Author's notes: Wow, I'm surprised I got this thing done today! I can't complain, since as far as a college student's life and schedule goes, I've got it relatively easy. But I've weathered a brief storm of test and term papers, and I've got about a week of clear sailing as far as I can tell. So lots more writing to be done then, of course!
I enjoy reading every review that is posted, as well as the occasional e-mail correspondence. Thank you all very much. By the way, DarthRoden, I did read that chapter of "Broken Locket." It's a natural thing to include any kind of astrological reference with Arnold, considering how he probably spends a lot of time looking at the stars through his skylight.
I've got a bit more to comment on as things pertain to this chapter, but I'll put it all at the end. I wouldn't want to keep anyone waiting.
Disclaimer: I still don't own Hey Arnold!, and the original "Beaned" is still written by Michelle Lamoreaux.
Helga paused halfway through the bus door. She glanced over her shoulder at the boy who called to her, running toward the bus as fast as he could. He stepped on just behind her as Murray closed the doors. Winded and gasping for breath, he spoke, "Whew! I didn't think I'd make it! Thanks, Helga!"
"Don't mention it, Eugene." Helga sulked to the back of the bus and fell into whatever sitting posture her body weight dictated. It wasn't very comfortable sitting with one arm under her leg and the other dangling off to the side, her back twisted up like a pretzel, and her head thrown completely back, but she didn't really care.
Eugene took a seat next to her, completely oblivious to her mood. "I know you're probably wondering why I'm out this late."
"No, not really."
"Well, if you have to know, tonight there's going to be an all-night Abdicator marathon and it just wouldn't have been right to watch six straight hours of truth and justice without a little popcorn handy, so I took off out the door to pick up a box. Of course, my timing was off on the bus, so I had to run to catch it. And of course, I'm not that good of a runner, and never have been. It sure took a lot out of me to run after—"
"Eugene?"
"Yes, Helga?"
"Look, Miriam bought a whole case of popcorn at Pam's Club last week and Bob hasn't even touched it yet. You keep your mouth shut the rest of the way and you can take as much as you want."
"Gee, thanks, Helga. That's really nice of—"
Helga cut him off, making the familiar "cut it" signal with her fingers across her neck. The Five Avengers could have saved her time and several bags of popcorn, but she didn't have the energy for it then. The bus ride passed quickly enough, a short five minutes before Helga and Eugene found themselves in the vacant Pataki kitchen. She produced a huge 24-bag box and let him help himself to as many as he wished. Helga was about to let him out the front door when Eugene stopped to speak again.
"Helga, can I ask you something?"
She let out a somewhat exhausted sigh. "What is it?"
"I'm sorry to intrude on anything that might be going on with you personally, but you appear to be upset about something."
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Well, you've had an empty look in your eyes and a sagging frown ever since we boarded the bus. And you're also talking awfully quiet."
"Eugene, not now, okay?" She started to close the door on him as he responded.
"Helga, I don't understand. If there's something wrong, I could probably help."
Helga paused, the door now open just enough for her to poke her face through. Another sigh, followed by, "I don't need your help, Eugene. But thanks, anyway." And she shut the door without allowing him another word.
I'll have to write him an I.O.U. from Old Betsy for that episode. Sheesh, just let me be. Helga sulked up the stairs, listening to Bob yell at the T.V., completely absorbed in his show and not noticing her arrival home.
"W, you moron! It's a W!"
"I'll try a W?"
"Yes, two W's!"
"About time, you bunch of idiots! Just solve it already!"
"I'd like to solve the puzzle: 'Wrong place at the wrong time.'"
"Yes! That's it!"
Helga closed her bedroom door just as she heard the answer to the puzzle. The story of my life tonight. She sat down on her bed and looked over toward her closet door. I really don't feel like it now…eh, what the hey? Across the room, into her closet she went, parting the rack of clothes she never wore and entering into her holy space. Her current embodiment of her beloved returned to one of her classic shrines, with an actual football for Arnold's head. While she still varied the parts used for his hair, hat and body, she had grown accustomed to the official NFL logo staring her back in the face.
She reached over to one of the nearby piles of colored books and pulled out a black one marked, "Serious Stuff." Very rarely had Helga written in this particular book. Most of her writing time was spent filling pink and purple books all the way up to the ceiling with poems about Arnold. It would have been a feat in itself if they were all original and unique; sometimes she slipped up and reused a poem she had read recently, changing the words to suit her fancy.
Helga picked up a black pen, in compliance with her tradition of matching the ink to the color of the book, and began:
"I just had another reality check today. As the case has been ever since I began my obsession, I continue to encounter one of the most significant obstacles in my quest to gain the affection of my beloved: his best friend. The question is still begged as to what I have to do to get around Gerald. Of all the kids who have ever been suspicious of my behavior, besides Arnold, Gerald seems to be the most distrustful and determined to undermine it.
"But then again, as I sit here in honest and serious thought, who can blame him? The bond between best friends is something very strong, something not easily broken or even infiltrated by another person. And when you look at it on the surface, who is more in the right, more entitled to Arnold's attention? What have I ever done to deserve Arnold's attention, let alone his love?
"I cannot delude myself into thinking things are the way I wish they were. I am not part of Arnold's life in the personal way one should be in order to take care of him. My silly fantasies of taking care of him are only fantasies, and nothing more. Just because I have feelings of affection and concern for him does not entitle me to be trusted with his well-being. I'm just going to have to face the facts, I guess."
She wrote her last sentence upon reaching the point of ultimate depression. Closing the book of lamentation and leaving the closet, Helga dragged her feet across the floor and collapsed on her bed, tapped of all energy. If she had any, she might have shed a few tears. Instead, she quickly fell asleep, lacking the will to stay awake any longer.
A pounding on her bedroom door startled Helga out of her slumber.
"Hey, Olga, you still up in there? There's someone on the phone for you!"
She glanced over at her clock, which read 8:00. Jeez, I must have barely slept ten minutes. "Yeah, Dad. Who is it?"
"I don't know her name, it's one of your little friends."
Helga had a good idea who it was, as only one girl had business calling her house. She picked up the phone on her nightstand. "Hello?"
"Helga? It's me."
"Oh, hey, Pheebs. What's up?"
"Plenty is up. Listen, we need you to come over to the boarding house right away." Phoebe paused to let Helga speak, but got no answer. "Helga? Are you still there?"
Helga was still there, only she had dropped the phone when Phoebe posed the unusual request. She scrambled to retrieve the receiver, still trying to process the information. "Yeah, yeah, I'm still here. Now, Phoebe, could you repeat that again?"
"The boarding house, Helga. We're having a small problem with Arnold and could use your help."
"But I thought I wasn't welcome to help out with him. And what are you doing over there, anyway?"
"Gerald asked me to come along when the problem came up after you left the lot earlier. Look, it's a bit more complicated than it sounds; could you please come over?"
"What about Gerald?"
"It's actually Gerald's idea, he just asked me to make the call because he thought you wouldn't listen to him."
Helga sighed, still feeling emotionally drained. "Fine, if Tall Hair Boy even wants me over there, I guess I'll be on my way."
"Thanks, Helga."
"Don't mention it," she mumbled as she hung up. "Something fishy's going on here. I'm the last person Gerald would want over there right now. But why should I complain? I mean, twenty minutes ago I was wallowing in my misery because I couldn't help out, and now I'm actually being invited over to do so." She finished putting her shoes back on and stood up. "Fine! They want me over there; they're going to get me! And I'm going to fix that shrimp up so he's good as new—no, better than new! This is my chance to show them all how capable Helga Pataki can be when it comes to—"
"Helga, could you keep it down please? I'm trying to sleep, dear."
"Yes, Miriam!" Helga yelled back through the wall at her mother's muffled voice. Criminy, can't I give myself an inspirational speech once in a while? She tiptoed out into the hallway, down the stairs and toward the front door…
"And just where do you think you're going?"
Helga spun around and glared at Big Bob, emerging from the kitchen, bag of popcorn in hand. Figures that he finally gets into the popcorn the minute I try to leave. "I'm going over to a friend's house, Dad."
"Yeah? What for?"
"What do you care?"
"Hey! Don't be giving me any flack, missy! I was just making sure you're not up to no good."
"Don't worry, Bob. I'd never do anything to disgrace the great Pataki name."
"Good. And call if you're not coming home for the night."
Helga restrained her impatience and slammed the front door as quietly as she could. It was amazing how Big Bob couldn't detect even the most obvious sarcasm at times. She had to watch out, though, as sometimes he did wise up and really give her a piece of his mind. The bus had come back on its route and stopped at the curb. Murray threw the doors open, and gave Helga a questioning look. "Didn't I just bring you home when I was going the other way?"
"I wasn't planning on going out again, but something important came up."
"Really? Where are you going?"
"The ice cream shop."
Murray laughed. "I know how that is! Sometimes you just get that craving and you have to fill it right this second!"
"I wasn't talking about Slausen's, Murray."
He turned to look at her as she sat in the front seat by the door. She gave him the message via her eyes and he realized what she really meant. "Well, Vine Street's not on my route tonight, but seeing as how you're the only one on the bus, I guess I can take you over there."
Grandpa opened the door and glanced down at the visitor. "Yeah, what do you want?"
"Um, my friend called me on the phone and asked me to come over and see how Arnold was doing."
"I'm afraid you've got the wrong house, there's no one by that name living here."
"But this is Arnold's house, I've been here before and—"
"Aw, I'm just pulling your leg! I do that with all his little friends at least once when they come over, confuses the heck out of 'em! Come on in, they've got him 'quarantined' up in his room."
"…Right." Helga entered the boarding house, her focus, which she had been building up on the bus ride, now shaken. She quickly climbed the stairs in order to escape any more shenanigans from the wily patriarch and her mind started to race with her feet. Just relax, Helga. There's nothing to worry about yet; you don't even know why you're here. She found herself at the top of the steps to Arnold's room. A deep breath, and she knocked.
The door opened, and Gerald greeted Helga, "About time you got over here!"
"Whatever, Gerald; just tell me what I'm doing here."
"Didn't Phoebe tell you?"
"She said it was too complicated to say over the phone."
"It probably is. Okay, come in here and see for yourself." Gerald stepped aside and let Helga enter Arnold's room. Phoebe was sitting over by Arnold's computer desk, briskly writing on a memo pad. Helga then took a look at what Phoebe was observing and recording.
Arnold was sitting on his bed, surrounded by several things he had been pulling down from the shelves around his bed. He was currently fiddling with his potato clock, rearranging the wires and messing with the hands. He completely reversed the wiring and turned the clock on, prompting the alarm to sound, "Dlonra Yeh! Dlonra Yeh!"
Puzzled, Helga joined Phoebe and Gerald in the opposite corner of the room. "What the heck is he doing?"
"He's been acting like this since we got him back here. Gerald and I have been trying to talk to him the whole time, but he keeps telling us he only wants to talk to someone else."
"And who would that someone be?"
Phoebe glanced at the floor, dodging the question.
"Oh, no way. Phoebe, come on, you've got to be kidding."
Phoebe shook her head, a small grin now on her face.
"Believe me, if he didn't want to talk to you, I wouldn't have let you come within a hundred yards of this house," Gerald interrupted.
"Who asked you?"
Phoebe jumped in before Helga could start something with Gerald, "Helga, just go over and sit down next to him. He hasn't noticed you've come in yet. See what happens when you get his attention."
Helga took a big gulp in the back of her throat and crept over toward the bed. Arnold was entirely engrossed in the potato clock, taking the back cover off and fiddling with the mechanisms inside. She sat down and watched him pull on a spring. He was completely fascinated by the spring's physical properties, watching it stretch out when he tugged on it and then snap back into the clock when he let it go.
"Hey Arnold, you've got a visitor sitting next to you."
Helga wanted to leap off the bed and strangle Gerald for calling attention to her presence, but she was immediately pinned to the bed.
"Helga, you came over! I'm so glad to see you again!" he exclaimed as he squeezed Helga tightly in a bear-like hug.
"Phoebe, Gerald," she uttered as she gasped for air, "would you mind getting him off me?"
"You see what we're talking about now, Helga? I don't know what it is or why, but he just kept demanding that we bring you to him."
"I'm sure it must have killed you to employ my services, Tall Hair—ow! Watch it, Phoebe!"
"Sorry, Helga, I'm trying my best to pry him loose without causing you any discomfort."
Gerald and Phoebe finally managed to pry Helga loose from Arnold's karate-like grip. Helga jumped back to her feet and moved away from the bed. "If I'm supposed to help out, you two need to find a way to restrain him!"
"Don't worry, I'll handle it." Gerald got Arnold's attention and calmly spoke to him, "Look, Arnold, we brought Helga over like you wanted. Now you've got to treat her with some respect, buddy. Don't just be throwing your arms around her for no reason…even if it is pretty funny watching her squirm."
"Hey! You better watch what you say, Bucko, or you'll have my arms around you choking your lights out!"
"Helga, let Gerald finish!" Phoebe quipped.
"I'm sorry, Helga," Arnold spoke up. "I was just really happy to see you, that's all."
Helga turned off to one side, arms crossed. "Yeah, well, just make sure it doesn't happen again, Footba—I mean, Arnold."
Gerald raised an eyebrow at Helga's sudden choice of words. "Look, can we just get through with whatever we need to get Arnold back to normal? I'm sick of having to deal with him like this."
"I'm afraid it won't be that simple, Gerald," Phoebe interjected. "Most likely Arnold will slowly progress back into his normal state on his own. We have to be flexible and adapt our behavior to his needs."
"Phoebe, I love the intelligent language and all, but can you put that a little more plainly?"
Phoebe frowned at her words falling on deaf ears. "Just do what he says 'til he's back to normal."
"Aw! We'll be here all night doing all sorts of weird crap! Can't we just make him go to sleep so he wakes up tomorrow and forgets the whole thing ever happened?"
"I suppose it's a possible course of action, but maybe we should—"
"I'm with Gerald on this one, Pheebs. Let's just hit him over the head with something and knock him out so we can go about our business."
"Hey, now we're talking!" Gerald rubbed his hands together at Helga's suggestion. "What do you think we should do it with?"
"Let's look around. It should be something that'll put him out quick but won't hurt him too bad."
Gerald rummaged through Arnold's closet. "What about his baseball bat?"
Helga glanced over from her search under his bed. "Nah, that'd probably make him even worse. Hey, what about this?"
"His magic 8-ball? Maybe, but what if it doesn't work? We only get one try before he figures out what we're doing."
"What am I going to figure out?" Arnold had been watching them go through his things with a strong feeling of curiosity. "What do you mean when you say you're going to 'knock me out?'"
Gerald smiled at him from the closet. "Don't worry about it, man. You'll find out in a second."
Phoebe watched Gerald and Helga making their rounds and comparing hard, blunt objects for use on Arnold's head. She wanted to stop them immediately, but was worried Arnold might figure out what "knock out" referred to and decided to wait and see how far they got.
"Hey, Helga, look in that box he keeps on the top shelf by the skylight. I think he's got one of Mickey Kaline's fly balls in there."
"Ooh, I like the way you think. A baseball ought to do the trick." Helga climbed the ladder in the wall next to Arnold's bed and searched the top shelf box for the prize. "I got it!"
"Great! Bring it down here!" Gerald and Helga congregated by the bedside and examined the baseball.
"Gerald?"
"Yeah, what is it, Phoebe? You want the honor, Helga?"
"I don't mean to intrude, but I don't think this is the best way to handle the situation."
"Aw, put a sock in it, Pheebs! We've got everything under control, and I'd be happy to do the honors." She snatched the ball from Gerald's hands and positioned herself behind Arnold on the bed.
Gerald spoke to Arnold in preparation. "Now, just hold still, buddy. Helga's going to show you what 'knock out' refers to."
"Neat! Show me, Helga!" Arnold turned and smiled up at Helga in anticipation.
Helga stood over him, holding the ball over her head, ready to slam it down on her oversized target. She was about to go through with it when her true feelings reclaimed control of her body. You've got to be kidding me. I'm actually going to hit Arnold over the head with a baseball? Intentionally? She frowned and dropped the ball behind her, landing harmlessly on the bed.
"Oh, come on! The ruthless bully, Helga G. Pataki, not knocking Arnold out cold when given the chance? It's for his own good!"
"I may be the bane of P.S. 118's existence, but even I won't stoop as low as to hit an innocent kid when his defenses are lowered like this."
"Surely you can't be serious."
"I am completely serious. I came over here to help him get better, not increase the size of his concussion."
Gerald was speechless. He had never seen Helga like this. Was she actually concerned about Arnold's well-being? Phoebe, pleased with the turn of events, spoke up, "What do you think we should do, Helga?"
Helga, now in complete control of Arnold's fate, decreed, "You two can step outside; I've got things under control here."
Phoebe and Gerald looked at each other, exchanging glances. Gerald seemed to ask if it was such a good idea, and Phoebe gave him a look of approval. Gerald then sighed, "Okay, then; I'm trusting you now, Helga. Don't do anything you'll regret later."
"I said I've got things under control; don't worry about it."
With that, Gerald and Phoebe left the room. Phoebe stopped at the door and turned back to Helga, giving her a thumbs-up. Helga smirked at the gesture, feeling very proud of herself in what she had just done. She had conquered her most difficult and stubborn obstacle, obtaining the trust of Arnold's best friend! Only an hour ago she had been on the verge of total breakdown, frustrated to no end by this seemingly impossible situation. But now things were going her way, and she had to follow through on her professed concerns.
She hopped down off the bed, which she'd been standing on since going up to retrieve the baseball. Arnold was again messing with the potato clock, now trying to put it back together. Helga took a deep breath, and gathered herself for what would be her best performance yet.
The extra notes: Notice that I never said how many parts there would be to this mini-series of chapters! I'll probably be able to wrap things up next time, when we'll finally get to the "good stuff." I hope no one's bitter about the fact that I keep holding off on the H/A material, but the pace of the story is dictating to me that the plot should move very slowly, so that I can develop the other character relationships completely (especially Helga and Gerald, I think there's an interesting situation there when you consider Arnold as a common factor in their lives).
With my brief solace from the usual homework load, I think I can get the next chapter up by the end of the weekend. Cross your fingers and thanks for reading.