Okay, guys. Brace yourselves because this is going to be a long chapter. It's probably one of the longest I've written period. I thought I would finish it last month, but it ended up being longer than I originally anticipated. But the update is here all the same and I really hope you enjoy it all the same. Though it's long, it's a pretty important part of the story.
Review time.
Starfiction123- You're too kind my friend:) I'll do my best to be a little quicker
SakiKitty- Thank you! I really enjoy writing those small but powerful moments between them. Building them up is really awesome. I'll be sure to check out your story as I know you just updated it.
Kryten- The kids often fight and bicker a lot, but I do love the instances where they band together in the show.
Ajay435- Arnold definitely has a mischievous side even if it isn't emphasized haha. One of the tricky parts about writing this is making sure that the bond is grown in a believable way while making sure both of their struggles are highlighted as they interact with each other: Arnold's struggle with the abandonment he feels and Helga against her own defense mechanisms and her fear of rejection by Arnold and her classmates. And good eye ;) you caught one my subtle hints.
Human Dictionary- Haha yeah I figured Big Bob's obnoxious grin would serve as a nice backdrop for Helga's angst.
Em Pataki- Helga is an incredibly strong person for what she deals with on a daily basis. But as you said, sometimes it's not enough to get by.
The Rhombus- As always, thank you for your review, my friend. There's certainly a lot to unpack and you pick out all of the details. As you'll see in the next chapter, the struggle for both characters hasn't ended, not by a long shot. And I do very much agree with your comment on Arnold and Gerald's friendship. Male bonding is an underrated part of story telling.
DeepVoice06- Big Bob kind of represents a prideful sort of masculinity that can become detrimental in extreme doses. He owes Arnold and doesn't even know it. I think for this chapter and by extension this story, it was important to see Arnold's prankster side. He's not above dealing out justice and I think a stunt like that (combined with a rising affection for a certain blonde girl) fit the progression of the story, especially when we get to later chapters. Thank you for your review! I very much enjoyed your latest chapter of 'Living with Helga' and I'll be sure to review it soon.
That one cartoon lover- Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! The relationships between the kids, though rocky at times, really are heart warming.
Laylion4869- I appreciate that! I do try:)
Without further ado, here is chapter 9!
Chapter 9. One Swing
The Following week….
Arnold sat at his desk, idly tapping his fingers wondering when the bell would ring. It was almost three thirty, but he was anxious to be elsewhere. Where that was, he wasn't precisely sure, but it was definitely something important.
"Come on," he muttered at the clock, as the seconds seemed to slow to a crawl.
Every passing moment was a life age of the earth as Arnold was practically raised in his chair. Why couldn't the time go faster? Didn't it realize he had places to be? His heart raced faster and faster, but there was also an intense yearning, a sorrowful longing. The combination of his adrenaline and overwhelming emotion threatened to send him over the edge.
*Riiiiiiinnnnngggggg
Arnold leapt out of his chair but not before turning to his best friend.
"Gerald, let's go! We gotta-
He paused, suddenly aware of the fact that there was no one in the room. Not Gerald, Helga, Phoebe, Harold, Mr. Frank…anyone. Desks and chairs were vacant and dead silence permeated the atmosphere.
"Huh."
The blond boy suddenly felt a bit spooked as the situation was more than a little eerie. Rushing from the classroom and outside into the hall he spoke aloud.
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
His voice echoed in the hall with no reply coming from anywhere.
"Guys?" he called out again. "What's going on? Is this some kind of prank?"
Still, nothing. He was truly alone, and his previous excitement had now turned to worry and confusion. A bone chilling breeze issued through the otherwise empty elementary school, causing him to shiver.
Huddling for warmth, Arnold closed his eyes. There was not a soul to be seen, no remedy to the cold that ached his bones, nor the comfort of any friend to ease his plight. An unwelcome feeling crept underneath his skin and seeped into his veins. The chill of the breeze, which was growing stronger by the second, had numbed him to the point where he felt hollow and unwhole.
"Please," he called out desperately. "Is there anybody out there?"
It began as a whisper, hardly heard above the din of the breeze, but Arnold heard it nonetheless.
Arnold…
He gazed around wildly, looking for the source of the whisper feeling a great urgency return to him. Only this time it was much more potent than before. He knew what he wanted. What he needed.
Arnold…
The whisper was a little louder this time, but still soft, like butterflies soaring through the air coming to kiss his nose. The breeze slowed, and it warmed slightly, igniting the machine of hope within the young boy.
Arnold…come to us…
"Who are you?" he asked to the nothingness that was still his empty school. He supposed he was going mad, but he did not feel his mind was slipping into some warped form of schizophrenia. On the contrary, he was more determined and eager than ever, keenly aware of his surroundings. Somehow, he knew these voices.
Arnold…we love you…
With a jolt, he knew who was calling to him. He had never heard their voices in his life, but somehow, he could tell. There was no mistaking them.
"Mom? Dad?"
The voices grew warmer but also slightly louder in volume.
Come to us Arnold…
Without any further hesitation, he took off running. Intuition took over, as somehow Arnold knew the quickest way to his parents was to get out of the school. The issue was that the school had suddenly become an endless maze of hallways and doors that appeared to taunt him as he tried to go faster, always one step ahead of him. He couldn't let them win. He had to find his parents if it was the last thing he did.
Come to us Arnold….
"Mom! Dad! I'm coming!" he shouted as he finally reached the exit doors and pushed them open with tremendous force.
Light temporarily blinded him as he stepped outside, but he was quickly able to regain his sight to take in the scene before him. It was just another ordinary day in Hillwood; partly cloudy with some sunshine. The brick buildings and cracked sidewalks were all present and accounted for as was the layer of hazy smog that was a permanent fixture of city life. But none of that could catch his attention as what stood directly in front of him.
Two figures, a man and a woman, were at the foot of the steps that lead down from P.S. 118. The man was tall, athletic in build, with a slightly protruding chin, and unruly blond hair, while the woman, shorter, but no less physically fit, sported auburn hair, sharp, green eyes, and the familiar oblong head shaped Arnold had inherited. Each was the picture of health and happiness, beaming great smiles of love at their son.
"Mom, Dad."
It wasn't a question. He knew exactly who these people were. Even if he had no true memories of them, he had seen their pictures and heard the stories regarding their escapades. His father; handsome, strong, but with that same air of goofiness and knack for tripping over his own shoes. His mother; full of kindness and hope but ready to fiercely defend those she loved at a moments notice. Both willing to sacrifice their own well being for the sake of others. The most noble people he had never known.
"Arnold," the spoke to him, still smiling widely.
Still barely believing his eyes, Arnold couldn't resist the flow of questions that came pouring out of him.
"Where have you guys been? What happened? Did you get lost in San Lorenzo? Did Lasombra capture you? How'd you get back to Hillwood? I…"
He stopped before taking a deep breath.
"I've missed you guys so much. I gave up hope of ever finding you again and ever since I haven't really been the same person. I feel like something's missing all the time and I can't ever be happy. Honestly, I try my best by helping other people with their problems and that always worked. But now that you're back..."
His parents gave no answer except for a gesture that invited him to join them at the bottom of the steps.
"We love you, Arnold."
He didn't need telling twice. Laughing with joy, Arnold rushed down the steps ready to give his long-lost parents the biggest hug he'd ever given in his life. All of the endless days and waking nights he had spent thinking about them, every photo, every story his Grandpa had told him, was about to become reality.
"I love you guys, too!"
His arms went to encircle his parents but went through them as if they were made of air, the imbalance causing him to topple over and onto the pavement. Confused, he looked back and saw that the figures who resembled his mother and father were becoming transparent, slowly fading away into nothingness.
Stay strong, my precious child…
Be good for Grandma and Grandpa…
A lump in Arnold's throat rose as he realized what was happening and that he was powerless to stop it. He leaped up and tried to stop their essence from disappearing but to no avail.
"No! Don't go! Please!"
We love you, Arnold.
With one last whisper, his parents were gone, as if they had never been there to begin with.
The lump in his throat pushed its way forward, and suddenly, Arnold couldn't contain the damn any longer as tears poured down his cheeks.
"Don't go! Don't go! DON'T GO!" he screamed to the heavens, his words an effort in futility. His parents were gone. They were never coming back. And here he was alone once more.
He shivered as the bone chilling breeze drifted on by, the tears still streaming.
"I miss you."
"I miss you."
He kept saying it over and over again. He couldn't help it.
For the love of God, end this please. I don't want to feel pain anymore. Please.
He opened his eyes and sat up suddenly, clutching his covers very tightly.
It had been a dream. A terrible nightmare. But more so it had been a nightmare that had given the brief idea that his parents had returned. How could he have been so foolish to believe it?
It was a dream. Nothing you could have done about it.
But Arnold wasn't listening to the rational side of his mind. He thought he had ceased having dreams about his parents years ago, but clearly this was not the case. Old desires were popping up once more, and it could not have come at a worse time.
Why did I have to have that nightmare? I-I thought I had truly moved on. That I didn't need them to keep going in life.
The previous melancholy that had plagued him a month was back ten fold. The wound in his heart, previously stitched shut, was bleeding once more. Arnold touched his face and felt dried tears stuck to his cheeks, he had not merely dreamt himself crying, it had been all too real. Everything had been too real.
Just then there was a knock on the door and it opened to reveal his Grandpa.
"Hey there, short man," he greeted cheerily. "I just came up to see if everything was alright. You're gonna be late for school."
Arnold turned to look at his clock which read 'eight twenty one'. His dream had been so vivid that he had slept through his alarm. However, even realizing he would be tardy for school, no part of him wished to get out of his bed. No part of him wished to do anything except hide away and never view the world again.
"I'm sorry, Grandpa," he said quietly. "I'm just…not feeling that well today. I don't think I should go to school."
Immediately, his elderly caregiver raised an eyebrow of concern. Arnold rarely missed his classes for anything and would trudge through rain, snow, and even minor illness to get to P.S. 118. Something didn't add up.
"Oh, are you sure, Arnold?" he said sitting by his grandson's bedside. "I can get your grandma to take your temperature, and I'll make ya some soup."
"No!" the blond preteen said a little too quickly. "I mean, no thank you, Grandpa. I just went to rest on my own for a while. I'll be fine."
There was a quiet pause as Arnold turned away and pulled the covers back over his head.
"You sure, Arnold?" his grandpa asked.
"I'm sure."
There was no other answer or explanation given and that was that. Phil was old school, he believed in letting kids sorting out their own problems rather than having adults try to influence and make decisions for them, one of many things he thought was wrong with the world today. But as he stepped out of the room and went downstairs he couldn't help but sense something was terribly wrong with his only grandson.
He didn't see the tears resume flowing down Arnold's face.
Life had improved dramatically for Helga Pataki in the week since her father had found employment. No, that was inaccurate. More like Arnold had persuaded the AT&T hiring staff to hire him over thirty candidates while single handedly saving their asses from life on the streets.
Helga had known the moment she walked in her family's drunken celebration that Arnold had somehow done this. After the initial shock of realizing she was not about to become homeless had worn off, she had begun to put two and two together. One of the boarders at Sunset Arms, who coincidentally happened to friends with her mom, had recently became one of the hiring managers at the company and had convinced the board to take on Bob as one of the salesmen, citing his rather impressive record at the beeper emporium (before the business had gone under, anyway). There was no doubt that Arnold had called in that favor and as a result, several things had changed all at once.
To start off, there was no need for Olga to stick around and become the breadwinner. She would stay for two weeks then fly back to Alaska. Helga had dealt with her irritating older sister her entire life, so she could do that time standing on her head. All she really had to do was avoid her as much as possible and duck whenever she tried to give her a patronizing lipstick kiss on her forehead. Then there was the matter of the house. Bob wouldn't be making quite as much as he had before, but it was enough to buy back the mortgage on their home. They'd be moving back in a few days' time. Her old room, the TV, hot showers, everything would as it was before. On top of that, the reverse in fortune seemed to energize Miriam. Instead of laying on the couch all day in a drunken haze, she had woken from her slumber and taken a more active role within the house. While Bob worked, she had busied herself with packing, tidying, and ensuring that everything was in order. The results of her renewed attention could be seen within Helga's lunch. For three straight days, she had had a full slate of meal options, including sandwiches, fruit, and even her favorite chips.
Yes, all in all, things were looking up in the land of Pataki. Except for one issue in particular.
Her relationship with Arnold, though it had improved dramatically since when they were younger, was still a bit dubious. It hadn't taken her long to realize that her beloved had been the lucky charm behind their good fortune and she wasn't entirely sure how to respond to it. Any regular person would have simply said 'thank you', but there were other reasons for her hesitancy. The first was obvious: she was nowhere near prepared to admit her true feelings for the football head and her trepidations about doing so were just as strong as ever. Second, she wasn't exactly an emotionally expressive person to begin with. The idea of thanking someone for their 'charity' (as her dad liked to call it) was deeply uncomfortable. To openly say so to the love of her life was as off limits as an electric fence surrounding a nuclear bomb site. True, she did not go out her way to be mean to him as she had previously but subduing her baser instincts versus outright gratitude for literally saving her whole family was a whole different story.
As a result, Helga's interactions with Arnold had been quite awkward in the week since they had joined forces to get back at Wolfgang. Every time she walked past him or caught his eye, she had been more or less speechless, unable to say so much as a single word lest she either berate him or kiss him on the lips until kingdom come. As much as she wanted to thank him, something held her back. And for whatever reason, she suspected the same within him as well. Arnold had been annoyed with her at times in the past and in those situations simply tried to ignore her bullying or turn the other cheek. But if she didn't know better, Helga would have said his behavior just as uneasy around her as she was around him.
Ugh, I do not need a migraine this early the morning.
The ringing of the morning bell certainly didn't help that fact, as she rubbed her temples in an attempt to soothe her addled brain.
"Ohayou gozaimasu, Helga," Phoebe said to her cheerfully as she walked into homeroom, hand in hand with Gerald.
Helga didn't even have to heart to tell her not to use Japanese. She was simply too caught up in her own thoughts to care.
"Morning to you too, Phoebe."
"Helga! You actually understood me!" the half Asian girl replied excitedly as Gerald chuckled.
"No, but you've said it to me enough times that I can basically discern its meaning," Helga said in a bored monotone.
"Fair enough," Phoebe giggled. "English."
Helga supposed her upbeat mood was her continued relationship with the black boy who sat diagonally across from her. Throughout their girl talks, Phoebe had spoken excitedly of Gerald and though she was modest by nature, her best friend couldn't help but divulge some of the perks of being boyfriend and girlfriend. Many of which she wished she could share with her own beloved.
"Alright class, settle down," spoke Mr. Frank in his usual bored tone as the day begun.
Speaking of which, where is the football head anyway?
Arnold's absence perked Helga's curiosity. The boy rarely missed school and whenever he did, there was usually a very good reason. It was not often she witnessed an empty desk directly in front of her.
Mr. Frank went through roll call and still there was no Arnold to be had. Curious, she glanced at Gerald, who had just taken his seat. They briefly caught each other's eye and he seemed to catch onto her silent question, to which he replied with a small shrug as if to say, "I have no idea where he is."
Instinctually, Helga began to worry but caught herself and tried to calm her nerves.
It's alright, old girl. Nothing bad happened to him. I'm sure any moment now he's going to walk through the door with his annoying positive attitude and that adorable smile and everything will be fine and dandy….
Arnold, however, remained absent throughout the entire school day. By the time three thirty came around, Helga couldn't help but a feel a stronger degree of anxiety. They had the game against Wolfgang's team in two hours and they would need his batting prowess. More so than that, she worried about what had happened to her love that kept him out of school for an entire day.
It was this combination of emotions that made her bossier than usual during their pregame practice…that and no one could hit the broad side of a barn.
"Come on, you slackers!" she yelled from her spot at second base. Gerald was on the mound and he had just struck out Rhonda, his fifth in a row. "If you can't even hit tall hair boy, how do you expect to beat Wolfgang and his lackeys?"
"Give a brother some credit," Gerald said indignantly, catching the ball from Harold who was playing catcher. "I got the best arm on the team."
"Besides," Rhonda added. "We've beaten Wolfgang's team plenty of times. So kindly reduce that incredibly rude tone of yours."
Helga may have softened towards Arnold (and that had opened a whole new plethora of complications) but she pulled no punches when it came to the Yankee socialite.
"Listen, princess. If Wolfgang was sinister enough to try and take us out with axle grease, there's no telling how far he'll go to try and win the actual game. So, try swinging that bat like an actual baseball player and less like you're at one of your prissy tea parties."
This, of course, caused Rhonda to become highly affronted.
"Excuse me, but who died and put you in charge?"
"I've been in charge of you numbskulls since pre-school," Helga growled, pointing an aggressive finger. "And if I say your batting stinks, you listen! Got it?"
You could cut the air with a knife as the tension thickened between the most outspoken females of the grade, neither one prepared to back down from the other, though the blonde was certainly a far better fighter than the brunette who had never so much as squashed a bug on her own.
Thankfully, it did not come to blows as Gerald intervened.
"Hey, I know we gotta big game coming up and everything, but we won't even make it out onto the field if you two kill each other. So, do us all a solid and cool out."
Helga didn't listen to the black boy as much as she figured smacking Rhonda across the face would harm their prospects at winning (though the prospect was still quite tempting).
"Whatever. Just ease up on the fastballs, Geraldo."
Rhonda agreed with a snooty, "hmph."
Before they could resume practice, Eugene came running into view, his hair out of place and his shirt untucked from his waistband indicating he had come quite a long way.
"Guys! Hey, guys!" he said as he entered the lot. "Wolfgang! The middle schoolers! They-"
"Whoa, slow down there Eugene," Gerald said easily.
"Yes, please make sure to breathe," Phoebe said kindly as she walked over from the scorers table. "Your asthma is especially severe in the spring. Although, I must ask what caused you to be in such hurry?"
Eugene slowly regained his breath before continuing (Helga rolled her eyes, but nevertheless was curious about the situation). "I just came from the middle school field. I was just swinging by to drop off my bike at the repair shop-"
"There's a shocker-"
"When I noticed that Wolfgang's team had a new member as I walked past their practice. I couldn't believe it but there he was!"
"Who? What are you talking about?" Harold asked, frowning slightly.
"Lightning Lenny!" he cried frantically.
The crowd gasped, except Phoebe, who was unsure of who they were referring to.
"I'm sorry but perhaps I am not up to speed on local baseball prospects. Who is Lightning Lenny?"
"Phoebe, are you kidding?" her boyfriend said, arms raised in the air in a dramatic fashion. "Lightning Lenny is a neighborhood legend. The best pitcher the city has seen in twenty years."
"They say he's got a four pitch arsenal," Sid explained, voice slightly in awe. "A dipping changeup, a bending curve, a nasty slider, and above all…the lightning, laser fast, heater. Totally unhittable. They say no one's even fouled it off before."
"Downright scary," Stinky said. "A true pitchin' prodigy."
"And now he's playing for Wolfgang's team?" Nadine remarked. "But I thought he lived in another district. He's not allowed to play in this part of town."
"Must have moved here," Gerald mused to himself. "That or Wolfgang is paying him a hefty sum of arcade money. That man can throw a baseball like no one I've ever seen. Saw him play once. Struck out eighteen batters without allowing a single run."
"AW! We're doomed! DOOMED!" Harold exclaimed as if the apocalypse were upon them. That is until, Helga slapped him across the face.
Up until this point she had let her hapless classmates bitch and moan, but she did not despair so easily. Not when it came to sports anyway.
"Get it together, pink boy! We're not out of this yet."
"Actually, I think for once that Harold is right," Rhonda chimed in. "Lightning Lenny is unhittable and absolutely no one on this team has the talent to take him on."
"I don't care how good he is," Helga spat defiantly. "There is no way that some random goof on a mound of dirt is going to keep us from winning. Criminy people, this isn't the fourth grade!"
In a weird way, her attempts to inspire her classmates though fruitless had a degree of Arnold's influence in them. Or perhaps instead of blind optimism it was pure stubbornness on her part, much more of a 'Big Bob' trait than anything her pure hearted love god carried within him.
Maybe the football head is starting to rub off on me a bit, she thought ironically. Of course, that's when another idea hit her. One she cursed herself for not thinking of before.
"Wait a minute, that's it!"
"What's it?" Stinky asked, scratching his head.
"Our answer to Lightning loser," Helga chuckled in a smug tone. "Arnold has the best bat on the team by a mile. He even had that dangerous lumber thing where he couldn't hit the ball without beaning someone. If there's anyone that can get a run off him, it's the football head."
"It would be, if he were actually here," Rhonda pointed out. "And if he hasn't shown up by now, I doubt he ever will."
"His house is only a few blocks from here," said Phoebe. "Perhaps someone should check up on him. It's the only logical choice we have."
"I'll go," Gerald sighed. "I know him better than anyone."
"No, I will," Helga interjected. She had no idea what compelled herself to supersede the usual unwritten agreement that best friends had first dibs on checking up on each other, but nonetheless she felt very strongly about it.
"I'm his best friend," came the expected response from Gerald as he turned and frowned at her. "I've been over to his place more times than I can count. Have you even stepped foot in it?"
You have no idea, Geraldo, Helga thought fighting a small blush at the memory of the numerous break-ins she conducted to prevent her secret from being revealed to Arnold. Though this time would not involve trespassing, she had to make up a valid excuse, so she would not appear over eager to go and talk to him.
"Look buddy boy, I'm the captain of the team. If a player is missing, then I have to go and take responsibility for their absence. Simple as that."
But the black preteen wasn't so easily fooled, and by now he had crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her.
"Why do you care so much? I thought you hated Arnold."
He had to put me on the spot in front of everyone. Honestly, he's been pissing me off more and more lately, Helga mused in frustration.
"It has nothing to do with whether I hate him or not. We're trying to win a game here. Let me talk to him and I promise we'll have him for the game."
Fully aware all eyes were on her and Gerald, she brushed past the crowd in her usual rough manner, tossing her glove aside as she made her way onto the sidewalk. However, an arm caught her shoulder, stopping her advance.
"If I find out that you yelled, berated, or hurt him in any way…" Gerald said in a voice that made no qualms about its intent. Helga turned and was almost startled by how serious his eyes were. Deep down she could understand why he didn't trust her. When had she ever given them much reason to believe otherwise? But the memory of the first time he had confronted her still burned quite hot in her veins. When would he finally understand the truth behind her intentions? That she would literally throw herself off a bridge before ever hurting Arnold.
Despite her anger, she remained relatively calm when she answered him back, out of earshot from the other kids.
"If you really think I would hurt him, you need to get that afro checked. Because I won't."
She wrenched her shoulder out of his grasp and stomped off to Sunset Arms muttering underneath her breath.
"And I never will."
Knocking on the doors of Arnold's house was…surreal to say the least. She had attempted and succeeded getting into this place under a number of guises and pretenses- Camp Fire Lass, a snake oil salesman with a fake mustache, to go along with all of the times she had broken in to retrieve a diary, a parrot, a tape, and even her prized locket. The idea that she was visiting Arnold by herself with no ulterior motive in mind or alternate persona shouldn't have given her so much anxiety compared to her other adventures. Yet here she was, almost shaking with anticipation. Would his grandpa and grandma recognize her? Would they tell her to buzz off or become angry? Furthermore, what if Arnold was actually sick or injured in some way? There would be no way to speak to him, let alone convince him to play in a baseball game.
Helga had to regain her composure and remind herself she was doing this because she cared about her love and that mattered far more than her past transgressions.
Trembling slightly, the blonde raised her fist and knocked on the door three times.
Relax, Helga, she told herself. It's not the end of the world. His grandparents are goofy but they're nice people as far as I can remember. Just say who you are and tell them you're here to check on Arnold. Don't be awkward.
The door opened to reveal Arnold's grandfather, who gazed down at the girl curiously. Helga tried to say something, but her mind suddenly stopped working and an odd silence followed.
Okay, so much for not being awkward.
Luckily, the older man seemed to recognize her and addressed her.
"Hello, aren't you that girl with the pink bow and the one eyebrow that's always hanging around here?"
Helga's brain and mouth finally started to work together in sync as she replied.
"Uhh y-yes, I'm Helga. Helga Pataki. I'm in Arnold's class at school."
"Oh yeah, you're the daughter of that Big Bob fella. The one I tossed into a bowl of jell-o," and the old man cackled with laughter.
Don't remind me of my relation to that blowhard, Helga thought sourly. She needed to move this along if they were to be ready for the game in time…and get a chance to speak with Arnold.
"Yes, that's right."
"Well, how can I help ya? Did you want something?" Grandpa asked.
"As a matter of fact, I uh was hoping I could speak to Arnold. You see he didn't show up to school today and we have big game this afternoon and well…" she averted her eyes in embarrassment at admitting what she said next. "We were all just wondering if he was okay."
The old man's face took on a more somber tone.
"Well, he's fine. Arnold just wasn't feeling well today, and he decided not to go to school."
Though Helga had no real reason to doubt him, his tone betrayed that there something more afoot. As if his grandpa didn't really believe the story himself.
"Would it be possible to go up and talk to him?"
She held her breath, as the very purpose of her mission depended on the goodwill of Arnold's guardians. They could just as easily turn her down flat and that would be the end of it. Thankfully, that didn't happen.
"I suppose so," Grandpa replied, rubbing his chin. "I don't think there's anything wrong with him. Had some soup but we didn't even take his temperature. It mostly depends on whether or not he wants to see ya."
Helga nodded as more red flags went off in her head. If Arnold wasn't even sick, then clearly, he had avoided school for another reason. Whatever that was, it couldn't be a good. All of a sudden, getting to the bottom of his absence became that much more important.
"Well I'd like to try if I can."
"Alright then," his Grandpa half shrugged. "Maybe he'll want to talk to you. Least do something to get him out of his room."
He opened the door wider to let her in. As she stepped through the door, she heaved a heavy sigh of relief. Thankfully, it appeared he did not remember or rather chose to forgive some of the incidents that had occurred two years prior; crashing through their roof and onto the breakfast table for starters.
Criminy, am I really that insane? Helga said to herself internally, shaking her head from the memory of the incident.
As she was lead down the hall, she took in the familiar sights- the green walls, the table with the phone she had left her infamous message on, the light emanating from the kitchen. The boarding house may have been ancient and probably in violation of numerous city codes, but it had a pleasant musty smell to it along with a coziness that she had never experienced in any setting with her own family.
"Why hello there, Eleanor! How was your trip to your Hyde Park estate?"
That voice could only have belonged to Arnold's grandmother, and sure enough she bounced into the hallway, a ten gallon hat on her head along with cowboy boots to complete the ensemble.
I may have spoke too soon about insanity
"Uh, fine…Mrs. Shortman…I-"
"Oh, please Eleanor," Grandma said kindly. "Call me, Gertie. If you're looking for the President, Mr. Roosevelt is up in his room. He says he's caught something awful, but I do declare he looks as healthy as a horse to me."
"Alright, Pookie that's enough," Grandpa Phil said in a bored tone that indicated this was not an abnormal aspect of daily life in the boarding house. "Go back to the kitchen, I'm just going to show Arnold's little friend to his room so they can talk."
"Hang on to your saddle there Slim, we got a nice prime rib and beans coming up an hour past sunset."
"Very good, Pookie."
Helga, utterly unsure of what to make of the interaction simply gave a small wave and followed Arnold's grandpa up the stairs.
"Nice to meet you. Er, bye."
"Until we meet again, Eleanor. And please, do talk some sense into the President. I think he needs the sensible words of his wife right now," and she gave the blonde a not so subtle wink as she returned to her cooking.
That unnerved Helga quite a bit. Other than one time where her pork rind induced sleepwalking had caused her to find herself at the Sunset Arms breakfast table, she hadn't had any interaction with this woman. She had called her 'Eleanor' back then as well, presumably out of the fact that she was crazy. But the blonde preteen wasn't stupid. No one who had dementia or any other kind of mental illness would recognize her in the same pattern a second time. Not only that, but she had directly linked her to being Arnold's wife, albeit as the Roosevelts but even so it seemed too deliberate to be coincidental. She had to wonder…did his grandmother suspect her secret?
Helga old girl, you're psyching yourself out before you've even reached his room. You're supposed to be the one to snap him out of his funk not the other way around.
They reached the end of the hall of the second floor, where a pullout set out of stairs lead to an upstairs room that she knew belonged to Arnold.
"Alright, well here we are. I'll see if he's in the mood for visitors."
The older man walked up the stairs and gave a soft knock on the door.
"Arnold, one your little friends is here to see ya. Are you feeling better?"
There was no answer and a prolonged silence followed the question which made it difficult to surmise what exactly the boy was doing or whether or not he desired company.
"Well I tried," his grandfather shrugged, pulling on his suspenders. "Whatever you say to him…I hope it helps."
He walked back down the stairs as Helga began ascending. It occurred to her that the old man had more or less given her permission to enter his room and try to talk to him on her own. That was good as it was going to get, especially given the circumstances, so she wasted no time in entering the premises.
As she stepped inside the magical room of her love, she had to remind herself just how incredible it was. Arnold wasn't on the same level as Rhonda in terms of personal possessions, but there was no denying just how cool this space was. A couch controlled by remote, as well as a full blown stereo (she was quite familiar with both), and access to the roof of the building above them, which had a perfect view of the city skyline they witnessed every day. All of this didn't even touch upon his computer, comic book collection, and the various assortment of gadgets that aligned the various pockets of the place her beloved called home.
Of course, none of that could fully distract her from the primary objective, the owner of the room itself. And it just so happened that he was laying in his bed as if he hadn't moved a muscle the entire day, covers pulled over his head, wallowing in a deep melancholy not easily broken.
Helga could already tell something was terribly wrong, but she elected to try and be gentle for once in her life and not alert him to her presence right away. This proved to be a fruitless exercise as she had only tiptoed a few steps (the goal was to reach the edge of his bed without him noticing) when Arnold spoke aloud.
"I can hear you, Gerald. What do you want?"
At least he's not a total psychic
Helga was tempted not to say anything and simply let the boy believe she was his best friend, but she figured it would be best for her to admit it was her outright. There was no use lying at this point.
"Actually, bucko, for once it ain't the Tall Hair Boy."
"Oh no…"
"Take a good look, pal."
Arnold didn't seem to take kindly to her being in his room, however there was very little he could do about that now. He flipped over with a rapid shock and even clutched the base of his covers in pure surprise.
"Helga? How did you get in here?"
"Pretty simple. I knocked on the door and your grandpa let me in. Wasn't that hard."
Arnold muttered something that sounded oddly like 'figures' before turning his attention back to the blonde girl that continued to stand right in front of him.
"I should really create a lock for that door. But that still doesn't explain what you're doing here."
"What the heck do you think this is, football head?" she shot back. "A pity party? We got a game this afternoon against Wolfgang and your skills with a bat are the only thing that'll get us through."
"So that's why you came to my house and entered my room? To recruit me for a stupid baseball game?"
"One you already agreed to play in," Helga pointed out. "But that's not really the entire issue here. You weren't at school today even though your grandpa said you didn't look sick. Your grandma said you were as healthy as a horse and judging by the strong pink in your cheeks I'd say being sick was just a lame excuse to get out of something. So, what's up?"
Arnold turned away from her, unwilling to delve further into what was troubling him.
"None of your business, Helga. If you're trying to get me to play in a meaningless baseball game, then you may as well walk out right now."
That wasn't the response the blonde girl was hoping for and it put her in a rather precarious position. Her usual reaction to something like that would be anger followed by a slew of insults. The proper thing to do would be to try and offer her ear to listen as she did about a month ago, but she knew that wouldn't work this time. For one, sensitivity was not her strong suit. And this time around, Arnold did not seem as inclined to talk or listen to anyone. So, what was the solution if there even was one?
Helga sighed. She supposed this wasn't going to be easy in the first place. The best policy was simply the truth.
"I didn't come up here just to get you to play baseball, I wanted to see if you were okay. And now that I'm here I'm glad I did. Face it, Arnold, you're a mess."
It wasn't the entire story, not if she wanted to admit right then and there she had loved him since preschool but being blunt was enough and she knew it would get his attention.
"I just needed a day away from school," Arnold replied stubbornly but with less conviction than before. Helga decided to keep pushing.
"You admit you weren't sick to begin with?"
"I think I have a small temperature…"
"Which your grandparents told me they didn't even take. Come on, football head. You've always been a bad liar. You may as well spill the beans."
It was then Helga noticed that his eyes were red and slightly swollen. Not the mark of pink eye, but of someone who had been shedding tears most of the day.
"You've been crying," she said softly. It was then that she walked across the room and sat down on his bed, which Arnold didn't object to, but he also looked too upset to give much notice.
"You know, I had been doing pretty well for about a month," the blond boy said with a sniff. "Guess it only took one nightmare to change all of that."
Helga blinked in slight disbelief before asking, "A nightmare? What on earth could have been so bad that you skipped out on school and a big game this afternoon?"
"Well, a dream in which I found my parents, telling me how much they loved and missed me, only for them to disappear into nothingness right in my very arms."
She took this in and didn't say anything for fear that she might be overcome with her emotional instinct to hug and kiss him right then and there. Helga's life had been far from picturesque, and she had endured a high number of problems no one her age should be burdened with. She was so used to thinking of herself as the world's biggest punching bag, there were moments where she forgot that her classmates suffered hardships of their own.
Arnold was the prime example of this line of thinking. The boy was an angel. He constantly looked out for others and their needs before his own. He kept the peace between the various factions of P.S. 118, was a model student, and though some of his boarders were rather eccentric and stubborn, he had two highly active grandparents that had loved all throughout his life. What was there not to envy?
The answer was far more obvious than it had been two years ago on Parents' Day. She mentally cringed over the memory of the way she and her dad had acted on that occasion, though she did make up for it by helping the old man take out Bob and his bad ankle. But it highlighted something no one thought about much among their peers: Arnold was an orphan. He didn't remember his parents, yet clearly there was a longing in his heart to see them, to know them, and grow up with all of the heartwarming idiosyncrasies that involved being a family.
Helga couldn't help but wonder if the absence of his parents was the reason he was so kind and giving. No doubt, he was naturally a gentle spirit, but perhaps he made up for that missing part of his life by doing so for others.
She shook her head. This wasn't the appropriate time for psychological analyzation.
"I'm sorry, Arnold. That sounds terrible."
She tried to make it sound convincing as possible. Helga truly did feel for her love and wanted to help but felt hampered by her own awkwardness and the guarding of her own feelings.
"So, you can understand why I missed school today. You can certainly understand why didn't show up for baseball. I'm never going to get over this Helga. Every time I feel like I'm past it; the pain of knowing I'll never know them a day in life, it just comes back that much stronger. It's so overwhelming, I can barely find the energy to do anything. My…my bed is the only friend I have in the world right now and it's where I need to be. I just can't go out in the world anymore, because I'll just get hurt all over again."
Helga had never seen her beloved in such a state of misery and self pity. It was ten times stronger than what she had seen around a month ago before their first talk. The first time around had brought such a level of compassion and desperation in her, it had set in motion the gradual dropping of her mean persona in favor of assisting Arnold back to his old self. Not to mention the possibility of her feelings finally being reciprocated.
But this evoked a different response. There was compassion to be sure, but there was something else just as strong. Disappointment.
"Arnold, I can never understand the pain of not having parents and I never will. Even if mine are total whackjobs…I still got em. It has to be the most difficult thing in the world for you…but"
Her heart sped up a little bit, when Arnold suddenly turned to look at her rather sharply.
"I knew there was going to be a 'but' somewhere in there-"
"You're damn right there's a 'but'!" Helga said, standing up from the bed. "It's called getting yours out of that bed and back out into the world!"
Arnold narrowed his eyes, his own frustration coming to the surface.
"You've got a lot of nerve, Helga. I tell you about a dream I didn't even discuss to my grandparents and now you're ridiculing me?"
"I am not ridiculing you, Arnold!" Helga said in frustration. "I haven't ridiculed you in weeks! I'm trying to help you."
"This is helping me?"
Helga couldn't help but wonder if this was the wrong way to go about things. She hated seeing her love so down, but to let this current state of self pity and melancholy continue was…disconcerting to say the least as well as unacceptable. He had to hear the truth whether he liked it or not.
"What else is going to get through that oblong shaped head of yours? This isn't you, Arnold! You've never let anything keep you down. Nothing. And you've preached that message to others just when they were about to give up. But now you're just throwing in the towel on everything you care about over one dream? That's not the Arnold I know and respect."
"You really think you can just come in here and tell me what to think and feel?" Arnold shot back angrily. "That you have any idea what it's like to go through this? You don't know a damn thing about what I'm going through Helga, what gives you the right?!"
Helga stopped for a split second before continuing in a much gentler tone.
"I know more than you think. And I'm not telling you how to think, and I wouldn't dream of telling you how to feel. I'm simply saying no one ever solved anything by lying in bed all day avoiding it. Do something, Arnold. For as long as I've known you, not once were you ever content to be idle when a problem came your way…until now."
Arnold stared at her for a second before finding words to reply.
"This is the second in a matter of months that you've gone out of your way to try and help me when I was down."
"Heck it's only fair. How many times have you helped me over the years? Including recently."
Arnold's stomach dropped. He supposed she would have figured it out at this point, but she had never said it out aloud until now.
"You know about that?" he asked, fully realizing it was a stupid question the moment he asked it.
"I'd recognize your handiwork anywhere, football head," Helga said in a slightly teasing manner. "But after I got over the initial shock I wouldn't be eating out of a trash can, it was pretty easy to figure out. The only other person I told about my desperate home situation was Phoebe and I don't think she knows any hiring managers for AT&T."
The blond boy nodded. Suzy was friends with Helga's mom after all. Not to mention, Helga was highly intelligent to begin with. But it didn't solve the current issue at hand.
"Look, if this is about paying me back in some way for helping you with your family, think nothing of it. You don't need to try and rescue me because you feel you have to."
"You're right. I'm doing it because I want to," Helga shot back as the implication sunk in immediately. She had used his own words against him. But not in a condescending or vengeful way…the blonde girl meant every sentence down to the periods. Part of Arnold still had a hard time believing this was the same person who not to long ago was devoted to making his life a living hell. Yet, throughout their time together, he had always believed that somehow, some way, her better side would triumph over the bully; that she cared about people. He had said as much not too long ago and here was more proof.
Still, he couldn't muster the mental energy to remove himself from the confines of his room, the memory of what could have been, the love of his parents, was still cut too deep.
"I'm sorry, Helga. I just…can't do it."
"Can't or won't?"
There was no response as there was nothing more to be said. Helga had said her piece, but it didn't appear that Arnold was any closer to leaving his bed than he was before she walked in. As if to prove her point, he lay back down on his mattress, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
Helga turned away and began walking towards the door, but as she reached it, she looked back at him one last time and decided to leave him with some parting words.
"Personally, it doesn't matter who wins or loses today. If you do change your mind about playing don't do it because you feel like you have to for another person. You're already good at that. Do this for yourself. Because I don't you ever have before."
She stepped outside, closed the door, and began to head down the stairs. The knuckleheads down on the field would mutiny if she stayed away too long; experience with Harold had taught her that.
Helga couldn't help but worry that maybe she had acted too harshly towards her love but pushed it down. Short of begging and pleading, she had done all she could. There was no berating, no name calling, (or no worse than what she usually did) and had kept her temper. He had gotten upset, but she was not in the habit of sugar coating anything, not even for Arnold. He needed to hear it and what he decided to do next was entirely up to him.
Fighting back a surge of raw emotion, she whispered.
"Your move, football head."
The good news was, Wolfgang made no further attempts were made to sabotage the sixth-grade team.
The bad news? He didn't need to. Lightning Lenny was as good as advertised from the moment the first pitch was thrown.
Lenny Carlton was a tall, wiry boy with long, brown, almost shoulder length hair. He wore a Mets ballcap with a lime green shirt, jeans, and converse all stars. Altogether, there was nothing remarkable on the surface about him. His face was passive, but he did have small, steely eyes that reminded Helga of a Texas Ranger ready to draw his pistol in a showdown with the outlaw.
And boy did he bring the heat. Lenny struck out the first three batters- Nadine, Stinky, and Gerald- with relative ease. He did the same in the next inning and the inning after that. On the other side, Gerald was also pitching a fine game, and with the offense completely neutralized it was a good thing too. The black boy couldn't throw as hard as his opponent, but he did have a bevy of tricks up his sleeve to keep Wolfgang's team on their toes. A combination of changeups, cutters, and well placed breaking balls was enough to give up only one hit across the first three innings…it was just unlucky that the one hit he did give up was a home run.
Helga, watching from her spot at second, knew the second Gerald threw the ball Wolfgang was going to hit it. The changeup hung just a little too long up in the strikezone and the burly 7th grader took advantage of the offering. With a mighty swing, he sent the ball over the row of cars on the left side of the street, an automatic round tripper. The blonde girl resisted the strong urge to trip him as he laughed and guffawed around the bases, though she did spit on his shoes.
"Oops," she said in a fake innocent tone while Nadine snickered. That earned a hated glare from Wolfgang, but he made no move towards physical retaliation.
"Face it! You sixth grade wussies don't stand a chance. With Lenny on our team, there's no way we can lose!"
He grabbed his crotch in a vulgar manner, causing Rhonda to make a sound of disgust.
"Uhh, is he ever going to realize that he was in the same grade as us the previous year?" Sid asked from left field, scratching his head.
"Older kids will always rub in the fact that they're older," said Gerald as he caught another ball from the umpire, disgusted with himself that he had given up a run. "Take it from someone who has an elder brother."
Helga, under different circumstances, would have yelled and ridiculed the black preteen for his mistake but she had good reason not to get under his skin. For one, it was only a single run; they weren't out of it. But more importantly, she wanted to remain on his good side. At least for now. Gerald was already suspicious of her to begin with and though he hadn't been hostile, she could tell he was keeping an eye on her. The interaction they had an hour previously had been a bit tense.
Flashback*
"Where's Arnold?"
"He's not coming," was the short reply. Helga wasn't really in the mood to discuss what had happened back at Sunset Arms. The game would be starting soon, and she had a team to crack down on. An interrogation by Gerald was the last thing she needed.
"Not coming? I thought you said-"
"Yeah well, I don't know what to tell you. I tried getting him down here, he won't budge."
But that wasn't the end of the questioning.
"You're hiding something," Gerald stated, narrowing his eyes. "Whatever's going on with Arnold is serious, I can tell. You can't keep that from me."
Helga closed her eyes and took a deep breath in order to keep her temper.
"Look, I promise I'll tell you about it after the game. Can you at least give me that? I'm not trying to hide anything."
That was enough to keep him at bay for now as Gerald nodded curtly and resumed practicing his throws with Harold. She had a not so subtle hunch he would hold her to that.
End Flashback*
She was not necessarily looking forward to that conversation, but she pulled herself back to the game at hand, thoughts of Arnold still teasing her heart.
A ball was knocked her way by Edmund, which she fielded cleanly in her glove, though she threw it so hard, Eugene was sent backwards off the first bag and onto the ground.
"I'm okay," he groaned.
Ugh, Helga thought, face palming. It's going to be that kind of afternoon.
The error didn't cost them too much, as Gerald struck out the next batter. In fact, the sixth graders finally found some momentum in the fourth inning, when Stinky laced a double into left field off a misplaced breaking ball. It was the first hit Lenny had given up, and he let a flicker of anger flash in his otherwise passive face.
Gerald, deciding it was more important to play it safe, bunted to advance the runner to third for the out at first. His gamble paid off, as Harold managed to hit a ball long enough to center field for the sacrifice fly, knotting the game at 1-1.
Helga was determined to add to the good fortune, but she was no match for a pissed off Lightning Lenny, who was clearly not happy about letting a run score on him. She struck out on only four pitches, the last one being a heater she barely saw whiz by her.
Criminy, this guy doesn't let up.
Indeed, that was the last scoring chance they would receive in a while. Lenny settled back in and proceeded to strike out seven of the next eight batters. It was getting to be so frustrating, Sid actually smacked his bat against the brick wall.
"It's impossible I tell ya! IMPOSSIBLE!"
"I'm not usually one to feed Sid's paranoia but he's not wrong," Gerald said solemnly as he sat from the bench. "I haven't seen anyone all day capable of hitting that heater."
Indeed, it seemed that even when someone could work a favorable count, Lenny threw the ball so fast no one had a chance to hit it. Pretty soon, he was throwing fastballs over seventy percent of the time, again rendering their offense useless.
That was until the bottom of the seventh. Nadine, ever a patient hitter, managed to work the first walk of the day. Stinky popped out, which brought Gerald to the plate. He had struck out twice already, but other than Arnold, he was the best hitter on the team. If they were to break the stalemate it would have to be him. He just needed to find the right pitch.
It took him exactly two swings to do so. After fouling the first pitch, he crushed the second (a slider) deep into the back-right wall. The right fielder misplaced the hop, enabling Nadine to score all the way from first, and Gerald to reach third for a triple. 2-1. The sixth grade bench whooped and hollered and even Helga allowed herself to feel a tiny bit optimistic. Perhaps they could do it after all, they just needed two more innings and the game was theirs.
In retrospect, Helga supposed she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up. Harold struck out to end the inning, bringing Gerald back onto the mound. He had been pitching neck to neck with Lenny and even done well enough to give them the lead, but the black boy was tiring, and the fifth graders knew it. Though he managed to get the first batter out on a liner to third (Stinky's length was enough to nab it), the next laced a single into left putting one man on with Wolfgang at the plate.
Gerald, sweating noticeably, tried to work around Wolfgang, but the older boy was not stupid. He knew how fatigued his opponent was and though he fouled off the first pitch, he then allowed three straight balls to pass him by sending the count at three to one. Gerald was desperate not to give Wolfgang a good pitch, but he was equally wary of putting him on base with the four and five hitters on deck for the middle schoolers, especially with only one out. In the end he took a risk, throwing a fastball down the middle, trying to blow it by the burly 7th grader.
He instantly regretted it. Wolfgang crushed the ball straight away to center field and landed in a dumpster across the street. The blast had been a tape measure home run and had given his team the lead, a fact he crowed about as he rounded the bases. Helga wasn't going to spit on his shoes this time. Coming back once was one thing, but twice in the same game against the best youth pitcher in the entire city? Fat chance.
3-2.
Gerald did manage to limit the bleeding by striking out the next batter and getting the third out on a pop fly to right, which Rhonda caught easily. But the damage was done. Lenny was still locked in, even this late in the game and showed no signs of slowing down. He struck out the side in the bottom of the eight with ease, mowing down each batter with his patented heater.
Harold came on to pitch in relief in the top of the ninth while Helga took over the catcher spot, moving Gerald to her previous spot at second. He did give up a double, but perservered to get the final three outs and the game moved to the bottom of the ninth. The last stand was here.
Leading off was Sid, who did his best to hide his obvious fear of Lenny, who's stone faced neutrality seemed to be more intimidating than Wolfgang's leer.
"Come on, Sid!" Gerald yelled out encouragingly.
"Please, give me a break. He doesn't have chance," Helga grumbled.
"Sid can hit."
"Yeah but no one can hit Lenny."
"Have a little faith in the brother."
"Did Arnold suddenly die, and you were chosen to take his place?"
"No," said Gerald darkly. "Which by the way, you're not getting out of that once this game is over. I want to know what's going on with Arnold."
"Strike one!"
Helga gazed briefly at Sid in the batter's box, who had swung and missed quite badly.
"You won't have to wait long," she grumbled.
Another pitch whizzed by and the count was 0 and two.
"Just put us out of our misery already."
What happened next surprised them both. Lenny threw a changeup that happened to be up inside the zone. Sid managed to get enough contact to squeeze the ball through the gap between shortstop and third base and ran to first with a single.
"That's the way, Sid!"
"Gee, wilikers, the dang scaredy cat got on base against Lightnin Lenny."
Sid seemed almost as surprised as the rest of the team at his good fortune. He didn't press his luck with a big lead off the bag, especially with Rhonda at the plate.
"Oh, great. Princess is up to bat," Helga groaned.
Rhonda was not unathletic by any means. She had decent speed and fielded well for someone who hated ruining her outfits. Her main drawback in baseball, however, was her bat. She had been hitless since the fifth grade and there was no reason that would change now. Not even Gerald could summon the energy to try and pep up the bench.
She took two strikes and then two balls. Lenny was clearly trying to get Rhonda to swing with offspeed pitches, which fooled her almost every time. But she wasn't budging, staying home when Lenny threw a low curve or an outside fastball. It was on the next pitch that her diligence paid off. With one awkward swing, she launched a low hanging slider into the air so high, one could barely see it.
Immediately, the sixth grade bench jumped up.
"She's going to hit it out of the park!" Eugene exclaimed, grasping his shirt.
Not quite. Rhonda made solid contact, but she did not possess enough power for a home run. Instead, the ball landed deep into center field and she ended up at second with a double with Sid holding up at third. Suddenly, they were one more hit away from tying and possibly winning the game on a walk off.
As the sixth graders cheered, Lenny's face showed true emotion for the first time. He was visibly disgusted himself for letting a subpar hitter get the better of him and with no outs, the middle school squad was on the verge of losing the game.
"We got this! I'm telling ya, we got this!" Gerald said as he pumped his fist.
Helga on the other hand, wasn't so sure. Rhonda may have been lucky but the next two batters were equally weak. Park was first. He had agreed to play on short notice, and while he had a good arm in the field, Lenny mowed him down on five pitches. Eugene was next, and if being a jinx wasn't bad enough, his prowess at the plate was even worse. Again, Lenny made short work of him blowing three straight fastballs by him, the last causing the hapless Jewish boy to swing so hard, he fell on his buttocks.
"I'm okay."
"I've changed my mind. We don't got this," Gerald moaned as he shook his head.
"What was your first clue, tall hair boy?" Helga said in a muffled tone, her hand smushed over her mouth.
"Aww man, this stinks!" Harold said in anger, stomping his foot down. "We're down to our last out!"
"I reckon we're just about finished fellers," agreed Stinky.
Nadine sighed as she picked up a bat, knowing she was the last chance for the sixth graders to at least send the game into extra innings.
"Here goes nothing," she muttered quietly.
Helga and Gerald sat on the bench not looking at one another but sharing the inevitable feeling that their luck had just about run out. They didn't need to say anything more. Despite playing arguably the best they could against the best pitcher they had ever faced, the effort would be in vein. Even with two men on base, there was an air of quiet confidence on the opposing side. Lenny was locked in, and Wolfgang was simply waiting for the final out to rub it in their faces.
Nadine stepped to the plate, taking her batting stance as Lenny went through his signals with the catcher. Her posture betrayed she was not especially confident.
The decision was made, the catcher was set, and Lenny began going into his wind up, his lanky leg thrusting high into the air….until a voice interrupted the game.
"Hey!"
Everyone turned to see who it was, and the revelation was just as shocking as it was welcome. Arnold Shortman had come to Gerald Field.
Helga nearly fainted as the rest of her classmates cheered. He had shown up after all. On the brink of losing, he had come back to give them one last opportunity to win.
Normally she would go on in an internal tangent about the nobility and selflessness of her football headed love god. But this time felt was different. Helga could tell by the look on his face straight away that his internal struggle had not ended. The eyes were still red, the pain was evident on his face, and his green eyes brimmed with the sorrow of someone who was still missing a part of himself. Nevertheless, he was here and that was enough.
"Still time for one more at bat?" Arnold asked as he reached the dugout.
Gerald smiled and handed him a bat.
"Just in time my man."
He turned and yelled out to Wolfgang.
"Hey, we got a pinch hitter over here!"
"She's already in the box!" Wolfgang argued. "You can't substitute a batter once that happens."
"Actually, that is incorrect," said Phoebe coming out of nowhere with a book in her hand. "According to street ball rules, a pinch runner can be substituted any time before the opposing pitcher throws the first pitch. Technically, Arnold can take the at bat."
Nadine wasted no time in letting Arnold take her place. Everyone knew his bat was lethal, even to the best pitchers. But how would he hold up against Lightning Lenny?
Helga walked up to the blond boy to debrief him of the situation.
"Two men on, two outs. A hit and we win the game or tie it. Think you can handle that?"
Arnold placed the bat over his shoulder with a determined look and a small smile.
"Only one way to find out."
Eugene peeked over her shoulder, his face lined with worry.
"Shouldn't you have told him he's going up against the best pitcher in the whole city?"
"He knows," Gerald answered. "It makes no difference. What happens now rests in the hands of a bold kid."
Helga, for once, privately agreed with him, though it didn't make the situation any less stressful. She watched Arnold take his place in the batter's box and take a couple of practice swings. Heart pounding, she didn't think it was possible to love him any more than she already did. Yet, here he was, the only person she had ever believed in or could hold onto in any meaningful way, stepping up with the weight of the neighborhood on his shoulders, the hole still wide open within his heart.
A rush of admiration and emotion surged through Helga as she looked on, agonized she could not assist her love in this significant moment, even if no one else truly understood why. The only thing to do was something she rarely did but Arnold had inspired her to do lately: hope.
"You can do this, Arnold," she said to herself in barely more than a whisper. "You have to."
The warm spring air, the smell of dirt and grass, the smooth wood in his hands- yes, Arnold had been here before. The circumstances, however, were not quite the same. It was a small miracle he was standing at all; he was not the same person playing baseball as he had been two years ago. In fact, if it weren't for a certain blonde girl with a pink bow, he wouldn't have shown up period.
Yet, here he was, ready to take another swing against the best pitcher in Hillwood. Arnold had heard the stories. He knew what he was taking on and the odds were not in his favor. But that had never stopped him before. It wouldn't now.
Helga was right. In fact, she's been right about a lot of things lately.
Turmoil still raged inside the twelve year old as he readied himself for the first pitch. The images of his parents disappearing into a cloud of nothingness was an image that would burned into his memory for the rest his life. The ultimate 'what if?' that held no promise of an answer. This was his world, nothing could change that.
But even as his heart felt like it weighed ten pounds, there was a steady calm that washed over Arnold, as if he were entering the eye of a heavy storm. He could do this. Not just for his friends, but for his own sake. His own struggle that he had to conquer.
One swing.
Arnold let the first pitch go by for a ball. He could tell Lenny was testing him to see how much he would chase. If there was on advantage he held over the lanky 8th grader, it was that he had no idea what to expect and did not have a previous encounter to base off where to attack the strike zone. Both he and Lenny were dealing with the unknown.
The second pitch was also a ball, a low changeup. Arnold now held the edge in the count. Always a patient hitter, he was sending a message that he would not be fooled by pitches down and away. If Lenny wanted to get him out, he would have to throw strikes.
And throw a strike he did, Arnold had made up his mind he would swing at the next pitch, but he missed, and he hadn't been close either. Looking back at the catcher and then to Lenny, he held a gaze with his adversary for a brief moment. He could see the steely determination in those small eyes, the mark of a man who stop at nothing to get the final out.
The next pitch was also a strike, one that Arnold let go- a fastball that hit the lower strike zone. Arnold, despite losing his advantage in the count, had to admire Lenny's talent. It was one thing to throw to fast, it was quite another to have pinpoint command, to place a ball exactly where you wanted so a hitter would be caught looking or miss entirely.
It was then that the blond preteen made up his mind that if he was to go down, he would go down swinging. There was no point in searching for the right pitch, Lenny was clearly trying to overpower him with pure speed. His instincts told him no more trick pitches or outside curves would be thrown his way.
Here goes nothing
He knew what was coming, the pitch no one could hit, and no one had ever hit before. The heater. The granddaddy of all fastballs.
Arnold swung, praying his bat speed was quick enough, and felt his bat make contact with the ball.
A collective gasp echoed throughout the diamond. The contact had been foul, a slow dribbler on the first base line. But it was an important accomplishment nonetheless: someone had actually managed to get a piece of Lightning Lenny's fastball.
The level of excitement was raised another notch as the realization that the greatest pitcher in all of Hillwood was mortal after all, sunk in. Especially on the sixth grade side.
"Come on Arnold!" he heard Gerald yell from the bench. "You can do it!"
The rest of his classmates took the cue and began cheering, along with a whistle from Curly. A surge of confidence went through Arnold. The idea of cracking a hit off of the seemingly invincible Lenny Carlton now seemed more possible than ever. Emboldened, a took another swing on the next pitch.
Again, he made contact, this time sending a screaming line drive down the first base line. Again, it went foul.
Pitch number seven was the same, as Arnold fouled the ball backwards off his bat, hitting Eugene on the head.
"I'm okay," the ginger said whoozily.
Still have the dangerous lumber I suppose, he thought to himself, resolving to try and not hit anyone else before the game was over.
Pitch number eight: again, foul. This time it was a bomb, a ball that held the distance but went to the right of the marked pole in right field.
The sixth grade bench groaned at the 'almost' home run. They had been that close to winning the game.
Meanwhile, Lenny was becoming frustrated and it showed on the next pitch: it was wild, and the catcher had to make a speedy recovery in order to prevent the runners from advancing. This brought a comment from Wolfgang, who was observing his best pitcher imploding from first base.
"What are you doing?! Are you seriously so incompetent that you can't get this stupid football face out? Throw a strike so we can win, go home, and brag about it tomorrow."
Lenny did not respond verbally, and only acknowledged Wolfgang's criticism with a snarl that made its message quite clear: back off. But Arnold could see that the 8th grader was growing tired. The at bat had caused him to easily eclipse the most pitches he had thrown in an inning and in the bottom of the ninth, had reached over one hundred for the game. Sweat trickled down his forehead, which he wiped away, but there was no mistaking the fatigue in his eyes, emphasized by his labored breathing.
He's losing steam. He's vulnerable. I can hit him, I just need the right swing at the right pitch.
By now, the atmosphere was extremely tense. The longer the duel between Lenny and Arnold went, the higher the stakes were raised. The eyes of sixth grader and middle schooler alike were completely focused on the inevitable outcome. Eventually, something would give. Someone would go home a winner and the other a loser. It was simply a matter of who made the first mistake.
Arnold adjusted his bat and settled into his stance. It would be down to this pitch. He could feel it in his blood. He had to time his swing just right.
Throw that heater again. I dare you, he silently challenged his adversary on the mound.
Lenny did just that, winding up and throwing the ball as hard as he could towards the outstretched mitt of his catcher.
Arnold's eyes lit up immediately as the ball headed straight down the middle. It was the pitch he had been waiting for. Without wasting another moment, he swung with all his might.
The bat found its target, and the ball was sent into the air towards the opposite field, a soft blooper that sailed over the head of the outstretched short stop and landed onto the grass.
He took off running as soon as he hit it, running as fast as he could towards first base, all other thoughts set aside for that purpose. So focused was he on plopping his foot down on the bag, he was effectively deaf to the pandemonium around him: the umpire ruling Rhonda safe as she slid into home, the cheers of victory, Lenny throwing his hat to the ground, Wolfgang berating his star pitcher, his friends rushing towards him…it was all a blur.
He had barely touched first base, not even registering that they had won, when a wave of blonde and pink slammed into him with tremendous force, nearly knocking him off balance. All pretenses seemed to vanish as he was enveloped in an enormous hug.
"Helga?" he gasped out, despite his lungs being squeezed.
"I knew you could do it! I believed the whole time! You did it, Arnold! You're amazing, you're-"
She stopped as the broke apart, neither saying a word. Helga's hands were still resting on his shoulders, blue eyes boring into green ones for the second time in as many weeks. Arnold could feel his heart pounding, noticing that the longer they looked at each other, the redder their cheeks flushed.
They both started to laugh awkwardly, as the blond boy started rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. However, neither one of them had a chance to say anything more, as the whole team reached them, mobbing Arnold and lifting him up into the air in celebration.
For the second time in his life, he was carried off the field after a walk off hit. But as he had noted before the circumstances weren't entirely the same. He was still struggling to overcome the abandonment he felt from his parents, the heavy heart that taxed him mentally every day, and the rapid oncoming of teenage years that drew closer with each passing hour.
Arnold looked down at the blonde girl, part of a posse currently parading him around the neighborhood; the girl that motivated him to get out of bed. Or in her words, to do something.
Through all of the ups and downs, if there was one thing he was thankful for, it was Helga Pataki.
Perhaps some of the circumstances were better than before.
I hope I didn't overwhelm or tire anyone out with this chapter. I also hope the pacing of the baseball game didn't feel too rushed.
Let me know what you guys think! I'm very eager to hear your thoughts and reviews.
Needless to say, the next chapter will be much shorter xD
Update will be soon!
~The Wasp