Over the next few weeks, Helga was becoming a regular (and this time, known) visitor at the boarding house, at least to the residents. Ernie and Oskar especially attempted to give her a hard time, but she'd quickly learned how to joke around with them to deflect their suspicions as she strolled her way towards Arnold's room—Phil was the only one who seemed to see right through her and she futilely tried to avoid his knowing eye.
After her meditation lesson, sometimes she spent the night at Phoebe's, during which the two friends chatted amicably enough (as far as Helga could be described as "amicable") about decidedly Ice-Cream-related things until Helga hurriedly changed the subject. Some days were Gerald Field days in which Helga surreptitiously followed Arnold to the boarding house after most of their friends had already meandered home—sometimes Helga and Arnold did their homework together before ending the day in meditation—and if the weather was nice, more often than not, they'd go up through Arnold's skylight to the roof with a few cold Yahoos in tow. Although Helga had exploded randomly out of the wall once and had been caught on his fire escape long ago, Arnold seemed nervous to show her through his room as if he were introducing her to it for the first time. Helga stunned him as she snorted and slapped his proffered hand away as he tried to help her through the skylight.
Gerald and Arnold still had their weekly checkers night, and the guys' gang kept up their cards night in Arnold's room, which in an unspoken agreement, Helga and Arnold honored—if Helga happened to be in his room, she'd hastily check her watch and disappear to the roof with a quick "See ya, Football Head" before the guys noisily stomped up the stairs with their snacks and drinks. Arnold blinked feebly at the first of these departures but shook his head and noted the futility of questioning it as the guys heartily debated over whose turn it was to pick the game. Stinky always had the last word, of course.
Gerald knew Arnold was beginning to hang out with Helga a lot more than usual (and knew from experience that saying anything about it to Arnold would immediately set his best friend's nerves on edge, poor soul), but he had long since reverted to a few good eye-rolls and knowing smirks instead of his usual reasoned diatribes about the obviousness of the situation. Arnold once desperately shook his head and waved his arms at Gerald while Sid was setting up the card table as Gerald picked up a bright pink sock sticking out from under Arnold's couch—Helga had forgotten them as they cut it close that evening, and Arnold hadn't noticed in time to hide the evidence.
"But, dude, so what?" Gerald had started after Sid bid them adieu and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms as if to say, "Spill it."
"Gerald, you know that she'd kill me if the guys knew I was—"
"What, dating her?"
Arnold turned beet red. "I—I-If they knew I was helping her learn how to meditate—"
"Man… Oh, damn, Arnold. You mean, she doesn't… You aren't…" Gerald burst out laughing, "I totally thought you guys were—oh, I've got to talk to Phoebe!"
"Gerallld…" Arnold was mortified.
"But you—damn, Arnold. What are you gonna do? I mean, you do like her, right?"
Arnold moaned as Gerald continued to laugh with glee.
The next Saturday evening Helga showed up about half an hour late, this time with a duffel bag in tow. Phil raised an eyebrow as he let her through the open doorway. "Whatcha got there Pataki?"
"Who wants to know?"
Phil shook his head as she stomped in a familiar manner up the stairs. "Well make yourself at home then!" he chuckled on his way to the kitchen.
"Sorry I'm late Arnold, I was…" she shut the door behind her and turned to see Arnold stretched out on the floor, history book open and essay half-written. "Um… My… appointment ran late and I had to come straight from… its location."
"Huh?" Arnold looked up from his essay and shook his head. She looked tired, dressed in sweats and hair askew. "Helga, I won't tell anybody if you're embarrassed about it or something."
"Embarrassed? Me?" She humphed. "I've got nothing to hide." She regretted saying this instantly. "Anyway—let's get start—HEY! GIVE IT BACK!"
Arnold had deftly snatched the duffel bag off the floor and held it just out of reach behind his back. Many years of basketball and martial arts gave him a huge advantage. Helga was furious. Arnold almost looked scared. Almost.
"Oh, then you wouldn't mind if I just…" He slid his hand up to the zipper of the bag.
"Don't you dare—" She made a wild lunge but he easily sidestepped out of the way. "I'll—I'll—cream you!" This was becoming a bizarre dance. Arnold laughed, breathlessly dodging Helga's mad swipes to grab her bag from him.
"Come on Helga, you can tell me! I—oompf!" Helga crashed into him and suddenly the duffel bag was flying, clothes were spilling out everywhere, and an enormous purple tutu had popped out onto the floor. "Oh…"
Helga was standing rigidly facing the wall. Deflated.
"Go ahead. Laugh."
Arnold wasn't laughing. Helga turned slowly to see him mouthing wordlessly and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh…" he said.
Helga waited.
"I'm just… surprised is all. I didn't know you were still—"
"Wait a minute—still?!" Shit. Helga made another violent step towards him and Arnold backed up a step in kind, raising his hands tentatively in front of his body. "Still WHAT, Football Head?!"
"S-still dancing. I mean I already kind of knew back in elementary sch—"
"Are you kidding me? How did you know?! Only Phoebe knows… Phoebe… oh you wait until—"
Arnold cut across her hastily, "No! No, it wasn't Phoebe! I swear, Si-somebody found a picture of one of your rehearsals or something, it was no big deal—"
"No big deal? No BIG DEAL!?" Arnold hadn't seen her as desperate looking since she was worried Big Patty was going to beat her to death.
"Ballet is a great thing, Helga! Why do you want to hide it? I mean, if you've been doing it this long, you must be really good at it."
Helga was busily stuffing her things back into her bag, mortified that Arnold must have seen the pink polka-dotted bra she had to retrieve from the corner of the room. "Yeah yeah, whatever. Who else knows about this!?"
"Only… me and… like two other people but I swear nobody else—" Yep, he'd noticed the bra, judging by the obvious shock on his face. Helga inwardly groaned.
"Of course, Tall-Hair…" Helga seemed resigned, slapping a hand to her forehead. "Well I guess it doesn't matter anymore." She was completely and hopelessly red in the face, but tried to sit down cross-legged on the floor. "Do you need some time to keep writing your essay? I can just sit over here and start meditating while you write or something."
Arnold blinked. "Okay, sure."
After about five minutes, Arnold's voice called out over the scratching of his pencil. "Hey Helga?"
"What, Arnoldo?"
Arnold hesitated for a couple seconds. "I can hear you breathing, relax a little more."
She didn't answer but slowed her breaths.
After a few minutes, he called her name again.
He paused again.
"Spit it out, nerd." Helga's eyes were still closed.
"If you've been dancing ballet for this long, and if you're as good as you probably are…"
She remained silent.
"It's just interesting that it doesn't… show up in your posture or how you walk or whatever. I always thought that ballet was really graceful or something—"
"What are you saying, that I'm a huge clod—" Her eyes snapped open and she was glaring at him.
"No! No, it's just really…" If he were bolder, he'd have joked, sophisticated. But he knew he'd pay for it dearly and instead opted for, "I mean, you've always struck me as a strong person. Tough."
"Newsflash, Arnold. Ballet is a sport. You think baseball and football are tough? Try doing this."
And Helga did a backwards somersault into a handstand, plopped her feet onto the floor, pirouetted, leaped into the air, landed, and slid into a split. She met Arnold's astonished eyes with her own haughty ones, picked herself up off the floor, swung her bag over her shoulder, and sauntered her way towards the door. "I don't know why I bothered to come today. I'm too exhausted to meditate. I have a recital Saturday, but if Sunday's good I can come over then."
Arnold nodded and finally choked out an "okay" before the door closed behind her. He was glad she'd gone into dancing instead of martial arts. She'd otherwise have been able to kill him if she wanted, not that she wouldn't be able to if he'd not known how to protect himself.
The door opened again, and Helga popped her head around it. Arnold started and looked up, afraid she'd thought better of it and decided to murder him after all. He braced himself.
"Recital's at 3. I can guarantee Miriam and Bob won't be there. Phoebe would have come but she's got some family reunion thing. You can sit wherever you want."
Without waiting for a response, the door closed and she was gone.
