appositeNautilus does not own Hey Arnold!. But he does own a pretty awesome pair of boots. Seriously. They're so cash.

It's readin' time, boys and girls!

-aN-

Albert clattered down the stairs in his hiking boots, very oldest jeans and one of Mr. Mgumbe's cast-off T-shirts. It was so big on him the sleeves very nearly covered his elbows.

"Nice of you to drop in, Short-man," his Grandpa said, offering the boy a toothy grin. "Tell you what, you crack on with everything below the dado rail. I'll finish off the ceiling. Mind the drips!"

"That's OK, Grandpa," Albert said, picking up the brush and dipping it in the pot. "I need a shower anyway."

"Hmm? Oh yes, you were playing rugby before," Grandpa said. "Did you win?"

"Yeah," Albert said. "Henryk and Cubert are really good. They're probably going to get into the school team."

"Are you going to try for it?" Grandpa asked, slathering his roller over an annoying corner.

"…Yeah," Albert said. "I think I might have a chance."

"Of course you do, Short-man," Grandpa said. "You've got pluck. If you can tackle that mean old Cheaty McMonobrow of course you've got a chance. Rugby's all about pluck—it's just a shame you're so darn diminutive."

"Well, that's why I'm getting Helen to help me out," Albert said, evening out the streaks he'd made on the wall.

"What? You're getting her to help you break into the rugby team?" exclaimed Grandpa, confounded. "But—how?"

"I'm paying her," he said. "Two quid an hour plus I do her Science homework for two weeks."

Grandpa chuckled.

"Ah, the old homework gambit. Well, best of luck to you, Short-man. I'd help out myself, but you know, I've just not had the spirit for rugby since the hip transplant."

"Thanks Grandpa. I think it'll work out," he said, idly daubing the image of a rugby ball on a bare part of the wall. "I'm sure she won't let me down."

Helen held a ball behind her back as, chest out, eyes glinting, she surveyed her prey.

"Alright, rugby face, listen up, 'cos I'm only gonna say this once. During these sessions the first and last words to come out of your mouth unless otherwise informed will be 'ma'am'! Do you understand?"

"Helen, is all this strictly - ow!"

Helen pelted him with the ball, striking him on the shoulder.

"What did I just tell you, boy?" she said.

"Ma'am, the first and last words out of my mouth must be 'ma'am'."

"Must be 'ma'am' what?" Helen prompted him.

"Ma'am, the last word out of my mouth was already 'ma'am'. I thought it would be more efficient and, y'know, less stupid-sounding that way instead of repeating 'ma'am'."

"That tears it!" Helen cried. "Two laps round the course for insubordination!"

"What insubordination?" Albert said.

"Three laps! Double-time! Shift it!" Helen pointed. Albert looked mutinous, but started running around the perimeter of the assault course she had assembled from scrap and old garden furniture. She was rather pleased with herself, all things considered. There were the usual suspects, a tyre trap track, a balance beam, a set of rusty monkey bars she'd repainted. She'd even rigged up a couple of tackling dummies using some of Rob's old packing foam and a couple of Millicent's unused mannikins.

'If I must charge Albert for the pleasure of spending time with him,' she had thought, 'Then he will at least get his money's worth'. The drill sergeant routine she'd cribbed from Rob's old movies - well, that was for her benefit as much as anything.

"You think I'm pulling your leg, rugby face?" she said, noticing him slacking. "Shake a bloody tail feather, before I really give you something to run from!"

She held up Queensbury and the Famous Five to illustrate her point. Albert renewed his efforts, his blond hair bobbing back and forth as he ran. She watched his chest rise and fall as he pumped his slender limbs, adorable in his blue shorts and football shirt.

Her mind wandered and she imagined herself in a diaphanous summer dress, running beside him along a beach marinated in the glorious crimson of a tropical sunset.

Oh, Albert...

"Ma'am?" Albert panted. "You say something, ma'am?"

"Um...yeah!" Helen said, shaking her fantasies from her head. "Yeah, I said give it a rest Alberto, you're making me dizzy!"

"Ma'am, whatever you say, ma'am," he said, gratefully returning to the centre of the field.

"Heleeeeen?" Millicent called from inside. "Have you seen my smoothie shaker?"

Helen rolled her eyes.

"It's under the sink next to the colander, Mother!" she said.

"Oh! Oh yeaaaah, I see it now. Thaaaanks, honey..."

"You're welcome," Helen said through gritted teeth as Albert watched with those damnably shrewd green eyes.

"Oh, Helen? Do you want me to mix up something special for you and your little playmate?"

Helen cringed.

"No, Millicent, we're fine! Really!" Helen strode over to the patio door and yanked it shut.

"Not a smoothie fan?" Albert asked.

"Not the way she makes them," Helen said.

"Fair enough." Albert said, walking over to the monkey bars and perching on one of the rungs. "So, ma'am, what's next, ma'am?"

"Hmm," Helen pondered a moment. "Drop and give me twenty while I think."

Albert obliged, while Helen strolled around thinking.

Eventually, she stopped, arms behind her back, while Albert finished off his press-ups.

"So, geekbait, why do you want to play rugby?" she said.

"Um, I dunno," Albert said, turning to face her and sitting up, the heels of his hands dug into the grass. "Ma'am," he hastily added.

"You don't know?"

"Well, I guess I like it. It's fun. And it's more challenging than football. You use more of your body. And people are less pretentious about it."

"Less pretentious? Whaddya mean?" Helen said, genuinely puzzled by this.

"Well, you know how it gets with football. Everyone takes it so seriously all the time. I guess even though rugby's more physical, it's less emotional. I don't like my sports to be too demanding like that." Albert saw the thoughtful expression on her face. "Was that not the right answer, ma'am?"

"Well...sure it's not the right answer, rugby face!" Helen snapped. "If you wanna be any good at rugby, you gotta want to play to win!"

"Well, of course I want to win, ma'am," Albert said. "I don't think anyone plays to lose."

"Insubordination! Two laps round the course!" Helen spluttered.

Albert sighed, and began running.

This isn't working, Helen thought. You're not learning how to be more like Albert, you're just making him think what a bossy cow you are! Get it together!

She waited until he finished before sitting down on one of the tyres, and indicating for him to do the same.

"You've got the beginnings of a good attitude there, Alberto," she told him. "But attitude'll only get you so far. Rugby's a physical game. Not every Johnny Gymshorts and Lucy Limpwrist can play well. Your body must be a well-kept engine."

"Yes, ma'am," Albert said, slightly out of breath. "That's why I came to you, ma'am."

"Yeah, don't go all mushy on me," she said. "You've gotta respect your body, and respect your opponents'."

"How do you mean, ma'am?"

"Well, you want to win, right?" Helen said. "So you're going to try your hardest. You want to be in the best state you can be."

"Sure."

"Your opponent probably thinks exactly the same, if they're serious about the game. You can't give any quarter. You've gotta have a killer instinct. Figuratively speaking."

"Killer instinct..." Albert repeated.

"Going into a tackle with anything less than 100% commitment is a sign of disrespect, for you as well as your opponent. Either you want to win the ball or you don't. We're not playing football here with its etiquette and its hand-wringing over good old-fashioned bone-crunchin'. Now," she said, standing up, allowing herself the slightest of smiles, "I already know you can tackle worth a damn in a pinch, but I wanna see you do it twenty times in a row. So."

She indicated the training dummies.

"Show me what you got."

Albert hunched over in the standard tackling stance, and charged at the first dummy. He caught it in the stomach, his arms around where the ribs would be on a person, and bore it down, his head buried in its gut.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold it there," Helen said, as he hit the ground. "What the heck was that?"

"Was that not right, ma'am?" Albert asked, picking himself up. He started righting the dummy.

"Of course it was right - if you were 25 stone with a neck thicker than your dumb rugby ball face!" she said, stamping over and resetting the dummy herself as Albert struggled with it. "You don't run into someone head first, glue-for-brains!"

"Why not, ma'am?" Albert asked.

"Because, peon, then your neck takes all the force of the tackle, and that's how bones get broken. Derf!"

"Well, how should I do it then, ma'am?" Albert said.

Helen rolled her eyes.

"Fine, bend over."

"Huh?"

"Bend over!" she repeated. Albert did as she said.

"Not there, peon, next to the dummy!" she pointed, rolling her eyes.

Albert shifted over to beside the dummy. Helen followed him.

"Alright," she said, grabbing him by the collar. "Head goes here."

She planted his head on the right, just at buttock height.

"Arms go round here," she continued, wrapping his arms round, a few inches below on the thighs. "Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Albert said.

"So tell me: what's the difference with this position?"

"Um, well, my shoulder takes the impact this time, ma'am." Albert said, his voice slightly muffled from round the other side of the dummy.

"You're getting it," Helen said. "Maybe you can be taught. Maybe." She circled him, checking his position. "OK. Now. Do what I just showed you, twenty times."

"Yes, ma'am," Albert grimaced, standing up and jogging off to get a run-up. Helen stepped out of the path of the dummy to observe.

Albert backed up a dozen or so paces, rolled his head round on his shoulders, and dropped into a run, arms out and ready. Helen winced, a split-second before he impacted, as she saw he was overcompensating for before though, and - clang.

Albert ran his shoulder into the bottom half of the mannikin - the slender pole that tapered out into the stand. Helen had only been able to give them a single layer of foam with what she had left after filling out the torsos.

Albert bounced off the pole, clutching his shoulder, as the mannikin rocked and fell in the other direction.

"Ouch. You alright, Albert?"

"Ow." Albert didn't seem badly hurt, despite his pretty close encounter with an iron rod.

"You, uh, you overcompensated. You don't need to aim that low. In a game, you'd probably get a faceful of knee or studs if you went in like that. So, uh, in hindsight that was a fairly accurate depiction of tackling too low..." Helen tailed off, feeling somewhat guilty. "Do you want a hand up?"

Albert accepted it.

"Wanna try again?" she said.

"Actually, for now, I wanna have a rest," he said, holding his shoulder.

"Sure thing, Albert," Helen said, and pointed him towards a bench at the back of the garden. "You, uh, you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," Albert said, "I just need a minute."

He went over and lowered himself into the bench. Helen followed, hovering around, not quite sure what to do with herself.

"Y...y'know, if you've managed to prang yourself in the first five minutes, rugby face, you're still paying me," was all she could think to say.

"I don't think it's that bad," he said.

"Let me look," Helen insisted, sitting on the bench beside him.

"Really, you don't nee-"

"Hey," Helen interrupted. "My garden, my fault. You can't even see how bad it is. Let me."

Turning and kneeling to face him, Helen pulled his hand away from the part of the shoulder he was covering: close to the neck, where the collarbone tapered into the shoulder blade. She tugged on his football shirt, so she could clearly see the exposed skin. As she scrutinised it, she detected the scent of peppermint on his hair, and fought the urge to breathe it in more deeply.

The affected area was quite red, but didn't look to be bruising. Her fingertips flitted over his shoulder and collarbone, applying minute amounts of pressure.

"Tell me if it hurts anywhere else," she murmured. Albert nodded, but winced only when she depressed the red area. As far as she could tell, it was just a knock.

"It doesn't seem like you damaged anything, Albert," she said, still perched at his shoulder.

"Huh?" Albert turned to look at her, their faces scant inches apart. Helen was in dire peril of being mesmerised by his eyes. She looked away, and sat back down.

"You're fine, rugby face," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just get your oddball grandparents to have a look when you get home."

"Huh?"

"Well, I'm not going to bother training you if you're not in a state to do anything strenuous," Helen said. "You might as well leave."

"I paid for an hour!" Albert protested.

"And I'm saying I'm not training you. So go home. Leave your money on the patio." Helen crossed her arms and looked away.

"Well, we don't have to do training," Albert said. "I just- I'd like to feel like I got my money's worth, y'know."

Helen turned back and gave him a puzzled look.

"Like how?"

"I dunno," Albert said. "We could talk. You could tell me how you know so much about rugby."

"Thrilling," Helen said, planting her head on her hand, propped up on the bench arm.

"Well, you think of something, then."

"Alright, I'll think of something - what's your deal, rugby face?" she said.

"My deal?"

"Yeah," Helen said. "Why are you still here? What makes you think I want you here?"

"Well, I dunno," Albert said. "You were happy enough to take my money before."

"That was when I was bossing you around!" Helen pointed out. "I mean, wouldn't you rather be at the cricket nets with Janesh or- or something?"

"Well, in a way," Albert admitted. "But I'm kind of curious."

"You are? About what?"

"Why'd you go to so much trouble?" Albert said, indicating the training course. "I mean, it looks like you made those dummy things yourself."

"Those old things? Nah, they were just lying around the house," Helen said, giggling nervously.

"Well, even so," Albert said. "I'm really impressed. I wasn't sure what to expect when I asked you to help me, but this is amazing."

"Well- yeah!" Helen said. "I knew it'd take the full nine yards to get you into shape, Alberto."

"Yeah," Albert said, looking at his feet. "Well, thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Helen said. "We've only been going ten minutes and you've already managed to injure yourself."

"Do you think I can get on the team though?" he asked. "Or are you just humouring me and taking my money?"

"You what?" Helen said, scowling. "You think I'd do that?"

"You might," Albert said. "It wouldn't be the worst thing you've done."

"What? Name one bad thing I've done, rugby face!" Helen said.

"There was that time you followed me around all day and night reminding me how long I had before Henryk beat me to a pulp," Albert said. "And the time you started that newspaper and lied about everyone."

"Yeah, fair enough," Helen said, turning her head, indignant.

"And the time you poured glue on my seat and chucked feathers over my arse. And the time-"

"OK, OK, I get the picture! I'm a terrible person, alright?" Helen threw up her hands in defeat. "I'm not some peaches-and-cream goody-goody girl scout like Iola. Or you."

"I don't think you're a terrible person," Albert said.

"You? You couldn't see the bad side of a stroke," Helen snapped.

"I mean it though," he persisted. "You do bad things, but I think you don't want to. I don't know why."

"Didn't I warn you about this?" Helen drawled.

"Well, I know you can be good fun at times," Albert said. "Like that week we met in Brighton on holiday. You looked out for me. If you were that terrible you wouldn't have done that."

"Yeah, whatever," Helen said. "I- I just didn't like that Surma girl messing with you. That's my job." He's getting too close - you need to shut him up! she thought.

"Well, there was that time you walked me home and listened after Iola knocked me back," he said.

"Yeah, like anyone has a chance with Little Miss Paragon," Helen said, scorn dripping off her tongue. "Look, Albert, the Mini-Ghandi trick is amusing to a point, but give it a rest, eh?"

"It's not a trick, Helen, I really believe it."

"Well, you're wrong!" Helen snapped. "I'm not sweet and I'm not cuddly, OK? You've seen my family, you know what they're like!"

"Have you seen the people I live with?" Albert retorted. "They're all mental, the lot of them! You can't just make excuses for who you are!"

"Well, not everyone's like you, Albert!" Helen spat back. "Not everyone wants to be a complete pushover!"

"Is that what you think I am?" Albert said, shocked.

"Oh, don't act surprised, rugby face," Helen sneered. "Never heard 'nice guys finish last'?"

"'Finish last'?" Albert said. "How're you defining last? At least I have more than one friend!"

Helen opened her mouth, then shut it, turning away speechless.

Don't let him see you cry, she thought. Never let him see you cry.

"Um, Helen?" Albert's voice had a note of panic in it now. Too late. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Get out," she said, under her breath.

"Helen, I didn't mean to-"

"GET OUT, ALBERT!" she shrieked. "Leave me alone! I don't want to see you! Get lost! If I ever see you round here again, I'll beat your face into the kerb!"

Albert got to his feet and made to leave. He turned back.

"It's not true, what I said," he told her. "You have lots of people that care about you."

Helen didn't respond. Albert hovered a moment longer, unsure, then left, shutting the garden gate behind him.

Helen sat in her garden, alone, and cried. And cried.