**disclaimer(s)** i, sadly, dont own Hey Arnold! nor do i own Nike
backpacks nor do I own Blo-Pops
chapter 3. My Summer Vacation
Slinging his red and black Nike backpack over one shoulder and sticking a cheery Blo-Pop in his mouth, Gerald Johanssen turned to Helga's hater with an absolutely irritable self-assured smile. That smile had taken over his old one when he became the happy (and only 14-year-old) reverer of Lady Dumb-Luck. This began at age 11 when he found a winning lotto ticket lying on the street and, in a happy-go-lucky mood, gave it to his folks. Two years later, Gerald J. was rich, talented, good-looking, healthy, popular and pretty much content save a few little mosquitoes of issues here and there.
His dumb-luck was precisely 4 hours and 32 minutes away from running out.
Arnold met that beaming, full-toothed smile with a meek attempt at one himself, then slung his gym bag over one shoulder and began the final walk with Geraldo out of PS 119 (a/n: PS 118 only goes to 6th grade so i kinda had to improvise).
Arnold's gym bag had a NBA logo on it.
Arnold didn't play basketball.
Nor was he a particular fan of it.
Arnold, it was famously said, didn't do sports. He was the only popular boy who didn't, and it was also famously said that the way the popular boys had gotten popular in the first play was because they played sports. This was plainly labeled by the gym bags they all used in the place of back packs, with the exception of Gerald. Gerald was the king of the populars...he needed need a gym bag to be basking in cool. Arnold, unlike the other guys, didn't get his popularity from sports. He got his popularity from Gerald. This, with the possible exception of hating Helga, was probably the only anti-noble thing he'd done in his entire life. And he didn't view it as anti-noble in the least.
Then again, that's how he viewed the hating of Helga.
Arnold and Gerald walked in silence to the school doors, letting the rest of the junior high roar past them. If there were two traits the duo shared for certain, they were chock-piled full of dignity and a somewhat misty sense of maturity... well, the best two 14-year-old boys could manage anyway.
Finally, after spending ten minutes in complete and total silence, Arnold started to finally get suspicious. He could easily and willingly shut up for hours on end, but Gerald couldn't go three seconds with out breaking out into conversation unless he was eating or had something on his mind.
"Gerald..." he began warily, slightly disgusted at his own voice. Whereas a majority of the boy's voices had dropped deeply during puberty, his decided to stay practically where it was. He never really did like change.
"Hey Arnold," began Gerald, looking as if he was deeply edgy about whether or not to go on.
"Yeah?" Arnold prodded suspiciously.
"Don'tchu think it's about time you..." He shifted his weight uncomfortably.
"I...?"
"You..."
"I...?"
"You......."
"Get on with it!"
"You made up with Helga?" Gerald finished, preparing himself for the worst.
Arnold bristled himself slightly, eyes getting that dark look they did every time someone mentioned Helga's name. Even "that ugly kid with the one eyebrow" was beginning to leave a mark.
"NO, NO, and once again, NO."
"Oh, *come* *on*, Arnold," Gerald went on in a very exasperated way, seeming as if he'd wanted to get on this subject for quite the long while. "I mean, I'll admit it, okay? I'm not exactly a member of the Helga Pataki fan club. But it's been three freakin' years! Let it go, man!"
"It's not like Helga cares whether I hate her or not anyway!" snapped Arnold, face reddening slightly. "It's not that big of a deal."
"Yeah, well, no offense brother, but it obviously is to Helga and I happen to *know* it is to you."
"I can hate whoever I want to! It's a free country!! You're just defending her because Phoebe's her best friend!"
Now it was Gerald's turn to bristle. "Even if I *had* any feelings for Phoebeâ€"which I don't!" (Arnold rolled his eyes) "But even if I did, I wouldn't let them get in the way of my assessment of somebody else. Especially Helga Pataki!"
"Gerald," replied Arnold in such a simple manner it sounded somewhat pissy (but that was only to hide the un-Arnold-like misery of the statement). "She. Doesn't. Care. She said that today in class and...I just know she doesn't, ok?"
"Arnold," said Gerald, mimicking his best friend's simple tone. "If she doesn't care she wouldn't have been screaming about how she doesn't care to the entire 8D class."
Arnold opened his mouth to argue, shut it, opened it again, and shut it. Again.
"Ha," replied Gerald in that smug, triumphant tone so popular with his voice nowadays. "See?"
"Well, so what," said Arnold a few seconds later, sounding a lot more like he was trying to convince this to himself than to Gerald. "I mean, so what if she cares? Isn't that along the lines of what hating someone's all about? Not caring if they care because you don't care about them. If you hate someone, you don't care about them. Hate's just an easier way to put it. So, I don't care if Helga cares."
Gerald stared at Arnold for a few long seconds before saying, "Man, why do you hate Helga anyway? I mean, you're Arnold...you don't hate people. But when you do...man, you go on the warpath."
"It's not that bad."
"Yeah, it is! You've gotten to the point where you don't care if she cares or not. I hate to say it, Arnold, but that's really asshole-y of you to say."
Oh, look at that jaw drop.
"Asshole-y?!" exploded Arnold. "Asshole-y?!!? Where do you get 'asshole- y'?! I am NOT asshole-y!! I am nice! I am quiet! I think I'm pretty descent over here and just because of Helga G. Pataki, I'm ASSHOLE-Y!??! She's the one that literally destroyed my only chance of ever finding my parents, EVER (a/n: there's the answer!! see, i'm not that evil). She's the one who's asshole-y, not me."
"I don't get it, Arnold," replied Gerald, surprisingly calm after Arnold's meltdown. "How could Helga Pataki destroy a chance for you to find your parents? Explain."
"Ok," explained Arnold in a gloomy way, only just cooling off. "It's actually pretty straight forward. Three years back this guy came to the boarding house and gave me just this sheet of notebook paper. He left practically before he came. The paper had all this stuff on it about my parents and about where they were and how to get there and what the obstacles were and everything I needed to know to find them. Then..."
"Ohhhhhhhh," Gerald replied sympathetically. "I see."
"Yeah."
For five whole more minutes the dynamic duo walked in silence. Thenâ€"
"Um, Arnold?"
"Yeah, Gerald?"
Gerald bit his lip a little before continuing. "Just...how do you *know* Helga tore up the paper? Did you see the shreds and figure it out?"
"Well, not really," admitted Arnold, slightly peeved Gerald still appeared to be on Helga's side. "I mean, I, um....well I came home from school and ran upstairs to the paper's hiding spot and it wasn't there so I started freaking out. Then I found Helga in the back alley tearing it up and...I don't know, I justâ€""
"Exploded," finished Gerald. "Sure. Your house or mine?"
"Mine," mumbled Arnold, looking at his feet and he crossed Rupert and Vine. Inwardly, Arnold was literally scolding himself with an iron fist for telling Gerald anything about the paper. Worst yet, he was beginning to doubt himself. The last time he'd doubted himself (at least about the issue of Helga) was precisely two days after declaring his hatred for her. The guilt was beginning to creep back to him, three years after the incident and three years of (practically) rock steady compromise. She'd ran off crying...he'd made her cry. And Helga hadn't cried since. And now Gerald thought he was being an asshole about it. In all the years he'd hated her, Arnold had never thought of himself as an asshole about it. Then again, he'd always assumed he wasn't an asshole because Helga didn't care about it anyway. The issue was between him and himself. Now, suddenly it was between him and Helga.
She cared about it.
But so what?
"Hey Arnold!" exclaimed his best friend suddenly, grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. One year at PS 118, a school transfer, and junior high hadn't managed to make any particular dent in their friendship. "Check it out! You got a package! Man, we 8th graders never get mail, much less packages."
"Well, we're technically 9th graders I suppose," replied Arnold, picking up the package in a clearly bewildered way. "Maybe we're allowed to get packages now."
"Who's it from?"
Arnold glanced at the return address and immediately did a classic cartoon- ish double take. It didn't have a return address.
"That's majorly freaky, man," remarked Gerald.
Arnold turned the rusty brass doorknob and walked into the boarding house amongst a stampede of barn animals. Studying the package carefully, he made his way into the "family" room and collapsed onto the sofa.
"Where's Phil?" asked Gerald, taking his seat in Grandpa's velvety green armchair.
"Grocery store," muttered Arnold, turned the box over and over in his hands. The package was a relatively normal looking one, a brown cardboard box taped over and over again in clear duck tape. The address read his name, the boarding house address, city, state, zip. Nothing was out of the ordinary except the apparent absence of a return address.
"Well?!" hinted Gerald in a completely un-subtle way. "Open it already!"
"What if it's like a mail bomb? How d'you know if it is one?"
"I dunno," shrugged Gerald, the thought of blowing up not scaring him in the least. "How heavy is it?"
Arnold tossed the package around easily. "It doesn't even feel like there's anything in it."
"Maybe it's anthrax."
"Why would anyone be sending me anthrax?"
"You did have that issue with the senator tearing up our neighborhood a while back."
Arnold rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and proclaimed in what he considered a valiant voice, "I am going to get scissors!" Wrenching one wooden drawer of the universal kitchen counter open, he grabbed a pair of bright orange scissors and ran back to join Gerald.
Hearts beating like trap sets and mouths in full grin at the prospect of something out of the ordinary, Arnold and Gerald sat at the dark oak wood coffee table and began to open the package. This turned out to take a whole lot longer than either would've guessed. The duck tape strictly resisted cutting and there was several loose layers of the stuff. With pep talk via his best friend and popularity king, Arnold, nothing but Arnold, finally cut through the last layer of tape to the actual package of the package. Adrenaline at a peak, both boys flipped open the top of the box to findâ€"
Paper.
"What... the... heck?"
Arnold numbly dumped the box's contents upside down onto the table. One by one the shreds floated downwards like dove's feathers and scattered across the table's top.
For a few seconds, both boys stared blankly at the remains, both trying to slowly work out just what to do now. Then, Arnold suddenly lunged at the paper shreds, it finally clicking just what they were.
"Wait up, Arnold, there's something taped to the bottom of the box."
Arnold's heart had literally stopped beating. This was it. This was the paper Helga had destroyed. This was the chance, back again, giving him a second chance not to fail them again. Totally ignoring Gerald, he scrambled mercilessly over the little strips of paper.
"'Go see Malachi'? What's that mean?"
Before he knew it, Arnold had the paper finally pieced together. Beaming, Arnold looked at the message. And his heart literally plummeted.
"My Summer Vacation. By Arnold (9/08/99)."
Both pairs of eyes grew to about the size of dinner plates.
"Oh. Holy. Jesus," stated Gerald flatly. "Now what do we do?"
*~*
a/n: have you figured it out??? the 'my summer vacation' thing is arnold's homework assignment from 3 years ago! meaning helga didnt really tear up the paper about his parents. thus pops up a whole lotta new questions. whoooo i'm loving this!!!!! oh and yes this is a mystery. & for the record, i love both mystery & fantasy so if this seems a little disbelievable i apologize profusely. that's just my fantasy side popping out.
one more thing. i've decided to be sort of kind and give my little Author's Hint (patent pending!) at the end of each chapter. so here's my hint of the day!â€" malachi'll play a large part in this but he's not the guy who delivered the package to arnold&gerald.
thanks so much to everybody out there who's reviewed. geez this is why i love ff.net!! so, same rules apply; review and i shall write & flames will be used for toast. ok? ok!! WHOOOOOOOO i'm LOVING this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love writing and i havent written a mystery in forever. please review!
hyperkittyâ€"i cant wait to see that movie. helga confesses in it?!?! I WAS NOT INFORMED OF THIS.
Sonique Hedgehogâ€"thanks for liking it different.
chinyemagneâ€"whoa. i mean, whoa. (*does double take*) i cant believe you like it that much! thank you so much!! oh, and you'd better get up that enigma II up soon or i will stop writing. well...probably not.......
Eudialâ€"but that's just because Mr. Simmons is oh so very special himself ;)
ok, i will see you all soon unless this chapter's perminately scared you away,
keep a mild groove on~
rock steady13 (the alias formerly known as catwoman the alias formerly known as rock-steady13)
chapter 3. My Summer Vacation
Slinging his red and black Nike backpack over one shoulder and sticking a cheery Blo-Pop in his mouth, Gerald Johanssen turned to Helga's hater with an absolutely irritable self-assured smile. That smile had taken over his old one when he became the happy (and only 14-year-old) reverer of Lady Dumb-Luck. This began at age 11 when he found a winning lotto ticket lying on the street and, in a happy-go-lucky mood, gave it to his folks. Two years later, Gerald J. was rich, talented, good-looking, healthy, popular and pretty much content save a few little mosquitoes of issues here and there.
His dumb-luck was precisely 4 hours and 32 minutes away from running out.
Arnold met that beaming, full-toothed smile with a meek attempt at one himself, then slung his gym bag over one shoulder and began the final walk with Geraldo out of PS 119 (a/n: PS 118 only goes to 6th grade so i kinda had to improvise).
Arnold's gym bag had a NBA logo on it.
Arnold didn't play basketball.
Nor was he a particular fan of it.
Arnold, it was famously said, didn't do sports. He was the only popular boy who didn't, and it was also famously said that the way the popular boys had gotten popular in the first play was because they played sports. This was plainly labeled by the gym bags they all used in the place of back packs, with the exception of Gerald. Gerald was the king of the populars...he needed need a gym bag to be basking in cool. Arnold, unlike the other guys, didn't get his popularity from sports. He got his popularity from Gerald. This, with the possible exception of hating Helga, was probably the only anti-noble thing he'd done in his entire life. And he didn't view it as anti-noble in the least.
Then again, that's how he viewed the hating of Helga.
Arnold and Gerald walked in silence to the school doors, letting the rest of the junior high roar past them. If there were two traits the duo shared for certain, they were chock-piled full of dignity and a somewhat misty sense of maturity... well, the best two 14-year-old boys could manage anyway.
Finally, after spending ten minutes in complete and total silence, Arnold started to finally get suspicious. He could easily and willingly shut up for hours on end, but Gerald couldn't go three seconds with out breaking out into conversation unless he was eating or had something on his mind.
"Gerald..." he began warily, slightly disgusted at his own voice. Whereas a majority of the boy's voices had dropped deeply during puberty, his decided to stay practically where it was. He never really did like change.
"Hey Arnold," began Gerald, looking as if he was deeply edgy about whether or not to go on.
"Yeah?" Arnold prodded suspiciously.
"Don'tchu think it's about time you..." He shifted his weight uncomfortably.
"I...?"
"You..."
"I...?"
"You......."
"Get on with it!"
"You made up with Helga?" Gerald finished, preparing himself for the worst.
Arnold bristled himself slightly, eyes getting that dark look they did every time someone mentioned Helga's name. Even "that ugly kid with the one eyebrow" was beginning to leave a mark.
"NO, NO, and once again, NO."
"Oh, *come* *on*, Arnold," Gerald went on in a very exasperated way, seeming as if he'd wanted to get on this subject for quite the long while. "I mean, I'll admit it, okay? I'm not exactly a member of the Helga Pataki fan club. But it's been three freakin' years! Let it go, man!"
"It's not like Helga cares whether I hate her or not anyway!" snapped Arnold, face reddening slightly. "It's not that big of a deal."
"Yeah, well, no offense brother, but it obviously is to Helga and I happen to *know* it is to you."
"I can hate whoever I want to! It's a free country!! You're just defending her because Phoebe's her best friend!"
Now it was Gerald's turn to bristle. "Even if I *had* any feelings for Phoebeâ€"which I don't!" (Arnold rolled his eyes) "But even if I did, I wouldn't let them get in the way of my assessment of somebody else. Especially Helga Pataki!"
"Gerald," replied Arnold in such a simple manner it sounded somewhat pissy (but that was only to hide the un-Arnold-like misery of the statement). "She. Doesn't. Care. She said that today in class and...I just know she doesn't, ok?"
"Arnold," said Gerald, mimicking his best friend's simple tone. "If she doesn't care she wouldn't have been screaming about how she doesn't care to the entire 8D class."
Arnold opened his mouth to argue, shut it, opened it again, and shut it. Again.
"Ha," replied Gerald in that smug, triumphant tone so popular with his voice nowadays. "See?"
"Well, so what," said Arnold a few seconds later, sounding a lot more like he was trying to convince this to himself than to Gerald. "I mean, so what if she cares? Isn't that along the lines of what hating someone's all about? Not caring if they care because you don't care about them. If you hate someone, you don't care about them. Hate's just an easier way to put it. So, I don't care if Helga cares."
Gerald stared at Arnold for a few long seconds before saying, "Man, why do you hate Helga anyway? I mean, you're Arnold...you don't hate people. But when you do...man, you go on the warpath."
"It's not that bad."
"Yeah, it is! You've gotten to the point where you don't care if she cares or not. I hate to say it, Arnold, but that's really asshole-y of you to say."
Oh, look at that jaw drop.
"Asshole-y?!" exploded Arnold. "Asshole-y?!!? Where do you get 'asshole- y'?! I am NOT asshole-y!! I am nice! I am quiet! I think I'm pretty descent over here and just because of Helga G. Pataki, I'm ASSHOLE-Y!??! She's the one that literally destroyed my only chance of ever finding my parents, EVER (a/n: there's the answer!! see, i'm not that evil). She's the one who's asshole-y, not me."
"I don't get it, Arnold," replied Gerald, surprisingly calm after Arnold's meltdown. "How could Helga Pataki destroy a chance for you to find your parents? Explain."
"Ok," explained Arnold in a gloomy way, only just cooling off. "It's actually pretty straight forward. Three years back this guy came to the boarding house and gave me just this sheet of notebook paper. He left practically before he came. The paper had all this stuff on it about my parents and about where they were and how to get there and what the obstacles were and everything I needed to know to find them. Then..."
"Ohhhhhhhh," Gerald replied sympathetically. "I see."
"Yeah."
For five whole more minutes the dynamic duo walked in silence. Thenâ€"
"Um, Arnold?"
"Yeah, Gerald?"
Gerald bit his lip a little before continuing. "Just...how do you *know* Helga tore up the paper? Did you see the shreds and figure it out?"
"Well, not really," admitted Arnold, slightly peeved Gerald still appeared to be on Helga's side. "I mean, I, um....well I came home from school and ran upstairs to the paper's hiding spot and it wasn't there so I started freaking out. Then I found Helga in the back alley tearing it up and...I don't know, I justâ€""
"Exploded," finished Gerald. "Sure. Your house or mine?"
"Mine," mumbled Arnold, looking at his feet and he crossed Rupert and Vine. Inwardly, Arnold was literally scolding himself with an iron fist for telling Gerald anything about the paper. Worst yet, he was beginning to doubt himself. The last time he'd doubted himself (at least about the issue of Helga) was precisely two days after declaring his hatred for her. The guilt was beginning to creep back to him, three years after the incident and three years of (practically) rock steady compromise. She'd ran off crying...he'd made her cry. And Helga hadn't cried since. And now Gerald thought he was being an asshole about it. In all the years he'd hated her, Arnold had never thought of himself as an asshole about it. Then again, he'd always assumed he wasn't an asshole because Helga didn't care about it anyway. The issue was between him and himself. Now, suddenly it was between him and Helga.
She cared about it.
But so what?
"Hey Arnold!" exclaimed his best friend suddenly, grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. One year at PS 118, a school transfer, and junior high hadn't managed to make any particular dent in their friendship. "Check it out! You got a package! Man, we 8th graders never get mail, much less packages."
"Well, we're technically 9th graders I suppose," replied Arnold, picking up the package in a clearly bewildered way. "Maybe we're allowed to get packages now."
"Who's it from?"
Arnold glanced at the return address and immediately did a classic cartoon- ish double take. It didn't have a return address.
"That's majorly freaky, man," remarked Gerald.
Arnold turned the rusty brass doorknob and walked into the boarding house amongst a stampede of barn animals. Studying the package carefully, he made his way into the "family" room and collapsed onto the sofa.
"Where's Phil?" asked Gerald, taking his seat in Grandpa's velvety green armchair.
"Grocery store," muttered Arnold, turned the box over and over in his hands. The package was a relatively normal looking one, a brown cardboard box taped over and over again in clear duck tape. The address read his name, the boarding house address, city, state, zip. Nothing was out of the ordinary except the apparent absence of a return address.
"Well?!" hinted Gerald in a completely un-subtle way. "Open it already!"
"What if it's like a mail bomb? How d'you know if it is one?"
"I dunno," shrugged Gerald, the thought of blowing up not scaring him in the least. "How heavy is it?"
Arnold tossed the package around easily. "It doesn't even feel like there's anything in it."
"Maybe it's anthrax."
"Why would anyone be sending me anthrax?"
"You did have that issue with the senator tearing up our neighborhood a while back."
Arnold rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and proclaimed in what he considered a valiant voice, "I am going to get scissors!" Wrenching one wooden drawer of the universal kitchen counter open, he grabbed a pair of bright orange scissors and ran back to join Gerald.
Hearts beating like trap sets and mouths in full grin at the prospect of something out of the ordinary, Arnold and Gerald sat at the dark oak wood coffee table and began to open the package. This turned out to take a whole lot longer than either would've guessed. The duck tape strictly resisted cutting and there was several loose layers of the stuff. With pep talk via his best friend and popularity king, Arnold, nothing but Arnold, finally cut through the last layer of tape to the actual package of the package. Adrenaline at a peak, both boys flipped open the top of the box to findâ€"
Paper.
"What... the... heck?"
Arnold numbly dumped the box's contents upside down onto the table. One by one the shreds floated downwards like dove's feathers and scattered across the table's top.
For a few seconds, both boys stared blankly at the remains, both trying to slowly work out just what to do now. Then, Arnold suddenly lunged at the paper shreds, it finally clicking just what they were.
"Wait up, Arnold, there's something taped to the bottom of the box."
Arnold's heart had literally stopped beating. This was it. This was the paper Helga had destroyed. This was the chance, back again, giving him a second chance not to fail them again. Totally ignoring Gerald, he scrambled mercilessly over the little strips of paper.
"'Go see Malachi'? What's that mean?"
Before he knew it, Arnold had the paper finally pieced together. Beaming, Arnold looked at the message. And his heart literally plummeted.
"My Summer Vacation. By Arnold (9/08/99)."
Both pairs of eyes grew to about the size of dinner plates.
"Oh. Holy. Jesus," stated Gerald flatly. "Now what do we do?"
*~*
a/n: have you figured it out??? the 'my summer vacation' thing is arnold's homework assignment from 3 years ago! meaning helga didnt really tear up the paper about his parents. thus pops up a whole lotta new questions. whoooo i'm loving this!!!!! oh and yes this is a mystery. & for the record, i love both mystery & fantasy so if this seems a little disbelievable i apologize profusely. that's just my fantasy side popping out.
one more thing. i've decided to be sort of kind and give my little Author's Hint (patent pending!) at the end of each chapter. so here's my hint of the day!â€" malachi'll play a large part in this but he's not the guy who delivered the package to arnold&gerald.
thanks so much to everybody out there who's reviewed. geez this is why i love ff.net!! so, same rules apply; review and i shall write & flames will be used for toast. ok? ok!! WHOOOOOOOO i'm LOVING this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love writing and i havent written a mystery in forever. please review!
hyperkittyâ€"i cant wait to see that movie. helga confesses in it?!?! I WAS NOT INFORMED OF THIS.
Sonique Hedgehogâ€"thanks for liking it different.
chinyemagneâ€"whoa. i mean, whoa. (*does double take*) i cant believe you like it that much! thank you so much!! oh, and you'd better get up that enigma II up soon or i will stop writing. well...probably not.......
Eudialâ€"but that's just because Mr. Simmons is oh so very special himself ;)
ok, i will see you all soon unless this chapter's perminately scared you away,
keep a mild groove on~
rock steady13 (the alias formerly known as catwoman the alias formerly known as rock-steady13)