Hey Arnold: After the Jungle

by originella

Leaving the jungle of San Lorenzo behind, Arnold and Helga begin 6th grade at P.S. 118 as an official couple. However, in the future, documented by a series of letters from a teenaged Helga to Arnold, we learn that their middle school life is in the past and the couple are living on opposite sides of the country. What happened to make them separate, and when, or if, will it change?

3. As the Clouds Roll By

Chapter Three: As the Clouds Roll By

Once the ceremony to welcome us back to San Lorenzo had begun, everyone gathered into their houses to start the preparations. I walked towards the pillars where I'd helped in saving the town, my eyes scanning the artwork along the walls, running my hands along them. Arnold, Gerald, Phoebe, and Mr. and Mrs. Shortman had gone to our rooms during the trip to get everything settled, leaving me to wander around the place on my own.

I raised my hand up to where my locket had been placed, and where I'd attempted to fetch it back after the cure had been disbursed throughout the town. I placed my hand upon the wall, turning around and looking at the space provided. I then allowed myself to remember what had transpired here, nearly a year ago, where Arnold had, in not so many words, admitted his feelings for me. I just remembered him offering his hands and, while trying not to practically scream that my goal had finally seemed to have been met, taking them, and not even having to step forward at all—

"You're remembering our defining moment?"

I look up then, turning to see Arnold standing there, a smile on his lips. "No, I wasn't," I say quickly, too quickly. "That is to say that I...I remember it fondly, quite fondly, as a matter of fact..."

Arnold steps forward then, looking up at where he and I had secured my locket with a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Your heart is purer than you know, Helga," he tells me then, taking me by the hand.

I feel myself flush deeply. "Thank you, Arnold..."

"I mean it," he replies, turning to me. "Nobody who wasn't loyal or brave or not pure of heart would have put their life on the line to save my parents like that. We could have died, right as we were suspended by that makeshift bridge, Helga, or Lasombra could have done us in."

"But he didn't," I say.

"He didn't," Arnold agrees, "and I'm glad."

"Are you?" I ask, peeking at him.

Arnold nods. "Of course I'm glad. If he'd done us all in, then we wouldn't have solved the mystery of my parents, or woken up the rest of the Green-Eyed people, and I wouldn't have known that you...loved me."

"I couldn't help but love you," I reply. "You're the only one that ever showed me any form of kindness throughout my life. All I could think of was loving you, in that moment, and every moment since, when all I could think about was telling you my secret feelings and...grabbing you and kissing you..." I say, forcing a laugh to escape my throat. "I guess it was all pretty sudden..."

"You attempted to convince me that it was all the heat of the moment," Arnold puts in, a grin on his face.

"Well, you believed me, didn't you?" I ask.

Arnold laughs. "Of course I didn't," he replies. "I just thought that you told me at a moment when you weren't prepared to do so. I just figured that you needed more time to think about it."

I sighed. "I guess it was that, and part of me thought that there was no way that you could ever...like me...or...love me..."

Arnold sighs, turning to face me then, and I look over my shoulder at him. "You did it all, Helga. Of course you know how I feel," he says, pulling me by my hands towards him, where he kisses me in the exact spot we had a year ago.

I felt my foot going up in the air as it had done before, curling upwards at the notion that it was happening yet again, and nothing would have ever ruined this moment—

"Mmm, mmm, mmm!" we heard from behind us then, and, breaking apart, both our faces red, we spotted Gerald standing there with Phoebe, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Shortman. "Now I've seriously seen everything!" he declares.

Arnold peeks over at me. "Maybe we should get out of here..."

"What do you suggest?" I whisper back.

"How about a walk?" he asks. "I'm sure the stone bridge looks incredible in the sunlight..."

"Sounds good to me," I reply, taking his offered hand and making our way away from there.

. . .

It was so hard to believe that for the last three months had been spent entirely in Central America, and we hadn't been chased by a madman masquerading as a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Shortman's. The Green-Eyed people were pleased to see us, but I could sense some disappointment in the princess as she regarded me and Arnold holding hands as we approached their kingdom. The chanting began almost immediately as we arrived, the children in their animal skins greeting us and even attempting to put Arnold in that throne again, but he declined, preferring instead to walk with me as we entered the kingdom.

It all became a harsh reality when, twelve weeks later, we were already heading back to the airport, back to Hillwood. Twelve-years-old and in the seventh grade, old girl, I thought to myself. And not only that, but Arnold-Arnold-Arnold is finally your boyfriend...not bad. I didn't even have to threaten the Green-Eyed princess with Old Betsy, or the Five Avengers once during the entire trip. I supposed that she thought that hand-holding was a sacred thing in our culture, and she had managed to keep her distance, thankfully.

Arnold, Gerald, Phoebe, and I learned upon our return to Hillwood via a letter from the school district that P.S. 118 had tacked on grades seven and eight, so we would not need to change schools. It was a relief, because I doubt my parents would even attempt to remember that I would need a new school. Now, they had been granted a two-year reprieve, and at least they seemed somewhat grateful that I had returned home in one piece. I trudged up the stairs to find that Olga's old bedroom landline had been placed in my bedroom, and I smiled to myself, knowing that I could now speak to Arnold without hanging out in the hallway.

After unpacking, I threw myself down onto the bed; I knew I could not allow jet-lag to set in, and instead decided to take a shower. After venturing into the bathroom with my bag of toiletries to disperse throughout the bathroom, and as I adjusted the water temperature, I wondered what the following week would bring, when Arnold, Gerald, Phoebe, and the rest of the gang would formally begin our seventh-grade year. Arnold would be thirteen at the beginning of our second month of school, as I would be just before it became spring.

I came to the direct conclusion, standing there beneath the stream of hot water as I washed the last of our second trip of San Lorenzo down the drain, that the fooling around had to come to an end. I knew then that if Arnold and I weren't a couple now, I'd be marching up to school the following week and telling him how I really felt then. It hadn't been easy the first time, due to me doing most of the talking; nor had it been easy the second time, when Arnold wasn't listening. They say, 'third times the charm', and they were certainly correct, despite the fact that for the beginning of his speech, Arnold was being unfailingly honest with me, which was something I'd always valued about him.

. . .

Dear Helga,

As soon as I opened your letter, I went to the closet where the sweater was hanging and looked it over. Originally not finding anything, I became convinced that you were playing tricks on me and hung it back up, although what I initially intended to do was throw it across the room. However, I finally began approaching the situation like you would have, by going outside the box—or, rather, the sweater—and searched for the surprise on the inside-out layer. I never noticed before how you made the bottom deliberately thicker, and as I ran my hand along it, I found I detected something hard beneath the fabric, and something edged further down, and something curved even further. I don't know how I missed these, but then I realized—after slicing it—that you put cotton inside. I found your gifts to me, and they cheered me up immensely just before the holidays, and I can't thank you enough for each and every one of them.

The first thing I pulled out from that piece of cotton heaven was a commemorative coin you and I got, four weeks before I left, and two weeks before we found out I won the contest in New York. I remember you saying you'd get one as a joke, and then when I saw that picture of us from The Tunnel of Love, it brought back so many memories. That was our penultimate kiss before I left; that was the week before you got sick and then when you were recovered, I got news about my moving to New York. I remember the look of devastation on your face that you tried so hard to hide, and I didn't call attention to it because I was stupid and selfish and no matter how many times I say, 'I'm sorry', I know I can never truly be forgiven. I remember me begging you to kiss me at the airport, and you said that it was a goodbye kiss and then you kissed me and left me at airport security, and, even now, I cannot blame you.

The second thing I pulled out was a small photograph taken from a polaroid camera from a party at Rhonda's house to celebrate our safe homecoming from San Lorenzo. You looked so happy to be sitting with me on their poorly-pattered couch, and I remember how much simpler things were back then. You and I were just getting to know the other sides of each other, and we were getting along really well. Nobody was giving us a hard time, funnily enough, and I remember Rhonda running around the party, snapping photos like she usually did, except this time with an old disposable camera. I think she said something like, 'It's so old that it's new and, therefore, it's in!' I'll never fully understand Rhonda's philosophy when it came to pop culture, but I know I'll never forget the moment when I knew the camera was going to flash, and me leaning in and kissing your cheek, your face caught between happiness and shock.

The final thing I pulled out brought every memory in the book back, because I know you had this for a long time, and how freely you sacrificed it in San Lorenzo, that it can't be right for me to keep it. Its glass was still intact but, of course, the picture was still shredded. I never did ask you how that happened—did a stray dog remove the glass and get to it? I'm sure, at the time, you felt justified in tearing it up, and I know it was a long time ago because I remember you handing it over after you'd torn it. Your locket saved my parents' lives, Helga, and brought you through all those years of pain when I was too silly to notice that you were in love with me.

I know even you don't like a root canal, Helga, but somehow, after all this time, you may prefer me to one just a little. Even after all we've been through, I know that this can't be the end for us, can it? With you pining away for so long, and with me taking forever to figure myself out, I know that it wasn't easy, but it was saving the lives of others that brought us together, and now, despite the fact that the picture is, I know I'm not yet fully prepared for us to be torn apart.

Your friend,

Arnold Shortman

. . .

In the days that followed, I did my best to sort through the boxes of Olga's hand-me-downs to figure out some possible new spins on my outfit. Then again, the outfit that I wore typically was my standard now, so it wasn't like I could just go and change it after so long. However, I decided to get a little adventurous and looked up ways to sew things myself, which brought me the helpful suggestion from Rhonda to consider YouTube tutorials. Taking my pink dress, I cut it down to a suitable shirt length, adding the striped area to the bottom and making it flair out ever so slightly. Then I found a pair of jean capris that had belonged to Olga, which fit me perfectly, and paired them with my new shirt.

Then, came the inevitable—to shed the ultimate image of my father from my face, literally. I went shopping and found some wax, and, when I went home that day, went into my bathroom and shut the door behind me. Using yet another YouTube tutorial about 'safe, in-home waxing', I watched it carefully as I placed the kit on top of the sink. I was easily able to measure the halfway point and then I put the wax onto the center line. Placing the strip on top, I clenched my teeth but not so much that my forehead clenched—the last thing I needed was to lose an eye. And then, counting to ten in my head, I pulled.

Needless to say, it was one of the most painful experiences of my life, but I managed to get the worst of it off in one pull. Two or three smaller pulls took care of the rest of it, and, once I experimented, I found that I could successfully raise either eyebrow at will. I placed the ready-made ice pack in the direct center of my forehead, not wanting to go to school the following day with added redness. Of course, it was not the only treatment I was subjecting myself to in the next twenty-four hours; not by a longshot.

The next morning, I woke up early and washed my hair and combed it so that it lay down my back. Next, I took Olga's old hairdryer and blow-dried my hair, before taking Olga's straightener and straightened it down my back. Following that, I took out the lip gloss I'd bought and put it on before going back into my bedroom and putting on my new outfit. Once that was done, it was nearly time to leave the house, so I went downstairs to grab my lunch—packed the night before and hidden to make sure it wasn't inadvertently swiped—and a cereal bar for breakfast. My mother was already passed out on the couch, and Dad had already left for work; ever since the beeper business had gone completely under, I didn't know what he was doing as a job, and I didn't ask.

My new sandals thankfully didn't squeak on the floor as I walked out of the house, locking the door behind me. I walked down the stairs and down the block, meeting Phoebe as we always did on our walk to school, before we walked down the street and to the corner. Phoebe commented positively on my appearance and, while thanking her, I really wanted to know how Arnold would feel about it. Finally, we got to the corner completely and I could just see Arnold and Gerald waiting for us on the other side of the building. Gerald looked eager to see Phoebe and took her by the hand, leading her across the street as he had done every morning since the year before.

"Arnold?" I asked, finding that he was giving me that look that he had given me when we were suspended from the bridge in San Lorenzo, when we had initially believed that death was imminent. "Are you all right?" I asked, staring at him; I no longer had to lower my eyes to do so, as he was now my height. "Hey, are you okay, Football Head?" I asked him gently.

Arnold shook his head, replacing his look of shock with a small smile. "What did you do to yourself?" he asks.

I shrug. "I needed a change," I reply. "Do you like it?"

He smiles, taking my hand. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't," he tells me as we walk across the street. "But Helga, the truth is, I fell in love with you when you looked, I don't know...like you. You didn't need to do all this."

"I didn't do it for you, Arnold, I did it for me," I say firmly, smiling at him. "It's not like I'm the kind of person who would deliberately alter their appearance for a significant other. I'm not that kind of girl, Arnold."

Arnold smiles at me. "I know you're not," he replies, "which is exactly why I fell for you in the first place."

"Really?" I ask.

"One of the many reasons," Arnold tells me.

. . .

Dear Arnold,

It was very sweet of you to send me my locket back, along with the picture of us at Rhonda's party when we got back from San Lorenzo—the first time. I was just remembering our second trip the other day, when we went for a romantic walk near the stone bridge. I remember it like it was yesterday, when you telling me that you were in it for the long run, and I had to contain myself from utterly swooning and making a fool of myself. You'll remember as well as I do that I failed in the most miserable fashion there was, but you never called me on it. Perhaps you liked me when I was like that, because I was in a vulnerable position, so different from my tough exterior.

How was your Christmas? Again, I apologize for not having the funding to head out there myself. The price of stamps has gone down with the new year, however, and the very notion that I can afford to send you letters as my next birthday approaches makes me feel better. I can't believe I'll be seventeen-years-old, and one year closer to opening that mysterious folder-like package from you. As time continues, I begin to wonder who will make the massive leap—I can't ask you to give up your dreams, Football Head. Ever.

I do hope they're not working you too terribly hard; I realize it is an intensive program and I'm sure you've got all kinds of projects to do. Let me guess—you did lectures of scale models the first week, right? I virtually have no idea what you're up to, other than some of the articles I've read and videos (mainly documentaries) I've seen on the subject. I couldn't just let you go to New York and learn about something I know next to nothing about without getting into it myself. I've always been like that—throwing myself into things you're interested in or taking part in, all to get closer to you. Now, while you're a million miles away, I guess I'm still fully unprepared for the impact of letting you go.

You'd be correct—on me not liking a root canal; it was the best analogy I could come up with. At that moment, all I could think of was getting my locket back and, in so doing, nearly shut myself off to the entire situation. Had I just kept my mouth shut and let you speak fully—which I ultimately did—I would have realized what you were doing. I suppose I'd never prepared myself for you actually returning my feelings, so the notion that you'd prepared yourself to do so was a complete eye-opener for me. I'll never forget our times together, Arnold, and let me put your fears to rest—I didn't want them to end how they did, nor do I wish they had ended at all.

Your friend,

Helga Pataki

. . .

"What are you thinking?"

"Hmmm?" I asked, turning to Arnold where we sat on the playground, just a week before Halloween began. "What? I'm sorry..."

Arnold smiled. "What are you thinking?"

"Oh. Right. Um... Debating on whether or not to go to Rhonda's costume party, I guess... What about you?"

Arnold grins. "I thought we were going together."

I feel my face flush at his declaration. "Oh. Well, of course we are," I say, rolling my shoulders. "I've been looking a lot through Olga's old boxes of things that fit me and, combined with those YouTube tutorials, I'm all set to make my costume this year. Managed to find a halfway-decent used sewing machine, and it's been quite an activity for me..."

"I'm glad that you've found something you like," Arnold replies. "Maybe we can have a couple's costume."

I lower my eyes. "But then people will really know that you and I are..."

"Everyone knows!" shouts Harold from the other side of the playground, giving us a thumbs-up.

"Harold's right," Nadine says as she skips by. "Opposites attract, as they say, and you are a prime example of that," she tells us before skipping to join Rhonda on the opposite sides of the playground.

"Unless you don't want to do a couple's costume," Arnold says. "It doesn't matter to me either way."

"Do you want to do a couple's costume?" I ask.

Arnold smiles. "Only if you do."

I nod. "I do... And I know it sounds totally cliché, but..."

"Prince and princess?" Arnold asks.

I let out a laugh then. "Admittedly, yes," I reply. "But not just your ordinary princess—I want to go seriously steampunk with this one."

"Sounds good to me."

"No, I mean it," I tell him. "As in, I'm fighting the dragon right beside you, not passed out asleep behind the couch like my mom is..."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Arnold tells me, taking my hand as the bell rings and as we get to our feet. "What colors were you thinking?"

"Green," I tell him. "Greens and browns and silvers. Nothing but the best for this dynamic royal duo."

"I can't wait to see what you come up with for yours," he says as we head back inside. "I know we're going to blitz the competition."

"You can say that again," I reply.

It takes all I can to keep a level-head for the rest of that Friday afternoon; having done all the assignments until the following Monday, I knew I had to spend the weekend working on my costume. Once I got home, I sifted through some of Olga's old things and found just what I needed to make a warrior princess type costume, one that I was sure Rhonda would approve of, and one that Arnold could be proud of. I spent nearly the entire weekend, holed up in my bedroom stitching and sewing and doing everything possible to make this costume perfect.

Finally, on Sunday night, I'd managed to make something amazing. A brown gypsy skirt with a green peplum top, as well as a mid-length brown cape, a pair of Olga's old brown leather boots, and—once I'd curled my hair—the illusion was complete. I attached my locket—with one of those black and white photographs that you can get a fair in a booth—in its center, and as I stood there, proudly before the mirror, I knew I'd achieved greatness.

Rhonda had made it clear that twelve-year-old seventh graders did not wear their costumes to school, and so everyone who got an invite to her party followed this rule when we arrived at school Tuesday morning. The students who showed up in costumes looked suspicious of the rest of us, but they were all in different classes and didn't know Rhonda, so they couldn't have automatically expected an invitation anyway. Mr. Simmons dressed as a vampire and attempted to deduce why none of us were dressed up, but none of us let on the real reason why.

"The party is at six," Arnold says to Gerald, Phoebe, and I at recess. "I say we all meet at our typical walking to school place at 5:45, and then we head over there together. What do you say?"

"Sounds good, man," Gerald replies.

"Count me in," Phoebe says.

"Helga?" Arnold asks.

I nod. "Sure, that's all right," I confirm.

When the final bell rang at 3:30, we all walked part of the way home together, before heading in opposite directions towards our own houses. I said goodbye to Phoebe and walked the rest of the way on my own, unlocking the door and stepping inside. With Dad at work and Mom in the living room, I was shocked when she actually greeted me as I came in, and I played nice as I ran upstairs to do my homework before I got ready.

The homework took no more than a half-hour, and then I jumped in the shower to wash my hair so as to curl it more easily later. Once my shower was completed, I stepped out and blow-dried my hair halfway, and my body completely. I walked into my bedroom next and pulled my costume off the mannequin and pulled on everything, completing it with some green stockings I'd bought in town. Once the locket was in place, I returned to the bathroom and curled my hair before securing the cape into place and the pouch at my waist that had once belonged to Olga when she was in high school.

I walked downstairs, shouting goodbye to Mom, who was now fully absorbed in the television again. Dad was still not home, so getting out of the house, down the block then and towards Phoebe's house proved to be a cinch. Phoebe was just coming out of the house as I came by, and I waved to her, and waited at the base of the stairs for hers before walking down the block to our meeting point with Arnold and Gerald.

"A mouse?" I asked Phoebe.

She grinned. "Yes. Gerald is going to be a cat."

I raised my eyebrows at her choice of costume, but decided not to say anything negative about it. "Clever," I reply.

We continue down the block and converge on the meeting point just as Arnold and Gerald do themselves, and Gerald steps forward like always and takes Phoebe's hand, walking in the direction of Rhonda's house together. Arnold grins when he sees me, taking my hand and kissing me on the cheek. As we continue down the block, we make small talk amongst ourselves until Rhonda's house comes into view, and Gerald and Phoebe get inside immediately, the music of Taylor Swift greeting our ears and seeming strangely out of place.

"Before we go in," Arnold says, and I turn around to face him as he reaches inside his own cape, and hands something over.

"What is it?" I ask, opening the paper bag.

"Every princess needs a crown," he says as I pull out a costume princess crown and prince crown. "I thought we should have little adornments, even though we're slaying dragons."

I smile, looking down at the crowns beneath Rhonda's porch light. "You didn't have to do this, you know..."

"I know," he replies, taking the crown and placing it own my head, while I do the same to his. "But I wanted to," he tells me, taking my hand again and turning towards the door. "Shall we?"

I nod. "We shall," I tell him, and we walk into the party together, hand in hand, as any royal couple would do.