Old chapter, made new.

Disclaimer: Idea mine, Hey Arnold not.

1

2 Rhetorical Questions

2.1 What if…



2.1.1 By: Christina

2.1.1.1 Don't Bother Smiling

Helga was standing alone, yet again deserted by the mysterious Arnold. She knew exactly why he had run away. He was terrified of feelings he couldn't explain. Helga wasn't, she embraced them. They were old forgotten friends. She sighed with regret though; she had wanted to kiss Arnold terribly. But the moment was over and she assumed she could catch Jeopardy on cable.



Gerald watched as the wheel spun. Round and round- he was so bored. If only he could find Phoebe. How could he have ever let her go?

It all happened when Gerald was in the 10th grade. He and Phoebe had been dating for a few years and they were in love. But what did sophomores know about love?

Gerald was walking to his 6th period class. A new girl walked in.

Gerald's jaw dropped and he was stunned. This girl was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She sat in the empty desk next to Gerald and winked at him.

Phoebe, his one and only true love, had been dumped for another pretty face.

They ended up breaking up, but the damage had been done. Phoebe wouldn't even listen or talk to Gerald again. His heart was broken.

He looked back at the TV screen and watched blankly as the wheel kept spinning.



Arnold massaged his temples, trying to relieve stress and strange thoughts. Why did Helga have to have such control over him? He needed some away time. After all, he had been told many strange things today. He had made a wish that came true. He had to change it. If he kissed Helga, he couldn't make that wish. To wish to go back to when she tortured him and bullied him. He wanted to stay in this age forever and love her.

Why couldn't he? Something was telling him that he needed to. That by not living his life near Helga had changed something. He didn't understand, but that feeling was so strong. He had to make this wish work.



It was the next day, Wednesday. Phoebe was revived after her long slumber and had been thinking up ideas all day long. Helga was sitting on Phoebe's bed, listening half-heartedly to what she was saying. She was trying to figure out Arnold, who had been sitting in his room all day. She tried to get him to come out, but he wouldn't come to the door. She was so confused; didn't he want to kiss her? She stopped thinking about him for a second and tuned into what Phoebe was saying.

"…And we should make sure no electrical appliances are on when we charge the lighting machine…"

Helga tuned out again and stared at her nails for a little bit. She was examining the nail on her ring finger. It was chipped, but she didn't have any nail clippers. She kept staring at it, as if by her eyes glaring at it, it would become whole again.

"Helga. HELGA! Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah sure Phoebe. You got any nail clippers?"

"Helga. You haven't listened to a word I have said. And no, I don't have nail clippers. Ok, well you are not going to listen to me no matter what I say. Why don't we go get some lunch?"

"Ok Phoebe. Sounds- fun. Where should we go?"

"Hmm I really don't know. What about the hotel restaurant?"

"Sure Phoebe. Lets go before my stomach shrinks too much. I am starving."



After a nice meal of chicken fingers and French fries Helga returned to her room where she washed the grease off her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. A sorry site she was. Her eyes were wrinkled and had bags under them. Her mouth was stuck in a permanent frown. She tried smiling, but ended up just looking pathetic. She washed off what remained of her makeup and brushed her teeth. She spat in the sink, taking in the feeling of being plaque free. Helga had always been proud of her pearly whites. Not that she showed them much. She picked a hairbrush out of the drawers and took it to her bed.

She turned on the TV and watched a special on some rock star. She brushed her hair. Brushing her hair calmed her and she sighed a deep sigh. The rock star was talking about his abuse of cocaine.

Helga got bored. Every rock star abused a drug. She turned off the TV and got under the covers, not even bothering to change into pajamas. She curled up in a fetal position.

"Don't cry Helga. He's not worth it. On Friday you will be back in PS 118 teasing and bugging him. Don't cry." Helga told herself.

It didn't work. She cried herself to sleep, shoulders shaking and tears soaking the cheap pillow.