A/N: Hey Arnold!—Craig Bartlett

Charlie Brown characters—Charles M. Schulz

Chapter 7: Loose Screws

Gerald sat during lunch, one hand under the table holding Phoebe's, and his knee bouncing up and down in agitation. The pair watched with a sigh as their best friends sat next to each other across the table, arguing.

Arnold was saying something like, "Because the government of Prince Ivan was not a true monarchy, the clerics ran the other half of the town—"

And Helga kept cutting him off, "The clerics were the only literate people in the whole town, melon head, they would have been the only ones able to read the writing, making them the last to be suspected by the court. Doi."

"No, making them the best suspects. They knew what was happening and purposely suppressed it in order to manipulate Ivan and receive the commission for the book of prayers instead of—"

"Well maybe Baba Yaga just ate the stupid book of prayers!"

Gerald had no idea what they were talking about, probably something for their stupid project, and he didn't really care to know. All he knew was that this was a Wednesday, and it was the first time Arnold had been able to eat with them in a week, what with the elections and being super busy as president, and Gerald was getting tired of their bickering. It seemed like every few minutes Arnold would say something off-hand and Helga, for some reason or another, took it as a personal attack, and soon she was picking a fight and Arnold was stubbornly countering. It was beginning to get on everyone's nerves. Teri was sitting on Helga's other side, and every time she gestured angrily, she accidentally bumped him or elbowed him and made him spill his Naked or broccoli or potato chips. Lenny didn't seem too concerned since he just kept sneaking Helga's food off her tray when she wasn't paying attention. Gerald had no idea how Agatha was feeling—he never could get a grasp on her. In fact, at that moment, she was just staring at him. Without blinking.

He leaned toward Phoebe and said quietly, "She's staring at me again..."

Phoebe whispered back, "Say hi."

"Hi." He said.

"Hi," Agatha responded, but didn't look away.

Agatha was a bit of an anomaly to Gerald. Actually, she kind of creeped him out. Teri always talked about the albino like she was a cute little puppy, but Gerald wasn't seeing it. She hardly showed emotion, except to her direct group of friends, and the other half of the time, she just...watched. Maybe Sid was getting to him; Sid, paranoid as ever, thought she was a cyborg with laser vision. Gerald had mentioned to Phoebe that he always found Agatha staring at him, and his girlfriend simply replied, "She likes to watch people—she finds them fascinating," which practically confirmed she was a robot.

After a second, Agatha said, "You're shaking the table."

Gerald stopped bouncing his knee. "Sorry."

Across from them, Arnold and Helga's conversation was reaching its climax when Arnold said, "Well, maybe you're wrong. Ever think of that?"

To which Helga exclaimed, "I'm wrong?" and accidentally bumped Arnold's tray with a stray elbow. The contents got knocked over, spoiling the tray, and the milk spilled across the table and onto Gerald's lap, who jumped up and stepped away.

"Agh! Guys!" He snapped at them. "Will you chill out! Seriously, what's with you two? You're squabbling like my parents over electricity bills!"

Lenny shook his head seriously and said, "And we all know that that only ends in tears," but everyone ignored him. Phoebe gathered the napkins from the trays around the table and soaked up the spilled milk.

Helga said, "Well, hey, there's no use crying over spilled milk, right? Get it? Heh heh..." Arnold just narrowed his eyes at her. "Sheesh, tough crowd."

Arnold picked up the empty carton and slid the ruined tray towards Helga. "Here, throw that out."

"What, me? You've got legs. You do it."

"I would, but I'm so tired from getting up early for my morning detention."

They were nose to nose, glaring, and Helga said with dripping animosity, "I would just love to."

"I knew you would." He patted her cheek sarcastically, and for a minute everyone at the table thought she was going to dump the tray on his head, she looked so livid. But she stood and said with forced calm, "I'll be back."

Gerald rubbed at his damp pants while Helga walked away, shouting at a kid in front of her, "Can't you see I'm walkin' here?" He glanced at Arnold just in time to see a quick smile disappear from his face. No one else noticed the expression, but Gerald said incredulously, "Dude."

Arnold looked at him with surprise. "What?"

"I'm suddenly parched. Come with me to get a soda. Now."

"Uh, ok..."

Gerald led the way across the cafeteria, but instead of stopping in front of the soda machine he grabbed Arnold and pulled him behind it. "Are you crazy?"

"Crazy? What are you talking about?"

"I'm not blind, Arnold, and even if I were, it's not like you're exactly subtle. I mean, you haven't seen her in days, but yesterday when Moze mentioned her at practice you were so distracted that you didn't notice the basketball flying straight at your face. It knocked you right on your butt! Just say it: you like Helga Pataki."

Arnold's cheeks flushed and he looked uncomfortable. "I dunno what you're...I'm not..." He sighed, "All right, I like Helga."

"I knew it!"

"Shut up, not so loud!" He glanced around cautiously, but the students in the cafeteria were just as preoccupied with their meatloaf surprise as they were before.

Gerald continued in a harsh whisper. "You like Helga Pataki!" He stared at him for a second before pulling on a couple strands of Arnold's hair.

"Ow! What are you doing?"

"Looking for loose screws."

Arnold pushed him away. "I'm not crazy! I just...like her. I thought you said she was cool, anyway."

"Well, yeah, I mean, she's pretty chill now. But to say you like like her? That's a totally different story, man. It's her favorite pastime to bug the crap out of you. And I don't think 'Helga Pataki' and 'girlfriend material' have ever been in the same sentence before unless there was a big fat 'not' in the middle."

"Why? What makes her so different from other girls?"

"I dunno, she's just...Helga. What happened when you were locked in the basement with her last week? You hit your head and she's the first one you saw when you woke up?"

Arnold glared at him. "No, I did not hit my head."

He shook his head. "Ok, wait, are you sure you're not just thinking you like her, now that she's here again and seems kinda different? Or 'cause she's a challenge or somethin'?"

"Challenge?"

"You know, the chase, the rush, the excitement of going after a girl who's playing hard to get. Or, in this case, impossible to get."

Arnold thought about it for a second. "No...and yes."

"No and yes? How's it both?"

"Well, no, because with her, the chase isn't fun. I like being with Helga when she's just being Helga, and not when she's trying so hard to be someone else. I hate it when she's mean and pushy for no reason. So I guess that also makes it yes, because half the time she's acting out because of some stupid reason or another, but it's not actually her, and I guess that's kind of the challenge—I want to be able to get past all her stubbornness and be with her as her."

"Be with Helga as Helga. Ok." Gerald seemed dubious, but decided to roll with it. "But let me just point out that Helga's the complete opposite of every other girl you've ever liked. In case you've forgotten, you like girls who are nice, smart, pretty, feminine, and friendly. Helga's not your type at all."

Arnold looked over at the table they had been sitting at. Helga had taken her place again, and was now talking back and forth with Phoebe. "Maybe she is my type. I mean she's hot-headed and rash and rude and stubborn and she drives me crazy, sure, but there's more to her. She's smart, everyone knows that, and she can be friendly. When she wants to. At least when she is friendly, you know she's completely sincere, there's nothing fake about it. And she can be nice. Just today when we were in the lunch line, they ran out of tapioca pudding and the girl in front of us was super upset about it for some reason, so Helga gave her the one she had."

"Yeah, I was there. Helga said she didn't like tapioca, so what?"

"She lied! Tapioca's her favorite, Gerald, she eats it everyday."

"So...pudding is a big deal?"

"Yes! Helga has this need to keep up this tough-guy act all the time, but underneath it she's actually pretty caring. She doesn't admit it, and she doesn't like it being pointed out because it embarrasses her, and she hates being embarrassed more than anything. But it's there. And whenever she does something nice I think it's a thousand times cooler than when someone who's always nice does something, because it's hard for her and she actually has to work at it. I think that just makes me like her more."

Gerald looked down at his friend. He didn't understand the attraction at all, since he himself wasn't attracted to Helga in the slightest. He thought she could be cool sometimes, and she was best friends with Phoebe, but he didn't really think of her as a girl. Arnold apparently did, though, and he didn't sound crazy, either. Gerald leaned against the wall and looked back at the table. Currently Lenny and Teri were having a milk chugging contest. Halfway through, some milk must have gone down the wrong pipe, because suddenly Lenny was spewing milk and pounding on his chest. Helga cackled loudly, slapping her knee heartily, and Teri and Phoebe laughed along. Agatha finally caught on that it was funny and started giggling. "You really like her, huh, Arnold?"

Arnold watched the table as well. He took his baseball cap off his head and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh before replacing it and leaning next to Gerald. He smiled a little. "...I might actually have a few loose screws. But yeah."

Gerald shrugged, smiling. "All right, man. Then I got your back."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." They fist bumped, wagging their thumbs. "What can I do to help get you two crazy kids get together?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Together?"

"Yeah, you know. Boyfriend, girlfriend. That's what happens when you like someone, dude."

"I know that. I do like her, but dating her is easier said than done. We get along ok sometimes, and if she could stop fighting with me for five minutes, maybe. I don't know why she feels she has to pick a fight with me all the time—she doesn't hate me anymore, but maybe she just doesn't think of me like that. Or maybe she likes someone else."

"What poor soul could she like?"

Arnold shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe she does like Moze."

"Moze?"

"She said yes when he asked her out, didn't he? She wouldn't have done that unless she liked him at least a little bit. Maybe that's what's been bugging her."

Gerald spent a lot of time with the Senior, and he was pretty certain that Moze didn't think of Helga like that, but even though Arnold didn't say so outright, Gerald could tell it was something that actually bothered him. "Moze, hmm. You want me to take him down? 'Cause I will."

Arnold chuckled. "You? Take down Moze?"

"Are you doubting my skill? I think I've played enough Street Fighter by now." He rubbed his knuckles on his shirt. "I could take him."

"You hold the record at the arcade for Street Fighter, but it's not even close to real fighting. You've never even been in a fight."

"I took that crash course you taught last summer."

"That was a self defense class for fifth graders. Timberly took you down, remember?"

"Hey, hey! I let her win. Besides, I have learned much since then, Arnold Sensei."

"Have you?" Arnold pushed from the wall and placed his hands together in front of him. He said solemnly, "Well, then, grasshopper, if you can remove the hat from my head then I shall deem you ready."

"That it? Piece of cake, Miyagi." He lunged, but Arnold sidestepped, sticking his foot out to trip him. Gerald regained his balance and turned, "Ha! Can't throw me that easy!...Arnold?" Arnold wasn't by the coke machine anymore. Gerald looked around to see Arnold already halfway back to their table. "What the? How'd you get over there?" He followed, calling, "Hey, no fair, you can't use your Grandma's secret ninja moves! That's totally cheating!" Arnold shot him a quick smirk over his shoulder before reaching the table and taking his seat next to Helga, who raised an eyebrow and asked him where the heck he'd been? Had the two idiots gotten lost on their way to the vending machine?

All right, me. Here's the 411: You're in love with a boy named Arnold. Arnold is a great guy who's actually pretty nice to you. It makes you really happy when you think about him, and see him and junk like that.

Problem: You're in love with a boy named Arnold. Arnold is a great guy who's actually pretty nice to everyone. It ticks you off when you think about him, and see him and junk like that because 1) feelings suck and 2) feelings REALLY suck when they're for someone who doesn't like you like that. You thought you'd grown out of those feelings, but, low and behold, you were dead wrong. Those feelings just wanted to let you think you'd escaped so that they could drag you back and laugh at you when you look stupid.

Like now. She felt really stupid, standing across the street from Sunset Arms, staring at it like it was filled with the plague—so horrifying you didn't want to approach, and yet you couldn't tear your gaze away. She'd been walking "nonchalantly" back and forth for over an hour, and she really hoped no one inside the house had looked out a window and seen her. Once, a small man in glasses and a bowtie approached the door, presumably a boarder there, and she dove behind a car parked on the street until he was safely inside. Now she glanced at her phone, which told her it was almost five. Arnold would be home from basketball practice soon, and then she'd have to actually go ring the doorbell.

That's right. She had been invited to Sunset Arms for an evening visit. Actually it wasn't a visit, Arnold had just told her to come over so they could finish up the Baba Yaga project and work on the posters for the dance that Rhonda had been bugging them about for the last few days. He was taking time out of his busy schedule to help her with a project for a class he wasn't even in anymore, so she figured she couldn't say no. Besides, she couldn't help herself: this was the first and last time she'd probably be invited to his house, so, by golly, she was taking the opportunity.

Today at lunch was the first time in days that she'd seen him. Well, that wasn't entirely true; she'd once seen the top of his hair above the heads of a crowd he was surrounded by, fifty feet away. According to Gerald, Arnold was constantly being approached by Sophomores with some problem or another, looking for the advice and help of the president. He barely had a moment's peace. He'd only been able to get away at lunch because Lila had told him she'd handle the job for the day and he should try to take a break. Helga had been so excited to see him at lunch and have him away from Lila that she had wasted no time in picking a fight.

She sighed. Over the past few weeks she'd been struggling to be a good polite acquaintance, but it seemed that as soon as she realized she still loved him, it was impossible to control herself. It was all her fault, too—he wasn't acting any different, but it was like now that she was aware of how close her emotions always were to the surface, she was tense and defensive, trying not to give anyone else any idea of what was happening. Except Phoebe. There was no fooling Phoebe. Helga refused to talk about it, but Phoebe just kept giving her these sly looks whenever Arnold was mentioned. It kind of ticked her off. Which just made her emotions more strained. "Why?" She asked herself. "Why can I not escape the juvenile trap of letting my emotions run amok? Why must I protect myself from feelings by lashing out against what I love?"

It was a dilemma, really. But this is the perfect chance for me to show that I'm not a brainless beast of rampaging hormones and aggression. I can go in there, and be civil. I'll be cool. They won't even know that I like him, so I can just be chill. You know what, I'm just gonna go over there now. I was invited, after all. I'm a special guest.

She stepped off the curb, glanced down the street for cars, and crossed to Sunset Arms. The boarding house looked exactly the same as she remembered it. It stood still in time, with the same chipped green paint on the door and "Rooms for Rent" sign on the wall. The only visible difference were the curtains in the front windows that had been replaced and were drawn closed, blocking the lowering sun's harsh rays. Helga looked up at the old building that had been the center of her childhood universe. Now that she was only a couple feet away, her courage slackened. Maybe she wouldn't go in just yet. It was weird for her to be there before Arnold, right? His grandparents would think it was strange for some girl to hang around before their grandson was even home, right? She stepped away from the steps up to the front door and over to the alley on the side. She leaned against the wall near the garbage cans and kicked a stray tin can. A rustling by the garbage bag next to her made her look down, and a little pink pig emerged from behind it, munching on an old banana peel.

"Hey, pig," Helga said and crouched down, her elbows on her knees. "You still kickin' around, huh?" Abner snorted and came closer, sniffing her shoe. She wasn't a huge fan of pigs in general, and had never really cared for Abner, but she felt happy to see him. She let him sniff her hand, noticing little gray hairs on his back that showed old age. "You waiting for Arnold? Me, too." She scratched his ear and he snorted happily. "Look at me—hangin' around dark alleys and garbage cans talking to a pig, waitin' for Arnold to come home. Story of my life. I really hope it's not a sign of how my future will be. What do you think, Abner?"

He just rolled on his back and let her pat his stomach.

"So, Helga. You come here often?"

Helga stood so fast she knocked over the closest garbage can, spilling all its guts. Arnold leaned his elbows on another garbage can near her and smiled at her pleasantly.

"What is wrong with you? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Sorry." He didn't look very sorry. He leaned down to rub Abner's head when the pig excitedly put his front hooves on Arnold's leg. "What are you doing back here?" He asked Helga.

"I...was...throwing something...away." I was not hiding behind the garbage because I've been creepishly waiting for you for a long time but I was too chicken to go inside your house because I'm not sure I could handle just acting like I don't like you in any sort of extra way other than just polite acquaintance-hood and was afraid I might completely spaz out. "What took you so long, football head? I've been waiting for ages."

"Beezus had us practicing overtime 'cause of the Junior Varsity game coming up. It's our big match against Darville High." He straightened and adjusted his backpack, leading Helga and Abner out of the alley and to the front steps.

"Oh, yeah, Lenny mentioned it. That's where the rest of the Eagles went. Guess they'll be coming up with the Lions from Darville, then."

"It's our last game to qualify for the playoffs, and Beezus has us working night and day." He opened the door, putting an arm out to hold Helga back as a small stampede of animals burst forth. Abner squealed and joined them as they ran down the street. Helga looked after them, but Arnold entered the house unconcerned. "I'm home!"

Helga entered the brightly lit home that felt cozy against the October chill. Oh my gosh, I'm inside Arnold's house. I'm in his house, and I didn't even have to sneak in! She glanced around, thinking not much had changed, except for some photos on the wall that had been updated. Ahead of them in the hall was a short woman, five feet tall at the most, with broad shoulders, short brown hair, and wide set eyes. She leaned against the wall next to the old rotary telephone that sat on a table by the stairs, chewing on a toothpick.

"Hey, Holly," Arnold said, shutting the door behind Helga.

"Hey, kid," Holly replied. "Someone called for you."

"Oh, yeah? Did they leave a message?"

"Sure did."

"What is it?"

Holly held out her hand expectantly. Arnold sighed and rummaged in his pocket. He handed Holly a dollar bill which she put in her bra. "It was someone selling customized stationary. Said they could get you fifty percent off if you ordered before Friday."

Arnold rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Holly."

From the kitchen, Arnold's grandpa called, "Arnold! Is that you?"

"Yes, Grandpa."

"Come give me a hand a minute!"

Helga followed Arnold to the kitchen. As she passed Holly, they looked each other up and down. Holly was in cargo pants and combat boots and Helga's jeans were torn and her expression was stern. After a second they nodded, each clearly expressing the thought "this woman is my kind of woman".

"Who's that, Arnold?" Helga asked quietly before entering the kitchen.

"That's Holly Potts, Ernie's wife. You remember Ernie?"

"The angry midget?"

"Yeah. She manages a construction company from your side of town—they used to compete for work, but they fell in love instead."

"Well, whadaya know. Some freaks do find love." It was a comforting thought, really.

The kitchen was bright and warm but it smelled awful. Helga covered her nose with a sleeve and Arnold crinkled his. "Ugh, what's that smell, Grandpa?"

Phil was standing at the table, rummaging through the toolbox. He looked just as good at age eighty eight as he had at eighty one, which, admittedly, wasn't that great, with his stubbly chin and missing teeth, but he was still muscley and full of energy and Helga felt nostalgia sweeping over her at the sight of him.

Phil said angrily, "That would be the smell of the garbage disposal backing up. This old house is falling apart at the seams! Someday I'm going to burn it down, say Oskar did it, and collect the fire insurance." He pulled a screwdriver and a snake from the toolbox, and turned, stubbing his toe on a small wooden stand. "Oh, Pookie, get this thing out of here! It's just in the way!"

Gertrude sat behind the little stand, in a blue baby doll dress and a black wig. A big wooden sign above her said "Psychiatric help, 5 cents" and the front of the booth read "The doctor is IN". "Now, Shroder," Gertrude said to her husband, "No need to be so tense!" She turned to her grandson. "About time you got home, Charlie Brown. How about a nickel?"

"Don't mind her, Shortman," Phil said from the sink, "She saw the Charlie Brown Halloween special on TV today. Been talking about the Great Pumpkin all afternoon."

"Well, then, let's have it!" Gertrude demanded. "Just one shiny nickel!"

Arnold again dug around in his pocket. He dropped a nickel in the can beside his grandmother. She picked it up and shook it. "Oh, boy, just listen to that ring! Listen to that chime! What a beautiful sound! One whole nickel!" She put the can down. "All right, Charlie Brown, here's my advice: 'You can't drift along forever—you have to direct your thinking. For instance you have to decide whether you're going to be a liberal or a conservative. You have to take some sort of stand. You have to associate with some sort of cause.'*"

He looked at Helga and she shrugged. He said, "Right. Thanks, Grandma. I'll keep that in mind."

"Pookie, leave him alone, I need his help with this! Arnold, grab a wrench and head to the basement and start banging some pipes to see if..." Phil trailed off when he turned. "Oh, you brought a friend."

"Grandpa, you remember Helga Pataki. She used to live over where the Berreda's live now."

"Uh, hi." Helga said, aware that she was now being properly introduced to Arnold's family. "Nice to meet you, uh, again."

"Pataki? Hmm," Phil narrowed his eyes at her and rubbed his chin. "Wait a minute..." He walked over and held the screwdriver in his hand up to her, horizontal across her brow line. "Ha! I remember!"

"Grandpa!" Arnold quickly waved the screwdriver away. "Leave her alone. She's here so we can work on a project for school."

"Riiiight," Phil winked at him, "A 'project'."

"Grandpa!" Arnold's cheeks were pink and Helga didn't know what to do, laugh or run away.

"Ee hee, don't be so bashful," Phil elbowed Arnold. "It's been a while since you brought a girl home."

"It's not like that!"

She felt a little pang. Yeah, it's not like that. It won't ever be like that.

Phil put a hand on his hip. "Oh, pish posh, why not? You like girls, don't you? Sheesh, I'm starting to wonder about you."

"You and me both, Gramps," Helga said brusquely, spurred on by the little pang of rejection, "Look at how he color coordinates his shirts with his shoes. I'm starting to wonder, too, honestly."

Arnold looked down at his outfit—a blue t-shirt with a long sleeved red shirt over it. His converse had the same color scheme. "I just happen to like these colors, get over it. All my clothes are these colors."

"Yeesh, I know. You're a What Not to Wear nightmare." She didn't mention that she thought it looked good on him. "Maybe that's why he doesn't bring girls home—he doesn't know any who are colorblind."

"Real mature, Helga."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Phil cackled and slapped Helga on the shoulder, almost knocking her over. "Hee hee, I like this one! You should invite her over more often!"

"Yeah, I bet you two'd get a real kick out of each other." Arnold replied dryly and grabbed a wrench from the toolbox. "I'll go find that pipe. I'll be back in a minute. Grandpa, try not to embarrass me while I'm gone."

"Who, me? Embarrass you? I would never!"

Arnold pointed two fingers at his own eyes and then at his grandpa.

When he turned, Phil leaned towards Helga and whispered loudly. "He's such a stick in the mud, isn't he?"

"I'll say. Maybe he'll get lost in the basement and we won't have to deal with him for a while."

"Only if we're lucky."

Arnold rolled his eyes and headed to the basement door.

Phil continued, "Look at him, so grown up and doing the plumbing. It seems like just yesterday he was escaping from the bath and running out the door, naked as a newborn! He scared Mrs. Vitello so bad, she dropped on the sidewalk, and we all thought he'd killed her. In fact, I think that was just yesterday..."

"Grandpa!" Arnold shouted from halfway down the stairs.

Phil chuckled, "Oh, what are grandsons for if not their grandparents' amusement, eh?" He winked at Helga who smiled at him before he headed to the sink again. Helga turned to Gertrude, who was watching her with a vacant smile.

"Have any nickels,there, Peppermint Patty?"

Helga searched her pockets and dropped a coin in the can. While Gertrude picked it up and shook it by her ear, Phil said, "Peppermint Patty? Don't you think Helga should be Lucy? Lucy's always calling Charlie Brown names and being mean to him. Helga used to pull all those pranks on Arnold and teased him all the time, until he was hopping mad, heh heh! No one could make him mad like she could. She's a natural."

Gertrude shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous, Shroder. This is Peppermint Patty."

"Who's Peppermint Patty?" Helga said, trying to remember the old cartoon.

"Kind of a rude, tomboyish girl with that really smart friend with glasses," Phil said, banging on the sink, "Played softball, called Charlie Brown 'Chuck' all the time, beat up the boys..."

"Sounds boss."

"If I remember right, she had a big crush on Charlie, too."

Helga looked at Gertrude. Gertrude just smiled back at her. Oh my gosh, she knows. How does she know? Is it written all over my face?

Gertrude said, "So what's your problem, Patty? Moral issues? Politics? Looove?"

She does, she knows! Run! "Uh, you know, I think I'll wait for Arnold in the living room."

In the living room, Ernie was sitting on the couch with Mr. Hyunh while commercials drolled by on the TV. Ernie's hairline was receding, and Mr. Hyunh's hair was more gray than black, but they both laughed at the dancing bear advertising break fluid.

"Wow, get a load of this guy! What a lame brain, huh, Hyunh?" Ernie shook his head.

"He is just so stupid. I can not watch!" Mr. Hyunh replied in his halting English.

Helga sat in the chair to the side of them and watched the poor idiot of a bear trip over his overlarge paws. "Heh, idiot."

"Hey!" Oskar said from the living room entrance. Strapped around him was a baby carrier, and inside a baby with big ears drooled, his feet dangling. In Oskar's hand was a leash strapped to a little girl with curly blond hair. "Somebody is sitting in my chair!" Oskar whined in his thick accent, glaring at Helga.

"Uh, sorry," She stood and he sat down with a huff.

"Lay off, Kokoshka," Ernie said, flipping the channel. "It's not your chair, anyway, and Grandpa hates it when you say that."

"You can sit by me," Mr. Hyunh said to Helga, "I promise. I do not bite."

She slouched onto the couch. She didn't feel uncomfortable at all around these men. It had been years since she'd seen this group of lovable weirdos and knowing that boarders frequently came and went from this building, she was glad that they all still lived here. She'd rarely spoken to them as a kid, but they were part of Arnold's family, and, therefore, she had fond memories of them. Many times she had looked through the windows, when she was having a bad day with her own screwed up family, and wished that she could be a part of them. She had fantasized about it so many times that sitting there now seemed almost natural, and she pretended that it was because she'd done it a hundred times and would do it a hundred more.

"You got stuck watching the brats again, huh, Kokoshka?" Ernie said, holding the remote out of the little girl's reach.

"Suzy is at work," Oskar said. "Besides, that stupid babysitter did not know what she was doing. My little Iva only eats chopped carrots, not sliced."

"What's the difference? A carrot's a carrot."

"Shows what you know. This is why I am a father and you are not." Oskar said haughtily, while the baby blew snot bubbles and Iva chewed on the leash holding her back.

"Hello," Hyunh greeted Helga, "You are a friend of Arnold's, yes? I am Mr. Hyunh, it is nice to meet you."

She wasn't surprised no one remembered her. "Yeah, same."

"You know, my daughter, Mai, is a few years older than you. Recently she had a baby with her husband. Would you like to see?" Helga shrugged, so he pulled out his wallet and opened it. A long train of pictures folded out.

Ernie groaned, "Oh, no, Hyunh, don't even start. You'll bore the girl to death."

"No one wants to hear about your smelly grandbaby," Oskar said.

Hyunh looked indignant. "He is no smelly! Your baby is smelly!"

Oskar sniffed the baby strapped to him. "I know, but I don't change the stinky ones. That is Suzy's job."

"So you're just going to leave him filthy?" Ernie said, reluctantly playing a tug of war with Iva over the remote. "Some dad you are!"

Helga didn't know what the big deal was; her dad carried around a train of pictures three times as long, of Olga's baby, Danny Jr. She was going to listen to Mr. Hyunh's story, anyway, but just then Iva changed the channel and she got distracted. "Hold on, stay there! Is that the Cain Slasher and Juan Diego grudge match?"

"What?" Ernie demanded, "I thought that wasn't until next week!"

"Obviously not, 'cause there it is!" The wrestlers flexed in the arena as they readied for battle, cameras flashing around them while heavy metal music played.

"Man, I can't believe it!" Ernie was so excited he was standing on the couch. "Lucky we caught it. This is the biggest match of the season! Cain'll slaughter this guy!"

Helga scoffed at the short man. "Oh, please, Juan Diego's the best rookie of the decade, and grandpa Cain's no match for him. He'll snap Cain like a twig."

"Girly, you don't know what you're talking about. Cain has been champion of the Hans Grizzly belt three years in a row and that stuttering Hispanic guy isn't going to get in his way of a title. He'll break him, girly, just you wait and see."

"Ha! You're delusional, old man. There's no way!"

Oskar moaned, "I hate these shows. There is nothing good about sweaty men in little underwears."

Helga crossed her arms at Ernie, "I bet you ten bucks Juan takes him down before the third round."

Oskar immediately perked up. "I'll raise you another ten!"

Twenty minutes later Helga climbed the stairs to Arnold's room, fanning herself with the cash she had collected from the men downstairs. Arnold had wandered into the living room, covered in pipe grease, just as Juan Diego was crushing Cain Slasher, and the residents of Sunset Arms were shaking their heads and shouting at the TV and Helga was pumping her fist in the air and gloating in their faces. Ernie told Arnold that they liked his girlfriend well enough but to take her away before she took the rest of their cash. Arnold told her to go ahead up to his room, so he could wash off some of the muck in the bathroom.

She stood at the top of the stairs to his room and just for a second contemplated the surreality of being there. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

The setting sun's light filtered in from the glass ceiling, casting pleasant shadows around the room. Like the rest of the house, the room had changed little, only reflecting the growing age of the boy who lived there. The computer on his desk was newer, the stereo had surround sound speakers, and the U.S.S. Enterprise and Millennium Falcon had been added to the model airplanes hanging from the ceiling. A couple band posters were on the wall, and more than one dirty shirt was draped over the astronomer's telescope standing in the corner. The carpet was the same hideous carpet, and the bed looked exactly as she had remembered it.

Helga took a deep breath. The whole room smelt like him.

She meandered over to the bookshelf with the stereo and glanced at the old records and newer CDs carefully organized by a system she didn't understand. They were all free of dust, showing the value of them to their owner. Tacked to the side of the bookshelf were a few pictures of Arnold's summer baseball team, the basketball team, the Sunset Arms boarders, and a faded one of Gerald and him dressed as fruits. She recognized the costumes and chuckled at the memory.

She poked around his desk for a bit, flipping through half-done homework assignments with sketches of buildings, chairs, and windows in their margins; riffled through some drawers of this-and-thats; and then turned to the shelves that covered the wall behind Arnold's bed. Various objects filled the shelves, from books, to third grade science projects, to a small pile of home run baseballs and old mitts. She came closer and leaned over the bed, to better see some of the random knick knacks, and an old brown journal with a picture sitting on top of it caught her eye. A blond man with a broken arm and a pretty brunette woman smiled up at her from a tropical background. She picked up the picture of Arnold's parents, carefully and with wonder. It was easy to pick out all the facial features the parents shared with the child, and after a minute she delicately propped the picture against the journal so it could be seen easier. She glanced up at the rest of the bookshelf and did a double take.

In a high corner, tucked between some Agatha Caulfield children's books, was a small, bright pink book. No way. She immediately kicked her shoes off, stood on the bed, and climbed up the shelves, reaching for it. Just when she was about to pull it down, though, something else in front of her distracted her. A small red shoe, covered in dust and nearly hidden by the stack of books leaning on it. Helga cautiously moved the books aside, thinking that it couldn't be what she that it was, but sure enough, there sat a strappy red high heel, children's size 8.

Arnold finished his business in the bathroom, having scrubbed his hands and shed the red over shirt that had been stained. He took the steps to his room two at a time and walked in, surprised when he saw Helga five feet off the ground, standing on the shelves behind his bed. She didn't turn around when he came in so he shut the door and came over, hopping on the bed. "What are you looking at?"

Helga jumped, shocked, and almost fell off the shelves completely. "What, what—stop sneaking up on me!" She said angrily, dropping back onto the bed.

"Sorry," It was just so easy to do. Sometimes she could get so focused on whatever she was doing that she pretty much didn't pay any attention to what was going on around her. Besides, it was kind of fun. "What are you doing?"

"I was, uh, just looking," She replied, flustered.

He glanced down at what she was holding. "Hey, you found that old shoe."

"Uh-huh." She held it out. "I don't suppose it's yours, twinkle toes?"

He took it and wiped some of the dust off it. "It belonged to a girl I met once, a long time ago."

Helga tried to play it cool, saying off-handedly, "Oh, yeah? She must have been pretty important if you kept her shoe around all this time."

He shrugged. "I only knew her for a day. But she was really sweet and I liked her a lot. I didn't even know her name. Sometimes I hoped I'd see her again, but I never did."

He handed the shoe back to Helga and she looked down at it. She had thrown the other one out a long time ago, assuming she'd lost this one somewhere in the street that night years ago. But Arnold had taken it. And he'd kept it. Because he'd liked her, thought she was sweet. And he'd thought he'd never see "Cecile" again. "You idiot..." She said lightly.

Arnold blinked at her. The "idiot" didn't phase him in the slightest, but what caught his attention was her face. Just for a second, as she'd said that to him, all her pretenses had melted, and all that was left was a tender, sad smile. For just a moment he'd seen Helga as he'd never seen her, and standing this close and comfortable he felt special—she'd dropped her wall for him. She'd let him in, for a split second. Then it was gone, and she was putting the shoe back on its shelf, but the moment left a small wake in him. Maybe this relationship wasn't as hopeless as he'd thought earlier. Helga sauntered off the bed and scooped up the remote that operated the couch in the wall. He watched her flop down on it before following, forgetting the distant memory of a girl from long ago and turning all his attention to the woman in front of him.

Helga said, "Well, then, Chuck, let's get this stuff over with."

They pulled out poster board and markers and went around on their hands and knees, drawing up haunted houses and swing dancing vampires. After a half hour they were reasonably proud of the posters and put them to the side, hoping Rhonda would think they were acceptable. Then they pulled out some books with ghosts and demons and Baba Yaga eating small children, and tried to scrape up enough information of the old legend to actually work with. An hour and ten minutes into this, their brains were starting to fry. Arnold sat in his desk chair, spinning in circles and staring at the ceiling, and Helga lay on the floor, her feet propped up on the couch, a book laying open on her face.

Phil came in to check on them then with a tray of sandwiches and milk. He said they ought to be grateful since he'd successfully made up an excuse to his wife and saved them from having to eat the "Great Pumpkin" and cabbage-beef pie the rest of the house was eating.

The food helped give them some energy and they moved along, glad to be hardly fighting at all, and sitting on the floor surrounded by papers and books. The light from the glass ceiling had long since disappeared and after a while Arnold began to suppress some yawns.

"Sleepy?" Helga asked, knowing he must be exhausted from waking up early for detention, running back and forth during school as president, helping organize a dance, extra long basketball practices, and on top of all that keeping up with his school work and hers.

"I'm ok. Just worn out from basketball."

"Well, that is one thing I don't miss about it," She said, looking at a picture of Baba Yaga sacrificing virgins. "Having my life completely sucked away by the basketball gods. Then of course I'd come home and my dad would drag me down to the court and make me practice for another couple hours."

"Nice of him to support you so much, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. We do get along better when we talk about sports, but my dad sometimes forgets I'm a girl. The other day he told me I'd better start getting in shape so I could try out for the boys' baseball team in the spring. I think he thinks I'm the son he never had. My mom's not much better—she finally realized I'm nothing like my sister, but I don't think she knows what to do with me. Whatever. It's not like I really know what to do with her." She looked at him from her place on the floor. "Don't get me wrong, football head, just 'cause my family's not perfect like yours doesn't mean we're not fine."

"Perfect? My family is not perfect. At least at school PTA potlucks your mom doesn't dress like Queen Ka'iluani in a hula skirt and roasts a pig in the gym, like my grandma. Or get in a fight with your seventh grade math teacher and challenge them to a school-wide arm wrestling tournament, like my grandpa, and the deal is if he loses I have drop out of school."

"Ha ha, boss. At least he must have won."

Arnold flopped down on the floor, the top of his head touching hers. "They're almost ninety years old, but sometimes I feel like the only adult in the house. I'm used to it, I guess, and I love them just the way they are and wouldn't want them to change, but sometimes I'd like to not have to worry."

"I know the feeling. I've been babysitting my parents for years. They're just lucky I turned out so dang awesome, since they really had nothing to do with it. Guess it's a good thing, since you can't survive in this screwed up world unless you learn to rely only on yourself."

Arnold had known that Helga had had this point of view for many years. He loved that she was so independent, but it made him sad, too, that she felt she had no one to lean on. His grandparents were weird, sure, but they were always there for him, and he thought it was important for people to be together. "Well, that's what friends are for. You can rely on them."

"Hmph. I don't know. Lenny's too dumb to help anyone and Teri's advice usually consists of 'Worry about it later; have a cupcake now.' Agatha's a foster child who doesn't understand how to function in the real world. I can't rely on them, they're all too busy relying on me."

In Arnold's head, this was good. She said she was alone and independent, and yet, she protected those around her. "What about Phoebe? You can always rely on Phoebe."

"True, she's always willing. But Phoebe's going places with her life. She doesn't need my baggage holding her back." Helga didn't mean to be unloading on him. She picked up a book again and said, "Whatever. It's not that big of a deal. Guess it's just life," and hoped that would change the subject.

"Helga."

"Huh."

"If you're ever having a hard time, I want you to come here."

She paused. "...Why?"

"It's a good place to be. And I know everyone downstairs liked you. You don't have to be alone." You can rely on me.

She propped herself up on her elbow and turned to look at him, mildly surprised when she found him lying on the floor, his face upside-down just underneath hers. He looked up at her steadily, and her heart rate spiked at his green-eyed gaze and warm breath on her face. Back up! Her brain was screaming, This is a recipe for disaster! He'll think you're a total freak! He's probably so creeped out right now! But her body wasn't listening. She was tempted, so tempted, to just lean forward and kiss him. It had been a long time since she'd kissed those lips, and she wondered if they tasted as good at sixteen as they had at nine.

Arnold had been just as surprised as she was to find their faces so close. Then he was further surprised to see her cheeks turn a dark red. She was blushing. It wasn't an angry or embarrassed blush like he was used to seeing, either. And she wasn't pulling away in repulsion at all. Fascinating. Maybe she didn't like Moze as much as he thought she might. Maybe Arnold wasn't the only one with a few loose screws. A strand of her hair fell down and brushed his cheek softly, and he was so distracted by how close her face was getting that he almost didn't hear the footsteps climbing the stairs to his door.

He pulled away and sat up and two seconds later his grandfather opened the door.

"Hey, Shortman! You two getting anything done up here?"

Arnold cleared his throat and hoped his own face wasn't too red, not daring to look back at Helga. "Yeah, we're almost done." Total lie. At the moment, he actually couldn't remember what they were supposed to be working on at all.

Phil scratched his head. "Well, that's too bad, I was thinking I could help some. I'm sure you two are far more interesting than listening to that rugrat Iva repeat the story of Winnie the Pooh for the third time. Some kids are just dull as a tack."

"Uh-huh," Arnold replied absently, "Tacks."

Behind him, Helga was facing the wall, her face crimson. She couldn't believe what she'd almost done. She'd almost kissed him! But he'd pulled away. Of course. Glancing up at the little red shoe, she snorted. He might've kissed Cecile. But Helga was just Helga.

She quietly and quickly stacked some of the books around them and tucked them under an arm before standing. "It's late, I'd better be going now." She stepped toward the door, not making eye contact with grandfather or grandson.

"Oh, ok," Arnold stood and followed as she hurried down the stairs and through the hall. Phil followed, saying, "Did I miss something?"

"How are you getting home?" Arnold asked, trying to keep up.

"Bus."

"You shouldn't take the bus, it's late. I'll drive you."

"No, thanks, the bus is fine."

"Grandpa, can I borrow the Packard?"

"Sure, Arnold," Phil answered.

"The Packard, are you kidding? That old thing's still around?" Helga said. "That hunk of junk will fall apart around us. I'd rather take my chances with the bus."

"Hey," Phil said, "That Packard is in prime condition, I'll have you know! A little bit of sweat and love can keep anything together."

"Well, I just spent the last two and a half hours cooped up with you, geek-bait, and I'm ready to be rid of you, so I'm good."

Arnold merely smiled at her harsh attitude, knowing she was just embarrassed. They reached the bottom of the stairs and Helga made for the front door, but Arnold caught her and steered her to the back door. "The Packard's this way."

"I don't care where the stupid Packard is!"

Phil took the keys from his pocket and tossed them to Arnold as they left through the back door. He led a reluctant Helga around to the garage, eventually got her into the car, and pulled out onto the dark streets of Hillwood. The East Side was really more south than east, across the suspension bridge that spanned the river. It was a newer development, having been built and expanded only over the last couple decades. They even insisted on having their own sign that said "Welcome to East Hillwood". The drive from Arnold's to Helga's was a little over twenty minutes, and was mostly done in a mildly tense silence, broken only when Helga gave directions or made fun of his grandma-like driving. Finally, after some serious teasing, he sped up, and Helga said sarcastically, "Wow, three miles over the speed limit. What a rebel."

Helga's apartment building, like many on the East Side, wasn't the usual downtown apartment building. Each floor was a suite, and the homes within were larger than many suburban houses. A doorman stood sentry just inside, and lights glowed down on the green car as it pulled up alongside the curb and stalled.

"Thanks," Helga said, stepping out of the car.

"Sure." He replied. Just before she slammed the door, he called, "Hey, Helga." She looked at him. "What I said earlier, about coming over—I meant it." I'll be there if you need me.

"I know you did." She knew he would shelter anyone who needed it; he was just that kind of person. But it was still nice to know. If I have to be stuck in unrequited love, she though, at least it's with a good man like you, Chuck. She shut the car door and turned to her building, but it felt less like home than the run down boarding house that she hadn't been to in years had.

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, yep. Review if you liked! :D

*Direct quote from Lucy, Charles M. Schulz's character