A/N A huge thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter after such a long break! I hope you all keep enjoying the story.
SILENCING NATURE
Chapter 18 - An Overdue Plan
"Maybe she didn't tell her?"
Even if he couldn't convince himself with that suggestion, Arnold still had to hope for the best. His position on Helga bringing Phoebe into the loop hadn't changed, but that made him feel no less uneasy at the prospect – or embarrassed – and his stomach was churning. The two girls had quietly slipped back into the room only moments before, after a suspiciously long absence. In a different setting, it might have caught more attention. Luckily for them, though, and just as Helga had hoped, their classmates' focus had firmly settled on Miles and Stella. Those who weren't talking to the couple were almost certainly talking about them, and even Olga was occupied trying to keep the children calm and organised after regaining at least some level of professional composure.
But Arnold and Gerald had noticed, and had similarly taken advantage of the distraction for a tête-à-tête.
"Tell her what, man?" Gerald returned his friend's whisper. "That the Green Eyes think the two of you are a couple of gods, or that you've gone and declared yourself to be Helga G. Pataki's personal love bug?" The boy clasped his hands, teasingly fluttering his eyes in Arnold's direction.
"Gerald!" Arnold hissed, a blush rushing to his face. He looked away with a frown, his arms folding tightly. "Both..." He muttered; this wasn't the time to argue over Gerald's choice of words.
"Well, Phoebe is her best friend, and she pretty much dragged her out of here the second you showed up. Do you seriously think there's a chance she didn't tell her?" Gerald pointed out, ever the realist.
"Not necessarily; Helga's a pretty private person." Arnold tried to argue, though he knew it was weak. Still, Helga clearly was capable of keeping large parts of herself hidden. "And it's not like she said she was planning on telling Phoebe."
"Mmhm." Gerald nodded, trying his best not to roll his eyes. "Alright, I take your point. Then let's observe for a second." Placing an arm around Arnold's shoulder, he subtly drew the other boy's attention to Helga and Phoebe. The girls were on the opposite side of the room, apparently trying to avoid the attention of the main crowd.
"Check out Phoebe." He continued. "Note the frazzled, overwhelmed look that she didn't have when we got here; a look that says 'I just learned some majorly huge, crazy stuff, and it made just enough sense to be even freakier'. You may recognise it as the same look you put on my face a few hours ago when you filled me in on this Tiukwí business. You might also notice that the girl's trying real hard not to stare in this direction, which I'd like to think is 'cause I'm over here, but which I suspect is actually 'cause she's curious if you're gonna start glowing, shooting lightning from your hands, turning water to Yahoo, standard god stuff." He ignored Arnold's fresh glare at that. "Face it, dude – she knows everything."
Just at that moment, as Arnold looked back, he and Helga's eyes met across the room. The connection lasted for all of three seconds before the blonde girl quickly turned away, apparently trying to hide her own furious blush. Seeing Phoebe do her best to cover a large giggle at the display, Gerald turned to give his friend a smirk, a brow raised.
"Everything."
"Ugh..." Arnold couldn't help but facepalm. "Well, then how do you think she took it?"
"Hey, considering how insane, impossible and downright disturbing the whole thing is, she still hasn't run away screaming." Gerald shrugged. "And it doesn't seem like she's gonna try and get you and Helga tossed into the closest psych ward, so that's a bonus."
"And what about, you know, the other stuff?" Arnold shyly pressed on.
"I was talking about the other stuff." Gerald quickly shot back. Under the weight of yet another glare from his friend, he apologetically raised his hands. "Alright, alright, I'm done. But really, even if you didn't see that little laugh just now," he was trying not to dwell to much on how cute he had found it, "her best friend just got the guy who, contrary to all odds and evidence, she's apparently been gaga over for a long time. What's not to be happy about?"
"I don't know." The blond boy gave a hopeless shrug. "Maybe she doesn't approve? It's not like you were thrilled when you found out." He recalled the blank expression on Gerald's face when he made his earlier confession; it was like the very idea of Arnold having feelings for Helga didn't even compute.
"Hey, first of all, I'm allowed to have concerns when my best friend decides to get together with the girl who's used him as a spitball target since kindergarten." Gerald defended. "Second, considering how long Helga's apparently had all this going on, Phoebe definitely already knew. I just got all this laid on me since last night, and last I checked, I'm pretty sure you haven't been pining over Helga G. Pataki for all that long, right?" He still felt a reflexive, queasy knot form in his stomach at the idea, something that wasn't helped when he watched Arnold bring a hand to the back of his neck, that blush returning. Seeing his friend open his mouth, Gerald quickly held up a hand again and shook his head. "Uh-uh! Y'know, on second thought, I'm not ready to know. Either way, cut me some slack! And last off, you're seriously worried about Phoebe not approving of you? You're Arnold! You're literally so nice to everyone they made a film about it! If anyone should be worried about 'approval', it should be Helga – I mean, the girl's angry, mean, bad-tempered, downright violent sometimes-" Gerald came to an abrupt stop when he saw Arnold's eyes widen. "Oh, she's right behind me, isn't she?"
"Don't let me stop you, Geraldo." The boy in question gulped, turning to see Helga at his shoulder and Phoebe not far behind. The blonde girl was aiming one of her scowls squarely in his direction, her hands on her hips. "Keep going; I think you forgot 'vengeful'."
"Heheh..." Attempting to brush off the threat, Gerald shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and took what he hoped was a subtle step back from the displeased girl. "Sorry about that. How're you ladies doing?" He tried a smooth grin, particularly aimed in Phoebe's direction.
"Oh, fairly well, thank you. Apologies for our prolonged absence." The smaller girl quickly answered, returning a grin of her own, if only for Gerald's awkwardness. Honestly, she wasn't even sure it was true; his observation of 'frazzled' had been more-or-less on point. She spared a sideways glance, first confirming that Helga wasn't going to make the boy face immediate repercussions for his comments – the girl had looked away with a huff, mumbling darkly under her breath about how lucky Gerald was that it 'isn't slander if it's true' – and secondly checking that their classmates were still otherwise occupied. Lowering her voice, she continued. "I was concerned you may be speculating, so I thought it best we come over. I've been informed of the... confidential factors involved in your dealings with the Green-Eyed People."
"Oh." Arnold immediately became flustered at this confirmation of his fears, glancing first at Helga then back in Phoebe's direction. "Uh, h-how much did you-"
"She knows everything, Football Head." Helga interjected, looking uneasy herself; just as Arnold was fretting over Phoebe's reaction to knowing the truth, she was fretting over his reaction to Phoebe knowing the truth. An unpleasant chain of anxiety...
"Told you!" Gerald quickly whispered behind his hand.
"Um, everything, everything?" Arnold still felt the need to ask, a brow raised.
Helga couldn't help but roll her eyes – did she really have to spell it out? She flushed as she continued. "Yes, 'everything, everything' – the Tiukwí stuff and the... us stuff, ok? The whole shebang." Helga caught herself, once again remembering the single piece of the whole ordeal that they agreed to keep between the two of them. She shot Arnold a pointed look. "Y'know, same as Gerald." Seeing him nod, she hoped he'd got the message. Regardless, the discomfort on his face was still apparent, and her own expression softened into one of nervous worry. "That's... that's ok, right? I mean, I just figured..."
"It's fine, Helga. Really." Arnold's arm and fingers twitched for an instant, his reflex being to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. But, considering where they were and how afraid Helga had been on reaching the hotel, he held it back. The girl noticed, the two of them sharing the briefest of regretful looks before he continued. "I know we didn't exactly talk about it, but it's only fair. And Phoebe, are you ok with everything? I hope it didn't freak you out. Uh, the Tiukwí stuff, I mean." He awkwardly clarified.
"I'd be lying if I said it didn't, a little. I'm still trying to process a great deal of it." Phoebe admitted. "I know this isn't the best time to ask you about any of it, but... were you really born during a volcanic eruption?" She looked at Arnold nervously, even apologetically at being unable to contain the question.
"Apparently. It's not exactly like I remember it or anything." Arnold did his best to joke.
"Gosh..." The girl let that settle in, the admission putting an end to any remaining doubts over whether the whole tale was a figment of Helga's overactive imagination. "And, well... how are you feeling about all this?"
"It's been a lot to deal with." Arnold sighed, his shoulders slumping for a moment. "Helga probably told you already that we're going to try and not overthink it for now. After all, some really great things have happened because of this trip too. A lot of great things." He sent a small grin in Helga's direction, immediately forcing the girl to hold back a swoon. The loopy expression and tiny squeak that managed to slip through for a second earned yet more amused looks from their friends.
"Oh, shut up..." The girl muttered after giving herself a shake, glancing away with a pout.
"That's what I'd rather focus on right now." Arnold finished, looking a good deal brighter.
Phoebe couldn't help but smile herself at the pair, despite Helga's chagrin; even as an (admittedly highly invested) outside observer, seeing such an interaction between the two was heart-warming. "I can certainly understand that, Arnold. Well, for now, at least allow me to reassure you that I won't share any of this with anyone. Your secret is perfectly safe with me, I promise."
"She ain't kidding." Helga chimed in, shooting Phoebe a conspiratorial smirk. "The girl's Fort Knox, trust me."
"Thanks, Phoebe, I appreciate it." Arnold rubbed the back of his neck again, looking sheepish. "Honestly, though, we figured most people probably wouldn't even believe something like this."
The other three turned to Gerald as he gave a short laugh. "No kidding! I mean, I still don't know which sounds less likely; that there's a city full of Green Eyes out there worshipping you guys right now, or that you two are actually some kind of thing." His amusement faded under the weight of yet more frowns; he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in frustration, the other hand once again raised in apology. "Sorry, sorry – I'm seriously trying."
"'Seriously trying' is right." Helga growled, her fists clenching – she was starting to wonder if Gerald needed reminding of her earlier offer to remove his hair the old fashioned way.
Phoebe cleared her throat, quickly working to defuse the new tension. "I promise to keep both secrets safe, in any case. Um... is the latter a secret?" She couldn't help but hope that Helga would extend at least some of her recent openness to the rest of the world, but truthfully, knowing the girl, it was hard to imagine. Still, the question prompted the blonde couple to share an uncertain look, trying to feel each other out.
"Well..."
"SECRETS, you say?!"
The children collectively cried out, jumping at the abrupt appearance of Arnold's grandma, her wrinkled face seeming to materialise behind them.
"Would people stop doing that?!" Gerald wished out loud, his eyes wide and a hand clutching at this chest.
"Oh, I remember back in my day, we all used to keep our secrets in neat manilla dossiers with big, red 'classified' stamps all over them." The old woman continued wistfully, gazing into the distance and apparently not fazed by their distress in the slightest. "I had one for all my favourite home recipes, you know, right up until those nice men from the bureau came and seized it for the national defence."
"Uh, Grandma, did you need something?" Arnold prompted, quietly praying that she hadn't heard too much of their conversation.
Gertie snapped back to attention, complete with a formal salute, her helmet back in place. "Sorry to interrupt your confab, Captain. I just thought you should know that Tarzan and Lady Jane seem to be having a little trouble."
With that, she gestured the the centre of the room, where Miles and Stella continued to be surrounded by a large gaggle of their son's classmates. One that was quickly gaining volume and losing order as each tried to be the next to make their question heard. Though the pair were being as accommodating as they could, Arnold felt a sharp pang of guilt when he spotted the fatigue behind their smiles; it seemed the adrenaline of their introduction was wearing off, and exhaustion was once again tugging hard at them both.
"Argh, I shouldn't have left them alone!" He chastised himself.
"You didn't leave them alone, Arnold – it's been like five minutes. They're twenty feet away!" Gerald immediately tried to defend the boy from himself, but the words fell on deaf ears; Arnold was already moving quickly back towards the main group. The remaining three children exchanged a quick look before following, trying to gauge just how worried they should be...
As it was, Miles and Stella had at least been fortunate enough to find chairs to sit on before the inquisition got out of hand – who knew how long their legs would have supported them at this point? Even so, the couple subtly leaned on each other as they fielded as many questions as they could. Olga had remained on-hand, doing her best to put a stop to any that she found inappropriate ("No, Curly, they will not teach you how to make a macana. Please stop asking."), but the young woman was once again beginning to flounder; apparently it takes fewer than ten overexcited children to form an effective mob.
"Guys, I think that's enough questions for now!" Reaching them, Arnold positioned himself between his parents and his friends, inadvertently acting like some kind of human shield. His words immediately brought about a wave of dejected protests from his classmates, before his grandpa also appeared at his side.
"Arnold's absolutely right." He agreed, looking solemn. "No more freebies! From now on, it's two bucks per question, and five for your very own picture with the weary explorers!" He cackled as he watched the children begin searching their pockets, forgetting they were in borrowed clothes.
"Grandpa..." Arnold gave the old man a dry look.
"Oh, relax, Short Man." Phil grinned, waving a hand. "You don't have to pay that much – you get the friends and family discount!"
"We're ok, Sweetie. You don't need to worry." Stella offered, much as she was struggling to keep her eyes open.
"But you haven't stopped since we left the Green Eyes' city!" Arnold protested, moving to take his mother's hand. Tired though she was, he immediately felt her squeeze his tightly in return. "You must be exhausted!"
"Are you kidding?" Miles offered his son a droopy attempt at a smile. "We could keep this up all day." He capped off the statement with a wide yawn.
"No, Arnold really is right." Phil stood in front of the couple and shook his head, his smile replaced with a look of concern. "Kidding aside, you two look like you're about to pass out. That room back there looked comfy enough – why don't you go take a nap?"
"We're fine, Pop, really." Miles argued, causing the older man to narrow his eyes, his hands going to his hips.
"Go to bed, Miles!"
"But I don't want to!" The man pouted.
"Well, you want that cobbler when you get home, don'tcha?" Phil asked, raising a brow.
"...Yes."
"Then do as you're told and get your butt to bed." Phil finished, firmly.
"Fine..." Miles conceded, slowly and begrudgingly rising to his feet. He seemed ready to head for the door when he froze, blinking for a moment. "Hey, wait a minute! I'm-" He paused, doing some quick mental calculations before facepalming. "Oh, holy cow, I'm over forty..." He lamented to himself, before rallying and frowning at his father. "I'm a grown man! You can't just order me to go to bed like that!"
"Oh, you bet I can!" Phil countered, his arms folded. "And you just watch that tone, Short Man!"
"I didn't say anything!" Arnold argued in confusion.
The old man sputtered for a few moments, looking back and forth between the two. "Well, not you, Short Man, him, Short Man." He gestured wildly in his son's direction before the two resumed their bickering, Arnold chiming in here and there to try and keep the peace.
"Ohh, this takes me back." Arnold's grandma commented from the sidelines, smiling warmly and wiping away a tear as she watched display.
The collection of children also looked on as this all unfolded, the rabble successfully dumbfounded by the show playing out in front of them.
"What the heck kinda surreal family drama are we all witnessin' right now?" Stinky was the first to quietly voice the question.
"I dunno, but Gramps is right." Helga answered, unable to hide her amusement. "They should be selling tickets to this stuff." At the very least, she wished she had some popcorn.
It was Stella who finally put a stop to the growing quarrel, wearily standing to join her husband. The hand she placed on his shoulder was mostly to calm him down, and only a little to keep the shaking of her knees to a minimum.
"Miles, I think Arnold and Phil are right. Up-bup!" A single raised finger from Stella was more effective than all of Phil's arguing at keeping Miles' mouth shut when he tried to protest. "They are, Honey; it was a tiring trip back. You and me should go and rest for a bit." She didn't like the idea any more than he did, she suspected, but they had to be realistic – the last thing she wanted was for either of them to collapse in front of their son. "Although, before we go, I think we probably ought to know what the plan is." She finished, looking expectantly in Olga's direction. The younger woman was caught off-guard, the Shortman men's performance having drawn her in as much as it did everyone else. A part of her had been ready to offer to bake them a soufflé if they stopped.
"P-plan?" She stammered.
"The plan for getting home." Stella patiently elaborated with a smile. "I assume you have a return flight arranged, at least for you and the kids? We wouldn't want to sleep through it!"
"Oh! Um..." Olga suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable.
"I mean, I know the contest was phoney, but you must have been promised a two-way trip to sell it, right?" Stella optimistically continued, though her smile faltered a little.
"Ah, yes!" Olga brightened. "Absolutely! We were assured that the return journey had been arranged, and that we would be collecting our tickets once we met up with Eduard- oooh dear..." She trailed off, her eyes widening and a hand coming to cover her mouth. Some of the children began to share their own concerned looks.
"Ok." Stella pressed on, undeterred. "That's hardly surprising, really. Hey, it's not like Lasombra was too worried about any of you leaving, right?" She let out a forced laugh, which died quickly when she saw the horrified expressions that brought to many of the room's younger faces. "Um, well, not to worry. I'm sure the school must have realised that by now anyway, and they're probably working out an alternative plan for you all. What did they say when you spoke to them?"
Olga offered nothing, apart from turning very, very pale.
"Ms. Pata- Olga." Stella continued, her face now serious and her tone measured. "You have informed the school about what's happened here, haven't you?" The other woman remained frozen. "The children's parents?" Still silence. "Anyone?"
"I've... I've been a little distracted..." Olga finally answered, in the smallest voice imaginable.
Her words had the force of a bomb, the children in question surging to their feet and screaming questions in their assistant teacher's direction, each having quite sensibly assumed that their own mothers and fathers had been informed of their ordeal the very second Olga had regained access to a phone.
"Stop!" Stella's commanding voice carried over the new din. "Everyone stop, and nobody panic! Kids, sit back down." She gestured to the vacant chairs, conducting the group like an orchestra. She watched and waited while they followed her instructions, each of them looking shell-shocked as they took their seats.
"Oh my gosh, Daddy's going to sue the school so hard." Rhonda's whispered comment was the only sound for a few moments, the girl clasping her cheeks and finding herself too shocked to even decide whether she approved of the idea.
"Phil," Stella eventually tried to get back on track, turning to her father-in-law, "did you let anybody know?"
"Nope, sorry." Phil offered an apologetic shrug. "We didn't think to do a darned thing until we knew Arnold was safe and sound. Jumping Jehoshaphat, we didn't even stop to tell the boarders we were leaving!" He slapped his forehead at the realisation. "That half-crazed pack of degenerates probably has the whole place up in flames by now! Oh well, at least Kokoshka mighta starved..." He finished, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Alright... Helga!" Stella pressed on, beginning to clutch at straws. "What about your parents? They must have told someone, right?" She found herself reflexively aiming the question at the younger Pataki. Somehow, her confidence in Olga had been shaken again.
"Eh, much as they're known for their boundless consideration for their fellow man..." Helga hesitantly replied. "Let's assume not."
"I see." Stella found herself raising yet another brow at Helga's parents, despite having yet to meet them. Not that she could spare the energy to analyse that right now. "The Helpers, then. I'll bet they notified someone. Where did Eduardo go?" She scanned the room, as if expecting to find the man hiding behind his hat in some far-off corner.
"I think I saw him heading toward the reception, after he brought Grandma and Grandpa to the room before." Arnold offered, remembering the brief glimpse. "I haven't seen him since."
"Actually," before Eduardo's vanishing could be pondered further, Olga managed her first words since the big reveal, "I'm not so sure they did. I seem to remember a nice man was in here earlier asking for contact information, but I was... rather upset at the time. So I believe he spoke with Daddy instead." Gerald and Helga shared a brief, pained look as they remembered the woebegone Helper who was facing Big Bob's rage when they arrived. "With everything on his mind, well... I don't think Daddy was at his most accommodating."
"Yeah, he was..." Helga couldn't help but mutter, under her breath.
"Right." Stella closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, badly regretting her decision to stand up before opening this box. "So, to be clear, there is no plan for getting these children home, and as far as anybody back in Hillwood knows, you're all still happily learning how to build Habitats for Humanity in the jungle right now."
"That... would be correct, yes." Olga fully admitted, biting her lip, her earlier insecurities coming back with a vengeance. "No, wait!" She smiled a little desperately, clasping her hands. "How silly of me; the plane our parents flew in! Mommy and Daddy are out there right now making arrangements with the pilot. They can take all of us home, I'm sure."
Stella gave her an uncertain look, reluctant to get her hopes up yet. "I remember Helga did mention something about that." She spared the girl an apologetic glance. "I thought you meant they were getting a ride for themselves, or maybe just your family. Could the plane you came in really take everyone?" The last question was once again directed at Phil, who immediately gave a snort.
"Ha! That cheap bucket of bolts barely took off with the four of us – we couldn't even bring the pig along!" That statement caused pretty much everyone to have the same question, but nobody chose to voice it right then. "And besides, the piece of junk was pretty much held together with duct tape and prayers. So long as no-one's life's in danger, I'd sooner swim back to Hillwood than take my chances in that thing again."
"You could actually walk back home much more effectively from here, Mr Shortman." Phoebe couldn't help but clarify, a finger raised. Still, Phil simply folded his arms.
"I stand by what I said."
To say Olga seemed crestfallen would be an understatement. "I didn't realise. You're absolutely right, of course; even if everyone could fit, it would be awfully irresponsible to allow these poor children to travel in a sub-standard plane. To be honest, even flying on a commercial line raised some concerns about safety before we left." A few members of the class cast wary glances in Eugene's direction at that. "Then, I'm afraid you were correct after all, Mrs Shortman; we have no plan whatsoever." Olga finished, with a hopeless look.
"So, maybe get on the phone and make one?" Helga suggested, rolling her eyes. "We are a class full of American schoolchildren who got taken hostage by pirates and stuck in a foreign country, here. Isn't that the kind of thing that's supposed to involve, y'know, our government? Law enforcement? A whole lot of media coverage?"
"Oh, no! I refuse to appear on television looking like this!" Rhonda interjected with a shudder, her hands trying and failing to cover her badly-maimed hair.
Miles was the one to give an actual answer, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're not wrong, Helga, but things tend to run pretty slowly out here. Or at least they did nine years ago. If we work with your school to get you all formally extradited, you might make it back just in time to start the next school year." The idea sent a wave of terror through several of the students.
"We'd miss the whole summer?!" Harold cried out.
"There's gotta be another way!" Sid pleaded.
"Oh, phooey – who bothers with official channels anyway?" Arnold's grandma waved away the suggestion as if mildly insulted by it. "Commandeering us a plane shouldn't be a problem. Of course it would've been a cinch if this old fuddy-duddy hadn't made me toss away my fake leg." She complained, jerking a thumb in her husband's direction. "I suppose now I'll have to do it the hard way. Let's see; I'll need a wig, preferably red, an electric toothbrush, three bobby pins, a box of live snakes-"
"Uh... Or we could just book a flight."
The room collectively looked to Brainy, surprised to hear him speak, and more surprised that no-one else pointed out that obvious option. He smiled amicably from his chair, breathed heavily, and offered nothing further... Gertie pouted and crossed her arms, muttering something that sounded like 'spoilsport' under her breath.
"That's right." Arnold eventually agreed, before turning to his parents. "Mom, Dad, do you think the Helpers would arrange a flight for us? They got us this far." The couple shared a dubious look.
"Maybe. I guess we'll just have to find Eduardo and check." Stella agreed, failing to see a better option, though her tone remained worried. The Helpers for Humanity weren't exactly the wealthiest organisation in the world.
"We've got a better shot with them than the school." Gerald mused out loud, trying to imagine their principal's reaction to being being billed for a few thousand dollars worth of airfare. "Last month I saw Wartz dumpster dive for a full pack of paper clips someone threw out. Or at least he thought it was full..." He shook his head sadly at the tragic memory.
Rhonda gave an impatient huff. "Honestly, if they both won't then my family will. That is, if someone gets around to letting them know their precious daughter was kidnapped and almost killed?!" She shot Olga a piercing look, causing the woman to shrink a little. The girl quickly regained her airs, pride in her voice as she continued. "I could even arrange it for us myself if it gets us out of this awful place, but I am supposed to get permission for the larger purchases. I have the family cards memorised, naturally, so apart from that, I'd just need-" She froze, hers eyes widening.
"Need what, Rhonda?" Nadine urged her on. The rich girl girl turned to her friends, an anxious, awkward smile on her face.
"Does anyone still happen to have their passport?"
There was a moment of collective horror as each of the children frantically tried to think back, acutely aware that any belongings that had accompanied them to San Lorenzo were either swept overboard or blown up.
"I gave my passport to Miss Pataki for safekeeping." Eugene announced, many of the others quickly confirming that they had done the same, the group quickly looking to the woman in question.
"Yes, well, that's right. I collected all of the passports to make sure that no-one lost theirs." Olga confirmed.
"Yeah, so, cough 'em up!" Helga frowned, a demanding hand outstretched in her sister's direction. "Or did you hand them all over to Che as a symbol of your eternal devotion?"
"Of course not!" Olga insisted, the very mention of her most recent love being enough to make her lower lip tremble for a moment. "Still, I didn't feel it was appropriate for me to be the one to hold on to them, since I'm only here as the assistant teacher, so I passed them on."
"On to- Ohhh..." Helga grimaced as she answered her own question.
As one, the group silently turned to the lone figure sitting at a table across the room, his thumbs twiddling over the badly mistreated book clutched to his chest. With no-one talking, they could all hear him quietly humming Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory.
Poor Mr Simmons...
"Do you think he still has them?" Nadine was the first to whisper the question, as if speaking too loudly would scare the man off like a skittish animal.
"Not unless they're stuck between the pages of that stupid agenda of his..." Sid answered, assuming the worst.
"You were with him when we got here, Phoebe." Gerald spoke, looking to the girl in question. "Did he say anything to you?"
Phoebe regretfully shook her head. "Nothing at all, I'm afraid. I was simply keeping him company. Sufficed to say, he seems to have been incredibly traumatised by this whole experience; I can't imagine how long it may take him to recover."
"Well, at least I reckon he can still carry a tune." Stinky mused, bobbing his head along to Simmons' humming.
They all moved together to stand before their dishevelled teacher. Unlike his students, the man was still in his original clothes, presumably having slept in them if he slept at all, and his vest was streaked with mud and dotted with bits of stray foliage. The blanket remained draped around his shoulders, not that it seemed to be of any great comfort.
"Um... Mr Simmons?" With no-one else seeming ready to make the first move, Arnold tried to get his attention.
Seeing the children gathered in front of him, Simmons seemed to jerk, blinking rapidly and snapping to attention in an almost robotic way. It looked unsettlingly similar to a mannequin in a fairground booth, the kind that tells your fortune or performs some small, humorous routine, coming to life when fed a dollar. His eyes flickered back and forth, their pupils worryingly mismatched, taking in the faces of his students. After a moment, a huge grin burst across his face and he jumped to his feet, full of manic energy, the blanket falling to the floor.
"Ah, excellent, excellent – the class is finally all here! Now, Arnold, Gerald and Helga, I'm going to overlook your tardiness just this once, but if it happens again I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to give each of you detention." His expression became stern. "And everyone else, please take your seats and pay attention – I want absolutely no more biting or screeching, and the next person who throws rocks, garbage or anything else will be heading straight to the principal's office, understand?"
"Do we wanna know?" Gerald whispered to Phoebe, behind his hand. It earned yet another solemn shake of her head.
Simmons' crazed grin was quick to reassert itself. "Now, I know our class trip has hit one or two minor speed bumps," he made a sound somewhere between a giggle and a whimper, "but I'm positive that we can get back on track! We just need to stick closely to the agenda from now on! The agenda has all the answers!" He brandished the battered book like a sacred artifact before rapidly flipping through its pages, his left eye twitching. "Oh! For example, right now we're scheduled for a very special lecture on how our friends living in the jungle deal with waste management! Isn't that exciting? And you know what's not on the agenda? Pirates! Explosions! Jungle prisons!" A look of panic flitted across his face as he, presumably, experienced a brief flashback. He shook his head. "Now, listening ears everyone, and let's get started!" With that, he launched into what really was a very well-prepared and enthusiastic lecture on just how much can be achieved in the absence of modern plumbing – it even had imaginary slides that, on balance, the kids were relieved they couldn't see.
"Aww, I knew it – he's totally cracked!" Harold moaned as Simmons rattled on, clutching his head in distress.
"Mr Simmons really is an terrific educator, I assure you. Normally." Olga offered Arnold's parents a simpering, apologetic smile, seeing deep concern on the couple's faces. They really weren't getting to see P.S. 118's teachers at their best. "Still, it... er... doesn't seem as though he's going to be of much help at the moment."
"Yup." Helga agreed, giving Simmons an apathetic look up and down. "I say our best bet now is to grab Granola Boy by his ankles, hold him upside-down, and see if anything falls out when we shake."
"And I say, the choice is clear!" Several of the children jumped as Curly shouted, promptly springing back up onto the table currently serving a Mr Simmons desk. It was enough to interrupt the lecture.
"Now, class, what did I just say about shrieking!?"
Curly continued, undeterred. "With our passports gone, we should all head back to the jungle and start our new lives as a crew of stateless, marauding pirates!" The boy wielded a broom that had once been part of a poorly-assembled scarecrow (rest in peace, Melon Arnold), waving it like a sword. "Lasombra and his men are finished, so there's an opening in the market! Who's with me?!"
There was a moment of silence before Helga spoke, smirking. "Sure, Curly. You head out and get us a boat, and we'll meet you in an hour."
"Hooray!"
"NO!" The remainder of the class shouted, Harold, Stinky and Sid snatching the small but determined boy mid-leap and wrassling him to the ground. He cried out as they began dragging him to a nearby curtain rope, presumably to restrain him in the same way as Eugene.
"Aw, c'mon! I just wanna be a pirate! Why won't anyone let me be a pirate?! Mutiny!"
Arnold watched all of this before turning to his parents, who were understandably gobsmacked, grinning and chuckling nervously. "You remember I mentioned Curly could get a little crazy? Heheh..."
"Yeah, buddy, we remember." His father clumsily patted him on the shoulder, the man's wide eyes still fixed on the scene. He doubted they'd ever forget.
At the very least, the abrupt departure broke their teacher's streak, and Simmons reached out a hand after them. "Boys, wait! You need a hall pass! Oh, darn it..." He blinked, the manic grin leaving his face for a moment, but it returned full force when he turned back to his remaining charges. "Well, while we're waiting for Curly and the others to get back, does anyone have any questions?"
"Where are our passports?!" Rhonda immediately yelled, looking like she wanted to shake the man. As it was, Simmons simply frowned in confusion.
"Well, Rhonda, I'm not sure I see what that has to do with waste management..."
"Mr Simmons, please." Arnold made his own calmer attempt to get through to their teacher. "Were our passports back on the boat? Did Lasombra take them? If we've lost them, we might wind up stranded here!"
"L-Lasombra? Stranded?!" Simmons voice rose an octave, the notion apparently triggering another moment of terror. Again, though, he recovered, clutching his precious book like a lifeline. The man gave a forced laugh. "Now, Arnold, there's no need to worry about that – I've planned for everything – absolutely everything – and rest assured that getting stranded in a foreign country without a passport is not on the agenda!"
At that, he suddenly and dramatically yanked up his vest, causing most of his students to avert their eyes with a scream. Those that didn't, though, were treated to the sight of no fewer than four thin, colourfully-patterned fanny packs strapped safely and securely across his middle. Unzipping one, he reached in and quickly produced several decidedly worse-for-wear but mercifully intact passports, waving them proudly. His audience gave a large sigh of relief.
"See? See? All safe and accounted for! All according to plan! Now, if we can please get back on topic, does anyone have any questions about latrines?" Before anyone could take him up on that offer – Arnold's grandpa had been raising his hand – the absent boys returned, carrying a very securely bound and gagged Curly, who was still make muffled cries of protest; apparently they had used the very same broom to truss the crazed young man up like a pig ready to roast, Harold and Stinky each carrying an end.
At least, by this point, none of the adults present needed to ask if it was excessive...
"Ah, boys, please return to your seats, and remember to raise your hand and ask to be excused next time. Now, where was I..." And with that, the lecture resumed.
Several of the children took the opportunity to quietly fill in their classmates, who had no doubt been distracted by their efforts (Curly was small, but slippery and very determined...), while the remainder of the group gathered to discuss the task at hand. They kept their voices low, strangely unwilling to disrupt the rambling teacher again – it was either sympathy for a traumatised man, or concern over upsetting the very same traumatised man who happened to hold their only means of getting out of San Lorenzo.
"Alright," Stella began, "so, by some miracle, it seems like the passports are in one piece."
"Not sure what's so miraculous about a guy walking around wearing four fanny packs." Helga muttered, before giving Simmons a dubious glance. "That we know of..."
"So," Stella tried to hold back the reflexive giggle the girl's comment brought on – it wasn't appropriate, and now wasn't the time, "that means we can actually get you all out of here. First of all, Olga," she looked to the woman in question, a serious expression back in place, "you absolutely must call the school and the children's parents immediately. They need to be informed, and Rhonda can ask her family to arrange your flight back." She blinked for a moment at that, realising how ridiculous it sounded, before turning to the dark-haired girl. "I'm sorry, dear – just how wealthy is your family?" It only occurred to Stella a second after asking that the question wasn't really polite.
Rhonda smiled proudly and opened her mouth to answer, before Phil cut in. "Oh, who knows; depends on the markets. Not to worry, sweetheart – we've always got a room for you and your folks at the boarding house if things go belly-up again." He sent the girl a reassuring wink, causing her to clam up and shudder at the memory.
"But what about you?" Arnold spoke up, looking back and forth between his parents.
"Well, Sweetie, now that we know you're not totally stuck here, I think we can go and take that nap you keep telling us to take!" His mom joked.
"No, I mean, how are you going to get home? Do we need to ask Rhonda's family to buy you tickets too? And what about your passports?" Arnold elaborated, worry growing in his voice with every word. He couldn't get past the lingering, frightening idea that his parents would need to be left behind, separating them all once again.
"Well, we actually got them renewed to come back out here in the first place." Miles scratched his head as he thought back. "They were valid for ten years, and we were asleep for nine; there should still be a couple of months left of them. Unless... Passports haven't changed in the last nine years, right?"
"Not at all." His father innocently answered, waving his hand. "You do have to get a special travel chip implanted in your butt nowadays, but you'll barely feel a thing, I promise."
Miles narrowed his eyes, studying Phil's neutral expression carefully. "I know you're joking, Pop." After another moment, he turned to his own son, looking concerned. "Arnold, he's joking, right?"
"Yeah, Dad, he's joking." Arnold frowned in his grandpa's direction, the old man finally giving in to his giggles and leaving Miles looking both frustrated and relieved. "But do you still have them? You didn't leave them back at the Green Eyes' city, did you?" He asked, very aware that they'd departed that morning with nothing but the clothes (and trash bags) on their backs.
"No way. We didn't want to risk losing them in the jungle somewhere, so we left them with Eduardo." Miles looked sad for a moment then, as he once again remembered how brief their absence was supposed to have been. "We had to travel light, so we left him most of our stuff, even-" His eyes suddenly widened, and he smacked his forehead in realisation. "MY PLANE!"
The outburst caused Simmons, who was still going strong, to stop and clear his throat. "Quiet, back there, please!"
"My plane!" Miles repeated far more quietly, while Simmons went back to his non-existent presentation. "I completely forgot about it!"
"Oh-ho, no, buster – there's no way I'm letting you fly that thing in your current condition!" His wife immediately made her objection clear, causing the man to roll his eyes.
"Obviously not, Honey, but I at least wanna know it's still in one piece!"
"Eduardo has your plane?" The couple looked down at their son on hearing the confusion in his voice.
"Of course! What, you think I just parked it out in the jungle? There aren't too many landing strips out there." Miles tried to joke, but his expression quickly fell into a frown when he saw the concern on Arnold's face. "What? What's wrong?"
Rather than answer, the boy looked to his grandpa. "Grandpa, I thought you said their plane was never found."
Arnold tried not to get prematurely upset, but it was hard. That plane – the small, red, two-seater propeller plane that had carried his parents away all those years ago – had become almost as big of a figure in his imagination as his parents themselves, another connection to them lost and another hole in the mystery of their disappearance. There was a reason so many of his dreams saw him flying alongside them.
And while Arnold simply looked sad and unsure, Phil already looked nothing short of furious. His levity from moments before was gone, and his body seemed clenched in anger. Still, his tone was measured when he spoke. "That's right, Arnold. Because that's what that bum, Eduardo, told us!"
"He told you it was lost?" Miles asked, in shock.
"That doesn't make any sense." Stella took her husband's hand, sharing his confused look. "Why on Earth would he lie?"
Phil wasn't mollified in the slightest. "Well, he did! For nine years! Ooh, when I get my hands on him-"
"Grandpa, we should just ask Eduardo first. Maybe he has an explanation." Arnold, hurt as he was, tried to calm the old man down.
"Arnold's right, Phil." Gertie chimed in, once again looking uncharacteristically sane, albeit troubled, placing a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder. Their eyes locked in an unusually sober moment between the two.
"...Fine." Phil seemed to relax a little. "But I still wanna find that jerk right now and get some answers."
"Us too, Pop." Miles agreed, an arm now around Stella's shoulder. "And I'm sure Arnold's right too – there has to be an explanation for this." He tried to hide the gnawing worry that he was feeling himself; before his wife and child came along, that plane had just about been the love of his life.
"Then, it's decided." Stella confirmed. "Olga, you should go and find a phone, then help each of the kids call their families," the blonde woman nodded her agreement, though she was clearly bracing herself for quite the ordeal, "and we'll go find Eduardo to have a talk about this. And then, Sweetie, we really will rest for a while, ok?" She added that last part on seeing Arnold open his mouth, no doubt ready to protest that his parents exert themselves any further, no matter how badly they all wanted answers.
"Ok." The boy reluctantly consented, holding back the urge to say more.
And, with that, an overdue plan was finally formed. The Shortmans would begin their search for Eduardo, and Olga would make what was sure to be a series of deeply challenging phone calls. Mr Simmons would probably continue his lesson.
Helga looked on as her beloved departed with his family, wishing that she could step forward and offer him some comfort, some reassurance. It pained her to see him so fretful... But, like so many similar moments before, it passed. Instead, she turned to the remainder of their group; the more responsible members of the class were offering Olga their reassurance that they could take care of themselves (and Mr Simmons...) for the few brief minutes she would be away, after which everyone would undoubtedly scramble madly to be the first to inform their parents of their adventure. The girl shook her, head doing her best to banish her worries for now, before approaching her older sister.
"Olga." Helga moved to grasp the young woman's shoulders, giving her an intense, serious look. "The make-overs? The dress-up sessions? The 'Lil Sis and Me' baking classes? All the crap you've tried to get me to do over the years? I'll let you inflict it all on me if you let me be the one to tell Wartz."
A/N Thanks for reading. Stay safe, everyone :).