Arnold had marching band practice every morning, and would until marching season was over, but usually the band got let out of practice in enough time to be able to converse with friends in the hallways at least a few minutes before the first bell rang. Gerald and Lila had gotten in the habit of waiting by the band room for him every morning, and when Arnold got back from putting his cymbals away, there they were, Gerald looking a bit exasperated at whatever Lila was saying.

"…and he's ever so interesting, and quite unique… Do you think I have a chance?"

"Go for it, Lila," Gerald said, trying to roll his eyes as discreetly as possible. "It's not like there are ladies lined up and down the block for him."

"Who?" Arnold asked.

"Hubert Rudgren," Lila said with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Arnold made a face of confusion and disgust before better judgment could stop himself. Hubert constantly had a finger either in his ear or up his nose, and seemed to always smell of weeks-old fish.

"She wants to ask him to homecoming and worries that it might be too 'forward' for a girl to ask a boy," Gerald said to Arnold, smiling at his obvious discomfort from just hearing the name. "I told her that I, personally, wouldn't think it's at all in bad taste for a girl to ask a boy. How about you, Arnold?"

"Uh, no… I mean, if you really want to take him to the dance… you should let him know," Arnold stammered, smiling politely.

"Yes, that's what I was thinking too," Lila said. "I certainly hope that he isn't already spoken for…"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," Gerald muttered. Arnold coughed to hide his smile.

A pair of slowly-moving students were suddenly pushed aside, seemingly from the mere force of the voice that shouted, "Can we walk any slower? Really, I'd like to know." Arnold, Gerald, and Lila looked at the source of the voice—it was Helga, in a less than stellar mood. They stared at her, taking in her outfit for the day, as most people often did around her. She was wearing a bright yellow rain jacket, even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and over it a black leather belt and a necktie with a green and black diamond pattern on it. To complete the getup, she was also wearing her hot pink and bright purple vertically-striped leggings, along with hiking boots. Her outfit was almost even more stare-worthy than usual today.

Helga, however, wasn't looking at them, and consequently plowed right into Arnold. "Jeez!" she shrieked upon seeing him. "Watch where you're going, football head!" And with that she was off again.

"Helga, wait!" Arnold shouted. He hadn't been expecting to see her there, but she—and her note—had been on his mind constantly since last Friday, and trying to decipher the note was driving him mad. The sooner he heard from her mouth what it meant, the better.

"What on earth do you want to talk to her for?" Gerald demanded.

"I, uh… I just wanted to ask her about her algebra homework. You know, if she had any problems with it. I am her tutor, after all."

Lila looked at Arnold for a moment, then back down the hallway where Helga had blazed off. "I still think you should date her."

Gerald choked. On nothing other than his own saliva, but he still managed an impressive gagging sound. "Arnold? Date Helga?"

Arnold shot Lila a warning glance. "Lila, you just saw how she treated me. She clearly has no desire to date me."

"I suppose you're right," shrugged Lila. She looked back at Arnold and grinned. "She is making that rather obvious… just like she used to in elementary school."

Arnold stared.

The bell rang.

"See you guys later," Lila said, running down the hallway.

"You? Dating Helga?" Gerald still looked as though someone had told him his parents had died in a freak accident. "Where did she even come up with that idea?"

Arnold said nothing to that. He didn't want to lie to Gerald, but he still felt that he couldn't tell him the truth, either.

"Although, I guess it is Lila we're talking about," Gerald added. "She gets some crazy ideas into that head of hers. Like asking Hubert Rudgren out. Seriously, what's wrong with the water at her house?"

"You can never explain attraction," Arnold said softly.

"I'll also never be able to explain to Mrs. Peterson why I'm late for class," Gerald said, looking at the clock. "See you next period, Arnold."

"Yep. See you later." They did their "handshake" and parted ways.

Arnold headed down the far hallway to his first period class, US history, feeling an uneasy tingle run throughout his body. Lila was right. Helga had treated him just then exactly like how she used to treat him in elementary school—that is, like total crap. Treatment which Helga herself had explained as being merely a cover for being in love with him.

Was that the case now, too?

…………

After school that day, as had been the case on Friday, Helga made her way to the hallway where Arnold's locker was rather than to the tutoring room. But today, she meant to intercept him, not remain hidden from him. And today she wasn't planning on going to the tutoring room afterwards. Hence why she wanted to intercept Arnold before he got there—to tell him he had no need to show up anymore. She was done with being tutored—and this wasn't entirely her choice, either. Owen had put his foot down when she arrived at his house at three minutes to four on Friday—no more staying after school for anything. No exceptions. She had raised her grade, anyway, so what was the point?

He was still at his locker when she got there, thankfully. "Hey, Arnold!" she shouted.

Arnold turned in surprise. "Hey, Helga. What is it?"

"Don't bother going to the tutoring room," said Helga abruptly. "I'm done with it. Owen drew the line—I can't stay after school anymore for any reason."

"That's not right," said Arnold in astonishment. "Your grades are important, and he shouldn't stand in the way of them."

"Look, I got an ultimatum. I need to be at the Trotsky abode before the final bell rings if at all possible. And if I don't, he'll tell Big Bob, and then Big Bob will know that I failed a math test and…" Well, actually, that wouldn't be so bad. Maybe then he wouldn't be so gung-ho about handing over the company to her. But wait, that was a good thing! No it wasn't! Yes it was! No it wasn't! Yes—

"Besides," she added quickly, "I've improved a lot anyway. I'm not failing the class anymore. I don't need a tutor."

"Helga," said Arnold, "you told me yourself on Friday that you still wanted to be tutored because you wanted to improve your grade to an A."

"Did I say that?" asked Helga innocently. "I must have been just caught up in the excitement of my good grade. Really, I'm fine with mediocrity. Average is great. If I don't aim high I won't be disappointed when I fail." She gulped. Okay, that was maybe a little too much. "Besides, Arnoldo, I already told you I don't have a choice. From now on, after school I have to be at Owen and Olga's house. No ifs, ands, or buts."

Arnold thought for a moment. "I could tutor you there, then."

"What?" Helga's head swam. He wasn't supposed to say that!

"I know how important your grade is to you… even though you're denying it now," Arnold added. "And it's really no trouble of me to tutor you at your sister's house. Actually, it would be kind of fun. I did like taking care of Stan."

"Listen, football head," Helga snapped, "I don't need your help to take care of my nephew, alright? Get your little do-gooder football-headed self out of here and stop insinuating that I'm some helpless, unintelligent little moron who needs your help with babies and algebra and—and everything!"

"That's not what I meant," said Arnold. "I know you don't need my help. If anything, I need your help in taking care of babies—and maybe algebra too, with how much you've improved. I'm only offering because I thought you might like someone to keep you company. We can help each other."

Fuck you.

"Fine," Helga sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Oh God. Alone in the house with Arnold. Again. Keep a hold of yourself, Helga old girl! Why on earth was this boy so hard to get rid of? Even burning him hadn't seemed to have done the trick. The football head who wouldn't die.

They walked out of the building and headed west, where Olga and Owen's house was. Helga surged on ahead of Arnold, walking fast and looking down at her feet.

"Hey, Helga…" Arnold quickly caught up to her anyway. Helga inwardly sighed. Can't this boy take a hint? But thank God he can't! "I need to, uh, ask you something."

"Ask away, football head." She didn't look up at him.

Hesitation. Then: "What did you mean by that note you left me?"

"What note?" Helga snapped, glaring at him.

The glare didn't faze Arnold. "Don't do that, Helga. I know you wrote it. The one that said, 'I'll make it all better'. What did you mean by that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Helga! I know it was you! Who else could have written it?"

"Your secret admirer."

Arnold snorted incredulously. "My secret admirer. I thought you had that position filled—"

"I did once, but not anymore!" Helga shrieked. "Why don't you get that?" She quickened her pace and focused her attention back down at her feet, but she could hear that Arnold was still right next to her. "When we were in the fifth grade and those sixth graders threw you in the dumpster, I went to help you and I was about to tell you something, but then I got interrupted. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," Arnold said, confused.

"That's what I was going to say," Helga said.

"You were going to say… that you would make it all better?"

"That's right."

"Oh." Arnold fell silent, more contemplative. "Then why did you—"

"Leave you the note now, five years after the fact? I was taking care of unfinished business. It was unfinished business that had been bugging me all this time, and now that I've finally told you what I wanted to tell you, I can put it behind me and move on."

"Oh," Arnold said again. And again, he hesitated a bit before speaking up again. "So will you?"

"Will I what?" Helga asked, making the mistake of looking back at him directly in those gorgeous green eyes of his.

"Make it all better?" He almost smiled with those words, playfully. Helga felt something inside of her die—but it was a wonderful, amazing death.

"I already have," she snapped, at herself as much as at him. "When I burned you."

The almost-smile disappeared for a moment, but suddenly it returned into a full-grade one. "You know, Helga, you don't scare me."

"I'm not trying," said Helga. "If I wanted to scare you, trust me, I'd make every hair on your ridiculous head stand up for months. That would be good for you, Short. Add a few inches to your height."

Arnold sighed, but laughed good-naturedly at the same time. "Oh wow, as if I hadn't heard that one before."

"How tall are you, anyway?" Helga asked, raising her eyebrow. She still had to look down a bit to look him in the eyes—yet she still always seemed to manage that anyway without even trying—those beautiful emerald magnets—

"I'm five foot five," sighed Arnold. "It's not… that short."

"It is for a boy."

"I'm only fifteen. I'll grow some more… I think."

"Arnold, I was your height when I was eleven."

"Well, you're just really tall. That's not a fair comparison."

"I'm five foot nine. That's not 'really tall'."

"It is for a girl," said Arnold with a grin.

"No, really tall for a girl is like six foot five."

"That's really tall for a boy, too."

"I'm slightly taller than average," said Helga, with all the force as if she were a member of the debate team and she and Arnold were deadlocked for first place. "I'll grant you that. I think the average female is… well, about your height. But I'm still not a giraffe or anything like that. There are lots of girls who are taller than me. Have you seen Rhonda Lloyd lately? She's got to be six feet."

"That's really tall!"

"Yes! And I'm shorter than that!"

Arnold just laughed. "Whatever, Helga. I just know that you've always looked down on me."

"Arnold," said Helga with complete sincerity, "I have never looked down on you."

They looked at each other silently, Arnold's head tiled up, Helga's head tilted down, her breath short and her heart racing. Dammit, Helga, think before you talk! THINK BEFORE YOU TALK!

"I mean, how could I ever look down at the guru of algebra?" She smiled sarcastically.

Arnold smiled too, an almost yielding smile. "You manage." They continued walking down the sidewalk, but at a much slower pace. "So… did you have a good weekend?"

Helga groaned. "Please don't ask me about my weekend, Arnold, unless you want me to crumble into a million tiny pieces."

"Oh? What's wrong?" He gave her that concerned, sensitive gaze that was capable of starting the inner crumbling prematurely.

"Nothing," she snapped, looking away. "Really, I don't want to talk about it. How was your weekend?"

"It was fine," shrugged Arnold. "I played video games with Gerald, went to the museum with Lila—"

"Lila," Helga snorted. "I can't believe you still flock to her. I bet it was 'ever so interesting'."

"Lila's one of my best friends, Helga," Arnold said defensively. He suddenly felt himself smile in realization, glad that Helga wasn't looking at him. "I don't have a crush on her anymore, either."

"I should hope not. I mean, not like I care who you get crushes on or anything," Helga added hurriedly. "It's just that you were pretty pathetic. Not as pathetic as me," she added thoughtfully, "but still pathetic. You still are, actually. Wendy Mancuso is not much of an upgrade."

Arnold sighed. "I broke up with Wendy, like, a year ago. She was passive-aggressively controlling."

"Your fault for dating her in the first place."

"It was Lila's idea."

"So tell me what happened at that dance last year. I saw her leaning against the wall and told her something to the effect of 'yeah, my guy ditched me too', and she got all defensive saying how her boyfriend had just gone to the bathroom and would be right back—yeah, that's what my guy had said too, half an hour ago—and she told me her boyfriend was the nicest guy in the world and I told her all men were scum and that he ditched her and finally I just brought her outside to prove it. I was right." She gave a thoughtful sound from the back of her throat. "Although, if I had known beforehand that you were her boyfriend, I would have been singing a different tune."

"No you wouldn't have," said Arnold levelly. "You just said you told her all men are scum."

"But you, you're like…" Helga's stomach was fluttering and she was feeling a little dizzy—oh crap, now I've got to find a way to compliment him without complimenting him, I'm getting mushy again—no wait, for God's sake, I FEEL NOTHING ROMANTIC ABOUT HIM IN ANY WAY WHATSOEVER! So just SAY IT, because it's just a COMPLIMENT, nothing more, he won't interpret it any other way because I'M NOT HIDING ANYTHING FROM HIM! "You're the top of the line scum. Or bottom of the line scum, if you want to look at it that way. You're the tolerable scum. You're the scum that's almost acceptable, that you can almost actually be around and not gag at or get annoyed with."

Arnold smiled incredulously. "That almost sounded like a compliment. Thanks, Helga."

"Yeah, don't get used to it, football head, I'm in an unusually praising mood today," Helga muttered. Okay, stomach and heart and lungs, get back to normal, she commanded her body.

But how could they? She had only scratched the surface! Arnold wasn't scum. He was as far from scum as anyone could be. He was perfect, an angel on earth. Everyone else was scum, yes, compared to him. No one else deserved to be on the same planet as him, lest of all a fuck-up like her, the girl with crazy hair and crazy clothes to hide how much she can't stand herself—

SHUT UP!

SMACK! Helga slapped herself in the face to snap herself out of it.

"Helga?" Arnold asked worriedly.

"I, uh, just realized that I forgot… the book I was reading. I left it in my locker. Really good book. Fantastic book. But I didn't have time to finish it during study hall so I was going to take it home with me and find out how it ended, but I forgot it. Dammit!"

"Well, there's always tomorrow. What book was it? I'd like to read it."

"Uh—" Now Helga was in deep water. "It was, uh, a biography. On, uh, the inventor of the… the tube sock. Very boring, actually."

"You just said it was fantastic," said Arnold suspiciously.

"I mean that you'd think it's boring. But me, I love that boring stuff. The duller, the better. Well, here we are!" For the first time she could remember, Helga was actually relieved to be at the Trotskys' house. At least Stan would distract them from talking and making Helga say and do really stupid things that she didn't even mean because I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH HIM ANYMORE, REMEMBER?!

"And you want to know… how it will end." Arnold smirked. "Not to spoil the ending, but biographies tend to end in the death of the person being written about."

"Don't give me your sass, football head," snapped Helga, opening the door. "I know that. I want to know how he dies."

"I'm glad to see you here almost on time for once," Owen muttered. He then saw Arnold. "Oh, for God's sake. You again?"

"Look, he's insistent on tutoring me, and since you won't let me stay after school…" Helga shrugged. "He followed me home. Like a puppy."

"This is ridiculous. Look," Owen said, this time to Arnold, "you'd better just be tutoring her in math or science or whatever it is you're tutoring her in, and not in other matters, if you know what I mean…"

"Owen, you sick bastard!" Helga yelped. Arnold winced uncomfortably.

"Not like I care about what you two do for fun, but not in my house or in my bed, do you hear?"

"GET OUT!" shrieked Helga, pushing him out the door and slamming it behind him. Then, leaning up against the wall, she let out a half sigh, half moan that sounded suspiciously like it came directly from a steamy love scene from a movie. "Oh, Arnold, darling, he's gone!" she moaned, loudly, pressing her face against the door. "Take me to bed and ravish me, you Valentino!"

The door swung open again. Owen glared at Helga, who responded with a sly smirk.

"Psych. Now go to work, you pervert, you're going to be late."

Owen scowled at her. "Tell Olga to not pay you today." The door slammed.

"In your dreams, jackass," Helga muttered at the closed door. She turned around and saw that Arnold was still standing in the living room, his jaw hanging open in shock.

"What? So I've seen my share of romantic movies and I can mimic them. This shouldn't surprise you… Valentino." She snorted. "Stan, where are you?" She made her way to the kitchen.

"Could you… please… next time you're trying to get back at him, leave me out of it?" Arnold finally said.

"You kidding? Next time I'm going to start ravishing you on the couch before he even leaves the house. Come on, darling, hop to it. Get on that couch and take off your pants, lover boy."

Arnold continued to stare.

"I'm kidding." Helga picked up Stan, who sitting in his high chair, and wiped off the drool on his chin.

"I can never tell with you anymore," Arnold sighed, sitting down on the couch.

"For future reference, any time I call you 'darling' I'm kidding," Helga said, walking out into the living room with Stan and moving to place him in his walker. Stan wailed and flung out his arms and legs. "Look, buddy," she said, "you're going in your walker whether you like it or not. I need to get tutored, not watch you and make sure you don't get into anything you're not supposed to." She managed to get him in the walker, but Stan still screamed in protest.

"We can't get much done with a crying baby in the room," Arnold yelled to be heard over the noise.

"Well, what can I do about it?" Helga yelled back. "He's just a stubborn cuss. He'll get over it eventually."

Arnold picked up Stan out of his walker and sat him on his lap. Stan immediately quieted down a bit. "I can tutor you with him on my lap," said Arnold.

"What are you tutoring me in, parenting prep? The second part of the 'other' tutoring Owen talked about?"

"Lovemaking, lesson one: Setting the mood," Arnold said in a smooth, low voice.

It was Helga's turn to stare incredulously.

Arnold sighed and smiled. "I'm kidding, Helga."

"Of—of course you are," Helga said shakily. Her whole body was rattling now. Damn, Arnold, you grew up well, she marveled to herself.

Not like she still wanted him or anything. It was just an observation.

Really.

REALLY!

"So what would you like me to help you with today?" Arnold asked.

Everything, you magnificent boy you. "I dunno… um, maybe I'll just do the worksheet on my own and when I'm done you can look over my answers and help me with anything I had trouble on. Okay?"

"Sounds good," said Arnold. "I can take care of Stan while you work, so you don't have to worry about him."

"Peachy. Thanks." Helga pulled out her worksheet and turned all of her attention to it, writing her name at the top. Damn, she hadn't realized just how much she was shaking. Her name looked like it had been written by a four-year-old.

Okay, Helga, it's time to straighten this out once and for all, she told herself, unsuccessfully attempting to complete her worksheet at the same time. Your nerves being on fire and your whole body shaking and that warm glow that goes through you every time you look at him are NOT love. Well, okay, so they are—but they're from your eleven-year-old self who still THINKS you're in love with him, but you're not. So you are NOT going to let this carry you away, no matter what he does or says. And on the other hand, you are NOT going to be a jerk to him, because you have nothing to hide. You are going to be civil, polite, friendly, but NOT a bitch, and NOT lovey-dovey. Because that's the old Helga, and the old Helga is dead and gone. And nothing he can say or do will bring her back.

Unbeknownst to Helga, Arnold was doing some soul-searching of his own.

The whole walk to the Trotskys', along with the weirdness that had occurred inside the house, confused Arnold, and yet his whole body was on edge, almost wanting more of it. He still didn't quite know how he felt for Helga, but he did know two things for sure: one, he liked her; two, he was attracted to her. There was really no other explanation for the feeling he got when she looked him in the eyes. True, he got frustrated with her when she was being difficult, but if the walk here had proven anything, it was that after just a few minutes of talking, he could steer her out of those moods and make her pleasant to be around again. And he liked being around her when she was like that. He liked it a lot. In fact, he found himself wanting to spend more time with her out of the context of just tutoring her.

And she didn't really need a tutor. She probably never had. She understood the material very well; what she had needed was just a desire to actually try her best, which now she seemed to have. There was little else he could do to help her in that regard. That took care of the tutor problem.

But what about what Helga wanted? He still felt he had no real reason to doubt that Helga was over him… and yet, those pauses in conversation when they stopped and looked each other in the eyes… he felt something between them, and he felt she must feel it too. Regardless of what she once felt for him, what she felt now… couldn't they just start over with a clean slate and… try something more?

He really wanted to. Which, in a way, surprised him—because she was so different from Melissa. So different from Wendy. And so different from Ruth and Lila and all the other girls he'd ever had crushes on. She looked different, she acted different, she talked different… she was just completely, one hundred percent different. And maybe that was what mattered. Maybe that was whyhe wanted to pursue something more with Helga—because regardless of what happened, the results were guaranteed to be different from the last times.

Stan made a move for a stuffed animal on the floor, and Arnold set him down and sat down next to him, contemplating how he was going to approach the subject… and wincing at every possible outcome.

She's going to kill me.

If she really was still in love with him, she was going to kill him. If she really was over him, she was going to kill him twice. It was like what his grandpa had said—this was a lose-lose situation. And yet he was still going to try it, somehow. Some masochistic freak inside of him wasn't going to let this just rest.

"Okay, I'm finished." Helga quickly handed Arnold her worksheet and sat down next to him to play with Stan, focusing all of her attention on the baby.

Arnold looked over the worksheet, finding, not to his surprise, that she had completed every one flawlessly. Well, this was as good a start to what he was going to say to her as any. "Helga… you don't need me."

"What?" Helga asked in surprise. "I—I mean, of course I don't."

"You understand this perfectly. You always have. You just needed to want to make the effort, and now that you are, you're succeeding with flying colors. There's nothing more I can do for you as your tutor, and I don't want to be your tutor anymore."

"I bet you've been wanting to say that since you first started tutoring me," Helga snorted bitterly. "You don't want to spend any more time with me than absolutely necessary."

"That's not true. That's the complete opposite of the truth."

Helga's expression morphed into surprise and confusion.

"Just… just talking with you, these past few days, has been… Well, I mean, Gerald keeps saying how sorry he is for me that I'm tutoring you, and I keep telling him, he shouldn't be, that it's not that bad, it's… it's nice actually, I enjoy being with you, just being with you and not having to talk about fractions and stuff… I've really enjoyed spending time with you, Helga, and I don't want that to end."

Helga continued to stare, unblinking.

"I don't want to be your tutor anymore, not just because I don't think you need a tutor anymore, but also because I just want to be able to be with you without using algebra as an excuse. I want to be friends with you. I want…" He gulped. Oh boy, here it goes. "Are… are you planning on going to homecoming?"

Helga's throat had completely dried out, so it took her a good five seconds to choke out her answer. "I'm… not sure…"

"Well… if you want to go, I was wondering… would you… want to go with me? As… as my date, I mean." Arnold was so nervous that his question had come out barely above a whisper. He still managed to maintain eye contact with her, amazed at how long it had been since she had blinked.

The silence swallowed up the room.

It was broken by the most inappropriate noise—Stan, enjoying playing with his stuffed penguin, crying out happily, "Eeeeeeaaaaaaaaayyyyy!"

Helga barked out a harsh, broken laugh. "Ha! Ha! Very funny, Arnold."

"Helga, I'm serious!" Arnold insisted.

"What a cute prank to play on me!" said Helga, still keeping a forced, angry smile. "Let's lead Helga on like a little lovesick loon and get her hopes up just to crush them! Well, need I remind you again, football head—I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU ANYMORE!"

"I would never do that! You know I wouldn't!" Arnold cried. "And… and even if you don't love me anymore, can't we just start off with a clean slate, and—"

"This isn't funny." Helga's smile was completely gone, replaced with an angry scowl. "This isn't funny at all. Sorry to burst your bubble, but the joke fell flat."

"It's not a joke!"

"BULLSHIT!" Helga screeched. "LIAR! How could someone like you ever… ever want someone like me? I'm no Melissa, or Wendy, or Gracie, or Summer, or Lila, or Maria, or Ms. Felter, or Ruth, or Stacy, or Mackenzie, or Katie, or… or any of those other sweet little things you've ever fancied!"

Arnold stared at her in shock. Not only had she listed Melissa, who he had never even mentioned to Helga, she had also named off a few crushes that he himself had forgotten about.

"Yeah, I see through your ruse, asshole! Now get out! I'm glad that you don't want to tutor me anymore, because I sure as hell don't want you tutoring me! I never want to see you again—EVER!"

The force of Helga's yell made Stan burst into tears.

"Helga, please—"

"Get OUT! You bastard, get OUT! And if I ever see your football face again I'll rearrange it six times over, understand?"

Arnold stood up, grabbed his book bag, and flung it over his shoulders. "I guess I was wrong about you being nice," he muttered harshly.

"You sure were, idiot-boy! That's what you get for that sickening naïve optimism of yours!"

Arnold made his way to the front door, turning around to face Helga. "You were in love with me once!" he shouted to be heard over Stan's screaming. "I know you aren't anymore, but… but can't you just remember that you once were and… and act like it?"

"GET OUT!"

"You've never acted like you ever once loved me! Maybe that was just a lie." SLAM. He was gone.

"Lie this, you piece of shit!" Helga screeched, throwing her (very large) algebra book at the door. Luckily she didn't splinter the door, but it did give a very loud, very ominous sounding thud.

Stan was still wailing, and his tears plus Arnold's absence suddenly registered in Helga's mind, making her finally break down.

"Fuuuuuuuck…" The word came out as a part moan, part wail, part helpless sob. She buried her face in her hands, shaking with sobs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could I… what the fuck was I thinking? Oh, Arnold!" She could hardly talk through her tears. "I… I'm sorry, Arnold…" She jumped up off the ground and frantically ran to the door, nearly tripping on her algebra book. "Arnold!" she cried, opening the door and looking back and forth on the sidewalk. He was nowhere to be seen. "Arnold!" she yelled louder, her voice breaking.

Nothing.

She crumpled in the doorway, sobbing into her palms again. "What have I done?" she moaned.

Her crying subsided a bit, but Stan's didn't.

The baby. Take care of the baby.

Helga scooted over to where Stan was crying and picked him up, trying to cradle him but instead suddenly crying against him as he cried against her. "I'm sorry," she whispered—to Stan, to Arnold, to her very much alive ten-year-old self.

She looked up, staring out the open door. "What have I done?" she repeated in anguish.