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
And That's Why They Call It Karma
Sid looked up at the neon green sign saying, Sal's and he knew he had arrived. He walked through the doors being flanked by two large and bulky guys, but neither paid any attention to him, they knew exactly who he was.
He was a friend of Helga and any friend of Helga's was welcomed to Sal's anytime, as long as they had money, of course.
Sal's was a darkly lit hang out with misty air filled of smoke, that was usually inhabited by bikers, kids from Cornwell and Wayside, or anyone who wanted to get a bad reputation, in a good way. Up front there was a bar where the owner, Sal, sometimes forgot to check for ID, and to the right there were some pool tables along with dart boards scattered across the walls. Even though the place was barely lit, Sid could still make out Helga's pink head as she lined up her cue on top of a pool table.
Sid had immediately left after school, knowing exactly where Helga, Phoebe, and Ian would travel. He had heard of a few of Helga's legendary days of junior high through Phoebe, never really through Helga. The two tended to be well guarded about their days at J.P. Chauncillor Junior High School. He heard the names, like Ian and Tristan, he heard the events, like The Gambling Nights, and he heard of the place, Sal's.
Sal's, the place where Helga had spent most of her time when she had Out of School Suspension during junior high.
Helga watched as the white ball sped towards the multi-colored group of balls, before it hit them and they splattered across the green table top. Helga handed Phoebe the cue and the short girl used it to measure the distances of the colored balls to the white ball. After she was done, she took careful aim and shot the red ball into the left side pocket.
Phoebe smiled brightly. "This is the only thing that trigonometry and geometry are good for, pool."
Sid slid his black leather jacket off his shoulders and threw down into one of the empty chairs. "Shocking, no?"
Phoebe and Helga did not even bother to raise their heads from the pool table to acknowledge him, they knew it was Sid.
"So Helgs, is this what you're gonna do while you're out of school?"
Helga shook her head. "Nah, not really. I plan on haggling Patty into letting me work a few more hours of the book. Hang out with Hilda a little more. Visit some my Cornwell and Wayside friends. Go into the city. Basically enjoy my two weeks of freedom."
Ian smiled from his seat on an empty pool table near the one Helga and Phoebe were playing on. "And let me guess who's gonna be your chauffeur."
"Who?"
"Me."
"Got in one, sugah." Helga said with a wink at Ian.
"I rather get sugah, than be called sugah, honey"
"We'll see 'bout that latah, sugah."
Sid gaped. "And what about me Helgs? I feel insulted... I mean after all of my attempts to get you. Ian just pops back into your life after two years and bam!"
Helga smiled as she leaned in closer to the pool table with the brown rod in her hand. "You know I've known Ian since 7th grade. Longer than I've really known you. Plus he rides a motorcycle... and I like riding motorcycles."
Sid plopped down next to the grinning Ian with his arms crossed. "Perv!"
Phoebe and Helga shared a look. "Takes one to know one." They said simultaneously with twin smirks dancing across their faces.
(Y/L)
Helga did just as she told Sid. She enjoyed her vacation and put a few extra dollars in her pockets. She visited some her friends from Cornwell and Wayside, all of whom were ecstatic to see Helga, of course. She even spent a little more time with her younger smart mouthed sister. All in all it had been a two good weeks. Phoebe and Sid came over after school to catch Helga up on the class lessons she missed whenever they could and sometimes Helga went back to school... but only for Sparta meetings. Principal McNielson had given her permission to go to the meetings that were held during school and the ones after school... after much begging from Mr. Simmons. It was a Friday in late October, just before she had to go back to school on Monday, when something unexpected happened.
(Y/L)
It was a crisp cool night on Grant Field, the home field of the Crinshaw Spartans. The air was filled with the customary loud boisterous cheers of the crowd as they watched The Golden Ones play out on the "old gridiron".
"Linshaw has the ball with ten seconds still on the clock. If the Spartans get this touch down, they will win the game. He backs up his looking for an opening. He's looking. Looks like both Gifaldi and Johanssen are tied up. Five more and... oh no! Linshaw has been sacked... sacked! And that is the end of the game! For the first time in possibly ten years, the Crinshaw Spartan's have lost with a final score of 38-33. The Livingstonian Lions have won."
A hush fell over the larger Spartans crowd as only the Livingstonian players and fans celebrated. The cheerleaders on the sidelines looked back and forth at each other, not knowing what to do; they had never actually been faced with the Spartans team losing. The Spartans players cleared the field, quietly filing into their locker room, unlike the many times they ran into their territory with wild cheers and shouts. It was almost like they were holding a funeral service for the lost of their perfect and spotless record.
Arnold looked out into the crowd quietly as they silently stared back at him. He took of helmet and dropped the football from his hand before he joined the rest of his teammates. Lila ran up to him and tugged his arm, but he ignored her.
The locker room was as silent as it was outside, if not more. It was the type of silence that crept up behind you, before reaching out its long gnarled nails and consistently scratched at your mind. In other words, it was quite uncomfortable. The players shoved off their uniforms and washed up quickly. There were no loud boisterous hoots or jokes or even perverted comments. They all just wanted to get out of Grant Field, especially Arnold Linshaw, Hillwood's Golden Boy.
Arnold quickly pulled a white t-shirt on before he grabbed his blue jeans jacket and pulled it on. He slammed his locker and was tying his shoelaces of his boots, when he saw a shadow fall over his head. He looked up and saw Coach Grant. "You did your best kid, but the Lions had a good defensive line out there. We were lucky enough to catch up with them during the 3rd quarter."
"It must not have been good enough because we didn't win."
Grant smirked, allowing Arnold to see the marks and lines of old age on his coach. He wasn't as immortal as he wanted Crinshaw—or any other town with a football team— to believe. "Of course it wasn't, that's why we are having practice on Sunday beginning at five in the morning. You need to be there at four."
Arnold nodded his head. "Sharp."
Grant patted him on his back before he walked to the front of the locker room to inform the whole team about the Sunday Practice. There were some groans, but they were silenced by the glare of Coach Grant, the staff, and The Golden Ones. Wolfgang, Gerald, Arnold, and Harold did not like losing, not even the socially blind Sid could settle with a loss, and he was supposed to be the easy going one. They would not have another "L" marked on their record ever again if it was up to them, even if that meant a grueling Sunday Practice.
Gerald put a hand on Arnold's shoulder as he made his way to the back exit of the locker room. "You alright man?"
"Yea... I'm fine. See you at Lila's?"
Gerald smirked. "Definitely, that is," Gerald raised his voice a little louder. "If we get the chance to see each other." The locker room was filled with loud hoots from the players and it was almost a reminiscent of last Friday, or the one before that, or even the one last year. Gerald nudged Arnold in the side, but the blonde did not respond with his usual comment, he only gave Gerald small smile.
"Yea."
Arnold left through the doors and the locker room was silent once more.
(Y/L)
Arnold stood at Lila's side as she acted like a paper puppet, giving her father the exact answers he needed to hear as he left. Mr. Sawyer talked to Arnold a bit and the blonde quarterback gave him his puppeted responses, before Mr. Sawyer left, and his girlfriend dragged him to the basement. He could not even recall the conversation he had just had with Mr. Sawyer.
It was just the same as always.
The same loud music.
The same alcohol.
The same people making out everywhere.
The same situation with Wolfgang flirting with another blonde
The same couch with Gerald and Kamelia making out on it.
The same girl sitting on Sid's lap, still completely unaware that Sid was not interested.
The same people kissing his ass because he was the quarterback of the Spartans.
Even the same route, to the same room.
Arnold looked around, for once seeing what Sid saw. Everything looks so fake... so unreal... So different…
Lila smiled as she opened the door the same room and led Arnold in. After she closed the door, she pounced on him, sending him right onto the bed. With a smirk on her face, Lila kissed Arnold, but he could not return it with the same vigor she had, and she noticed.
"Something wrong Arnold?" She began again when Arnold remained quiet. "You know, you played really good out on the field. I mean..."
She droned on, but Arnold simply tuned her out. She just does not seem to understand... but who could? Maybe Sid, but he is busy with practicing his flirting skills with the girl on the couch... so, who else?
That's when a very familiar voice filled Arnold's ears and it wasn't Lila's. Some for the better. Some for worse...
Arnold stood up and Lila dropped onto the ground. "Arnold!" He said nothing, simply exited through the door and made his way through the crowd to the staircase. "Where are you going?"
He could see Sid give him a knowing smile as he ran up the staircase and ignored the stares of the crowd as he left the traditional after party, hours before schedule.
Leaving without a word said.
(Y/L)
Helga sat on her bed; she had just finished tucking her sister into bed after an hour of trying to get Hilda into bed. Now, she was counting her tips for the day, very happily. She was looking forward to taking Hilda, along with Phoebe, into the city for a Girl's Day Out tomorrow and with all the tips she had gotten this week, it was shaping out to be a very good trip. Maybe even a bonus tattoo added in, kind of trip.
The doorbell rang downstairs and she ignored it. Bob would just have to get it and get off his lazy ass to actually do something productive. The bell rang three more times before Bob called to her from his couch. "Olga, get the door!"
"It's Helga!" She shouted down to the human couch statue. "It's amazing how easily he forgets, remembers, and then remembers to forget my name again and again and again." Helga rolled her eyes as she climbed out bed to answer the door. She was wearing a Pink Panther t-shirt that sat between her hips and knees, but she did not care enough about the person at the door to go put on some pants, but she did slip on her Pink Panther house slippers. She jogged down the staircase and walked to the foyer.
She opened the door.
"We lost."
"And that's why they call it karma, buddy." She immediately closed the door on the person waiting outside.
The doorbell rang again and Bob roared. "I said, get the damn door. Are you going deaf Olga?"
"Are you going senile, Bob?" Helga rolled her eyes once more before she opened the door, again. Except this time she walked out onto the stoop and closed the door behind her.
She turned around to face Arnold Linshaw.
"What isyour deal? So what you lost... Do you think I care or better yet do you know what time it is?"
Arnold looked down at the Rolex that Robert, the owner of a jewelry store in Upper Hillwood, had given him for free. "Twelve o' one in the morning."
"Good, now at least we know that your fancy watch works. Now, all we need to know is if your brain works!" Helga whispered fiercely at Arnold, not wanting to raise her voice loud enough to disturb Big Bob from his comfy couch state, to make him come out and inspect why the hell someone was talking so loud that he couldn't hear his TV.
Arnold ruffled his already messy hair as he raked his hand through it, a nervous habit he picked up during junior high. "Look, Helga, I just needed someone to talk to–"
"What are your friends for, dammit? You also have an effing girlfriend, you damn moron!"
Arnold groaned. "But they don't understand like–"
"I understand alright! You are a fucking neurotic idiot ringing down people's doors, who, may I remind mind you, are not on friendly terms with you, at twelve o' fucking clock in the morning!" Helga held the bridge of her nose for a moment. "You know what, I'm very cranky. So I'm going to go inside and you are going to go to your Glory Party. And as a bonus, I will not go around telling anyone about your misbehavior tonight, we wouldn't want your reputation ruined after all." Helga moved to open the door, but Arnold grabbed her wrist.
"Wait. Please." Helga, unfortunately, underneath her poised, cynical, sarcastic exterior, was a big softie... somewhere… really deep down on the inside… really, really deep. She could see that Arnold's request was sincere, so she turned around and simply stared at him.
"Hurry up, I'm cold." Without a word Arnold took of his jacket and put it over Helga's thin frame. "I don't need this." Helga said as began to shrug the jacket off of her but was stopped by Arnold's hands placed on her shoulders.
"Keep it on. As an apology for the other day."
He did not need to explain what 'the other day' meant; they both knew exactly what he was alluding to.
"Fine. You have two minutes to explain yourself Linshaw, or else I won't be held responsible for my actions."
"I don't know. I guess after we lose today–"
"Hallelujah!"
Arnold continued as if Helga's outburst had not fazed him. "– I saw how impermanent and fake everything around here is."
"Oh, so you got a glimpse at the real Crinshaw, congratulation," Helga patted Arnold on the back and handed him his jacket. "Now move on with your petty little life and pretend you never saw what you did. Too much more exposure to the real world may make your head implode. And who would want that... actually, there is a substantial amount of people who would, but that's beside the point. I am going inside and going to forget about this in the morning. This morning. You are going to do whatever the fuck you want to, as long as it does not involve me, my house, my stoop, or my fucking door bell. Good night."
"Gee."
"Gee, gee what?"
"Gee, I've missed someone actually cursing me out for something."
"Once again, you have had another dose of the real world. This is getting very dangerous. Maybe you should get your own sitcom on TV? But that's not my concern. Once again I will say, good night!"
"Don't you see Helga?"
Helga groaned in pain. "See what? A fucking necrotic on my doorstep with his head up in the clouds, wasting my air space? If that is what you mean by me seeing, then, yes!"
"Please, you're the only one who I can talk to, the only one who would understand. Everyone else seems too two-dimensional to talk to. Please, Helga, just for a half hour or so."
With a sigh Helga opened the door of house, leaving space enough for a person to walk by her. "Fine, just quietly sneak up the stairs and go to the open door all the way at the end the hallway, no talking 'til I close the door of the bedroom."
Arnold walked through the door before he whispered, "Thank you."
"Whatever."
Arnold crept up the staircase as Helga calmly shut the door and followed behind him.
As Helga walked by the TV illuminated family room, Bob asked, "What was that, Olga?"
"Helga." She corrected him almost absent mindedly.
"So what was it Holga?"
Helga sighed but did not bother to correct him. "Nothing or maybe something. Who knows? I'm going to bed... And the cable bill needs to paid in two days. Slip your portion underneath my door in the morning."
The only response Helga got was the gulping sound of beer going down Big Bob's throat and the volume of the TV being raised higher.
One pest down, one more to go, Helga thought as she slowly climbed the staircase, seeing the light of her room shining at the end of the hallway.
(Y/L)
Cliffy anyone? I do not own Hey Arnold! Or the Pink Panther or anything that you recognize. I made this chapter a little longer to make up for my absence and it's early so, um, yay? Thank you jaz7, Jaded Angel, BrendaC, WildAngel16, Xandiira, BellaMay76, Demile, Smoking Panda, Marissa, Ahhelga, The, XxXCocoPuffXxX, Princess Amanda, Sonia, TezukaZone, FantasyFanShan, mizcam, Linda, Anonymous, and Sanalicious for the absolutely fantastic and encouraging reviews.
PS:
Jaded Angel, you are absolutely making me blush... but please go on. ( - )
Brenda, yes, Helga is very over Arnold.
WildAngel16, Ian... well parts of his identity and relationship with Helga shall be revealed!
Ahhelga, cursing... no problem.
FantasyFanShan, your wish is my command.
Mizcam, you're the first to notice, or rather the first to mention that. I was sort of hoping it would be noticed. When I was giving Phoebe a middle name I looked at her intials and saw that she and Helga shared H and P but in reverse so that is why I gave her a 'G' middle name. Good eye.
Click the shiny review button, it likes to be clicked. I'm afraid it is suffering a severe withdrawal of button-pressing-review-ism. So, please save the you review buttons by pressing this one... you're doing world a favor.
S.L. Cipher(Who will gladly accept all criticisms, advice, reviews, praises, and flames with a large Cheshire Cat like smile just because Cheshire Cat like smiles can piss people off and Cipher likes pissing people off)
Published: Je ne sais pas...
Edited: 7 22 05