O Arnold, Where Art Thou?
1 By Angela Marcisak
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hey Arnold. Not now, not ever. I…I…*breaks down crying* Just read the fic…*sobs*
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi there! This is Angie, the author of this story. First off, I wanted to apologize for what I put in my intro (the "no-chapter- unless-you-review" thing). I really mean it; I didn't mean to piss anyone off, it's just that I see a bunch of other stories with tons of reviews and I figure since mine hardly gets any, then that means that my story sucks. I guess I was wrong, and you were right. I should be doing this for the enjoyment, and for the sheer thrill of seeing my story up on FF.net all the time and knowing I did my best. So, once again, I'm very sorry for what I put. Please forgive me?
1.1 CHAPTER 2- THE INVITATIONS
"That…was…gross…" Gerald groaned, clutching his stomach and walking wearily down the hallway. His cocoa-colored skin had sort of a greenish tint to it ever since he had left the cafeteria that morning with Arnold. Perhaps the school lunch was to take the blame for it; their food was never that good except for the Thursday special, which was bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches on toasted bread. Every other day of the week, however, the residents of P.S. 118 were mainly brown baggers. Gerald continued down the hallway with Arnold, passing the nurse's room on the way to their classroom. Arnold peered in, glancing slightly at the usual customers. A long row of students stood against the wall of the office, a few kids with hands clapped miserably over their mouths while others laid in the center of the cold tiled floor, hoping that lying down while waiting to be called for would help their upset stomachs.
Arnold sighed, turning his head to Gerald as they walked into Mr. Simmons's classroom. Gerald gave his friend a sickening look as they sat down, his face a lighter shade of green than it was a few minutes before. To tell the truth, he looked like a chocolate kiwi with an afro. "Gerald, I really think you should go see the nurse," Arnold said assuring, observing that his friend's face was getting paler by the second. "I-I'll b-be fine, m- man. D-don't you worry about a t-thing," Gerald waved a hand in front of Arnold's face, holding the other tightly to his mouth. Arnold let out an irritated sigh, grabbing Gerald by the hand and leading him to the entrance of the classroom. He nudged him slightly out of the doorway, sternly pointing in the direction of the nurse. "Gerald, just go. You look like you've eaten seaweed all day." Gerald shook his head, walking back to the blackboard and picking up a piece of chalk. He wrote:
"It was the lunch I ate!"
Arnold tilted his head, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "You know, Gerald, I didn't think the kelp quiche was that bad…" Gerald shook his head wildly, running out of the classroom and towards the nurse's office. Arnold smiled, stepping out into the hallway. "I knew he'd give in sooner or later."
"Hel-lo, Gorald," Rhonda grinned, blocking the doorway to the nurse's room. "I see you've turned a nice shade of green today. And may I say, excellent Saint Patrick's spirit!" Gerald shook his head, trying to shove aside Rhonda. Rhonda wouldn't budge. "Ehem…" she rudely peered at Gerald, continuing with her speech. "Anyways, I'm having a huge sleepover party tomorrow night, and tons of people are invited. I've taken the liberty in inviting you as well! The party starts at five, so make sure you bring your stuff. And here's your invitation—" Rhonda held out a firm hand, grasping a furry pink note card with purple words etched cursively on the surface. Gerald grabbed the invitation and shoved Rhonda away from the door, nodding his head as to signal he was available for the party. Rhonda, a little peeved that Gerald had almost ruined her brand new designer outfit, watched Gerald open his invitation with delight. "Thanks Rhond--" Gerald eyes popped open, turning his head away from Rhonda back to the invitation. She winced in disgust as a sloshing noise was heard and the hot pink invitation was now dripping with green goo.
A few moments later, Gerald returned, his face a normal brown. He held a wrinkled mass of pale green and pink fuzz in the palm of his hand; it was dripping not with vomit, but with water, as he had to douse it to rid it of the horrible smell. The etched purple words were barely visible, but he gave Rhonda a thumbs-up. "Five o' clock." He smiled, walking back into the nurse's office. Rhonda shuddered, walking hastily back down to the classroom.
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"And one for Stinky…(Stinky replied with a "Gawrsh, thanks Rhonda!" in his usually drawled voice)…and one for Lila (she replied with, "Oh Rhonda, I'm ever so delighted that you invite me to this party of yours…")…and one for Helga…eh, I'm not sure. This party's for boys and girls, not boy-girls." Rhonda said aloud, a smirk plastered to her face. The class roared with laughter; Helga's face was as red as crimson, not from embarrassment, but from anger. Her brow furrowed wrathfully; she stood up and faced Rhonda, snatching the invitation out of her hand. Surprisingly, all she could do was glare; Arnold, craning his neck toward the two, was taken aback. He had never seen Helga like this before. Usually, whenever someone tossed even the lightest joke in her direction, she would start screaming her head off. But all she did was stand there, bothered by Rhonda's choice of words. She took one last look at Rhonda and sat down in her chair, pulling a pink book out from under her desk and scribbling furiously.
Rhonda sneered, moving on to the next row of kids with still a large pile of invitations filling her arms.
Arnold sighed, walking over to Helga's desk. She raised an eyebrow, putting her book down and crossing her arms. "What do YOU want, Football Head?" she casually snapped. Arnold jumped, taking a step back from her desk. He knew she could be a bully with her tough outer "shell" at times. Yet, at other times, he could see her softer side showing, as much as she hated it to show, it occasionally popped up once in a blue moon. She seemed to smile when writing whatever she wrote in that little pink book of hers, and she'd more than often try to confess to Arnold something, yet he never really knew what it was at all. Most counteractions began with, "Arnold, I…", "Arnold, I just wanted to say…" or "Arnold…I mean, watch where you're going, Football Head!". It was a letdown that she always tried covering up what she was going to say, and her soft side would vanish in a matter of seconds before she said another word. I guess you could say Helga acted like an oyster; a tough shell on the outside, but a soft mushy interior when you got to know her. I guess you could also say that her deepest, darkest secret was the oyster's pearl. So rare, and such a prize at the same time. Oh, how Arnold longed for that pearl…
"Well, what do you WANT, Space Boy?" Helga shouted. "Huh?" he shook his head. Helga growled angrily. "You've been standing here for three minutes dozing off. What do you want?" Arnold cleared himself of his composure, looking back at Helga. "Oh yeah…well, I saw that Rhonda was making fun of you, and I wanted to know if you were okay." Helga scoffed, shrugging her pale shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fine, Hair Boy. What's it to you anyways, Ar- noldo?" she shot back with sarcasm in her voice. He could tell that something was wrong, so he attempted at asking again. "Well, are you sure? You looked a little…" "A little what?" Helga queried. "A little…hurt." Arnold finished. "Hurt? HURT?" Helga crossly scowled. "You're the one who's gonna be "hurt" if you keep giving me all these stupid questions! Yes, I am FINE, it was only a little joke. Don't you GET it? Why would YOU give a crap anyways? Did I ASK for you to feel all bad for me? NO. Now, do me a favor, and get your butt back over there in your seat before I send you there- in a wheelchair!" Helga shoved Arnold away from her desk and lowered her head behind her pink book, continuing to scribble the little thoughts that were on her mind.
Arnold glared madly at Helga, returning to his seat where he was greeted by Gerald. "Hey, man," he started, "What's happenin'?" Arnold sighed deeply, looking back over towards the other side of the room. "I can see the color's came back to your face, Gerald," he replied, attempting at changing the subject. Gerald looked back at Arnold, an annoyed/practical look spreading across his face. "I know for a fact that's not what's bothering you. Now tell me." Arnold sighed once more, burying his head in his hands. "I don't know, Gerald. Every time I try to cheer Helga up, she always pushes me away, like she hates me or something. I always thought that wasn't all that bad deep down, but I think I'm starting to doubt that. I mean, look at her. She scowls at everyone, especially me. She's always yelling at me, calling me Football Head; she always throws spitballs when I least expect it (while Arnold said that, a slimy wad of paper landed on his face; he brushed it off with annoyance)… If you really think about it, she seems to like picking on me more than anyone else in the school. I just don't get why."
Gerald sat in silence, nodding his head. Both of them knew everything Arnold had just said was absolutely true. She had been picking on Arnold especially for the past six years. She had done all of those things that he had mentioned, including the spitballs. And all because of one thing: she loved him.
It was funny how a person could put someone through so much torture when, quite the contrary, that person was in love with them.
And it was funny how that person was Helga.
1 By Angela Marcisak
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hey Arnold. Not now, not ever. I…I…*breaks down crying* Just read the fic…*sobs*
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi there! This is Angie, the author of this story. First off, I wanted to apologize for what I put in my intro (the "no-chapter- unless-you-review" thing). I really mean it; I didn't mean to piss anyone off, it's just that I see a bunch of other stories with tons of reviews and I figure since mine hardly gets any, then that means that my story sucks. I guess I was wrong, and you were right. I should be doing this for the enjoyment, and for the sheer thrill of seeing my story up on FF.net all the time and knowing I did my best. So, once again, I'm very sorry for what I put. Please forgive me?
1.1 CHAPTER 2- THE INVITATIONS
"That…was…gross…" Gerald groaned, clutching his stomach and walking wearily down the hallway. His cocoa-colored skin had sort of a greenish tint to it ever since he had left the cafeteria that morning with Arnold. Perhaps the school lunch was to take the blame for it; their food was never that good except for the Thursday special, which was bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches on toasted bread. Every other day of the week, however, the residents of P.S. 118 were mainly brown baggers. Gerald continued down the hallway with Arnold, passing the nurse's room on the way to their classroom. Arnold peered in, glancing slightly at the usual customers. A long row of students stood against the wall of the office, a few kids with hands clapped miserably over their mouths while others laid in the center of the cold tiled floor, hoping that lying down while waiting to be called for would help their upset stomachs.
Arnold sighed, turning his head to Gerald as they walked into Mr. Simmons's classroom. Gerald gave his friend a sickening look as they sat down, his face a lighter shade of green than it was a few minutes before. To tell the truth, he looked like a chocolate kiwi with an afro. "Gerald, I really think you should go see the nurse," Arnold said assuring, observing that his friend's face was getting paler by the second. "I-I'll b-be fine, m- man. D-don't you worry about a t-thing," Gerald waved a hand in front of Arnold's face, holding the other tightly to his mouth. Arnold let out an irritated sigh, grabbing Gerald by the hand and leading him to the entrance of the classroom. He nudged him slightly out of the doorway, sternly pointing in the direction of the nurse. "Gerald, just go. You look like you've eaten seaweed all day." Gerald shook his head, walking back to the blackboard and picking up a piece of chalk. He wrote:
"It was the lunch I ate!"
Arnold tilted his head, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "You know, Gerald, I didn't think the kelp quiche was that bad…" Gerald shook his head wildly, running out of the classroom and towards the nurse's office. Arnold smiled, stepping out into the hallway. "I knew he'd give in sooner or later."
"Hel-lo, Gorald," Rhonda grinned, blocking the doorway to the nurse's room. "I see you've turned a nice shade of green today. And may I say, excellent Saint Patrick's spirit!" Gerald shook his head, trying to shove aside Rhonda. Rhonda wouldn't budge. "Ehem…" she rudely peered at Gerald, continuing with her speech. "Anyways, I'm having a huge sleepover party tomorrow night, and tons of people are invited. I've taken the liberty in inviting you as well! The party starts at five, so make sure you bring your stuff. And here's your invitation—" Rhonda held out a firm hand, grasping a furry pink note card with purple words etched cursively on the surface. Gerald grabbed the invitation and shoved Rhonda away from the door, nodding his head as to signal he was available for the party. Rhonda, a little peeved that Gerald had almost ruined her brand new designer outfit, watched Gerald open his invitation with delight. "Thanks Rhond--" Gerald eyes popped open, turning his head away from Rhonda back to the invitation. She winced in disgust as a sloshing noise was heard and the hot pink invitation was now dripping with green goo.
A few moments later, Gerald returned, his face a normal brown. He held a wrinkled mass of pale green and pink fuzz in the palm of his hand; it was dripping not with vomit, but with water, as he had to douse it to rid it of the horrible smell. The etched purple words were barely visible, but he gave Rhonda a thumbs-up. "Five o' clock." He smiled, walking back into the nurse's office. Rhonda shuddered, walking hastily back down to the classroom.
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"And one for Stinky…(Stinky replied with a "Gawrsh, thanks Rhonda!" in his usually drawled voice)…and one for Lila (she replied with, "Oh Rhonda, I'm ever so delighted that you invite me to this party of yours…")…and one for Helga…eh, I'm not sure. This party's for boys and girls, not boy-girls." Rhonda said aloud, a smirk plastered to her face. The class roared with laughter; Helga's face was as red as crimson, not from embarrassment, but from anger. Her brow furrowed wrathfully; she stood up and faced Rhonda, snatching the invitation out of her hand. Surprisingly, all she could do was glare; Arnold, craning his neck toward the two, was taken aback. He had never seen Helga like this before. Usually, whenever someone tossed even the lightest joke in her direction, she would start screaming her head off. But all she did was stand there, bothered by Rhonda's choice of words. She took one last look at Rhonda and sat down in her chair, pulling a pink book out from under her desk and scribbling furiously.
Rhonda sneered, moving on to the next row of kids with still a large pile of invitations filling her arms.
Arnold sighed, walking over to Helga's desk. She raised an eyebrow, putting her book down and crossing her arms. "What do YOU want, Football Head?" she casually snapped. Arnold jumped, taking a step back from her desk. He knew she could be a bully with her tough outer "shell" at times. Yet, at other times, he could see her softer side showing, as much as she hated it to show, it occasionally popped up once in a blue moon. She seemed to smile when writing whatever she wrote in that little pink book of hers, and she'd more than often try to confess to Arnold something, yet he never really knew what it was at all. Most counteractions began with, "Arnold, I…", "Arnold, I just wanted to say…" or "Arnold…I mean, watch where you're going, Football Head!". It was a letdown that she always tried covering up what she was going to say, and her soft side would vanish in a matter of seconds before she said another word. I guess you could say Helga acted like an oyster; a tough shell on the outside, but a soft mushy interior when you got to know her. I guess you could also say that her deepest, darkest secret was the oyster's pearl. So rare, and such a prize at the same time. Oh, how Arnold longed for that pearl…
"Well, what do you WANT, Space Boy?" Helga shouted. "Huh?" he shook his head. Helga growled angrily. "You've been standing here for three minutes dozing off. What do you want?" Arnold cleared himself of his composure, looking back at Helga. "Oh yeah…well, I saw that Rhonda was making fun of you, and I wanted to know if you were okay." Helga scoffed, shrugging her pale shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fine, Hair Boy. What's it to you anyways, Ar- noldo?" she shot back with sarcasm in her voice. He could tell that something was wrong, so he attempted at asking again. "Well, are you sure? You looked a little…" "A little what?" Helga queried. "A little…hurt." Arnold finished. "Hurt? HURT?" Helga crossly scowled. "You're the one who's gonna be "hurt" if you keep giving me all these stupid questions! Yes, I am FINE, it was only a little joke. Don't you GET it? Why would YOU give a crap anyways? Did I ASK for you to feel all bad for me? NO. Now, do me a favor, and get your butt back over there in your seat before I send you there- in a wheelchair!" Helga shoved Arnold away from her desk and lowered her head behind her pink book, continuing to scribble the little thoughts that were on her mind.
Arnold glared madly at Helga, returning to his seat where he was greeted by Gerald. "Hey, man," he started, "What's happenin'?" Arnold sighed deeply, looking back over towards the other side of the room. "I can see the color's came back to your face, Gerald," he replied, attempting at changing the subject. Gerald looked back at Arnold, an annoyed/practical look spreading across his face. "I know for a fact that's not what's bothering you. Now tell me." Arnold sighed once more, burying his head in his hands. "I don't know, Gerald. Every time I try to cheer Helga up, she always pushes me away, like she hates me or something. I always thought that wasn't all that bad deep down, but I think I'm starting to doubt that. I mean, look at her. She scowls at everyone, especially me. She's always yelling at me, calling me Football Head; she always throws spitballs when I least expect it (while Arnold said that, a slimy wad of paper landed on his face; he brushed it off with annoyance)… If you really think about it, she seems to like picking on me more than anyone else in the school. I just don't get why."
Gerald sat in silence, nodding his head. Both of them knew everything Arnold had just said was absolutely true. She had been picking on Arnold especially for the past six years. She had done all of those things that he had mentioned, including the spitballs. And all because of one thing: she loved him.
It was funny how a person could put someone through so much torture when, quite the contrary, that person was in love with them.
And it was funny how that person was Helga.