"Helga!"
Helga tensed up when she heard her name. It was late, after four, on graduation day, and she had just handed the key to the principal after locking up the school newspaper office for the last time. Who on earth would still be around, and why were they calling for her?
"Hey, Helga!" The voice sounded closer, and she had a sinking feeling that she recognised its owner. She turned around. Ah shit.Arnold was jogging across the field towards her, raising a hand in greeting when he caught her eye.
"Uh… hi." Helga stammered as Arnold came up to her. It had been months since they had last spoken, since she had bawled him out in Mighty Pete. What on earthdid he want with her now?
"Hi. Uh… you heading home?" He smiled nervously, his thumbs hooked behind the straps of his backpack, his hair falling into his eyes.
She nodded.
"Can I walk you?" He was taller than she remembered. She couldn't remember the last time they stood so close, but she had to look up to meet his gaze.
"You gonna offer to carry my books, too?" She scoffed. He looked confused, unsure whether she was teasing him, or taking the piss. She sighed. "Sure, Football Head… walk me to your hearts content." She turned on her heel to stalk off across the grass.
"So, uh… you going to the party?" Arnold asked, glancing at her. Jesus, why does he look so fucking nervous? It's not like I've never lost my shit at him before.
"Yeah. Phoebe threatened to disown me if I don't go… you know how she is about traditions."
"Stringent?" he offered.
Helga laughed. "That's a nice way of putting it. I swear she's developing OCD." She hefted her bag from one shoulder to the other. "So, Football Head, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"The pleasure?" He sounded genuinely confused.
Helga stopped walking and turned to face him. "It's been months since I last, uh, spoketo you. You've voluntarily found me, offered to walk me home, and now you're attempting small talk. What's the deal?"
"Hell, Helga, you don't beat around the bush, do you?" He frowned.
"I prefer the term mince words. But whatever floats your boat, Shortman." She stood defiant. "Honestly Arnold, I'm not pissy at you or anything. But you're all nervous and jumpy and shit… and you have neverapproached me like this before. If something's up, then just spit it out, you don't need to act the gentleman with me. OK?"
He gaped, swallowed… "OK, yeah… I, uh…" He sighed. "I wanted to say that you were right and that I'm sorry. For, uh, patronising you, I suppose." He shifted on his feet, moved his eyes from her face. "I've been thinking about what you said in the tree house, a lot, and… and I suppose I just kinda took for granted that we were friends, purely because we've known each other for so long."
Helga was speechless… but he wasn't finished. "I just figured I'd leave you alone, you seemed so mad at me… but then, I found out you got into Berkeley, and you said you only wanted me to, um… ask you to hang out, if I found you interesting, or something. I forget what exact words you used."
Berkeley? Helga stared. What the fuck is going on here?"You're going to Berkeley too?"
He frowned at the interruption. "Well, yeah." He rushed on "But I suppose you got under my skin, because I've been thinking about it, and I, uh… I do think you're interesting, and I do want to, uh, hang out… I mean, yeah, if it isn't, stupid?"
He was bright red, his adams apple lurched up and down his throat as he swallowed.
"Hold on… you're going to Berkeley?" Her voice was incredulous.
"Well, I, uh… yeah! They have a really good history programme…" He reached to rub nervously at the back of his neck, showing the ridge of muscle on the inside of his arm. Again she was reminded of how much taller he had grown. She stared at him, raking her eyes over his face, a face she had once known as well as her own… his jaw was roughed by slight stubble, his eyebrows were thicker, his nose straighter than she remembered. His head wasn't even that football shaped anymore. When had he grown up?
"Wow." She ended up muttering, because she needed to say something.
His mouth twitched up. "It's not that amazing, Pacman… it's not like it's an obscure school or anything."
She blinked. Yeah, she must be acting like a crazy person. "Well, duh, Football Head."She rolled her eyes in petty retaliation to her hated nickname. "I just didn't think you'd wanna move so far from home, is all. She shifted her bag on her shoulder again and turned to stride off again.
Arnold hurried to catch up. "So… uh… you aregoing to Berkeley, right?"
She didn't look at him. "Course I am!" She smiled, forced her voice to sound light.
"English?"
She was conscious of how close he was so her, watching her as they walked. He might lookolder, but he still acted the same. So why was she acting like such a bumbling moron? She laughed. "What else?" Glancing over at him, she grinned. "So, you wanna hang out some time?"
He nodded, his bottom lip in his teeth, a strangely endearing tic. "Yeah. I mean… if you want." He shrugged. "I figured you'd tell me to fuck off."
She laughed. "What can I say, I'm a sucker for a monologue."
Ah, there it was… the smile that had punctuated her childhood. "I'll remember to ramble more often, then."
That first night was awkward.
The party was wild, hosted by Rhonda, of course, with no expense spared. A huge warehouse space had been decked out with long white leather sofas, huge tables buckling under platters of food, and an open bar.
Helga marvelled at how many parents were happily turning a blind eye to all this underage drinking.
Anyways… that first night was kinda stilted. Arnold obviously had it in his head that he had to be niceto her, to make her feel welcome or something. It wasn't great. He kept asking if he could get her another drink, or something to eat… Gerald and Phoebe giggled about it all night, and Helga had ended up cornering Arnold in the hallway out to the bathrooms, growling at him to cut the crap, making him blush and stutter, but finally acquiesce… he'd just treat her like a normal person. He promised.
Things got better after that.
He actually had a pretty wicked sense of humour, once he stopped trying to act appropriately.He even came back with a few quips to counter her sneering barbs. Which, weirdly, she liked.Who woulda thunk it? They ended up all leaving together, climbing into a cab, giddy with the heady freedomof graduation.
And so the holidays rolled on…
Arnold – Hey. You coming to the beach on Saturday? There's a space in my car if you wanna ride?
Arnold – Yo! Gerald's coming over to mine tonight. You ladies are welcome to join us… if you bring ice cream and can sit through Star Wars?
Arnold – 3D screening of the new Total Recall. 8.15pm. You in?
Arnold – Nostalgic game in Gerald's field, 10 tomorrow morning. Be there or be square.
Arnold – You need a ride to Sid's? I'm sober driver.
Arnold – I can swing past yours after work if you wanna watch Hellboy with me?
It got… normal.
They bonded over a mutual love of bad movies, and ended up having similar interests, reading especially.
She let him borrow her copies of Stephen Fry's autobiographies… and he lent her his Leonard Cohen novels. She made him read Orwell essays, and he gave her a book of Bukowski she'd never managed to get her hands on.
They trawled second hand book shops together, had heated discussions over the merits of authors and stories, and more than once ditched parties early to sprawl out in Arnold's attic room and devour their latest paperback acquisitions.
It was one of those nights when Arnold had his idea.
"Hey, Helga…" He called from where he was lying flat on his back on his messy bed.
"Wait up." She finished her paragraph before looking up, her feet dangling off the end of Arnold's pivoting sofa. "Alright Football Head, what's up?"
"How are you getting to California?"
She struggled up onto her elbows, jamming her fingers in-between the pages of her book to keep her place. "Uh, flying I suppose. Why, you got a better idea?"
He pushed himself up to look at her. "I'm driving… I wanna have my car over there. I was thinking maybe you could come with me? Share the driving and stuff?" He smiled hopefully.
"Huh… that could be cool." She stretched out. "How long would we take?"
He shrugged. "I dunno, I was going to try make the trip in a few days. But if there were two of us, we could take a week or something? See some sights?"
She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. "Stay in seedy motels… eat at shitty diners…"
"The American dream." Arnold nodded. They grinned at each other.
"Alright Football Head, it's a date." She was beaming. This could be so much fun.
…
Phoebe – I miss you already. Send me postcards! Tell Arnold to drive safely! Good luck, Ms Pataki. Xx
Helga sniffed as she tapped out her reply, they weren't even quite out of the city yet, her eyes were still damp from their goodbyes… "Phebes says to drive safe." She dropped her phone into her lap and stretched out, sneakily watching Arnold as he tried to concentrate on the traffic.
"Yeah… she was pretty stern about that back at your place." He chuckled, leaning over the steering wheel to look past a van. "So was your dad, actually. A bit unfair if you ask me… I've never even gotten a parking fine!"
"Dad?" Helga frowned. "You mean, Bob?"
Every now and then Arnold would give her a sideways look that made her feel like she was a crazy person. This was one of those times. "Well, I didn't mean the Jolly Olly man." His cheek dimpled with his lop-sided smile. "Yes… Bob.He told me I better get you to uni in one piece, or to kiss my keister goodbye."
"Really? Huh." Bob displaying fatherly concern? Odd. She chewed on a fingernail, watching buildings pass by the window. "We should stop somewhere and get snacks."
He nodded. "Sure. There's a couple of Redbulls in the back somewhere if you need caffeine?" He grinned again. "Excited?"
She shrugged. "Yeah? Sure… why not?"
"Try rein in your enthusiasm there, Pataki… might take an eye out." He raised a quick eyebrow at her while negotiating lane changes.
"Ah shut it." She stretched out, flicking her sandals off and putting her bare feet on the dashboard.
He raised an eyebrow at that, too. No doubt having your feet up was a hazard or something, but he didn't say anything about it. "Alright, grumpy guts, open the glove box."
Sitting on top of the normal collection of papers, old pens and McDonalds receipts, was a bar of milk macadamia chocolate. "Ah Shortman… you know how to treat a lady."
He snorted. "Sure… but what am I supposed to do with you?"