expected to be their new classmate was the wheelchair-bound kid he had brushed into at Hillwood's hospital. But there he was- Blake, the boy with spiky black bangs and small, long hair at the nape. All Gerald knew about Blake was that he professed to like sports. Upon closer examination of the boy, Gerald saw that Blake wore basketball shoes like himself, only Blake's were a brilliant blue instead of red. But with a tsk, Gerald noted that there was hardly a scuff on these shoes. How could Blake possibly play basketball if he couldn't walk? Gerald looked down at his own basketball shoes. They were covered by scuffs and gashes from the hard games he had played on the outdoor asphalt court with Arnold and the other neighborhood boys. Gerald folded his arms together, secure in himself. He was proud of the scuffs on his shoes. It meant he was no poser.
"You play basketball, too, huh?" Gerald said with a sly, sarcastic smile as he suppressed a laugh. "We'll have to play some time. After school."
"How about 3:30 this afternoon?" Blake shot unexpectedly back. Gerald jolted.
"Yeah, I yeah. I suppose we can all do that," Gerald ended in an awkward mumble. He turned his head away to the chart of American Presidents on the wall. Mr. Simmons came forward to grasp Blake's wheelchair by its handlebars.
"Mr. Simmons? I could wheel myself to my own desk," Blake complained. "Only, there is not enough room between the desks for my chair. Do you have a solution for that?" Mr. Simmons slapped the side of his head.
"Oh, my word!" Mr. Simmons gushed. "I didn't think of that! I apologize. I am so sorry. Harold, Stinky. Could you please help me rearrange your desks so that the large desk is at the front? Thank you." After much shuffling of desks and chairs, Blake was finally able to take his seat.
"Here you go!" said Mr. Simmons taking a few things off his speaking podium. He grinned weakly, then set some school supplies on Blake's desk. "A brand new, shiny ruler for you! And some nice new notebook paper!"
"Ew, teacher's pet," Helga muttered under her breath to Phoebe before reaching into her own desk. "Well, time to welcome the new boy," said Helga reaching into a half-empty pack of straws.
"Helga," Arnold complained, seeing what she was up to. Arnold scowled slightly, irritation overcoming even his easy-going nature. "You really shouldn't…"
"What?" asked Helga, feigning innocence. Only she was not so innocent. After all, Helga did have a soda straw tucked between the her index and middle finger as she threw her hands up in a shrugging gesture. There were chortles on the other side of the room.
"I've got this," said Sid as he closed the lid of his own desk. With his strange grin, Brainy offered up several colorful paper choices. Sid choose one of the colors volunteered and tore off a strip to make into a spitwad. Soon, a colorful wad of green construction paper bounced off Blake's chair. Harold and the guys roared with riotous laughter. Mystified and slightly appalled, Blake regarded the blob of green paper.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Gerald advised his new neighbor. "Just the class's traditional way of saying hello. The guys are friendly enough if you talk to them," said Gerald leaning against the arm of his chair. "I'll introduce you."
As soon as class had ended, Gerald did just that, starting with Sid so there would be no hard feelings. Sid rattled on for many long minutes. Engaged in a story about his first pair of Beadle boots, he pumped his arms and lowered and raised himself up from the ground as if he were riding a motorbike. Stinky held his stomach, lifted up his chin and laughed at the conclusion of Sid's story, his trademark spiked cuff visible on one arm.
"Well, gee, I suppose that yarn's as good as any I have to tell about myself. Including the time I first had lemon pudding. Did I tell you like lemon pudding?" Stinky asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"Well, gee, look at the time! We'd better go!" Gerald announced before sliding towards the door.
"Yes. You were going to show me the court. Three-thirty," Blake uttered with even more brass than Arnold could have mustered.
"Huh?" squeaked Gerald. "Oh yeah. The court. Well, lemma invite Arnold along. You can watch us play basketball."
"I'd like to play, too," Blake said, continuing to astonish Gerald. "You'll see," Blake ended with a smug smile.
Despite Blake's enthusiasm, there were a few places where the boys of P.S. 118 had to lift Blake's chair off the street onto the elevated sidewalk, or over patches of particularly bad terrain that his wheel chair rocked over. Gerald was still pushing Blake's chair when Arnold, Stinky, Sid, himself, and Blake all arrived at the chain-link enclosed fence where the neighborhood kids liked to play. At the far end of the court, Helga G. Pataki was just scoring a ball into the hoop, herself. Recovering the ball after it bounced twice on the pavement of the court, Helga turned herself around.
"Humph!" Helga declared. She passed the orange-red and black basketball to Harold. But then she wandered off to the side of the court, folded her arms and simply watched. Why she had appeared was anybody's best guess, but it could have been curiosity or her attraction to Arnold or both. Arnold and Gerald exchanged swift glances over Blake's head about Arnold's eternal stalker, then pressed further into the court.
"Hey, Harold," Gerald asked in a friendly manner. "Can we get in on your game? We wanted to show the new kid here how to shoot some hoops." Harold held the basketball under his arm, placed one of his hands on his belly, then laughed.
"Ha! The new kid? Shoot hoops? This I gotta see!" With a jeering smile, Harold passed the basketball to Gerald. Gerald held up the basketball in the air, offering it as softly as one might cotton candy to a child. But Blake took a firm grip of the basketball and placed it on his lap. Then he reversed his chair and spun it around.
"Thanks," said Blake with a smile. The ball still poised on his knees, he wheeled rapidly forward with his arms, then paused his chair to lift up the basketball from his lap and shoot. It went down in the hoop with a swish.
"Pretty cool," Gerald complimented, still in wonder.
"Thanks," said Blake. He rummaged for something in the pocket of his chair. From it he produced a tiny photo album. "See. I play basketball. I've played both before and after my accident. The difference is, since I use my chair, I don't dribble."
"Wow, what happened to you?" asked Gerald, transfixed by the prospect of a juicy tale.
"I'll tell you about it some time," promised Blake, his face tranquil. "It's a long story. But for now, we'd better give the lady back her basketball," said Blake gesturing toward Helga.
"Doi. Yeah, buster. Unless you've come here to play instead of jabber all day. Whadda say? Three on three? Harold, me, and Stinky against you, Arnold, and the new kid?"
"Hey, what about me?" Sid protested. He waved his arms wildly above his head.
"Sit down and shut up. Reserve."
"Okay," said Sid slouching against the red brick wall to watch the match.
Time shift! "There," Arnold said pasting a sheet of poster board next to the school's water fountain as Gerald and Blake watched. There was a giant, unfilled, fundraising thermometer on the poster. "How's it look?"
"Great!" Gerald exclaimed. Both Gerald and Arnold held their thumbs up. "My work for the student council is done here for the day. It won't be long before we have you a new water fountain, Blake! Well, actually, it may be a few years and you will have actually graduated by then, but it's the thought that counts! Maybe someday, there will be a new water fountain for anyone with a wheelchair or extremely short appendages to use! We're heroes!" Arnold, Gerald, and Blake walked out onto the front steps of the school of P.S. 118. But a long ramp had been added to one side of the stair, and the boys strolled down it.
"How is your brother doing?" Blake asked Gerald politely. Gerald scowled immediately and waved his hands up in a disgusted shrug. "Oh, he's healing up. But he's still acting like a big baby. It's embarrassing. Every day we gotta hear how he could have been a football VIP."
"Well, at least he'll be better soon," Arnold commented. As usual, the boy sought the silver lining for every situation.
"Yeah. True," Gerald quipped. "At least he's doing better than Katinka. That poor girl hasn't been back to school. How many months has it been?"
"Three," Arnold counted. "Her parents sent back a thank you card on her behalf for the cards our school sent her. But she hasn't been out of the hospital since then."
"Poor kid," said Gerald biting his fist. "Well, there isn't much else we can do for her. Her friend Big Gino will keep us posted."
"Yeah," said Arnold, not worrying about it. After all, his largest concern at the moment was the long walk home, doing his homework, eating dinner, then rushing into the boarding house living room to join Grandpa and the rest of the boarders for a film Mr. Huynh had rented. After Blake had waved goodbye to them from the back of his parent's van, Arnold spoke up suddenly.
"Hey, Gerald. Do wanna come over tonight? We're watching Raiders Labyrinth."
"Huh? Uh, sure. I'll call my mom and ask from your place."
Gerald called home and stayed for dinner. Shortly after, Arnold and Gerald sat down on the couch between Grandpa Phil and Ernie Potts. The boys accepted bowls of popcorn from Grandma Pookie just as their favorite, taco-cook extraordinaire pushed a VHS tape into the tape deck and pressed play. Arnold grinned as the declaration of "Do not infringe copyright or we will throw you in a pit of lions," warning came on, complete with graphics that made the boys squint in horror before returning to their popcorn.
The next day came swiftly enough. It looked to be a happy day for Arnold and Gerald, but when they arrived at the classroom, the mood of their usual, cheerful, exuberant class had changed.
Dum dum dum! Please wait patiently for the last chapter of this story. -Inudaughter
