Hello again! It's pottergal back again with the second chapter of A Rainy December. I hope everyone liked the first chapter enough to come back and read this one; otherwise I'll have to cry or something. No, just kidding. I won't cry, I'm too old for that. Anyhoo, hope people aren't too confused with what's happening so far. People start getting sick and through this experience, Arnold begins to unravel the mystery that is Helga, and they grow closer because of it. How's that for a plot? Thanks so much to every single person who has reviewed or sent me an e-mail. I really appreciate it! And now it's time for a little shameless self-promotion: if you're also a fan of HP and you like the Harry/ Hermione couple, check out my other fic, Only Talking and tell me what you think!

Love forever and ever:

pottergal

PS. All disclaimers still apply and they apply throughout the whole fic. I DO NOT own HA! And thank you so much to everyone who told me that it's Craig Bartlett. You actually remember a question of mine even after my seriously long chapters, wow.

Before I forget, don't expect a real regular schedule for these chapters. Usually I can write them in about three days but then I have to go back and edit like crazy! There's so much I change around over the course of a couple of days that it's insane. Well, I'll probably update ever five days or so, but we'll see won't we? Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed!

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A Rainy December

Chapter Two: It's Contagious

By: pottergal

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It was seven fifty in the morning when Arnold took his seat in the classroom at PS 118. It had been a couple of days since Phoebe's collapse, and surprisingly enough, the class had returned to normal. Sure, it was awkward when no one would answer Mr. Simmons questions, but other than that, nothing seemed like it had changed. Well, that would be lying. Gerald was still acting funny, but Arnold ignored his behavior. He'd asked himself, how would he feel if the girl he liked was suddenly in the hospital for a high fever? And then Gerald's behavior had seemed almost . . . normal.

"Hey, Arnold!" Sid and Stinky walked up to him just as he sat down and he smiled in greeting. "Are we having practice today? The one we had a few days ago did a world of good."

"I'd like to have one, but I've got to talk to Gerald. He wasn't on the bus today, so I figured he was running late or something." Arnold said as he tucked a few of his books away and removed his thick red scarf. "And I agree with you about the practices. That's why we're having them after all; we want to be as ready as possible when we face the fifth graders."

"You know I reckon Helga wasn't ridin' the bus today either?" Stinky drawled and Arnold blinked a little. He hadn't noticed that, but now that he thought about it, the ride had seemed oddly quiet. "Do ya think she's sick as well? That would be horrible considerin' the upcomin' game."

"She can't be sick! She's the best catcher!" Sid said, a note of horror in his voice. "Oh no, oh no! What're we going to do if she is?" Arnold fought a small sigh of impatience.

"She's not sick. She probably stopped off by Phoebe's or something." Just as he spoke, the two people in question burst through the door, glowering at eachother.

"See, Helga? We're not late. So you can stop with the complaints already." Gerald said, his voice full of frustration and hostility. "I couldn't believe how rude you were being, especially when Phoebe's mother was nice enough to give us a ride to school in the first place!"

"We wouldn't have had to ask her if you hadn't showed up and asked to see Phoebe, Geraldo! What is it with you anyway? Why do you have to see her every single morning and afternoon? The fever has been brought down, so she's not going to die." Arnold watched Gerald glare darkly at Helga, but he didn't respond to her last question. Instead he stomped past her and plopped down in his seat angrily. Helga made a small angry noise before walking to her desk and taking her seat. Arnold couldn't help watching her curiously as she pulled out a little book and began to write in it furiously. What was so interesting about her? He asked himself. Why couldn't he just let her be an unsolved puzzle?

"Man, that girl just drives me off the edge sometimes!" Gerald's angry mutter snapped Arnold's attention to his best friend. "I stop by Phoebe's to see how she's doing, and what do I get? A morning with the girl from hell." Sid and Stinky both snickered as they moved to stand before his desk.

"So are we going to have another baseball practice this afternoon? Stinky and I have been practicing our batting on our own, and we managed to do pretty well." Sid said and Arnold frowned when Gerald didn't answer. His gaze was still angry and after a moment, he knuckled his forehead.

"And to top it off, Timberly kept waking up the house last night with her nightmares, so I didn't sleep much. Man, think the nurse has anything for a headache?" Gerald began rubbing his temples. "Helga didn't help it either, with her mean attitude."

"You could try the nurse, Gerald. She probably has aspirin, or something." Arnold suggested, a concerned frown growing on his face.

"You'd better hurry, Gerald. I reckon the bell is gonna ring in a couple a minutes." Stinky said, but Gerald didn't move. He squeezed his eyes shut and continued to rub at his temples. Arnold felt his frown deepen as he looked from Gerald to Sid and Stinky, who both shrugged in confusion.

"Gerald?" Arnold tried and his friend opened his eyes.

"Wha . . .?"

"Do you want to go get something for your headache or not?" Gerald nodded slightly at Arnold's question and stood slowly. He wobbled a little and grabbed onto Sid to steady himself. "Gerald, do you want one of us to go with you?" Arnold had stood by now, silently wondering how bad a headache Gerald had. He shouldn't have even come to school this morning if it was impairing his ability to walk.

"No, no, I can get there on my own. Thanks, though, buddy." Arnold watched Gerald walk down the aisle of desks to the door. "I'll see you guys in a bit." He reached for the handle and opened the door, but then stopped. Arnold and Sid shared a worried frown before starting towards him.

"What's this? Gerald, why are you just standing in the doorway?" Mr. Simmons' voice floated to them and as Arnold and Sid neared, they saw him standing in the hall, his briefcase tucked beneath his left arm and his usual thermos full of coffee held in his right. "Gerald?" Their teacher asked again when there was no response.

"Gerald, what's up?" Sid asked as they got to his side.

"Everything . . . is . . ." He began, his brown eyes wide and his hand tight around the door handle. Arnold met Mr. Simmons worried gaze before turning and addressing his best friend.

"Everything is what?" He asked and noticed Gerald gulp.

"Spinning . . ." And with that, he keeled over forward. Mr. Simmons managed to catch him, but not without dropping his briefcase and his thermos of coffee. They clattered to the ground as he struggled with Gerald's dead weight.

"Oh my gosh, Gerald!" Mr. Simmons said as Arnold and Sid took the unconscious boy. Arnold placed a hand to his friend's forehead and felt his eyes widen.

"Mr. Simmons, I think Gerald has a fever." He said grimly and watched their teacher blink. "Sid and I will take him to the nurse's office, okay?"

"Yes, I think you should, Arnold. Good lord, what was he doing at school in the first place?" Mr. Simmons shook his head sadly and picked up his dropped items. "In my day, parents would notice these things and stop their children from coming. I never thought I'd see the day when kids would be forced to come to school even though they're sick!" Arnold heard him mutter as he picked up Gerald from the front and Sid grabbed his ankles. "First Phoebe, then him . . . what is this place coming to?"

"Let's go, Sid." Arnold said, not trusting himself to say anything to Mr. Simmons. It wasn't Gerald's mother's fault that he'd come to school sick; Gerald himself hadn't noticed it until just now. "The nurse's office is right around the corner."

"Okay."

A few hours later, Arnold opened the door to the boarding house and automatically sidestepped as a slew of animals raced out. School was still in session, but he'd asked for permission to go home and change his clothes. Of course the principal let him. Gerald had thrown up all over him, not purposely of course, and consequently, he stank.

"That you, short man? What're you doing home so early?" Arnold heard his grandfather call as he stepped into the house and kicked off his shoes. "Oh, yuck, what's that horrible smell?"

"It's just me, Grandpa." Arnold said as the older man came out into the hall, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"What happened? That girl with the one eyebrow play a prank on you again? Or did you get sprayed by a skunk?" Grandpa pinched his nose closed as Arnold started up the stairs.

"No, Grandpa. Gerald got sick and threw up on me. I'm going to take a shower and change, and then I have to head back to school." Arnold noticed that shower was free and said a mental 'thank you'.

"You do that, short man." His grandfather called. "In the meantime, I'll have Pookie fix you something to eat. Maybe that'll make you feel better." Arnold threw him a smile.

"Thanks, Grandpa."

In about half an hour, Arnold had showered and changed, and was sitting in his kitchen, eating a stack of pancakes his grandmother had made for him. They were covered in maple syrup, just the way he liked them, and Grandma was now frying him an egg and a couple of pieces of ham. Think of it like a late breakfast, she'd told him as she'd poured him some orange juice, and eat up.

"So why did your friend toss his cookies, Arnold? Is there a bug or something going around?" He looked up at his grandfather, who'd just taken his dirty clothes down to the basement where the washing machine was.

"There must be, Grandpa. A couple of days ago this girl named Phoebe collapsed in pretty much the same way as Gerald did today. But she had a really bad fever so they had to take her to the hospital. Gerald thankfully didn't have anything like that, but he still started throwing up all over the place." Arnold said as he took a sip of orange juice.

"Here you go, Kimba."

"Thanks, Grandma." He said as she placed the eggs and ham on his plate. "The nurse had me call his parents and then she sent me to the principal to get permission to come home and change."

"And so here you are. That's quite a tale, Kimba." He nodded as he finished off his late breakfast and gulped down the last of his orange juice. "Do you want anything else before you make the long journey back to that institution of yours?" He shook his head but smiled at his grandmother.

"I'm fine, Grandma. I gotta get going." He put his plates in the sink before grabbing his shoes from the hall. "Thanks for the food, Grandma! I'll see you guys after school!" And with that, he raced out the door, moving aside for a moment to allow the herd of cats and Abner back into the house.

The next few weeks were pretty bad. People were collapsing left and right with the strange flu, and Arnold was glad to see that it wasn't just his class that was affected. He'd heard that Wolfgang, the bully, had come down with it as well, and consequently wanted to postpone their game until after he had all the possible man power he could. This suited Arnold just fine, because not only Gerald, but also Rhonda, Nadine, Sheena, and Harold had all collapsed at certain points during the day. Arnold felt especially horrible when he noticed Lila didn't show up one day, and someone informed the class that she'd collapsed at home and wasn't going to be at school for a while.

Mr. Simmons, however, was one happy clam. He now had a very small class, which was what he'd always wanted and kept telling them the statistics of how smaller classes perform better. It gave him time to give each and every one of them the special attention they deserved, he repeated about two or three times an hour.

And so, the first of December came, with the class size showing no signs of regaining its previous numbers. Two weeks was an awful long time for people to be sick, Arnold had thought, but then Principal Wartz had explained that this flu was particularly nasty and hard to overcome. According to Helga, Phoebe still had to make daily trips to the doctor, who was monitoring her condition like a hawk. Arnold himself made daily pilgrimages to Gerald's house to bring him his homework.

"Can you believe this house?" Gerald had said one day, as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. According to their family doctor, Gerald was sick more with one persistent cold than anything, and thus his nose was stuffed up and tissues littered the floor of his room. "I can't ever get any rest to get better."

"GERALD, GERALD, GERALD!!!" Arnold had moved aside as Timberly came rushing into the room and had landed, smack! Right on top of her big brother. "Are you feeling any better? I made you a card at school today, see, see?" Timberly had shoved a drawing under his nose, but Gerald had to roll over to keep from coughing on her.

"Get offa me, Timberly!" His sister was dumped unceremoniously on the floor and her lower lip began to tremble.

"MOM!" She raced from the room. "MOM, GERALD'S BEING MEAN AGAIN!" She shrieked loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Arnold had heard Gerald sigh as he buried his face in his pillow.

"See what I mean? Between my mom in the morning trying to be all motherly and thus incredibly annoying and Timberly in the afternoon, I have no time for peace and rest!" Gerald had said, his voice muffled slightly by his pillow. "But thanks for bringing me my homework, even though I really wish you hadn't. There's no way I can focus on school right now."

"That's okay. I'm not blaming you for being sick." Gerald had sighed at that.

"So anything interesting happen at school today?" He'd asked while lifting his face from the pillow and looking over at Arnold, who'd shrugged.

"Define interesting. More and more people are getting sick, if that's what you mean."

"Man, what about the game? I can't believe this had to happen right now . . ."

"About that, Wolfgang called it off on account that he's sick too. One of his lackeys said something about him wanting to have his whole team there when they kick our butts." Arnold and Gerald had shared a grin.

"Finally some good news. Anything else? What have we been doing, anyway?"

"Ah, Arnold, what're you doing up here?" Before Arnold could answer Gerald, an older woman's voice interrupted their conversation. He turned and saw Gerald's mother standing in the doorway. "I appreciate you bringing Gerald his schoolwork, but we can't have you coming up here. What if you get sick as well?"

"Aw, but Mom . . ."

"No buts, Gerald. Now, come on, Arnold. Let's leave him to get some rest." She put a hand on his shoulder gently and steered him out of the room. "I'll be back in a minute with your medicine, Gerald. Don't go thinking you've escaped taking it." Arnold had grinned as Gerald had rolled his eyes.

"See you later, Gerald. Hope you feel better soon."

The next day at school, Mr. Simmons finally returned to them their book reports. He claimed that the reason he'd taken so long in grading them was because of the recent events and all the sudden sicknesses. Rumor had it that the flu was spreading through the staff as well, and a couple of the PE teachers and the music teacher were sick with a cough and a cold.

"Now I know each and every one of you as been practicing so very hard on your presentations, so I'm going to start them this afternoon, once I'm done handing them out." Mr. Simmons said as he passed back their papers. "And Helga, I'm really looking forward to your presentation. You read one of my favorite books of all time!" He handed her the book report, and she took it without a sneer or a snide remark.

"Sure, Mr. Simmons." Was all she said before returning to writing in that journal of hers. Arnold blinked a bit as he took his book report from Mr. Simmons' outstretched hand. Something had been up with Helga lately, and he couldn't put a finger on it. She hadn't tormented anyone for the entire week and had said as little as possible. Could it be that not having Phoebe constantly at her side had made her act this way? Arnold could only speculate.

"Hey, Helga! What's with you lately?" Sid asked, once again voicing the collective question. She looked up from her notebook blankly. "You've barely said a word to anyone and most of the time you're off in your own little world. You're not sick too, are you?" She heaved a little sigh before answering.

"I just don't have the energy to pester you jerks like I normally do." She said and then returned to writing.

"All right, class, let's have your presentations! Does anyone want to go first?" Mr. Simmons said as he moved to stand at the front of the room. The class was suddenly as quiet as a tomb and no one moved for fear of being picked to go. Mr. Simmons frowned and Arnold suppressed a sigh. He might as well get this over with now.

"I'll go."

"Wonderful, Arnold! I'll tell you when to start." Mr. Simmons moved and sat at his desk while Arnold came up to stand before everyone. He drew a deep breath and looked at his teacher for his signal. Mr. Simmons' gaze was fixed on the clock, and after a moment, he nodded to Arnold.

"I read the book Island of the Blue Dolphins which is about this Native American girl who gets stranded with her younger brother on her island after her family leaves for the mainland. It's a story about her survival on her own, because her brother is killed by this pack of wild dogs. It stresses self-reliance, but the sadness and hardships of being alone. The reason we read it is because it's a good book and . . ."

After Arnold's five minutes were up, the class applauded politely and began to ask questions. As he took his seat, Arnold wondered how he'd managed to blither on and on for five minutes; when he'd practiced with Gerald, he'd barely been able to talk about the book for three. Sure, it had been a good read, but how much was there that he could say about it?

A few more people went up to talk about their books, Eugene with his book based on the musical Cats, Curly with his book on how to make pencils, and Stinky with his book on farming in the big city. Arnold tried extremely hard to pay attention, but as Stinky continued to drawl on and on about the proper way to hoe a backyard, Arnold felt like banging his head against the wall. Hadn't Mr. Simmons had approve their books before hand? Arnold had been under the impression that they'd had to read historical fiction, not 'how to make a pencil eraser, five easy steps', or 'how to plant yer pumpernickel'.

"Uh, thank you Stinky, for that unique book report." Mr. Simmons said as the class gave him a dull applause. Stinky bowed and took his seat. "I certainly learned some valuable things; like the proper time to plant my tomatoes. Now let's see . . . how about Helga?" Arnold smiled a little; it had been clear that Mr. Simmons had been dying to pick her, but had forced some restraint to make it seem like he wasn't playing favorites.

"All right." She said and stood after closing her notebook and picking up her book report. She walked to the front of the classroom slowly and turned to stand infront of the class, her face holding neither a smile nor a scowl. It was as though she had no capacity for emotion at all, and it was beginning to worry Arnold. Hadn't she gotten like this once before? As she looked over at Mr. Simmons for her cue, Arnold began to wrack his brain for the elusive memory.

"And . . ." Helga looked away from Mr. Simmons as he leaned forward in his chair, his whole demeanor screaming anticipation. Arnold however, frowned at Helga. Her face had paled slightly and she'd begun to rock back and forth on her heels a little. "There, go!"

There was a long moment of silence as Helga stared off into space blankly, the whole class focused on her in wonder. She blinked slowly, her body still rocking back and forth gently, and suddenly her eyes rolled upwards and she fell over backwards.

"Helga!" Someone yelled as she landed on her back with a small thump. The whole class was on its feet and they clustered near the front of the room, trying to see what had happened to her. Arnold, being in the front row, had managed to get to her side before anyone else. He knelt down beside her, unsure of what to do.

"My gosh, is she all right? Arnold, check her pulse!" Mr. Simmons said, his face peering over the heads of his students. "Everyone, just calm down and give her some room!" He pushed his way through and did his best to get people to back off a little. Arnold picked up Helga's wrist and placed two fingers on the underside, searching for her heartbeat. With a surge of relief, he found it.

"She's not dead, Mr. Simmons. I think she just fainted." Arnold heard his teacher breathe a very loud sigh of relief. "Could someone bring me a glass of water?" He called as he touched her forehead. Sure enough, it was burning.

"Here you go, Arnold." Eugene said as he handed him a styrofoam cup of water. "What're you going to use it for?"

"This." After muttering a mental plea for his safety and his life, he tipped the contents of the cup onto Helga's face. The whole class gasped but Helga moaned slightly and her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at Arnold, her expression foggy and unfocused.

"Ugh . . . football . . . head?" She murmured and Arnold helped her sit up. "What . . . what happened? How'd I get on the floor?"

"You collapsed, Helga. Does anything hurt?" He asked as she blinked a little and rubbed her eyes.

"Well, duh, Arnoldo. My head is killing me." She said as she struggled to her feet. "Oh yuck, how'd I get all wet?" Arnold couldn't help but smile a little; the Helga they all knew was back.

"I dumped a glass of water on you to wake you up." He said before turning to Mr. Simmons. "I think Helga needs to see the nurse. I noticed she had a fever."

"I do NOT have a fever, football head. For your information, I feel fine." Helga retorted angrily, but Arnold ignored her. He kept his attention on Mr. Simmons, who bit his lip slightly and nodded.

"I agree with Arnold, Helga. If you've just fainted, you really ought to go down to the nurse's office." Mr. Simmons said and Helga's jaw dropped. "Arnold, would you mind escorting her? I don't want to have her collapse in the halls or something."

"Mr. Simmons, I can take care of myself! I don't need hair boy here to walk me to . . . to . . ." She trailed off and began to sway a little back and forth. Arnold reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her and she shook her head slightly. "To . . . walk me . . . ugh . . . "

"Come on, Helga. Give it up already, and let's go."

They spent quite a while in the nurse's office, due to the fact that she'd been out on her lunch break when they'd gotten there. Helga had lain down on the bed in the office and had draped an arm over her face while Arnold had snagged a chair to sit in. She'd given him a funny look then and had asked him why he bothered staying. It was his duty, he'd said, earning himself a smirk from Helga. Besides, he'd added, staying in the nurse's office beat having to listen to any more book reports.

"And here I was thinking that I'd been the only one to notice that all three of them had selected the wrong type of book." She'd said with a small laugh. "I couldn't believe Simmons actually let them do their reports on 'how to' books, but then again, he's big on personal expression, isn't he."

"How's that relate to the books Stinky and Curly chose?"

"Oh, I don't know, football head. My mind feels like someone's put it in a blender, so don't try and understand me right now, okay?"

"Whatever you say, Helga."

After a few moments, Arnold began to look around the office. He'd only been in here once before, and that was with Gerald, who'd been so sick that Arnold had never had time to look around. The nurse's office was essentially one big room divided into two by a wall with a door. The front room had a small sofa and coffee table, with the nurse's office desk on the opposite side. Arnold supposed it resembled a waiting room. The second room, the one he was in now, was clearly for sick students. It had two small beds separated by a thin blue curtain and a counter running along the opposite wall with cabinets for medicine and tools the nurse might need. It was all very spotless and neat, and Arnold supposed that it was the most well kept place in the school.

An hour passed with Helga nodding off a little and Arnold flipping through the magazines that had been sitting on a little table in the corner. When she'd finally walked in, the nurse had screamed in shock, scaring both Arnold and Helga half to death. Apparently she hadn't expected to see children in her office and it had startled her.

"What's she trying to do, kill me? Yeesh!" Helga muttered as she picked herself up from the floor. She'd tumbled off of it in shock while Arnold had leapt to his

feet and was now trying to regain control of his racing heart.

"I suppose we have another sick child." The nurse said, her voice tired as she plopped into a small stool on wheels. Arnold had been tempted to take it when they'd first come in, but he'd had a hunch that she was the one who used it, and had decided against it. "I'll take your temperature and then you can call home all right?" She opened a drawer as she spoke and pulled out a digital thermometer. She placed a plastic cover on it, pushed the button, and then stuck it under Helga's tongue. "And why are you here? Are you sick as well?"

"Uh . . ." Arnold blinked slightly but then shook his head. "She collapsed in the middle of class, so I brought her here."

"Then you can go and call her parents for her. The list of student numbers is in that big blue binder." She said, pointing to a bookshelf beside her desk in the other room. "Do you see it?" She asked as Arnold got up and walked to where she'd pointed. "It should be near the top." Sure enough, there was the binder. Arnold pulled it down carefully and walked over to the phone with it.

Pataki . . . Pa-ta-ki . . . He thought as he thumbed through the giant binder. McDermott, McDonnell, Moreno . . . Palo . . . ah ha! Pataki, Helga. Home phone number, parent's work number . . . He picked up the phone and dialed her home number. As he listened to the rings, he heard the beep of the thermometer from the other room.

"My, my . . . one hundred and one. No wonder you collapsed, little lady." The nurse's voice floated to him as the phone rang for the umpteenth time. "You really do need to go home. Here, let me give you some tylenol to take down the fever . . ."

"Ugh . . . hello?" Came a slurred female voice from the other end of the telephone as someone finally answered. "Pa . . . Pataki residence." There was a long yawn and Arnold blinked a little, surprised by the sudden voice.

"Um . . ." Arnold said, caught of guard. "Uh, hello, this is Helga's school calling about Helga." He said quickly and winced. That was smooth, he thought sarcastically.

"Hel . . . Helga? Who . . . who's that?" The sleepy voice murmured and Arnold frowned. What did she mean, who was Helga?

"Your daughter?" He prompted and there was a faint 'uh-huh' from the other end. "She's currently in the nurse's office because she has a fever. Would it be all right if she came home?" Arnold asked and there was a long silence. He couldn't help tapping his finger against the desk absently as he fought a sigh of impatience. "Hello? Are you still there?"

"Uh . . . who is this again? What do you want?" The voice asked, its tone confused and sleepy. "If you're selling something, I don't want it."

"No, no I'm not selling anything!" Arnold said, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. "I'm just trying to ask if your daughter, Helga, can come home because she's sick with a fever." There was a faint 'uh-huh' from the voice and Arnold waited.

"I . . . I have a daughter named . . . who? But Olga . . . Olga is in college. Why would she need to come home if she's sick?" Arnold stared at the phone in disbelief.

"No, not Olga, Helga. Hel-ga. H-E-L-G-A."

"Oh, oh Helga! Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Arnold felt like banging his head on the desk. "Helga . . . yes, I know her." Arnold waited for a moment, but the silence began to drag out.

"Are you still there?" He finally asked. There was a startled snort, indicating that he'd just woken her up, or something. "So are you going to let Helga come home or not?"

"Huh? Oh, what? Helga? Whatever she wants to do is fine with me. Bye-bye now." There was a click and Arnold stared at the phone with a frown. Who . . . who in the world was that woman? Was that really Helga's mother? If she had been, what kind of mother doesn't even remember the name of her own daughter?

"So did you get a hold of her parents?" The nurse came into the room just as he hung up the phone. He nodded and carefully closed the big binder. "And is it all right for her to go home?"

"Yes, but no one is going to be able to pick her up. Her father is at work and her mom is going out on errands." Arnold lied as he began to put the binder back up on the bookshelf. Part of him felt a small pang of guilt at the lie, but Helga needed to go home and he wasn't about to try asking that woman for anything else. Just as he managed to put the binder back, he noticed the nurse was pursing her lips in thought. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"She can't exactly go home on her own in her current condition. She gets pretty dizzy if she tries to move much." Arnold shifted uncomfortably under the nurse's stare. "And if her parents can't come and get her . . . how does she normally get home?"

"By bus." There was a moment of silence and Arnold suddenly understood what the nurse was suggesting subtly. "I could walk her home if I have to." He said and the nurse nodded.

"That'll be fine. I'll write you a pass and the two of you can collect your things and be on your way."

It was about a half an hour by the time Arnold and Helga reached her home, and much to Arnold's dismay, Helga's condition was rapidly deteriorating. The movement of the bus had been making her sick, so they'd gotten off a few stops early and had walked the rest of the way, taking breaks often because Helga grew tired quickly. She almost fell once, but luckily Arnold had caught her. From that point on, Arnold had draped her arm over his shoulder, put his arm around her waist, and had ordered her to lean on him. She'd protested only a little bit, but most of her fire was gone, her determination and obstinacy slowly draining from her as she struggled to remain conscious.

"You didn't have to do this, you know." She'd said after a while as they had neared her block. "You could've just stayed at school."

"I know, but I didn't." He looked up at her and felt a pang of worry as he noticed her eyes were glazing over. "Stay with me, Helga. If you collapse here, you know I won't be able to carry you. I'm just not strong enough." She'd smirked at that and had shaken the look from her eyes.

"Plus it would be extremely embarrassing for me . . ." She'd said and they'd continued onward to her house.

"It should be unlocked . . ." She murmured as they reached her door and sure enough, she opened it without having to dig for her key. They walked inside and Arnold couldn't help but look around curiously. He'd only been to her house a few times and he'd never managed to take in everything. "Miriam, I'm home!" She called and there came a sleepy grunt from the kitchen.

"Ol . . . Olga?" Arnold heard the same voice as on the phone call from the kitchen and he could hear footsteps on the linoleum. "Olga, shouldn't you be in college? What are you doing home?" Arnold heard Helga sigh as a petite, middle aged woman appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. She blinked a little behind her glasses when she saw Helga.

"No, Miriam, it's Helga. Olga is still in school, remember?" The blonde woman stared a little more and then she nodded and yawned.

"That's right, that's right. Call me if you need anything." And with that, she disappeared back into the kitchen. Arnold heard Helga sigh again.

"Crimeny, this family is pathetic." He heard her mutter before she removed her arm from around his shoulders. "I can take it from here . . ." But she began to wobble again and Arnold instinctively reached out to steady her. "Guess I spoke too soon."

"Come on, I'll help you upstairs, okay? Then you can get into bed and I'll . . . I'll make you some soup or something." He draped her arm around him for the second time and the two started up the stairs to her bedroom. It always shocked him to see how pink and girly her room was, seeing as how she . . . well, was sort of a tomboy. Sure, she wore the pink jumper and the pink bow, but no one thought of her as a girly girl. She was Helga, after all. Helga G. Pataki, their class's bully.

"I'll get you some tea and some soup, okay? That's what Grandma makes me when I'm sick." He said as she sat down on the edge of her bed. "Wait right here, okay?" She smirked, but there was no anger, no malice, nothing. In fact, it seemed . . . perhaps a little friendly.

"Where else would I go?" She joked weakly as Arnold went downstairs to see what he could make for her.

A little bit later, Arnold returned upstairs with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a cup of hot lemon tea. It'd taken him a while to find everything he'd needed, and Miriam hadn't been much help, seeing as how she'd been passed out with her head on the table and several cans of smoothies around her. Arnold eased open the door to Helga's room, and found her sitting on her bed in a long purple nightgown and her hair out of their pigtails for once. She'd just crawled beneath the covers when she noticed him.

"I thought you'd left already." She said as she sat up slightly and he set the tray of soup and tea before her. She stared at it with wide eyes. "I . . . I didn't think you'd actually do this."

"I said I would, didn't I?" She nodded a little and he reached over and nudged the spoon. "I haven't poisoned it, Helga." She bit her lip, but picked up the spoon and began to eat the soup. "Where do you keep stuff like motrin and tylenol? I'll get you some for you to take."

"In the medicine cabinet above the sink in the bathroom. But I just took some from the nurse, so I'll have to wait a while before I take any more." She said quickly, as though to stop him from getting it for her.

"I'll just get it, okay? That way you'll have it when you need it."

A few minutes later, Arnold returned with two small bottles, one motrin and one tylenol. He set them on Helga's bedside table and noticed that she'd finished the soup in his absence. He gave her a small smile as she stirred her tea a little and then took several small sips.

"Is it still too hot?" She nodded as he took away the bowl and tray. "I'll go get some ice for it." Just before he left the room, he noticed her hands tightened around the mug of tea, but he didn't ask her what was wrong. "I'll be right back, okay?"

"Arnold . . ." It always startled him when she used his real name instead of the many nicknames she had for him. He stopped in mid-stride and turned back to her. She was looking up at him, her expression a combination of so many different emotions that it was somewhat . . . unnerving, perhaps? Arnold couldn't put a finger on how it made him feel.

"I'm serious, Arnold, you don't have to do all this for me." She said softly and their gazes met. As he looked into her deep blue eyes, Arnold finally placed the strongest emotion that had been reaching out to him. It was sadness. Sadness with all its pain and torment, sadness so very, very deep that Arnold felt he could be lost in it.

"Yes I do." He said after a moment and set the tray down before walking back to her and sitting down beside her.

"No, you don't. I don't want to keep you here." They shared another long look and Arnold shook his head.

"I do have to stay, Helga, at least until the woman downstairs regains enough consciousness to understand that her daughter is sick." He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "I'll get you that ice, all right?" She pressed her lips together, but nodded slowly. "Good." And with that, he stood and picked up the tray.

"Arnold." He blinked and turned back to her for the second time. As he turned, he watched a faint smile grow on her face, but this smile was different than her usual one. It was the one she used when she truly meant whatever was behind it. "I wanted to say . . . thank you." It was rare to hear any kind of gratitude from Helga, but it was those rare moments like this one that made Arnold happy.

"You're welcome, Helga. I'm sure you'd do the same for me." He said as he returned her smile and then walked out of the room. As he descended the stairs to the kitchen, Arnold burned that smile into his memory. It was proof, he told himself. It was proof that a kinder, gentler Helga G. Pataki did indeed exist. Now if he could only figure out why she stayed hidden . . .

*~*~*

Woo, there's chapter two! Aw, isn't Arnold sweet? I wish a guy would do that for me, but I don't know anyone who is half as decent as Arnold. Isn't it a shame that only the cartoon guys are the better than the real ones? Oops, I hope that doesn't offend anyone out there, but seriously! You should come to my school and see the pathetic selection we girls have. They're all either pot heads or only interested in . . . other things.

Sorry for getting off topic there . . . heh ^^; Hope this answers any questions you had about Phoebe or anyone else for that matter, and I'm sorry if people are seriously out of character. I'm trying my best here! Don't kill me! Well, is this sickness going to keep spreading? Or has it reached its limit? We shall see in chapter three! (oops, that rhymed . . . ah well.)

Love forever and ever:

pottergal