Hey Arnold: Life Changes
Fanfiction Summery: Arnold is in college now in Wendale, Texas. During his senior semester he reunites with Helga who is different from what he remembered. But everyone changes since high school. This is the transitional stage where people figure out who they are. They establish a career, find the one, get married, and start a family. Arnold is trying to figure all of that out.
Rating: T for not but it will change to M for later chapters due to adult content.
Author's Note: I know. It's been like 3 months since the last chapter. School started back which took away my writing time. Also I was planning out the upcoming chapters.
So this chapter is longer than my other ones. It's because we're close to the end…of the year in this fanfiction universe. I wanted to write a chapter that introduced the reader to more of the characters personal lives and their careers without making their own individual chapters. I had this idea that Gerald would have to make a documentary about his friends and therefore the reader would learn about everyone's careers and Gerald's. I wished I thought of this subplot sooner so it could have been in chapter three or whatnot but I'm glad I finally got to write this subplot. It opens doors for other chapters.
I am not a poet. I tried my best to write poems for Helga but I'm not a poet or musical at all . I listened to Willow Smith's music like 5, 8, and Sugar and Spice to write Helga's poems. I guess I just wrote to the music.
I used Rosi Sexton vs. Gina Carano video on youtube to write Patty's match because I don't know anything about MMA fighting.
I forgot to mention in the last chapter the references to Selena. The interview is here:
watch?v=VgWBKflgnyo
and the outfit and concert is here:
watch?v=wqdTG0TQGEI
Chapter 11: Poetic Justice
Chapter Summery: Arnold finally asks Helga why she ran away. The situation inspires her to write a poem for the school's poetry competition. Even though Arnold wants Helga to be honest with him he is not too comfortable with what she has to say. Meanwhile, Gerald films a documentary about his Hillwood friends.
Poetic Justice
Wendale, Texas, 1994
Early to Mid December-
Helga stood in front of the podium. All eyes were on her. She cleared her throat.
She look down at her paper and scanned it to imprint the words into her mind.
"Soon Pataki," the professor said from his seat.
"R-right," Helga said. She looked up at her audience.
"So my poem is titled Me and my Shadow." She paused and took a deep breath.
"Me and my shadow," Helga recited.
Follows me wherever I go
It just me and my shadow
We're the same from head to toe
She does everything I do
Say what I say
We even laugh the same
It's our fun little mirror game.
Uh-oh!" Helga said and put on hand over her mouth to gesture a gasp.
"I caught you doing something dirty."
She put her hand up. "Oh wait! But you caught me doing something dirty first."
Helga's face twisted in an angry expression. "Why are you telling all these damn stories? Well, I admit I wrote one or two chapters first." Helga looked to the side and shrugged.
"I wonder when I'm smashed will you be lit up too?
When I'm in the club making an ass of myself
completely intoxicated,
Will you be intoxicated too?
You're my little copycat
But do you have to copy everything?
Do as I say, not as I do."
Helga paused. She tilted her head to the side and touched her chin in thought. "Or was it 'Say as I do, not what I say?'
Shit,
I dunno
She's my shadow
Follows my every move…"
Helga pause. She forgot what to say next. She quickly looked down at her paper and searched for the next line.
"Someday it'll be too late for correction
She'll be my reflection
I already see it." Helga looked back up at the classroom.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall
What's up with all these flaws?
I'm the leader
She's the follower
I fear I'm gonna lead her to a valley of darkness
She'll blend in
And I won't be able to see her again," Helga ended. She bite her bottom lip nervously, anticipating for a reaction.
The classroom applauded.
Helga released her breath.
"As I said the last time we were presenting poems, I can tell you love poetry," the professor said. "You aren't just a poet. You are a performer. You like giving us a show. I can see you doing spoken word poetry in the future. You might be interested in taking acting courses next semester."
Helga smiled.
"You need some work on your eye contact," he continued. "You seemed to look over us. But you projected your voice very well. You were very clear."
Helga blushed.
The professor turned to the class.
"So what was Helga's poem about?" the professor asked the classroom.
A few hands went up.
"Mr. Jenkins?" The professor picked.
Jenkins pointed at Helga.
"You're the one with the kid, right?"
Helga rolled her eyes. "Yeah I'm that one."
The class snickered.
"I mean no disrespect," he said. He sat up in his seat and looked at the professor. "It's just I thought the shadow was actually her kid. She was saying her daughter tries to copy everything she does and try to be like her mom that she even picks up on bad habits."
Helga nodded. "Yes. That's exactly what I intended it to be about. My daughter, Nieve always tries to do the same things I do. People tell me all the time 'she acts just like you' and I'm like 'don't say that. I don't want her to be just like me!'" Helga exclaimed waving her hands. "I'm a horrible example. I'd rather her try to act like her aunt."
The class laughed.
"Just the other day I told her to clean up her room and she got smart with me." Helga laughed. "And it was funny and sad at the same time because she's only four and she already sounds exactly like me."
"You have to be very careful with how you act around kids. Very good, Pataki," the professor praised.
The class applauded one last time as Helga sat back down in her usual seat next to Arnold.
"So who wants to present next?" the professor asked the classroom.
Arnold leaned forward towards her.
"I know you must really like reciting," Arnold whispered to Helga. She turned her head to him. "You're always so animated. You make it look easy."
She made a face and sat back in her chair.
"Are you kidding?" she snorted. "I hate reciting my poems in front of everyone."
He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Why? You're actually good at this. I've written crap all year." Arnold said, indicating his own paper.
Helga laughed.
"Oh, if it makes you feel better I fairly enjoyed your sonnet about losing your grandpa's watch," Helga mocked in a baby voice.
Arnold was about to make a comeback but decided not to. A new body went up to the podium and began to recite their poem.
.~.
Class ended, Helga and Arnold were nearly out the door when someone stopped them.
"Ms. Pataki," a voice called from behind. Helga turned around and saw one of her peers. A slightly chubby, dark haired man. Helga couldn't remember his name.
It was a strange feeling being called Ms. after the whole baby fiasco had died down. People started to respect her. Maybe it was because they heard about Sid's black eye. No, that couldn't be it. It wasn't the same respect she got from high school. That respect came from fearing her. No. It felt different. It didn't come from the ripped jeans she decided to wear that day or the many piercings in her ear. Here they respected because they wanted to. They knew her now.
"Hi. I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time," he continued.
Helga looked back at Arnold who had too stopped.
She smiled at him. "I'll catch up with you in a bit. Food court with Gerald, right?"
"Yupe." He nodded. Arnold left the classroom. Helga turned back to what's-his-name.
"Pataki, I was really impress by your poem back there," he continued.
"Well, I'm sort of a boss, you know," Helga shrugged.
He smirked at her bragging.
"I've always enjoyed your poems, so much that I thought you might want to enter this year's Student Authors Competition."
Helga blinked. "Huh?"
"It's an annual competition held here at Sherman." He explained. "Students from other colleges enter." He raised an eyebrow. "You've never heard of it?"
Helga shook her head. "No. I haven't."
He smiled nonetheless. "Well, you should enter. I think a newcomer like you would do Sherman proud."
Helga eyed him. "Or in other words everyone this year sucks so you need me to save your ass?"
He smirked. "Hey if you win it's all on you. It's not like a team or anything." He pushed his glasses up on his face. "But it would be nice to see a Sherman student win first place this year."
Helga considered this, shifting her weight. "Well, I don't know if I'll even have the time to write. I got two part-time jobs, Nieve, school work, and Christmas is coming up…"
"You sound like you're forty," he sneered.
Helga glared at him.
She rearranged her backpack on her shoulders. "Ugh, I dunno." She wet her bottom lip. "I mean, I can't just get up and write. I gotta be in my zone. I don't think I can be pressured into writing."
Helga had hard time enough writing for class. The first day of reciting poems Helga felt very intimidated. It wasn't like being in high school in Hillwood where she was the champ when it came to poetry. Sherman was an art school that brought in many talented artists from around the country even some out of country. Many of them did have more opportunities to nurture their artistic minds at a young age than her. But this class was mostly focus on elements, forms, and terms than creativity.
"It's no pressure," her classmate said. "It's just a small competition. You only have to write one poem."
Helga raised an eyebrow. "One poem?"
"Yeah. That's it."
"Well…" she trailed off.
"C'mon," he pressed. "If you win your poem will be published in The Lyric."
Helga's eyes widen. "Published?"
He nodded. "It happens every year. The winner's poem is published."
She smiled. "Okay. Okay. Sign me up."
.~.
Gerald pressed record on the DigiBeta video camera. He hunched the heavy equipment on his shoulder and walked out of his room.
"I'm Gerald Johanssen here documenting the wildlife," he narrated; looking through the lens. He entered the living room.
"We might see the very rare, very vicious Hell Girl out here today… I spot her!" He zoomed in the camera to the back of Helga's head on the couch. She turned around and didn't look amused. She growled in annoyance and clenched her fists.
"She is a true hideous beast. Her coyote like growl and big gorilla hands…" He monologued as he approached.
"Get bent, Bob Marley." Helga scowled throwing a pillow at him.
Gerald ducked.
"Whoa! As you can see folks it's very dangerous being too close to a Helga Pataki."
Arnold walked in from the kitchen holding three glass bottles of yahoo soda. He wasn't wearing any shoes.
"Gerald, stop being a jackass." Arnold walked passed Gerald.
Gerald lowered his camera and pressed the stop button.
"Hey, I'm a director. I'm suppose to be a jackass!" He lightly laughed.
Arnold joined Helga on the couch.
"So what's with the camera?" Helga asked as Arnold handed her her soda.
"It's for my final project in film and video. We gotta shoot a 15 to 20 minute documentary." Gerald was a film and video major. Ever since he was little he had an interest for films and telling the urban legends of their neighborhood. He liked grabbing an audience and pulling them into the story so much that they could actually believe in it's existence.
Gerald frowned seeing the two partaking in their sodas. His throat suddenly felt dry. He set the camera down on the coffee table. "Toss one over here, bruh," Gerald said with his hands ready.
Arnold tossed the extra bottle over and Gerald caught it. He popped it open and it fizzed over a little on his hand. "Shit."
"So you decided what you're doing it on? Last week you were filming Rhonda, weren't you?" Arnold asked before taking a sip.
Gerald looked up from wiping his hand off his shirt. "Ugh, yeah and it was too damn long! I'm doing my doc on everyone's careers and Ms. Wellington Lloyd was giving me her whole family history!"
Helga raised an eye-brow. "Everyone in Sherman?"
"Everyone I grew up with," Gerald clarified. He walked over to the side of the couch and pulled out the camera's case.
"Oh no. Not me. I don't want to be interviewed." Helga protested, waving her hands.
Gerald smirked.
"S'alright. I'll have plenty of martial with just five or so people." Gerald said grabbing the camera from the table and placing it in the case. "By the way why are you here, Hell Girl?"
"In our poetry class we have to write an six-eight page analysis of Pushkin's The Stone Guest and write a sestina." Helga answered and held up a book, which was a collection of Alexander Pushkin's little tragedies.
"Helga is helping me," Arnold added.
"I hope you got some ideas already written down cause I got things to do." Helga said.
"Like a guy?" Gerald snickered, fastening the case close.
Helga turned to him.
"Fuck you, Gerald. I'm talking about writing my own poetry." Helga grabbed her can of yahoo soda and took sip.
Arnold looked at her. "I thought you said you finished writing your final project?"
Helga shook her head as she swallowed. "Uh-uh. It's not for class. I signed up for some stupid poetry competition."
"You mean that student writers or whatever thing?" Gerald asked, standing up.
"Yeah." She answered. "You've been in it?"
He shook his head. "Naw, Sese has though. I went there last year to give my support."
Gerald went back into his room then reemerged with a cap on his head.
Gerald picked up the camera case. "Well, I'll see you guys later."
"Alright." The two said.
He went out the door, closing it behind him.
"Okay, let's get this homework finished." Helga announced.
"Thanks again for helping." Arnold sheepishly said.
"As much as you tutored me, it's no biggie." Helga smiled.
.~.
"Ohmygosh, Arnold, you suck at this!" Helga groaned twenty minutes in.
"What's wrong with having my poem being about my hat?" Arnold cried rereading what he just wrote.
"Well nothing other than being incredibly boring." Helga complained. "This thing has to be thirty-nine lines, you know. Couldn't you spruce it up a little? Did that hat have any deep meaning?"
"Well it—" He paused and shook his head. "Never mind."
Helga sat up. "What?" she asked.
He sighed and shrugged. "I dunno. I don't want to get too personal with this. It's…uncomfortable," he admitted. "I'm not as brave as you to put my business out there like that."
Helga eyed him.
"Okay… well your poem doesn't have to reveal your darkest secrets or anything. It just has to have emotion. Or at least enough going on to fill out thirty-nine lines."
Arnold considered this. He raised his feet up on the couch, sitting cross-legged. "Okay, maybe having the topic be my old hat isn't a good idea then."
Arnold balled up the paper and threw it behind him. Without him even looking the paper ball landed into the small garbage can near the wall. Helga was impressed by his shot but didn't voice it.
"I just never have enough material to write a long poem," Arnold sighed. He looked at her. "How do you come up with ideas?"
Helga shrugged. "Oh you know, life experiences. I just write the drama down. I guess poetry for me is like a diary."
"I wish I could think like that." Arnold chuckled. "Not enough interesting stuff happens to me that's worth writing about."
A mischievous glimmer sparked Helga's eyes. "Not even your ex, the strip—"
Before she could finish her remark Arnold shot up and pointed at her. "Don't go there." Even though it's been months since he and Mindy broke up he still wasn't up to people making jokes about her occupation.
She chuckled. "Why are you taking this class if it's so hard for you?"
"It's a writing intensive credit. I figured a poetry course would be the easiest," he muttered. Arnold felt like kicking himself because it was not easy like he thought it would be. By the time he felt like dropping the class there was no other writing intensive courses open.
"Well maybe one of these poems in here will inspire you," she said grabbing one of the many books that was scattered out in their little area. She skimmed through the pages.
Arnold looked at her and found himself staring. He noticed her hair was in a tight ponytail. It used to be her signature look once they entered junior high.
Helga looked up from her book and noticed his eyes. She made a face. "Gee, can I have my face back?" she grunted.
He snapped out of his thought.
"S-sorry," he stammered, adverting her gaze. "It's just your hair… You're wearing it back like you used to."
Helga looked back at the book she was reading uncomfortably. She chewed on her bottom lip and turned the next page. "Yeah, so?" she finally said. Her voice already sounded annoyed.
"Nothing, I guess." He eyed her again. Arnold noticed she wasn't wearing much makeup either. Just like old times, he thought."It's just… I got nostalgic for a moment."
The two fell silent and their minds went down memory lane. Helga would always tag along with Arnold and the boys any chance she got. She was one of them. She was there when they spent the night at a haunted house when they were thirteen. She was there with them making dumb bets. She was there joy riding with them when they were teens. She was there playing baseball at Gerald Field. She was with them getting milkshakes at Slausen's. She was there for all of it until one day it all ended…
"Say," Arnold broke the silence. He looked at her. "Why did you ever run away?"
Helga froze.
She looked up from the book.
"Oh no, Arnold. We are not talking about that. That was the past," she said sternly, shaking her head.
Arnold frowned. "Why? I'm just curious—"
She slammed the book shut and stood up. "I just realized it's kind of late," she announced. "I gotta go."
She started gathering her things. She stuffed one thing into her bag to the other. There was no care for neatness.
Arnold sighed from the couch. "No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. You don't have to go—"
"It's late and I'm tired. I have to pick Nieve up from daycare," Helga interrupted. Her voice was rough. She zipped her book bag up and put it over her shoulders. "I'll see you in Ms. Peters class tomorrow."
Arnold looked over the couch and watched her as she left out the door. The door slammed with a loud bang. Arnold sighed. He lay out on the couch.
Me and my mouth, he thought putting his arm over his forehead. He turned his head and looked at the coffee table still filled with his unfinished homework. "How the hell am I gonna finish this now?"
.~.
Meanwhile Gerald entered the beauty salon/barber shop. His production crew was behind him. It consisted of three other people. A man dressed in black was holding the camera. A much shorter guy with glasses and curly brown hair was carrying the tripod. A fat man was carrying the sound equipment.
Gerald spotted the two. Kat was in the middle of braiding a woman's hair and Sese was sitting in a waiting chair reading a magazine.
"Hey Sese! Kit Kat!" Gerald hollered.
The two looked up and noticed him. "Gerald?" They said in unison. They noticed Gerald's team approaching behind him. "What's all of this?"
"They're my production crew. I'm shooting a movie, you know," Gerald said causally. He plopped himself down in an empty salon chair next to them.
Sese laughed. She stood up from her seat and walked over towards him.
"Oh they are your production crew?" Sese asked him, folding her arms.
Gerald nodded. "Yupe."
The Goth man pointed the camera at the two women.
Kat smiled and waved into the camera. The woman who was sitting in the salon chair just looked annoyed that her hairdresser was getting distracted.
"So you think you is some big shot director like Spike Lee?" Sese teased.
"Spike Lee aint got nothing on this," Gerald cockily said.
They laughed.
Kat smiled at Gerald's classmates. "So do your production crew have anything to say? What are your names?"
The brown haired man began to raise a finger about to say something—
"They are men of few words," Gerald interrupted brining the attention back to him. "So you ladies wanna do me a solid and be in our documentary?"
They gasped.
Sese tapped Kat's arm. "Yo, this could totally be publicity for Diaspora," Sese said excitedly.
Kat lit up. "You're so right!"
The two slapped hands.
Diaspora was a group that Kat and Sese made up during high school. It never shot up pass school dances and house parties.
"No, no." Gerald interrupted their bliss. "This isn't about your little duo group."
The women frowned.
"What do you mean little?"
"I mean you had the group since we were in high school and ya'll still haven't gotten anywhere with it. The doc is about everyone from Hillwood's future or current careers. No offensive but I doubt Diaspora has a future."
They scowled.
"C'mon we'll just focus on your majors." Gerald said.
"Fine," Kat said bitterly.
"Thank you. Oh yeah, Kit Kat?"
Kat sighed annoyed. "What Gerald?"
"Could you also do something else for me, babe?"
Kat folded her arms at the term "babe". She smirked, "and what may that be?"
Gerald grinned and took off his cap. "Haircut."
.~.
Patty entered the apartment after her usual jog. She sniffed. That smell.
She followed the smell to Helga's bedroom door. She knocked on the door.
"Helga? Are you there?" she called.
Patty pressed her ear into the door.
She heard muffled nonsense. It sort of sounded like groaning. It made Patty worry.
Patty opened the door and rushed in.
"Helga? What's going—"
Patty eyes widen. Her worried expression quickly turned to irritation. She sighed.
"Helga, what did I tell you about smoking that stuff here?"
Helga was sitting on her bed with her back pressed against the wall. Smoke escaped her lips. Helga was holding the joint to her mouth. Dozens and dozens of paper crumbled up balls covered the floor and bed. On the desk was a sheet of notebook paper with green drug scatter on it.
"But I'm in my room," she said in a lazy tone. Her eyes were blood shot from the drug.
Patty frowned. "That's not the fucking point." It was strange. Even when Patty cursed she sounded monotone. "The whole apartment is going to smell like that. I am not getting kicked out because you decided you wanted to get smashed."
Helga took the joint out of her mouth and squished it into the ashtray on the nightstand. "You worry too much," Helga grunted.
"Where did you get that anyway?"
"Sid. The little weasel is actually good for something," Helga said.
"Where is Nieve?"
"She's still at the day care. She doesn't get out until another three hours."
Patty pushed papers aside then sat down on the edge of the bed. "So what's wrong?"
Helga looked at her. "Nuthang."
"Don't lie. When you first came here you said you only do it when you're depressed about something."
"Or bored," Helga added lightly.
Patty glared at her. "Or depressed."
"I'm not. I'm writing this poem. I need stimulation to write."
Patty looked down at one of the crumbled up papers.
"And you're sure nothing is bothering you?" she asked.
There was a moment of silence before the blonde answered. "I'm sure."
.~.
Gerald had planned to meet Sid later on that day on the corner of a street. They set up the equipment and started recording Sid.
Gerald stood next to him. "I'm here with Sidney—"
"Wow, I don't want anyone to know my full name." He interrupted. "Its just Sid."
Gerald gave him a half lidded look. "Right. I'm here with Sid. So you went to Sherman but dropped out your freshman year. Why was that?"
Sid shrugged. "You know, it just wasn't my thing. If I knew college was going to have so many lectures and we need to read a bunch of books I would have stayed in high school. I thought Sherman was going to be one of those party colleges."
Gerald tried to keep himself from rolling his eyes.
"Stinky and I used to party a lot," Sid continued, "but then he said he wanted to do well in school because he's the first person to enter college and didn't want to disappoint them or something."
Sid rolled his eyes at the memory. "Pfft, can you believe that?" Sid asked the camera.
Gerald blinked. "Um, do you want to talk about your closets friends?" he hesitantly asked.
Sid raised his chin up and spoke into into the mic above his head. he wanted it to be loud and clear. "Oh, sure, we can talk about my friends." Sid looked into the camera. "Stinky, Harold, and I used to be like this." Sid crossed his fingers. "But after high school graduation Harold went off with his uncle and Stinky and I don't hang out as much anymore." Sid sighed. "It just blows, you know?"
Gerald was starting to feel uncomfortable hearing about Sid's very personal life and wanted to change the subject. "So without a college education what are you doing with your life right now?"
Sid lit up at the question.
"Well, I do a lot of stuff." He smiled. "I sell all kinds of merchandise. Recently I've been making money selling films. You see, I make movies and sell them on the street." Sid opened his coat to reveal the stacks of VHS tapes stashed in his leather jacket.
Gerald's eyes widen.
"I got Pulp Fiction, Forrest Gump, The Mask—"
"Hmm, I wanted to see Pulp Fiction," the cameraman said.
Gerald scowled at Harry then turned back to Sid. He gave him a desperate look.
"Sid, please tell that when you say make movies you don't actually mean—"
"Hey, bootleggers!" a voice yelled from behind. They turned to see a heavy cop with an angry expression on his face rushing towards them.
"Oh shit!" Sid cried in his classic high pitch voice.
Gerald turned to Sid in panic. "What do we do?"
"Grab your shit and run!" Sid yelled as he took off. Gerald would have been impressed by how fast Sid went for a guy so small if he wasn't leaving them behind to the police.
"We can't leave the equipment!" Sam cried, trying to quickly wrap the cord around the boom pole.
The cop nearly caught up with them but they managed to grab their equipment and run till they reached the van and drove off. Gerald felt like killing Sid.
.~.
It was the next day of school. Arnold dreaded having to face Helga when she was mad at him. He knew he had to face her soon or the two would just not talk to each other and he'd have to do his poetry assignment alone.
He spotted her talking to a few people that were familiar to him but he didn't know by name in the hallway. Arnold took a deep breath to ready himself.
When the two girls left Helga, he quickly made his move.
"Helga," he called as he approached her.
She turned and faced him. Her expression went dark.
"I wanted to apologize about yesterday," he blurted out before she could say anything.
She rolled her eyes.
Arnold frowned but continued. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm sorry."
Helga started at him then looked down and crossed her arms. "Good, because it's not any of your business," she mumbled.
"I know," he said.
She looked up and they made eye contact again.
"So are we cool again?" he nervously asked.
She wet her bottom lip then sighed.
"…Yeah. We're cool," she said flatly.
Arnold frowned at her tone.
Before Arnold could say anything else Helga brushed pass his.
.~.
Harry twisted the nob on the tripod and lowered the video camera. He pushed back his waist-length blonde hair out his face. His black painted nail fingers turned the nubs to the lens, trying to get a good focus.
They were in a gym.
"Is this alright?" Harry asked Gerald.
Gerald looked through the lens.
"You better not make me look bad," Patty said from where she was sitting. Behind her was a boxing ring. Gerald zoomed the camera in on her face more for a tighter shot. "We're not." Gerald assured.
She pushed back her messy bangs from her eye.
Gerald stepped away from the camera. "This is better." He said to Harry.
Harry looked through the lens.
"Okay so are we all ready?" Gerald asked.
The brown haired man held up the light board to reflect from her face. Sam held the boom pole right above Patty's head. "Ready."
Gerald looked at Harry, who was the cameraman. "Camera rolling?"
Harry pressed record and gave him an thumbs up.
"Alright." Gerald said. "1, 2, 3… Action!"
Gerald waited five seconds before he started speaking.
"We're here with Patricia Smith also known by her stage name Big Patty. How are you feeling today, Patty?" he said excitedly to the camera.
"You already asked me that when you came here," Patty scuffed.
Gerald kept his plastered smile. "Ha, ha I know. This is for the camera." He said through his smile.
The pixie-haircut woman raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm fine." Patty said.
"So Patty what are you doing career wise?"
"I'm a MMA fighter which means a practice in mixed martial arts." Patty said finding it hard to look at the camera and not Gerald.
"How old are you?"
"I'm 23 years old."
"How do you feel about being called Big Patty? As a kid I remember you rejected that name."
Patty smirked.
"As a kid I had a love/hate relationship with being called Big Patty. I was bigger than most of the girls in my class… heck, even most of the boys! I was sort of an outcast for being big. On the other hand being big was something I was proud of. My size is shocking because both of my parents have dwarfism. They always called me Big Girl and were always happy by how tall I was. So at home my size had a whole different meaning."
"How do you like MMA fighting?"
Patty lightly smiled. "I love MMA fighting. I don't know what I'll do if I couldn't fight anymore. As a kid I used to get into fights a lot with the other girls. I was sort of a bully." Patty laughed. "I just don't take shit from anyone—wait, can I say 'shit' on camera?" She asked.
Gerald nodded.
"Okay. So anyway if you don't respect me I'll give you a reason to."
"Are you in college?" Gerald asked.
"I'm not in college." Patty answered. "Not everyone is meant for college. Some people are good at books. I'm good at fighting. I'm happy keeping it that way."
"How long have you've been an MMA fighter?"
"I've been MMA fighting for three years now."
Gerald read the last question on his list. "What is something you want the world to know about women MMA fighters?"
"The biggest misconception about female MMA fighters is that all of us are pumped with steroids. Maybe some women take steroids to get muscles but those of us that work and sweat to get our abs, biceps, and such shouldn't have to always defend themselves to reporters for taking substances that they didn't." Patty flexed her forearm and tapped it. "I got these muscles because I worked for them and I have a great trainer that doesn't allow me to seat on my ass all day."
Gerald smiled. "Okay and that's a wrap."
Harry stopped recording. Sam lowered the boom pole. Mike stopped reflecting light on Patty's face. Gerald stood from his seat. "Okay let's look at what we got."
.~.
Later that night after Gerald and his team got the footage onto the computer the gang all went to Patty's match. Mike would edit it to have the audio of Patty's interview play over the match footage.
Gerald and Patty had planed to film the match months before so he already got permission to film.
Referee introduced her. "Big Patty."
From his seat in the audience Gerald filmed Patty stepping out and walking to the cage. She was in blue shorts, a jacket, and black gloves.
In a luxury box sat two MMA reporters. The reporter spoke into his microphone. "That's Big Patty. She's only 23. She has had 7 fights so far. 5 wins, 1 draw, 1 loss. So this is match number 8 for her. And, whoa, John let me say, she is big."
"That's why she is called Big Patty," the other reporter, John said.
"Her opponent, Amy Lee." The referee announced. A blonde woman stepped out and made her way towards the cage.
The crowd cheered loudly. One man's arm bumped Gerald making him almost making him drop the camera.
"The crowd really loves Lee!" John said.
"And there's no surprise why. She is undefeated. She has fought all over UK, Brazil, Cuba, a few months ago she fought in Las Vegas. She is a working for the belt. Lee is 27. Big Patty has her name for a reason. She looks to have about 20—30 pounds on Lee but Lee is an undefeated fighter. She is known to be very skilled. So size doesn't always count but let's see."
Patty stood inside the cage. Her trainer helped her out of her jacket revealing her form. Her muscles were tense and ready to fight. On the other corner stood her opponent, Amy Lee with her long hair braided and a tattoo across her chest. She too looked fierce but she was not as buff as Patty. Though Amy was giving her a cold glare as her trainer tighten her gloves Patty didn't tremble. Patty wasn't scared of anyone even if she was undefeated.
"Good luck, Patty," her trainer said in her ear right before he backed away from her.
I don't need it, she thought as she rolled her shoulders back.
The chubby referee man stepped to the middle of the ring. He looked at his clipboard and read the information of the two fighters.
"Introducing first in the red corner, a new kid to the MMA world, weighing 146 pounds, 6 feet, 0 inches tall, with 5 wins, 1 draw, and 1 loss to her credit, she is Big Patty from New York City." The MMA referee said pointing at her.
The crowd cheered.
"And her opponent in the blue corner standing at 5 feet, 8 inches, weighting 135 pounds, she is undefeated with 12 wins, she is Amy Lee all the way from Ireland."
The crowd cheered even louder. Patty scowled at this.
The referee gave the two women the go. The bell rang and the fight began.
Amy swung her fist. Patty blocked it with her arms. Amy grabbed Patty's shoulder. The two parted from each other. Amy threw another swing and hit Patty in the nose. Amy kicked Patty knocking her off balance and she fell. Patty quickly pulled herself up before Amy struck again. Patty backed up. Amy swung her fist again until she backed Patty into a corner. She was flying punches left and right. Patty clenched her teeth. It was hard for her to keep blocking.
Patty jabbed her knee into the opponent's gut. Amy fell back. Patty took the opportunity to get out of the corner and start punching. Amy ducked down and tackled Patty's torso trying to lift her up. Patty was too big and heavy for Amy to lift. Patty pushed her away then kicked Amy in her stomach. Before Amy could react Patty's fist upper cut Amy's chin and sent her flying on the ground.
Patty tackled her put her in a tight submissive hold. She was held down for ten seconds. Round one ended and Patty was the winner.
.~.
It was the day of the poetry competition. The Sherman College performance space was filled with a bunch of Emos, Beatniks, Goths, Hip Hop, or just the starving artist type. A sophomore was on stage. She was a short African American woman with an afro.
"Just because it's on display doesn't mean you can touch
I know it's big; thank you very much…"
Gerald looked away from the stage to the two people sitting right next to him. He felt their eyes all day. "Why are you guys staring at me?" he asked annoyed.
"I still can't get over your bald head," Arnold answered.
"You look funny!" Nieve laughed from Phoebe's lap.
Phoebe nodded.
"I know. It's… weird," Phoebe said in awe not looking away from the weirdly shaped bald dome of a head.
"I never realized how long and weird your head is." Arnold said.
Gerald twisted up his face and rubbed the back of his head. "You're one to talk. And I'm not bald. It's a fade." He pointed at the small of dark hair.
"Why you get rid of your dreads anyway?" Phoebe asked readjusting Nieve in her lap.
"I was tired of them," Gerald simply shrugged.
"When is mommy performing?" Nieve asked loudly squirming around.
"Shush," Phoebe hushed. "Someone else is preforming. Don't be rude."
Phoebe pulled out her schedule.
"It says here that your mommy is next, see," Phoebe said showing the four year old the schedule.
Gerald set up his video camera.
Arnold looked at Gerald and blinked.
"Helga is going to kill you for recording this, you know," Arnold said.
"She'll get over it," Gerald snickered.
Arnold scoffed at the remark and sat back. "If you say so…"
"Oh yeah, she's still pissed at you for mentioning the running away thing?" Gerald asked.
"He really shouldn't have mentioned that," Phoebe muttered. Phoebe had to sit through an hour conversation on the phone with Helga which was just Helga talking about how much of an idiot Arnold was.
"How do you know that?" Arnold asked Gerald.
"Patty," Gerald said.
"Right," Arnold said remembering he was interviewing her as well. He sighed.
The audience, along with Phoebe and Nieve, clapped when the sophomore finished her poem.
"Oh stop worrying," Gerald said through the applause. "I'm sure she's over it by now."
"Yeah? You know what Gerald? You're probably right." Arnold lightly smiled. He felt a little better. He wanted to believe in Gerald's words. He and Helga were adults now and friends. They were adult friends. Surely she wasn't going to hold a childish grudge against him just for asking why she left.
"Aren't I always?" He laughed. The men's attentions were drawn back to the stage when one of the judges read off the list and called the next contestant.
"For the third contestant of Sherman: Helga G. Pataki."
Helga emerged on stage.
"Mommy!" Nieve cheered standing up on Phoebe lap.
"Oh, be careful," Phoebe said holding on to the girl.
Gerald set up his camera and pushed record. The talking among the audience died down and everyone waited for the blonde in street wear to speak.
.~.
Helga stood frozen at the mic. There were a lot more faces than she expected. In the crowd she could make out a football shaped head, her best friend she probably wouldn't had noticed with her size if her hair wasn't bright orange, her daughter waving excitedly, and a guy she couldn't recognize holding a video camera. She squinted. Is that Gerald? She scowled. I should totally kill him for video taping this.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She closed it again. Her body was crawling with jitters.
"I'm sorry," she apologized to the audience.
A voice called out, "It's okay, girl" followed by snaps of encouragement. Helga wondered if all poetry events were like this. She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and visualized the river back in Hillwood and the splashing sound it made when she skipped rocks there and how alone and quiet it was. She opened her eyes and felt better looking at the audience. These weren't people. They were just waves of water. They crashed and made sounds now and then but they were harmless. Her voice was the rock she'll through at them getting all her aggression out.
"I'm Helga Pataki and this poem is called Sweet 16." Helga said into the microphone.
She began to recite her poem.
"Sweet 16,
Oh I remember that sweet 16,
When I turn 16 I was blowing more than just candles
When I was 16, I was rolling up more than I can handle
I remember getting wasted
I remember laying on a couch Popping pills,
A punk girl asked me, through chewing gum "Which one you want, red or blue?"
Helga looked up at the crowd.
"But please don't judge me for what I do
I'm just trying to end my troubles
Just trying to forget about you
You've been on my mind all day and I just can't get you out
The doctors say I'm insane
But they don't what they are talking about
They just want to pick at my brain
Stick me with pin and needles
I bet they think they know
But they're so cold
You're so cold
I smiled at you in the hallway
You didn't bother to give me a wave
You were too busy chasing her
Damn she doesn't even know your name
I can never reach cha cause you're always in clouds
I took a rocket ship to meet cha but reality hit and I fell down,
I forget we live on two different galaxies
Who knows if grounds will ever meet?
My body is floating down the river of Acheron
While you sail in Lethe
.~.
Throughout Helga's performance his smile slowly turned into a frown.
Arnold's face flushed with embarrassment in the realization of whom she was talking about. It was so obvious. Phoebe and Gerald knew who it was as well. Nieve was just happy to see her mother on stage. Arnold could hope that only the three of them was all the wiser of who the identity of this ex-love Helga was speaking of was.
Arnold hanged on her every word. Arnold felt himself sink down into his chair as Helga continued her poem.
She waved her finger in an tsk, tsk sort of fashion.
"Beware of kalon kakon
Don't fall for the wrong swan
If she offers an apple, don't devour
Don't assume a bee hasn't already been in her lotus flower
Seeing you with someone else is just so hurtful
Chasing after you so long my feet are purple
I want you to want me
Or is that too much to demand?
I watch the ice cream drip all over my hand
I like you but you like her, and she likes him, but he likes me
High school is truly a pentagon
And love is a bitch depending how hard it bites
Spending endless nights thinking of you
Can I get a refund?
I shouldn't have thought we were meant to be
I should have never told ya we were destiny
Now the ice cream is nothing but a puddle
A bittersweet end
It's okay cause you were just the last page of chapter one
And my second chapter has just begun
I pick up the broken pieces of my heart
Stuff it in my bag along with my clothes
Out there I'll get a fresh start
No need for good byes or teary eyes
Like a magician watch me disappear
Cause now you see me
Now you don't…"
She ended her poem.
Everyone applauded.
He wondered how she ever got so good with words. He was impressed by her poems in class but if he was honest with himself this was the best she written so far. Maybe she was always good with words and he just never listened.
Arnold looked back and forth at Phoebe and Gerald who looked to be struggling not to make eye contact with him. Phoebe was twiddling her thumbs obviously not sure what to do with her hands with Arnold present. Nieve was just clapping her little heart out. Gerald stopped recording and set his camera down in his lap.
After a moment Gerald finally faced Arnold. "So um… I guess Hell Girl didn't forget, huh?" He lightly joked.
Arnold groaned and slid further down into his seat. If he slid any further he would be on the ground. Nieve just blinked at this action.
"It's not that bad. It's…ur…" Phoebe trailed off.
"Oh, you know artists!" Gerald chipped in.
Phoebe nodded. "Right!"
"Poets have to write about tragedy. That's why most of them were miserable."
Arnold gave them his half lidded glare. "Guys you're not helping."
He looked back up at the woman on stage as she took another awkward bow. She went back to sit with the other contestants. The judge announced Jessie Taylor, contestant from Floyds University, to step forward to the mic.
.~.
It was the end of the competition and the judges were announcing winners.
"The first place winner is Insane by Jessie Taylor."
"And second place winner is… Sweet 16 by Helga G Pataki."
Phoebe and Gerald stood up and applauded.
"Go Helga!" Phoebe cheered.
"Yay!" Nieve yelled.
Helga walked to the front of the stage. Her walk was awkward with disbelief that she actually placed. Arnold could read her mouth saying in surprise, "Oh shit," as she walked over to the judges and shook each of their hands.
Arnold didn't feel like cheering. He was so occupied with his thoughts that he didn't even hear who the third place winner was.
Arnold couldn't help but wonder if that was how Helga really thought of him. From the poem it sounded like she hated him. He remembered every scowl, every curl of her tongue, every tone her voice took as she recited her poem. She was angry with him and not just angry but hurt. She just expressed the heartache he caused her and that made him feel worst.
When he looked back up again he saw three people standing in the front of the stage.
"Jessie you have won an check for one hundred dollars." The announcer said, patting Jessie on the back as he gave him the check.
"But of course all three winners will have their poem published."
Everyone clapped.
Arnold just went from feeling bad to feeling awful.
.~.
The group was outside waiting for Helga near the door. Arnold zipped up his jacket. The air was starting to feel a little colder. It didn't compare to the cold winters of New York. Compared to Hillwood, Wendale's winter just felt like Hillwood's autumn.
Phoebe and Gerald were talking about something. Arnold wasn't listening. He couldn't get Helga's poem out of his mind.
A blonde haired woman emerged from the back door followed by a couple of other students.
"Mommy you won?" Nieve asked running up to her.
Helga smiled and picked the girl up.
"No I only won second place but if I ever entered again mommy will have no mercy." She kissed the little girl.
"Helga, I'm so proud of you. I loved you poem. It was so…honest." Phoebe praised.
Helga beamed.
"Hey good job Pataki." Gerald complimented. "You're poem was great."
Helga lit up.
"Dude, are you kidding me? My poem was fucking boss!" She playfully pushed Gerald.
Gerald and Phoebe laughed.
"OhmyGod! My poem is going to be published on The Lyric?!" Helga gasped in disbelief. She lifted Nieve in the air and spun her around. The little girl giggled. She brought her back down and kissed her again. "This is it. This is the start of my writing career." She was ecstatic.
This caught Arnold's attention.
"Published?" Arnold spoke for the first time since they were outside. Everyone turned to him.
He forgot the three winners were going to have their work published. Printed on paper for all of North America to see. "Are you sure you want that?" he asked. "I mean, what if they try to plagiarize your work? I read that many author's work have been plagiarized by getting it published like…" He searched his mind for anything convincing. "…Shakespeare."
Helga eyed him.
"Arnold, what the hell are you talking about? This is like, the second best thing that could ever happen to me." Helga said.
.~.
The next day Gerald knocked on the apartment door. He and his crew were ready for another shoot. Moments later Eugene opened the door.
"Oh hi, Gerald. I hope you got here alright," he greeted.
The group walked into the apartment. They followed the redhead into the living room. Everything in the room was lace, fine china, and knick-knacks. It looked like somebody grandmother's living room.
"I'm really flattered you wanted to interview me for your documentary." Eugene said.
"Yeah well…I needed fourth person and no one else was available." Gerald admitted. Sid didn't want his footage to be shown anymore on account that it could have been used as evidence for him committing a felony.
The redhead frowned at being a last resort. "Oh. Well good thing for me then." Eugene said optimistically.
Eugene went over to the coffee table and lifted a tray of four mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies.
"Do you and your film buddies care for some snickerdoodles and some delicious Christmas-timey cocoa moo?" Eugene offered the four of them.
Gerald raised an eyebrow at the tray.
Sam licked his lips.
"I could go for some cocoa moo," Sam said taking a mug.
"Sure." Mike said taking a cookie.
Everyone was partaking in the treats but Gerald.
Eugene offered a mug to him. "Here you go."
Gerald waved it off. "Maybe later."
"Oh please try some. You're my guest," Eugene insisted.
Gerald gentle shoved the mug back at Eugene. "No, that's alright, Eugene. I don't want any."
"Really it quit goo—" Eugene shoved the mug at Gerald too hard and the hot liquid spilled on Gerald's chest.
"Ugh," Gerald screamed in pain.
"Oh gosh!" Eugene ran into the kitchen area and came back with a towel. "I'm so sorry Gera—"
He snatched the towel from him and pressed it to his chest. "It's okay!" Gerald grunted through his teeth. His eyes were narrow. Gerald knew whenever Eugene tried to help he only made things worst. "Let's just move on to the interview."
"R-right." Eugene nodded sheepishly.
"So Eugene before we start recording I just wanted to ask you some questions so you can be prepared." Gerald said.
"Alright," the redhead said.
Gerald sat down on the fluffy couch with the other crewmen. He pulled out his notebook of questions. Eugene sat cross-legged in his armchair.
"What do you think is the most important strengths an broadway performer should have?" Gerald asked.
"I think it's very important to be happy. If we just focused on our troubles we would have miserable lives. I say your life is only as miserable as you choose it to be. Who cares if you aren't as handsome, or muscular, or have 'the Broadway look,' whatever that means," Eugene made air quotation with his fingers. "With perseverance you can still follow your dreams!" he said cheerfully.
"Alright." Gerald smiled. "It seems like that was an easy one for you." He read the next question. "Was there ever a time you didn't get a role you want? How did you deal with it?"
Eugene just laughed.
"Oh Gerald, it doesn't matter if another person gets the role you want. You just have to look forward to next time." He laughed.
Gerald noticed his laugh started to sound kind of off.
"You just can't let life get you down. If you mess up an audition you just have to try to work harder and be a better you next time." Eugene's face looked like he was trying hard to keep that smile. "Even if you wouldn't have messed up the audition in the first place if someone didn't leave a cord on stage that you tripped over which made some lights fall on the curtains and set the stage on fire."
Eugene smile fell slowly as he went on. His voice became less cheery. A shadow seemed to grow around his face.
"Even if the few friends you have in theater class are actually jerks that will stab you in the back at the first chance to play the lead role in a musical." Eugene said his voice grew darker and full of hate and rage.
Eugene stood up and walked over to the small table behind his chair. He was in total shadow. He grabbed the glass and popped open the wine bottle and poured himself a drink. He chugged it. And he stood there lending on the table with his shoulders hunched and back towards them.
"Um, Eugene?" Gerald asked feeling very frighten.
"Answer me this, Gerald," Eugene asked in a very dark and scary voice. "Do you think life is fair? That the wicked will be punished-no, vanquished-for their bad deeds and the good will rise to power? Or are good people just cursed to stay at the bottom while the evil reign?"
The men all sat with wide frighten faces. Sam put down the cookie he was eating back on the plate.
"Dude, I think this guy is crazy," Harrison whispered not so subtly to Gerald.
Gerald shook his head.
"Umm… I think now wasn't a good time to do this interview." Gerald said, slowly standing up from the couch. His film crew followed his lead. "Maybe later." They all slowly backed away and then rushed out the door for their lives.
.~.
The Lyric had published Helga's poem and everyone on campus was reading it.
Arnold was outside on campus when he encountered another reminder of Helga's poem. A group of women walked pass him.
"I can't believe Tony forgot our 1 month anniversary," A chubby woman said. This caught Arnold ears and he slowed down his walking to listen.
"It's okay. Remember 'love is a bitch depending on how hard it bites.'" The other girl quoted.
"Oh yeah." the woman lit up. "I loved that line. I guess I should be lucky he's not like the guy in that poem."
Arnold looked back at the two and groaned. Not looking where he was going he bumped into someone. She fell down. He looked and saw that he had knocked Phoebe on the ground. Her glasses on the ground as well.
He bended down to help her.
"I'm sorry, Phoebe. Are you alright?"
She squinted. "Arnold?"
He picked up her glasses and handed them to her. Phoebe took them and placed them back on her face. "I'm fine." she smiled.
Arnold lend her a hand and pulled her up.
"I guess, I was distracted. Sorry Phoebe," he apologized. Just then he noticed someone walked by carrying another Lyric magazine.
Arnold rolled his eyes at it. He hunched up.
Phoebe noticed this.
"Arnold, is something bothering you?" Phoebe asked.
"No." Arnold started to walk off.
"It wouldn't have anything to do with Helga's poem would it?" She asked from behind him. Arnold halted.
He turned back around and looked at her allowing her to see his troubled expression.
.~.
The two sat on a bench underneath a bear tree.
"It's embarrassing," Arnold was saying, twiddling his thumbs. It was hard talking about things like this. What made it more awkward was that he was the one that was the psychology major. "All she wrote was how much of an oblivious jerk I am. How am I supposed to be okay with it?" Arnold asked.
He waited for Phoebe's response.
Phoebe brushed the winkles from her skirt.
"I don't think Helga wrote what she wrote to make you feel bad," Phoebe said calmly to Arnold. "I think she wrote it in the state of mind of how she was feeling about the situation back then. I don't think she holds a grudge against you now."
Arnold scuff at this. "Are you serious? She would barely talk to me for a week."
"Well Arnold you opened up an old wound that she was trying to forget about." Phoebe reminded.
Arnold sighed. "Still…"
Phoebe frowned.
"Have you guys ever talked about it?" she asked softly. "About her liking you in high school, I mean."
Arnold winced. "Ugh, kinda. We joke around—"
"No, I mean really talk about it. Was there any closure between you two?"
Arnold thought back to the bridge. There wasn't any closure there. He searched his memory of them every saying "it's okay" or anything but there wasn't. It was too awkward for them to talk about it in high school and until now they had only joked about it.
"No," he finally said.
"Maybe there should be," Phoebe said. "Talk to her about it."
"Ugh, the last time I tried to talk to her about the past she wrote a poem." Arnold said dreading the idea of having the conversation that the two had been avoiding for years.
Phoebe put a hand on his shoulder. "Arnold, just talk to her for both of your sakes."
.~.
Arnold knocked on the apartment door. In moments he was greeted by a smiling Helga. Smiling that was good sign right?
"Oh it's just you Football Head, wassup?" she asked. Her poem being published put her in a good mood.
Before he could reply she spoke up again.
"We were eating lunch. You want a sandwich?"
"No thank you." He waved off. He smiled at her sheepishly. "I um… I wanted to talk to you about your poem."
He watched the cheerfulness in her face fade away.
"Yeah?" Helga hesitantly asked.
"I... Did you mean all that stuff?" he asked nervously.
"What stuff?" She asked.
He scratched the back of his neck. "Well…All of it. I know you wrote it because of my comment."
Helga shook her head in irritation.
"Oh God—Arnold don't. Don't make this into a thing. We're cool, okay. The truth is I wrote that poem when I was high. That's it. Everything I wrote I was under the influence of an illegal drug. So don't make it into something it's not." Helga said automatically.
Arnold frowned. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at the wooded floor.
"I wish I could buy that but in my psychology class we learn that some people take drugs as a way to escape their problems," he said softly.
"Yeah, some people." Helga said eyeing him.
He looked back up at her.
"…And you said yourself that poetry for you is like a diary—"
"Arnold it meant nothing," she said darkly. "Now we're done with this conversation."
"But—"
"We're done with this conversation," she barked before slamming the door shut.
Arnold stared at the door in shock then sighed.
"Good talk, Helga," he said to the door.
.~.
It had been two days since Arnold "talked" with Helga.
Arnold sat on the floor staring blankly at his psychology homework on the coffee table. If only his books told him how to deal with Patakis.
Gerald came into the living room.
"Hey Arnold are you ready to be filmed?" Gerald asked happily.
"Oh yeah that documentary thing," Arnold said whipping his face.
"You wanna go over the questions together before the crew shows up?"
"Um, yeah sure." Arnold said pushing his homework aside.
Gerald sat on the couch. Arnold turned his body around and faced him.
Gerald read his note card. "What does psychology mean to you?"
Arnold sighed. "Psychology for me is um…" He tapped his pencil on the edge of the table. "...the study of people and their behavior." he finally said. "It's the study of the human thought process and relationships."
Gerald shuffled over to another card. "What made you choose psychology for your major?"
Arnold tilted his head in thought.
"Well, um… I just… Um… Well, my freshman year my major was undecided and then my sophomore year I picked zoology because...But that didn't…ur… well…" He trailed off again. His brain wasn't working right that day. He bowed his head and sighed in frustration with himself. He looked back up at his friend. "I'm sorry Gerald, I don't think I can do this interview right now."
Gerald frowned. "Why? What's wrong?"
"I just don't feel right acting like I know psychology when I can't even settle this thing with Helga."
Gerald rolled his eyes. "Ugh, are you still down about that? Forget Helga. She'll be alright."
Arnold stood up. "You just don't get it. It's not just about her…"
He went into his bedroom and closed his door. Gerald stared at the closed door.
.~.
A few days later Gerald completed his documentary and it won best in the class to be shown in Sherman's film festival.
To celebrate Gerald threw a casual party at the apartment despite the fact that Arnold protested the idea of a party right during finals week.
Arnold stood at the food table. Music was playing. People were laughing and talking around him. Patty was explaining to Iggy and Sid the fight that had her nose bandaged up. Nieve and Sheena were playing a game of mary mack. Everyone was having fun yet the only thing Arnold was interested in was the food table of chips, pretzels, popcorn, sub sandwiches, and a cooler filled with just beer. Arnold frowned noticing that Gerald didn't bother to buy a single non-alcoholic drink.
He looked up and saw Helga on the other side of the room.
She was talking with Phoebe and Nadine. She spotted him and they locked eye contact for a moment. She quickly looked away. She said something he couldn't make out and before he knew it the three of them went into the kitchen out of sight.
Arnold's eye narrow at her action.
He looked back at the cooler and shrugged. He took a beer can, popped it up, and drank.
Someone tapped his shoulder. Arnold turned to see Rhonda holding the hand of a guy he never seen before.
"Hi, Arnold."
"Hey." He smiled at her.
"This is a nice little home you got here." Rhonda complimented. "It's not nearly as grand as my loft but I suppose it's decent for those who are poo—financially impaired."
Arnold raised an eyebrow. "Financially impaired?"
"This is my boyfriend, Chester. Chester this is one of my old childhood friends, Arnold." Rhonda spoke up, finally introducing her date. She leaned forward to Arnold and whispered. "His father is very wealthy." She winked before backing away again.
"Hi, Chester." Arnold greeted. The two shook hands.
"Arnold?" Chester grinned. "Hey, aren't you the guy um, swims in Lethe or whatever from that poem Rhonda had me read—"
"GERALD!" Rhonda yelled nervously. She pulled Chester along, away from Arnold. "Gerald, you got some nerve writing me out of your documentary!"
As they walked off Rhonda hissed something into his ear along the lines of, "I told you not to mention that to him."
Arnold groaned.
Stinky approached him.
"Why Arnold you look bluer than a frozen man in the Arctic. You wouldn't so happen to be upset over this here poem Helga wrote that was clearly called you a insensitive, clueless simpleton," Stinky asked, holding up a copy of the magazine.
Arnold glared at him.
"Stinky, you always know the right thing to say," Arnold said angrily before walking away.
Arnold could hear Gerald voice calling everyone forward.
"Okay everybody shut up. We're going to play documentary now."
.~.
Arnold went out to the balcony, sat down in a chair, and sighed.
.~.
Back inside everyone gathered around the TV.
Gerald's voice narrated. "...Two inseparable women, Katharine and Selena."
On the screen was Kat and Sese on a couch. Below their heads was font that read Katharine Valentine, Junior, and Selena Garcia, Junior.
"Hi, I'm Katharine," the dark skinned woman greeted. "My friends call me Kat." She pulled a piece of her long straight ebony hair forward and let it drape down her shoulders. Her lips were colored fuchsia. She wore hooped earrings, long nails, and glitter mascara.
The woman next to her was dressed with less pink and more in a hip-hop style. A bandana covered the top of her head and only chin length brown hair stuck out. She wore baggy pants that showed the lining of the briefs she wore underneath. "I call her Kitty Kat." Sese said.
"Oh, I look so cute!" Kat laughed at the screen.
Gerald turned and smirked at her. "Healthy ego, I see."
The video continued to play. "She does," Kat said. "She's Sese."
"Selena Garcia," Sese gave out her full name.
"We grew up in the Bronx of New York." Kat's voice narrated over the photos of the two girls as children.
"We met when we were about eight," Sese said.
The scene went back to them on the couch.
"We both are a little musical. I dance and sing a bit. She raps."
"I can sing too," Sese spoke up.
"We formed a group called Diaspora" Kat said. "It's a reference to the African Diaspora. You know my family is Caribbean."
"Oh yeah and I'm Latina even though I don't look like it, I guess..." Sese said to the camera.
Kat gave her a look.
"You're Latina? Wow, wow, I can't—Why didn't you tell me?" Kat teased, pretending to be shock. She laughed. "I'm kidding. Yeah, she's Hispanic and we live in America so that's why our group is called Diaspora and that's why I'm interested in African diaspora around the world."
The scene changes to Kat in the studio dancing.
"I'm here at Sherman because I love to dance. I do tap dance, contemporary. I'm from New York so you know I do that hip-hop, that b-boy, stepping, popping, and all kinds of stuff. This school has a great art program."
The next scene went back to Kat and Sese on the couch.
"I am an Africana Studies major. That basically means I study Black culture and Black people around the world. That's why I'm at Sherman."
She turned to Sese.
"Okay now you."
"I'm here at Sherman because Kat wanted to go and I didn't want her to leave my ass behind." Sese said.
Kat laughed.
"No but for real I'm here to study English writing. I'm a rapper so I need to get a degree in something that evolves writing." Sese said.
The scene cut a studio. Sese rap a few verses in the recording booth.
"You wanna a queen but you aint a king
You want a housewife but don't wanna give a sissta a ring
It's so easy for an underground like me to get buried
I'm just sayin' it's hard out here for sisttah if her aint a Carey or Berry"
She stopped. She lowered the small mic. "Yo, that shit was dope."
The scene cut back to Sese and Kat sitting.
"I don't know what I would do with my life if I didn't have music. I live in the studio and just dropping beats or spitting rhymes. I've always loved hip hop."
The scene changes to a close up of Sese's fingers then slowly pulled back to a wide shot. "Mc Lyte, Lauryn Hill, Queen Latifah…
"Salt N Peppa," Kat joined in.
"Yeah, Salt N Peppa, and Left Eye they are my inspirations," Sese said. "I have male inspirations too like Tupac defiantly but for a woman's point of view. They are the only females killing it in the game right now. There is going to be a new generation of female rappers and I'm gonna be one of them." She smiled.
"I am so cute," Kat said at the tv screen again.
Everyone rolled their eyes and shushed her so they could watch the next part of the documentary. Helga looked at the balcony and noticed Arnold sitting out there alone in the night sky. She frowned.
.~.
Arnold heard the sliding door open. He looked back and saw Helga looking sheepish.
"So um, Football Head what's up? Why are you out here?" Helga asked.
He gave her a half lidded look.
"I'm not feeling very sociable right now," Arnold answered and sat back in his seat. He paused and looked back at her. "Wait, are you talking to me?" His tone was rough.
Helga was taken aback. "Well…yeah," she said in a soft voice. She shook her head and sat down in the seat next to him. "I mean, it's a free country, aint it?" She casually said.
"In your world, democracy is debatable," Arnold snorted.
She chewed her bottom lip.
"Okay, so I've been pissed at you lately. You always get on my nerves. It's nothing new."
He frowned at her. "Does that mean we get to talk now?"
"Talk about what?"
"About—" He paused. He got up and went over to the slide door and closed the curtain and the door. He walked back over to her.
"Can we talk about the things you said about me in your poem?" He finished.
"Ugh, Arnold how many times I gotta tell you it's nothing?" She shot up from her chair.
He scowled at her. "Until it actually becomes true. If it was nothing you wouldn't have wrote it."
Helga eyed him.
His expression soften.
"Your poem made me realize that I owe you an belated apology."
Her face reddened. "You don't owe me anything—"
"Let me finish," Arnold demanded.
Helga sighed then bit her bottom lip.
"I'm sorry about what happened between us in high school." Arnold continued. "I was going through some stuff with my parents coming back into my life, teenage angst issues, and—"
"You liked somebody else," Helga finished for him.
He was taken back that she said it.
"It's okay. I put you in a confusing situation. Looking back if I was you I wouldn't had picked me either."
Arnold winced at that. "C'mon Helga don't…" he trailed off. "You don't have to say it like that."
"But it's true. You liked someone else. Plus I wasn't exactly Kelly Kapowski back then." She looked down at her shoes. "It's alright. I don't care about that anymore." She muttered the last part.
Arnold took a deep breath. "Okay…" he looked up at the moon. It was a full one tonight. He looked back at Helga.
"Are you going to tell me why you ran away?"
She made a face.
"Why do you keep asking me that?" Helga said clearly getting annoyed again.
"Because I wanna know, darnit Helga stop being so difficult and just tell me!" He yelled. She was so frustrating.
Helga eyed him. "What are you really asking here? Why don't you cut the crap and really ask me what you want to ask me?"
He bit his lip. "Okay, fine," he spat. "Am I the reason why you ran away?" Arnold asked. That was the true question that had been hurting in his chest for the past few days
Helga sighed and turned away from him. "I knew you were going to make that about you…"
"Well what am to think?" Arnold asked angrily at her back. "The whole newspaper fiasco happened. We had one conversation. We never really talked since then but the school dance and after that you ran away. Am I responsible for that?" he asked again.
Helga stood there silent.
"Tell me," he begged.
She looked over her shoulder at him. Her face was red with anger and embarrassment. "Ugh! Oh, Criminy!" She yelled. She whipped around and faced him again.
She looked at him dead in the eye and told him the truth.
"Arnold, a lot of stuff was going on in my life besides you rejecting me. My parents were getting devoiced. They were fighting over custody over me and that was so fucking ironic. Phoebe was all popular with the Cheerios. I was kind of jealous of that. Plus we couldn't hang out like we used to because of her extra curricular activities. I was an awkward tomboy. I was just feeling really abandon right then. I would have ran away regardless."
He frowned. "You don't know that," Arnold said.
Helga bit her bottom lip. "Yes I do. Was I angry at you for rejecting me? Yes. I was so fucking pissed off. I was angry and heartbroken. I dreading going to school because I honestly didn't want to see your stupid football headed face." She took a deep breath. "But that was only on grain of rice. You may have been another excuse for me to run away you wasn't the cause."
Arnold processed this in his head.
She walked over to the edge of the balcony and lean on the rail. He joined her.
"Okay…"
"Say…" She turned to him. "You thought about me when I ran away?"
He blinked at her.
"Of course I did. Why would you think I wouldn't?" She practically drove him crazy like she always did.
Helga stared at him. His answer surprised her.
Arnold studied her face. Did she honestly think people didn't care about her? His expression softens. "Of course I thought about you, Helga. Everyone did. You might not have gotten along with everyone but you made one hell of an impression..." He paused and noticed the face she was making. "That pun was unintentional. Anyway, for the past few months everyone was asking, 'where is Helga?' or 'Phoebe, have you gotten anything from Helga?' or 'Gee, does anyone know if Mr. Pataki contact Helga yet?'" Arnold quoted from memory. "Everyone missed you." He looked at her in the eye and said most sincerely. "Everyone…"
Helga looked down.
"I didn't think…." She paused from her though and bit her lip. She shook her head. "I didn't think," she said softly. "Hey Arnold?"
"Yeah?"
She bit her bottom lip. "Can I apologize now? I'm sorry…"
Arnold looked at her.
"I'm sorry I made you feel like it was your fault I ran away." Helga said in a cracked voice. "I'm sorry I picked on you all those years and I'm sorry I didn't have the balls to just be honest with you."
"It's okay." Arnold nodded.
"I was such a selfish brat back then. I didn't understand what love was." Helga pulled out a locket from under her shirt. It wasn't the same as the one she wore in her youth. "You see this?"
He blinked at the jewelry.
"This is my locket. Nieve, Ed, Phoebe, Chris, Patty, Olga, despite the fact that she gets on my nerves…" Helga listed skimming over the tiny photos. She closed the locked and held it up to him. "These are all the people I care about. When I was a teenager I only cared about you. You see how selfish that is?" She chuckled at herself. "To save all your love for one person and to not share your love with everyone else that takes care of you?" She stuffed the locket back underneath her shirt. "It's so selfish."
"I've grown up since then. I realized that I've always had people that loved me and I love them. So please don't feel guilty about everything that's happened. I'm over it." Helga said honestly. "I'm really, really over it."
Arnold nodded. He leaned on the balcony rail. "Wow, I guess we have closure now."
"Yeah, I guess we do." Helga said.
"I actually feel…" He smiled. "It's kind of like this weight is gone now."
"Yeah," she agreed.
"Yeah?" He asked. He stood up straight from the rail. "Friends?" He asked offering a handshake. "I mean, like real friends."
Helga rolled her eyes and laughed. "Ugh, you are such a dork. Why did I ever have a crush on you again?" But she shook hands with him non-the-less.
They heard laughing from inside.
"I guess we better get back inside before Gerald notices that someone isn't watching his masterpiece." Arnold joked.
Helga laughed. "Right. I just... I just need a second alone."
He nodded before we went back inside.
She released her breath. She ran her hand through her hair. She felt emotionally exhausted.
She pulled out her locket to look at the locket one last time. She flipped through to the very last photo that she didn't show. It was the photo of a certain weirdly shaped headed person with a few pimples from his early teens. lightly smiled at the old photo then stuffed the locket back under her shirt before rejoining the party.
.~.
End of chapter 11
Upcoming chapter is Christmas
