- S U S P E N S I O N -
I. Half-an-accident
Helga rushed through hallways like a rabbit chased by a hunt dog, pushing away whoever stood in her way for more than two milliseconds. The bell had rung a couple minutes ago, and she had a very important presentation for History; it was crucial to get a good grade on that one, considering her general average. And, on top of it, she'd have to do it by herself, even though it was a group work; her partner, Lila, had just had an unfortunate accident as she walked into school…
"Good morning Mr. Simmons, I'm ready!" cried Helga as soon as she entered her classroom. She threw over a chart, which fell open and hung in front of the blackboard, with a map of France. The girl pulled a laser pointer out of her bag and threw it over several heads towards her desk, where it landed neatly.
"The-French-Revolution-from-1789-to-1799-was-a-period-of-political-and-social-upheaval-in-the-political-history-of-France-and--"
"Whoa, whoa, Helga, slow down," Mr. Simmons interrupted her. "I'm pleased by your enthusiasm to share with the classroom the excellent work you must have done, but… shouldn't we wait for Lila?"
"Oh, Lila," answered Helga, "I don't think she'll come anytime soon, so I'll do the presentation by myself, OK? Now, where were we? Oh, right, introduction--"
"But it's a long subject, are you sure about this?" Mr. Simmons questioned the girl.
"Of course I'm sure, it's all here," she handed a thick wad of printed paper to her teacher, "and here," the girl pointed to her head. "The French governmental structure, previously an absolute monarchy with--"
"I'm not so sure about this," interrupted Mr. Simmons. "Part of the exercise was for the two partners to learn to work as a team--"
"And we did, I swear!" interrupted Helga, "but I found it a very fascinating topic: it stuck like glue to my brain. Want to prove me? Ask away!" she dared, while throwing apprehensive looks towards the door.
"Alright," conceded Mr. Simmons. "The causes..."
"Historians disagree about the political and socioeconomic nature of the revolution - however, adherents of most historical models identify many of the same features of the AncienRégime as being among the causes of it - among the economic factors were--"
"Alright, you clearly got that one right," interrupted Mr. Simmons, mystified about the girl's behavior, but pleased by her performance, as well. "What about social and political factors?"
"Easy: resentment," Helga answered, confidently. "Against royal absolutism, clerical privilege; they wanted freedom of religion; the poorer rural clergy was against aristocratic bishops, the ambitious professional and mercantile classes resented noble privileges and dominance in--"
A knock on the door interrupted Helga, and she gasped when the door was pushed open and the large and imposing, not to mention angry, figure of Principal Wartz walked in.
"Good morning, Mr. Wartz," smiled Mr. Simmons, standing from his desk, "what can we do for you?"
"I'm sure Miss Pataki already knows why I'm here," he answered, boring his eyes on the girl's frightened face. "Tell the class, girl, where is your classmate, Miss Sawyer?"
"I-I don't know…" came the girl's feeble reply; she edged closer to Mr. Simmons.
"Oh, you don't know?" replied Mr. Wartz with sarcasm. "You mean you didn't punch the shy kid with the glasses against her so she'd fall down the stairs?"
The whole class gasped at the news. Everybody liked Lila; she was a very nice and charming girl, incapable of hurting anyone, while Helga…
"I swear it was an accident!" Helga said vehemently. "I didn't see her there, I didn't mean to--"
"Please, stop that! You'll have plenty of time to babble to your parents when they get here! Now come with me, young lady!" Mr. Wartz pulled her out of the classroom, under the terrified stares of her classmates.
Lucky for me neither of them will care enough to come, thought Helga, scared nonetheless.
II. Caught
In a nearby corner, adjacent to the Principal's office, Rhonda and Sid waited until the Principal disappeared from view to come out.
"Alright Sid, I've told everyone I am your girlfriend and that I will marry you when I grow up," said Rhonda, with slight disgust, "now, where is that master key you talked about? The one you asked your friend Gino for?"
She had agreed to spread that rumor about her and Sid in exchange of help to break into the Principal's office; the girl wanted to rescue a beaded purse of hers, confiscated a month ago. Apparently, there was an old school law against those, and she had been deprived – oh-so-unfairly! – from one of her most fashionable items; it required extreme measures to get it back.
"See, the thing is…" started Sid, looking in his pockets, "I'm not really that acquainted with Big Gino…"
"Hurry, Sid! Principal Wartz will be here any minute…" Rhonda urged the boy, ignoring what he had just said.
"But I-I…" Sid stammered, getting all tongue-tied.
"You what?" asked Rhonda, harshly.
"I don't have the key…"
"YOU WHAT?!" the girl pulled back, her face twisted by anger. Had she embarrassed herself in front of the entire school for nothing?
"I mean, I don't have the keynow, but I will, I promise…" Sid ventured, afraid of her fierce expression.
"Oh, no, no, no," the girl said, shaking her head, "you've been giving me that for a month! I want you to open the door to the Principal's office and I want you to do it now!"
"But I can't!" cried the boy, terrified.
"Well then--" spat back Rhonda, panting heavily with anger, "…then YOU'LL CATCH IT-- YOU… LIAR!"
She pushed the boy against some nearby lockers with such strength that the smash resounded a floor above and below. Sid slammed the metal doors mostly with his back, but his head gave an unfortunate bounce, and he fell to the floor, momentarily unconscious. Rhonda gasped, terrified of what she had done. A part of her – a huge part – wanted to run away from that place, but another nagging, tiny part told her she had to seek help. The school nurse, maybe.
Doors from classrooms all around her started to open, and the first person she saw was Curly, emerging from a bathroom nearby. Sudden inspiration hit her and she ran towards the boy, pulling him to the crime scene.
"Curly, do you really, really love me?" she asked, eagerly. "I need your help right now, and I promise I'll pay you… somehow."
The girl shuddered slightly when she said that, but at the moment, she knew she had no choice.
"Anything for you, my darling--"
"Right-- here's the deal…"
Principal Wartz didn't take long to arrive, having only left his office for a few rounds. The scene of a disoriented Sid, being tended by the school nurse greeted him.
"What happened here?" he asked.
Curly stepped front, nudged by Rhonda. "It's my fault, sir. He was trying to rob my dearest Rhonda here," he gazed lovingly towards the girl, who shuddered while trying to smile, "and take away her lunch money. I couldn't let that happen, you know," he nodded, looking convinced.
Principal Wartz eyed Curly with suspicion, and then turned to Rhonda, who was leaning against a wall, looking miserable. "Is that so, Miss Lloyd? Did your scrawny boyfriend here stood up to that scrawny bully over there?"
The girl nodded, trying to conceal her shudders of disgust.
"Boyfriend?" shouted a voice from between the crowd of curious on-lookers. "Weren't you Sid's girlfriend?"
Color drained from Rhonda's face as the question rang around the corridor. "No, I--"
"Yeah, you were dating Sid!" another voice yelled. "You've been telling everyone about it for the past month!"
"What?" Curly asked, confused. "Were you, Rhonda?"
"Noo!" the girl cried, to no avail. It had never occurred to her that Curly hadn't heard that rumor, so she wasn't counting on him to be offended. And a multitude of students contradicting her was too much to beat with weak negatives.
"I can't believe this!" yelled Curly. "I've been an idiot, believing in your word and taking the blame for you! I should have seen right through: you were just using me!"
"What are you saying, Mr. Gammelthorpe? That you didn't attack the other boy?"
"The hell I did!" replied Curly. "He was already on the floor when I got here!"
The crowd grew noisier, pointing and chatting excitedly over that new development. Rhonda, who had been crying miserably in a corner, felt a sudden rise of anger, and threw herself towards Curly.
"YOU MISERABLE JUDAS! INFAMOUS TRAITOR! YOU SAID YOU'D HELP ME!"
"Rhonda, no!" the scared voice of Mr. Simmons resonated over the noise, and he reached out to remove the girl from Curly, who didn't seem strong enough to defend himself.
"Listen, I did it, alright?" Rhonda confessed, among tears. "But he--" she pointed at Sid, as he got carried by several classmates to the infirmary, "he gave me a good reason to, and I-- I-- …well, I'd do it again if I had to!" the girl finally broke, remembering the humiliation to which she had subjected herself.
"Once was enough, Missy," replied Principal Wartz, nodding to his hall monitors, "take her away; I'm seeing a suspension case here."
"Suspension? What do you mean--"
"And how sad for your parents! Their little, perfect Miss Lloyd, suspended! But right now, it's detention for you!"
Rhonda could only sob uncontrollably while two hall monitors took her by her arms and led her to that dreaded classroom.
III. Troublemakers
It's not so bad, thought Rhonda, when she walked into detention classroom. A few other students were already there, showing varying degrees of guilt in their faces. She wasn't very surprised of finding Helga, Harold or Wolfgang, but… Sheena?
"Alright, everyone, welcome to detention," a little voice called from the door. It was Phoebe, in charge of that period. It was not very orthodox, but it helped students manage responsibility at an early age. "I have a little motto that always sees me through: if you're good to Phoebe, then Phoebe--"
"You're always good to everyone, Phoebe, whether they're good to your or not," droned Helga, interrupting her friend.
"Well yeah, but--"
"Alright, you want us to be good to you forever and ever? Let us go."
"Yeah, let us go!" cried a voice at the back of the classroom.
"You know that's not possible," answered Phoebe, soothingly, "but I think I can do something for you all, hold on…" she left the class, locking it from the outside.
"Good, we're on our own now," Rhonda said, sitting down.
"Relax, princess, at least we're not with little Miss Sunshine, telling us fairy tales," said Helga crankily.
"Let her off, she's doing her best," said a well-known voice; Rhonda turned to face Gerald.
"And why are you here, Gerald?" asked Rhonda.
"Well, you know how some people have these little habits that put you down?" the boy replied. "My sister, Timberly – she's in first grade, you know – has this habit of following me around-- no, not just following me: copying me. It's annoying!" he cried, waving his hands. "So I told her I'd had enough of it, and that I didn't want to see her around again, or else!" he said, pausing for effect. "And she kept on doing it… so I fired a rubber band of warning… to her face." The boy sighed, shaking his head.
"What about you, Chocolate Boy?"
"Ha ha, I had my revenge!" the boy yelled. "There was this boy: he told me I was his best friend, so I shared my chocolate bars with him – I'm not addicted anymore, you see – but he… he…" his voice broke, "he used that trick with everyone! Told them he was best friends with them, and got all sorts of favors and stuff…"
He sighed and went on. "I guess some people just can't handle their laxatives…"
Everyone went 'ooooh', and nodded.
"What about you, Harold?" asked Gerald.
I can pretty much imagine, thought Rhonda.
"I had to do it!" the boy cried. "I was just playing basketball, with other boys, and this boy comes over and says 'you double dribbled!', 'you double dribbled, you cheater!' and I hadn't! But he kept saying it and saying it!" he explained, exasperated. "So I guess I had to make it clear I hadn't cheated, by letting my fists explaining it…"
Helga nodded, appreciatively, but Rhonda and the other kids eyed him with doubt.
"But certainly," the girl said, "Sheena is someone I never expected to see here…"
"Ngh-- nghh… buaaaa!" the girl broke into bitter cries. She had had her head buried in her arms all the time. "I-- I-- spilled my yogurt-- a--and… Eugene-- slipped— a—and-- buaaaaaa! Buaaaaa!"
"But you wanted him to fall and break a limb, right?" asked Helga.
"No-oh!" she shook her head. "Not guilty!" she yelled, overcome by a fresh wave of wails.
Everyone sighed. Rhonda turned to Helga; it was her turn for a story.
"I'm not going into details…" she started. In all honesty, details meant her obsessive love for Arnold. She had been looking at her locket with his picture right before the incident. "I was getting to school after pulling an all-nighter to give the last touches to the French Revolution presentation - you know: the chart, the notes, the report, the staring-blankly-at-a-way-too-familiar-text-that-doesn't-seem-to-stick… when I…well, I won't go into that…" she blushed slightly, "and as I walked up the front door stairs, I felt that kid, Brainy, stepping behind me, breathing on my neck and… staring blankly!" she cried, slamming the desk.
"And…" she continued, "it would have been nothing – just a punch on the face for him, as usual – if that meddlesome Lila wouldn't have been stepping right behind him…" she cracked her knuckles, falling in a pensive state. "I didn't realize how serious it was until later, in class, when I was doing my presentation all alone…"
The kids didn't know what to say. Helga sounded sincere, but who knew? She had a sort of grudge on Lila, but nobody knew exactly why, except Phoebe, and she was way too wary to let the secret out.
"What about you, Wolfgang?" Helga asked the boy sitting way at the back.
"Do I need a reason, brat?" he spat back, harshly. "One more word and I'll break all your noses like I did with Billy, Iggy, Joey, Lorenzo, Park and Eugene earlier today."
Nobody spoke after that.
IV. Best shot
Phoebe got back with an armful of candy bars. She distributed them among the students; Sheena didn't even touch hers, which was promptly snatched by Wolfgang. The rest of them ate their sweets quickly, in case the bigger bully felt hungrier.
"Alright, I hope this makes this period more bearable," Phoebe smiled, taking the teacher's seat at the front. Helga joined her, sitting on the desk. "What about some drinks, Pheebs? You know how sweets make me thirsty…"
"I'm sorry, Helga, I can't leave the classroom so soon again; the Principal will see me."
"But hey, at least you managed to talk to Arnold, right?" Helga asked, hopefully.
Rhonda listened attentively; she had thought of the same thing. Their classmate, Arnold, had a way to defend lost causes to the point of winning them; it was their best shot at avoiding suspension.
"Yeah, I explained him the facts, and he's going to talk to Mr. Simmons and the Principal about it. After all, you are sorry, aren't you?"
"Of course-- of course I am!" claimed Helga. "I never wanted to hurt poor, poor Lila, or even Brainy, I swear!"
"Alright, then," Phoebe nodded, and watched her clock. "I guess I can leave the room for a bit now, but… who'll watch my back?"
"I will, if you want…" Rhonda offered, rushing to the door. "I'll watch out for Wartz, but you'll have to do something for me, too."
"And what would that be?" asked Phoebe.
"Talk to Arnold. I could use his help with my case, and I know I'm really, really sorry about what happened to Sid…"
Phoebe eyed Rhonda with doubt. Was she really sorry? After all, she did seem to have lied about being his girlfriend.
"I know what you're thinking," added Rhonda, reading Phoebe's expression. "I seemed to have been lying when I said I was Sid's girlfriend, and… you're right, I was lying, but still, I didn't want to hurt him so badly, I swear!" Rhonda pleaded. "Please, help me…"
Phoebe was finally convinced; Rhonda seemed really sorry about everything.
"OK, I'll talk to him. I can't tell him all about it right now, there's no time, but I can tell him to come around to talk to you…"
Rhonda gave an immense sigh of relief.
V. Lawyer-type
Arnold, are you there?
Rhonda had thrown three paper balls out the window before receiving an answer.
Yes, I'm here. Stop throwing paper balls, came the answer.
Sorry, I have to, wrote Rhonda, I can't stay for too long at the window.
Right, so, what happened? Curly says you knocked Sid unconscious…
Curly's there?
Yeah, he's been crying to me for the past half-an-hour, telling how miserable he would be if you were suspended.
Yeah, right. Listen, what I did is not important; all that matters is that you tell them I don't deserve suspension. I'll give you anything you want: tons of cash, fancy clothes, expensive toys; my parents have a lot of money.
I don't care about expensive toys, tons of cash or fancy clothes. No, no, no, no. All I care about is-
"Are you exchanging paper ball messages with Arnold?" Helga snarled, snatching the piece of paper Rhonda was reading.
"So what if I am?" answered Rhonda, defiantly. "It's a free country."
"Careful, princess," answered Helga. "Get your hands off of my lawyer-type or you'll have a long talk to the good ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers," she cracked her knuckles in a threatening way. Rhonda didn't know how she managed to make them sound so loudly.
"Right," replied Rhonda, "so much for inmate solidarity." She could only risk another message before meeting Helga's fists, so she thought carefully about what to say.
Rhonda knew Principal Wartz would not give her a chance; she had to appeal to someone with strong feelings – and little vision – someone who cared deeply about his students' feelings – and not much about their deeds – someone like…
Alright, here's what we'll do. I'm going to talk to Mr. Simmons, and tell him about how you didn't mean to hurt Sid, and how you always get good grades, and how you don't go around, giving trouble, and then let us hope he manages to convince Principal Wartz, OK?
It was too much to expect that Helga hadn't seen the paper ball flying through the window towards Rhonda's desk; she had barely enough time to scribble an OK and throw it out before getting acquainted with the furious girl and her fists.
VI. Trial, part one
The Principal's office looked imposing from the accused side, thought Rhonda. She had been called to be questioned in front of Mr. Wartz and two teachers: Mr. Simmons and Coach Wittenberg – no one was around that late in the school grounds. Her parents weren't there; they had not been reached, and Rhonda was grateful for that; finally, those whimsical skiing trips to Aspen did some good.
"Alright, kid, I promised I'd give you a chance. Make it quick."
"Right-- thanks, Mr. Wartz," Arnold answered and took a deep breath. "We are all acquainted with what happened earlier today between Sid and Rhonda, and while I don't intend to excuse her acts, I want to call your attention to other facts that must be taken into account before making such a harsh decision as a suspension.
"I want you to consider Miss Lloyd's marks from first grade to now," Arnold passed around a copy of her grades. "Not once 'C' in all her school years," he continued. "Now tell me, is that the expected record of a troublemaker?"
The boy let the question sink with the audience. Mr. Simmons shook his head, fully aware of Arnold's point, while Coach Wittenberg frowned; he didn't remember Rhonda being very cooperative in his area – basketball.
"You have a point, boy," said Mr. Wartz, "but that doesn't mean she's off the hook. She harmed seriously a student in this school, and she needs discipline."
"I agree with you, sir," answered Arnold, "but let's just think for a moment: if said student had, one way or another, tried to take advantage or offend Miss Lloyd here, wouldn't her actions be explained, if not justified?"
"Yeah, they would," answered Mr. Simmons. "I've never had trouble with Rhonda before; she's one very special student, and always does her best in class and with her homework. I have trouble believing she'd do any harm without a provocation, right, Rhonda?"
"That's right, Mr. Simmons," Rhonda replied. "I was provoked by Sid into pushing him; he gave me no choice, he lied to me and made me ruin my reputation!"
"Right, as I was saying," Arnold cut her speech before she ruined herself completely, "Miss Lloyd here is clearly sorry about having caused such pain to Sid, and has no intention of doing it again, and I'm sure she'd be willing to extend an apology to him, and do all she can to help him ease back into school duties, right?" he addressed Rhonda, who made a surprised sort of grimace. None of that was part of their arrangement, but Arnold gave her a look, and she nodded promptly, confirming the boy's words.
"All I'm asking," the boy continued, "is that she's given an opportunity to prove herself. She deserves that, at least, in recognition of her past academic merits and behavior."
The cat's in the bag, thought Rhonda, as she witnessed Mr. Simmons nodding fervently, agreeing with Arnold, and Principal Wartz, considering the boy's words in silence. She could see the man had been moved by Arnold's arguments, and knew it was the first step to avoid all penalties.
"We'll see about it all tomorrow," Mr. Wartz said, finally. "For now, go home, and, Rhonda, make sure your parents contact me. I want to talk to them."
"I will, sir-- thank you, sir," she said, rushing out of the room as quickly as her legs would carry her.
VII. Deception
Sweet, sweet liberty. She was finally free of that dreaded suspension, and how not to be, when one is charming and has an excellent fashion sense; it's one of life's natural laws, that people goes out of their way to make life easier for those few privileged--
"Rhonda?" Arnold caught up with the girl while she did a little victory dance in the middle of the hall.
"Yes, Arnold? Oh, right, I guess I have to thank you, you've been very helpful. Now, what do you want in exchange?"
"I didn't do it to get something back," answered the boy. "I knew it was the right thing to do. Now, regarding Sid, I could walk you to his house, I'm not sure if you know where he lives--"
"Oh, Arnold, Arnold, Arnold," she simpered, "I hope you didn't think I was going to do all those things you said, did you?"
"Er… yes?" the boy replied, frowning.
"How naïve," Rhonda giggled. "Imagine that: me, Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd, getting any closer to Sid and… helping him! As if I needed to do such thing…"
"But that's what you ought to do, Rhonda!" argued an angry Arnold. "After what you did to him, that's the sensible thing to do! Aren't you sorry for what you did to him?"
"Me? Sorry?" snapped Rhonda, "he is the one who should be sorry, after what he did to me!He made me ruin my reputation with those rumors, and then didn't keep his part of the deal! I'm the victim here, Arnold, and now that Mr. Simmons and the Principal know that, I don't think I need to hear your lame little advice anymore," she said, flicking her hair. "So, bye-bye, Arnold, see ya," she turned around and left the astonished boy behind.
The boy stood in astonished silence, feeling how disappointment flooded him from head to toes, and after a few minutes, dragged his feet across the corridor, oblivious to one stare following his every movement until his silhouette disappeared behind the front door.
VIII. Interlude
The mysterious figure wasn't such; Helga had stayed late at school, too.
"Arnold, oh Arnold, my noble hero! How can that vain imitation of a porcelain princess treat you so! If it was me the one you honor with your advice and your care, I'd be forever grateful and do every little thing you as much as suggested to me! If only I could loose the chains of this dreaded secrecy, I would run after you and hug you and console you from your sorrows, you, my suffering prince!"
Right at that moment, a well-known, and very annoying, snicker interrupted her monologue. It was as expected: Brainy, intruding once more while she made her love soliloquy.
Helga made sure no one was behind before punching him between the eyes.
IX. Repentance
The next day, an unexpected and devastating scene greeted the whole school: Sheena had been suspended. At the entrance, Mr. Wartz was talking to both her distressed parents, who showed great concern while their daughter sobbed miserably, hiding her face in her hands. Sheena's classmates hung around, trying to look inconspicuous, but paying attention to every word coming from the Principal's mouth.
"These acts of violence are intolerable," he droned on, "and we cannot allow students to go unpunished for them. We have to make an example of every case so the children are clear as to how they ought to behave."
"We're… so sorry for this," Sheena's mother said, perplexity showing through, "we never expected our daughter to behave like this…"
"That's how it usually happens," sentenced Mr. Wartz, knowingly. "A violent temper usually waits in the dark, biding its time, to strike when least expected. My only hope is that, with this corrective, your daughter can find her way back to good behavior."
Both parents nodded sadly and took their sobbing daughter away, under the commiserating stares of her classmates, who were as baffled as Sheena's parents as to why had she been given such a harsh punishment.
Rhonda caught up with Arnold in the hall, right before he entered their classroom. She was a nervous wreck; just like her classmates, she had witnessed the frightening scene, and her stomach had gone into knots when the thought of her, being taken away by her parents, flashed like lightning in her mind.
"Arnold, wait!" she grabbed his arm, and turned him around. "Please, Arnold, I'm so sorry about yesterday! I'll do anything you want, anything! I'll go to Sid and apologize, help him with homework, feed him his meals, anything! But please, help me to avoid suspension, please!"
The boy sighed and nodded. He knew he had no choice; his conscience wouldn't give him a break if he did otherwise.
"Right, I will help you, again. You're gonna tell Principal Wartz every single thing you just told me," Arnold instructed Rhonda in the recess. The girl listened attentively, taking notes of everything. "He got a glimpse of sincerity yesterday, however feeble," he added, with slight sarcasm, "so we have to work on that, and it all will be solved."
"Are you sure?" Rhonda's self-confidence seemed to have vanished; Arnold had never seen her so afraid. She was usually one of the most confident people in the classroom, but this situation had clearly brought her to a very low, very sad extreme.
"Yes, don't worry," Arnold replied, soothingly – two tables away, Helga broke a glass with a single hand. "They won't have a choice but to forgive you if they see your good intentions: it all boils down to that. They need to see they're doing a good job as educators, and that's exactly what you must let them see."
"Right, my good intentions," the girl answered. Every former intention of ditching her responsibilities had been drained away from her by the early morning event, and she felt she would do anything they demanded of her –anything, as in 'even embarrassing things' – just to avoid the awful mark of a suspension on her record. What would her parents say!
X. The right idea
"Phoebe, we must do something," Helga twisted and crushed an empty soda can between her fingers. The poor can had resigned itself to be the stress toy of a strong and violent fourth grade girl, and its once-cylindrical form was now a sort of twisted cocktail tie-shape. "That Rhonda is just using Arnold to her evil ends – she doesn't give a damn about anyone else! All she wants is to save her precious skin and let everyone else rot!"
"I don't know, Helga," answered Phoebe, "she looks pretty honest to me, even afraid…"
"Afraid? Give the little brat an Academy Award, for Pete's sake!" Helga spat, punching the table. "She's a fake, an act, nothing! If only I wasn't on her very same predicament, and thus, closely watched by teachers, I'd punched her right into next Wednesday…"
"Helga, calm down," said Phoebe. "I see your point and, even though I still think Rhonda is truly repentant, I don't approve her trying to weave out of situations by using other people as pawns."
"That's my girl," said Helga. "Besides, I think I'm coming up with the right idea…"
The girl rose from her chair and left the lunchroom, followed by Phoebe.
XI. Phase A
"Alright, we're in."
Helga's hairpin did its job, allowing the girl access to the Principal's office. Standing outside, and looking frantically all around, Phoebe was anxious.
"Hurry up, Helga," the girl whispered hoarsely, "we only have a few minutes."
"I'm on it, Pheebs," came a clearly impatient answer, no louder than a breeze.
Helga went through Mr.Wartz's drawers with expert fingers. She knew exactly what to look for, thanks to her prodigious memory, fuelled by her vengeful feelings.
"Here it is," she finally said, pulling out a silvery bag with interwoven beads of different colors. "Fabric," she demanded from Phoebe.
"Throwing," Phoebe answered, pulling a ball of red fabric out of a pocket and throwing it to Helga. The girl picked it in the air and spread it against a wall. She stuck the fabric to it with masking tape and hung the bag against it with one hand, while the other maneuvered a photographic camera.
"Done," she finally said, pulling out the fabric and shoving the bag in the drawer. "Let's go," she said, sneaking out the office and locking the door to avoid suspicion.
"Did you take the picture?" asked Phoebe.
"Yep, and a good shot, if I may say so myself," Helga answered. "Now, onto phase B…"
XII. Trial, part two
That afternoon, there was a crowd outside the Principal's office. Every student had an excuse: after-school activities, sports, science clubs, etc., but the real reason they were there was to see Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd, the fourth grade princess, fall from her pedestal. After the heartbreaking event of the morning, the kids were already savoring another scandal, and especially involving someone as popular as her.
Rhonda was beyond caring about witnesses; she was thinking more of her school record, spotless so far, so vulnerable now to the disgracing taint of suspension. The girl thought of her parents: they had trusted her to manage her school duties the best way possible; it was determinant to her admission in a prestigious university. And now, her whole future pended by a thread, and all because of a little whim.
Arnold was confident: he fully believed Rhonda would not get suspended. Even though the whole situation was thorny, he had known her for a long time, and knew she wasn't a bad person; to him, she deserved a second chance.
"We have new evidence," Principal Wartz announced to all the people huddled in his office. In were a bunch of adults: Rhonda's parents – unexpectedly back from Aspen and unfortunately contacted by an ill-timed call from Mr. Wartz, who lost no time in letting them know about the little mess their beloved Rhonda had gotten herself into – Mr. Simmons and even Coach Wittenberg, on the Principal's request; as for the kids, Arnold had been given access to the meeting once more, on Mr. Simmons' insistence, and Rhonda had to be there, even though she would have wholeheartedly preferred to be elsewhere. "I'd like to call someone with something important to say."
He opened the door, and Helga walked in. A mixture of surprise and curiosity appeared in every face, except in Rhonda's, in which curiosity was replaced by fear. The girl knew her classmate's temper, and feared the worst from her revengeful attempts, but nothing occurred to her that could worsen her situation. What could she possibly say to make things even darker?
"Miss Pataki, I'm going to ask you some questions; for your cooperation in this affair, you will be exonerated from the punishment pending for your actions," he nodded significantly. "Let's begin, shall we?" he added, addressing everyone present. "How long have you known Miss Lloyd here?"
"Well," replied Helga, "I've known her since preschool."
"OK," replied Wartz, "now, what can you tell us about her attitude toward her personal belongings?"
Helga seemed to meditate her answer. "I'd say she's very protective of them, sir," she finally replied.
"Protective? Could you please elaborate?" asked Mr. Wartz with marked interest.
"Oh, she takes good care of them," she answered, earnestly, "and can't stand to be separated from them…" the girl left the sentence hanging for Mr. Wartz to pick the obvious connection.
Principal Wartz raised his brows significantly. "Ah, she can't stand to be away from them, you say? Enough to attempt to recover them by any means possible?"
"Objection!" cried Arnold. He had just glimpsed where all that questioning was going.
"We're not on trial, Mr--"
"But the boy is right!" interrupted Mr. Lloyd. "Are you implying anything devious regarding my daughter?"
"Soon you will see," replied Mr. Wartz, picking something out of a drawer. "Miss Pataki, do you recognize this item?"
Worst case scenario. Rhonda had imagined what would happen if Wartz discovered the real reason behind the Sid incident, but it didn't seem very likely to her. The fact that its discovery would have been like adding insult to injury – almost literally – had scared her out of meditating it too much.
Arnold had envisioned that possibility as well. He had talked to Sid the day before, and had extracted all the truth from him, which helped the boy understand Rhonda's motives. However, this solid piece of evidence had died with Sid's absence, and the boy hadn't thought of any other way it could come up.
Helga had been shown the very picture she had taken some hours ago. "Yes, that is Miss Lloyd's beaded bag, the one she carried with her a while ago."
"That's right," nodded Mr. Wartz. "And, do you know where this item is, currently?"
Helga frowned, as if trying to remember.
"I think it got confiscated, but I'm not quite sure," she answered.
"It did get confiscated, Miss Pataki," confirmed Mr. Wartz, pulling the beaded bag out of another drawer. "This item here was confiscated by me, and has remained in this office for the past month," he added. "Now, in case you haven't yet made the connection, yesterday's incident happened right outside this office--"
"That's enough!" Mr. Lloyd said. "Are you implying that my daughter tried to break into your office to recover a purse?"
"Outrageous!" added Mrs. Lloyd.
"Is it so difficult to believe, Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd?" asked Mr. Wartz. "If you consider the evidence, your daughter's behavior towards her personal belongings, as described by Miss Pataki here, makes it plausible that she attempted to recover this item by less than honorable means, and the proximity of yesterday's event only confirms it!"
"Excuse me, sir," Arnold said, "that's an unfounded accusation. With all due respect, there are a number of reasons why the incident happened where it did, and none of them have anything to do with your office."
"Really, young man?" the Principal asked, slightly impatiently. "And what would those be?"
"Well…" the boy considered it for a moment, "the lockers, for example. They're a good meeting place for any two students, especially if one of them belongs to one of the students in question." He turned toward his classmate. "Rhonda, is your locker anywhere near Mr. Wartz's office?" he asked her.
"Uh… not really…" she answered. No point in lying; it was a verifiable fact. But…
"…but Sid's locker is!" she said, a bit too loudly. "I mean, his locker is the second one from the right, I think."
"See, that's one reason for them to have been where they were," said Arnold.
But Mr. Wartz wasn't convinced. "That's one reason, I thought you said there were more," he said, dryly.
"There can be more," Arnold argued, his memory aiding him with his case. "There's… the water fountain, just around the corner, and restrooms at the end of the hall, and the stairs! Things could have originated there!" he argued vehemently. "My point is, there isn't a real connection between the incident and your office, at least not one that I can see."
Rhonda's parents nodded in total agreement, as well as Mr. Simmons. "I think we can't really accuse Miss Lloyd of something as serious as breaking into the Principal's office on such feeble grounds," he added.
"Right," said Arnold, "I guess we agree there is no connection between that purse and the incident, which is the reason why we're here, after all." He said, confidently. "As for the incident, I think we already established Rhonda is truly sorry about everything…"
Everyone turned to Rhonda, who nodded frantically.
Principal Wartz looked upset. He turned to Helga, who seemed disarmed by Arnold's arguments, although he didn't glimpse the real reason behind her befuddlement. "Your classmate makes a good point, Miss Pataki," he addressed the girl. "Exactly how do you support your accusation of Miss Lloyd?"
All eyes turned to Helga, only a pair of them not showing shocked surprise; Rhonda knew her classmate was capable of that and much more.
"I-I… me?" she stuttered, cornered. "I only know what I was told, which is what that note I handed to you said!"
It was Mr. Wartz's turned to be stared at. He frowned and pulled out a piece of paper with cut-out letters stuck to it. Whoever had sent that note had made sure it was untraceable. "Right, the mysterious note," he said, mockingly, as he crumpled the paper with visible anger.
"Someone tried to incriminate me?" Rhonda asked, snatching the picture from the Principal's desk. "This is ridiculous!" she snorted, haughtily. "I would never wear anything made of such cheap fabric!"
Everyone, except the Lloyds, was confused. All they saw was a picture of the bag, presumably taken while hanging from Rhonda's shoulder, with a background of red fabric that looked exactly like the sweater the girl was currently wearing.
Arnold saw a small window of opportunity there, and didn't hesitate in using it. "Are you saying that it's possible that someone fabricated this evidence to make sure you got suspended?"
"That much is obvious," replied Rhonda.
"And," added Mr. Lloyd, "would you agree that, whoever it was, had something else in mind, like, say… setting an example?"
"Mr. Lloyd! What are you trying to say?" demanded Mr. Wartz.
"What my husband is trying to say, Mr. Wartz," replied Mrs. Lloyd, "is that, whichever grudge you might have against our daughter, to the point of setting her up with some illogical story just to use her as a scapegoat for the other students you don't seem to be able to handle, needs to end right here and now. My daughter made a mistake, that much is clear, and it's also clear that she's sorry and willing to mend things with the injured boy."
Mr. Wartz was shocked. He had never expected to be talked to like that, but he had to agree that, the way things had turned out, it did look as if he had been trying to suspend Rhonda just to make her an example to the other students; to some point, though, he had been, but he had never approved nor procured such illicit means to reach his ends.
Some muffled sounds broke the uncomfortable silence. Rhonda was crying, seemingly upset about everything.
"Are you alright, Rhonda?" Mr. Simmons asked, while the girl's mother put an arm around her shoulders.
"I'm fine, Mr. Simmons," the girl replied, wiping her tears. "I just want it all to end, and never be in trouble again."
The reactions to this statement were varied: Rhonda's parents hugged her, while Mr. Simmons seemed to be holding back tears; Helga rolled her eyes, spotting her act at once, and turned to look at Arnold, who smiled proudly, fully convinced by Rhonda's faked remorse.
Mr. Wartz was in silence, meditating. A decision had to be made, and he knew everyone counted on him to do the right thing, even if not everyone present understood it.
Epilogue
"Alright, Helga, I know you took that picture."
People had been waiting expectantly outside the Principal's office. When the door opened, everyone had stared into their faces, to read as soon as possible, the answer to the burning question: was Rhonda going to be suspended?
I'm not going to be suspended! the girl had cried, happily, prompting the crowd to break into animated chat. Everyone had asked her and Arnold about the details, but she had told them they'd know everything the next day. She was tired, she had told them, and wanted to go home, with her parents.
"Bravo, princess," answered Helga, to Rhonda's statement. "I never thought you'd figure it out, of all people."
"Very funny," Rhonda answered, "but I'm not here to exchange insults."
"No? Good, 'cause you'd lose," replied Helga.
"I'm serious," said Rhonda, "I need your help on something. I'll give you anything in return, just name it, you know I can buy it."
"Anything?" asked Helga. In her mind, there was one sentence she wanted to say: 'get the hell away from Arnold', but nah… she had her fists to convey that message, if she ever needed to.
"Anything," answered Rhonda.
"Right, I'll think about it," said Helga. "It's the bag, isn't it? Poor Sid had to pay for your frustration, but it was your fault to begin with; you didn't go to the right people," she added, pointing her thumb at herself.
"I guess I should have known better," replied Rhonda, smiling wickedly and stepping down the stairs from Helga's front door.
Helga closed the door, smiling, and skipped up the stairs to her bedroom. She stuck the picture of Rhonda's bag in the wall, and sighed, delighted.
Another day, another job well done.
The End
Author's Notes: Whew! One of the few fics I finish, and my first in this fandom. I'm taking suggestions regarding the title, as I couldn't come up with anything better; same thing with the ending: it looks a bit weak to me, but I don't know how else to end it. Also, I have to say I've seen the series with Spanish dubbing, so the characters' dialogs might seem a bit odd. I tried to preserve their essence as I've known them, but if something is too off-character, just let me know; I'm wide open to constructive criticism.
And finally, I hate putting 'Author's Notes' before the actual story, let alone inside the story (ugh). It kills the mood.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! (nor am I screaming it), and I'm not making any profit with this story.