I do not own the rights to Hey Arnold.
The first chapter was Phoebe's diary. This is Helga's. If she has a name for it, I am sorry, I don't remember it.
Dear Journal,
Today I saw Arnold across the crowded classroom. Our eyes met and for a moment I was lost in the rapture of being around him. Then he sat down on the whoopee cushion Phoebe and I bought yesterday. I guess he's not really Mr. Perfect after all. What a sap!
And yet...Well, you know.
Ms. Perfect herself, Rhonda, and her friends have been talking about me behind my back again. They say that I am taking advantage of Phoebe. They say that I treat her like my slave.
I hope Phoebe doesn't feel that way. I want her to be my best friend because she wants to be, not because I make her. I just don't know how to tell her that I care about her. She seems so perfect. It's not just her perfect grades. She's also so modest and friendly, and the girls all seem to like her. I wish I could be more like that.
I suppose that is only another hopeless wish from my heart, like my quixotic dreams of Arnold. For now all I can do is sigh.
Well, Merriam is bothering me again, so I better go.
Yours Truly,
Helga
The first chapter was Phoebe's diary. This is Helga's. If she has a name for it, I am sorry, I don't remember it.
Dear Journal,
Today I saw Arnold across the crowded classroom. Our eyes met and for a moment I was lost in the rapture of being around him. Then he sat down on the whoopee cushion Phoebe and I bought yesterday. I guess he's not really Mr. Perfect after all. What a sap!
And yet...Well, you know.
Ms. Perfect herself, Rhonda, and her friends have been talking about me behind my back again. They say that I am taking advantage of Phoebe. They say that I treat her like my slave.
I hope Phoebe doesn't feel that way. I want her to be my best friend because she wants to be, not because I make her. I just don't know how to tell her that I care about her. She seems so perfect. It's not just her perfect grades. She's also so modest and friendly, and the girls all seem to like her. I wish I could be more like that.
I suppose that is only another hopeless wish from my heart, like my quixotic dreams of Arnold. For now all I can do is sigh.
Well, Merriam is bothering me again, so I better go.
Yours Truly,
Helga