I DO NOT OWN HEY ARNOLD!!! DON'T SUE ME!!! (I don't have any money anyway so you wouldn't get much out of it if you did)

Return To Innocence

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A sharp…

…sting…

…across my cheek, stops me in my act. No surprise, Helga Pataki's just--in a mad panic and maybe rightfully so--struck me across the face. Wait, though, if I'm not mistaken it's the first time she's actually hit me (that I can remember). It jolts me quickly from the fantasy world that so shortly before surrounded me. How could I think that I could just do that? Touch her like that… kiss her like that. I did, though, didn't I? I kissed her. Even this realization seems hard to believe, though it is a recollection of something I have just done. Did it happen? Did it really? Slowly I turn to face this madwoman, staring hatefully at me, out of breath slightly from her full-forced swing. Instinctively, I step back from her. Bringing a hand slowly up to touch the hot , almost swollen, hand print across my cheek, I stare wide-eyed at her. Helga. I'm sorry? (What can I say?) There are so many things I want to say to you, yet you look at me now as though I've just killed a part of you. Have I?

"I want you to leave," you say, taking a step back from me, in my broken state. I drop my jaw slightly in anticipation of words that have yet to be formed. "LEAVE!" you shout once more, pointing your finger toward the door. Do you hate me?

"Wh-wh-wait!" is what finally spills from my lips. She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest. This act, though, seems more as a response to insecurity than to anger. Trying to cover herself up, it seems. What does she take me for?

She stands there, angry, terrified I might try something further. She steps back again. Why must you move away from me like that? "I asked you to go," she repeats, backing herself against her wall, reaching back to touch it, a way to prove it's really there.

"I'm sorry," I say, more as an offer than an apology. A question mark seems to linger at the end of my pitiful words… does she know I'm insincere about it? Could she possibly know the depths of my seemingly unrequited feelings? Just how much do I care about her? Do I even know, myself? I step forward and reach out to her. What am I doing? I'm making things worse for myself, I know, but I can't leave her house like this. I can't have this be the last thing that goes on between us. But how, I ask, can I make this bad situation into a good one? How is anything I do going to justifiably make relations between us better? How? I reach further and place my hands on her shoulders. Isn't this what Lila did? She shrugs violently to shake me away, but her attempt is futile.

"Don't touch me," she spits, distastefully, still trying her best to move away from my grasp. Oh, but is it not your own fault, my dear, for backing yourself against a wall? You haven't any place to go.

"Just let me explain," I offer again, holding her still. She looks at me-- that same look of terror flashing in her pale eyes --and furrows her brow. I find, though, that I have no explanation. What can I possibly say? I seemed to have backed myself into a corner (Was that a pun?).

"Well? I'm waiting for your great explanation." she says, sarcasm dripping from her words. I look at her, switching my gaze from eye to eye. Oh, God, think of something to say you fool!

"I…" I exhale sharply, "Helga, look, I didn't… I didn't mean to… do that." I look sadly into her judgmental eyes and she slits them at me once more.

"So why'd you do it?" she challenges, crossing her arms yet again. Suddenly, all the hate and frustration that I harbored when I first got to her house comes flooding back. Why should I explain myself to her? I came for a reason, damn it! I was angry at this… this girl! SHE was the one who was supposed to explain herself to me!

I look at her a moment more (not thinking in the least about her question), then an idea pops into my head. She stands, 'pinned' before me, a hateful glare contorting her facial features. Uncrossing her arms, she once again tries to push me away, but this time I react. I quickly grab onto her wrists and she winces at my aggressiveness. Am I holding onto her too roughly? She hardens her stare again, though, and I realize that my force is not what's paining her. "Let go!" she cries, and tries to wiggle away, "What are you doing!?"

"We're going over to Charlie's!" I shout back, silencing her at once. Suddenly, she ceases her struggle altogether and her wild limbs seem to go limp. I don't understand this. Her expression is one of shock and the color seems to have drained itself completely from her face.

"Wh-what?" she forces out, tilting her head slightly to the left as if she can't comprehend what I mean.

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"Why are we here?" she asks softly before I knock on the door. She seems now like a broken child, rocking back and forth in a corner. Not literally, of course, but her demeanor has changed drastically since I first arrived at her house. Ah, so maybe the tables have turned? My dear Helga, I guess it is now I that is in the position of dominance for once. But is there more to your look of betrayal? I see this sadness in your eyes that I can't help but feel a pang of guilt for. I am, of course, the reason for it.

"We're here because I'm tired of you skipping out on your OWN project. Helga, think about it. How much sense does it make for you not to show up when it was you who asked me to join the thing? Did you ask just so I would do all of the work?" I know she didn't, but I'm really only striving for a reply. I know she will correct me any moment. She will blurt out some insult along the lines of, 'No, you stupid football head, of course not!', or 'yeah, Arnoldo, I asked you to do the project just so you could do it for me. You don't even have my same English teacher!' But…

Silence…

"Why did you bring me here," this is your response? My dear, what happened to the inevitable insults that always seem come whenever you are around me? "I can't believe you brought me here." she looks down and slouches slightly. From exhaustion? Who am I kidding? She's sad, I can plainly see it! Oh, the guilt, but I-

"Arnold? Helga?" Charlie answers, surprised. Strange, I hadn't even knocked yet. He stands before us, coat on, looking as if we caught him just before leaving the house on some errand. "I… didn't think you two would be over today."

"Yeah, I know, because Helga didn't show up at school today, right?" Oh, that came out a little harsher than I intended. I look over to Helga herself and see that she hasn't any reaction to my comment at all. She's… bland. Not there. Didn't she hear me at all? Is she that upset with me? True, I did sort of drag her here against her will, but… she had to come, right? After all, wasn't it she who first MADE me join in on this project because it meant that she would fail otherwise? What, now, would posses her to skip school and the project all together? Does she not care about her grade anymore?

All the way to Charlie's, Helga seemed to stay--for the most part--absolutely silent. She struggled a few times, almost freeing herself once, but I held onto her tightly. The strange looks on the people passing us by was priceless. Most weren't sure if I was kidnapping her or helping her to walk home. I was kidnapping her, though, wasn't I? I still am.

"Yes, actually," Charlie says, looking slightly troubled. "Look, I was just coming outside for some fresh air. Do you mind if we work on the project out here?" he scratches his head a little and runs his hand through his messy hair. He takes a deep breath and looks expectantly at the two of us. Helga still faces away from everything; I should turn around; I should walk back to Helga's and take her home; I should apologize; but I don't. instead, I walk with Helga to his stoop and sit down. "I'll be back," he says and walks back inside. He must be getting the materials for the project.

As we sit down I can't help but steel a few glances of Helga out of the corner of my eye. Did I do the right thing by bringing her here? She had to start coming back sometime but still… she looks… so sad. My heat seems to twist into a knot as I watch her lean forward, raising her legs to a higher step to lean closer to them on her crossed arms. Her shoulders are hunched and her head is low. Her face has none of the usual liveliness to it. It's dull. Pale. Dead. Oh, this is doing a number on my conscience… I watch in silence as the colors of sunset play across her emotionless face. "Are you angry at me?" I blurt. Well, obviously… yeesh, even I know the answer to THAT one.

"You're such a moron," she states, and I can see her roll her eyes, though I can only see her profile. This breaths relief into my being and I visibly relax. Strange, for most people an insult would anger them, make them want to fight back, but in this case, the insult means she's still the same old Helga. I hope. "Of course I'm angry, I've been angry the whole way over here, and I'm going to be angry the whole time I'm here!" she turns to glare at me, the first time since I stated we were going to Charlie's. She sighs loudly and stands up, "I'm going home," she declares.

"You have to stay," I say, no longer angry, but rather in a begging sense.

"Do I?" asks she, in a mocking tone. She turns away from me and crosses her arms again. Now, though, I'm absolutely sure she's doing it because she's angry… and rightfully so.

"Come on, Helga, remember your grade? You're staying," I insist, standing up to speak at her level.

"Fat chance!" she cries, throwing her head back in a fit of forced laughter.

"Please?"

"You want me to do what you ask even though is was YOU who dragged me here against my will? Nope, sorry," she shakes her head and folds her arms. "Come on, football head, what do you take me for?" I step to her and she defensively raises her hands before her and steps back away from me, "Nuh-uh-uh, remember? This is how it happened the first time. Stay away, or I'll scream," she says calmly, still backing away from me.

Against my better judgment, I take another step to her.

"Get away from me!" she shrieks, becoming red in the face.

"What's going on here?" I turn quickly to see Charlie standing behind us on his stoop, notebooks and paper in hand, "Are you two ok?" he asks, emotionless, but with a small sense of worry in his dark eyes.

"Fine," I say, trying to be reassuring. "What do you say we start working on the 'Why the novel is so controversial' part of the project?" I try to quickly start the subject of the book before Helga says the inevitable. I don't want her to leave.

"Yeah, that'll be fine." he sits himself down on the stoop and sets all the notebooks down but one. That one, he opens and flips to a particular part. "I've already started the rough for that one, come and look at." I smile half-heartedly and walk toward him.

He looks frivolously through two of the other notebooks, "I have some other papers for that too, hold on," he rips out a few notebook papers and inspects them, "here," he says, handing them to me, proudly.

Lolita: Why the book is so controversial.

The obvious would be that it portrays a relationship between a 12-year-old girl and a 40-year-old man, but the book seems to be controversial in other- Suddenly, Charlie makes a 'hmm' sound, as if he were pondering something and I'm forced to look at him. He looks around the sidewalk and frowns, "What is it?" I ask, still standing, still facing him.

"Where's Helga?" He asks, actually sounding slightly distressed.

"What?" I blush red from anger and turn quickly around me. She's not there anymore! Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid! How could I have just assumed she wouldn't run off? Oh, I should have paid better attention to her! I hand Charlie his paper back and walk a little ways down the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?" he calls, standing up on the step. He frowns, not understanding my urgency.

"I'm going find Helga!" I reply, my anger fueled once more. She left again? What is this, a soap opera?! Oh, that girl! She makes me so angry sometimes! I walk quickly in the direction of her big blue house, angry and frustrated. She won't run away from me again! I'm going to give her a piece of my mind. But… did it really do so much good the first time? She didn't listen then, what makes me think she'll listen this time? I just can't believe she ran away from me again. However, I CAN understand her animosity towards me. She has a right to be mad, though, doesn't she? I slow my walking pace slightly. She didn't want to come to Charlie's, who am I to MAKE her come? I turn the corner of the block and slow even more, I guess I can't blame- "Mr. Reiker?" I stop cold and watch as a man that resembles my history teacher sits lonely and cold on a bus stop bench. What's he doing here? Has he been here all day?

Slowly, the man looks up to me--yes, it IS Mr. Reiker, no doubt about that--and smiles slightly. What should I do? Just stand here? Walk to him? Turn to leave? He blinks slowly as if he hasn't slept in days and beckons for me to come to him.

He looks dirty…

He looks sad…

He looks worried…

What's wrong with this man?

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Here's chapter 16. Man, isn't procrastination great? I wrote this when I was supposed to be writing my research paper. Ugh, I can't think of a thesis or how to start it! Oh well, at least I didn't completely waste my time. Hehe ;)