I, the author, make no claim as to ownership of "Hey Arnold" or any of its characters. For a full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.
III
i feel...
Nobody will ever confuse Hillwood in the springtime with Paris. It is, after all, only 5 miles south of Seattle, and grunge couldn't have originated from a city where every April morning is cloud-free and 70 degrees. But there are certain nights when there are few places you'd rather be than Seattle's oldest suburb, and this night just happened to be one of them. Even at 8:30 at night, it was seventy-six; warm enough to keep your car windows rolled down - even after finishing a double-sweet banana split and a Mt. Orange-ia slush, as Arnold and Helga had done, respectively.
"Should we go to Phoebe's?" asked Arnold as he pulled into what was commonly known as the world's longest stoplight.
'Cause this is MY United States of Whatever...
"Nah," replied Helga without looking up from the car radio. "I don't wanna interrupt anything. Criminy, why can't there ever be anything good on?"
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they're like...
Helga shuddered as she continued her quest. Her decision was quickly met with protest.
"Hey, why'd you turn it?"
"Repeat: Why can't there ever be anything good on?"
"You're probably just jealous because her milkshake is better than..." Before he could finish, the back of his head was introduced to Helga's palm.
"Never. Say that. Again."
"Say what?" asked the ever-innocent Arnold. "MilkshOWW!"
Helga grinned. "And they say violence doesn't solve anything!" Arnold continued to rub the back of his head; not out of pain, but in the hopes of getting Helga's sympathy. Receiving none, he changed the subject.
"So Helgs, how come you didn't go with Gerald and Feebs?" He reached for the radio tuner, hoping that he'd be more successful in finding something bearable to listen to. "I thought you hadn't picked out a prom dress yet."
"Well, I haven't, but..." She stumbled on what to say next, but was quickly saved. "Wait a second. Go back, go back." Arnold obliged by turning the dial back to 91.7 FM and was quickly rewarded.
Buddy, you're a young man, hard man
Shoutin' in the streets, gonna take on the world someday
You got blood on your face, you big disgrace...
Arnold shot Helga a smile. Without a word, they both knew what had to be done...
"WE WILL, WE WILL, ROCK YOU!"
The two fell back into their seats with laughter. Their impromptu performance earned them a "Rock on!", a "Queen rules!", and several strange glances from the surrounding motorists. As they stopped laughing, the light finally turned green and they continued on the road to nowhere in particular.
"So what about White Castle?" asked Helga.
"Hey, you didn't answer my question yet."
"And neither did you, bucko!" She thought that she sounded a little angrier than she should have, but she didn't tone her voice down. "White Castle, yes or no?"
"I thought we just ate."
"No, you ate. I drank."
Much too angry that time.
Arnold turned towards her as if he had just decieved her. "I... I'm sorry, Helga... I didn't know that..."
Before he could get any further, Helga held up her palm to stop him. She sighed and chuckled slightly. "Football head, what have I told you about apologizing for stuff you didn't do? Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that. It's just that..." She seemed to scan her brain for the right thing to say, or the right way to say it, but came up empty.
"Wanna grab a bite to eat?"
Helga nodded. Without another word, Arnold switched lanes and headed for White Castle as she laid her head on his shoulder. He always seemed to have a knack for saying the right thing, even when he didn't necessarily say it. Helga always appreciated that about him, but never more so than this night.
Just one more reason why she loved him.
Her one-sided obsession with Arnold could be described as a play in three acts. The setup: Kindergarten. A rainy day. A shared umbrella. The second act: A loveless home. A misguided idea of perfection. Idol worship. The climax: Sixth grade. A rainy night. An outdoor stakeout. Near-fatal pneumonia. During her recovery, her family came together like never before. Her dad finally admitted that he cared about his youngest daughter... and proceded to act like it. Her mom swore off drinking... and meant it this time. Big sis put her entire life on hold to make sure that Helga came through OK. And while they still wouldn't live up to Dr. Phil's standards, they became... functional.
With no need to create an ideal to live for, Helga let her quest for Arnold end. She threw out any and everything that she had made, created, written, and collected about Arnold and vowed to begin her life anew. Almost immediately afterwards, she and Arnold became... aquaintances. Not quite friends, but definately not enemies. About a year after the two became friends, she eventually, and unexplicably, came clean to him about everything; the stalking, the statues, the diary. All of it. And in a way that was so... Arnold, he nodded, said that he understood, and left it at that.
It was the umbrella all over again.
She saw Arnold not for what she used to believe him as (the non- religious equivilent of the second coming), but for what he really was; a naive, nerdy-cool, straight-B-plus student who was too forgiving and trusting for his own good. And she fell for him. No illusions. No pedistols. No love-sick poems or 2 am stakeouts. Just him. Back then, she obsessed with Arnold, the Ideal. Now, she loved Arnold, the man who would do anything for her. The man who would never let her stay sad, if he could help it. The man... who was bringing her six much-needed cheeseburgers.
"You didn't have to do this," said Helga as she grabbed the tray.
"I know, but I wanted to." He stood at the side of the booth, wondering to himself if he should sit beside her or across from her. Helga made his decision easier by patting the section of plastic bench beside her, and he easily glided his lanky frame between the bench and the table. He dropped himself a little closer than she expected him to, which wasn't a disappointment to her. She let out a small sigh. Or, at least she thought it was small.
"You OK, Helgs?"
"Wha?" She shook herself out of it. "Oh, yeah, I'm good." She turned her attention back to her food and began to peel the pickles off of her burgers.
"I'll never understand why you don't just order them without pickles."
"That's because you don't understand the essence of White Castle." A smile quickly returned to her face. "Pickles are not needed, but pickle flavoring is. Without the slight hint of pickle, you've got a brick of meat with onions and oily bread."
Arnold couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "I see someone's put waaaaay too much thought into this..."
"Hey, if you were addicted to these, you'd understand." She quickly took on cheeseburger #1, and took care of it with great ease. She was about to challenge burger #2 when she was stopped in her tracks.
"So, ready to talk now?"
