Chapter 24
The Little Pink Book
Arnold sighed and sat down on the couch. Grandpa had been right about one thing at least. It wasn't worth trying to hold onto friends. Not unless they were 'really' special.
"Really special," he thought, thinking about his secret admirer. He got up and pulled out a small pink book. It had been months since he had seen this book. He opened it up and began to read.
Cowlicks, like fields
of yellow corn,
All the days of my week,
I write the name
I dare not speak
The boy with the
cornflower hair,
My beloved,
and my despair.
He turned the page and read the next poem.
Your eyes, like two
green jellybeans,
Are pools I want to bathe in.
My head doth swoon,
and yet,
I want to beat
your face in.
That sounded an awful lot like something that Cecile, or whoever she was, would do.
Arnold you idiot,
I've always worn it
I've always loved you
My darling, my darling.
Kiss me, my darling,
Oh so shamed, my
prometheus, Wandering
the dismal deserts of my tormented soul.
My tormented soul? Poor girl. He hoped she wasn't that unhappy that he hadn't figured out who she was yet.
To Arnold with the
red-hot lips,
Your football head
Your awesome face,
Your grungy chic,
Your cat-like grace
Whose red-hot lips do
I want to taste?
Three guesses stupid:
Arnold, Arnold, Arnold!!
Arnold blushed. "She's a good writer," he thought, smiling.
Arnold my love,
My sultry preteen,
Why must I hold you only
whilst I dream? Will I be
forever enslaved by your spell?
Why must I worship you and
never ever tell?
Arnold you make my girlhood tremble.
My senses all go wacky.
Someday I'll tell the world,
my love… Or my name's not
!!
He sighed. "Why'd she have to cross out her name?" he thought. "Why couldn't she just leave it and save me all the trouble of wondering?"
Each morn, I see you
bend to drink,
From love's own crystal pool.
I tremble near you,
try to think.
Will I forever say
"You stink"?
Am I bound by this
tragic rule?
So, she saw him everyday? How come he didn't notice her? How come she'd never come out and admit who she was? He turned the page, but all he saw was a jagged line running down the page.
"Helga," he thought. She had ripped that page just when he was about to read it.
He asked her why, and she just said, "For spitball of the day, football head."
Arnold sighed. "What was on that page?" he thought. "It spelled out something. H is for the head I'd like to punt. E is for…or was it A? And then it was a…I can't remember," he thought, frustrated. "Why'd you have to do that, Helga?" he asked out loud, before he put the book on the couch and left his room.