Okay, this is going to be a first for me, I'm going to reply to the comments here in the chapter, like I've seen other authors do it. Yes, I know I've replied to most of you directly, but it seems fun to also do it like this. Here we go...
Tista2018 - Doubtless no one was expecting that from Arnold, but things just came to a boiling point there.
Call Me Nettie - I'm just going to focus on the whole dream from the night before the last day of school. As for a "real" trip to San Lorenzo? Well, no one has mentioned a contest...yet...
Miyasa - Y ese solo fue el primer capítulo. Ahora viene lo bueno, je je je...
Kryten - Yes, it seems OOC for Arnold, but it took a really extreme situation for him to behave like that. Coming up will be the explanations and the aftermath.
DeepVoice'06 - Thank you for your honesty. Yes, it's very extreme for Arnold, but this was simply too much for him to handle. Remember that we're dealing with his parents, a VERY touchy subject for him. And I'm glad that you love at least parts of the story. :D :D :D
Guest 1 - Sorry about your experience. I hope you were able to recover. And yes, the whole thing being a dream was what triggered this.
acosta perez jose ramiro - Es el episodio de karate - a la cuarta potencia.
starfiction123 - Wait till we get to the next chapters, you're gonna fall off your chair. :D :D :D
Inudaughter Returns - The question now is: will he snap again?
Guest 2 - Yes, it was.
Guest 3 - And it was those inconsistencies that inspired this story.
And now, back to our story...
TWO – INTERVIEWING REAL LIFE
Nurse Shelley ran her hands all over Arnold's scalp, obviously ruining his already rowdy hairstyle. She wasn't massaging him, of course, not with the bright light she was shining directly on his head; she was searching for any bruises or cuts that the boy had asked her to look for as soon as he arrived at her office. She also glanced at the mirror to check for any wincing or discomfort on his face, in case she brushed over an unseen bruise that would cause momentary pain.
The boy, meanwhile, was patiently sitting on a chair, leaning forward slightly and lowering his head so she could easily reach the back.
"Well, Arnold, you don't have any obvious injury of any kind, not any physical one that I can see, at least."
The boy sighed, "Okay, I was wondering if I had hit my head somehow and I had some form of amnesia or something."
"You can get amnesia in other ways besides a blow to the head, but I don't think you've been taking illegal drugs, have you?"
"No, of course not, and I haven't been around any shady characters who might have given me anything without me knowing."
She stood in front of him and re-did his hairstyle as best as she could, replacing his tiny blue cap afterward. "Well, Arnold, you don't have any head injuries, and I'm certain there are no amnesia-inducing drugs in your body, but you'd have to take medical tests to make sure, and you'd have to see your doctor about that. Why do you think you've lost your memories, though?"
He rubbed his head, finishing the re-combing. "More than lost memories, I think I got some false memories of a false time. I've just been a bit confused this morning, and things have been getting more and more confusing the more I think about them. Right now they all seem to have come from a dream, but I'm having a hard time remembering all of it, so I'm a bit unsure of what is real and what isn't."
Shelley returned to her desk. "Well, Arnold, I can assure you that you are now in the real, waking world, and if you're not sure, you can always pinch yourself and see that you're not going to wake up and have this world disappear from your head. Just don't hit yourself to make sure, okay?"
Arnold stood. "Okay, thanks Nurse Shelley. I'm glad you helped me out in this."
"Anytime, Arnold."
The boy let himself out, walked out to the hallway, and went on his way, calmer now, somewhat relieved, yet still disappointed that he was indeed in the waking world—Real Life—and not in the dream he had last night.
As he told Mister Simmons a few minutes earlier, he passed his classroom door and continued down the hallway, stopping at the principal's office and knocking on the door.
"You may enter," declared Mister Wartz inside, and Arnold did so, shutting the door behind him.
Looking up from the teacher's roster in front of him on his desk, the adult eyed the young blonde boy as he sat down on the visitor's chair. "Good afternoon, Arnold," he was quite familiar with the child who had managed to help solve the teachers' strike several months ago, and also convinced him to return to his administrative job after he unceremoniously resigned. "It's rather odd seeing you here, and on the last day of school, too. Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"No, Principal Wartz, I came here because I need a bit of information that Mister Simmons didn't have."
He folded his hands in front of his chin. "Information? It's not for a test, is it? You've taken all your tests, right?"
"Yes, Principal Wartz, but it's not information about any test or lesson we had this year." Arnold sighed again and bit the bullet. "I'm wondering if there is a video presentation contest of any kind in this school, or…" he decided to go for a long shot, "…anywhere in the school district."
The bald adult looked at the student for a moment, slightly bewildered. Suddenly, he chuckled, replying, "A contest? A video contest on the last day of school, Arnold? My boy, why would any student want to work on a school assignment on the last day of school, much less the final week? No, Arnold, any contest that is approved by the school district, and this office, would be presented to the students at least one month before the end of the school year."
Shot down again.
Arnold tried to keep his dejection from appearing on his face, but then again, he doubted that Principal Wartz would be able to sense any emotion from any kid in front of him. Still, he decided to take an even longer shot, "Well, has the school district had any contest this year that had a prize of an overseas trip for the winning class?"
This time, the adult placed his hands on the desk and openly laughed, much to the boy's surmounting disappointment. "Ha-ha-ha! An overseas trip? With THIS school budget? I can't even afford a secretary, haven't you noticed? Arnold, we barely finished this year without an outstanding debt that would have the superintendent breathing down my neck! Don't you remember the teacher's strike and all the budget cuts that caused it? It would be impossible for this school, or even the entire school district, to send one student, much less the whole class, the teacher, and the required chaperones on an overseas trip!"
The child was grasping at straws now, hoping for anything that would resemble what he dreamed. "But…what about any sponsors? Wouldn't they be the ones who pay for the trip, so that the school district wouldn't have to pay for it all?"
"Sponsors, you say?" The man held his chin with his right hand and thought for a moment. "Well, a sponsor would be helpful, but it would have to be a really big one if we were to send one student and his family on an overseas trip."
"So…one sponsor wouldn't be enough for the whole class?" The boy's spirits fell lower and lower.
Wartz again folded his hands in front of his chin and chuckled, "You'd need several large sponsors to send a whole class, Arnold." Curious now, he added, "But, I wonder, why are you asking all this?"
For a moment, Arnold froze, not expecting anyone to question his investigation, and there was no way he was going to spill the beans to anyone, much less to his school principal. "I…" he thought quickly, avoiding eye contact by glancing at a newspaper on the desk. "I saw a similar contest on a newspaper article a few days ago…I guess I was wondering how much work went into those type of contests."
"A contest with a prize of that magnitude is too expensive for just one school district to handle, Arnold. It would not only need several large and generous sponsors, it would also require quite a few fundraisers to carry out, especially for this school district, if we were to send one whole class of, say, twenty children, their teacher, and the chaperones."
That last term seemed to trigger another memory.
Mister Simmons went along, and Olga Pataki as a chaperone…and…and that was it?
"Um, Principal Wartz, for a class the size of mine, would one chaperone be enough?"
The adult eyed the child with scrutiny for a moment, "Boy, are you joking? By law, we'd need to send one chaperone for every three or four students! That's why it would have to be a really big contest for the whole experience to be worthwhile, and it certainly wouldn't be announced on the last day of school. For a contest of that magnitude, it would have to be announced at least at the beginning of the last semester."
Arnold's spirits seemed to crumble with every word that Wartz spoke, as his dream experience was being destroyed by logic little by little. Still, he had to continue, "And…well…what about destinations? The school board would have to approve them, right?"
"Of course."
"Would they consider a Central American country to be a…good place to visit?"
Wartz would have snorted in the boy's face if he wasn't a principal. "Central America? As in the one between North and South America? Arnold, I guess you haven't yet reached Contemporary History in your Social Studies class, so I'll give you a quick preview: Right now, Central America is too politically unstable for regular international tourism to rise once again to profitable levels. And even though the guerrilla war ended with the Contras and the Sandinistas, practically all the federal governments there are overflowing with corruption. So it's not exactly a safe place for children, much less American children."
The boy sighed, as the apparent final nail on the coffin of his hope had finally been driven in. "I…I understand. Thank you, Principal Wartz, for the information."
"Glad to be of help, Arnold, have a nice day, and enjoy your summer."
With that, the blonde boy stood, stepped out of the office, and returned to the classroom.
Which is to say, that the entire class froze again in silence when he opened the door, and they all saw him standing on the threshold, staring at them with a very, very annoyed glare.
They were afraid of him, even Gerald, Harold, and Helga.
The deafening silence was suddenly broken when the teacher asked, "Um…Arnold, are you okay?"
The boy blinked, turning slightly toward the adult, and softened his visage. "Y…yes, Mister Simmons, I'm…I'm okay now. I already talked to the principal, and we worked everything out. And…I want to apologise for what I said earlier. That was…it was way out of line. I…shouldn't have insulted you like that."
The adult sighed and smiled in relief. "Thank—thank you, Arnold, I accept your apology. Please, take your seat," he added, not wanting to drag the matter further, much less now that it was the last half of the last day of school, though mostly because he didn't want to risk having Arnold lose his temper again.
He, too, was still afraid.
The day continued much the same way any normal final day of school would, with the handing out of their report cards and the last graded quizzes and tests returned to their students, going through the incorrect answers to make sure the students left with their lessons properly learned. The only odd thing about it was that Arnold continued to write down his dream as he remembered more and more of it, thankfully without any of Helga's usual and annoying interruptions.
Because she, too, was very afraid of him now.
Then the bell rang, announcing their final lunchtime.
As the kids stood and headed for the cafeteria, only one of them stayed close to the oblong-headed boy. "Man, what happened to you earlier?" asked Gerald.
Arnold sighed, "I think…everything just heaped up on me and it was too much. The dream, Helga's spit wads, Mister Simmons' condescending voice…and the fact that everything is still the same." They stood in line to get their final school meal until September. "Talking to the school nurse and Principal Wartz helped out a bit, though. I mean, I shouldn't take out my frustrations on everyone else."
"Not even Helga?"
Arnold turned, and saw that behind him, giving him a very wide berth, was the girl in question, waiting for the two boys ahead of her to leave the queue. In fact, no one else was behind the two boys, as all the other kids were also giving him a wide berth. He shook his head, "No, not even her."
"Wartz didn't give you detention, did he?"
"Actually, no, he was quite understanding. I did manage to find out a few more—"
"And one serving of tofu for you, no fruits, no milk or milk products, allergy free."
"Thanks, Miss Lunch Lady!" replied Eugene.
Ahead of them, the short boy received his final lunch of the school year, with a rather happy face, despite what happened in the classroom earlier.
Arnold looked at Eugene, getting another flashback of his dream at the sound of the word "allergy".
"Now what?" asked Gerald, noticing his friend spacing out again.
Arnold blinked, and got his lunch. "Remembered something again. This time it deals with Eugene." They followed the sandal-clad boy to his table. "He was in the dream, too, but it was…it was almost as if he was a cartoon."
"Sorry, what? A cartoon? What cartoon?" asked Eugene, just as he sat down, turning to face the inseparable pair. "Oh, hi, Arnold. Um…how's everything?" he asked nervously, still shook up from what he saw earlier.
"Relax, Eugene, I'm not angry anymore. That wasn't something I should have done or said. I just want to ask you a few questions." Arnold and Gerald sat in front of the allergy-prone boy, the blonde boy on his right, and the African-American on his left. The blonde pulled out his notebook. "Eugene, just out of curiosity, how many fruits are you allergic to?"
Relaxing now that he was in familiar territory, the shorter boy replied with a smile, "Wow, I'm not sure. Wanna see my list?" he asked, searching his right shorts pocket for the item. "The last time I counted I was up to twenty, or twenty-five, I think…"
Ignoring that last comment, Arnold pressed on, "Eugene, if you ate any of those fruits—by accident, of course—would you always have the same allergic reaction for each of them?"
The redhead stopped looking for his list, thought for a moment, and replied, "Well, no, that depends on the fruit, I guess. Even varieties of the same fruit can give me very different reactions. Sometimes I just break out in hives, sometimes I just itch really bad all over—"
"Do you ever swell up?" asked Arnold, quite curtly, now remembering fully what had happened on the boat in his dream.
Eugene shook his head. "Oh, yeah, those are the worst. If I'm not careful with what I eat, that reaction could get really serious. I mean, my throat could close up and I wouldn't be able to breathe!"
The blonde raised an eyebrow. "Is that what happens when you swell? You wouldn't just inflate like a ball and be unable to move except by rolling around?"
Now it was Eugene's turn to eye Arnold with incredulity. "No, Arnold, I wouldn't swell up like a ball. I'm not a cartoon character, haven't you noticed?"
The blonde boy paused for a moment as his spirits fell yet another notch into the abyss of despair. Still, he forced himself to continue, "No, of course you're not a cartoon character. Now, do you have any allergies with tropical fruits in general?"
"Tropical fruits? Well, I haven't tried that many; normally I try to stay away from them, but I don't have any problems with bananas. The generic ones, at least."
So much for doing an experiment with pitayas, thought Arnold. Remembering a bit more of Eugene's role in the dream, he now asked, "Eugene, if you had a really bad allergic reaction, which included a really, really bad swelling of…well…swelling everywhere, what would you need to do to recover?"
Looking up for a moment, Eugene answered, now with an unusually serious tone, "If I had an allergic reaction with out-of-control swelling, I'd have to pull out the big guns, literally." This time, he searched in his left shorts pocket, and pulled out a small black case. Handling it as if it were made of glass, he opened it and showed his friends its contents: an odd-looking syringe. "This is an EpiPen. It's full of a powerful medication that I would inject on myself and it would help the swelling go down. There are only three of these in the whole school—that I know of: this one, another one with the school nurse, and Sheena has the other one, a 'back-up', shall we say," he finished with a very, very noticeable blush.
Arnold and Gerald looked at each other, giving themselves a nod of understanding. The blonde pressed on, "So that would be it? You inject yourself with that, and you would suddenly be back to normal?"
"Oh, no, that would be just the start. I'd have to contact my doctor right away, go to the hospital for observation, and maybe file a new allergy in case it was unexpected…but why are you asking me all this? You were never interested in my allergies before, Arnold."
For a moment, the blonde boy stared at the redhead, unsure what to answer. But just as he took a breath to reply, Gerald came to the rescue, "We saw a movie where a girl had an unusual allergic reaction. We weren't sure if the way she swelled up was for real, or if it was just for a comedic effect."
Finally, Eugene laughed. "Please, guys, don't believe everything you see in the movies. I mean, when my doctor first gave me this," he gingerly closed the EpiPen case and put it back in his pocket, "I felt really, really scared, knowing what would have to happen in order for me to use it. I haven't needed to use it yet, though, but I'm ready, the nurse is ready, and Sheena is ready."
"Speaking of Sheena…" said Gerald. The three boys looked up and saw that the tall brunette in question was approaching their table.
Arnold stood. "Right, Eugene, we'll leave you and Sheena alone for now. Thanks for the info; it was really helpful."
With that, the two best friends left the more-than-obvious couple to their lunchtime antics. As they left for their own table, the African-American asked, "Seriously? You dreamed Eugene ate somethin' and he swelled like a ball?"
"It was almost funny, I mean, he was practically a beach ball and Sheena had to roll him around, and he couldn't go in through any doors, he was so huge. But that's another point of my dream that got disproved, unfortunately."
"So in your dream, no one thought of injectin' Eugene with that medicine to make the swellin' go down? That almost sounds kinda cruel, you know…Arnold? Arnold?"
Now his best friend was staring at two girls from the class: Rhonda Wellington Lloyd and her best friend, Nadine. This time, however, Arnold wasn't staring at their faces, much less their chests, but at the top of Rhonda's head, for some reason.
The two girls, meanwhile, were on their way to their table but stopped when they saw that the two boys were blocking their path. Since it was Arnold, the two froze momentarily, almost expecting another outburst from the blonde boy.
After a long moment, the black-haired girl decided to bite the bullet and reaffirm her status as the Queen Bee of the fourth grade, "Hello, Gerald…Ar…Arnold, may we help you with anything?"
Before Gerald could say anything, Arnold suddenly replied with a strange topic, "We're just looking for information, Rhonda. And I'm wondering: when you go on vacation overseas, do you usually just go to Europe?"
The tall girl eyed the former do-gooder for an instant, and replied with a tone of uncertainty and hesitation, "Um…well, now that you're asking, yes, why, last year Daddy took us to…to France…to Paris, actually…" Finding herself in her element, Rhonda smiled as her response now flowed without any hindrance, and she let the words and memories flow unimpeded. "Marseille, Lyon, and even the Riviera! Oh, we had such a wonderful time—I really wish you had come with us, Nadine—we went shopping, to amazing restaurants, outdoor cafés, and beaches on both sides of the country! It was amazing. But…why do you ask, Arnold? Did you need any information about France or French tourism?"
He seemingly ignored her last question and pressed on, "Have you gone to any other place besides Europe? Perhaps Canada, or anywhere else in America?"
Her curiosity had been sparked, and was now rather intrigued as to why he wanted to know this. "Well, I've been to Toronto, Miami Beach, Hollywood, Las Vegas, Barcelona, um…let's see where else…"
"Anywhere in South America, or Central America, perhaps? Say, Rio de Janeiro, or…any place in the tropics?"
"Well, Arnold, now that you mention it, I think Mom went to Rio sometime before I was born. She said it was a wonderful place, but the humidity did horrors to her hair."
Yes, that's what I thought.
"From then on, she vowed not to go anywhere with such high humidity, which, sadly, has eliminated Brazil, Thailand, Tahiti, the Caribbean, the whole Pacific, I think, except for Hawaii…wait, I think I went to Hawaii once. I had to use about ten cans of hair spray to keep my hair in place, and Hawaii is not as humid as the rest!"
"So basically, you try to avoid tropical countries because it would be a big hassle on your hair…and your mother's hair, I suppose."
"Oh, definitely, but it's not like we're missing out on much. There are plenty of other places to visit that won't murder your hair," she giggled.
"So if someone invited you to spend a week or two in…oh, Central America, perhaps, you would turn them down?"
"Central America?" she balked. "Please, Arnold. That place is so…poor and unstable. I'd rather go to Rio and have my hair murdered there than Central America have my hair murdered there BESIDES being stuck in a run-down hotel with no toilet paper."
"I…suppose you're right. Well, thanks, Rhonda, for the information. It has been very helpful. But…also…" he suddenly remembered, "Do you have a cell phone?"
She looked at him as if he had asked her if she was a girl. "Of course! I have the latest model right here?" She fished the device from her pocket, and Arnold saw…
It was a BLACK phone, very thick, with no screen except the number display at the front, not the ultra-thin white phone he saw in his dream.
"What about it?" asked Rhonda, snapping him from his introspection.
"Uh…I was just curious about what model it was. For a moment I thought it would be…thinner, or a different colour."
"Thinner? Different colour? Arnold, honey, you can bet that the day I can get this in pink or white, I'll drop this brick and get those much more fashionable ones!"
"Of course. Well, thanks, Rhonda."
"You're welcome, Arnold," she smiled genuinely. "But why do you need that information for? Are you planning on vacationing in the tropics?"
He sighed. "No, I just…felt a bit confused this morning, and I'm trying to sort things out, and you really helped in sorting things out for me. Thanks again, Rhonda."
With that, the boy and his best friend left Rhonda and Nadine.
The mulatto girl whispered to her rich friend, "I wonder if all that had something to do with his outburst earlier."
"I wouldn't doubt it. But if his outburst is making him seek help, then as his friends, we should do what we can to help him out any way we can. Let's sit down and eat and see how we can do that…"
As the two girls went on their way, Gerald said, "So you also dreamed that Rhonda went on vacation to the super humid tropics?"
"Yes, and she ended up looking almost like the Bride of Frankenstein…without the grey hairs, of course. She almost broke down, too, because of that, not to mention her cell phone was white, with a huge screen, and thinner than—"
Gerald waited for him to finish, but he didn't. "Ugh, now what?"
The boy had frozen in mid-step again, and this time, he was staring at the short Asian-American girl who was currently sitting to the right of her best friend, Helga Pataki.
And she was checking her black flip-open cell phone.
Gerald looked to where Arnold was staring at, and realising he was staring at the girl he had her eyes on, shoved him rather rudely. "Hey, quit glarin' at Phoebe! What did SHE do in your dream?" he demanded.
Stumbling a bit, he returned to his senses as he straightened out. "S-sorry, Gerald, but the strange thing is that Phoebe did something rather…extraordinary in my dream, and it had something to do with cell phones." Before he walked to her table, he added, "And don't worry, I'll be civil with her, just like I've always been. You don't have to worry about me stealing her from you."
"Darned right!" Suddenly realising what he had just said, Gerald sputtered, "Uh…I mean…'steal'? Whatever…whatever do you mean by that…Arnold? I mean…it's not as if…as if…" His failed excuses and explanations went nowhere, as Arnold had already reached Phoebe's table.
Before Helga could demand an explanation as to what he was doing there, despite her fear, Arnold ignored the blonde girl and spoke first, "Hi, Phoebe, mind if I sit here for a moment? I just want to ask you a few questions about…" He looked at the device she was holding, "…about cell phones, I guess."
The Asian-American girl looked up at him, still with hints of fear, but those dissipated once Gerald stood at Arnold's right. "Um, okay, sure, Arnold, I'll be glad to reply to whatever inquiries you may have."
Both boys sat, and the blonde one began, "First, sorry again for that outburst this morning. As I told Mister Simmons, I had a rather rude wake-up call, and it kinda wore down my patience. But don't worry, I don't have anything against you; I'm just…trying to make sense of today, I suppose."
Helga noticed that he didn't say he didn't have anything against herself, but before she could ask him about that, Phoebe, apparently also ignoring her, encouraged her male friend to continue, "How are you going about that?"
"Well, first, I'd like to know this." He breathed deeply, and began, "Phoebe, how much do you know about modern electronics?"
The short girl looked up in thought for a second, and answered, "Um…the basics, I suppose, though I could probably learn quickly if I set my mind on it and got the right books to study, but I would need a few practical lessons to get all the important stuff committed to memory."
Arnold looked down at her cell phone, a rather thick one, perhaps as thick as a blackboard eraser. "Phoebe, if I gave you a cell phone, let's say the latest model, would you be able to take it apart, figure out how it worked, and maybe rig it so it would be connected to other cell phones? Maybe even beepers?"
Her answer was unfortunately too quick, "Oh, no, I seriously doubt that. I would need very specialised tools as well as an owners' manual, not to mention a book or two about modern radio-telephone technology."
The blonde boy tapped his fingers on the table. "So…one screwdriver and one pair of pliers…wouldn't be enough for you?"
It was the turn of the black-haired girl to raise an eyebrow. "Are you serious, Arnold? Some phones don't even have standard screws, and they can only be opened by authorised repairmen with VERY specialised equipment! Why, some don't even have any visible screws at all, and the simple act of opening them is a trade secret!"
He remembered that she pried open Rhonda's phone with a screwdriver, cracking the plastic case, not even bothering to find any screws…
…with a SCREWDRIVER…
"Phoebe, you wouldn't happen to have a screwdriver on you, would you?"
"Um, no, Arnold, I don't. Why would I need one?"
The blonde boy rubbed his head with his right hand for a moment, and replied, "Sorry, never mind that." He then looked up again, at the inseparable friends in front of him…
…Phoebe, Helga, and Gerald were the ones who searched all those video tapes, looking for the right footage for the video project…
…all those tapes in that video vault…
…all those monitors…
…all those cameras…
…that editing console…
…underneath a beeper store that was on its last legs?
"Phoebe, would you consider yourself to be the smartest student in the class?"
The girl blushed at the non-sequitur, and her response faltered a bit, "Uh…y-yes, m-maybe…maybe I am…why?"
"Hey, what are you doin'?" demanded the dark-skinned boy.
Ignoring him, and ignoring Helga's sudden jealous glare, Arnold continued, "I just need your expert opinion on a hypothetical question." Helga's jealousy morphed into intrigue. "How expensive would your average video surveillance room be? What equipment would you need besides lots and lots of cameras?" He glanced at Helga, who other than glaring at him, didn't flinch or appear to panic in any way.
Phoebe, having recovered from her sudden embarrassment, now felt fully at ease in her element of technical explanations, "Oh, specialised video cameras are just the tip of the iceberg, Arnold. You'd need quite a number of monitors, control panels, recording equipment, controlling computers if it was REALLY complex, not to mention all the specialised programming for them, camera controls, all the wiring needed for closed-circuit television, and if it was wireless, you'd need all the required short-range antennas, and all the electricity to power everything would require a 220-volt installation…"
"Would the whole thing cost around…maybe 10,000 dollars?"
She happily continued to flow in her element, "Oh, no, 10,000 dollars would just be for the planning! You'd need even more money for installation, training, maintenance, operation…I'd say that just to get things started you'd need at least…oh…some 50,000 dollars would be a believable ballpark figure."
That would be a LOT of money that a failing business would NOT be able to dish out…
"Do you think that a business like Big Bob's Beepers would have that kind of money to set up something like that?"
Again, he glanced at Helga.
Again, she didn't flinch or panic.
Just another raised eyebrow, or half an eyebrow, in her case.
"I seriously doubt it. Besides, Big Bob's Beepers is in transition right now, right, Helga?"
The three turned to the blonde girl, who blinked for a moment, "Uh…what? Um, of course! Bob is changing the whole focus of the store right now, so I don't think he'd be able to dish out 50,000 dollars for surveillance. The store does have security equipment, but I doubt that it's that expensive. You know Bob, he'd always go for the cheapest he can get."
Arnold saw that she wasn't stuttering or trying to make up anything on the spot, no excuses, no lies, but the honest truth.
So Helga wasn't hiding anything under Big Bob's Beepers?
"Okay, thanks, Phoebe," he turned slightly, "and thanks, Helga, that really helped me out." The two boys stood and left the girls alone on their lunch table.
"I wonder why he's going around asking so much from everyone," said Helga, unsure if she should feel relieved that Arnold didn't lash out to her again, angry that he practically ignored her up to a few moments ago, or jealous that his focus had been Phoebe and not her. Come to think of it, she wouldn't mind a little attention from him, even if it was negative.
"He's also writing down the data. Perhaps whatever disturbed him this morning also confused him somehow?"
"Maybe, but he didn't need to pin me down on my desk like that…" the girl sighed with sadness and fear.
Phoebe placed a comforting hand on her right arm, "Helga, Arnold's patience isn't infinite; in fact, I'm surprised he has lasted this long before exploding the way he did this morning. Whatever happened to him before he left for school…well…it wore out whatever patience he had left, and you…um…just tipped him over the edge." The blonde girl picked at her meagre lunch, looking up for a moment as the boy she loved went outside. "Helga, he apologised to us and to Mister Simmons. I know this will be very difficult for you, but I think it would really help Arnold if you also apologised to him." The pasty-skinned girl flinched, finally, when her friend said "apologise". Phoebe insisted, "He said he had a very bad morning, Helga. Maybe if you do something nice, you'll be the one helping him for a change…and he'll look at you with, say, a more positive attitude?"
"Maybe, but not here, Phoebe. You know that it can never be here, in front of everyone."
"Right, Helga, right."
As the class eventually made their way out to the playground for their final recess until September, they found Arnold sitting on a wooden crate next to the wall of the building, with Gerald standing beside him, trying to read what he was writing on his notebook. And the more Arnold wrote, the more frustrated he became.
No "footage" of everything I did…no way to record it all…no way to STORE it all…
"Um, Arnold?"
The blonde boy looked up to see Sid standing in front of him, holding his report card. He said nothing, but glared at the boy with the huge nose and large green cap.
"S-sorry to bother you, I know you're busy writing stuff down, but…I need your help, okay?"
Arnold's fists turned white. Seriously? He wants help from ME, like, right NOW?
"Okay, here's the thing. I didn't get the good grades that I expected, and I have NO idea of how to break the news to my parents. I mean, I didn't fail, but my grades are low, like REALLY low. I need your advice on what to do…and you're the only one I know who can help. Please help me!"
Arnold looked at him.
And looked at him.
And looked at him.
Then he stood, and downright glared at Sid, to the point that he backed up slightly in fear.
Shutting his notebook, Arnold spoke with an angry voice again, "Sid, do I look like an adult to you? Have I dished out so much advice to you that you seriously don't know what to do at this point? Sid, as much as I would like to help you, I simply can't, because, A, I have never been in the situation you are now, and B, you have the school councillor, Doctor Bliss, to help you out with whatever you need, AND, I might add, she is able to give you much better advice than I can." He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to push back his rage so he would not explode again like he did this morning. "Sid, if you truly think that a nine-year-old can help you solve all your problems, especially this one, then you have serious issues…and you really need professional help."
With that, Arnold Phillip Shortman, former do-gooder and advisor to children and adults alike, turned aside and walked back into the school building, with everyone staring at him in renewed shock.
Sid just stood there, dejected, almost dropping his report card as his arms fell to his sides.
Moments later, the bell announced the end of recess, and the children returned to their respective classes.
The entirety of the fourth-grade class was unusually quiet and subdued for the rest of the day; no longer were they fidgeting or restless, waiting for the ringing of the final bell that would set them free from their educational bondage until the following September. Instead, they all eyed the football-headed boy, incredulous that he had very much renounced his role as their advisor.
The boy in question, meanwhile, continued to write down his dream as it came back in larger and larger pieces, and he wrote it down as fast as he could, noting the page numbers where the flow of the dream continued in its correct chronological order.
He looked up and saw his teacher apparently relieved that his class was quiet and still, allowing him to give his final lessons of the year.
…relieved that his class was quiet and still…
Arnold remembered the fiasco of the flood earlier that year, and how Mister Simmons had completely lost control of everything, and the other incident when he was suddenly placed as principal, and lost ALL control of the whole school then, to the point that they almost lost the whole school year…
The final bell rang.
Instead of the kids rushing out with cheers and glee, they all stood, quite quickly, and distanced themselves from Arnold as fast as they could.
All except Gerald, of course, who stayed behind, waiting for his friend. Noticing this, Arnold stood and told him, "I'll catch up with you in a bit, Gerald, now I have to ask Mister Simmons some stuff. He was in my dream, too, and he was…his usual self, I think, or maybe his exaggerated self. I kinda need to know for sure."
"Okay, man, just don't lose your temper again. Everyone's kinda avoidin' you now; it's like they're all afraid of you or somethin'."
"Ahh, they'll get over it. But really, I'm going through some heavy stuff now and I really can't give out advise as I used to, not now, at least."
"Okay, I'll be waitin' for you outside." He held out his right fist, and much to his relief, Arnold also held out his right fist, doing their secret handshake.
Gerald smiled, at last.
Once his friend had left the classroom, Arnold walked up to Mister Simmons' desk, where his teacher was packing his belongings into a small cardboard box. Looking at him, the boy was now hit with the full force of guilt of what he had done and said that morning.
"Arnold?" asked the balding man, once he noticed that his last student hadn't left yet.
"Mister Simmons, I just want to say again that…that I'm sorry for my outburst this morning. That…that's not who I am…I think. It…it won't happen again, really."
The adult eyed him curiously, and asked, "Arnold, I know you're not like that, being so special, but what happened to you, exactly? Maybe I can help, after all, I'm a responsible adult."
"Responsible", right…
Apparently ignoring his request, the child began his next interview. "Mister Simmons, were you ever in the army? Or did you ever take any course on basic survival skills?"
Slightly surprised that his student had gone off on a tangent, he answered as best as he could, "No, but I was in the Boy Scouts when I was your age. Why do you ask?"
Maybe it was because of his blatant insult this morning, but Arnold felt that his teacher deserved a more thorough explanation. "Well…last night, I had a dream, it was about you…and the whole class, actually."
The man sat down. "Really? What were we doing in your special dream?"
"I don't remember all of it, but we were on a class trip, with only one chaperone, oddly enough. And then, every one of us, including you and the chaperone, got captured by a really vicious thief and smuggler. And you…" Arnold sighed, looking at the floor. "You couldn't do anything. There was no hope of escape…none whatsoever…and…and you…" He looked up at him. "You simply lost it. In the cell where we were all being held, you were trying to hold a class. You were ignoring all the kids who were crying and who were begging you to help them…and even the chaperone couldn't do anything…and all you were doing was trying to teach a school lesson. It was spooky…there was this look in your eyes…it…it really looked like you had completely lost your mind."
The teacher looked with intrigue at his student but didn't question the actions of his dream self. Instead, he encouraged him to continue, "And what else happened?"
Arnold almost dismissed the rest, "Eventually we were all rescued, no one was killed or injured, but you…you were just part of those who were rescued…almost…almost as if…" He wasn't sure how to phrase it.
"As if I were just another special student?"
Practically embarrassed, he had to agree. "Kinda, yeah…you…you seriously couldn't do anything to help anyone. You were…you were…"
"A useless f###t?"
The boy flinched as his insult was returned to him, almost like a slap on the face. "Mister…Mister Simmons, I know you're not useless. I mean, you're a great teacher, you have lots of knowledge, you won the Teacher of the Year Award, for crying out loud…!" He rolled his eyes and waved his hands somewhat, making the point.
His teacher gave him his trademark kind smile. "Arnold, you can be perfectly sure that if I was in charge of the special class and we all got into a life-and-death situation, I would do anything I could to help. I've been in very stressful situations before, so I more than anyone would know that I wouldn't break down mentally like that. Now, once the danger has passed, I might go into a nervous breakdown, but certainly not before."
Maybe it was his annoying smile that seemed to contradict his reassurance. "Are…are you sure? I mean, you didn't exactly make a good impression when you were Acting Principal…"
Now the man became nervous again. "Oh…that…well, Arnold, that was unexpected, after all I had little support, I practically had no help from the staff, and running a whole special school doesn't exactly compare with handling just one special class. It was a bit too much for me to handle, and much too soon. But who knows, in a few years I might try for School Principal again—"
"…or during the flood, when the students had to rescue you…"
The adult raised his hands, silencing the boy. "I learned my special lesson then, Arnold. I should have stayed put and waited for professional rescuers to arrive. But I will have you know that after the flood, all the teachers, and Principal Wartz, took a special course on how to handle emergency situations. You can be sure that an incident like that won't happen again, not with me, at least."
Arnold eyed him, unconvinced. Still, he humoured him, "Well, I guess you've proven that my dream was all wrong. After all, you're now a more responsible adult, so in the next life-and-death situation that may come, we all now know that we'll be able to count on you, I guess…" With that, he put away his notebook.
Smiling, thinking that he had put his student's fears at ease, Simmons concluded, "Of course, Arnold! Also, keep in mind that for any special trip like that, I would have at least five chaperones helping me out. If anything wrong were to happen, I certainly wouldn't be alone in doing what we could to help you. I'm not sure why your special dream only had one chaperone; that's not very realistic."
"No, of course it isn't," replied the boy, again humouring his teacher.
"And remember, Arnold, you are very special, so you can count on me for anything, understand?"
Almost monotone, the blonde child finished, "Of course, Mister Simmons. Have a great summer."
The naïve man simply smiled and waved him good-bye. And as Arnold left the classroom one last time until September, halfway down the hall he looked back at the classroom door.
Count on you? Yeah, right.
