Chapter 26
Goodnight
Helga peered out of the crack again.
"Five fifty-one," she muttered.
She glanced down, and her eyes fell on her little pink book.
"Stupid book. That was a lot more trouble than it was worth."
She still remembered the poem she had written on the last page, the poem that had almost given away her secret.
H is for the head I'd
like to punt.
E is for every time I
see the little runt.
L is longing for our
firstest kiss.
G is for how good
that longing is. . . . .
A is for Arnold. Doi!
When she dropped her book in a pile of Gerald's books, and her book ended up in the hands of Arnold, she felt sure she was going to die. Especially when he read the last page.
But she didn't die, and the world didn't end. He'd read through the whole book, but she tore out the last page before he could get to it. Her secret was safe. She always managed to somehow get out of tight spots. This was no different. She'd get out. Somehow.
"I'm starving!" she suddenly realized. "Criminy! I haven't had anything to eat since…that stupid candy bar at lunch yesterday! And that was only half a candy bar! Sure, I shared it with Arnold, so it was the best thing I've ever eaten in my life, but it's not holding out to good! I've got to get something to eat!" She felt around in the dark.
"Criminy! There's nothing here! Wait a minute…eureka!" she cried, as she held up a red lollipop. "Great, now I can be poisoned with stale candy. Awe, what the heck, it's Arnold's stale candy, isn't it? I'll live." With that, she popped it into her mouth.
"Cherry probably. It's hard to tell. It already lost most of its flavor. Okay, now to think of a plan." But try as she might, she couldn't think of a way to escape without being caught.
"Maybe I could break through the floor like last time I was here," she thought, hitting it. "Ow! This is harder than before. They must have replaced the rotting wood. Okay, scratch that idea. But what am I going to do?" She sighed and glanced at the clock.
"Seven forty-seven. Hmm…well, no reason to be bored while I think of something," she thought, as she pulled out her most recent poetry book.
Cherish is the word I use to describe
all the feeling that I have hiding here for you inside.
You don't know how many times I've wished that I had told you,
you don't know how many times I've wished that I could hold you,
you don't know how many times I've wished that I could mold you
into someone who could cherish me as much as I cherish you.
Perish is the word that more than applies
to the hope in my heart each time I realize
that I am not gonna be the one to share your dreams,
that I am not gonna be the one to share your schemes,
that I am not gonna be the one to share what seems
to be the life that you could cherish as much as I do yours.
I'm beginning to think that man has never found
the words that could make you want me;
that have the right amount of letters, just the right sound
that could make you hear, make you see
that you are driving me out of my mind.
I could say I need you, but then you'd realize
that I want you, just like a thousand other girls
who'd say they loved you, with all the rest of their lies,
when all they wanted was to touch your face, your hands
and gaze into your eyes.
"Goodnight, Grandma, goodnight, Grandpa," Arnold called, as he stepped into his room. The smell of lasagna floated up from the kitchen.
"Food," Helga murmured desperately.
Arnold closed the door. He reached under his bed and pulled out a box. From inside the box he pulled out a red, high heeled sandal.
"Where are you, Cecile?" he whispered, staring at the shoe. "Or secret admirer, whoever you are. Where are you? Who are you?" He sighed and put the shoe back in the box.
"Maybe someday I'll know," he said, climbing into bed. "I wish she could hear me. I wish she could somehow know that I'm thinking of her. I wish she could know…how much I love her. Well, goodnight, whoever you are."
"Goodnight, my beloved," Helga whispered. "He loves me. He loves me! He doesn't know it's me, but still. He loves me. This is, despite the fact that I'm going to die behind a couch, the best day of my life."
The clock read eight sixteen.