AUTHOR'S NOTE: I WROTE THIS SO IT DOVETAILS NICELY WITH MY PREVIOUS FANFIC, INVISIBLE SWAN. THE ENDING REFERENCES CHARACTERS FROM THAT FANFIC BUT SHOULD BE UNDERSTANDABLE NONETHELESS. THANK YOU FOR READING AND REVIEWING.
Helga was an expert stalker of Arnold, so she was only a little discouraged when at lunchtime, her favored hiding place behind an aluminum trashcan was taken up by none other than Gerald. On the other side of the room, behind a newly repositioned food trolley, Arnold crouched. A long of bit of rope lay on the ground between the two boys so that they could pull on it when Sid entered the lunch line. Sid stepped towards the rope line. But before Gerald and Arnold could lift it up with a sharp snap to trip him, Sid looked down at his favorite Beatle boots. He spotted the rope line.
"Yipe!" Sid exclaimed while taking a huge leap. He scuttled away in fear back toward the open lunch room to stand uncertainly by the soda vending machine.
"Darn it!" Gerald cursed. "We almost got him!" Arnold joined his disappointment in silence.
"Well, well, well," Helga chuckled as she walked up to the two boys with a fully loaded food tray. Her delight was enchantingly obvious. "I never thought I'd see the day when the two of you played the role of villain. What's the matter, Arnold?" she teased. "Lost something important?"
"Sorta," Arnold mumbled, looking away. Helga's grin grew still wider.
"Stand back and let an old pro show you two how it's done," said Helga prowling forward toward Sid. But to Arnold's confusion, Helga walked BACKWARDS. Still with her fully loaded cafeteria tray in hand, Helga walked deliberately backwards into Sid and shoved him with her sharp elbow for good measure. A carton of milk and soggy food splatted all over the cafeteria floor, but so too had half of Arnold's journal been freed from Sid's hand. Sid was too busy looking down at the crash he had been involved in to note that the pink-ribboned girl had snatched up a fistful of loose papers. Sid was by no means a genius, so he did not even notice what he had lost when Helga curled up the papers into a roll and hit him on the head with it.
"What do you think you're doing, you Nimrod!" Helga shouted at Sid as if he had been the one to bowl into her. "Watch where you're going!" Helga stuffed the roll of papers down her dress front and continued to flail her hands about the air. "Just look! All of my lunch ruined! I hope you're ready to pay up for this, String-Hair!" For good measure, Helga lifted Sid by his shirt front. She gave him, a good, long, mean glare before dropping it and stamping away. As she departed, Helga shouted words over her shoulder.
"I'm in a good mood today, String-Boy, so consider yourself lucky! I'll forgive you just this once!" Helga faked. But once she left the lunch room, Helga pulled out the pages she had stolen from Sid with glee. She was rifling through them, a thoughtful expression on her face, when Arnold and Gerald caught up with her a few seconds later. Arnold panted.
"Uh, Helga? Those papers. Could you please give those back to me? They're kind of private…" A deep, red blush washed over his face.
"Uh, huh," said Helga selecting a random poem. Her eyes bulged. "Miss Felter? What the heck Football-Head!?" Arnold attempted to snatch the page from her hand, but ever quick, Helga dodged him. She crossed her arms and looked towards Arnold with a disappointed stare, the papers still firmly in her grip.
"I wrote that poem over a year ago!" Arnold defended quickly. "There's a poem about every girl or woman I've ever had a crush on in there!" The red flush across Arnold's cheeks continued to spread.
"Which is just about half the neighborhood," Gerald stated. He rolled his eyes. Arnold slapped his forehead.
"Okay, so now you know Helga," said Arnold with a deep, depressed sigh. "I have a twisted, ungentlemanly mind!" He fisted his hands up in anguish. Helga's frown turned into a dull jaw-drop. She blinked.
"Don't be too hard on yourself, man," said Gerald. "It's only natural. You're at the age where a boy is figuring out how to be a man! It's a dude thing!" Gerald ended with a growl. He held one fist pumped to the air beside Arnold in a victory pose.
"You're the same age as me," Arnold accused, his eyes cross.
"Yeah, but I'm not stupid enough to record it all as poems," Gerald jabbed, bluntly.
"Look, Helga," Arnold begged. "Please give me back those poems! Or we can burn them! I like that idea better. I don't want these poems to see the light of day again. Ever." Helga continued to blink. Her eyes shifted back and forth. As much as she wanted to read the page in her hand, she was doing some soul searching. A pained expression gathered on her face and she grit her teeth.
"Here, Football-Head!" Helga said shoving the pages at him so forcefully Arnold had to take a step back to balance. "If it means so much to you, then here! I know how it feels to lose something that I wrote… and to be laughed at for it." She was thinking of her pink book; the poetry book of her love poems about Arnold which had ironically, had fallen into Arnold's hands. Arnold stared down at the pages in his hands in shock. He had not expected Helga to be so...well, so kind toward him. Instead of mocking him or shrieking in cruel laughter, her foot was crossed in front and her arms wrapped around her waist. She was a silhouette of beauty. Her eyes were.. well, almost sympathetic. Arnold stared numbly into them for a minute.
"Well, ah, thanks, Helga," Arnold said. One of his hands let go of the papers and he lifted it to scratch the nape of his neck instead. Slowly, Arnold cleared his throat. "Well, I had better go get lunch now. Say Helga? Since you lost all yours, I can buy you a replacement lunch! What do you say?"
"I'm fine, Arnold," Helga muttered. Yet she rolled her eyes skywards with relent. "But sure, Arnold. If it eases your guilty conscious a bit, I'll leech lunch off of 'ya!"
"Great!" Arnold grinned. He pulled out a chair for Helga in such a calm and natural manner that she sat down in it without further complaint.
"You wait here!" Arnold spouted. "I'll go get our lunches!" Helga blinked. Phoebe was expecting her. Somehow she had gotten bamboozled into sitting here instead of drifting toward her usual table. But before she had much time to speculate, Arnold had returned with two lavishly loaded lunch trays.
"Here you go, Helga!" Arnold declared. Helga's eyes skittered across the room. There was way more food here than a usual portion.
"You didn't have to go and do that," Helga grumbled under her breath. But she had uttered it so quietly that no at the table had heard her. So Helga went about putting pepper on her sandwich instead. Slowly, she took a bite and chewed it. It was eerie to have Arnold sitting across the lunch table so near to her- looking calm and relaxed with one arm rested against the back of the chair as he turned to chat with Eugene.
"If you'all are going to eat here," said Gerald with sudden inspiration. "I'm going to go eat lunch with Phoebe!" Gerald lifted his tray from the table and scooted across the room to join Phoebe Heyerdahl as fast as he was able. Helga's brow twisted at the sight, then then she huffed and took a bite out her sandwich.
"Oh, well, let's let them be, Football-Head!" said Helga. "Phoebe's been openly flirting with Gerald since forever. She has a photograph he gave her in her LOCKER, for cripes sake!"
"Yeah," Arnold agreed reluctantly. He shifted and took up his own sandwich.
"Well, thank you for helping me."
"About that," said Helga waving a french fry around. She lent over the table towards Arnold. He watched her face as it lit up beautifully with a soft, shrewd, satisfied smile.
"A lunch for a lunch is all well and good, Arnold! But it's no reward for me 'rescuing' your little diary! For now, let's just say you owe me a favor, Arnoldo. A big one. So when I come to collect you'll do anything I tell you.. or give me back something when I ask for it. Got that, Football-Head?"
"Yeah," Arnold agreed with slight pause. After all, this was Helga they were talking about. Who knew what she would ask for? It was a dangerous bargain.
Still, things were looking up for Arnold now that he had half of his 'Secret Journal' back. Arnold took a few bites more of his sandwich. But the bit of peace he had found was rudely interrupted by giggles. He and Helga had been seated in the lunchroom for only five minutes when a girl burst out with hardly smothered laughter. A second girl's chortle echoed out a few minutes later and soon, Arnold became very aware that a lot of eyes were on him. It wasn't because he was sitting alone with Helga, either. It was because Rhonda Loyd was reciting a poem that was all too familiar. She stood up from her seat to pantomime.
"Tapioca pudding is my favorite kind. If I could, the whole tray would be mine," she began blinking her eyelashes absurdly.
Harold soon joined Rhonda's mockery in a different fashion. He, Sid, Toothless Joe, and Iggy all began to eyeball his table. They were up to no good. After much whispering, Harold approached Arnold and Helga at their table.
"Here ya, go ARRRRNOLD!" Harold nearly shouted across the school cafeteria. He set a small bowl of tapioca pudding down beside Arnold's tray. "I got you your FAVORITE! TAPIOCA PUDDING!"
"I'll give you my tapioca pudding, too," said Sid with a snicker. "Seeing as how you love it so much!"
"Have another tapioca, Arnold!" Toothless Joe joined it. Within moments, all of the girls at Rhonda's table had copied the boys and there were ten bowls of pudding crowding the table. Arnold's blush was deep.
"All right, all right, you've had your fun, Harold!" Helga spoke giving Harold a firm shove. "Move along, Pink-Boy!" But Helga craned her head around to listen to Rhonda finish reciting the embarrassing poem.
"Wow, Arnoldo. Remind me to never stand between you and tapioca pudding, again," she said calmly scooping out a spoonful of her lunch. But she did not laugh and Arnold was grateful for it. He stood.
"Look, I've got to go!" he said looking all around for Stinky Peterson. "I've still got to get back my other half of the journal."
"Wait up, man!" called Gerald as Arnold reached the school cafeteria door. Helga prowled towards the two boys. She cast her gaze on Phoebe as they all met up.
"Oh, Helga!" said Phoebe, a soft blush of happiness lingering on her cheeks. "It's too bad I missed you at lunch! I've got to go to the library now to make a quick check on the status of my pending, interlibrary-lending order. Do you want to come?"
"No, thanks, Phoebes," Helga waggled a hand. "I've got other plans for recess." Phoebe nodded and wandered off, Gerald admiring her as she walked away. Then Gerald turned to look at Helga.
"What plans?" Gerald asked. It was an openly declared suspicion.
"I'm going to help you two get Football-Head's, over here, secret diary!"
"Journal," Arnold corrected with gritted teeth. "It's a journal."
"Yeah, sure, whatever you call it," Helga sniffed. "I'm surprised though that you write poetry, Arnoldo. I sort of never expected that from you."
"You write poetry, too, Helga," Arnold declared in a raw mood.
"Whaa? How do you know that?"
"I'm not stupid, Helga," Arnold shot back in a low blow for her calling his journal, a 'diary'. "You said so at FTI. 'Filling volumes of books with poems', were your actual words. Plus there is the pink book."
"Pink book?" said Helga, suddenly nervous. She stretched the white band collar of her t-shirt. "I don't know what you're talking about Football-Head. Now are we going to catch Stinky Peterson or aren't we?"
All three of them began a thorough search of the schoolyard for Stinky. But the tall boy was actually proving hard to catch. The end of recess bell rang and Helga, Gerald, and Arnold made their way back to their classroom.
"Don't worry!" Helga declared. She made a large fist. "After class, we'll all jump on him!" But Arnold pressed her fist down.
"If it comes to that, Helga. But maybe we can convince Stinky to give up my journal without violence. I'm going to try." A few tense hours later, the final school bell rang. Arnold approached Stinky.
"We're friends, right?" said Arnold trying the guilt tact. "Haven't I been a good friend to you? What do you say, Stinky?" But Stinky Peterson slouched behind a book to hide.
"I'm sorry, Arnold, but I've done given all the journal I had away! Miss Rhonda Loyd wanted, some. Toothless Joe and Iggy wanted a piece and Harold, he took the rest!" Arnold's arms dropped to either side and he hardly heard as he came to wrap his mind around one thing. Harold could be out there right now, somewhere, reading off a mass of his poems to the very people they were about- and now that school was out for the day, he might escape anywhere.
"Quick!" Gerald said grabbing Arnold's shoulder. "Before he gets away!" The two boys scuttled down the hall leaving Helga behind them.
They tore down the hall but paused to ask Rhonda about the journal. After all, Stinky said she had a piece. Rhonda slammed her locker shut with a loud, "hmph!" She wordlessly offered back the poem to Arnold as though it offended her. It was small wonder, for what Arnold had written about her was no love poem.
"Miss Rhonda Loyd, self-styled Queen
Too busy with fashion to have a dream.
She prances and pouts on what to wear
But it's nice she combs her hair.
She's good at sports and that is neat
When she keeps her eye on the ball, and not the receipt."
"OOH! That's gotta burn, Princess," Helga declared reading the paper over Arnold's shoulder. Rhonda stalked off with a loud sniff.
"Apologize to her later, Short-Stuff," she advised him. "We've got to go after Harold first!"
The three ran out the door and into the playground. Harold wasn't there, but Lila was, looking as cross as her mild face would allow.
"Arnold!" she scolded him as one would a three-year old child. "I know you don't like-me, like-me and I don't like-you, like-you, but that is no reason to make fun of me!"
"But I didn't! Honest, Lila, it's a simple mistake!"
"Well, okay," said Lila rolling her eyes up to the sky as if looking for benevolence. "But it isn't nice to say that, well, the good thing about me is that I'd make a great housekeeper."
"Whew!" Helga whistled. "A little behind the times, aren't we, Arnold? Well, Lila is a good girl. She'll forget all about this little 'incident' eventually."
"Lila?" asked Arnold with grief. "I know you're angry at me right now, but do you mind telling me how you got that poem?"
"Well, sure, Arnold. Harold gave it to me. If you're looking for him, he was going to Mighty Pete with the other children. He promised to read a kitten poem to them."
"A kitten poem?" Arnold repeated in horror. "Uh, thanks, Lila. See you around." Arnold grabbed hold of Gerald's shoulder and broke out into a full length run. Arnold, Helga, and Gerald ran all the way to mighty Pete and stood at the base of its trunk looking up at its branches. But Harold had gotten there before him. He had pulled the ladder up. Arnold could hear him snickering, along with a few other kids.
"Kitten poems," Arnold muttered to himself. "I just had to write kitten poems! Fourteen of them!"
"Harold!" Arnold yelled up the tree to whomever was hiding inside the tree-house. "Come out here right now! I know you stole a notebook from my room!" After a few long minutes, Harold poked his head out the window. The portly boy was unable to resist himself.
"Aw, come on, Arnold!" Harold whined. "It's all in good fun! These poems you've written are really funny!"
"They're not supposed to be funny!" said Arnold kicking the tree. "They're private! What part of 'Secret Journal' did you not understand, Harold? It was wrong for you to take something that wasn't yours!"
"Aw, lighten up, will ya?" said Harold rolling his eyes as he lent out a window. "Tell you what, you can have these poems back but ONLY if you can get me out of this tree!" He stuck out his tongue and disappeared back into the tree-house. A few more of his school companions roared with laughter.
"That's it!" Arnold muttered out loud. "I'm going to knock Harold out this tree with a rock!"
"Calm yourself, Shakespeare!" Gerald reprimanded the blond-haired boy. "We'll find a way!" They retreated to the corner of the block. Arnold's face was grave with concern but Helga's expression as she watched him, was almost as equally as serious.
"So what's the plan, Geraldo?" Helga prompted when the silence had stretched too long. But Gerald was short on ideas. The silence stretched on longer.
"Well," Arnold said cheering up at last. "We might be able to lure him out with food! This is Harold we're talking about."
"Great!" said Helga pulling out a cellphone. "I'll order us up a couple of pizzas! Oh, and empty out your pockets, boys. This is not all goin' on my tab."
Twenty minutes later Arnold, Helga, and Gerald munched on a single pizza. There were two more full boxes to spare and with these, they hoped to entice Harold from the tree. The plan was simple. As soon as he let down the ladder, they'd all grab onto the ladder and storm up it. The tree-house would become theirs and they would take back whatever poems of Arnold's PREVIOUSLY Secret Journal that remained captive.
"Arnold?" Helga asked with unusual solemness as they waited beneath the tree for Harold to fall for the bait. "How did you know about the pink book?" The question was so unusually direct for Helga that it almost took Arnold's breath away.
"I figured it all out eventually. Pink was the biggest clue. I can't believe I missed for ages! No one in our class likes pink but you! But after you told me what you did on top of FTI, it all made sense. The anonymous poems in our class. The parrot that recited poetry… it must have been you, Helga all this time!"
"Why does it have to be me, Shortman?" Helga asked venomously. But Arnold only gave a sad, long stare at her as she kept her back pressed against the trunk of Mighty Pete.
"Do you want it not to be?"
"I… I don't know," Helga uttered softly. "But there's one thing I want you to do for me… if I help you get YOUR poems back."
"Name it."
"I want to read one of your poems, Arnold. One of my choosing." The soft, approaching summer-wind whipped up around them. They were buffered from it mainly by the base of Mighty Pete, but still it was enough to fold Helga's perfectly sideways pigtails forwards and to cast Arnold's hair back so that it was almost sleek. Then the breeze died down again and they continued to stare at one another for a time. Helga kept her arms crossed protectively in front of her.
"I suppose if I have to... If there's no other way.. I can let you read one PAGE. But only one," said Arnold. His cheeks burned bright again. What if Helga picked THAT poem? The one about her?
"Good. Glad we could come to an agreement," said Helga relaxing her self-protective stance to exchange a firm, business-like handshake. She, Gerald, and Arnold settled down to their stake-out of the tree again.
The pizza had not gone cold when Harold unfurled the ladder to the tree-house. Helga and Arnold waited for Gerald's cue. They held their breath as Harold crept, as nimbly as a fat kid could, toward the boxes of pizza they had stacked on the grass.
"Now!" cried Gerald. All three of the youth leaped toward Harold. Gerald bypassed the portly boy but Helga ran straight for him.
"Aagh! Madame Fortress Mommy!" Harold cried before Helga felled him. She jumped onto his stomach with the heels of her shoe for good measure. There was a loud "ooph!" as the tree-house's leader was taken out.
But the tree-house was filled with five other occupants and so Gerald was hit by a barrage of water balloons as he climbed up the tree-house ladder. Arnold pressed up the ladder behind him, and both rolled out onto the tree-house's wrap-around porch as quickly as they were able.
"Argh!" shouted Curly who was one of the kids lodged in the tree-house. Surprisingly, so were Nadine and Peapod kid. They all slung water balloons at Arnold and Gerald with a fury. Sid passed out the water balloons from a large drink cooler. The boy formerly known as Chocolate-Boy was there to watch the whole fight while he ate radishes.
The brawl ended only when the water balloons ran out. Then, all of the kids (but the one eating radishes) slipped down the tree-house ladder to run away. Dripping wet from head to toe, Arnold approached a stack of now soggy notebook paper on a desk.
"So nice to be so young and carefree, huh?" said Gerald shaking some of the water off his chest. "Get your papers and let us get out of here, man! I'm drenched!"
"Here," said Arnold grabbing a towel from the elaborate tree-house's bathroom. "Dry off." The towel landed squarely on Gerald's head. He took it off and dragged it under his chin.
Slowly (and soggily), the triumphant duo returned down the tree-house ladder to where Helga waited. Harold had fled long ago but Helga had remained, hands on her hips, for the two boys to return.
"So, you going to keep your promise?" Helga asked. Her expression was stern, yet the tone gentle underneath. With a long, deep breath, Arnold steeled himself. Then he offered her the stack of soggy papers.
"Here. Now remember, Helga. Just one page!"
"Hm," Helga said looking down at the remains of the journal. It was a shrewd puzzle but Helga was cunning. She flipped to the last few pages of the journal- to its very last poem. Arnold stiffened like a tree encased in ice. Helga began to read the very poem he had wanted her to find the very least. The poem about HER!
"A kiss so deep it wakes me from childhood slumber
As I lay upon life's turbulent stage,
Two lips that press warm heat against
My own and like a stormcloud rage!
My breath is stolen by the storm
As I gaze into a blue-orb sky.
I quaver, shake, but can not flee,
I can not even try!
The dream repeats but on a beach,
My back pressed against the sand,
Her breath in mine have intertwined,
With her damp suit lain across,
The urge to move forward is mine!
At the top of a fine tower,
The storm now returns to rage
A pledge is made of true love
But my mind seems lost for days.
Her tongue in my mouth, I gasp,
For her lust draws from the child a man.
At the time I could not answer
But days later it seems I can…"
Helga Pataki continued to read aloud, her eyes as wide and astonished as if she were invoking a spell from a mage's grimoire. "Oh, no!" Arnold freaked out. If Helga began to read the last page of the poem, she'd know for sure he'd had dirty thoughts about her! He cast his eyes about him for a solution but all he could see was Helga, her long, delicate finger tracing down his diary page in slow-motion. But it was Helga! A current of memory flickered though Arnold like the tide and with unexpected momentum, he dashed forward and tore the last page of his journal out with a loud rip. 'Do like Helga did!' Arnold's head screamed to himself.
"What the heck?! Arnold?" Was Helga's exclamation. But Arnold did not care. Instead, he crumpled up the sheet of paper and stuffed it in his mouth. But as he chewed it, he realized he wasn't about to spit wad it at anyone. Nor could he take the chance he hadn't chewed the page enough. So with a tough gulp, Arnold swallowed down the wad of paper instead. He crossed his arms behind his back and glared back towards Helga, unrepentant. On her part, the blond-haired girl was aghast.
"Arnold!" Helga uttered in pure shock that he had just swallowed the page. "You'd promised!"
"I promised you could read a whole page," he debated smugly. "I didn't promise you could read the whole poem."
"Arnold!" Helga continued on verge of stuttering. "You… I… what on earth could you have written on that page that you'd be THIS DESPERATE to hide it?!"
"That," Arnold began with cruel coldness. "Is something I'll tell you only IF I marry you." The two blondes stared down into each other's eyes with rage.
"Fine, then," said Helga with a wide sweep of her hand before she began to stomp away. "Be prepared to keep that promise! Just you, wait! You'll tell me someday, Bucko!"
"Fine, then!" Arnold yelled back at her before slowly coming to the realization that in their own, roundabout way, Helga and he had just flirted. About getting married of all things. Arnold had not just made his problem better. He had made it WORSE.
It was lucky that he had a few hours left before dark. Arnold was perfectly miserable about the whole thing so he went and skipped pebbles on the pond where they held boat races. Then he went home to watch television. Arnold was even grateful it was wrestling night. It meant he had Mr. Potts and Grandpa to distract him.
The following day, though, his troubles obscured the joy of an otherwise perfect Saturday. Arnold sat down in the boarding house living room and pulled down photo albums from the shelves. In them were members of his family, both living or presumed-dead, young or old. He particularly examined the photographs of his own Grandma, Gertrude, who had once been a bully in her youth. According to Grandpa, she had gone by the nickname Gertie and been as mean to Phil as Helga was to Arnold. Only, Helga's cruelty had grown more mild of late and Arnold wondered if it meant she was finally growing up.
But could he love a girl who was tough like that? Did he love Helga already? Was the way she made him feel far more than the lust that raged between them when they fought for dominance? What Arnold wanted in life was a love that was more like the mature love of his grandparents- so established that there was little guessing in between. But with Helga, what Arnold got was confusion. She was a pretty-little mystery that had his head spinning constantly.
It didn't matter if life was feeling harsh to Arnold. The sun was shining beautifully outside despite him, so Arnold took a walk. He made his way to Gerald's house and knocked on the door of his old friend. From there, they made it a day about town. When Hillwood's clock tower struck twelve, both boys had grown hungry. But Arnold was reluctant to go back home for his meal.
"What's eating ya, man?" asked Gerald when Arnold turned down a meal over at Gerald's house. They'd be eating macaroni and cheese- not a dish to pass up lightly!
"I don't know Gerald," said Arnold biting his lip. He looked dejectedly into the dust hole at his feet- the one that had been scraped by countless other children using this same swing in the past. "I'm lost. I mean- it's all so confusing. Imagine, it, Gerald. What if, say, the prince in Sleeping Beauty didn't fall in love with the Princess after all? What if he fell for the Wicked Faerie and she wasn't so mean and evil after all. What if she was only trying to bring balance because it wasn't fair to give all the gifts to one Princess? What I mean to say, Gerald, is it okay for the wicked faerie to be loved, too? Even if she is a villain sometimes?" Arnold looked deep into his best friend's eyes, desperate for an encouraging answer there. Gerald closed his eyes for a moment in thought, then placed his palm on his friend's shoulder. He was composing an important speech there, so he smiled brilliantly when he opened his eyes to answer.
"Arnold," Gerald began with his best oration voice. He patted his friend's shoulder a few times for good measure, then gave his best friend a brief one-armed hug. "The important thing to remember, man, is that it's your feelings that count. Nobody else's. Not what other people think of her. And believe me when I say this, man, NOBODY'S perfect. Sure Helga has a lot of attitude. A LOT. But deep down she could, theoretically, have this sweet side you've gone on about, too. After all, it's not like you're an angel yourself, Arnold. You act all sweet, patient, loyal, courteous, kind… but there are times when as your best friend I've seen you nearly sock someone in the face! You've got a temper, man, you just hide it better than others. And don't get me started on all the times your mouth has got us into trouble. You'll take up a dare from just about anyone because you're proud and you've got more guts than sense. What I mean, man, is that no one is exactly what they seem up front. Yourself included. You've got a little piece of wicked in you, too, so it isn't all about fairies, Arnold. You've got a chance for a real woman, if you'all go that route. But the choice to take Helga up on that dare, Arnold, isn't mine. It's yours." Gerald gave Arnold one last, friendly pat to his elbow then stood up from the swing next to his. Gerald shuffled away from the park slowly, his hands in his pockets but Arnold let him. He was too busy thinking to follow his friend's example by moving forward.
The afternoon rain came and with it, Arnold decided he had to go home. As he lay there watching the beads drops on his windowpane he was lost in thought until he recalled something he had often forgotten. He still had Helga's pink book. He had accidentally gotten his hands on it last year and now that he knew without a fragment of a doubt it was hers, he really should return it. It wasn't fair to Helga. After all the pain and heartache he had gone through lately losing his own journal, he could hardly imagine how difficult it must have been for her to have lost hers. To him, no less.
Arnold wiggled under the small space of the bed. It was a good thing he did so now because any older and it would be nearly impossible to fit there. He had grown a bit over the past year. From the rear of the bed he extracted a little cardboard box. In it were memorabilia of mysterious romance.
The pink book lay at the bottom of the box. But there were other things, too, and Arnold had to sift through them to get at it. There was a little red shoe he had kept after his date with 'Cecil'. There was a pink ribbon, too, from the time Helga and himself had entered a sandcastle building contest together. Helga had unwound the ribbon from her hair and used it to decorate the sandcastle's pinnacle. On that day she had been irresistibly sweet in telling him that she had acted to keep him from getting hurt by a selfish girl. Then last, and almost out of place, was a tiny bit of eggshell that he must have stuffed into his pocket on the day Helga's and his chicken egg had miraculously hatched. The event had been so miraculous that Arnold had kept the tiny piece of eggshell as a momento, even though he had almost hated Helga afterwards for making him raise 'their' chick all by himself at the boarding house. But then again, it was likely that if Helga had taken the chick home, it would only have been eaten by her pet monitor lizard. Nowadays, the chick was a full-grown chicken whom had the identity crisis of being one of the boarding house dogs.
Time was wasting, so Arnold counted out some change for the bus and put it into his pocket. He tucked the pink book under his arm and found the closest bus. It was three full hours before dinner so it was possible Helga would be about town somewhere. When Arnold rang the bell and her mother, Miriam answered, he gave his best smile and slyly asked if he could drop off a book he had 'borrowed' in Helga's room.
It seemed that a bit of Helga's disregard for rules was rubbing off on Arnold, because this time, when he found Helga was not in her room he looked all around it. Sure, the cute doll and plushies were there to give this place the semblance of an ordinary girl's room. But he now knew to be on the lookout for more. Arnold placed his chin in his hand and stretched one arm across his chest to think. As he mulled hard, Arnold came to realize suddenly that there was a faint, red glow coming from behind the closet door.
Arnold held his breath. Maybe Helga was home after all. He knocked on the closet door, but when no one answered, he gave the doorknob to the closet a swift and stealthy turn.
No one spoke. So, Arnold Shortman stepped into the closet slowly, one foot tenderly placed at a time. He spun all around him, staring. This place was no longer a closet. It was a shrine- a shrine to...HIM! Warm, pink Christmas lights turned the whole place aglow. Loose pages of poetry lay strewn underfoot. A dozen pink books like the one in his hand lay about in boxes and on shelves. Arnold stared, then lent closer to the shrine's centerpiece- a sculpture of himself made from dried flowers, styrofoam, and cardboard clutter. Glitter was everywhere. As Arnold lent over the shrine, his eyes caught on a pencil he recognized. He had lost it somewhere but never missed it. The eraser was all gone and the paint peeled from where he had experimented chipping it off on the side of his desk. Somehow Helga must have gotten her hands on it and brought it here to lay at the base of the shrine, along with an old gym sock.
It was odd. Obsessive, even. But then again, Arnold asked himself, had Mr. Potts been any different when he had crushed on the model, Lola? Had he himself, been much better when he had followed Lila doggedly around for months no matter how many times she had said she did not like-like him? Was he any better now, since he had kept Cecil's shoe under his bed all this time and the hair-ribbon from the sand-castle he and Helga had built together? Helga was not the only one who wrote poems after all. But she was passionate! Remembering Helga's kisses and comparing them to her shrine, Arnold felt at a loss. His fervor was dull compared to hers. Slowly, lazily almost, his hand drifted to one of the shelves where a long line of twelve matching tomes waited for his touch. Ignoring his respectful nature, Arnold flipped open one of the books.
It was love poetry. Just like the little pink book he had come to return. Only these poems were openly addressed to him. "Oh, Arnold," they began. "Oh, Arnold!" They ended. Arnold's heart flitted in his chest. He needed to reply. But if Helga found him here standing in her closet she'd beat him.
Instead, Arnold snuck back out of the closet and rummaged around her belongings for a good pen. Luckily, he found one lying forgotten on the carpet. Next, Arnold grabbed a scrap of wadded paper. It was one of Helga's discarded drafts- a half-formed poem on one side. But on the second side of paper there was a whole blank sheet of paper to work on. Arnold smoothed the page as flat as he could, then rested it against the rear cover of the Helga's pink book. Now, he went to work. His ears kept poised for the slightest sound of someone approaching through the hallway, the pen scrawled against the paper in a desperate scrabble.
"My Cinderella wears two faces, just for me
Lest she make a grave omission,
But she did, last week to me,
While we both struggled on a mission.
So fair and sweet she hides beneath
A will strong like iron and brass
Her bow and pink a harmony
To contradict her endless sass.
She dreams love, embraces hate,
And wades through sorrow and despair.
If she would look a moment,
She would find her prince is standing there.
I will wait for her, the moment,
When to her own heart she will be true.
I will wait for her, the hour, when
She won't feel shame for 'I love you';
For the prince has decided, Helga,
That the one girl for me is you."
His newly crafted poem sounded a little corny to Arnold, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. As rapidly as he could, he folded up the paper he had written the poem on and tucked it into the back of Helga's oldest pink book. This, he lay conspicuously across her alter so that when Helga came back home next, she would see it immediately and find his poem. The stress of all this sneaking around had him nauseate. As soon as Arnold saw it was safe to leave Helga's room, he dashed down the stairs and out of Helga's home and out into the street. On the neutral pavement top, he took a deep breath and shuffled, but in mere moments he collided with someone.
"Ow!" Helga complained loudly. Arnold held out a hand and helped her up.
"Sorry about that!" he mumbled, his soft voice almost scratchy.
"Watch what you are doin' Football-Head! What are you doing here anyway?" Helga interrogated. She studied him side to side with suspicion, both hands firmly planted on her hips and her back slouched over all the better to scowl at him with. But Arnold smiled.
"You'll find out. See you at school on Monday!" Arnold called out with a wink as saucy as the one he had given Helga on the night they had been forced to wash dishes to pay for their meal at Chez Paris. Helga gave him a perplexed stare as he steadily walked away.
The weekend ended rapidly. Monday arrived. For the occasion, Arnold brought a plain, boring, old library book to read with him. He was turning the pages at his desk when he heard a loud, "Ahem!" behind him. It was Helga, looking awkward but incensed enough to box him if he so much as breathed the word 'poem' in front of her. Helga dropped down into the desk immediately behind his, removed all of its previous occupant's things, and dumped the contents of her own book bag into it.
"Um, Helga, what are you doing?" Arnold inquired tactfully. Helga gave a loud, "harrumph."
"This is my desk now, Arnoldo, so you'd better get to used to it!" Helga said in a mood as bad as any she had ever been in.
"I'm used to it!" Arnold agreed, too short on breath to argue with a wrathful Helga. This early in the morning, anyway. He slid the library book in front of his eyes once again and began to read. Helga, meantime, began to stare at him from behind with a dreamy gaze, her chin in one hand. The two, ten-year olds began to forget all about "Arnold's Secret Journal' as they began their new world-order of day-to-day living. From that day forward, the desk just behind Arnold's was occupied by Helga and Helga alone or someone would be very sorry for it. For a long time, Helga became Arnold's persistent tag-along, and that was the extent of their romance.
But nine years later, Arnold Shortman had to keep his promise to Helga to reveal the final eight lines of his embarrassing poem. It was their honeymoon and they were in Paris. Helga had rented them a room with a balcony overlooking the city so that they could she could live out the fantasies of her head. Arnold had been reluctant at first. It had been unsettling to be so far from home and their two, blessed, illegitimate children Alfred and Cecil. Their romance together had proved enormously complicated so far. But now, all the pieces seemed to fall into place at last. Arnold had married Helga a mere two days earlier although they had been living together a full year.
"So," said Helga twiddling a finger into one of the bouncy, vibrant locks of Arnold's hair as it cascaded over her bare shoulder. "Are you gonna keep that promise, Shortman?" Her smile as she said this was saucy and Arnold's brows wrinkled with reflection.
"What promise? You mean our wedding vows?" asked nineteen year-old Arnold trying to give Helga a small kiss. But she blocked her lips tenderly with a playful hand.
"Not that promise!" Helga laughed with a small punch to Arnold's well-muscled shoulder which now, thanks to a wedding gift, now bore a tattoo with her name on it. Helga wrapped her arms around her husband's strong frame as a reward. "I mean the promise you made to me when I helped you get your 'Secret Journal' back! When were children, remember? I'm still waiting to hear the other half of your poem!"
"Oh!" Arnold remembered with a small cough. "Oh, that! I suppose I can do that! I memorized the last few lines although it isn't much. Just a few lines."
"Out with it!" Helga demanded. She narrowed her eyes to look cross and gave Arnold a few hits on his shoulder with her fist for good measure. But Arnold did not relax the firm grip he had around his beloved. He gave a soft sigh of defeat and began his answer. "The last few lines of the poem goes..."
"For I am forever taunted
By the fault that was all mine-
Her legs wrapped around my waist
We slid down the wall in perfect time!
So now my own heart thunders.
It has taken on the storm.
Is this love or is it merely lust?
What fruit from this longing shall be borne?"
Arnold Shortman looked deep into his lover's eyes for an answer. But they were half-hooded and Helga quickly pulled herself up against him for another kiss.
"What fruit from this longing shall be borne, eh?" uttered Helga. "I can answer that for you, Shortman. I know I said twenty-one, but I'm in a good mood! Maybe we can get to work on our third kid early!" She snatched Arnold's head and forced it down for another kiss. But as soon as he could get away, Arnold squirmed away to let his lips wander other places.
"You're terrible!" Helga yelped at his sudden nip, pressing Arnold away two inches by the soft palm of her hand. The return of his hot lips to Helga was far more gentle. "I learn from the best!" her companion teased with a wide, pearly-toothed grin. He had decided. This was proving to be a great honeymoon!