Chapter One:
Helga knelt down at her Arnold-shrine, within her closet. Her love, her life, her soul's torment, all here, in this strangely large closet.
"Oh, Arnold, my sweet . . ." she wrote gracefully into her pink notebook, mouthing the words and letting them hang on her breath then into her notebook. "How I've longed for those curls of blonde to be ran through with my own small unworthy fingers, how your eyes shine so delicately past mine, my own weeping at the longing I have for them to meet my gaze. Your hands, how the grasp the baseball bat you swing so mercilessly at the ball that comes toward your blue-capped head. Ah, yes, your head. The shape of a football has never teased me so. Dear Arnold, dear, dear Arnold!"
"Helga? Oh, Helga? Are you in bed yet, dear?" A voice interrupted, calling from just outside Helga's door.
"Yes, Miriam, what do you want?" Helga called back angrily, slamming her book shut, yet placing it softly upon the shelf.
"Oh, Helga, I need you to take out the trash. You don't mind, now, dear? Thanks." Miriam said, then walking off to her own bedroom.
Helga scowled. "Crimity! I'm not even dressed! It's nine'o'clock at night! Who does she think she is? Why can't Big Bob take it out, he's the man of the house." Helga reluctantly grabbed her robe, left her room, and walked downstairs. It wasn't that long of a walk to the dumpster anyway.
Slipping the robe on, she spotted three big bags of trash in the corner of the kitchen. She scowled again, but grabbed two, and made her way outside to the dumpster, mumbling to herself angrily. Suddenly, a cold wind went by. Nothing much, except that she could have sworn she heard someone's voice calling out from the night. She brought her robe closer around her, slightly afraid, though telling herself she was just being a baby. "And I still have to go back for the other one . . ." she said grudgingly as she tossed the two trash bags into the dumpster, then quickly making her way back to the door. She grabbed the third bag quickly, but as she turned around back into the alley . . .
WHAM
"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" Helga screamed, dropping the trash bag, then saw who it was. "Arnold? Why are you he- I mean, watch where you're going football head, you want to scare me to death?"
"I'm sorry Helga, I didn't see you. I'm looking for Abner, he's run off, I've been looking for him all afternoon."
"Well, your stinky pig isn't going to be here, so just-" Helga froze. There it was, on the ground, right at Arnold's foot. It must have fallen out of her robe when she bumped into Arnold. Her precious locket.
"What, Helga?" Arnold asked, waiting for her to finish her sentence. "Oh," he said, "I'm sorry, let me help you." He bent down to help gather the trash bag, then noticed the locket at his foot. Helga was too shocked to move. He picked it up, but luckily didn't look down directly at it in his hand. He held it out for her. He was holding it! Her locket! His own picture inside, and he didn't even know. She hesitated, her mind racing on what he would do if he had just examined it. But she quickly grabbed it from him, shoving it into her pocket.
"Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow Arnoldo." She said quickly as she went inside and slammed the door behind her. "Whew!" she cried out loud as she took out the locket to gaze at it. "You, my dear love, you don't even know how I feel . . ." she said slowly. "You held my heart in your hand just know, and didn't even realize it, oh, my love . . ."
"Helga!" Arnold called from outside. She jumped, but opened the door again. "What do you want now, geek?"
He held out the trash bag. "Oh." She said. She grabbed it, ran to dumpster, flung it in, and ran back inside. She opened the door one last time and called out to Arnold "And don't bother me again!"
"I just thought I'd help!" he called back angrily. She was about to yell about how she didn't need his help, but when she opened the door, he was already leaving. "Oh!" she said as she slumped down onto the kitchen floor. "Arnold, such a boob. What's with him? Helping me. Bleh . . ." then, changing tone, she pulled out the locket again and held it to her. "He cares so much . . ." she sighed happily.
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"Good morning class!" Mr.Simmons said excitedly that fine school morning. The class mumbled 'good morning' back, and Mr.Simmons continued.
"Class, I have good news for you. We will be having a poetry contest! (the class groaned) No, no, you will like this! The winner gets $500 cash prize, their poem published in the book sponsoring this contest, and they will get to represent the school as PS118's Poet of the Year!"
"Wow," Herald said, "All that money from just a dumb book wanting our poems?"
"No, Herald, not a dumb book, and not just any book. The Young Poets of America book! They have a contest like this nationally every year! And finally, PS118 has been granted the opportunity to participate!"
"500 dollars?" said Gerald, "That's definitely worth a try."
"I think it's a great contest." said Phoebe. "I adore this contest and have that past three editions of The Young Poets of America. It's an honor to have our school be given the privilege."
"I just want that 500 smackers." said Stinky. At that point the recess bell rang. Everyone ran out of the classroom excitedly talking about the cash prize. "I want everyone to enter and put their most effort into this contest!" Mr.Simmons called after them.
Helga sat down at a secluded bench and thought about the contest. "Ah, this will truly bring out my artistic nature, and the $500 ain't so bad either. I can see it now, first this poem, then my own novel, and then . . . and then . . . whoa, why am I getting so worked up over this? I haven't even written anything down yet." She pulled out her locket, and spoke to it. "What a close encounter you were faced with last night, but now, I turn to you for inspiration." She gave a quick look around, making sure no one was near, then returned to her locket. "My darling, bring the words I need from within my soul to write down this one, simple poem." She pulled out a notebook, and opened it up, many words running through her head of what would be the perfect poem of how she felt, and began to write.
"Ha ha ha!" a voice laughed from behind her, and Helga was then hit on the back of the head with a ball, dropping her notebook and locket.
"Watch what you're doing, you ninny!" She yelled to Sid as he picked up the ball.
"Sorry, Helga," he said, "Let me get this for you . . ." he then saw the locket. He saw Arnold. He picked it up. "What's this?" he asked. Helga was gathering her things when she looked up and saw just what she was holding. She almost screamed.
"Nothing!" She said, trying to grab it. But Sid jumped back, a sly grin on his face. "What is this, Helga? It looks like Arnold. Do you have a crush on Arnold?"
"Stop talking so loud! Give that back or I'll pound you!" Helga yelled. This was the second time someone had gotten hold of her locket. How clumsy was she?
Sid saw the notebook she was picking up. "What were you doing, Helga? Writing a poem for that contest? You know, from what I hear, you're real good at poetry Helga, and if you want this back, then I think you'll have to do me a little favor . . ."
"A favor? For you? Never!"
"Alright, then." Sid then ran off with the locket. Helga screamed at him, grabbed her stuff, and started chasing him. He didn't run far, but when he saw Helga on his heels, he ran into the alley behind the school.
"Give me that back, you little freak!" she yelled.
"Do me my favor." He smiled.
"I'll never do you a favor, Sid. And if you-"
"Wrong! I'll tell everyone you like Arnold!"
"You wouldn't . . . and . . . I don't like him!"
"Then why do you have this locket, Helga?"
"It's . . . it's Lila's! I'm keeping it for Lila!"
"Then why do you want it back so badly? Everyone knows you don't like Lila! You don't like anyone! Except Arnold! Admit it!"
"Alright! I like Arnold! I like him! I love the little terp! I've loved his little football shaped head ever since the moment I saw him! Just seeing him makes me woozy! He is the very essence for which I live! He is the wind beneath my wings! He-"
"Okay, Helga, calm down."
"Uh . . . sorry. Now give me back my locket!"
"No! I know what I can have you do."
"Have me do? Have me do? I already told you I liked him!"
"No, Helga. The contest. You write good poetry, and I could always use and extra $500 . . ."
"You want me to write a winning poem for you? And then I'll get my locket back?"
"Yes."
Helga hesitated. Sid knew her secret. He had her locket, and all she had to do was write a poem. She could do it. "Alright," she said, "but if you tell anyone, and I mean anyone, that I like Arnold, then the deal is off. And I had better get my locket back once I write the poem."
"Deal." Sid said with a grin. But then Helga thought that this could be much easily solved with Ol' Betsy. But her secret might get out . . .
Before she could make a decision, Phoebe, Rhonda, and Nadine showed up. "Hi, Helga. Hi, Sid." Said Phoebe. "What are you guys up to?"
"Oh, nothing." Said Sid, his grin widening. Helga could do nothing. As she and Sid joined Phoebe and the gang, she saw Gerald go by, Arnold then appearing and calling out Gerald's name to catch up with him. She suddenly wished she was buried six feet under, and hoped Arnold, (or anyone) wouldn't learn of her secret love for him. Damn Sid.