Correspondence

"I promise I'll write to you every day," Arnold had said.

"I'll write you back," Helga had replied.

That was before she had really thought about it, though. At the time she had just been desperate. After all, her boyfriend of about two days and lifelong crush had just told her and everyone else he was staying in San Lorenzo with his parents for who knew how long.

It was easier said than done. Once she got home Helga spent three days just crying in her room; sometimes she was thankful for inattentive parents who didn't notice their daughter's heart was in pieces on the floor, or she might have had to talk to them about it, which was the last thing she wanted.

It was two days after that that her first letter came. At six thirty Helga heard the mail slide through the slot in the door. At six forty she snuck down to see if there was anything for her. At nine o'clock she finally decided she wanted to read the letter.

Dear Helga,

Dearest Helga,

Hi Helga,

Helga,

How are things in Hillwood? Have you guys played Wolfgang and his crew yet? If you have, I hope you won. If not, I hope you knock 'em dead! But not literally, of course. Please don't hit anyone over a baseball game. Unless Wolfgang starts saying stuff like he did before, about you not being able to play cuz you're a girl or whatever, because you can totally play just as well as, and actually better than, the rest of us. I'm getting off track.

Things are good here, I guess. The Green Eyed People are really happy to see my parents again. Well, not really see — we still haven't met them, but they know. They keep giving us stuff, I don't know if it's a thank you or a we're glad you're safe kind of thing, but it's nice. I hope they stop soon, though, because I feel bad that they're giving us all of this nice stuff. I'll see if I can send you pictures of the stuff soon. So far there's a plate, a necklace, and what my parents think are ear disks, like the kind Mr. Simmons showed us when we talked about native tribes last year. Do you remember that? Probably.

My dad just came into my tent to tell me lunch is ready, so I guess I should go. He says hi, and wants me to tell you that they say thank you again for helping me find them. Thank you, again, from me too.

I hope everything is great at home. If you see my grandparents, will you tell them I say hi? I'm going to write them soon, too, but I'm not sure when. My parents are making sure I still get school stuff done, so when we go home I can rejoin class with you guys. As much as I like being in San Lorenzo, I can't wait to see you again.

-Arnold.

Helga held the letter in both hands, trying not to cry. How long was he going to be gone? Knowing he loved her was supposed to be the best thing to ever happen, yet right now it was more painful than dreaming from afar. Helga folded the letter back into it's envelope and tucked it under her bed. She knew she should write him back, but what would she even say? That she had cried on her bed for three days, and that she hadn't even spoke to her own parents yet, let alone left the house to see anyone else? Not hardly.

For months Helga kept getting letters from Arnold, but as much as she wanted to, she didn't reply. Not a single letter. She didn't know what to say. It felt wrong to just answer the questions he asked, like what she did that day. She didn't do much, anyway; she'd tried reading, but she couldn't stay focused. Phoebe had invited her out to Slauson's, but Helga had decided the next time she went to Slauson's she wanted it to be with Arnold on an official date. She went to the pier sometimes to trow rocks, and she had discovered that baseball games were a great way to take out her emotions on inanimate objects, but other than that she just hung around the house and waited. She read every letter Arnold sent her at least a hundred times, but every time she put pen to paper she ended up giving up before she got past "Arnold,".

One day in August, a few weeks before school was supposed to start, Helga was sitting at the front door, waiting for the mail to come. Arnold had yet to send her a letter in over a week, and she was sure it would come today. He hadn't forgot to write her all summer, and she knew he wouldn't forget now. Time passed, no letter came, and the silence stretched on. When the phone rang Helga nearly screamed, but she managed to compose herself enough to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Phil, from Sunset Arms Boarding House, Arnold's grandpa. Is this Helga?"

"Yeah, I'm Helga."

"Well, hello, Helga! I was just calling because a letter from Arnold to you showed up at our house by mistake. Not sure how they managed that, but oh well, that's the postal system for you, eh? Anyway, you're welcome to come get it whenever you want."

"Okay, thanks. Can...can I come get it now?"

"That's perfectly fine. See you in a bit!" Helga hung up and sighed. She got dressed, combed her hair, and put on her shoes.

About twenty minutes later Helga arrived at the boarding house. The sight of it twisted her heart a little, but she swallowed hard and ignored it; she had to get that letter. She knocked on the door hesitantly, distracting herself by playing with the hem of her pink tshirt.

"Hi Helga," an all too familiar voice said. Helga's eyes shot up to where Arnold himself was standing in front of her.

"Arnold?" she said.

"Yeah, Helga, it's me," he chuckled. "It's...it's really great to see you agai-" he was cut off by Helga's vice-like hug, her arms tight around him.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, tears threatening to spill over.

"I missed you too, Helga," Arnold replied. Dropping his voice he added, "It's hard not to be able to even see your girlfriend for nearly three months." The word girlfriend sent happy chills down Helga's spine. When she finally managed to detach herself from Arnold she noticed Phil, Gertie, Miles, and Stella all standing behind them, Phil with a camera in hand.

"You tricked me," Helga accused, not bothering to hide her grin.

"Guilty as charged," Phil replied. "I also got the whole thing on film for you!"

"Mom, dad, is it okay if Helga and I go hang out on the roof for a while? I promise we'll come down for lunch," Arnold asked.

"Of course, Arnold," Stella said. "And Helga?"

"Yes, Mrs..."

"Call me Stella," she grinned.

"And call me Miles," Miles added.

"Okay," Helga agreed.

"Anyway," Stella continued, "Thank you, again, for everything you've done for Arnold. He's lucky to have you."

"Thanks, Stella," Helga said. As she and Arnold walked up to the roof she mumbled, "I think I'm the lucky one, though."

"So," Arnold said, settling himself on the cement roof.

"So," Hega echoed.

"I...I really missed you."

"I missed you too.

"Helga...why didn't you write to me, like you said you would?"

"Arnold I..." Helga sighed. She knew that no matter what, Arnold had deserved to hear from her. She hadn't been busy, and she hadn't run out of stamps. She had just ignored him. "I wanted to write you, but...but it hurt too much. It was easier if I pretended you were just this imaginary person sending me letters, instead of really thinking about writing you back. Because I didn't know how long you would be gone, and...and I didn't know if I could write you a whole letter without crying."

"Helga," Arnold said, in that caring voice that Helga would know was his from a mile away.

"I'm sorry, Arnold. I should have written, but I didn't. I'm a horrible girlfriend."

"No, you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No. I understand why you didn't write. I'm not mad, Helga."

"You aren't? How?"

"Because how can I be mad when I'm finally here with you?" Arnold took Helga's hand in his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Can I do something a little crazy?" he whispered. Helga nodded, and Arnold leaned forward and kissed her.

"Wow," Helga whispered.

"Yeah, wow," Arnold agreed.

"Will...will you do that again?" Helga asked. Arnold laughed, but he did as she asked.

"Of course, Helga. Again, and again, and again, and again, until you tell me to stop."

"Then get some chapstick, Football Head, because that day will never come."