Chapter 8

The Project

"Alright, class, you may get with your partners and start working on your project."

Helga was too busy daydreaming about Arnold to pay any attention to Mr. Simmons.

"Oh, Arnold, everything is just so beautiful," Dream Helga said, looking at the field of flowers with a rushing brook running through it.

"It is, but you are more beautiful than all of it put together."

"Oh, Arnold, you're just so wonderful."

"You really do love me, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, my love."

"Helga?"

"Yes, my love."

"Helga?"

"Yes, my lo-, criminy, football head, what do you want?" Helga snapped, realizing that she was no longer in her dream.

"I was just asking you to move your desk."

"Fine, Arnoldo, I'll move my stupid desk. Sheesh!"

"Oh, Brainy, I'm sure I'm looking forward to working with you on this project ever so much!"

"Uhhh…"

"So, let's get started. Where do you want to live?"

"Uhh…somewhere."

"Some…where," Lila said, writing it down; paying too much attention to Arnold and Helga to notice or even care what she was writing down. "Okay, what do you want your job to be?"

"Uhh…something."

"Great. Okay, what about food?"

"Uhhh…"

"Wonderful. Should we have any children?"

"Uhh…I don't know."

"I…don't…know. Okay, we're done."

"Okay, Helga, where should we live?"

"How am I supposed to know? And why do you get to ask the questions?"

"Well, I thought maybe we could both give answers to the questions and then combine them into an answer that we both agree on."

"Arnold, you are such an idiot. We'll never agree on anything."

"Helga, just give it a chance."

"Okay, fine. Where do I want to live? Hmm…I want to travel around the world! I want to visit Paris, Rome, the whole nine yards! Or…something like that."

"You know, that might actually work. My parents spent their whole lives traveling to jungles and things, and I've always thought it'd be a neat way to live."

"Great, write it down."

"Okay, Curly, let's just get this over with as fast as possible," Rhonda said, glaring at Curly. "And no funny business."

"Of course not, my sweet petunia!"

"Somebody save me. Okay, where are we living?"

"Wherever suits you best, my love."

"Oh, brother," she said, writing down "Luxurious Mansion". "Job?"

"Zoo keeper! FREE THE ANIMALS!"

"Uh…yeah," she said, writing down "investment banker". "Food?"

"Leaves, twigs, bark…"

"Caviar, tea, crumpets. Children? Never mind, don't even go there," she exclaimed, writing down a solid "NO!"

"Alright, what's next? Job. Hmm…I think I'll run for president."

"Helga, you can't be president if you're traveling the world."

"Got any better ideas, football head?"

"Well, I really enjoy helping people…maybe I'll be a psychologist."

"A psychologist? Do they even make any money?"

"If they work hard enough."

"Alright, you can be a shrink, and I'll…um…I'll write a bunch of poetry books, just incase the whole psycho thing doesn't work out."

"You write poetry?"

"Uh…yeah. Sometimes. Just a little hobby that I have."

"Wow, I didn't know that. You never really struck me as the poetic type."

"Well, you learn something new everyday, Arnoldo."

"Alright, Phoebe, where would ya like to live?"

"Oh, anywhere is fine really."

"Okay, we'll just stay in the city in an apartment."

"That's fine. What about a job? Hmm…I think I'll be a brain surgeon, or a nuclear physicist, or a chemical engineer."

"Um…great. I'll help. What about food?"

"Oh, I think it would be nice to just have a simple diet. You know, with all organic fruits and vegetables and whole grain wheat and-"

"Could we throw a couple hamburgers and candy bars in there?"

"Certainly, Gerald. Now, what about…children?"

"Um…"

"I think three is a good number. Don't you?"

"Three? Yeah, that'll work."

"And we'll send them all to Harvard, Princeton, or Yale."

"I'm sure they'll be able to get in when they have someone as smart as you as their mother."

"Oh, Gerald," she said, stifling a giggle.

"Alright, Helga, what about food?"

"No strawberries, no cranberries, no corn, no pig's feet, and especially no pork rinds."

"What's wrong with those things?"

"Corn is disgusting, pig's feet are disgusting, I'm deathly allergic to strawberries, and…um…pork rinds are just…weird," she said, thinking of the time that eating pork rinds caused her to sleepwalk to Arnold's house every night, almost revealing her secret.

"Okay, we have what we can't eat, so what can we eat?"

"Um…candy and junk food and stuff. And champagne and little chocolates in little heart shaped boxes."

"That's not much of a diet."

"Well, I'm not cooking, that's for sure."

"I can sort of cook, but my grandma taught me, and she likes to boil straw and bees and watermelon and stuff."

"Why don't we just order takeout?"

"Works for me."

"Alright, Patty, here's what we're gonna do. We'll live in a box behind Wal-Mart, you can sell hotdogs, we'll eat a lot, we'll have eight children, and then we'll send them all to an orphanage."

"Don't you think that's a little harsh?"

"How much room do you expect in a cardboard box?"

"Why do we have to live in a cardboard box?"

"Cause I said so!"

"You and what army?" Patty said, clenching her fist.

"Alright, alright, we'll live in a wooden carton instead."

"Oh, brother."

"Okay, we're almost done. We just have one more question."

"We are?" Helga said, with just a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Criminy, I don't want this to be over already!" she thought to herself.

"Okay…children. What do you think?"

"Well…I don't know. I've never really thought about it," she said.

"Wow," she thought. "I suppose it could be fun, but why would I want to share my love for Arnold with some child?"

"Actually, Arnold, probably not," she said out loud.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just…uh…probably wouldn't make a very good parent."

"Why not?"

"Why would you care?"

"Okay, okay, sorry I asked."

"Well, if you really must know, it's because my family isn't exactly the Brady Bunch."

"Huh?"

"My family stinks."

"Come on, Helga, it can't be that bad."

"Yes, it can! You don't know what it's like living in a world where everyone hates you. You get to live in your boardinghouse with your wonderful grandparents and your lovable, eccentric boarders and stuff. I have to live with Miriam, my lazy, useless, drunken excuse for a mother, and Big Bob, the overworked, harsh, brute who can't even remember my name! All he'll ever talk about is Ol-ga, my all too perfect sister. He's got the whole living room completely decorated with all the trophies and ribbons and awards and other pointless junk that she's ever won. He can't seem to register the fact that SHE'S BEEN AT COLLEGE THREE YEARS! SHE DOESN'T LIVE THERE ANYMORE! And yet he insists on calling me Olga. Can't he even get that THAT'S NOT MY NAME?"

"At least you have parents!"

Helga suddenly stopped and thought about that. She hadn't stopped to consider how Arnold must have felt with his parents disappearing when he was only one.

"Sorry, Arnold. I guess you're right. We both have it pretty bad."

"I just wish I knew where they where…" he said, his mind wandering to his parents who had been sent to San Lorenzo on a trip, never to return. "Maybe one."

"One what?"

"One kid. I'd kind of like one, just to experience it."

"I don't know…"

"Please?" he pleaded, looking into her eyes.

"Criminy, football head!" she cried, breaking the stare. "You act like we're really getting married or something!"

"Helga, we're only nine."

"Exactly! None of these answers mean anything! It's just a stupid project! And anyway, you're just about the last person I'd want to marry! I can't believe we're even partners! This is just like that stupid egg project!"

"Fine then! Just write down something, and we'll be done with it!"

"Fine!" she shouted, writing down "One." Then she looked at it, frowned, and wrote "Maybe." next to it.