Chapter 11. It's pretty short since I feel incredibly uninspired. Oh well.
:)
I don't own Hey Arnold!. You know what? I won't say this again.
Arnold walked back home with a goofy grin on his face. On the way, he received some stares from people passing by, probably because his entire shirt, and some parts of his jeans, were covered with green and purple handprints. That was some paint fight he and Helga had been in. But this time, they made sure not to mess the gym floor, or else they might have been stuck there all night trying to clean the mess. It was 6:15 in the early evening, and with the sun almost set, the sky was a beautiful orange with fluffy pink clouds. They had finally finished half an hour ago, and he and Helga had gone their separate ways home. He had never seen Helga this happy. He smiled again.
Approaching the Sunset Arms, Arnold saw his grandfather sweeping the side of the stoop with a large broom and singing. Arnold climbed a couple of steps and sat down on the stoop, gazing at the cotton candy-like clouds.
"Ohhh, you big beautiful doll, you great big beautiful doll! So silky's your hair, and complexion so fair, and la la la la la, la la, I don't know the words, but I don't care!" Grandpa Phil sang, his voice hitting a high pitch near the end. He turned around and saw Arnold. "Oh, hey there shortman, how was school?" he asked casually, resuming his sweeping.
"It was great, Grandpa," Arnold said, still gazing at the clouds.
"Woaho! I see you had quite an accident there, boy! What happened?" asked Grandpa, after taking a closer look at Arnold.
"Aww, this girl and I were making posters for the Fall dance, and we had a little fight," Arnold said, half smiling.
"Hmmm," Grandpa looked at Arnold a little closer. "You don't seem too mad about it.".
"Nah, Grandpa, it was kinda fun,".
"Then this can mean only two things. Either this world has turned topsy turvy where getting dirty makes you happy, or you like this girl,".
"Well...".
"Aha! I knew it!".
"I'm not even sure if I like her that much, Grandpa. I mean, she used to pick on me when we were kids, and she still does, not as much though. Even if I'm sure I like her, it doesn't have to mean she likes me too, does it?" Arnold asked, still staring up at the sky. The clouds were starting to turn purple.
"Ya know, this reminds me of the time when I was a kid. You age, Arnold. Have I ever told you about-".
"Actually, Grandpa-".
"This girl used to pick on me all the time. I'd get into a lotta trouble 'cuz of her. Later, I learned she had a thing for me since elementary. Her friend told me so," Grandpa said, with a far away look in his eyes and a wide smile. "Heh heh, yup, good ole times,".
"Well," Arnold looked at his grandfather inquisitively. He didn't answer. "What happened to her?" he prodded.
"She's Pookie, Arnold, your Grandma. Boy, is she one in a million. Hoho!" Grandpa laughed.
Arnold imagined himself and Helga, hand in hand, saying "I do" in front of millions of people in front of a minister.
"Okaaaaay...".
"You better clean up, Shortman. It's almost time for dinner. Your Grandma's made Watermelon truffles for desert," Grandpa said, wrinkling his nose.
"'Kay Grandpa," Arnold said, getting up and turning towards the door. Suddenly, he heard Grandpa scream with laughter. He turned around quickly to see his grandfather bent, laughing hard and slapping his knee. "What's so funny, Grandpa?" he asked.
"Now I see why you enjoyed your paint fight with that girl so much, Arnold," Grandpa guffawed. He pointed towards Arnold's tush. Confused, Arnold craned his neck to look at his behind, and saw the cause of Grandpa's mirth. On both sides of his jean-clad tush, were a purple and a green handprint. Arnold blushed.
"Uh..".
"Haha ha hah ha! Woooohoo! Haha HAHA!" Grandpa howled.
Arnold ran up the stairs and straight to his room.
Helga's hands? On his butt? He felt a warm tingling sensation in his chest.
Even while he was in the shower, he couldn't stop thinking of Helga. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked across the room and flopped down onto his bed, staring at the now completely black sky.
Why do I even feel this way about her? he thought dreamily.Was it because she was beautiful? She certainly was. Arnold realized a long time ago, not to just go for the looks, as they can be quite deceiving. But he knew Helga wasn't dumb, or an airhead. He knew she was a wonderful poet, ever since fourth grade, when Mr. Simmons would let Helga's name slip while reciting her moving poetry in class. Even in English class, when they'd be required to write a poem sometimes, she wasn't shy to recite her own poetry, and did it in a dramatic way. She was the top student in English class.
He had always been drawn to Helga, but never this way. During their earlier years, he was just curious about her, wanted to know why she was the way she was. Now he was incredibly attracted to her beauty, her talent. He knew it wasn't love. A crush? Probably halfway there.
Shaking his head, he got up and got dressed for dinner. On the way out of his room, he noticed that he left his pants on the floor. Picking it up, he made his way to the laundary basket in his bathroom. Looking at the handprints again, he stopped and smiled. Tossing the pair of jeans on his bed, he walked out of the room, and closed the door behind him.
I don't own Hey Arnold!. You know what? I won't say this again.
Arnold walked back home with a goofy grin on his face. On the way, he received some stares from people passing by, probably because his entire shirt, and some parts of his jeans, were covered with green and purple handprints. That was some paint fight he and Helga had been in. But this time, they made sure not to mess the gym floor, or else they might have been stuck there all night trying to clean the mess. It was 6:15 in the early evening, and with the sun almost set, the sky was a beautiful orange with fluffy pink clouds. They had finally finished half an hour ago, and he and Helga had gone their separate ways home. He had never seen Helga this happy. He smiled again.
Approaching the Sunset Arms, Arnold saw his grandfather sweeping the side of the stoop with a large broom and singing. Arnold climbed a couple of steps and sat down on the stoop, gazing at the cotton candy-like clouds.
"Ohhh, you big beautiful doll, you great big beautiful doll! So silky's your hair, and complexion so fair, and la la la la la, la la, I don't know the words, but I don't care!" Grandpa Phil sang, his voice hitting a high pitch near the end. He turned around and saw Arnold. "Oh, hey there shortman, how was school?" he asked casually, resuming his sweeping.
"It was great, Grandpa," Arnold said, still gazing at the clouds.
"Woaho! I see you had quite an accident there, boy! What happened?" asked Grandpa, after taking a closer look at Arnold.
"Aww, this girl and I were making posters for the Fall dance, and we had a little fight," Arnold said, half smiling.
"Hmmm," Grandpa looked at Arnold a little closer. "You don't seem too mad about it.".
"Nah, Grandpa, it was kinda fun,".
"Then this can mean only two things. Either this world has turned topsy turvy where getting dirty makes you happy, or you like this girl,".
"Well...".
"Aha! I knew it!".
"I'm not even sure if I like her that much, Grandpa. I mean, she used to pick on me when we were kids, and she still does, not as much though. Even if I'm sure I like her, it doesn't have to mean she likes me too, does it?" Arnold asked, still staring up at the sky. The clouds were starting to turn purple.
"Ya know, this reminds me of the time when I was a kid. You age, Arnold. Have I ever told you about-".
"Actually, Grandpa-".
"This girl used to pick on me all the time. I'd get into a lotta trouble 'cuz of her. Later, I learned she had a thing for me since elementary. Her friend told me so," Grandpa said, with a far away look in his eyes and a wide smile. "Heh heh, yup, good ole times,".
"Well," Arnold looked at his grandfather inquisitively. He didn't answer. "What happened to her?" he prodded.
"She's Pookie, Arnold, your Grandma. Boy, is she one in a million. Hoho!" Grandpa laughed.
Arnold imagined himself and Helga, hand in hand, saying "I do" in front of millions of people in front of a minister.
"Okaaaaay...".
"You better clean up, Shortman. It's almost time for dinner. Your Grandma's made Watermelon truffles for desert," Grandpa said, wrinkling his nose.
"'Kay Grandpa," Arnold said, getting up and turning towards the door. Suddenly, he heard Grandpa scream with laughter. He turned around quickly to see his grandfather bent, laughing hard and slapping his knee. "What's so funny, Grandpa?" he asked.
"Now I see why you enjoyed your paint fight with that girl so much, Arnold," Grandpa guffawed. He pointed towards Arnold's tush. Confused, Arnold craned his neck to look at his behind, and saw the cause of Grandpa's mirth. On both sides of his jean-clad tush, were a purple and a green handprint. Arnold blushed.
"Uh..".
"Haha ha hah ha! Woooohoo! Haha HAHA!" Grandpa howled.
Arnold ran up the stairs and straight to his room.
Helga's hands? On his butt? He felt a warm tingling sensation in his chest.
Even while he was in the shower, he couldn't stop thinking of Helga. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked across the room and flopped down onto his bed, staring at the now completely black sky.
Why do I even feel this way about her? he thought dreamily.Was it because she was beautiful? She certainly was. Arnold realized a long time ago, not to just go for the looks, as they can be quite deceiving. But he knew Helga wasn't dumb, or an airhead. He knew she was a wonderful poet, ever since fourth grade, when Mr. Simmons would let Helga's name slip while reciting her moving poetry in class. Even in English class, when they'd be required to write a poem sometimes, she wasn't shy to recite her own poetry, and did it in a dramatic way. She was the top student in English class.
He had always been drawn to Helga, but never this way. During their earlier years, he was just curious about her, wanted to know why she was the way she was. Now he was incredibly attracted to her beauty, her talent. He knew it wasn't love. A crush? Probably halfway there.
Shaking his head, he got up and got dressed for dinner. On the way out of his room, he noticed that he left his pants on the floor. Picking it up, he made his way to the laundary basket in his bathroom. Looking at the handprints again, he stopped and smiled. Tossing the pair of jeans on his bed, he walked out of the room, and closed the door behind him.