I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.
II
Busy Child
"Oh my God, I don't even know you anymore!" cried Arnold as he fell onto his couch. "Please tell me you're kidding!"
"Oh, c'mon, Arnaldo!" bemoned Helga from the foot of her friend's bed. "I don't care if he's a 30-time MVP! He's not better than KG!"
After years of tormenting him, it was sports that helped Helga get back in Arnold's good graces. Their common passion was discovered at the end of 8th grade, when Arnold won four tickets to a Mariners-Yankees game. Gerald and Phoebe both dozed off around the fourth inning, waking up only when Gerald wanted a hot dog or Phoebe wanted to oggle Ichiro. Sometime around the top of the sixth, Arnold and Helga both yelled at the manager for bringing in a new pitcher when the starter had a great game going. That moment sealed their new lives together as friends. From then on, it was almost nothing but sports when Arnold (the Sonics and Mariners fan) and Helga (a Seahawk and Mariner diehard and Laker-hater extrordinaire) were alone. Many an intended late night study session was spent at Arnold's place watching whatever was on ESPN at the time (Poker was the current 2 a.m. favorite, but World's Strongest Man was a close second).
Arnold stared in disbelief. "You're going to sit in my room, on my couch, and tell me with a straight face that Kevin Garnett is better than Tim Duncan."
"Yes. Yes I am."
"What on earth could make you think that?"
Helga sighed. "Well, the fact that he is better, for one..."
"That's it," Arnold cried as he threw up his arms in frustration. "You're officially insane."
"Oh, am I?" Helga got up and walked towards the bed, taking one of the couch cushions with her. "Tell me then, tell me one thing Duncan has that Garnett doesn't."
"I could name two, but I don't think championships have names."
Instead of a counterpoint, Arnold got a cushion to the face. "Let's see you win a championship with Rasho Nesterovic!"
Arnold sighed. "And I put up with you because...?"
"Because I'm just so damn cute!" She followed her comment with an extremely fake smile, which got a chuckle out of Arnold.
"True," was all he was able to muster up. In actuality, she wasn't cute - she was goregeous. Her hair, a brilliant light-blonde, flowed almost magically to her shoulders. Her face could put anyone on the cover of People to shame; lucious, protruding lips, a perfectly-shaped nose, and big, beautiful, baby-blue eyes you could get lost in. If a man could break his gaze from the face of perfection, his reward would be a perfectly-toned and shaped body that would make any heterosexual man do things that were illegal in 46 states.
Arnold searched his mind for something to say. "You know, Helgs," he finally said, "You're really somethin' else."
With that, Helga's cheese-grin softened to a legitimate chuckle. She liked when he called her Helgs. Actually, she liked when anyone called her Helgs, but especially when he said it. It felt softer and less abrasive than Helga... but then again, so would a Brillo Pad. The nickname was more than just a name, though. It was indicative of her personality change from her younger years. She had outgrown the need to overpower people, so gone were the strongarm tactics and short fuses of elementary school. Call it maturity. Call it evolving. Call it a pleasant side-effect to the end of her mother's alcohol addiction. Whatever it was, the end result was the same; Helga was dead. Long live Helgs!
Now it was Helga's turn to snap back into reality. "Anyways," she started, "it's almost quarter to to 7. We should probably call Phoebe and tell her we're coming up." She turned to Arnold and extended her palm. Arnold sighed through his smile.
"How can you, of all people, not have one?" he asked as he handed over his cell phone.
"Aw, you know how my dad is. Stupid." She laughed at her own joke as she begain to dial.
"I'm telling you, every person on the planet will have one within a couple of years."
"Everyone except for me and on guy from Siberia," Helgs sniped as she brought the phone to her ear. "Hey Feebs, what's up?... Whoa, are you OK? You sound winded... I was just gonna tell ya that were about to... Are you sure you're OK?... Sorry, there was some static. What are you doing?... Ooooooooh... Well that would explain... OK then, I guess we'll see ya later... Have fun."
"What was that all about?" asked an extremely puzzled Arnold.
"We're not going to Phoebe's."
"And why is that?"
Helga paused for a moment. "They're... busy."
"Too busy for us?"
"No, no, no," she said, shaking her head. "They're busy."
Arnold looked confused. "Okay..."
"Biz-zy."
"I... still don't follow."
Helga sighed. "Look, I don't know if I can put any more emphasis on the word 'busy,' but let me try one more time. They're... busy."
"What exactly are they..." Arnold paused. "Oooooh, I see. Well, it is 6:45, so we can't really..." He paused again. "Ugh! Pictures and images in my head!" He began to rub his temples furiously, as if he had been hit with five migranes at once.
"Ya know," Helga said with a chuckle, "I woulda' paid to see you when your grandparents gave you the talk."
Arnold exhaled and slowly regained his composure. "OK, I'm good. Well, I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten since the arcade, so I'm pretty hungry. How does Slaussen's sound?"
"You're hungry, so you're going to eat... ice cream?"
"...Yeah."
"OK, just checkin'," said Helga as she reached for her purse and headed downstairs. "You know, Arnaldo, how do you think you got here?"
"My parents having sex is not something I choose to think about," he defended as they reached Old Rusty.
"I was actually thinking... a little older..."
After a moment of dead silence, Arnold closed his eyes, shuddered, and began to rub his temples.
"Just get in the car..."
