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This Monday morning is no different to any other morning. I get up, shower, put on my red shirt and green sweater, and wander into my closet to stare at the many pictures of my one true love - Helga Pataki.

That's right, I, Arnold Shortman, am absolutely head over heels, madly in love with Helga Pataki.

It wasn't particularly hard to notice her when we first met at preschool. She was covered in mud, soaked to the bone and missing her lunchbox, and I just knew I had to cheer her up somehow. It was only a small gesture, sheltering her from the rain under my umbrella and complimenting her pink bow, but it seemed to work, for she smiled at me warmly as we walked through the doors.

Somehow, even at the tender age of three, I knew there was something different about Helga. She walked with her head held high and with confidence in every step. Despite the fact that she'd come in soaking wet, she put on a brave face and made friends with all of our classmates, especially one girl who was shy and reserved. Helga seemed to gravitate towards her, as though she wanted to coax her out of her shell. I would later learn that the quiet girl with the black hair was called Phoebe, Helga's very best friend to this day nine years later. I, too, met my best friend that day. Gerald had walked up to me, introduced himself and proposed we be friends right off the bat, and we've been best friends ever since.

In Helga on that day so long ago, I met a kind, caring, compassionate girl who just about everybody liked, myself included.

I wouldn't say it was love at first sight or even just a little crush right from the get-go. Sure, Helga was wonderful and sweet, but three years old is simply too young to understand the concept of love and romance. At that point, I simply wanted to be friends with her.

But it wasn't meant to be. Whilst I made plenty of good friends with the other boys in my class, Helga fell in with the girls, despite not being particularly girly herself. Instead, Helga and I became acquaintances rather than friends; we talked occasionally, but never for any great length of time.

As we got older, though, I developed a one-sided crush on Helga, and the very idea of talking to her made my palms sweat with nervousness. So I avoided her, for it was easier to like her from a distance, rather than stumbling through our conversations.

Because of my young age, it took me quite a few years to realize that the sweaty palms and the stumbling over my words and the butterflies in my stomach were because of my crush. I was nine by the time I realized that I'd been crushing on Helga for at least three years.

I'm twelve now, and my feelings for her are no longer just a little grade school crush, but full blown love that makes me dizzy and causes my stomach to somersault at the mere sight of her. I'm still pretty hopeless in regards to talking to her, though. I did, however, once manage a nearly five minute conversation with her in which I only forgot how to form words about five times. I was pretty proud of myself for that, actually, and so was Gerald.

Gerald knows all about my love for Helga. There's never been much that I can hide from him, my feelings for Helga included since he figured it out in less than a week, or so he claims. Luckily, he's always been incredibly supportive; he's constantly encouraging me to talk to her, and dragging the two of us out on double dates along with him and Phoebe. As anxious as all of that makes me, I really couldn't ask for a better best friend than Gerald.

After a good ten minutes of staring at Helga's pictures, I run downstairs and into the kitchen, where Grandma is serving up pancakes for breakfast. I just hope it's safe to eat.

"Um, Grandpa..."

"Don't worry, Shortman. I watched her the whole time so they're perfectly fine," says Grandpa, seemingly knowing my question before I even had a chance to ask it.

With that reassurance, I eat my breakfast quickly, and grab my book bag on my way out. Before I leave, I make sure that my blue journal is inside. It's where I write about my crazy life and my feelings for Helga. I know - it's really sappy for a twelve year old boy - but it's the only way I can express my love for her without announcing it to the entire world, something I definitely do not want to do at any time soon.

"Hey, Arnold," Gerald greets me as I step out of the front door, holding his thumb out for our signature handshake. We walk to school, discussing our weekends and crazy families.

When we arrive at school fifteen minutes later, we approach the rest of the gang, who are waiting for us on the school steps. Harold, Sid, Stinky and Eugene fall into conversation with Gerald easily, but me, not so much. My attention is elsewhere, specifically on Helga, who's walking towards us with Phoebe at her side.

She's changed a lot since fourth grade. How Rhonda had convinced Helga to let her give her a makeover is still beyond me. In my opinion, she never needed one in the first place, but Helga definitely seemed happier and a bit more confident afterwards.

Her uni-brow is long gone, and she now wears her blonde hair down instead of in pigtails. She traded in the dress for jeans and pink t-shirts. The only thing that she didn't get rid of was her pink bow.

Helga and Phoebe walk past us and into the school, greeting us casually as they do. I turn around, watching Helga as she chatters away to Phoebe about something that I can't hear. I smile at her disappearing form, imagining myself in Phoebe's spot. Oh, how I wish that was me walking next to Helga, chatting about nothing and everything. Then, I'd take her hand and lead her into a corner where I would confess my love for her. She'd breathe a sigh of relief, say that she feels the same way, and has for a long time. I would lean in, and she would too, until our lips would finally...

"Arnold.. Arnold... Arnold!"

I snap out of my daydreams and focus on Gerald, who must have been trying to get my attention for a while. "Sorry, Gerald. What did you say?"

"I was saying that the tardy bell just rang, so we'd better hurry up and get to class."

We hurry down the hallway and into class just as the final bell rings. Although it's another boring day, I do my best to pay attention, and take notes, but it's difficult with Helga in the room. She's just so distracting. When I peer down at my workbook, its pages are covered in doodles of hearts and bows and Helga's name scrawled in the borders.

Knowing that I won't be getting any schoolwork done today, I take out my journal to begin another entry.

It's Monday, and class seems to be extra boring today. At least I get to see my love, though. She looks radiant today, but then again she does every day. She actually smiled at me this morning. Oh, how I love her smile. Well, actually, she smiled at all of us, but still, she smiled in my direction, so it kind of counts. She's so perfect. If only she loved me the way I love her. Arnold.

That's the last page of the journal so I finish my entry there, forcing myself to focus on the lesson and not Helga.

By the time Gerald and I are sitting at the back of the bus on our way home, Mr. Simmons had somehow managed to throw us a stack of homework so big it could rival a small mountain.

"Man, I can't believe Mr. Simmons gave us this much homework on a Monday," says Gerald.

"I know it sucks, but let's just get it over and done with," I say. The bus hits a bump in the road and my stack of books nearly goes flying, but I just about manage to keep hold of them. "Let's just do it at my house."

As the bus pulls up to our stop, I stand up, dropping my books in the process. I'm so clumsy sometimes. I pick them up hastily, and follow Gerald off of the bus.

We get to my room a few minutes later, pulling out our books to begin our homework. As I rummage through my bag, I suddenly realize that my journal isn't there. Panicking, I start throwing my school books across the room, hoping beyond hope that it simply got buried somewhere near the bottom. Nobody can ever read my journal - ever. I would die of embarrassment in less than ten seconds.

"Ow!" exclaims Gerald suddenly, rubbing his head. I must have hit him in the head accidentally. "Arnold, man, what's wrong? What's with all the book throwing?"

"I can't find my journal. I had it on the bus and now it's gone," I say, practically hyperventilating at this point.

"Hey, don't worry, man. The bus driver probably picked it up and handed it in to the lost and found at school." Gerald puts a hand on my shoulder in a futile attempt to calm me down. In a situation as dire as this, nothing could possibly calm me down.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Relief sets in for about five seconds before I suddenly remember something. "I just realized - Helga was on the bus this afternoon. What if she picked it up and is reading it right now?"

"Well, did you sign it anywhere?"

"Only on the last page."

"So if she is reading it, she probably won't get that far before she hands it in at school tomorrow," says Gerald, clearly doing his best to reassure me.

"Yeah, maybe you're right." I calm down for at most thirty seconds. "But what if she's already finished it?" I say, as panic begins to set in once again.

"Well, then your secret is out, and your life is over at the tender age of twelve," says Gerald, shrugging his shoulders as if it's no big deal.

"Gerald!"

The next morning, after a night of restless sleep, Gerald and I are walking to class when something catches my eye. At the end of the hallway, Helga and Phoebe are holding my journal, reading through it, and laughing uncontrollably. Of course, the one person who could never see it was the one who wound up finding it. Just my luck.

"Whoever wrote this is crazy," says Helga, trying and failing miserably not to burst into another fit of laughter. "And totally in love with me of all people for some reason."

"I must admit, the author is definitely in love with you," agrees Phoebe, struggling not to laugh herself. "As obsessive as they are, it's actually kind of sweet."

"Obsessed? Yes. Sweet? No."

The two best friends glance at each other for a second, before laughing ferociously once again.

I tap Gerald on the shoulder, pointing down the hallway towards Helga and Phoebe, who are still reading my journal intently.

"She's got my journal, Gerald!" I say, panicking once again. "What am I going to do?"

"It looks like you're on the final page, Helga," says Phoebe, leaning over her friend's shoulder.

"Arnold, I've got a plan, but you're not going to like it," says Gerald, looking me square in the eye. "You have to go right up to Helga, and ask for it back."

"I can't do that. She'll know it's mine!" Has Gerald lost his mind? He's always told me I'm a bold kid, but I'm not that bold.

"No she won't," says Gerald. "All you have to do is tell her your friend lost it and needs it back."

As crazy as Gerald's plan is, it just might work. The only problem is, I can barely manage two sentences around Helga - but, it's my only choice.

"You can do this, man." Gerald places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Just be cool and try to remember how to speak."

I nod and take a deep breath. I approach the two girls, trying to appear confident despite my overwhelming nerves.

"Um, hi, Helga," I start, taking another deep breath. "What have you got there?"

"Oh, hi, Arnold," says Helga, looking up from my journal. Good. "Just somebody's diary that I found on the bus. Looks like the poor sap's obsessed with me or something."

"You know, it kind of looks like my friend's journal. He lost it yesterday. Mind if I take a look?"

She looks a little confused, but shrugs her shoulders as she hands it over to me. "Sure, I guess."

Thank the heavens and everything that's right in the world - my journal is finally back in safe hands. I am never bringing it to school ever again.

I pretend to flick through the pages and read a few of the entries as Helga and Phoebe watch me. "Wow, I guess my friend really is crazy about you," I say, forcing a chuckle out.

"Seems like it," says Helga, laughing with me. "See you around, Arnold."

With that said, Helga and Phoebe turn around and walk towards our classroom. I breathe a huge sigh of relief, holding my journal close to my chest as Gerald approaches me from behind.

"Glad to have it back?" he asks, with a knowing smile.

"More than you'll ever know," I say. "This is staying in my closet permanently from now on."

"Plus, you spoke to Helga for nearly two minutes and only stuttered once," says Gerald, seemingly proud of me in a weird way. I'm proud of myself, too. That's a seriously big accomplishment for me.

"Hey, you're right!" I say, holding my thumb out to Gerald for our signature handshake.

"Come on, let's get to class before we're late," he says.

As we walk to class, I make sure to bury my journal deep in my bag where it can never escape again, breathing yet another sigh of relief. My journal is back in my hands; my secret is still safe, and all is right with the world.