The weekend sailed by like a hot air balloon—slowly at first and then, before it even registered in their minds, suddenly far away, barely brushing the horizon. The gang spent its usual rowdy and boisterous Saturday evening at the Coco Hut, enjoying the hours not devoted to homework and content to procrastinate until the last minute on Sunday, the afternoon of which was typically spent in the dark confines of the movie theater—as students, they got half-off tickets for matinees.
The next Monday afternoon at Gerald Field, Arnold found it really hard not to stare at Helga exclusively. Now that he'd seen this new sliver of her complex web of a life, he struggled to keep it out of his mind and focus on being shortstop. She'd performed fantastically (again) on Saturday, but she professionally avoided speaking openly to him or their peers about their accidental rendezvous the day prior, and she surely didn't share any secret glance with him to acknowledge that it had even happened.
Similarly, she didn't notice him staring at her now (or she was still doing a good job pretending not to)—he didn't mind as long as she didn't catch his eye and turn it into an opportunity to embarrass him. Keeping quiet about that sort of thing wasn't the norm for her, contrary to her aloof behavior Saturday. Last week she'd belted out a "Put your eyes back in your head and pay attention to the game, Arnoldo" along with a loud laugh and triumphant bout of heckling. Harold's subsequent laughter was even worse as it triggered a hefty chorus of "OOooooOOoos."
The only reason he could fathom for this atypical behavior was that Helga really didn't want anyone to know about her stage fright compensation strategy, weird as it seemed to him—most of their classmates had experienced similar challenges in school plays or talent shows, and they managed not to make fun of each other for it.
Perhaps Helga, for all the brave face she displayed to the world, couldn't handle the mere possibility that her peers would ascribe a weakness to her, no matter how trivial, especially since it would tarnish her reputation in a field not even her sister Olga could touch. Everyone knew the legend of Olga's instrumental performances, her continued mentorship of the neighborhood youth when she was in town, even her reputation for winning spelling and debate competitions—all of the high school trophies and plaques boasted a prominent O. PATAKI etched in brassy metal—but there was never a mention of Olga winning anything in original composition. And while Helga didn't seem to give a single damn about academic trophies, Arnold had witnessed her covetously eyeing their sportive counterparts in every race and physical contest imaginable. She chose to compete in the things that she knew she had a fighting chance in, and once she'd latched onto the spoken word, she seized power and declared it her domain.
Arnold lunged to scoop up a ground ball and threw it towards third. Helga must have decided that he wouldn't tell anyone. Why she trusted him so much, he didn't know. Maybe she meant it that time at the end of freshman year when she said he was the most honest guy she'd ever met, even if those words dripped with sarcasm.
That assessment was an exaggeration for sure—despite public appearances, Arnold had a deviant streak that not many knew about. He tried to keep it under control, but sometimes it got him into trouble. He thought it was interesting, him with his wholesome appearance and concealed flaws, and Helga with her misunderstood bravado and tender heart underneath. Their respective best friends knew of these natures—he assumed Phoebe wouldn't be Helga's best friend if she didn't see it too.
As he reflected on the mysteries of polar opposites and magnetism, he heard Gerald cough suspiciously loudly behind him somewhere in center field. Great… He'd been staring stupidly again at the way Helga was dancing on and off second base, ready to steal. Arnold shook his head and readied himself for the next play. He couldn't help glancing once more. Helga spat not so daintily in the dirt. It did nothing to quiet the flood of string instruments.