Author's Note: Thank you very, very, very much for your reviews. And for being the best. Whatever's going on in your life right now, you'll be alright. Promise.

13: The Damage is Done

Helga Pataki was having a bad day.

She was mostly always having a bad day. But today had been exceptionally terrible, especially for a Friday. She'd woken up at six in the morning, first of all, to Bob blowing a gasket over some mistake a junior-level employee had made at the Emporium. Then, at school, she'd stormed into the girls' bathroom and accidentally ripped her favorite pink hair ribbon while trying to tie up her ponytail, her hands evidently a little too forceful around the worn elastic.

"Helga."

And on top of that, well... the truth was… she was worried.

She couldn't help but notice that the Football Head seemed to have been acting weird over the past week. Weird even for him. She hadn't talked to him, obviously. But every time she'd walked past him in the hallways he'd seemed just – off. Silent. Subdued. She had a horrible feeling about all of it, and she didn't know why, exactly. She wasn't sure what was going on with Arnold and Lila, and she'd decided she shouldn't know, either. It was none of her damn business, for criminy's sake.

"Helga!"

But that logic wasn't doing much to take the edge off the anxiety that had begun to gnaw at her heart. Something wasn't right with him. She just knew it.

"Helga!"

Helga blinked. Phoebe was staring at her like she might've just sprouted a visible lump of cancer.

"What?"

"I'm sorry for raising my voice. You've just seemed so ponderous this morning. Is everything alright? I asked if you were ready to go to lunch."

They were still sitting across from one another in creative writing, a group that had been the bane of Helga's existence even more than Mr. Turner's egomaniacal excuse for an English class. Their completely useless teacher, Ms. Jenkins, insisted on having weekly "circle time" sessions in which they were all forced to read their latest creations aloud to one another. The humiliation of having to share her work would have been deterring enough for Helga even without Ms. Jenkins' added frivolities, which included requiring the class of teenagers to snap their fingers in succession after each reading like some kind of vapid cult members. Helga had been submitting fake-poems since September, today's being a haiku about the back of the box of Frosted Flakes she'd eaten for breakfast.

"You can always tell me if something is on your mind, you know."

"Oh, yeah." She shifted in her seat, looking down at her pink notebook. "I mean, no. It's nothing."

"Do you have something to eat with you today?" Phoebe asked as they collected their bags and made their way down the hall.

"Eh, I think so. A leftover Twinkie."

"Something a bit more nutritious would probably be best."

"Yeah, well."

"Especially with your current rigorous athletic schedule."

Helga snorted. "Maybe I'll puke up chemical chocolate and Tish'll have to cut me from the team. That'll teach her to recruit innocent bystanders for her little projects."

"I tend to think that would be self-punishment. And not the most effective of strategies. If what you really want is to leave the team, it would be best to inform your coach of your intentions yourself."

They had arrived at Phoebe's locker. Helga watched as her friend reached for the top shelf and slid out a blue lunch cooler, complete with three zipper pockets.

"I don't really wanna leave the team, though."

"Yes, I know." Phoebe nudged the cooler into Helga's hands. "Here's a turkey sandwich, a package of multigrain crackers, and some sliced mango."

Helga shook her head, trying to thrust it back at her.

"That's for you, Helga."

"C'mon, Pheebs, forget it. What are you gonna eat?"

"My lunch is here." The tiny girl stood on her tiptoes again to extract another matching cooler, this one green.

Helga was quiet as she looked down at the straps in her hand.

"Unless you don't want it," Phoebe said quickly. "If you don't, you don't need to feel compelled to eat it, I simply thought that –"

"I really don't deserve you. You know that, don't you?"

Phoebe offered her a small smile. "Of course you do. You're my very best friend."

Before Helga could respond, there was a low whistling sound behind them. They whipped around to see Gerald, grinning from ear to ear as he approached them. Phoebe's face brightened as he scooched over and grabbed hold of her waist, kissing her on the cheek.

"Oh, Gerald, don't be so silly," she giggled.

"Hey, Pataki," Gerald said, giving the blonde a friendly wave. Helga returned it genuinely.

"Sup, Geraldo."

"You doing alright?"

"Eh. About as good as usual. I got Pheebs though, so that's what counts."

He reached out and gave Helga a soft squeeze on the shoulder. "Yeah, me too," he paused. "Do we get to have lunch with you?"

She nodded. "Let me just go put my stuff in my locker. I'll meet you guys in the cafeteria, okay?"

She went off down the hallway, clutching Phoebe's lunch cooler tightly. Her mind was beginning to cloud with worry about Arnold again when she heard the familiar voice behind her.

"Helga. Wait for a second."

Helga felt her body freeze up.

The familiar soapy scent overwhelmed her before he was right beside her, with one hand grasping awkwardly at her elbow. She stared down, momentarily flustered.

"Did I give you permission to touch me, Arnoldo?"

"Sorry," he said, immediately dropping his arms to his side. "I was just… I was wondering if I could walk with you for a little."

She felt her face heat up as she silently noted his look of urgency.

"Whatever," Helga grumbled. "I'm going to my locker anyway."

They fell into step with one another, weaving in and out of the clusters of students leaving classes.

"I heard you're training to be on the new girls' lacrosse team. That's pretty cool."

"Yeah, it is, actually."

"When do you guys have your first game?"

"March, I think."

"That's great."

"Yeah."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Yeah."

"Great."

"Yup."

"Think you'll win?"

"We're gonna cream them."

"I'm sure you will."

"Uh-huh."

"And how have you been… otherwise?"

"Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking." She hesitated for a second. "Heard you're not doing too bad yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"When's the next date with your hot girlfriend?"

Beside her, Arnold turned the color of a tomato.

"I mean, not that I care," Helga spluttered in a feeble attempt to backpedal. "I don't."

She expected Arnold to drop the subject. But something much worse happened instead. His eyes narrowed and he actually straightened up his chest a little as they walked.

"It sounds like you might care." The completely un-Arnold-like challenge in his voice made Helga's stomach drop violently. "At least a little. Or you wouldn't have brought it up. And Lila is not my girlfriend."

"Still just your dream girl then, huh?" she retorted, determined not to let him take the lead in this – whatever this was.

He paused. "Why do you think Lila is my dream girl?"

She refused to answer him.

"She was my dream girl when we were ten years old," Arnold continued, his voice growing slightly higher in pitch.

Helga continued to ignore him.

"We're fifteen now," he said needlessly. "That's... that's five whole years."

"Wow," she snapped. "Great math there, Pythagoras."

"I'm just saying!"

"You're dating her now, aren't you?"

"I guess, but I… I…"

Helga raised her eyebrow, trying to ignore the burning in her chest.

"I mean…. it's just… I really miss you, Helga."

She lost her footing and tripped just as they arrived at her locker. Cursing, she refused the hand Arnold stretched out to her, pushing herself off the tiles and wiping the dust from her jeans.

"Really?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"Yeah," he told her softly. "I've missed you for months."

Her heart began to drum even more wildly against her rib cage.

"I mean, all of this avoiding each other is just pointless," he went on. "I don't know why we can't just be friends."

Embarrassed and disappointed beyond belief, Helga threw her books to the ground and began twirling the wheel on her combination lock feverishly.

"If I wanted your friendship I'd have asked for it myself."

"Okay. You're right. I'm sorry. But listen, I… I have something really important I need to ask you," he took an audible breath. "I'm not making any accusations or anything like that," he added.

"Well, that sounds promising," she snarled. But she froze in place. Arnold was actually tugging at the bottom of her T-shirt with one hand, as though afraid she'd try to escape.

"Helga…" He took a deep breath, eyes taking on a slightly sharper quality as he gazed at her. He immediately released her from his grasp.

She swallowed hard. "What?"

"I just… I need a yes or no answer on this. Okay?"

"A yes or a no answer on what?"

He took a deep, slightly shuddering breath. "Was it you?"

She was fully aware of her hands beginning to shake. "Was what me?"

"All of it!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Arnoldo."

"Well, the thing is that someone has been pretty determined to wreck things between me and Lila." He wouldn't take his eyes off of her face. Helga could feel herself withering under him, like an unwatered plant curling up into itself in the heat.

She didn't know how she managed it, but she let out what she hoped was a derisive-sounding laugh. "And you think that someone is me?"

"Well.. well…" he spluttered. "No, well, I don't, but I—"

"Quit flattering yourself. Like I even care what happens between you and Lila."

"So you have no idea who would be doing this," Arnold said slowly. "None at all."

"No."

"You promise."

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes! I promise, alright?"

She was staring at the ground as she said the words, but she saw him back up slightly out of the corner of her eye.

"Helga…" he started again, but she refused to look at him. And so he didn't complete the thought.

"You're done interrogating me now?" she asked warily.

"Yeah, I am," his voice grew softer. He gazed at her for a long moment. "Of course I am. I trust you."

"Good," she grumbled, but his words had made her feel like her body was made of lead. She couldn't bring herself to move for a few seconds.

She glared into her locker and managed to reach for her jacket. Several other items that had been smashed haphazardly into the cramped metal space tumbled out to the floor.

"Here," Arnold said, bending over to help her with the mess. She began shoving things back in left and right, taking the items from him as he handed them to her – lacrosse ball, goggles, moldy cheese stick, extra gym shorts, math textbook …

Arnold froze in place suddenly.

"Let's go, Football Head, I don't have all day." She glanced over at him, taking in the crumpled-up plastic bag in his hands. It was empty now, but still adorned with the hand-scribbled label the girl at the pet store had given to Curly: crickets and waxworms, dune gecko feed.

Arnold's head snapped up.

"Crickets... and waxworms," he said slowly. "Just your afternoon snack, huh?"

He almost sounded like he was going to laugh - but not a normal Arnold laugh. Not even close.

Her heart seized up.

"Arnoldo, I know what this looks like, but..."

"But what?"

"But… see… um…" she stammered.

For a few seconds, he waited. But Helga couldn't for the life of her think of what to say.

"You... you are so… insane." Arnold spit out the words as though they burned his tongue.

She flinched. "Okay, fine. I'm a psychopath. Tell me something I don't know. Look, just leave me alone, alright, I need to get to –"

"No!" he said loudly.

"Excuse me?"

"Helga, how could you?"

Helga could feel tears burning out of nowhere at the backs of her eyes. She blinked quickly. "I…"

"Why would you do something like this?"

She swallowed. "Okay… Arnold, listen, I— I know it ended up kind of badly, but you have to believe me. It was just supposed to be a prank. I didn't know Lila was allergic to geckos."

Arnold just continued to stare at her. She began fumbling nervously with her hands.

"Just a prank, I swear. And Curly, he just… he just chose the animal species at random. He likes geckos and he wanted them to be free. We weren't trying to hurt anyone. I swear, Arnold, we weren't. We just wanted to scare everyone enough to make em pee a little, that's all."

"Oh, is that all?"

"I really regretted it. I really, really regretted it. I— I – I wasn't thinking straight. I made a mistake."

"And when exactly do you think straight?"

She blinked rapidly again, completely stung. "Huh?"

"When you're paying your accomplice to wreck my life down to every last microdetail? Is that when you're thinking straight?"

"I didn't pay Curly to free the geckos in the movie theater! Criminy, how pathetic do you think I am? He's my freaking friend, as hard as it might be for you to believe that the psychotic Helga Pataki has any."

"You didn't pay Curly." He finally let out the dry, haunting laugh he'd been holding back. It was angry, and it was filled with hurt. "Maybe you didn't even pay anyone. You just tricked the collaborator you knew would actually do anything you asked for a little extra cash, right?"

"Arnold," she said slowly. "I don't know what you're talking about, but—"

"My bike," he spat out bitterly. "My bike that someone destroyed would... would... would say differently."

Helga's heart was speeding up again, her mind suddenly racing with a slew of confused thoughts. Someone had destroyed her beloved's bike? The one his dad had given him for his thirteenth birthday? Who would do such a thing to her sweet, sweet Arnold?

"Look, Arnoldo, I didn't touch your dumb bike, okay?"

"My dumb bike? My dad gave me that bike!"

"I know!" she yelled.

"I know you know!"

"Well then, we're all just incredibly knowledgeable here, aren't we, Football Head?!"

"You know, Helga. I've known you since we were three years old, and I've spent the better part of all that time trying to understand you. Even though you did things that were mean, and even though you were sometimes cruel, I think I always knew you had a good heart, deep down inside." He paused. The expression on his face was anguished, broken, like he'd finally come to terms with something too hideous to even say out loud. "But this… this is beyond… I just don't know how I'm supposed to react to this. How does someone with even an ounce of caring or common sense do something like this?"

"Arnold, I—"

"I'm always making excuses for you. Sometimes it feels like all I've ever done is make excuses for you."

"Yeah, I know, you have, and I never deserved that, you never deserved to have to do that—"

"I know you're a good person. I know you are, Helga. Maybe you'll figure that out someday, too. But I don't want to have anything to do with it anymore."

Looking at the floor, he placed the decrepit gecko feed bag in her hand and turned around.

Helga wondered if the black hole coming to swallow her alive was real, or only in her head.

"What the hell does that mean?" she screamed after him. "What do you mean it?"

Arnold whipped around to face her one last time, kneading his hands into one another and refusing to meet her eyes. "With you, okay? I don't want to have anything to do with you."