O Arnold, Where Art Thou?
By Angela Marcisak
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hey Arnold, I wish that I did; it would be fine if he were mine, that football-headed kid.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello! I just wanted to thank everyone who has been reviewing so far. To JESS- thank you for your reviews! I know how it is when you can't come up with the right words to say, don't feel bad. ( To Arnold&Helga4Ever, I try to make my chapters long, but end up stopping to write a new one. I find it more convenient to not put too much info in one chapter and save some things for the next, and extend the time with heavy detailing. To OlgasEvilTwin- I think you'll enjoy what's in store for this story. (winks) Personally, I've never seen this plot used before…you'll get what I mean. And to rock_steady13, thank you so very much for your review! I'm very happy you feel that way about my fic. Same goes to 'twinkling fairy light': You're all just so wonderful. ( NOW...ON TO THE STORY! ^_^
CHAPTER 3- THE SLEEPOVER PARTY
It was 4:30 in the afternoon, a half an hour before Rhonda's big sleepover party. Frankly, she was very surprised that her parents had let her have a sleepover party for not only girls, but boys as well. It was such a thing the Lloyds never took an interest to, but with much coaxing and the occasional "It's the latest trend" thrown in every now and then, her parents finally agreed. However, considering that they would be better off not in the way of chatterbox fourth-graders, Rhonda's parents decided that they would spend the night out at a high-class casino/hotel resort. They weren't at all weary of the concept of leaving Rhonda in charge, and promised they would return in a day or two, in case the sleepover ran on into a second night. That left Rhonda all alone, keeping watch over the front porch in sight of any early birds who decided to arrive a half an hour early.
Meanwhile, Helga stood smiling in front of her mirror at the Pataki household. A pile of clothes stood four feet above her bedroom floor, and small scattered mounds of accessories laid about every spot you could find; it was increasingly hard to step somewhere without hearing a crack or smearing lipstick all over your shoe.
1
2 Helga danced merrily in front of her reflection, delightfully serenading melodies she had heard in the play Carmen, which she hadn't heard in quite some time. "Habanera" had been her favorite one, according to the daydream she had during the class field trip to the opera house. Shame she couldn't live her dream. But, then again, who waltzes up to someone in 16th century clothing and confesses his or her love through musical?
"Oh, Arnold, my love…" Helga started, twirling herself around in the mirror, like a ballerina doll spinning to music. She was wearing a black T- shirt and baggy denim jeans, a little faded, but just the way she liked them. Her hair was let down, slightly frizzed and spiked at the top and around the edges in a "punk rock" sort of way. Her t-shirt read: "Oh crap, you're trying to cheer me up again, aren't you?" She was satisfied with how she looked, and quite truthfully, enjoyed getting away from the whole pink bow-and-dress thing for a while. All she hoped for that quiet afternoon was a little attention from her beloved Arnold, to say the least.
She pulled a golden heart locket from her jean pocket, holding it warmly in the palm of her hand. "At least these jeans are good for holding something," she thought to herself, smiling. Glancing over to her open window, she stuffed the pendant back into her jeans. She could get so lost looking into that beautiful sunset outside her room, but had to be careful not to recite any Arnold poetry that moment. She couldn't take any risk of Arnold himself walking by and hearing her verse. Yet still, the clouds, the setting sun, the sky in its finest hues of gold and violet. It reminded her vividly of him. "Oh Arn—" she stopped, clapping her hand over her mouth. "What am I DOING?" she smirked. Throwing her sleepover bag on a ready shoulder, she creaked the door open and sneaked quietly downstairs. "Eh, why bother…" she smiled, stomping wildly down the steps, opening and slamming the front door. Miriam sat snoring on the living room couch, while Bob cursed angrily at the football game gleaming on the television screen.
"I'll be back tomorrow, Grandpa!" Arnold shouted, standing in the doorway of the Sunset Arms boarding house. "Alright, short man!" Phil responded over the flush of a toilet. Arnold grinned, shutting the door and making his way over to Rhonda's. It was 4:45 in the afternoon, fifteen minutes shy of the evening. Arnold hoped he wouldn't run into Helga like he usually did; he was feeling better than ever that day, and didn't want anyone to spoil his mood, especially not the blonde pink-bowed bully of P.S. 118. He wondered why Rhonda had invited Helga in the first place. They had been natural enemies for as long as he could remember. Rhonda was obsessed with designer fashion and was always up to date with the latest trends, while Helga cared hardly for fashion, settling for a pink jumper she had worn since preschool. Rhonda was the snob, and Helga was…well, you couldn't say snob, but you could say "mean tyrant". Arnold shrugged his shoulders, crossing the corner of a building with a smile on his face. Nothing could go wrong…
Thud. Two blonde heads collided, sending them backward onto the chilling sidewalk beneath them both. Helga rubbed her head, growling fiercely and muttering profanity under her breath.
"If I bump heads with ONE more person today…" she heatedly said aloud to herself, craning her neck to look at the first poor victim she had crashed into that day. She gasped. "A-a-Arnold…" she started. Her blonde beloved jumped to his feet without hesitation. Arnold surely was a little too afraid of getting beaten up by Helga that day and he didn't want to ruin the mood of the party by showing up with a pair of crutches.
"I…I-I'm sorry, Helga!" he smiled falsely. It was a little mean of him to do what he was going to, but he decided he had no other choice. As he turned towards the direction of Rhonda's house and started to run, he felt a soft hand grab him by the shoulder. "No…I'm sorry, Arnold." She smiled. "I…guess I didn't see where I was going…" Helga trailed off in her thoughts, finally stopping short for a moment's silence. She and Arnold… they stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. "I just can't take my mind off how strangely…beautiful she looks…" Arnold thought. "Wait…did I just think that? No…no, I'm just probably a little tired today…" He did have to admit, however; her grungy choice of outfit looked a heck of a lot better than the usual clothes she chose to wear at school.
Helga, all the while, stared right back at him. She was lost in those beautiful blue pools of aqua, gleaming brightly even in the faintest sunset. "I wonder if he's thinking about me…" she thought. Blankness. "Nah…" she mentally smiled to herself. Minutes turned to hours. Hours turned to days. Days turned to months, and months to years as they gazed dreamily at the other. Any passersby would soon judge the two to be some sort of couple. What passersby? It seemed as though they were the only people on earth and that time stood satisfyingly still.
And then they snapped. Helga shook her head, her pupils returning to their angry state and her brow furrowing crossly. She glared at Arnold, letting out a growl and stomped off towards Rhonda's.
Arnold glowered right back at Helga, turning to look at the place where they had walked into each other. "Why in the world is she such a pain all the time…" He let out a deep sigh, stopping short only to notice something she had left behind. Her pink book. Arnold. Bent over in anticipation, slowly grasping the diary between his slim fingers. He turned around to call for Helga and to inform her that her journal had been dropped; yet she wasn't within eyesight any longer. He looked back down to the faded suede bound books in his tiny hands. All his life he had wondered what his darkest enemy had been thinking; what was behind those angry eyes that had everyone pleading for an answer. Especially Arnold. And now was his chance. Take it or leave it? Look or leave behind the sacred pages closed to the public's eyes? Reach out and grab it or wait like a sage?
No. He wouldn't do a thing like that. As much as he wanted, possibly needed, to know went on in Helga's world, it was her diary. He couldn't do that to her, even through all the pain she had inflicted on him in his troubled past. He was too good-hearted.
He pocketed the small mystery and walked on to Rhonda's.
"No, I am NOT going to kiss that little freak; if you think I'm am…well, you're crazy!" Rhonda complained. Curly held his face in front of Rhonda's, his lips stretching out in anticipation for a kiss. The entire gang was playing Spin the Bottle, and in particular, having a wild time laughing at Curly's desperate attempts to win Rhonda over.
"You knoooow you want to! Give daddy some sugar!!!" he manically swooned, putting his arm around Rhonda. "Ewwww, NO!!" she screamed, frantically running out of the room while being chased by Curly. The gang roared with laughter; even Helga chuckled heartily quite a few times. She hadn't had this much fun in a long time.
Arnold glanced over at Helga, smiling. Her grin instantly turned into a false frown as she scowled at him, turning her head away and rolling over onto her blanket. He sighed, turning his attention back to the game they had been playing. Helga might have looked like she was angry with Arnold, but the truth was: her heart was melting like a cold Popsicle on a scorching July afternoon. She peered behind her pillow to watch Rhonda come walking wearily out of her kitchen.
"Okay, people, Curly is locked in the closet, so don't bother unlocking it. (Everyone heard loud manic screams and animal noises from down the hall.) So whose turn is it?" She glanced at the crowd of kids, rubbing her nose thoughtfully and humming to herself. "I…do believe it's Arnold's turn to go!" she declared, pointing a finger at the football-headed boy. Low mutters scattered among the fourth graders, their eyes focused on the nervous preteen. Especially Helga, her eyes nearly falling out of her sockets while she stared at the blonde from behind her thick blanket.
"Okay…I guess…" Arnold choked out, nervously putting his hand on the glass bottle. There were a variety of girls at the party, yet only one would be chosen to kiss. Would it be Phoebe? Would it be Nadine? Perhaps it would be the ever so perfect Miss Lila? Or if worse came to worse…..
"Please not Helga, please not Helga…" he thought to himself as he whirled the bottle rapidly. His thoughts flashed before his eyes, as if he were the bottle itself; swirling around and around, faster and faster as the figments of his childhood passed frame by frame in his football-headed mind…
The bottle finally slowed to a stop. And sure to his luck, it pointed to Helga.
The gang let out a loud gasp. Arnold…was to kiss Helga?! Arnold sat with a shocked expression on his face, eyes bulging out of his sockets. He turned to Rhonda, who was smirking nonchalantly in the corner of the living room. "Rhonda, please…can I get a do-over?" he pleaded. Rhonda shook her head, a grin plastered to her face. "Sorry Arnold, no do-overs in THIS game…but there IS something else you can do…" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of medium sized silver circles chained to one another. "Well, are you up to it, Arnold?" He gulped as Rhonda twirled the shimmering pair of cuffs coolly around her fingertips.
"I cannot beLIEVE I am doing this," Helga complained, fluffing her pillow and tucking herself under a blanket. A shiny silver handcuff pair linked her wrist to Arnold's, to his very demise. Rhonda had dared Helga and him to stay chained to each other by handcuffs for one week, and quite frankly, Helga was surprised that Arnold had the noble courage to withstand her bullying from that moment on—linked by chains. A list of solvable yet annoying problems came to mind as well. The bathroom thing became an issue, neither of them had the willpower to argue to which house they would sleep in for the remainder of the week, and disappointment and hatred had already started to settle between the two. They were forced to face each other while they slept, in addition, seeing a pile of pillows as a partition wouldn't be a very comfortable solution as to refusing to look the other in his or her eye.
Helga climbed miserably under a giant pink blanket with Arnold, resting their tired heads each on a fluffy feather pillow. They figured it would keep them a lot warmer if they used only one blanket. Plus, it was all Rhonda had left to offer. She couldn't take the risk of letting Curly out of the closet to retrieve a new blanket, even though his screaming had finally ceased. Nevertheless, Helga felt a desirable urge to hug Arnold. Maybe it was because their bodies were so close because of their wrists being chained together and because of the fact that Helga had always had a fond urge to embrace her beloved. Sadly, she could not, as it wasn't quite the proper time to pronounce her feelings to him; she still knew her chance would appear soon in the future.
Helga sighed, closing her sleep deprived eyelids. "'Night, Arnold," she mumbled, drifting off into her well-needed slumber. Thankfully for Arnold, she didn't snore once. He smiled back at her, appreciative that she hadn't called him Football Head. "She looks…cute when she's sleeping…" he thought. "Wait…did I just think that? No…no, I'm just probably a little tired today…" Arnold sighed. He knew his excuses were wearing thin.
"Good night, Helga…" he grinned once more, shutting his eyes and falling into a deeper sleep than he had had for weeks.
By Angela Marcisak
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hey Arnold, I wish that I did; it would be fine if he were mine, that football-headed kid.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello! I just wanted to thank everyone who has been reviewing so far. To JESS- thank you for your reviews! I know how it is when you can't come up with the right words to say, don't feel bad. ( To Arnold&Helga4Ever, I try to make my chapters long, but end up stopping to write a new one. I find it more convenient to not put too much info in one chapter and save some things for the next, and extend the time with heavy detailing. To OlgasEvilTwin- I think you'll enjoy what's in store for this story. (winks) Personally, I've never seen this plot used before…you'll get what I mean. And to rock_steady13, thank you so very much for your review! I'm very happy you feel that way about my fic. Same goes to 'twinkling fairy light': You're all just so wonderful. ( NOW...ON TO THE STORY! ^_^
CHAPTER 3- THE SLEEPOVER PARTY
It was 4:30 in the afternoon, a half an hour before Rhonda's big sleepover party. Frankly, she was very surprised that her parents had let her have a sleepover party for not only girls, but boys as well. It was such a thing the Lloyds never took an interest to, but with much coaxing and the occasional "It's the latest trend" thrown in every now and then, her parents finally agreed. However, considering that they would be better off not in the way of chatterbox fourth-graders, Rhonda's parents decided that they would spend the night out at a high-class casino/hotel resort. They weren't at all weary of the concept of leaving Rhonda in charge, and promised they would return in a day or two, in case the sleepover ran on into a second night. That left Rhonda all alone, keeping watch over the front porch in sight of any early birds who decided to arrive a half an hour early.
Meanwhile, Helga stood smiling in front of her mirror at the Pataki household. A pile of clothes stood four feet above her bedroom floor, and small scattered mounds of accessories laid about every spot you could find; it was increasingly hard to step somewhere without hearing a crack or smearing lipstick all over your shoe.
1
2 Helga danced merrily in front of her reflection, delightfully serenading melodies she had heard in the play Carmen, which she hadn't heard in quite some time. "Habanera" had been her favorite one, according to the daydream she had during the class field trip to the opera house. Shame she couldn't live her dream. But, then again, who waltzes up to someone in 16th century clothing and confesses his or her love through musical?
"Oh, Arnold, my love…" Helga started, twirling herself around in the mirror, like a ballerina doll spinning to music. She was wearing a black T- shirt and baggy denim jeans, a little faded, but just the way she liked them. Her hair was let down, slightly frizzed and spiked at the top and around the edges in a "punk rock" sort of way. Her t-shirt read: "Oh crap, you're trying to cheer me up again, aren't you?" She was satisfied with how she looked, and quite truthfully, enjoyed getting away from the whole pink bow-and-dress thing for a while. All she hoped for that quiet afternoon was a little attention from her beloved Arnold, to say the least.
She pulled a golden heart locket from her jean pocket, holding it warmly in the palm of her hand. "At least these jeans are good for holding something," she thought to herself, smiling. Glancing over to her open window, she stuffed the pendant back into her jeans. She could get so lost looking into that beautiful sunset outside her room, but had to be careful not to recite any Arnold poetry that moment. She couldn't take any risk of Arnold himself walking by and hearing her verse. Yet still, the clouds, the setting sun, the sky in its finest hues of gold and violet. It reminded her vividly of him. "Oh Arn—" she stopped, clapping her hand over her mouth. "What am I DOING?" she smirked. Throwing her sleepover bag on a ready shoulder, she creaked the door open and sneaked quietly downstairs. "Eh, why bother…" she smiled, stomping wildly down the steps, opening and slamming the front door. Miriam sat snoring on the living room couch, while Bob cursed angrily at the football game gleaming on the television screen.
"I'll be back tomorrow, Grandpa!" Arnold shouted, standing in the doorway of the Sunset Arms boarding house. "Alright, short man!" Phil responded over the flush of a toilet. Arnold grinned, shutting the door and making his way over to Rhonda's. It was 4:45 in the afternoon, fifteen minutes shy of the evening. Arnold hoped he wouldn't run into Helga like he usually did; he was feeling better than ever that day, and didn't want anyone to spoil his mood, especially not the blonde pink-bowed bully of P.S. 118. He wondered why Rhonda had invited Helga in the first place. They had been natural enemies for as long as he could remember. Rhonda was obsessed with designer fashion and was always up to date with the latest trends, while Helga cared hardly for fashion, settling for a pink jumper she had worn since preschool. Rhonda was the snob, and Helga was…well, you couldn't say snob, but you could say "mean tyrant". Arnold shrugged his shoulders, crossing the corner of a building with a smile on his face. Nothing could go wrong…
Thud. Two blonde heads collided, sending them backward onto the chilling sidewalk beneath them both. Helga rubbed her head, growling fiercely and muttering profanity under her breath.
"If I bump heads with ONE more person today…" she heatedly said aloud to herself, craning her neck to look at the first poor victim she had crashed into that day. She gasped. "A-a-Arnold…" she started. Her blonde beloved jumped to his feet without hesitation. Arnold surely was a little too afraid of getting beaten up by Helga that day and he didn't want to ruin the mood of the party by showing up with a pair of crutches.
"I…I-I'm sorry, Helga!" he smiled falsely. It was a little mean of him to do what he was going to, but he decided he had no other choice. As he turned towards the direction of Rhonda's house and started to run, he felt a soft hand grab him by the shoulder. "No…I'm sorry, Arnold." She smiled. "I…guess I didn't see where I was going…" Helga trailed off in her thoughts, finally stopping short for a moment's silence. She and Arnold… they stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. "I just can't take my mind off how strangely…beautiful she looks…" Arnold thought. "Wait…did I just think that? No…no, I'm just probably a little tired today…" He did have to admit, however; her grungy choice of outfit looked a heck of a lot better than the usual clothes she chose to wear at school.
Helga, all the while, stared right back at him. She was lost in those beautiful blue pools of aqua, gleaming brightly even in the faintest sunset. "I wonder if he's thinking about me…" she thought. Blankness. "Nah…" she mentally smiled to herself. Minutes turned to hours. Hours turned to days. Days turned to months, and months to years as they gazed dreamily at the other. Any passersby would soon judge the two to be some sort of couple. What passersby? It seemed as though they were the only people on earth and that time stood satisfyingly still.
And then they snapped. Helga shook her head, her pupils returning to their angry state and her brow furrowing crossly. She glared at Arnold, letting out a growl and stomped off towards Rhonda's.
Arnold glowered right back at Helga, turning to look at the place where they had walked into each other. "Why in the world is she such a pain all the time…" He let out a deep sigh, stopping short only to notice something she had left behind. Her pink book. Arnold. Bent over in anticipation, slowly grasping the diary between his slim fingers. He turned around to call for Helga and to inform her that her journal had been dropped; yet she wasn't within eyesight any longer. He looked back down to the faded suede bound books in his tiny hands. All his life he had wondered what his darkest enemy had been thinking; what was behind those angry eyes that had everyone pleading for an answer. Especially Arnold. And now was his chance. Take it or leave it? Look or leave behind the sacred pages closed to the public's eyes? Reach out and grab it or wait like a sage?
No. He wouldn't do a thing like that. As much as he wanted, possibly needed, to know went on in Helga's world, it was her diary. He couldn't do that to her, even through all the pain she had inflicted on him in his troubled past. He was too good-hearted.
He pocketed the small mystery and walked on to Rhonda's.
"No, I am NOT going to kiss that little freak; if you think I'm am…well, you're crazy!" Rhonda complained. Curly held his face in front of Rhonda's, his lips stretching out in anticipation for a kiss. The entire gang was playing Spin the Bottle, and in particular, having a wild time laughing at Curly's desperate attempts to win Rhonda over.
"You knoooow you want to! Give daddy some sugar!!!" he manically swooned, putting his arm around Rhonda. "Ewwww, NO!!" she screamed, frantically running out of the room while being chased by Curly. The gang roared with laughter; even Helga chuckled heartily quite a few times. She hadn't had this much fun in a long time.
Arnold glanced over at Helga, smiling. Her grin instantly turned into a false frown as she scowled at him, turning her head away and rolling over onto her blanket. He sighed, turning his attention back to the game they had been playing. Helga might have looked like she was angry with Arnold, but the truth was: her heart was melting like a cold Popsicle on a scorching July afternoon. She peered behind her pillow to watch Rhonda come walking wearily out of her kitchen.
"Okay, people, Curly is locked in the closet, so don't bother unlocking it. (Everyone heard loud manic screams and animal noises from down the hall.) So whose turn is it?" She glanced at the crowd of kids, rubbing her nose thoughtfully and humming to herself. "I…do believe it's Arnold's turn to go!" she declared, pointing a finger at the football-headed boy. Low mutters scattered among the fourth graders, their eyes focused on the nervous preteen. Especially Helga, her eyes nearly falling out of her sockets while she stared at the blonde from behind her thick blanket.
"Okay…I guess…" Arnold choked out, nervously putting his hand on the glass bottle. There were a variety of girls at the party, yet only one would be chosen to kiss. Would it be Phoebe? Would it be Nadine? Perhaps it would be the ever so perfect Miss Lila? Or if worse came to worse…..
"Please not Helga, please not Helga…" he thought to himself as he whirled the bottle rapidly. His thoughts flashed before his eyes, as if he were the bottle itself; swirling around and around, faster and faster as the figments of his childhood passed frame by frame in his football-headed mind…
The bottle finally slowed to a stop. And sure to his luck, it pointed to Helga.
The gang let out a loud gasp. Arnold…was to kiss Helga?! Arnold sat with a shocked expression on his face, eyes bulging out of his sockets. He turned to Rhonda, who was smirking nonchalantly in the corner of the living room. "Rhonda, please…can I get a do-over?" he pleaded. Rhonda shook her head, a grin plastered to her face. "Sorry Arnold, no do-overs in THIS game…but there IS something else you can do…" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of medium sized silver circles chained to one another. "Well, are you up to it, Arnold?" He gulped as Rhonda twirled the shimmering pair of cuffs coolly around her fingertips.
"I cannot beLIEVE I am doing this," Helga complained, fluffing her pillow and tucking herself under a blanket. A shiny silver handcuff pair linked her wrist to Arnold's, to his very demise. Rhonda had dared Helga and him to stay chained to each other by handcuffs for one week, and quite frankly, Helga was surprised that Arnold had the noble courage to withstand her bullying from that moment on—linked by chains. A list of solvable yet annoying problems came to mind as well. The bathroom thing became an issue, neither of them had the willpower to argue to which house they would sleep in for the remainder of the week, and disappointment and hatred had already started to settle between the two. They were forced to face each other while they slept, in addition, seeing a pile of pillows as a partition wouldn't be a very comfortable solution as to refusing to look the other in his or her eye.
Helga climbed miserably under a giant pink blanket with Arnold, resting their tired heads each on a fluffy feather pillow. They figured it would keep them a lot warmer if they used only one blanket. Plus, it was all Rhonda had left to offer. She couldn't take the risk of letting Curly out of the closet to retrieve a new blanket, even though his screaming had finally ceased. Nevertheless, Helga felt a desirable urge to hug Arnold. Maybe it was because their bodies were so close because of their wrists being chained together and because of the fact that Helga had always had a fond urge to embrace her beloved. Sadly, she could not, as it wasn't quite the proper time to pronounce her feelings to him; she still knew her chance would appear soon in the future.
Helga sighed, closing her sleep deprived eyelids. "'Night, Arnold," she mumbled, drifting off into her well-needed slumber. Thankfully for Arnold, she didn't snore once. He smiled back at her, appreciative that she hadn't called him Football Head. "She looks…cute when she's sleeping…" he thought. "Wait…did I just think that? No…no, I'm just probably a little tired today…" Arnold sighed. He knew his excuses were wearing thin.
"Good night, Helga…" he grinned once more, shutting his eyes and falling into a deeper sleep than he had had for weeks.