Everyone changes with time. A day, a week, a month, a year... they all count. So how much can a group of rag tag 4th graders from P.S. 118 change with junior high, high school, and a whole bunch of history between those seven years? A whole lot.
Years Later
The Past Is Gone
On Monday morning that followed the defeat of the Cornwell Falcons, the mighty Spartan football players strutted down Crinshaw's hallways. They all received large welcomes and congratulations, even if their feet had never touched the football field outside of practice, from teachers, students, and fan clubs— which so happened to be made out of teachers and students. Especially The Golden Ones, because... well just because they were The Golden Ones, there really wasn't a need to explain why the got higher praise… it was fairly obvious… wasn't it?
On that same exact day, Phoebe Heyerdahl jetted down the empty hallways of Crinshaw High School in a full sprint to her fifth period class, listening as the empty hall was filled with sound of the late bell ringing. Dammit… I knew I should've listened to Helga about not taking Sid's shortcut, but no, I just had to try it out! This shouldn't even be considered a shortcut at all. Why is Helga always right at the worst possible moments?
Fortunately for Phoebe, back in junior high she was one of the fastest sprinters on the track team, unfortunately, she had lost her edge to a certain addiction that tended to turn people's lungs an attractive shade resembling smoked hickory. Smoked hickory that had been left on a fire for about twelve months then dumped into a vat of tar, of course.
Phoebe turned the corner and ran straight into something, or rather, someone.
Not braced for the impact, the small teenager fell backwards and landed on her back. Meanwhile, her books flew out of her hands as its contents went streaming in various directions across the hallway and her glasses decided to go flying off her face, only to land somewhere near the mysterious person's feet.
Dammit … this must be some type of karmic retribution to when I took the last piece of cake and lied about it to Sid and Helga last night… there is no other logical explanation…
Phoebe automatically said sorry as she set herself to gathering all of her belongings, and as she did so, she could hear the mysterious roadblock move to help her. When the person picked up Phoebe's French textbook and notebook and held them out for her, Phoebe caught a glance at the persons' hands and she did the best "Phoebe-ish" thing she could do in this type of situation.
She froze.
Yes, she froze and stared at the hands of Mr.— yes, MR.— Roadblock, thinking ruefully to herself, how she would never ever forget those hands. Oh yes, she knew those hands, it's not like she could actually forget, after taking so much time to admire them. They were a smooth dark caramel complexion on rather rough looking hands, but had a strong shape to them— not to bony, not to skinny, just right to pick someone up and carry them when accidentally broke the straps of their sandals during a summer rain storm. The shape was accentuated by long fingers that had bitten fingernails— something that had once thought of as endearing, but now just found plain annoying, even though she was quite guilty of the bad habit herself during periods of extreme pressure…
So I see he hasn't gotten out of the nail biting habit. I guess some things don't change... even if the person has.
Although her vision was blurry, in her minds eye she could follow the large hand to a muscled arm to a shoulder to the neck to the face of the one and only Gerald Johanssen.
"Uh... hello Phoebe." He smiled nervously at her. She could tell it wasn't a real smile because she could only see one dimple, which wasn't even fully showing; whenever he was really smiling both his deep dimpled indents could be seen in full glory.
Phoebe said hello back knowing it was polite thing to say and because she knew that there was nothing further to be said she immediately went back to gathering her papers and books, fully aware that a pair of dark brown eyes were observing her.
Gerald watched the small female, half Asian, half whatever the other half was— he remembered that at one point she told him that her mother was half French, half Italian… at least that was what he thought he remembered. After realizing that he was basically gawking, he decided to pick up her glasses. He remembered when she first bought them back in ninth grade and showed them off to him, even going so far as to give him a glasses fashion show, but that was a long time ago. Gerald studied the rimless glasses for a minute or so longer before his attention wandered to the glasses owner. Phoebe Heyerdahl was still the same height as he remembered, but then again, she had not grown since sixth grade.
Kammie is only slightly taller than her, but only by a few inches.
Her pale hands were quickly picking up her papers and placing them in a blue folder.
Blue, that's her favorite color, Kammie's favorite color too. Gerald thought almost absentmindedly.
Phoebe could feel his eyes on her, but she chose to ignore them letting her eyes be hidden by her long hair. Her hair was falling out of the loose ponytail she had haphazardly put it in during Chemistry and some rebellious strands persisted on falling onto her face, but right now, she didn't mind.
She's wearing a dark blue Wïngs t-shirt– her favorite brand– light blue jeans, and white sneakers. She's so conservative compared to Kammie... but why am I comparing her and Kammie?
Gerald caught a glimpse of the total of eight silver studs decorating the rim on both of her ears and was almost shocked.
Almost being the operative word.
He was pretty sure that Helga convinced her to get the extra holes. Even though Helga did not have the most piercings in the school, to the junior grade of Crinshaw she was considered The Piercing Queen. Around Phoebe's neck there was a silver necklace with a semi-circle hanging of the thin chain. Gerald caught the engraved intials of 'P.G.H' with a B and half of an F resting underneath.
Gerald was pretty sure that somewhere in the school was a blonde pinked streaked haired girl wearing a similar necklace with the initials 'H.G.P' with the other half of the F and another F standing next to it.
Gerald had zoned out but he didn't really notice, until he saw a pale hand outstretched palms up, in front of his face. It took him a moment to realize that Phoebe was waiting for him to hand her something. Gerald saw that she had her French books, so what else did she need?
That was when he looked straight into the slanted almond eyes that looked black to an unobservant person. But Gerald knew better than any other person that her eyes were definitely not black. He could see the dark blue flecks in eyes as she stared at him, but there was something missing from her face. She was missing her–
Glasses. Phoebe was missing her glass. They very same glasses that sat in his hand. Instead of handing them back to her, like the small female fully expected to, Gerald opened them up and gently slid them back onto Phoebe's face. He pushed some ink black strands out of her face and behind her ear, not really noticing, or rather, pretending not to notice the small female wince at his actions.
"Your hair," Gerald paused not sure what he really wanted to say or what he meant to say, and somehow he could not help but feel flustered with a pair of dark blue eyes staring at him intently. I remember how you used to talk about doing it back in junior high..." Gerald reached out once more and twirled a lock around his index finger before he withdrew his hand from the soft hair.
Phoebe remained frozen throughout the process, like an oversized glass doll. "Thank you." Phoebe got up from the ground and Gerald followed the suit. Just as she was prepared to walk past him, Gerald reached out and grabbed Phoebe's hand. While Phoebe could have just snatched her hand away and kept walking, she didn't. Helga was right, sometimes she was just too nice to people, Helga really was always right at the worst possible moments.
"I– I'm sorry… it just... and I'm really sorry Phoebe."
Phoebe gently pulled her hand out of Gerald's grip. "Why should I forgive you—"
Gerald's jaw tightened. "I know I deserve tha–"
"You didn't let me finish what I was saying Gerald. You've always were too impatient to let people finish talking." Phoebe shook her head and sighed. "What I was trying to say is, why should I forgive you, when there is nothing that you need to be forgiven for?"
"But–"
"That's all in the past Gerald. Leave the past where it is. The past." Phoebe sighed once again. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a class to get to and I'm already late. Unlike some people, I actually have to show up to a class to get credit."
Phoebe walked away from the now brooding Gerald and got to her French class six minutes late. Mr. Jenkins, a fair but strict teacher, gave her detention– even if Phoebe was one his best students.
She was no exception to the rules.
(Y/L)
The day finally came to the much needed break known as lunch to much of the population of Crinshaw. It was finally seventh period, so Phoebe, Helga, and Sid took their regular seats at a round table in the back of the cafeteria, conveniently located near the candy and soda machines. Sheena was joining them today ("Hey Sid, look who I found to help with my Geometry homework! Now I won't have to bother Phoebe!") instead of sitting at a table with Thaddeus, Eugene, and a girl nicknamed Red.
Phoebe sat in her traditional seat next to Helga, halfheartedly eating her salad. Helga looked at her friend worriedly. Phoebe loved to eat the macadamia and chicken salad, even though they all agreed that the salad was probably poisonous. Even Sid, who was well known to prone cases of serious obviousness in Sheena's presence, noticed that something was wrong.
"Is everything okay, Phoebe?" Helga asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence around the table.
Phoebe twirled a finger around a strand of her hair. "Nope. I was just thinking of getting my hair cut, that's all."
Sheena immediately took action and began to ask Phoebe if she was considering donating it to any charities. Phoebe smiled and began a conversation with the brunette about charities and hair cutting; meanwhile her two friends shared a look. One of those looks that friends shared. A look that meant everything they wanted and needed to say in the few seconds that their eyes connected. They both knew how much Phoebe treasured her hair, so what in the world could make the girl want to cut the hair she struggled to grow out and constantly cared for?
(Y/L)
Helga tugged on her oversized worn out Steelers jersey over her gray sweat pants before she closed the lock around her gym locker. As she exited the girl's locker room she caught sight of something red, green, blonde, and gray from the corner of her eye.
It was Lila and Arnold making out on the water fountain that she took a drink from everyday before heading out to meet up with her gym class.
Just effing perfect. Now I can't drink my water because the fountain may be contaminated from who knows what fluid.
She hmmphed in disgust and the couple broke apart from their embrace, looking to see who interrupted their moment.
Arnold wrapped an arm around Lila's waist, while she crossed her arms and glared at Helga– almost as if she thought it would make her disappear into thin air. Helga looked back at Lila unfazed by the glare—she had seen better glares from a monkey … no joke, she really had seen better glares from a monkey when she and her mother visited the Bronx Zoo one day.
"Hello freak."
Helga gave Lila a low mock bow. "Good day High Queen of Snobbery! How may I show my utmost disgust for you today, your royal pain in the ass?"
"I don't know how a guy like Sid can actually stand to be in your presence."
"Easily." Helga said lowering her voice as if she were about to share a secret with the red head, "You see, sometimes people actually like to hold intelligent conversations rather than talking to some trained doll who probably couldn't add two plus two."
Helga smiled as Lila moved to attack her, but Miss. Jones, the cheerleading coach, some accidental intervention, called the redhead into her office. Lila gave Arnold a territorial kiss before she slunk into Miss. Jones' office, but not before she shoved past Helga… even though there was enough room for her to pass the blonde without touching her.
Helga snorted. What did Lila think she was going to do? Kidnap Arnold? Make him into her sex slave or something? Highly unlikely, why would she waste her precious time and breathe to do that when she already had her owned two sex slaves… three if she counted Sid… why would she want hers?
"Jealous Helga?" Arnold asked.
Helga turned around and just looked at Arnold for moment. "Of what?"
"Of Lila, of course."
Helga rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Yes. You've discovered my deepest and darkest secret. I've always wanted to be an easy bimbo who has a wit of a flounder. Just please don't tell anyone about the pompoms that I use to secretly practice cheerleading routines in or the red wig a don every night as I practice these routines, every night before I go to bed." Helga snorted. "Yea right. What does she have that I would be jealous of?"
Arnold stepped closer to Helga and looked her straight in the eye. "Me. You had a crush on me. And maybe you still do."
"Used to are the operative words in that sentence. If I had known how much of an annoying pompous bastard you've turned out to be, I wouldn't have wasted my time."
"What did you just say?"
"Don't act as if you're suddenly hard of hearing. You heard me, I said, if I had known how much of an annoying pompous bastard you've would turned out to be, I wouldn't have wasted my time."
"So you're hiding your unrequited feelings for me now?" Arnold asked smugly, purposely annoying Helga. Pink dots appeared on Helga's cheeks and for a moment, just for one brief moment, Arnold thought she was blushing. Arnold began to smile and say something, but Helga punched him dead in the mouth. At least that was where it would have been if Arnold had not turned his face in time. "What the fuck was that for?" Arnold exclaimed as he placed a hand on his right cheek, he knew that a tooth or two had been seriously rattled.
"I felt like doing that from time Hillwood dubbed you, Harold, Gerald and Sid—yes even Sid— gods! You all think you're the shit now, don't you! You know what I'm gonna tell you the truth. YOU AREN'T! And you know what, I don't really give a flying shit if you tell anyone what I'm about to say.
"This town has deified all of you! They live their dreams through you, feeling your head's with hopes, dreams, and delusions, telling you that you're all the greatest, all the best. They treat you like fucking royalty, but don't give a shit about anyone else. While you guys got to go to the Super Bowl last year by first class train, the track team had to be chauffeured by their parents to each fucking meet. You remember Stan, or rather Stinky like we used to call him. He's led this school's basketball team to championships. But does anyone care? NO! Does anyone care that he's being scouted by Duke? By Columbia? Georgetown? North Carolina? By any of the schools that have been scouting him since he was a sophomore? No! Because-They-Only-Care-About-You-Pompous-Jerks!" Helga accentuated each word with a jab to Arnold's chest with her index finger.
"You walk around here in your varsity jackets having everyone bow at your feet, smile or frown at your whim. They tell you you're great you believe you're great, they tell you you're invincible, you believe you're great. Question, have any Crinshaw player actually made it in the NFL?" Arnold opened his mouth. "No they haven't! Andertine got involved with drugs and got kicked out because he couldn't deal with the real world! And Pole got arrested straight out of college. But I'm gonna clue you in on something. All this treatment you're getting now. Don't expect it forever. As soon as you get out in the real world, this town will forget about you! You'll just be something of the past, while another Golden Team will step up and fill in the blanks you left. You'll fail out in the real world and you'll come crawling back to Hillwood to sit in the stands with every fucking idiot in this town and cheer on the Spartans. Living through them vicariously, like others once did to you, because Football is King!"
Helga took a deep calming breath. "You used to be a nice person. A bit of a nosy do-gooder, but at least back then, you had morals. All of us used to be somewhat of a group of… well, I guess friends. We've grown apart into different worlds into different people. But then again, I guess that's what time does. Change people. Some for the better," Helga gave Arnold a glance full of revulsion. "Some for the worse. I can't deal with looking at you, I'm going to class." And that's how Helga left Arnold, leaning against a fountain that he had just been making out on with his girlfriend barely moments ago. He had just been chewed out by a girl who used to be the childhood bully and there were no words in the English dictionary that could actually describe all the thoughts and feelings that were left floating in his mind.
(Y/L)
I do not own Hey Arnold! I've been waiting to write the last scene for a good minute. It didn't turn out the same way I wanted it to, but it will have to do... Thank you Sakuyaku-chan, Starry-Eyez888, HunGuy, XxXCocoPuffXxX, BellaMay76, and sevenleafclovergrl-7 for the wonderful reviews.
PS:
HunGuy, while I'm not done with the funness (must remember to have this word added to the dictionary) of reality, there will be more happy moments. Gee this chapter doesn't even have a happy moment. Oh well, next chapter will have lots of Flirting-Pervert!Sid to put back some comedy into YL.
Click the shiny review button, it likes to be clicked... but it also likes long moonlit walks in the park... be warned it also likes commitments... Review buttons, can't live with them, can't live without them.
S.L. Cipher (Who will gladly accept all criticisms, advice, reviews, praises, and flames with a large Cheshire Cat like smile)
Published: I dunno...
Edited: 7 05
Re-edited: 12 05