Author's notes: Thanks for the reviews, folks! I've noticed most of you think Arnold is incredibly dense. He is pretty dense, but I think I may have exaggerated things a bit there. Oh well, it's already written, so let's move on now, shall we?

Chapter seven is a product of two occurrences: First, I notice as I read these fanfics that there aren't a lot of scenes where the kids are doing kid stuff. I felt this was part of the show's foundation, so I wrote this chapter to fly in the face of that trend (in the spirit of the episode "Rich Kid"). Secondly, baseball playoffs are in full swing, and there's plenty of it to go around in this chapter. I guess it all crept into my subconscious and took control of the plot, with nice results.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!

It sounded as if a war was taking place on the roof. Water pounded away at the boarding house, the noise seeming to grow louder with every minute. The thunder and lightning was constant, and some hail seemed to be mixed with the rain at this point.

"King me."

"I can't, I'm out of pieces."

"It doesn't matter, anyway; this game's going nowhere, Arnold." Gerald leaned back in his chair and stared up through Arnold's skylight. "We've been playing checkers for three hours now; when's it gonna let up?"

Arnold sighed at Gerald's comment and cleared the checkerboard. "What did you expect, Gerald? My grandpa says this is the twelfth straight year we've had a storm on Labor Day."

"Man, I don't care if it's the hundredth year straight! This is our only extra day off from school until Thanksgiving!"

"Don't get so bent out of shape. What about the teacher in-service days?"

"Oh, sure. We'll just wait until we get one of those. Arnold, I heard that Wartz found a way to get rid of the in-service days this year."

"Come on, Gerald, you just heard some rumor about it."

"I wish I did, but Fuzzy Slippers did some undercover work on Wartz and the school board over the summer. The in-service days are just the tip of the iceberg. I also heard they're trying to extend the school day by a whole hour so the teachers get paid more! And they don't even have to teach us in that hour, Arnold! It's some kind of study hall period, and the teachers don't have to do anything but sit there!"

"Gerald, does Fuzzy Slippers ever do any fact checking? I really don't think they're going to lengthen the days by an hour. Besides, aren't teachers paid a fixed annual salary?"

"A what now?"

"They don't get paid by the hour, Gerald."

"Whatever, alls I know is we're stuck inside on our precious day off." Gerald looked up through the skylight, fell to his knees, and yelled, "Why? Why do you mock and torture us like this? I want out of this house!" A loud crack of thunder, enough to rattle the windows, answered Gerald. A moment later, the lights flickered off. He stood up, collected himself, and pointed up at the sky, "Touché."

Grandpa poked his head in the door. "If you two are done lamenting the Almighty, there's some fuses in the basement that need checkin'."

"We're on it, Grandpa. Come on, Gerald."

"Man, that guy's got a twisted sense of humor."

"Who, my grandpa?

"…Yeah…your grandpa."

"I can't take it. It's almost 5:00! We've been in here now for six hours! I have to get out there!"

Arnold didn't respond as he went to answer the ringing phone in the hall. "Hello?"

"Is this the football face?"

"Hi, Wolfgang."

"What's up, shrimp? Looks like we won't get to play our game today."

"Looks like it. I'm sure you're real disappointed you didn't get to mop the floor with us."

"Oh, you know it! But don't worry, there'll be another day for us to whomp on you fifth graders."

"Sure thing, Wolfgang."

"Hey, is your guys' power out, too?"

"Yeah."

"Man, I hate the rain! All right, Arnold. I'll see you tomorrow, punk."

"Later." He hung the phone up and sat back down on the couch. "That was Wolfgang, Gerald."

Gerald didn't answer, his nose still pressed up against the living room window.

"Gerald, did you hear me?"

"So…much…water…"

"Are you okay? You're taking this way too hard."

Gerald spun around in Arnold's face as he approached. "Am I, Arnold? Or maybe you're taking it too lightly! It's an injustice! The power's out, it's still pouring rain and hail, and I haven't swung a baseball bat today, the last official day of summer for a kid!"

"You boys still anxious to get out there and play some ball, eh?" Grandpa came walking in with some watermelon Grandma had sliced up.

"I wouldn't mind if we got out there, but Gerald seems bent on it."

"Oh, I can't blame him. Yes, sir, the rain is a Labor Day tradition around these parts. It pours down all day like this every year. Of course, there's always the exception."

Gerald bolted to Grandpa's side at that comment. "What exception?"

"Oh, what was it called? Ah, yes, the Twelfth-Year Break!"

"What's the Twelfth-Year Break? Tell me! Tell me!"

"Arnold, could you get him off me, please?" Gerald had to be pried off Grandpa's shirt, which he had grabbed in his anxiety. "Now, as you asked, the Twelfth-Year Break is a strange natural phenomenon; stranger, actually, than the fact that it rains on Labor Day every single year without fail. You already know about the yearly rain; what you two don't know, since you're only ten and weren't here the last time it happened, is that on every twelfth Labor Day, exactly two hours before dusk, the rain stops and the clouds seemingly vanish into thin air!"

"Are you serious? What time is sunset today?"

"If I remember correctly, it's five after seven on Labor Day."

"7:05, that means…what time is it now?"

Phil checked his watch. "5:03."

"Arnold, it's gonna stop raining in two minutes! We can go outside!"

Arnold had been sitting idly by listening to Grandpa explain his theory, and had to butt in at this point. "Gerald, I wouldn't get excited. Grandpa, there's no way that's true."

"Well of course it is! It's scientifically proven! They even gave it some clever name. What was it…El Beano, I think it's called."

"No way." Arnold said matter-of-factly.

"No way!" Gerald exclaimed in excitement. "Arnold, let's get our stuff and wait by the door!"

"Gerald, this is my grandpa we're talking about here! No offense, Grandpa, but there's no way that…" Silence came over the room. The roar on the roof had quieted down, and sunlight began to trickle in through the window. Gerald took off running for the door, and could be heard screaming a mixture of praise for God and general exclamations outside. Arnold glared up at his grandpa and quickly spoke, "Don't even!"

Phil smiled smugly as the TV and power came back on and Arnold left. After the boys were gone, Phil pulled out his newspaper he had hiding under the sofa cushion. It was flipped to the weather page, which read: "Rain most of the day, clearing by late afternoon."

"Those boys will believe anything I tell them."

"Gerald! Slow down! We've got two hours, you don't need to—" Arnold rounded the corner and smacked into Gerald, who had stopped at first sight of Gerald Field, which at this point was a field only in name. The outfield resembled a marsh pit, with an inch of water standing over most of the grass. The infield fared no better, with most of the dirt eroded down into soft brown mud. The baselines had been washed off the grass, and second base had floated up to the pitchers mound, the only spot on the field where one could stand without getting his feet wet. The boys didn't seem to mind, however. They stepped to the edge of the grass and dropped their bats and mitts.

"Arnold, are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"Do the honors, Gerald."

With that, Gerald cleared his throat, faced away from the field toward the rest of the neighborhood, and shouted, "MUD BALL!!"

Harold burst forth through a window across the street. "Did you just say—" He caught sight of the field, "YEAH!"

Sid and Stinky came down the street as Harold flew out his door. "Boy howdy, check out the field!"

"It looks like a dang bayou!"

"Yeah! Let's get messy!"

Wolfgang and Ludwig came approaching from the other direction. "All right! I'm gonna put those fifth graders in the mud face first!"

"Bet you I can plant more of them in the pitcher's mound than you can!"

"You're on!"

Arnold and Gerald stood at the top of the bleachers at the end of the field (the other dry spot) and watched the stampede unfold. More sixth graders followed behind Wolfgang and Ludwig, while Harold led the fifth grade charge. One by one, the fifth graders grew in numbers. Park was next out, as his house was near Harold's. Eugene, Brainy, Sheena and Phoebe came around another corner, followed by Lorenzo, Peapod Kid, Rhonda and Nadine.

"Wow, Gerald, looks like you did it."

"Arnold, what did you expect? I have a natural summoning ability. Speaking of summoning, by the way…" he directed Arnold's attention down the street toward an approaching redhead.

"Oh, no. I don't know about this Gerald."

"Come on, Arnold! You haven't talked to the girl for a week now! Besides, you're probably not going to run into her personally the way this is looking."

They both took notice of the melee taking place in the swamp before them. Although all the kids brought bats and gloves, a baseball game didn't appear to be on their agenda. Harold had initially run into Wolfgang, starting a pileup. Everyone was rolling around in the green slop, but none seemed to enjoy it as much as Rhonda, which Harold took note of when he rolled into her.

"Rhonda? What are you doing here?"

"Having an absolute blast! What does it look like?"

"But you're supposed to be, you know, all concerned with appearance and everything."

"I know! I thought of that too, but then I heard Gerald yell out 'mud ball' and something just kicked in, like an instinct or something!"

"But you're Rhonda! Rhonda doesn't…oh, you're confusing me!"

Rhonda tackled Harold into the infield mud as Arnold watched in amazement. "Gerald, this might be getting a little out of hand."

"You're telling me, check out Curly!" Gerald pointed out a walking pile of mud wearing red glasses. Curly raised his arms up, yelling, "Behold! I am the mighty Bigfoot!" Ludwig took him down from behind without another word.

"People, can we get a little order here?"

"Yeah, we called you out here for a baseball game!"

The brawl ignored Arnold and Gerald's pleas. The two of them sat down on the top row of the bleachers to wait out the insanity. It turned out to be a short wait, as a hush swept over the field after a few minutes. All attention was directed toward the latest arrival. She stood at the sidewalk, wearing a green-plaid mini-skirt, white blouse and black vest. In contrast, she had a bat and glove slung over one shoulder, and her hair was done up in typical fashion rather than attempting to copy that aspect of her older sibling's appearance. Every kid on the field stood gawking at her, especially Arnold and Gerald. "Tell me that isn't…"

"It might be, Gerald."

"There is no way…"

"It could be…"

"Is it really?"

"I think it is."

The girl grew impatient. "So, are you clowns gonna play swamp games all day or are we gonna get down to some baseball?"

"Yeah, we'll get to that! First off, tell us why you're dressed like your sister!"

"What's it to you, Geraldo?"

"Nothing, except I don't remember the last time I saw Helga Pataki like…that."

"For your information, this is an outfit Olga bought for me a few months ago when she attempted to 'bond' with me. I promised her I'd wear it one day, and there's no better day to wear it than a day like this!"

Wolfgang spoke up. "Who cares what she looks like, let's get this game started!"

A collective cheer rose up from both sides. Ludwig slopped his way to the plate and took his place in the batter's box, which more closely resembled quicksand at this point. He smacked the plate with the bat and called out, "Hey! Where's your catcher at?"

The catcher was making her way over while being questioned by Arnold. "Helga, did you wear that outfit out here just so it'd get messed up?"

"No, I always wanted to dress like Olga! Criminy, what's your point?"

"How's she going to feel the next time she sees it?"

Helga chuckled and placed a hand on Arnold's shoulder, and spoke in an instructional tone, "Oh, my simple yutz, know you nothing of my sister's ways?"

"Huh?"

"Olga's never going to see it; I'll be lucky if she even remembers she bought it for me."

"But how can you even spite her if she's never going to see it?"

"Spite isn't the point, Arnold! You think I'm going to mess up one of my own outfits out here?"

Point taken, Arnold was about to take his place at shortstop when he came up with one more question, "How can you play catcher wearing a mini-skirt…I mean, with the crouching and everything?"

She lifted the skirt in his direction as she walked away to reveal a pink pair of shorts she had on underneath. Only Helga, he thought.

It was now the bottom of the third inning. No runs had scored at this point, let alone had anyone gotten to second base. No matter how hard anyone hit the ball, it would stop wherever it landed with a loud "ker-plunk!" Even when the ball landed deep in the outfield and the fielders had to slosh their way to it, the base runners were forced to either walk the bases or slip and fall in the mud while running.

Gerald took the plate as Arnold waited on deck. Before Arnold could begin warming up, a girl approached him. "Hi, Arnold."

He dropped his bat at her appearance. "Hi…Lila."

She stood by him like a shy schoolgirl, arms behind her back, head down, and one leg behind the other pivoting on the toe. "So…"

"So…"

"Arnold…I'm sorry about the way I acted last week. I shouldn't have slammed the door in your face, that was just oh so rude of me."

"It's okay, Lila, I'm fine."

"That's good, Arnold. I just want you to know I value our friendship a lot and don't want to do anything to ruin it."

His fists tightened in the same way they had on that late afternoon one week prior. He still couldn't help but get annoyed by the double standard she seemed to practice, one minute being friendly and playful and then acting like an insulted ingrate whenever he told her how she made him feel. Arnold swallowed the frustration and politely answered, "Me neither, Lila."

"Great!" The sudden perkiness in her voice startled him to drop the bat again. "Good luck, Arnold. I'll be rooting for you!" She gave him a glancing smile as she turned to walk away, which confused Arnold even further.

He then heard the sound of knuckles popping, at which he glanced down to his hands to discover they were open. "Where did that—" Arnold discovered the source of the sound, turning to face Helga who was sitting on the bench right behind him. Her arms were resting at her sides, but on closer inspection, her fists where solid white.

Arnold brought his eyes to Helga's eye level after noticing her hands, and received the quick retort, "What?"

"Why are you clenching your hands like that?"

"It's a free country, and can do whatever I want with my hands!"

He rolled his eyes and turned back to the game just in time to see Gerald wale on a fastball. The ball went just over the head of the right fielder, and splashed down into a particularly murky spot in the field. Gerald stepped gingerly down the baseline, taking his time to make sure he didn't lose his vertical base on the mud. Ludwig slogged out between first and second to make the cutoff catch. "Let's go! Throw me the ball!"

The right-fielder was on his knees, looking for the ball around a pile of floating weeds. "I'm trying, Ludwig! I can't find it!"

Gerald made a dive for first base and stopped there. Arnold came over to him. "Gerald, go for second!"

"Are you kidding me? I'm not getting stranded out there when I slip and can't get back to my feet like everyone else!"

"You have to try! They can't find the ball! Besides, someone has to get all the way around or we'll never score!"

"Forget it, put a pinch runner in for me, I can't do it!"

"Gerald, just go for it!" Arnold gave Gerald what he thought was a nudge of encouragement, but it was enough to make Gerald lose his balance. He fell toward second, and slid halfway.

"Great job, Arnold! Now I'm out here just waiting to get picked off!" Gerald quickly tried to get on his feet, but kept slipping before he got off his knees.

"Gerald, stay on the ground and slide yourself to second!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You made it halfway by sliding on your stomach! Just go the rest of the way like that!"

Gerald looked over at right field as Arnold yelled at him, and saw Ludwig shove the other kid aside and grab the ball out of the weeds himself. "Oh, man! Arnold, I'm dead meat!"

"You got that right, shrimp!" Wolfgang came over to make the cutoff catch. "Right here, Ludwig! I've got the tag!"

"Go, Gerald! Slide!"

Gerald started doing his best breaststroke in the mud as Ludwig threw in the ball from right field. Wolfgang made the catch and went to tag Gerald, but slipped and dropped the ball. At this point, the fifth grade bench started cheering Gerald on, as he crawled foot-by-foot and reached second base just before Wolfgang made an impressive dive of his own in an attempt to make the tag.

"All right, Gerald!" Arnold led the cheer as the fifth graders roared in approval.

Gerald turned to Arnold, exhausted from his "swim" to second base. "Whatever, man! Just make sure you get a hit so this ain't a waste of my time!"

"Listen to him, Geek Bait," Helga spoke to Arnold before he walked to the plate. "We've got two outs, so you'd better not leave your buddy on base after all the effort he put in."

"I don't plan on it." He turned and walked away with his bat.

Helga waited a moment before she began. "Oh, Arnold! So confident in his and everyone else's abilities! So sure of victory! He cannot—no, he shall not fail!" She paused in her private revelry as she overheard another female voicing Arnold's approval. Helga turned and stared her down. "And at the same time how I wish the pitcher would bean Arnold and make him forget all about Lila! Look at her over there, cheering him on; as if she actually cares about us winning the game!" Helga then turned her attention back to Arnold, only to catch him waving to Lila. "Why that little…" She grabbed a nearby bat and started twisting the handle in an attempt to release her rage.

Ludwig took the mound and was about to pitch to Arnold when Wolfgang called time. Arnold stepped aside as Wolfgang ran out to the pitcher's mound.

"Wolfgang, what gives?"

"I think we should walk him."

"Why? I can strike him out."

"Look, it's just smart baseball. We've been getting force-outs at second every time they've got a man on first."

"Okay, then I guess I'll walk him."

"But we're not going to intentionally walk him, at least in the traditional sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's just say we put him on first with one pitch instead of four."

Ludwig shrugged in confusion, causing Wolfgang to make a gesture. "Oh, okay. I've got you, Wolfgang. Pretty sweet idea."

Wolfgang smiled back in agreement and headed back to home plate. Arnold stepped back into the batter's box and waited for the pitch. Meanwhile, Helga, who had built up a thin layer of sawdust where she was squeezing her bat, grew suspicious of the two bullies. Being a bully herself, she knew they were up to no good with Arnold. A thought crossed her mind, and while she quickly denied it, she still couldn't help but worry about Arnold's well-being.

"All right, Ludwig, pitch it right in here, baby!" Wolfgang had a huge sneer on his face, and Ludwig was mirroring it back to him.

Helga had seen enough to know what was coming as Ludwig wound up for the pitch. "Arnold, get down!"

"Huh?" He turned his head to face in the direction of the scream. He caught the look of terror on Helga's face just before everything went black.

Another idea that popped into my head as the opportunity presented itself! I know, it's blatantly obvious what the next chapter's going to be about now. Worse yet, I haven't written it yet! Patience, folks, it'll be up as soon as it's done. Thanks for reading.