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

What It Is To Burn

It was nearing the stroke of midnight on December 23rd, when the doorbell of Mrs. Peterson's house on 1585 F Street doorbell rang.

Once.

Then twice.

Then there was silence, complete silence.

The old woman, seventy-two in exactly a month, was not suspicious of a doorbell ringing late at night. People were always coming to her house in the middle of the night, she wasn't sure why, but she was always welcoming to them. Especially one little girl– or rather young woman– she had a tendency to ring Joan Maras Peterson's door a lot, well at least she used in the past, but these days Mrs. Peterson had not seen heads or tails of the young woman... but then again the young woman was probably busy in high school.

At any rate the old woman skillfully walked down her steps, careful to avoid the creaky third step from the bottom, not wanting to alert the person waiting outside that she was actually coming to the door. She let one grey eye peek through the pep hole and even though the person had shoved their luxurious blonde hair underneath a beanie hat with two duffle bags in hand along with a few guitar cases on their back, she could tell it was a familiar visitor standing out on her front porch.

Mrs. Peterson opened the door and smiled, "Hello Helga."

Helga flashed Mrs. Peterson a quick smile, "Hi Ms. P, sorry to bother you, but, I was just hoping that you could call the fire department for me."

Mrs. Peterson raised a salt and pepper colored eyebrow, "Exactly why would I do you need me to call the fire department?"

Helga's smile surprisingly got wider and she pointed in the direction of 1421 L Street, "I do believe Mr. Bob Pataki's house is on fire."

Mrs. Peterson stepped outside of her house in only her purple nightgown to see the telltale signs of grayish-white smoke rising into the almost black night. Moments later, when she finally snapped out her daze to talk to the young woman, but Helga was gone. She had simply disappeared into the night, two duffle bags, guitars, and all.

(Y/L)

It was six o'clock in the morning when Phoebe Gin Heyerdahl woke in her king sized bed.

It was six forty-five before Phoebe Gin Heyerdahl actually got out of her bed.

It was seven o'clock when Phoebe Gin Heyerdahl walked to the kitchen, not surprised to find that the house was empty, again, and fixed herself some delicious– and not to mention filling– breakfast of a large bowl of Coco Puffs being drowned in a large amount of milk.

It was seven o'five when the door bell and when Phoebe Gin Heyerdahl walked to the door in pajamas and breakfast in hand to greet the Hillwood Policemen that were standing outside of the front door.

It was seven o'nine when Phoebe Gin Heyerdahl dropped her breakfast bowl onto the cement that was her front step... and it was seven twenty when Phoebe Gin Heyerdahl found herself running down the main street in front of her house in "rich" Hillwood, also known as Upper Hillwood, towards 781 St. Narke Avenue, the home of Lila Narcisa Sawyer.

By the time reached the front door of 781 St. Narke Avenue, Phoebe was so out of breath, it wasn't even funny, she almost thought she going to die of a hernia of some sort. She rang the doorbell once, and once only. As she waited outside trying to grasp hold of any air she could, she thought back to the days in 7th and 8th grade where she run ten blocks like that without even a hitch of her breath, back before she realized that there was no point being on the track team.

But, everything changes with time, Phoebe thought to herself as she caught a glimpse of herself and her thinning and disheveled figure in the glass of the storm door, and I'm a standing testament of this...

A butler opened the door and took a cursory glance of Phoebe standing outside in the cold wearing only a pair of red female smiley face boxers, a red shirt that said, "Made in the 80s", a pair of sneakers, and the blue flip phone clenched tightly in her hand, before his nose seemed to descend even higher in the air.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but Phoebe, who decided that she didn't have the time to put up with his crap, cut him off before he could say a word, "Look I don't really need to hear, nor do I really want to deal with any of the snotty comments that are just about ready to spew out of that insalubrious and elitist mouth of yours. I'm here to see my friend Sid Gifaldi, who, before you even dare to say it, he is definitely here for Sawyer's Christmas party. Now do both of us a favor and get him for me, or else I'll be forced to barge into this house, and trust me when I say I know what you're thinking and the answer is no, the police won't get here in time."

The butler threw a glare at the younger woman, before it withered under the heat of the glare she was sending his way.

Clearing his throat he said, "Of course, madam." With a deep and exaggerated sniff he turned around and walked to the living room where Sid Delano Gifaldi sat with Wolfgang, Arnold, Lila, Gerald, Kamellia, Kaylia, Sheena, Harold, and Rhonda. Every once and a while Sid actually zoned in to catch a sliver of the conversation that his friends were having before zoning out... he just felt so tired. It didn't make any sense though, he had gotten almost nine hours of sleep last night, but he still felt so tired.

Alfred cleared his throat and told Sid that "a very crazed young woman was waiting for him outside on the porch," before he turned around and walked– or rather ran– off to the kitchen and the kitchen phone, just in case.

Sid did not need to even bothering who was at the door, only Phoebe Gin Heyerdahl could cause that type of reaction and be standing outside, waiting for him to come to the front door. Helga, on the other hand, would have pissed Alfred off and had him bring her to Sid with even batting an eye. When Sid got to front door, he found himself shocked at Phoebe's outfit she chose to wear on a cold winter's day, and forcefully dragged her into the warm house, before closing the front door. Now they were both in sight of the other Golden Ones, the Golden Ones' Girlfriends, and the Golden Ones' Girlfriends' Lackeys.

"Why exactly are you wearing your pajamas?" Sid asked, knowing Phoebe's choice attire from the slumber parties that they, being Helga, Phoebe, Hilda, and himself, used to hold almost everyday last year in tenth grade.

"I had no time, I had to find you immediately, choice of clothing for a brisk winter early morning run was only the third thought on my mind–"

"Your first and second being?"

"I was getting there Sid,"

She had said his name, just his name, not a nickname, just his name... she hadn't even had a playful tone that was usually heard whenever she called one her friend's name.

It was flat, simply flat.

"What's wrong?" That's probably what Helga and Phoebe loved, and sometimes hated, the most about Sid he knew what was wrong with a person, even before they knew what was wrong. He had this uncanny way of reading a person, and when he found out what was wrong, he never let person go through anything alone. That was made him a best friend to both Phoebe and Helga... and sometimes their best enemy.

Phoebe's dark blue eyes wandered to the front door's golden handles. "Helga's house burned down."

Sid shook his head in disbelief, "Did she... is she...?"

Phoebe understood what Sid was thinking, she would be thinking the same thing too, if it hadn't been for the fact that she survived eighth grade as Helga G. Pataki's best friend. "No, she fine... except... she... she... she was the one who started the fire, that burned down the house... along with Lexie-Heifer's car...and now the police can't find her and neither can I."

Sid stood in front of Phoebe, not sure whether to laugh, cry, or alternate between the two every ten seconds or so he chose to pick choice e, none of the above, and say, "Wha?"

"Basically she's an arsonist on the proverbial lamb."

"I–" Sid paused finally take a big long look at Phoebe's calm face and realized something didn't quite match. Phoebe actually being calm during something like this was just un-Phoebish to Sid, un-Phoebish and wrong, just wrong. "How the hell are you so calm?"

Phoebe's shoulder's deflated, her eye dropped, and she looked like she hadn't gotten any sleep in months, she looked tired, very, very tired. "Remember back when Helga beat the tar living snot out of Sawyer, and Ian came, and Helga made a comment about jail, and then Ian made a comment about her spending time in jail again, he wasn't joking... eighth grade was hard Sid, indescribably hard and very different."

Sid wanted to ask more, he wanted to know, after being best friends with Helga and Phoebe for so long, he had heard snippets of the infamous junior high school days, but never enough to understand why both Helga and Phoebe got very quiet when seventh grade, eighth grade, or junior high were mentioned. But, something about the way Phoebe looked so frail and uncomfortable in her own skin, even squirming underneath his imploring gaze told him that it just wasn't the time... and maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that she looked as tired as he felt, the type of tired that just didn't go away with a few extra hours of sleep.

"Let's go to your house. We need sleep." With that he turned around and headed for the staircase. "I'm going to get my stuff, I'll be right back."

He ran upstairs into the guest room that official became known as his room whenever he slept over at Lila's house, like now when he suppose to spend three days in the Sawyer Household for Lila's Annual Christmas Sleep-Over, right before Lila's Annual Christmas Bash.

Meanwhile, a certain red head was ready to kill, so the second Golden One's Girlfriend in charge took over, "So exactly why are you here Hereydahl?" Kamelia asked.

Maybe Phoebe was insane, but she was in the mood for seriously screwing with somebody else's head. A nice slow and enjoyable screw...

Maybe, she thought to herself as she let her dark blue eyes slowly wander to Kamelia's dark eyes, this is how Helga felt when she burnt the house down, maybe she felt insane... and ready to screw someone over...

"It's Heyerdahl, Alba , and I'm here for Sid." Phoebe said nothing else, but she did sit down next to Sid in a love seat that was abandoned; now all she had to do was wait.

And wait she did... for about five seconds...

When Phoebe's phone rang, the living was filled with the sounds of the hook of She's a Bitch, and without a even a second hesitation, she answered.

"So Blondie what are you planning on doing?"

"What no hello Vega?"

"Forst tell me where you are, then I'll say hello."

"You sound a bit edgy Blue Brat, why?"

"I dunno, you tell me Pink Punster. What were you thinking...?"

"It had to go."

"They came to my house looking for you Helgs."

Sigh. "I know Pheebs."

"They're probably tapping your cell phone."

"I know," She sighed again. "Which is exactly why I'm coming back. Where are you?"

"In hell."

"Really? Is it as hot as they say it is?"

"Nope, just cold. I'm with Sid."

"So that means you're at the bint's house, huh?"

"Uh-huh."

A short laugh. "So I guess you're really in hell. I'll be at your house in half an hour, you know who to call."

"I hated eighth grade you know."

Sigh. "Yea I know."

"So why are we repeating it?"

"Because, those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

"George Shaw?"

"No George Santayana. Shaw said, we learn from history that we learn nothing from history."

"Hmm, I guess they already know how right they were..."

Sigh. "Yea, I guess so."

"In half an hour right?"

Sigh. "Yea."

(Y/L)

Sorry, but I still don't own Hey Arnold! I do own YL. But I do own the idea and concepts of YL, oh, and anything you recognize, is probably not mine. Because I've actually hit 200 REVIEWS because you are all the BEST REVIEWERS IN THE WORLD, I'm going to do something that has never been tried before in Cipered history... I'm going to thank basically everyone who hit up my chapter reviews from 51405... I'm crazy, I know. Thank You Garlic Blanket, King Cheetah, Justin T. Melanson, Shadow Goddess Akhet, Demile, ShanniC, Jaded Angel, Gyrlfrend, OyoaOverson, Tai Nite, Moonlite Shadow, Alaska, Rebellion Theif Seeiko, BellaMay76 (TIMES 7!), and Yzibella, who gave me my 200th REVIEW! Without you I am nothing. I promise the next chapter will be extra long! Hopefully that chapter will be out by the 23rd because I'm leaving for Europe (With a sprained ankle!) the 25th and having una fiesta en Europa the 25th. This chapter was a warm, because I had writer's unblock– in which the writer has many ideas but does not know how to write them down and communicate them properly, look it up in The New Cipher Dictionary of Cipherous Lexiconography, trust I'm sure it's there. At any rate, the next chapter will be much stronger than this one and up to my usual par...

PS:

Justin T. Melanson, if you need a hug or need me to accidently set someone's house on fire just let me know, okay.

Jaded Angel, hope your writer's block gets unblocked, but unblocked to the extent was... and I hope all is well on your end of the world...

Grylfrend, I hope I did good on them too... Standardized Test are EVILLE!

OyoaOverson, I might be too late for this, but, GOOD LUCK!

Rebellion Theif Seeiko and Alaska, hello there new comers.

BellaMay76, I'm glad that you're back.

Yzibella, Congrats! You have just given Cipher her 200th review... Johnny, tell Yzibella what she's won...

Johnny: She gets to ask Cipher one question about YL, a question about ANYTHING, and the Cipher will answer truthfully and maybe give a full explanation! Just ask your question in your review and I'll drop off the answer in your e-mail box... just keep my answer a secret.

Am I crazy enough to let someone peak into my head... maybe. But I can do that, because I'm me!

Next Chapter: Penumbra

The review button demands that you click it...as do I...So click I say, CLICK!

S.L. Cipher– The Queen of Eville (No this not a spelling mistake but a higher echelon of evil, look it up in The New Cipher Dictionary of Cipherous Lexiconography) who will gladly accept all criticisms, advice, reviews, praises, and flames with a large Cheshire Cat Smile. Why the Cheshire Cat Smile? Why, because Cheshire Cat Smiles will always piss people off and Cipher loves pissing people off because it is exceptional fun... Especially when they try and attack you. Which is exactly why when one wields the Cheshire Cat Smile, it is important that they must also wield a mace and a sword.

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