Arnold Shortman woke to the ringing of his alarm clock. It was not an unpleasant morning as he dressed for school, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, and checked his blue hat in the mirror. His hair was as wild and wind-swept as usual and Arnold liked it that way. What he saw in the mirror satisfied him.
The sun outside the boarding house was warm and mild. Arnold strolled down to the bus stop, a single school book clutched in his hand. He waved in greeting as the bus rolled in. Arnold walked aboard the bus with a smile, then dropped into one of the green, faux -leather vinyl seats. He was lucky to get one without too many holes poked into it by wayward pencils or inscribed with children's graffiti. Altogether, it was shaping up to be a pretty good day. That was, until something strange began to shape at the edge of Arnold's peripheral vision.
A girl across the bus aisle kept giggling about something. Not once, not twice, but fifteen times. It was very odd, especially when annoyed at last, Arnold shifted his seat two seats back. Now, five whole people erupted into fits of laughter. Arnold rotated his head around slowly.
"Uh, Eugene?" Arnold asked his friend while looking around at his companions Sheena, Brainy, Curly, and one other geek. "What's going on?"
"Oh, nothing's going on, Arnold!" Eugene lied in his naturally sing-song voice. "Nothing at all!"
"That's right!" said Sheena with the kind, consoling voice one uses with a child when he loses his pet. "No one has been reading poetry about you!"
"Poetry?" Arnold asked his brow quirking. "What poetry?" He still did not know about the theft of the book. At this remark of his, Brainy, Curly, and the last of the geeks broke into a short gale of laughter.
"Cut it out you guys!" Eugene barked waving a hand out. "If Arnold doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't want to talk about it."
"About what?" Asked Arnold, growing more confused by the second.
"You know," said Eugene shrugging. "Your love of tapioca pudding?"
"Tapioca pudding?" Arnold quoted. He wondered if all the kids on the bus were insane or if it was just him.
"I do like tapioca pudding. But what about it? It's only morning, you know. It's too early to be thinking about lunchtime."
"Oh, Arnold," said Eugene leaning over and handing Arnold a hand-copied sheet of notebook paper. "There's no need to be modest! I think you wrote a great poem! I never knew you were so talented!" Arnold stared down at the page in his hand in confusion. He read the sheet out loud.
"A poem by… Arnold?" Arnold blinked with confusion, then continued to read.
"Tapioca pudding is my favorite kind.
If I could, the whole tray would be mine.
I'd eat tapioca pudding for three whole days
Or use it for a donut glaze.
Tapioca pudding is smooth as silk,
With round white pearls and taste of milk.
Tapioca pudding, mildly sweet by sugar, too,
Tapioca pudding the dessert I love best is you?"
Arnold put down the poem. His once confident voice shrank down to a mild squeak. "Uh, Eugene?" asked Arnold shuffling the poem into his school book as if it did not matter. "Where did you get this poem?"
"From Nadine. She says she got it from Stinky last night. Gee, Arnold," said Eugene nudging Arnold's elbow with his in a slight jab. "You and Stinky have a lot in common. You like tapioca and he likes lemon pudding! You two could start a club or something!" Every bus rider but Eugene broke out into wild laughter at Eugene's latest remark and he scowled at them.
"You guys! I was being serious!" But Arnold just sunk low down into his bus seat. At the next bus stop, when Gerald got on, Arnold dragged his friend by the wrist into the bus seat and Gerald was forced to stoop to match his crawling position on the bus floor.
"Psst, Gerald!" Arnold whispered. He passed the sheet of paper he had taken from Eugene to Gerald.
"Look, I don't know how they got their hands on this, but this is bad, Gerald! Someone, somewhere is passing out poems written by me!" Gerald gave the paper Arnold had given him a quick scan, then crumbled it up into a wad.
"I don't know what's got you so jumpy, man. Just deny it. Say it wasn't yours."
"But that's just it, Gerald!" Arnold whispered with new desperation. "It IS mine. I was in a… well kind of a goofy mood. Playful. But what this means, Gerald," said Arnold taking grasp of his friend's two shoulders and giving him a shake. "Is that someone's been reading my Secret Journal!"
"Secret Journal?" Gerald said posing. "You mean the one you keep in your desk drawer?"
"That's right," Arnold nodded. "Stinky, Sid, and Harold came over to play cards last night…" Arnold said the wheels in his head turning. "Oh rats, I'm so stupid! When they all disappeared last night, I assumed they had gotten tired and gone home!"
"You've got to get that journal, back man!" Gerald concluded for him. He jabbed a finger toward Arnold's chest to assert the point.
"You're right, Gerald," Arnold emphatically agreed.
The bus rolled to a squeaky stop before their school. Arnold and Gerald descended and looked around the schoolyard for any one of the three possible culprits. What they saw was a knot of students all gathered around. Harold was standing on the school picnic table for a podium, a familiar black and white notebook in his hand. Harold was reciting Arnold's pudding poem to the crowd with wicked glee.
"Harold!" Arnold shouted pressing his way through the crowd. He glared at the portly boy with rage, Gerald breaking through the crowd, too, to stand at his side. The school bell rang at that instant, signaling the beginning of the school day. The crowd began to thin and Arnold advanced on Harold angrily.
"Scatter!" Harold commanded Stinky and Sid with a wide grin. The three boys dashed away nimbly.
"Oh, don't worry," said Gerald snapping his finger. "We know where he's goin'."
Arnold and Gerald arrived at their classroom door a minute after the bell had rung. They shuffled into their seats. Harold was giggling to himself quietly but Gerald and Arnold had worked out a plan between them. Gerald whispered to Phoebe, then switched seats with her so that he was directly behind Harold. Harold's wicked grin turned to panic. An evil plan was afoot.
"Class, who would like to answer the next question?" asked Mr. Simmons with a joyful wave of his hand. "Come on up to the board!" Gerald bolted forward and whipped Harold's arm up into the air to 'volunteer'. As strong as he was, Harold was too shocked to react. Everyone else in the classroom lay low and watched the spectacle before them.
"Well, that's nice of you, Harold," said Mr. Simmons with his too-polite-to-comment tone. With a large, pouting frown Harold stood up to walk forward.
As soon as Harold left his desk, Arnold jumped into the vacant seat and cracked open the desk lid. From inside he grabbed his black and white journal. Gerald's scheme to get his poetry back had worked- almost.
A silent fight was on in the rear of the classroom at P.S. 118. Stinky and Sid both clutched at the pages of the open journal and with a soft rip, Arnold was left with only the cover. Stinky and Sid had both made off with half of the journal's contents each, and stuffed the halves into their desks.
"Psst, don't worry, Arnold!" Gerald hissed at Arnold as he fumed with the cover of his broken notebook in his hand. "We'll go after Sid, next!" Arnold narrowed his soft, beautiful eyes at their next target so that he almost looked wicked. Almost.
Helga G. Pataki watched all these goings on with fascination. It was definitely not the boy-of-her-dream's usual behavior. Whatever it was he and Sid and Stinky were fighting about was important somehow. She got up and casually strolled across the room to use the pencil sharpener. It was all a big excuse. Her pencils were plenty sharp. Phoebe had sharpened them for her last afternoon. But the walk across the room had given her the right angle for a well-placed backwards stare. The cover of the broken journal was held clutched in Arnold's hand. It lay on his knee in plain view for a few moments before the boy shoved it in his desk. Helga read the title in a flash.
"Arnold's Secret Journal," she said musing. "Well, well."