The Extracurricular Activity Not Offered Anywhere Else (Five Days After "The Baseball Game")

"Oh, Arnold..."

"Hmm... yes, Helga?"

"You... I..." A quiet, satisfied moan. "That... And I... Oh, Arnold..."

A low chuckle. "Wow, Ms. Beautiful Poetess is at a loss for words... I must be really good at this..."

Prolonged silence. The occasional moan, followed by another, deeper moan. The sound of lips smacking apart.

"Wh-whoa... Helga... just... whoa..."

"I-I guess I'm not so bad at this either, eh, Football Head?" An uncharacteristically, (and yet perfectly normal), giggle from our favorite pigtailed bully.

A shaky laugh. "'Good at this' doesn't even do it justice. You... you're just... you're really, really good at this..."

Helga reached up to run a hand through Arnold's hair, relishing in the lovesick smile that donned his face as he gazed down at her. She was laying on her back on the most comfortable bed she had ever felt in her life, and her beloved was laying beside her, propped up on one elbow as he hovered above her. The lights were dimmed romantically, a fireplace crackling in the corner, and she was wearing her 'Cecile' shirt and skirt. And she didn't care if Arnold had made the connection, because, if he did, he didn't seem to mind, and if he didn't, well... he still wasn't really complaining. The football head in question was in a nicely-tailored suit with a red tie, looking as dashing as ever, and his green eyes were filled with so much warmth as they never strayed from her face. He had a hand cupping her cheek, a thumb stroking her cheekbone, and Helga all but melted under his caring touch.

"If I'm really, really good at this, then you must be... Einstein at this..." she answered, tugging at his locks and grinning happily when he chuckled, arching into her hand like a cat.

"Well, when you love someone, romance just... comes naturally, I guess," he said casually and adjusted his position so that he lay more comfortably.

Helga, on the other hand, was feeling anything but casual. In fact, as soon as his words really resonated, she bolted upright, nearly knocking him over, and she stared at him, all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "Hold your horses, Football Head... Did you just say you love me?"

Arnold chuckled, recovering from her sudden movement and sitting up, sliding closer to her to wrap his arms around her waist and draw her close to him. "What, are you deaf?" he asked teasingly, referencing her love confession and how completely shocked he had been. Had Helga been in her right mind, she probably would've rolled her eyes and said something clever, but... the fact that her love, (that she had harbored for seven years), had suddenly been reciprocated, didn't leave her with enough mental functioning to respond as she normally would have.

"N-not deaf... surprised... just a little denial... but not deaf..." she answered shakily, not even bothering to try to escape his hold.

"There's nothing to be in denial about. I love you, Helga," he said resting his forehead against hers and staring deeply into her eyes. "So much my heart just about flies out of my chest whenever I so much as look at you. So much that my stomach flops over whenever you hold my hand. So much that right now, nothing except you and I exist; nothing outside of this room belongs to the same reality that you and I do. Your heart is a part of me, as much as my own is." He leaned forward and pecked her lips, before pulling back and smiling sweetly at her. In one swift motion, he wiped a tear from Helga's cheek, that she didn't even realize had escaped her eyes. The sincerity in his gaze, Helga found to be overwhelming, and the absurdity of his claim, Helga found to be too outlandish to trust. "Do you believe me?"

Helga laughed at the fact that he had pretty much just voiced her thoughts, but the sound that she choked out was watery; she couldn't back the emotion. "No," she answered with a slight shake of her head.

"Would you like me to prove it to you?" Arnold asked, his voice quiet as he shifted even closer to her, his eyes falling even more half-lidded as they drifted down to her lips. "Because... I'm more than up for it..." Before Helga could get a word out, she suddenly realized that Arnold was pushing her back down onto the bed, and as soon as her head had landed on the soft, soft mattress, he wasted no time in planting his lips firmly against hers.

"Helga..."

Arnold's hand trailed through her hair and their noses bumped together.

"Helga... it's seven o'clock..."

Arnold slipped his tongue passed her lips and tried to curl it around hers.

"It's time to wake up..."

Helga's eyes blinked open, and as she turned her head, she caught sight of her best friend leaning over her with her standard kind smile and her eyes too wide for the time for morning. The pigtailed girl's eyes snapped shut again, hoping to return to her dream, (but knowing that the joy had slipped away from her, with no hope of coming back), and she groaned, slapping a hand over her face. "Couldn't I just... play hooky today?"

Phoebe giggled, straightening up and crossing to room to make her bed. "If I know you at all, I'm sure you're capable of it, but we're so close to the end of the school year, and, more significantly, the abundance of testing, that I'm afraid the consequences would be more dire than I'm sure you're anticipating."

Helga rolled her eyes, but sat up anyway, unzipping her sleeping bag and throwing off the top half. "Yeah, yeah. Dire consequences, bad decision-making, you're forcing me to go. That about right?"

"Yes, that's about right. Would you like some breakfast?"

The blonde-haired girl scowled slightly, glaring slightly at her best friend. "If I wanted to starve, I'd just go back to Bob and Miriam." Her voice was short and snappy, and Phoebe turned frightened, and very sad, eyes on her best friend. She was rather worried about her; ever since Helga showed up on her doorstep the afternoon before, a deep frown on her face and emotionless eyes, Phoebe had wanted to ask just what happened to damper her spirits so thoroughly. However, knowing Helga's tendency to deflect and defend, she had kept her questions to herself, instead ushering her in, giving her dinner, offering her a sleeping bag, and letting her sleep. It was all she could do to prove to Helga that she was cared for.

"Would you like me make you a lunch for school today?" Phoebe asked, her voice timid and slightly afraid of angering the girl further.

Helga sighed, recognizing the fear in Phoebe's voice and immediately feeling a slight pang of guilt for frightening her. "Sorry, Phoebes. Bad day. And, no, that's okay. You don't have to worry about it. I snagged an Abraham Lincoln from Miriam's purse before I came over yesterday."

Phoebe nodded dutifully, abandoning all plans of complying with Helga's request not to worry, and she figured that, while Helga was getting dressed, she'd check her kitchen for anything to make a lunch with. They fell into silence, and Phoebe dressed quickly, ran a comb through her short hair, and hurried from her bedroom to prepare her best friend some breakfast and lunch. She really didn't mind helping her best friend; Phoebe understood that Helga wasn't used to people caring for her, despite the fact that she clearly desired the connection, and Phoebe was just fine with alleviating the loneliness that she figured the poor bully must feel.

Helga joined her a few minutes later, her arms folded over her chest, but an apologetic look in her eyes. Phoebe wordlessly handed her a cereal bowl and a glass of orange juice, adjusting her glasses as she saw Helga take it immediately and scoop large portions into her mouth. Phoebe knew that Helga ate fast, and in large quantities, and she had only a theory as to why that was, but she had decided that her theory was sound. And it made her feel so very sad for her best friend, although, if she didn't want a black eye, she kept the observation to herself.

"We taking the bus today?" Helga asked, setting the bowl down after she had tilted it back to drain it of the milk.

"Not today," Phoebe answered, taking mouse-like bites from her piece of toast. "I asked Mother to drive me to school this morning."

"Huh," was all Helga said, chugging her orange juice in the attempt to disguise how clearly envious of such a close maternal relationship.

The two girls fell into silence again, and Helga waited patiently, (well... patient for Helga), for Phoebe to finish eating so that the two could fetch Mrs. Heyerdahl to take them to school.

Arnold walked, rather quickly, to the bus stop, an apple in one hand and his math book in the other. He had woken up late, (as he was riddled once more with dreams that he simultaneously wished would cease to plague him, and would never, ever stop), and all he had time to do was seize his breakfast on-the-go, and sprint out the door.

"Hey, Gerald," Arnold panted, collapsing on the bench beside his best friend.

Gerald raised an eyebrow at him, frowning slightly in concern. "Man, did you wake up late again?"

Arnold sighed, getting control enough of his breathing to take a bite of his apple. "Yeah," he said simply, nodding his head and quickly chewing the bit of apple in his mouth.

"Maybe you should see a doctor or something," Gerald commented, offhandedly. "It's not like you to sleep in late. Didn't you set your Arnold alarm or whatever? The potato with wires?" He chuckled, shaking his head and folding his arms over his chest. "Only you, man."

Arnold grinned at the last part of his best friend's statement, but then remembered the cause of Gerald's inquiries. "Um..." he said slowly, thinking back on the dream he'd had the night before. It was... well, it wasn't something he'd like to share with the boy in front of him. It wasn't something he'd like to share with anybody, actually. Not even Helga. Especially not even Helga.

The sun shone brighter than Arnold was sure it'd ever shone before. It was striking his face in a most pleasant way; not too hot that ensured a sunburn, but present enough to make him feel like he was floating. And floating did he certainly feel; he had lost his wings, which he found disappointing, but the view from the mountain he was standing on was beautiful enough to provide an easily-forgivable apology. He was miles and miles above the valley below; the people not even visible from such a high altitude, and the cars and buses were smaller than ants compared to the trees and large rocks that surrounded him. A soft wind blew across his face, lightly ruffling his tufts of blonde hair, and he took a deep breath, taking in all the smells of pine and freshness that he could.

There was a soft smile on his face. He couldn't contain his contentment at the sheer solitude and peacefulness of the scene.

"Head in the clouds, Football Head?"

Arnold wasn't even surprised by the girl's presence; she had interrupted his moments of solitude often enough for him to expect it. He turned his head to look at her, his smile only growing as he met her beautiful blue eyes with his emerald irises. She had her arms folded over her chest, and she was wearing her standard pink dress with the pink bow, her hair tied up in pigtails. He walked over to her and uncrossed her arms, grasping one of her hands in his and lacing their fingers together. She smiled at him, completely allowing his dominating movements, and waited for him to speak to her. "Of course, Helga... where else would it be?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Well, I'll tell you where it should be... Right in that oddly-shaped head of yours... you know, because in the brain is where the head should be. Just ask pretty much anyone."

"Ha ha, you're so funny," he said with a playful grin, but, besides that bit of sarcasm, he otherwise pointedly ignored her jab, and nodded his head in the direction from which he'd come to greet her. "Wanna look at the view with me? It looks beautiful from up here."

She blushed warmly at the thought, but nodded silently, following him as he tugged on her arm and walked her to the center of the clearing, at the very peak of the mountain. They both sat down beside each other, legs crossed Indian style, and leaned their shoulders together and rested the sides of the heads against each others. Arnold felt very peaceful in that moment, sitting with the girl he'd come to be extremely fond of, and enjoying the tranquil silence.

They sat there for a few minutes, before Helga's voice interrupted Arnold's mindless thoughts. "You know, this view is great and all, and I'm sure your goody-two-shoes, tree-hugger self is probably having a field day staring at it, but I have a innocent suggestion that I'd like you to consider."

"What's that?" he asked, lifting his head from hers, and turning his eyes onto her smirking face.

"Wanna make out?" she asked with a giggle, putting a hand to his cheek and shifting herself closer to him. While Arnold was momentarily speechless, her eyes narrowed playfully, and she added cheekily, "Hot Lips?"

Arnold's heart, which had already been pounding fairly hard, began thumping in his chest, and he nodded eagerly, leaning, both into her touch, and into her personal space. The girl giggled, removing the hand from his face and the hand that she had clasped tightly in his, and slowly and wrapping her arms around his neck. She pulled his body tightly against hers, and they were so close he could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest, and he was sure she could feel the thumping of his own heart against hers. Without hesitation, he placed his palms gently on her waist, laying his forehead against hers tenderly and stared as deeply into his eyes as he could.

The two were silent for a few seconds, both waiting for the other to act, before Helga sighed softly, her warm breath blowing onto his cheeks and mouth, and said, "Well, well, well, Football Head... here we are again... wrapped in each other's arms..."

"Heh heh heh... yep..." he said, blushing hotly, and forcing himself to maintain eye contact, though he very much wanted to look away in complete and utter embarrassment. "In each other's arms... In your... warm arms..." His eyes slowly fell half-lidded, and he gave her a delicate Eskimo kiss, swelling in pride when she blushed and giggled. "Now, what was it you were just talking about? Something about you... and me... and our lips touching..." He chuckled, his gaze falling onto her lips, which were slightly parted and so close that move an inch forward would cause them to press together. "Would you like me to do the honors?"

Helga shuddered, in his arms, one of her hands coming up to run through his hair. "Y-yes, please..."

He needed no further invitation as he pushed forward, clashing their lips together perfectly, and his movements were very quickly matched by her. There was nothing particularly note-worthily different about that kiss, but it was special in it's own right, simply because it was between the bully Helga, and the victim Arnold. After a few seconds, the two pulled back to pant for air, and as their eyes met, Helga's blue eyes shone with so much warmth, and Arnold knew his were in a similar state. She spoke to him, her voice light and dreamy and filled with so much... so much admiration...

"Oh, Arnold... I love being here with you... feeling your arms around me... seeing your sultry green eyes gazing deeply back into mine... tasting the sweetness of your lips..." She shuddered, (as did Arnold at the sheer romanticism of her words), and continued on in that same voice. "Arnold... My beloved... You must know how much I love you... how much my heart pounds for you at the slightest touch... how much I yearn to feel your body, pressed so tightly against mine... how much I dream of being with you... kissing you... holding you... Oh, I love you, my soul's one true companion... my Arnold..."

Arnold wasn't even capable of coherent thought, which was why the words that left his mouth were equally as lovesick. "Oh, Helga, my sweet angel... I love you, too..."

And that was when Arnold bolted upright, covered in sweat, and his heart racing a mile a minute in his chest. He had realized that he'd slept through his alarm, and what roused him had been a startling revelation that he dismissed almost immediately after dwelling on it's meaning. And as he got dressed, and brushed his teeth, and combed his hair, (very quickly, as he saw that he truly was running late), he muttered to himself about how dreams don't necessarily reflect one's emotions, and that he was still certifiably not in like with Helga G. Pataki.

"Yeah, I don't know why I've been sleeping in so late," he said awkwardly, shaking himself from the memory of his dream. "I don't usually do that, especially on a morning that I've got school. I don't know... maybe later I'll talk to Grandpa about it." Arnold took comfort in the fact that that last statement wasn't exactly a flat out lie. Maybe he'd go talk to his Grandpa about his confusion concerning Helga G. Pataki. He knew he probably wouldn't, but there was a chance that he'd change his mind at some point. Sure, he didn't think that that was likely, but... well, a lot could happen in their six-hour school day.

At that moment, the bus pulled up in front of the two boys, and they both stood, waiting for it to slow to a stop. "You know, you can talk to me about it," Gerald observed, offering Arnold to go first as the doors slid open. "I am your best friend, after all."

"I know," Arnold said with a nod, walking up the steps and choosing a seat relatively close to the back. "But you don't have the wisdom of an old man."

"True," Gerald conceded, taking the window seat and sliding against the wall of the bus to give Arnold some room. "But I'm telling you, man, I've got some advice somewhere inside my head. I can help you if you need it." He held his fist out for Arnold so they could do their hand-shake, and Arnold readily obliged. "You do know I'm always here for you, right?"

"Of course I do, Gerald," Arnold said immediately. "But I promise... I'm fine. Everything's a-okay." Arnold's words were the result of his feeling uncomfortable with lying, awkward about lying, and extremely frustrated that he was still lying.

Gerald looked decidedly unconvinced, but he shrugged, figuring that Arnold was too terrible of a liar, and too sincere as a human being, to even attempt fibbing, especially to his best friend. Gerald's blind trust in Arnold only made the football-headed boy worse, but he did feel a sense of gratitude that he could persuade his best friend into thinking things so easily.

When the bus pulled up to Helga's stop, Arnold's posture straightened, and he looked towards the front of the bus to catch a glimpse of his heat-of-the-moment partner. However, the bus stopped for a mere few seconds, before the doors closed and it pulled away again. Arnold frowned, looking passed Gerald out the window and feeling his heart drop to his stomach when he saw there was no Helga rushing out her front door, panicking because she had missed the bus. I wonder where she is, Arnold thought unhappily, sitting back into his seat with a pout on his lips. I hope she's okay -

Before Arnold could finish his thought, he blinked a few times when he realized that someone was snapping their fingers in front of his face. He turned to look at his best friend, (who was the most likely suspect), and raised an eyebrow at the frown on Gerald's face. "What is it, Gerald?"

"Man, I swear, you are becoming obsessed with Pataki," he said grumpily, turning his body to face forward again. "What is with you?"

Arnold frowned in response to Gerald's observation. "I'm not becoming obsessed with Helga, Gerald."

"Or, really?" At Arnold's determined shake of his head, Gerald added, shooting his best friend a suspicious look, "You do know that was her stop, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So... why did you look so disappointed that she wasn't there? No Pataki means no spitballs; no Pataki means no one cutting in the lunch line; no Pataki means no one tripping you in the hallway, or calling you Football Head, or spraying you at the water fountain. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Arnold looked thoughtful for a moment, before shaking his head inside of his head. He didn't really think so, but he knew that telling his best friend that the fact that his tormentor wouldn't in school that day made him sad wasn't really a good move. Especially when him and said tormentor did... less than appropriate things together when nobody was looking. "Yeah... I guess so," he answered hesitantly, though he did not believe the words that he said. Or it just means that something's wrong, or that she's sick, or that she was so sad that she couldn't even to school today, or -

"Good," Gerald said after a moment of silence, interrupting Arnold's contemplation, and nodding in persuaded satisfaction. "But if I hear you complaining about the fact that there's gonna be no one there to torture you today, I'm calling the nurse and telling them to send you home, because you'd be one sick puppy."

Arnold groaned inwardly at that, but remained silent. For the rest of the bus ride, he succumbed to listening to Gerald rant about his most recent confrontation with his younger sister Timberly, but was only half paying attention, so consumed was he by thoughts concerning the pigtailed terror of Hillwood.

"Um... so, thanks for putting up with me last night," Helga said awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck and adjusting the math book under her arm.

"Don't worry about a thing, sweetheart," Mrs. Heyerdahl said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We love having you over."

Helga's heart swelled at the thought that somebody actually liked having her around, and she smiled softly at the curly-haired woman, (the only true smile she suspected she'd experience that day). "Well... thanks anyway. I'll see you in the funny papers."

"'Bye, honey," Mrs. Heyerdahl said sweetly, kneeling down and offering both girls a brief hug before they walked into their elementary school. Phoebe flew into her mother's arms, resting her head on her shoulder and smiling wide. Helga, on the other hand, looked skeptically at the open arms that beckoned her forward. She thought about it; a large part of her being wanted to scoff and walk away to avoid looking too mushy and emotional to anybody who could witness it. But the sincere smile on the woman's face, and the encouraging nod from her best friend, coaxed her to return to hug. She pulled away mere seconds after the hug began, muttered something about being too tough to hug anybody, and hurried into the school, without waiting for her best friend to catch up.

The bus pulled up in front of the school at the same time as Mrs. Heyerdahl and Phoebe and Helga. Arnold had been so worried when she wasn't on the bus that morning, but the sight of her with Phoebe and Mrs. Heyerdahl relieved him immensely. He gazed at her with half-lidded eyes, and a large smile spread across his face when he saw her hesitantly return Phoebe's mother's hug. It was good to see her accepting somebody's affection, Arnold decided, and he let Gerald drag him forward, ignoring him as he muttered more choice words about him "being obsessed with one Helga G. Pataki."

Arnold sat down in his ordinary seat at the front of the classroom, eagerly awaiting the first spit ball of the day. Usually, Helga started in on him about two or three minutes into class, and he was... actually pretty excited, to be honest. Never did she ever willingly talk to him, unless it was to taunt him, torture him, or embarrass him in front of everybody. The spitballs were really the only time that she actually decided to personally interact with him without the influence of the other kids. And now, when he turned around to glare at her, she no longer scowled at him, instead smirking mischievously and offering a slightly-exasperated eye roll, (just in case anybody was actually watching them, but, of course, no one ever was). Instead of making the blood in his veins boil, each spitball was now making his heart flutter, and he had come to look forward to the inevitable non-hostile teasing.

Those two or three minutes came and went. Arnold glanced at the clock, seeing that class had officially started five minutes ago, and not a single spit ball, not even a rubber band. (Not that he was really expecting those, however, because rubber bands were always saved for special occasions.) Arnold let out a breath, reasoning with himself that a two-three minute delay was nothing to worry about. Maybe she was busy organizing notes, or she was daydreaming, (he'd seen it once or twice, and she always had this sweet smile on her face..), or she was luring him into a false sense of security, (it wasn't the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last). Comforted enough, Arnold kicked his feet, a hidden smile spreading across his face.

Simmons' math lecture was anything but exciting, and Arnold was finding it extra hard to pay attention. His distraction only intensified when, after what felt like an eternity, there was yet to be a spitball. Arnold looked back to the clock and saw ten minutes of class had passed.

And then fifteen minutes had passed...

Twenty...

Twenty-five...

Once the clock told him that class began twenty-six minutes ago, Arnold began to really worry. Well, worry more than he already had been. He turned around in his seat to see just what Helga was doing, and his concern increased ten-fold. She was sitting with her chin placed in her palm, her elbow perched on the desk. Her eyes were distant, just a little glazed over, and she was staring unblinkingly at the chalkboard at the front of the room, as if she were actually following the math lesson. Despite general appearances, Arnold could tell Helga's mind was way off in the distance, mulling over who-knows-what.

And Arnold had a sick feeling that he knew what that who-knows-what was.

English class. It wasn't until English class that he finally felt a spitball slap into the back of his head. He flinched, as it really did come out of nowhere; he hadn't had the pleasure of getting used to the persistent bits of saliva-soaked notebook paper hitting his football-shaped dome.

It was right when one of those mushy love poems was being read to the class. When those poems were first being read back in second grade, all the other kids went wild, laughing and jeering and conjecturing about who the lovesick fool could possibly be, but it was such old news now. Hardly anybody was even paying attention anymore. Nobody seemed to like those poems very much, but Arnold actually... well, he was rather... fond... well... he liked them, and that was as far as he was willing to admit.

Although Arnold found himself really wanting to listen to the unknown author's romantic musings, the spitball was a welcome distraction.

When the bell sounded for lunch, Arnold had only been shot with one spitball. As he placed his notebooks and pencils into his desk for later, his concern for her blossomed almost painfully in his chest, and he knew he wasn't hiding his worry too well. This was made even more evident when Gerald interrupted his rant about Jamie-O's latest prank on him to ask Arnold,

"Arnold, man, are you okay? You're looking a little... not yourself."

Arnold shrugged halfheartedly, fishing a few George Washington's out of his pocket to make sure he had enough for him and Helga both if the need came up. His voice was absent, distant, like he wasn't quite thinking of what he saying before he spoke. "I'm fine. It's just... do you think something's wrong with Helga?" The words were out of his mouth before he could check himself. He had been careful about showing external concern about his heat-of-the-moment partner, lest Gerald get suspicious and start asking questions that Arnold knew he wouldn't be able to mask with poorly thought out lies and not-so-smoothly glossed over, ambiguous answers.

It turns out the football-headed boy was right. The raised eyebrow that he received in response to the inquiry was enough to confirm that Arnold was indeed acting suspicious. Gerald paused a moment, as if letting Arnold's own statement sink in, before he answered. "Um... there's always something wrong with Helga."

It was temporary, but Arnold felt an annoyance come over him and he forgot about his plan to seem even more indifferent towards his bully than he normally was. "Gerald, she's a good person deep down. There's nothing wrong with her. She's a normal kid, just like you or me."

Gerald's look of incredulity deepened. "Um... are you sure there isn't anything wrong with you?" he asked, his voice the perfect tone of accusation as he pushed open the doors to the cafeteria.

Arnold frowned. "Yes, Gerald, I'm sure. It's just... I don't know, Helga hasn't been... torturing me much today -"

"And you want her to torture you?" Gerald asked, his jaw falling just slightly open at the peculiar sentiment that had escaped his best friend's lips.

Arnold was feeling a little exasperated at that point, not only because Gerald was acting unnecessarily biased against the pigtailed girl, but also because Arnold knew he was spouting out extremely incriminating sentences. So incriminating that there was no hope of salvation should Gerald hit too close to home. "Of course not, Gerald. Helga's a bully, right? And she's not bullying anybody today. What does that tell you?"

"That maybe she's turned over a new leaf and has decided to not be Helga the Horrible anymore?" Gerald asked, his voice just a tad sarcastic, but also quite serious at the same time.

"No," Arnold said with a determined shake of his head. He grabbed a tray and stood in the lunch line. "It means something's wrong."

"And how do you know that?" Gerald asked, following Arnold to place himself in line behind his best friend.

Before Arnold could answer, a scowling Helga roughly seized a tray for herself and stood idly behind the boy with the tall hair. Arnold noticed right away, and hesitated a moment, deciding that the conversation was better left for later, when there weren't so many people around. "Let's just call it a hunch."

"If you say so," Gerald said dismissively, recognizing the newly-arrive company, and he grabbed one of the last of the tapioca puddings from the final station in the line. As the two boys made their way over to the normal table, Gerald said, "I just don't think you should worry about her so much. It's not like she's all that worried about you whenever she's tripping you in the hallway, or squirting you at the water fountain, or tricking you into humiliating yourself in front of everybody, or calling you names, or cutting in the lunch line, or -"

"Okay, Gerald, I get it," Arnold interrupted, a small frown on his face as he pushed around the mush of mystery meat and vegetables on his tray with his plastic fork. "But don't you think it's weird that she's not doing... any of that today?"

"Not really," Gerald said immediately, digging straight away into his pudding cup. "I think it's a breath of fresh air."

Arnold wanted to agree with his best friend, but, when he looked over at Helga's table and saw her just as she was sitting down, her tray of food in her hand, and slightly-skewed scowl on her face. Arnold could see the sadness in her eyes, having seen it relatively recently on his rooftop when she talked about having to walk to preschool in the rain, and he knew better than to fall into Gerald's hypothesis. Something was wrong. And Arnold intended to find out what.

"OOF!"

"OW!"

"Arnold!" "Helga!"

Helga's usually fluttering heart after running into Arnold evaporated just as quickly as it had come, and she shook her head, jumping to her feet and shoving her textbook under her arm. That stupid Football Head! She chastised in her head. I bet he's gonna get all emotional, and ask me if I'm okay, and check to see if I need anything, and then he'll forget all about me and go back to being his stupid Football-headed self and helping every single stray animal that stumbles along his path of righteousness! A part of Helga knew that Arnold was much too caring to let go of one of his friend's troubles so quickly, but a very large chunk of her mentality that day was feeling extraordinarily cynical; it was simply not her day, and she had no desire to wait around and exchange pleasantries, (and perhaps a few clever innuendos and references), with the boy that was sprawled on the hallway floor. She stared down at him with narrowed eyes and growled under her breath, "For Pete's sake, I'm not in the mood for this today!"

Arnold blinked at her snarling hostility and he gathered his own books, staring at her as she tried to push passed him. Without a second thought, he scrambled to his feet and hurried after her, grabbing one of her wrists and successfully stopping her in her tracks. "Helga, wait!"

Helga glanced down at the hand that had gripped her, and she roughly pulled herself away. "What do you want, Football Head? I have the headache from heck, and I'll like to get to the nurses office before my head splits open."

"Are you okay?" Arnold asked, before he could stop himself to realize that Helga probably didn't want to dwell much on her problems.

"No, Football Head, I'm not okay," Helga bit, folding her arms over her chest and settling a dangerous glare at his worried expression. "Hence, the splitting headache! Now, is there something I can help you with, because I'd really not like to wait around all day and listen to you dishing out your stupid football-headed pity!"

Arnold frowned. "I don't pity you, Helga. I never have."

"Well, that's fan-fricken-tastic for you, Head Boy."

He shook his head in slight exasperation. Usually, he could handle her stubbornness, but the fact that she was so evasive was really getting on his nerves, especially because all he wanted to do was help. "Helga, are you sure you're not only in a bad mood because of your headache? I mean, today you've been so -"

The pigtailed girl shook her head, and turned away quickly, calling over her shoulder, "Well, I'll see'ya later, Football Head. As always, it was not a joy running into you."

"Wait, but -" But before Arnold could get the rest of his words out, she had already turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

He sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Why is Helga so frustrating? he thought, annoyed at everything that had happened that day. The fact that Gerald was so on his case about being so concerned about the girl in question. The fact that his concern wouldn't allow him to pay full attention in class, (causing him to get laughed at by his classmates again for listening and getting called out about it). The fact that Helga just wouldn't let him help her, no matter how delicate he tried to be about it. The fact that he couldn't openly express his concern without people getting suspicious.

The fact that he couldn't figure out why it was so important to him.

Arnold was awarded with two more spitballs after lunch and recess. This made him happy and sad at the same time.

"Hello, Helga," Phoebe greeted, meeting her best friend at her locker. "Are you going home?"

Helga sighed, taking a textbook out of her backpack that she wouldn't need over the weekend. "Yeah, I guess so. I've been gone for a whole day now, my parents have to be missing me by now." Something about that statement made every existing warm feeling, (which, granted wasn't in great supply) of Helga's turn dark and cold. It's not that she didn't miss her family, and she most definitely missed her bed and her room, but she just wasn't ready to be ignored again. At least at Phoebe's house she was taken care of, and she was loved, but the second she got home, it would be right back to being called Olga, and being hungry during lunch, and always being addressed with a shout instead of a normal, calm voice. It was always the same, and Helga knew it always would be the same.

Phoebe noticed Helga's apprehension. "Did you want to spend another night at my house, Helga?"

Helga shut her locker, softer than she normally did, and slung her backpack over her shoulder with a frown. "Nah, that's okay, Phoebs. I've been mooching off you for one day too long. Time to suck it up and go home."

"Well, if you're sure," Phoebe said hesitantly, following Helga's steps towards the exit of the school.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she responded, shooting her friend a smile and holding the door open for her.

Phoebe found this very suspicious. Whenever Helga was truly sad, and didn't want anybody to know, she'd become passive and thoughtful, (as long as the person didn't show too much worry for her), and she'd go out of her way to seem what she viewed as 'normal' in other people. The problem with that was that outward passivity and thoughtfulness were two very uncharacteristic qualities of Helga's, so it was quite evident to Phoebe that something really was wrong. Not wanting to stir the pot, though, and assuming Helga would confide if things got really too bad, Phoebe followed through the door with an encouraging smile.

"Alright, man, I've had just about enough of you drifting off into Helga land," Gerald said with a scowl, staring at Arnold as he was staring backwards a couple seats at his pigtailed bully. She was looking even worse for the wear than she had been before, and his concern for her was blossoming; he just didn't have anybody to voice his worries to. But at Gerald's words, he turned a frown to his best friend, and opened his mouth to respond, just as Gerald was putting his head phones over his ears. "I'm listening to my music. Tap me on the shoulder or something if you ever come back to reality."

Arnold's frowned deepened, but Gerald had already hit 'play', and was no longer able to hear anything he said.

Helga took the window seat, as she normally did, and Phoebe glanced at her. Helga wasn't paying attention to anything around her; she was staring unblinkingly out of the window, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that she was negatively-pensive and sad. Most kids in their class wouldn't understand that Helga had feelings enough to be capable of sadness, so Phoebe did her best to shield her from prying eyes, but she knew that as soon as her stop came, (Phoebe always got off before Helga), Helga was raw meat for all blood-thirsty students, should they decide to torment her. With that reasoning in mind, Phoebe swept her eyes around the bus, trying to find a certain football-headed boy with the kind heart and the sweet smile. It didn't take long; a head like Arnold's was difficult to miss. He was sitting more towards the front, in the aisle seat, (Phoebe knew that Gerald was fond of the window seat and Arnold was too considerate to deny this of him), and Phoebe found this to be very lucky.

Phoebe rustled around in her backpack for a straw, (she always came prepared, and often Helga would ask her for one so that she could torture Arnold on the go), and very slowly and quietly ripped a piece of paper out of her notebook. She'd never thrown a spitball before, so she wasn't exactly sure how it worked, and she knew it would be rather hard to make a direct hit, despite the size of Arnold's head, but Phoebe was sure that Arnold was the only one to raise Helga's spirits, even if Helga wouldn't admit it.

The young Asian girl chewed up the strip of paper, aligned the straw in her mouth, made sure that her aim was in the general direction of Arnold, before blowing as hard as she could. She blinked a few times, and grinned in pride when she saw Arnold reach up and swat at the back of his head. However, her pride diminished when he otherwise stayed facing forward. Phoebe closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Oh, Helga. You really have more patience than I give you credit for. Phoebe repeated the process, her pride swelling when she hit him again, but this time, he turned around with a small frown.

Phoebe waved at him, and Arnold quirked his eyebrows when he realized that Helga wasn't behind this particular teasing, and, for some reason, his frown deepened at that. When Arnold opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, Phoebe made a rapid motion to keep him quiet, before pointing at the quiet girl beside him. Arnold raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

Phoebe ripped another piece of paper out, eyeing Helga for a second, before scribbling a short message and holding it up to show an extremely confused Arnold. On it, in Phoebe's neat and precise handwriting, was the note: Come talk to her.

When Arnold didn't do anything, Phoebe actually had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Yes, Helga, you're much more patient than I ever would have guessed. Arnold sure is dense. She pointed at the pensive girl beside her. With another assertive gesture towards the note in her hand, the message was finally received. He nodded, glancing briefly at his best friend beside him, but Gerald was too preoccupied with his music to notice anything around him.

Arnold carefully stood up, walking down the bus aisle. He gave a small smile to Phoebe as they passed, (who returned it reassuringly), and he sat down next to Helga as quietly as he could. He breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't move, but that relief didn't last long as he realized that she didn't move. His worry grew; it had been a while since he had seen her this contemplative, and it unnerved him. Still, he didn't want to interrupt her thoughts; he always hated when his friends or his grandparents had to wake him from his daydreams, and he wouldn't ever do that to someone else. Especially Helga. She might punch him, (well... maybe not punch him, but she'd be terrifyingly angry), and also, well... he sorta... liked watching her when she didn't think anybody else was looking. Not-not in a weird or creepy way or anything! Arnold mentally insisted. She just looks pretty and nice and I just wish I knew what she was thinking about. I bet it's something complex, something deep, something I wouldn't ever be able to comprehend, whatever it is. Something only Helga would be able to come up with. He shifted slightly so he could look at her, a slightly sad, but mostly lovesick smile coming to his face. I don't want to interrupt her, but... I don't want to just stare at her the whole bus ride. I miss talking to her.

Arnold didn't have to worry about that for long, because, with her arms still folded and her gaze still fixed out the window, Helga said suddenly, "Hey, Phoebes? Hypothetically, if I really did ask to spend an extra night at your house, would that be considered running away from my problems?"

"Well, normally I would say 'yes,'" Arnold said thoughtfully. At his voice, Helga whipped her head to look at him, shock and surprise on her face, but Arnold kept speaking. "But, considering your situation, I'd say that it might help to take the time to collect yourself. Unless you have to be home today, of course. Wouldn't want you getting in trouble." He smiled at her, still half-way facing her, with one of his legs lifted onto the bus seat.

Helga's mouth opened and closed, trying to come up with something to say. She glanced over to where Arnold usually sat, and scowled when she saw Phoebe sitting next to Gerald, engaged in sweet and quiet conversation. Helga's eyes narrowed as she turned back to Arnold. "What are you doing here, Football Head?" she bit, voice dripping with acid. "Don't you have your million good deeds of the day to take care of?"

Arnold just smiled at her. "I can put my million good deeds on hold to talk to you, Helga."

"Yeah, well," was all Helga could manage out. She was really very touched by what Arnold had just said, (or, perhaps, that he felt the need to say anything at all, and to try to guide her with his stupid football-headed morals), but he didn't have to know that. She looked at him, her frown still on her face and her arms still folded, waiting for him to say something. When all he did was smile dazedly at her, she huffed and said, "Alright, bucko, you're here to talk, and all I'm hearing is a whole lot of silence. Is there something I can help you with, or do you get your kicks creepily staring off into space?"

Arnold blushed slightly, and he averted his eyes to his fingers, which were twiddling in his lap. "Oh, yeah. I just, uh... couldn't help notice that you haven't really seemed like yourself today."

Helga raised part of her eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Arnold said slowly, "for starters, I only counted three spitballs today. Usually, you're up in the fifties. You also didn't -"

"Hang on a minute," Helga interrupted loudly, her hand raising up to halt Arnold in his speech. "You count how many spitballs I shoot at you? Why?"

Arnold blushed in embarrassment. He didn't exactly mean to expose that little habit of his, but it had just slipped out. "Well, how many spitballs you shoot at me is generally a pretty good indication of how you're actually feeling, without me having to ask. About fifty is when you're having an average day, and I don't really worry too much. If you're past sixty-five, it means you're actually angry, and I usually steer clear of you on those days. Sorry," he admitted, chancing an apologetic glance at her. She just glared back, so he cleared his throat and continued. "Anything less than ten means you're sad. Anything less than five means you're really sad, and that makes me... worry. About you, I mean. I remember this one day a couple months back when you didn't shoot any at me." He frowned. "You looked horrible that day. Didn't trip me, didn't call me any insulting names, didn't spray water on me at the water fountain. You didn't even scowl. You have no idea how worried I was."

Helga felt the nagging desire to make fun of him for being such a worrywart, but she figured she'd cut him a break. Besides, he was worried about me. He was worried about me. Whenever I'm not mean, he gets worried. She couldn't stop thinking those words; it made her so unbelievably giddy and lovesick inside. Ultimately, she decided that mild teasing wouldn't be too bad. She wasn't very good at taking compliments, or responding to other people fussing over her, and, if Arnold knew her as well as he claimed he did, he'd understand her sentiment. "Well, Football Head, your attachment to my merciless torture is touching, and also extremely weird," she commented, a grin pulling at the side of her mouth. "You have to be the weirdest football head I've ever met."

"Weirder than Arnie?" Arnold asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"Arnie?" Helga said, waving a dismissive hand, inwardly pleased, (and just a little outwardly pleased), that he had understood her verbal intentions. "Arnie's got a taco-shaped head, and, before you ask, yes, he's the weirdest Taco Head I've ever met."

Arnold laughed, turning to face her a little more. She's smiling! I got her smiling! He felt just a little prideful at that as he answered, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Hey, I'm Helga G. Pataki," she said casually. "I'm always right."

Arnold felt a surge of courage and boldness, (a feeling he often felt around Helga these days), and said with a grin, "If I agree to that, will you let me walk you to Slausen's for ice cream?" Not a date, he hastily corrected in his mind. This isn't a date; it's a simple outing between friends.

Helga blushed warmly, and she averted her eyes, a funny smile spreading across her face. Is he asking me on a date?! No, no, calm down, Helga. Going to get ice cream does immediately translate to 'date,' especially not in the case of Arnold. Maybe he just wants to hang out for awhile? Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad! It's not like I hate his company, or whatever, and over the past few days I'm well aware that he doesn't exactly complain when I'm around. Even so, I don't want to be so out in the open with everything. I mean, if we're caught together in public, I wouldn't deny it, or make any wild excuses or anything, because... well, come on, I'm hanging out with Arnold, and he's doing it on the grounds of his own free will! No way am I going to pass this up! With this decision in mind, she nodded slowly and said, "Um... I wouldn't mind gracing you with my presence, Football Head, but not Slausen's. How about we compromise?"

Arnold grinned good-naturedly. "Helga G. Pataki? Making a compromise?"

"Shut up, Arnoldo," Helga said with a scowl, (but, as always, there was still that underlying smile, which told Arnold that she really wasn't angry), and she punched him playfully on the arm. "If it makes you feel any better, we can call it a business deal, and your fragile mental image of me won't have to change."

"I don't have a mental image of you," Arnold said immediately, absently rubbing the place she had hit him. He tilted his head in thought and added, "Well, I mean, I do, but it isn't like what you're thinking."

There was a beat of silence. Arnold was lost in thought, and Helga was maybe-not-so-patiently waiting for Arnold to explain himself, but, when he didn't, she huffed impatiently, folding her arms over her chest. "Well, are you going to tell me, Football Head? If it's about me, I have the right to know about it!"

Arnold briefly thought about maybe indulging her curiosity, but he immediately scrapped the idea. Not that I don't want to brave her mercilessly taunting me, but how can I tell her that whenever I think about her, she's always smiling and blushing and teasing me and... well, okay, maybe I'm holding her, or kissing her, or... or... Arnold blushed with a nearly-undetectable gulp. Well, I guess she does have a right to know, but it's definitely not something she'll expect. He opened his mouth to maybe sugar-coat how he actually saw her, (especially after the rather interesting month they were having), but at that exact moment, the bus neared the Boarding House and he reached up to pull the cord above his head. "We're at my stop," he said hurriedly. "Want to come to my house?"

Helga started in surprise. Come... to his house?! Helga's mind reeled with a thousand possibilities, none more prominent than her delightful memories of her adventures on his roof, but when she hesitated, Arnold just grabbed her hand and her math book and pulled her along after him. He just barely heard Gerald call, "Arnold, where're you going?" before he was off of the bus and onto the solid concrete, a confused and annoyed Helga Pataki beside him.

The baffled girl wrenched her hand out of his, seizing her math book and shoving it under her arm. "You want to explain yourself, Football Head?" she asked, pointedly.

"Uh..." Arnold began slowly, unsure of how to respond, as he was unsure of the answer himself. "You, uh... took too long to answer, and the bus driver gets annoyed with me, or well, anybody really, he's kind of an impatient man, so I figured if you eventually said 'yes,' we wouldn't get yelled at for holding everybody up."

Helga raised part of her eyebrow, the sides of her lips quirking upwards in amusement and mild maliciousness. "And if I eventually said no?" Yeah, right, Helga thought with an inward scoff. Like I'd ever pass up the chance to spend time with Football Head in his house without anybody else around.

Arnold blushed at the obvious possibility and looked away. "Actually, I didn't really have a Plan B to that situation, but I guess I could just ask Grandpa to give you a ride?" He glanced at her again and said slowly, hesitantly, "Um... do you want to go home?"

She contemplated for a moment, her eyebrow raised slightly on one side and her calculating gaze piercing him with that startling icy blue. She looked him up and down briefly before shrugging and saying, "Nah. It's not like anybody's gonna..." She trailed off, giving a short shake of her head, abandoning telling him about her personal life at the last second. "I mean, uh, sure, I'll stick around, I guess. Whatever floats your boat, Football Head."

Arnold's head tilted slightly in curiosity at her having interrupting herself, (especially because, judging by her tone and the beginning words, it sounded like that problem that was surely eating her away inside). He tossed around the idea of asking her about it, with the rather delusional hope that she'd actually open up to him, tell him her problems, and let him comfort her. But, after a moment, he just sighed and put on his best smile, saying, "Great. We can hang out in my room. That is, if you're not up for my roof today." He smirked at her, taking her hand and leading her to his stoop.

Helga rolled her eyes, but didn't take her hand from his, and shook her head. "I don't know, Football Head, you'd have to beg pretty desperately to get me on your roof again."

Arnold gestured for Helga to move out of the way of the stampede of stray cats and sled dogs and Abner, before tugging on her hand lightly and ushering her inside. "I don't know, Helga. I'm pretty sure, if I tried hard enough, I could get you begging," he responded with a playful, suggestive smirk. After he closed the door behind them, he turned around so that they were facing each other... he placed his hand gently on her cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking her skin... he leaned in close so that their noses were almost touching... Helga felt her heart speed up as she felt his heat radiate off of him... any second now, he'd close the gap... but instead he...

...pulled back again, his smirk intensifying. "But, hey. I'll give you a chance to get me begging first."

The poor girl was ready to deck him, when he just shook his head and walked away. I hate that stupid Football Head... that stupid, idiotic, taunting, jerkish... romantic, handsome, sweet, compassionate, Football Head... She swooned quietly, before hurrying after him, down the hallway, and up the stairs. A few steps up, made in complete silence, and Helga began to chastise herself for her sudden shyness. Come on, Helga ol' girl, jab back! You've never let him win before, why start now? "You know, Head Boy," she called up to him, "That was a pretty manipulative prank you just pulled, and may I just say that I'm kind of impressed. And you should know that, coming from me, that is the most coveted compliment you could ever hope to get. And as for your sudden..." she thought a moment for the proper word, "irritating reflection of my personality, you have me to thank for that. We're spending way too much time together, you know. I'm thinking we should cut back on that. One too many heat of the moments, and you'll be scowling and shaking your fists and calling other kids 'geek bait.'"

Arnold laughed, glancing at her from over his shoulder. "Is that so? Well, you do know what that means, don't you?"

"I'll finally have a partner in crime to help me torture Pink Boy and Princess and the other chuckleheads in our class?" Helga asked, her smirk evident in her voice.

"Not quite what I was thinking," Arnold said, a similar amusement clear in his tone. "What I meant was that if I become you, then you'll become me. And you'd give advice to the other fourth graders, and you'd be fair and help people whenever they asked for it. You'd be a regular wet blanket." They made it to the first landing and were walking down the hallway towards the steps to Arnold's bedroom.

"Well, in that case, I might as well leave right now," she said with a chuckle, and a roll of her eyes. Despite her 'threat,' she didn't make a move to turn around. "Can't have myself turning into a goody-two-shoes. I'd hate myself after one day."

"Ouch," he responded with a laugh, taking the first few steps up the stairs. "You sound so sure of yourself, but I don't know, Helga, I think you like being nice. I mean, you're really nice when it's just you and me alone."

"Is this what you call nice?" Helga asked incredulously. What exactly is Football Head trying to say? "You must have really low standards."

"Oh, I wouldn't say low," Arnold said, glancing over his shoulder again, drinking in the sight of her following him, her book under her arm and her other arm folded over her chest. He smiled. "Just... different."

Helga face heated up under his gaze, and his words made her heart hammer in her chest. For Pete's sake, he has no idea what he's doing to me, does he? she thought, almost angrily. She cleared her throat, trying to find some words to offer as a response, but his cheeky flirtation was too much for her lovesick heart, and she fell silent.

If Arnold noticed her awkwardness, he did nothing to draw attention to it, instead holding the door open for her and shutting it behind her. "Have a seat anywhere you like," he said politely, gesturing around the room with his free hand. He laughed when she just hopped up on the couch without another word, and, after he clicked on a light or two, (subconsciously, but also a little consciously trying to impress her), he sat beside her. There was a beat of awkward silence, and to break it, Arnold said the first thing that his emboldened side could think of: "Did you agree to come up here because you thought we were going to make out?"

Helga started, clearly not having expected anything of the sort to leave his mouth, and turned to him with surprised eyes. She swallowed at the blank look on his face. Crimeny, that boy will be my undoing, she thought, shaking her head and bringing herself back to the moment. "We don't have to make out," she responded, sliding down the couch so that their thighs were pressed flush against each other. She gazed at him through hooded lids, a suggestive smirk on her face. "There are plenty of other things we could do."

Arnold hummed thoughtfully, his blank look turning into one of intrigue, and he twisted his torso to face her. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well..." Helga said slowly, leaning in closer to him, her smirk growing more and more devious. Noticing this, Arnold's smile widened in anticipation, and he leaned into her as well. Their noses were about to touch when Helga suddenly withdrew, (much as Arnold had done to her earlier), bending down and grabbing her math book from the floor. "We were given a boat load of homework," she exclaimed, opening the textbook and absentmindedly flipping to a random page. Her mind was currently settled on irritating Arnold as much as possible, and she figured she was doing a pretty good job, judging by the huff that came from his direction. "And believe me," she continued, mock obliviously, staring intently at the page. "I do not want to get stuck doing homework after dinner again because kissing you is so darn fun." She glanced over at Arnold and had to suppress amused laughter when she saw the expression on his face: his eyes were half-lidded in annoyance, his mouth quirked into a pout, and his eyebrows furrowed.

When their eyes met, Arnold folded his arms over his chest. "If kissing me is so darn fun, why aren't you doing it right now?" His voice sounded so childish that Helga had to roll her eyes at his dramatic reaction. She leaned back against the couch and crossed one leg over the other coyly. I knew it was easy to ruffle his feathers, but this is hilarious! "Did you not just hear what I said? I hate doing homework after dinner. Might as well get it out of the way now."

Arnold groaned. "Right now?" This isn't fair, he thought, feeling disgruntled and unsatisfied. She knows exactly what she's doing! I just don't think she gets that ignoring me like that, but still sitting so close I can feel her heat, will drive me crazy! I mean... she's so beautiful, and she's sitting right there, and I swear, she's pouting her lips on purpose! In that very brief pause of silence, he watched her facial expressions change in slow motion.

"Ain't no time like the present, Head Boy," Helga said giddily, turning back to the textbook open on her lap. (See! She's doing it again, she's trying to... to get me to... break or something, I don't know, but she's doing it intentionally to make me insane!) "Now, long division with decimals. Sounds like fu-"

Nope, no way, Arnold thought, and before she could finish, he gripped her cheeks with both of his hands, turned her head to face him, and planted his lips firmly on hers. Helga jolted in surprise, the textbook sliding off of her lap and onto the floor as she stared at his closed lids. In her surprise, all she could focus on was the fact that his lips were moving fluidly against her own, and his fingertips were pressed carefully to the sides of her face.

O-oh, she thought in a daze. That's... one way to get my attention...

Because Arnold knew that he didn't exactly ask for permission to do this, he kept everything light and simple. He kept his tongue in his mouth, his hands were motionless on her face, and there was a good distance between their bodies on the couch. He wanted to be a gentleman, and, although he was aware of the fact that he hadn't been as chivalrous as he knew he should be, he did hold some sense of boundaries when it came to kissing and holding girls. (Boundaries that he had just recently established for himself, and he really was very surprised that he had to establish them to begin with.)

He opened his eyes a fraction to see her face, and their eyes locked instantly. Her baby blues were wide, her thick lashes lining her circular eyes perfectly. It was then that he realized that she wasn't kissing him back. Uh oh... he thought worriedly, before removing his lips from hers and lifting his hands from her cheeks. He was blushing furiously, his eyes nervous, anxious, and a little scared as he stared at her. She's going to kill me, I know she is...

A few seconds of unbearable silence weighed heavily on the two fourth graders. Arnold pointedly avoided Helga's gaze, while Helga drank the sight of him in. Finally, just before Arnold was going to rip his hair out because of the thick tension, Helga said, "W-well... don't start what you can't finish, Football Head."

Arnold's head snapped up to look at her, his eyes wide and questioning, his mouth formed in a small 'o'. Is she... serious? He studied her carefully, making absolutely certain that she meant it, just in case he took advantage of her. She seems sincere, Arnold thought slowly. And... A small smile crept up on his face. Well, who am I to deny a quick, or maybe not-so-quick, make out session with the prettiest girl in the fourth grade? He slid down the couch so that they were sitting even closer, and he gripped her cheeks tightly again, a smirk very evident on his face. "Believe me, Helga," he said, a small chuckle escaping his slightly parted lips, "I fully intend to finish this."

Helga smirked back at him, her stomach fluttering with excitement as she leaned forward and pressed their lips together, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. He responded immediately, his hands sliding down her body and resting tightly on her waist, squeezing every so often as they kissed. She's so warm... he thought distantly, giving her an extra tight squeeze.

A couple minutes in, a thought managed to process in Arnold's intoxicated mind, and he mumbled against her lips, "We make out a lot," which just caused Helga to smirk and respond with a cheeky,

"Don't do it enough, Football Head."

Arnold leaned back from her to continue up the little flirt-match he had initiated. "Is that a hint?" he asked, his hands roaming from the back of her ribs, to the small of her back and up again.

Helga giggled, running her fingers through his hair, and tugging lightly. "Only if you want it to be, Football Head." Crimeny, is he a lot more fun now that he's dropped the whole 'I gotta apologize for every little thing' thing, she thought giddily, biting her bottom lip and worrying it, in the attempt to stifle her laughter. I just can't get enough of him like this...

Arnold must've noticed her sudden coyness, because he leaned forward and gave her top lip a slow lick with his tongue. He smirked triumphantly when her eyes widened in surprise and she released the lip she had been chewing on. Before she could ask him what his sudden action was for, (as he saw the question lurking in her eyes), he chuckled, and said, his voice low and suggestive, "Did you really think I'd let you get away with hiding that pretty bottom lip from me?" When Helga shivered in his arms, he swooped forward, catching her bottom lip in between his, massaging it slowly, sensually, and counting the seconds before her inevitable moan did things to his body that he couldn't explain. He didn't let the unfamiliarity, (that, to be honest, he'd been becoming more and more familiar with as the heat of the moments grew hotter and hotter), deter him, however, and he pushed forward even more, moving with even more determination and allowing that new feeling to wash over him. It was warm, settling in his stomach and spreading outwards like a cup of hot chocolate, or the green tea that his grandmother made for him on certain mornings, served boiling hot and with way too much honey.

Helga was pushing back his body, but he was too distracted trying to pay her lip as much attention as was possible for that simple fact to really register. This explained why he didn't notice he was being lowered onto his couch until his back landed on the red cushion, and the light weight of Helga settled comfortably on top of him. He was laying on something hard, but he was much too distracted by the girl who was resting on top of him to really notice. She pulled back briefly so that she could participate in the mind-blowing new sort of kiss that Arnold had discovered, but, thanks to his black belt reflexes, one of his hands shot up and he placed a finger on her mouth as a way to stop her movements. She looked at him in confusion, but he just smirked up at her. "You're awfully eager today," he commented casually, a darkened look in his eyes. "And you're on top of me this time around..." He ran the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip, feeling a wonderful sense of accomplishment when she trembled slightly under his touch. "It feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yeah," Helga mewled, as Arnold's thumb slid to the side and he cupped her cheek. "Now, if you're done flirting, I'd really like to get back to the whole making out part -"

Arnold silenced her by arching his head up, finding her lips with his own and kissing her with as much power as his position would allow. They had fallen into such a nice, very pleasurable routine when it came to their heat of the moments, but this spontaneous make-out session felt much more... delightful, if that were the right word. While there was a thrill in the organized, planned heat of the moments, (prompted by unexpected circumstances that they'd been experiencing during the day), the adrenaline pumping through both Arnold and Helga's veins due to the much more impulsive actions that lead them up until that point was much greater, and much warmer than what they were used to.

Arnold's hand gripped the back of Helga's neck, attempting to draw her even closer than she already was. He felt like he was dragging her soul out through her mouth, sucking the essence from between her lips, and it was the most intoxicating sensation he'd ever felt. There was something... different about that particular heat of the moment, aside from the fact that it was one of their first unplanned one in a while, (and, of course, that Helga had found herself atop Arnold, which definitely hadn't ever happened before), but Arnold couldn't quite put his finger on what was so special about it.

At one particularly wonderful slip of Arnold's tongue, Helga moaned, her fingers clenching on his shoulders and her nails digging into the fabric. Arnold's breath hitched; the sensation was painful, yes, but there was a pleasurable quality to it as well, that caused him to plunge his tongue even deeper into her mouth.

Just as the kiss was beginning to get heated, soft jazz music started playing around them, and, as Arnold and Helga pulled away from each other, the football-headed boy finally realized what exactly he'd been laying on. They stared at each other for a moment before they both started laughing, and Helga picked herself off of him, deciding that the passionate mood had been killed by the calming saxophone/piano music. Arnold sat up, too, laughter still racking his body, and he took her hand in his.

"Well, that's one way shock us into reality," Helga said with an eye roll, lacing their fingers together and leaning her back against the red cushions of the couch.

"It had to happen sometime," Arnold answered with a chuckle, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. They fell into a comfortable silence, the only noise in the room being the comforting music floating from the speakers placed strategically around the bedroom. Arnold didn't think to turn it off; he found the noises to be just so comforting, and Helga wasn't complaining, so he let the song continue. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts for the song to really resonate, and Helga had assumed it was instrumental; she wasn't much of a jazz fan, but she figured that most jazz music, (save those songs by Dino Spumoni and his daughter), consisted entirely of pure instruments.

Does your heart beat fast when I... kiss your lips?

Because my heart beats fast with every swing of your hips.

Do them butterflies soar when I... hold your hand?

I'll ask you, if you'll have me: let me be your man?

Helga glanced at Arnold, her cheeks flushed scarlet, and her lips slightly parted. She hadn't expected something so romantic to be playing, but there wasn't a bone in her body that was protesting. A part of her was embarrassed, because if he didn't feel the same way, he'd grow awkward, uncomfortable, and maybe ask her to leave. But if he did feel the same way, (an idea that Helga wasn't entirely sure she could dismiss anymore), then she might even get a... confession. Maybe.

Arnold's heart was racing at such mushy lyrics, and he pointedly avoided her gaze. I... I don't know what to do here, he thought desperately. M-maybe... maybe I should... just ask her to go... this is... if it was just... but now it's really... He could hardly think straight with her body so close to his body, and her hand so warm in his hand, and the taste of her mouth still so very obvious on his lips...

If I asked you to dance, would you... tell me yes?

Because without your love, I'm nothing short of a mess.

If I were to tell you that your smile makes me weak,

And my hands grow clammy when I hear you speak.

The last verse... well, it hit rather close to home for Arnold. His dream from the night before came rushing back to him; he could distinctly remember thinking before that every time she smiled at him, he felt his knees shake. And her voice... he loved her voice. He loved listening to her flirt with him, moan against him, speak so sweetly whenever he did something to please her. He had no particular desire to, but he found his eyes drifting over to her, and he blushed even redder when he noticed that she was already looking at him, a softness in her eyes and a small smile on her lips. She tried to frown at him when they made eye contact, but Arnold knew better. She couldn't even get her lips to downturn, so happy she apparently seemed.

Arnold opened his mouth to say something, but closed it almost immediately afterwards. He didn't know exactly what to say, because, try as he might, he couldn't make his eyes leave hers. Their gazes were locked, as much as that made his stomach trip over itself. The sounds, the lyrics, the warmness of her hand... it was all too much...

Would you be excited if I... spoke of love?

I'll tell you all about it, with just a tiny shove.

I hope you know I mean it when I... kiss you deep,

And you own my very soul, should you want it to keep.

Helga almost swooned as Arnold's eyes grew just a tad half-lidded, and his lips curved upwards in a soft smile. She shifted towards him slightly, almost imperceptibly, so she could easily mask it should he suddenly appear uncomfortable with her advancements. She was pleasantly surprised, however, when he slid closer to her as well, his hand squeezing hers tightly, and their thighs brushed against each other.

Their lips were suddenly much closer...

If you take my hand, I'll show you... how to swing.

'Cause, doll, when you're around me, yes, you make me sing.

I want to pull you close and whisper... in your ear,

Every little thing that you might want to hear.

Closer... closer... their breaths began to mix...

I love you, baby doll, with your... shining hair.

(Arnold, somehow, found that one of his hands had twisted in one of her pigtails...)

I need to find a way to show you that I really care.

I love you, baby doll, with your... big, blue eyes,

Whenever I'm with you, I'm the luckiest guy.

They both hesitated, and for what reason, neither really knew. They'd kissed before, in several different ways, from passionate, to angry, to gentle, to frantic... Every kiss had felt different in it's own different way, but this time... there was an odd finality to it, like there would be questions finally answered, but an abundance of new questions that would inevitably advance on them from the horizon.

In the end, they decided they didn't care, and they mutually pushed forward, closing the gap and gently pressing their lips together. Helga's eyes fluttering closed delicately, but Arnold's eyes slammed to the very tops of his cheeks like his life depended on it, his lids squeezed shut tightly. He wanted to stop. He didn't love her, he didn't want to love her, and he had no greater desire than to stop kissing her and pull away, but his body refused to listen to reason.

The final words of the song began after a brief instrumental break, but Arnold and Helga could only really half absorb the meaning of the words, sang in the sweet, silky tones of Dino Spumoni:

If you love me in return, just kiss my... willing lips,

Because your smile's got my heart in it's strongest grip.

If you love me in return, just hold my... eager hand,

And I'll do all that it takes to make you understand...

All my love, all my love, all my looove!

The song faded away into silence, in which Arnold and Helga's lips still moved against each other, so in sync, so in tune, so gentle in nature that neither wanted to stop. Not even Arnold, who's previous opposition faded with every second of contact, every soft moan that he swallowed between his lips. His eyes had relaxed, his lashes fluttering now and then against his skin. The silence in the room was deafening, but oddly comforting, and they would've continued for who-knows how long, but...

You better not touch my gal!

Or I'll punch you in the kisser, pal!

The sudden fast, loud song shocked the two a part. Arnold's eyes snapped open wide, and he pushed her away, actually physically removing himself from her hold, and sliding to the opposite end of the couch. His heart was racing, his head was pounding, his stomach felt heavy and sick. I... n-no... no way... that didn't just happen, please tell me that didn't just happen... He leaned back, putting a hand to his forehead, pinching his skin between his thumb and forefinger, trying to get his thoughts in order enough to be coherent. The way he had gotten caught up such a romantic kiss with her, paired with the memory of his thought-provoking dream from the night before left him a puddle of confusion and anxiety on his couch; he was unable to organize his rapidly-shifting thoughts into something to be easily comprehended, and it was driving him insane.

Finally he chanced a glance at the girl that he didn't love, and his heart, which had been aching in fear at the sudden emotions that were brewing inside of him, suddenly dropped into his stomach at the look on Helga's face. Her eyes were wide, staring at some point in front of her, a bit misty, but it was clear that she was holding back. She twiddled her thumbs absently on her lap, and her mouth was twisted into a frown. Arnold could only imagine what it felt like for anybody, (even somebody that he didn't like like), to push him away so suddenly after a kiss.

There was something akin to regret, or perhaps that's exactly what it was, when Arnold sighed deeply, before shifting closer to her and wrapping an arm around her waist, gathering her body to him. He placed a gentle, apologetic kiss on her forehead, and let the fingers of his free hand run through her pigtails, careful enough not to scare her away, and slowly enough not to pull her hair. Again, the true pleasure that he felt in his very core caused him to feel the unfair impulse to push away from her, but when he stared into her eyes that were so doe-like, and when he drank in her face that was so relieved and relaxed, he didn't have the heart to. He forced his mind away from the obvious, and found himself remembering just why she was in his bedroom to begin with. He smiled at her reassuringly, and tightened his hold on her even more. Helga smiled back at him, waiting for him to speak, as there was clearly something on his mind. And she was right: she noticed his smile as it faltered slightly when he saw the ever-present sadness in her eyes. He sighed and hesitated, contemplating what he was going to say. He had to be careful; anything too forward, or anything that bordered too closely to pity, would make her run from him, and that was the last thing he wanted, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Finally, he settled on a simple admission of concern. "Helga... I know there's something wrong; it's why you've been so closed off today... please tell me what is it."

Helga cleared her throat, averting her eyes uncomfortably. She absently placed her arms around his neck, relishing in his gentle touch, but not allowing herself to be caught up in his wondrous attention. "I'm fine. Don't worry your stupid football head about me."

"Helga," Arnold said again, his voice firm, stern, and demanding attention. He only spoke again when her curious, timid eyes locked with his. "That's not going to work. You've been... quieter than normal today, and when you haven't been quiet, you've been almost violent with anybody that annoyed you. Helga, I know you. That means something's wrong." He sighed deeply, knowing he was treading on thin ice, but he wasn't about to let his worries go. "And I think it has something to do with your parents."

The girl scowled at that, her eyebrow furrowing angrily. Her fluffy, warm feelings of love for him were fading away, instead being replaced by her gut-reaction to anybody trying to pry into her personal life. "And you think that because?" she asked, her voice low and lethal.

"Because back on the bus, when you thought I was Phoebe, you asked if spending another night at her house was considered running away from your problems," he answered immediately. "That means that there is a problem, and it means that problem is at home." He winced on the inside when he saw her scowl turn rapidly into a look of panic, before settling into a sad expression of resignation. "Please, Helga. You trust me, right?" He waited for her to nod before he continued. "Then please tell me what's bothering you. I can't be there for you if you don't open up to me."

There was a long pause of silence before Helga sighed and said quietly, "It really is nothing, Arnold." (Arnold's heart fluttered when she said his real name, but he ignored it and instead focused on her words.) "It's just... home is home. You know Bob, you know Miriam, so you know what I'm talking about. I mean, sometimes I can handle it - no, most of the time I can handle it. Heck, pretty much all the time I can handle it, but..." She looked deeply into his eyes, trying to drink in his care and comfort, lest he suddenly disappear. "Sometimes it's just too much. Sometimes I just need to get away. And sometimes I want to talk about it, and sometimes I want people to just leave me alone. Sometimes I care about what people think of me and my home life, and sometimes..." her voice trailed off and she looked away.

Arnold's free hand, (not clasped onto her waist), removed itself from her hair and cupped her cheek, coaxing her into returning her gaze to him. "Sometimes?" he prompted quietly, urging her to go on.

Helga bit her lip, collecting herself before continuing, "Sometimes I think if I complain enough, somebody, heck anybody, will come help me. To just care about me. Crimeny knows I don't get that at home." Helga felt something wash over her, and she tried to force it down, but the moment was too thick, the emotion too raw, the look in Arnold's eyes too intent and patient and kind. That something only ever consumed her when she was alone; it had never happened around anybody else. Not Phoebe, not Dr. Bliss, and definitely not her parents. She felt the need to cry, to cling to someone and listen to soft-spoken words of comfort as she just let everything out in a way she wasn't quite used to. And she couldn't hold it back, even if she wanted to. And when she felt hot tears prick the corners of her eyes, she knew it was too late. There was no way she could stop herself, and she knew Arnold had seen it before she could look away. So she gave in. Her bottom lip quivered and she stared into his eyes as she said, "Arnold... they make me so angry... And... and sad... and I hate feeling sad... Just..." she pulled herself closer to him, "please, Arnold, just hold me..."

As soon as these quiet words left her mouth Arnold made a barely-detectable cooing noise before taking hold of her thin frame and pulling her into his chest. He was silent for a moment, having zero experience in calming a crying girl, and tried to gather his thoughts in order to successfully soothe her tears. Finally, he settled on a simple, "I care about you," in the form of a whisper in her ear. Helga let out a very soft sob, before clinging to his sweater and burying her face in the crook of his neck. Arnold's breath hitched in his throat at the sudden, unexpected act of desperation, but he held her tighter, rocking her back and forth, when he felt wetness on his bare neck. He felt the need to say something, to say anything, so he just spouted out the first words of comfort he could think of. "I do care about you, Helga. More than you know. You remember that time I got lunch for you? Well, every day since then, I'll watch you in the cafeteria to make sure you get food so you don't go hungry. I would never forgive myself if I let something like that happen. I worry when you don't call me Football Head, because I know that whatever's wrong is serious. I can't stand it when you're hurting, especially if it's because of your parents. And you know why?" In between cries, he felt Helga shake her head. "Because I can't help you like I want to. I can't make it better, because at the end of the day, you still have to go back there, and we have to be apart. And because you're Helga G. Pataki, and I'm Arnold, we can't spend time together at school. I don't completely understand why, but I know we just can't. So I have to wait until I can get you alone so I can hold you, and kiss you, and try to make it better, because even if you're happy, I can tell you're still sad. Helga, it kills me when you're sad. I..." Arnold took a deep breath. "I... I just care about you, Helga. Please believe me." He continued rocking her, and didn't stop, even when her sniffles turned to heavy, uneven breaths. "Everything will turn out just fine. Trust me, and if you do that, then I'll make sure everything will be fine. I'll do everything I can to make you happy.. I-I just want you to be happy. Can you believe that?"

Helga lifted her head to look at him, so she could see his eyes and make sure he wasn't trying to deceive her. She was met with two sparkling green eyes, slightly misty and quirked with empathy. There was an optimistic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he met her gaze steadily. Through teary eyes, she smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through her that she'd never felt before. It originated at her heart, and coursed through her veins and heated the tips of her toes. She felt like someone actually cared about her, and it was the most wonderful feeling she'd ever experienced. "Ar-HUH-nold -" She stopped, and just stared at him for a moment, before she giggled at the fact that she'd hiccuped through saying his name.

Arnold chuckled at her sudden recovery, (How is it possible for one person to be so cute? he thought dreamily), and starting running his fingers through her hair again, soothing away the rest of her worries with his gentle touch. He waited for her to speak, eager to see what she had to say about his small little speech. Before she said anything, however, she took his face in her hands and kissed him straight on the mouth with everything she had. It lasted only a couple seconds, but it was deep and full of promise, and when she pulled back, she wore a smile that cracked her face in two. "Thanks, Arnold," she said.

He blinked a few times, still a bit dazed at having received such a strong kiss so out of the blue. He chuckled, only really half processing what she had said, as he responded, "No problem, Helga."

They gazed at each other for a few seconds before Helga sighed contently, lowering her head onto his chest and snuggling into him, trying to absorb as much of his heat as possible. If Arnold objected, he didn't voice his grievances, so she situated herself until she was completely comfortable, before asking him quietly, "Can we just stay here for a little while longer?"

Without hesitation, Arnold nodded, tugging her closer to his chest, and not ceasing his caressing. "Of course. We can stay here for as long as you want."

Helga sighed happily, nuzzling her head into him and letting herself enjoy his ministrations. Slowly, very slowly, she felt herself drift off, and the last thing she felt was a prolonged kiss on the top of her head before she was asleep.

"Knock, knock, Shortman," Phil said, opening the door to his grandson's bedroom. He glanced around, only to find Arnold curled up on his couch, his eyes shut peacefully with a slumbering girl in his arms. They were clutching each other, afraid the other would let go if they didn't hold with all they had.

At the sound of Phil's knocks, Helga made a soft humming noise, and, at her little hum, a smile lit up Arnold's face, and he snuggled into her all the more. Arnold's movements caused Helga's eyes to drift open slightly, but it was obvious that she was still completely out of it. The girl blinked a few times, hummed again, and burrowed into his chest, whispering under her breath, "Oh, Arnold."

A soft laugh escaped Arnold, and his arms noticeably tightened around the girl in his arms. "Hmm... Helga."

The old man chuckled warmly. He'd come up to make sure Arnold had made it home safely, but he should've known that he'd have a girl in his arms. It seemed as if every time Arnold avoided him after school, that little girl with the pink bow and the one eyebrow always had something to do with it. He watched them for a moment, a nostalgic look in his eye, before he shook his head and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him quietly, careful not to wake the slumbering children.

Helga wasn't sure what woke her up, but what she did know, as soon as her eyes flickered open, was that the room she was not her own. And she was laying on something that was really, really warm. And the really, really warm thing was... breathing?...

Her eyes widened in surprise when she realized that she was sleeping on none other than Arnold, and she allowed herself only a second more of relishing in his slumbering warmth before she pushed herself into an upright position, exclaiming, "ARNOLD!" as loud as she dared.

Arnold's eyes flew open in surprise, and he shot upright, almost smacking his head into hers. His heart was pounding at the sudden, rather unwelcome, wake-up call, and he let out a groan, rubbing the side of his head. "Did you have to shout like that, Helga?"

Helga looked at him incredulously. "Yes, Arnold, I actually did, because... well, you seem to be missing the fact that I was just sleeping on top of you!" she exclaimed, clapping him on the back of his head as she lifted herself fully off of his body, and sat on the opposite end of the couch.

The poor boy blushed scarlet; he had indeed been aware of the fact that there was a beautiful girl on top of him, but he just didn't want to draw too much attention to it. If he did, then she'd leave, and he... didn't really want her to. He was much too comfortable being underneath her warmth, having her body encompassed in his arms, her head resting on his chest. It was a comfort unlike any other he'd been exposed to, and, despite the fact that ever since the Dino Spumoni song he'd been feeling wary around her, he couldn't deny the fact that she was soft, and warm, and smelled good. Like... vanilla and... and some sweet-smelling flower... "O-oh..." he stuttered out, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that."

Helga waved him off, trying to force away a blush of her own. "Nah, I should be the one apologizing. I mean, I was the one on top of you, after all."

Arnold nodded in understanding, but didn't know exactly how to respond to that, so he just sat there... looking at her. He wasn't sure why, but the creases around her eyes and the slightly-disheveled pigtails were... incredibly... alluring. Not that that... meant anything, of course. After all, he'd admitted to himself a long time ago that he very much liked the way Helga looked, so the thought wasn't anything new. But, that particular heat of the moment, despite the fact that it was much shorter than their average make-out sessions, had changed things for him. The thought of her beauty suddenly meant more. The way he could get lost in her eyes suddenly meant more. And the fact that she seemed to think the same about him, (that is, enjoying his looks), always made him swell in pride. But you don't like her like her, he assured himself. Remember? Yeah. Just friends. Weird friends, but friends.

Helga was started to shift uncomfortably under Arnold's gaze, and she distracted herself by glancing at the clock. Her eyes widened as she realized that it was almost six o'clock, and her parents had no idea where she was. Not that she'd figured they noticed, but she did remember the time they'd called the police because she went AWOL on Thanksgiving, and she didn't want a repeat of that occasion. Their erratic care for her always managed to shock her. Helga looked back to Arnold, almost rolling her eyes at the fact that he was still looking at her, and she snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Earth to Arnoldo. Pay attention. It's almost six. I should probably be getting home." She sighed. "Gotta go back at some point."

He sighed, but nodded in understanding. "Yeah, okay. Do you want me to walk with you, Helga?" Arnold asked. Helga's eyes still seemed sad, and, despite the fact that she was clearly trying to smile, her lips were having difficulty staying upright. That worried Arnold, because his pep talk seemed to work temporarily, but he figured that her problem was too large for him to take on himself. If he were to fix it, he'd have to seriously talk to her parents... Hmm... That's an idea... Arnold thought absently. He was dragged from his musings, however, when Helga chuckled quietly and said,

"Arnold... look up."

The boy cocked an eyebrow, but followed her finger to his skylight. It was then that he realized there was a soft pattering noise, and saw that it was pouring rain outside. He blushed and met her amused eyes, a sheepish smile on his face. "Oh." He chuckled. "Well... alright, well, we'll figure something out, then." They both stood up and stretched, making solid eye contact for only a few moments, before glancing away.

Helga gathered her textbook, and followed Arnold down the stairs to the front door. He was just about to call out for his grandfather to request a ride to Helga's house, but he was baffled when he saw the pigtailed girl in question sigh, and she rubbed her temples briefly, before wrenching the door open and taking a step outside. He raised an eyebrow. "Uh, Helga? What're you doing? It's raining."

"Thanks for the tip-off, Hair Boy," Helga said sarcastically, turning around as the pellets of raining immediately soaked into her dress. "I didn't notice. But I have to get home somehow -"

Arnold immediately remembered Helga's story from a couple heat of the moments before, about how she was forced to walk to preschool in the rain when she was three years old. He remembered how a dog stole her lunch box and how she was covered in mud all because nobody was paying any attention to her. And then he remembered how he was the one who helped her; he was the one who held the umbrella over her head and gave her his graham crackers when hers were stolen, and a bit of his heart swelled, but then his eyes came into focus at the scowling girl that had a hand on the knob and was about the shut the door behind her. Before she could, however, he caught it and held it firmly in place. "Helga, I'm not going to let you walk home in the rain."

"It's fine, Football Head," Helga said, turning around and looking at him. She tried to scowl, but she began shivering as the temperature of the rain was actually beginning to get to her, and it didn't help that she was instantly being weighed down by her freezing cold and soaking wet jumper. Jeez, it's... really coming down out here, isn't it? She let out a breath, putting a hand on each of her arms to try to retain some warmth. "If you could just lend me an umbrella or something, I can give it back to you tomorrow at school."

Arnold frowned, grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her back into the Boarding House, closing the door behind them. He folded his arms in front of his chest as he gave her a scolding look. "Helga, I'm not going to let you walk home in the rain," he repeated sternly. "It's a fifteen minute walk from my house to yours! You'll get sick."

Helga just shook her head. "I appreciate your heartwarming concern, Football Head, but -"

Arnold just turned away from her, walking to the door to the basement, opening it, and leaned against the frame. "Grandpa, are you down there?"

There was a moment of silence before two kids heard footsteps coming closer. "I'll be up in a minute, Shortman! Pookie's on the ceiling again!"

Despite the absurdity of the old man's response, the look shared between the two ten-year-olds was anything but light. Helga's face bore a glare, a dark and stubborn glare that ordered Arnold to let her leave on her own terms. Arnold's face bore a firm look of determination, displaying a stubbornness that Helga never knew Arnold possessed. A silent argument ensued, insults and valid points being exchanged through their eyes, but when Helga opened her mouth to actually speak, Arnold talked over her attempt.

"Let me give you a ride home, Helga." His features softened from his previously hard expression. "I owe you that much, right?"

The pig-tailed girl's eyes widened slightly at that, before her eyebrow set in a straight line. "What are you talking about? You don't owe me anything -"

Arnold sighed. "I-I know, but... I feel like..." He let out a sigh through his nose in frustration. His thoughts were all muddled and he couldn't seem to be able to get them in order. "I want to do this for you, Helga. Will you let me?"

His soft voice made Helga's look of irritation melt away and she averted her eyes shyly. "If... if it means that much to you, Football Head, I'll let you give me a ride home, then."

Arnold beamed at her, giving her an eager nod. "Great! Grandpa should be up here in a second, and then we'll leave!"

"Yeah, yeah," Helga mumbled, averting her eyes and bringing her hands up to her hair so that she could drain the rainwater from them before she could catch a cold. Arnold was about to say something, (as the second she had twisted her blonde hair, a puddle had formed at her feet, and it began to soak into the rug), but he just bit his lip and shook his head. She was already peeved enough as it was; he didn't want to anger her further to point something out that had an easy fix.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of Phil's occasional shouting, and Gertie's sudden shrieking laughter as she evaded his attempts to coax her down from the ceiling. (What she was doing on the ceiling, and how she got there in the first place, was a fact unknown to both fourth graders.) The noises were enough to pick at the children's lips, and they smiled softly every once in a while in amusement.

Finally, Phil stomped up the stairs with a disgruntled expression on his face. "Well..." he said with a long, drawn-out sigh. The seriousness and intense dismay on the old man's face made Helga grin, and, when Arnold caught sight of her sudden happiness, he grinned, as well. "Looks like she'll just stay there until she gets bored and decides to remember to take dinner out of the oven. Or she'll just lead a marching band of stray cats up and down the halls. Crazy old bird..." He was silent for a few seconds, before shaking his head and looking up at his grandson with renewed livelihood. "So, what did you need, Shortman?"

"Well, it's raining outside, and I was just wondering if we could give Helga a ride home -"

"Say no more, I'll get the Packard!" Phil exclaimed, patting the young girl on the shoulder and hightailing it the garage.

Once Phil was out of sight, Arnold turned a smug look to Helga, his arms folding over his chest as his eyes fell half-lidded in amusement. "I told you he wouldn't mind."

Helga scowled at him, planting her hands firmly on her hips as she said, haughtily, "First of all, Football Head, you said no such thing, and second of all, your grandpa's boss, of course he wouldn't mind."

Arnold's heart warmed at the fact that she was praising his grandparents. (Especially because he got so many comments from so many people, [including Big Bob Pataki], about how crazy and loony Phil and Gertie were, and it just... it made him so happy that Helga actually liked them...)

"Yeah... I think they're, uh... I think they're boss, too," Arnold said in agreement, the terminology that Helga spouted out on a regular basis sounding foreign on his tongue. Apparently, Helga thought the same thing, because she rolled her eyes and snorted, but didn't say anything.

The car ride was comfortably silent. Phil was in the driver's seat, his fingers tapping the steering wheel as he hummed along to the jazz music emitted softly through the ancient speakers of the Packard. Arnold and Helga were in the back, sitting on opposite sides of the car and staring out of their respective windows. Arnold in particular had placed himself firmly against his side of the car, determinedly avoiding any physical contact with her, but when she reached over and gripped his hand in hers, he felt himself melt and he laced their fingers together. He glanced over at her, his cheeks turning a light pink and his eyes shy; his lips twitched upward as he saw the grin on her face. They maintained eye contact for a few more seconds, before they both mutually turned away to look back out at the rain, their hands still clasped tightly together.

I can't believe it... Helga thought in astonishment. He actually... he kissed me, while a love song was playing in the background! He kissed me with the words, "I love you," playing off in the distance, and he was so sweet, and his touch was so gentle, and... She sighed in frustration. So, maybe he pushed me away immediately afterwards in disgust. But that doesn't matter, because pretty much right after that he hugged me again, and kissed my forehead, and... and told me that he cares about me, and that he watches me to make sure I'm happy, and safe, and... she sighed dreamily, propping her chin on her hand and resting it on the arm rest attached to the door. I swear, one of these days, he's just gonna... gonna confess! If he... well, if he actually likes me likes me... Helga sighed again, feeling much more pensive, and thoughts debated against each other about whether or not Arnold was actually developing feelings for her.

Arnold was having very different thoughts, as he usually did. Arnold! Seriously, quit it! You don't like Helga G. Pataki! You don't like her, I won't let you! It's... ridiculous! It'd never happen, not in a million years!

Both children were aroused from their thoughts when Phil slowed to a stop in front of Helga's house. Helga blinked as her surroundings resonated, (she cursed her rotten luck that Arnold's house and her house were such a short car ride away), and she unbuckled her seat belt. She realized that she would have to let go of Arnold's hand, much to her dismay, so she gave it an extra tight squeeze, before flinging open her door. She sprinted onto the sidewalk and quickly up the few steps of her stoop, reaching her door in seconds.

Arnold had watched her leave, his eyes half-lidded, but as he stared at her receding back, he realized that she was... empty-handed. He glanced at the seat between Helga and him, saw her math book, and seized it in one hand. He threw open his car door and quickly following after her to her front door before she could disappear inside. "Helga, wait!" he exclaimed, immediately catching her attention. She turned around, her clothes getting wetter than they already were, and she gripped her upper arms to try to retain any warm that she could. She raised one side of her eyebrow at him, curiously inquiring just what the heck he wanted, and why it was so urgent to halt her in the middle of the rain. When he stopped just in front of her on her stoop, his sweater thoroughly damp under the pressure of the rain, he held out her textbook. "You forgot this," he said over the patter of droplets on the sidewalk, and smiled at her when she gently took it from his hands.

"Well... yeah, thanks, Football Head," she said just barely loud enough for him to hear, taking a step towards her door, and backwards-putting a hand on the knob. She couldn't handle much more of mushy, would-be romantic moments with him, and she did greatly miss her bed, and she was wet again, and she wanted a shower desperately. In the back of her mind, she recognized that she did have math homework to do, despite the fact that she had no desire to do it, and that she should probably get to it before every bit of motivation left her altogether. "So... yeah. I'll see you tomorrow, Arnold."

Arnold folded his arms behind his back sheepishly and nodded. "Yeah, at school."

"At school," Helga agreed.

They looked away from each other, unsure of how to respond to the very emotional experience they'd had with each other. They spoke at the same time. "Well... 'bye."

They didn't even react to their mutual speaking.

Arnold hesitated, glancing at her slightly-embarrassed face one more time, before turning away and hopping down all the steps of her stoop at once. He hurried back to the Packard, not even looking back as he slipped inside, buckled up, ignored the shivers of cold that racked his body, and told his grandfather that he was all ready to leave.

After dinner, Arnold trudged up his stairs, still feeling very confused about the events of that day. He'd never experienced so many emotions in so little time, and he had honestly no idea what he was supposed to do with himself now that he had the rest of the night to contemplate.

He grabbed his remote, clicked a button to turn on the lights, and then tossed it back onto his couch. He flopped down on his bed, reclining onto his back, his head collapsing against his pillow with a soft foomph. He stared up at the darkening sky, and found himself wishing night would never come. Night meant solitude, and solitude meant nothing to distracts from his mind wandering.

And wander it did.

It wandered to the still-present feeling of Helga's hands on his skin; it wandered to the harshness of her lips as they battled with their mouths; it wandered to the tears that escaped her beautiful blue eyes as he held her in his arms. His heart had ached at seeing such intense negative emotions from the strongest girl he knew, and just remembering it made the ache throb even more painfully. He hated seeing her cry; he hated knowing that there wasn't much he could do to make the pain go away. His hands just clenched at the thought that she was currently in a house right now where her own parents ignored her. The very thought just made him so very angry.

And it was the same anger, the same fury he had felt when he watched that Wilfred kid kiss Helga's hand. That was enough to make him blow a gasket, but the fact that she seemed so disturbed by it stirred something dangerous in him. He was so darn furious at that kid for trying something so audacious to a girl that hated his guts. It was all about protection; he wanted to actively deflect everything that could possibly harm this peculiar girl, even though he knew this was completely unrealistic and irrational. She could take care of herself. But the thing is, he wanted to protect her anyway. It was a fierce determination, and one he could not explain.

Everything about Helga seemed so complicated, but he found that confusion, that excitement of trying to figure her out intoxicating, and much more inviting than separating himself from her, which was what any logical bullied boy would do in response to his bully's... physical affections.

A soft giggle met his mind's ear, and his eyes fluttered shut, hoping to latch onto that noise, and let it wash over him. It was so soft, so feminine, and so very unlike what he had previously known about the girl. Sure, Helga was a girl, and he'd always known that, but over the past few weeks he'd been noticing her more and more, and for good reason. And, despite the fact that he had only really wished for her giggle to stay with him, the words of his girl practically whispered in his ear.

"Well, Football Face, I have to say, I agree with you there. Whatever the heck is going on isn't so bad. In fact, it's really, really good, actually."

"Keeping secrets. Offering to lie. Kissing in closets. Crimeny, Arnold, I'm a bad influence on you."

"Hey, I had to make it look real, Football Head. Otherwise they might think I care about you or something."

"Sure, he's your best friend, but he's my worst enemy, and I mean, actually my worst enemy. I hate to break it to you, but you're out of the running now, Football Head."

"You should know that I hate you, Football Head."

"Lose the modesty, Head Boy. It's not nearly as attractive as you think it is."

"The whole reason I initiated this whole after-school heat of the moment was because what you did for me today reminded me of what you did for me in preschool. Back then, it really meant a lot to me, and now... well, it still means a lot to me. So... Thanks."

"Just watch where you're going, geek bait; sheesh would 'ya quit running into me and find some other sap to obsess over; get a hobby that doesn't involve crashing into me every five seconds. Got it?"

"Just shut up, Football Head. And put your tongue back in your mouth!"

"We're practically out in the open, Head Boy. Does that scare you?"

"I'm sure there is, bucko, but when have you ever known me to be polite?"

"I can only imagine how hot you must be, all cooped up in that heavy sweater of yours..."

"W-well... don't start what you can't finish, Football Head."

His heart fluttered and he felt a small smile come to his face. "She's amazing," he mumbled under his breath. She stirred something warm in his stomach every time they made eye contact; every time he felt her soft touch on his skin he felt like he was floating. It was a feeling like no other, and he was having a difficult time putting his finger on exactly what it was. He was sure he had never felt that way with any other girl before. With Lila, his stomach fluttered, and... well, that was it, really. It was just a passing feeling, and it only happened some of the time. With Helga, he felt that excitement constantly, as he was always on his toes, waiting for what other crazy thing she would do next. With Summer, he just felt warm, because a very pretty girl liked him, and... well, again, that was it. She didn't make his heart pound like Helga did, his heart never burned with passion whenever Summer held his hand. Even just mere eye contact with Helga made his chest expand, heat spreading through his veins like a poison, a poison he welcomed wholeheartedly. And with Ruth, he just thought she was pretty. He felt nervous around her, his stomach churning with an anxiousness that made him scared to say the wrong thing, to make a fool of himself in front of such a pretty girl. And Arnold felt nervous around Helga, too, but with Helga it was nerves in the sense that she... well, she was intimidating sometimes. Her passion was so raw, it scared him. And the way he felt about her terrified him.

The way I... Arnold gulped, shifting uncomfortably on his bed. The way I feel about her...? But how do I feel about her?

And so began a thought process Arnold convinced himself he'd never consider, and the words came to him in his mind, straight from his heart, before he could stop himself.

He liked her, for one. He always had, even when she got on his last nerve. Even when he felt he should hate her, he never did. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Because she surprised him. As soon as he was sure he'd had enough, she'd do something nice, and he'd feel a... warmth come over him... dull, but present, and it had gotten increasingly more obvious the more he spent time around her, the more nice things she did, the more playful she got...

And he thought she was pretty. He'd always thought she was pretty. Unique, yes, but pretty. Different, most definitely, but pretty. Beautiful, but not like Lila, or Ruth, or Summer. Beautiful like Helga. And she looked so good in pink...

He sighed warmly, smiling up at the darkened sky with a goofy grin on his face. But as soon as the expression came, he forced it away again, and squeezed his eyes shut, chastising himself for having fallen into that mindset he'd often been finding himself in as of late. "Don't," he whispered to himself harshly. "You don't like like her."

She was so witty and clever. She always had a quip on the tip of her tongue, and she could argue with him into the sunset, matching his intelligence, and proving his equal. Lila could never have such in depth conversations with him. A lot of the time, it seemed their conversations were only about her. He'd comment on how nice, and smart, and pretty he thought she was, and then they'd go their separate ways. And with Summer... did they really talk to each other much? Or did they just hold hands and make empty promises about a future that neither really believed was there? And Ruth... HA! They never spoke two sentences in total to each other. She thought he was a bus boy on the only date he managed to scrounge up with her. At least the other two conversed with him, and knew he existed.

The only girl he could think of that even remotely compared to the enigma that was Helga G. Pataki was Cecile, and he still wasn't entirely sure she even existed. She was a fleeting memory, (a welcome memory, one he often visited, and wished to return to), but they only had one night together. A wonderful night, a magical night, even if he pretty much blew it by having two dates at the same time. Cecile was beautiful, sweet, and fiery. She was... a lot like Helga, actually...

Oh, yes, was Helga fiery. She was the most passionate person Arnold had ever met. Her anger came quick, her sweetness came hesitantly, but it was there. It was soft and gentle, very much contradicting his preconceived image of her, but it was there. It wasn't sugary sweet, it didn't overtake the rest of her spit-fire personality, but it was there. And even at her angriest, Arnold could see a hurt behind her eyes. She was sad, and she hid behind her rage. And when she wasn't angry, when she was feeling placid and calm, (usually when she was just around him), there was still that insecurity, that pain that he knew the precise origin of. He really just wanted to protect her, to keep her safe in his arms until the pain passed and she was her normal passionate self again. As soon as she left that day, he missed her. He wanted to sweep her away from her family, hold her, kiss her, whisper in her ear that she was loved...

LOVED?! Arnold screamed loudly in his head, sitting up abruptly with a panicked expression on his face. He felt himself pretty much hyperventilating at the involuntary thought. No, no, no, no, no... Come on, Arnold, we've been through this before... you don't like her like her...

"Arnold... they make me so angry... And... and sad... and I hate feeling sad... Just... please, Arnold, just hold me..."

"Oh, no," Arnold whispered desperately. "I can't! I can't... like her like her! No! I've been telling myself I don't since the very beginning, and I'm not changing my mind!" He sighed deeply, dropping his head into his hands. "This isn't happening... this can't be happening... I can't believe... I can't believe I actually..." He groaned dramatically, flopping back down on his bed and burying his face into his pillow. "I actually like like Helga G. Pataki..." He was quiet, pensive for a moment, grieving at the new revelation, before his head snapped up in alarm. "If she finds out, she'll kill me."

With this extremely panic-inducing thought in mind, Arnold leaped from his bed, crossed his room in only a few steps, and flopped on his couch on his stomach, his hand reaching for the phone. I gotta call Gerald, he thought quickly, (though he had no idea what on earth he was going to say, without giving away everything that had happened between him and Helga over the past month), his mind feeling just a bit delirious, as his fingers sought out the phone number he had memorized, and waited patiently for someone to answer.

He was about to give up after seven rings, when a gruff, and yet feminine, voice said, "Hello?"

Arnold's heart skipped a beat, his face heating up as he thought in a panic, Helga?! He started breathing heavily as that particular action of his settled in his conscious. I called Helga; why did I call Helga -

He supposed he was quiet for too long, because an even more impatient Helga spat out, "Hello?"

Grappling with something to say, (as his mind was too scrambled to realize he could just hang up), Arnold blurted out, his voice as high-pitched as it could go, "Hi, is Bob Pataki there?" He cringed, mentally berating himself for his pitiful display of quick thinking.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and Arnold's heart rate increased with each passing second. After what Arnold considered an eternity, Helga's voice returned, slow and confused, "Football Head?"

Arnold's eyes flew wide open. "N-no," he said, his voice still in that unbearably-pitched voice, "This is Sabrina."

"Sabrina?" Helga asked, her voice flat and disbelieving. When Arnold just made a humming noise in response, she said, "And pray tell, Sabrina, how do you know Big Bob? Do you have a complaint about a beeper? Do you work for him? Because both of those possibilities seem incredibly unlikely; you know, because your voice sounds like it belongs to a seven year old."

"Oh? Heh heh, no, yeah, I'm sorry, I can't tell you how I know him... it's... well... I just..." Arnold racked his brain, trying desperately to come up with a reason before Helga suspected him. (But he had the uncomfortable theory that she already did.)

"Fine, whatever, don't tell me," Helga dismissed, carelessly. "To answer your question, no, he's not here right now. He had to work late, he won't be in until later. Would you like to leave a message?" Despite the fact that the last sentence should have been spoken diplomatically, there was sarcasm laced in her words, and it made Arnold wince. He was really hoping his words of comfort had stretched until at least tomorrow morning, but it seemed like her father's absence, (while she didn't really expect to interact with him much), really brought her mood down a notch, or a few.

"Oh, he's not? Oh that's a shame; you don't have to tell him I called, maybe I'll just... find him... some other way. Great, thanks, 'bye!" Arnold hung up the phone quickly before he could make an even bigger fool of himself than he already was.

The fact that he had accidentally called Helga didn't surprise him as much as he figured it probably should; learning everything he could about Helga had become a habit of his as of late, and that... apparently included her phone number. He also knew she was allergic to strawberries, but that she loved the flavor; he knew that she always ordered the same thing whenever she went to Slausen's, (though he had known that already, much to his surprise); he knew that she had a habit of chewing on her pencils when she was deep in thought during class; he knew she wandered the streets near her house, often when she was hurting, or feeling sad, or lonely.

In other words, he'd been watching her. And, no, that wasn't exactly a secret that he kept from her, but what she didn't know was that he was paying attention. To everything. How angry she seemed when she ate her lunch, how poorly her feet must feel after literally stomping everywhere all day, how much her fist should be aching after punching Brainy so often. And she did punch Brainy, a lot. Constantly. And Arnold had been finding himself wondering what on earth he had done to deserve such violence from an already on-the-brink girl. He noticed how she was always her most spiteful when outwardly provoked, and her insults were more biting, more personal, more defensive. She was so intricate; she had so many secrets; Arnold didn't understand her, and he never had. She frustrated him to no end, and yet, every day, he still sat at the same lunch table and watched the same girl he had sworn he didn't like in a romantic way.

He was steadily becoming obsessed with her, and only just a minute ago, he realized why.

How he felt for her far exceeded how he felt for any other girl he'd ever felt for. Only he didn't know what to call it; he didn't know what exactly it was, except that it was strong, and it was making his heart hurt. It was obviously a form of like-like, all he knew was that it was much, much worse.

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

And there we have it, another chapter closer to a confession! And I'd like the clarify, at the beginning, during Helga's dream, I did not mean to imply what I'm sure many of you thought I was implying. They're much too young! But Helga's always had a wild imagination, and that's what I wanted to convey with her overly-romantic dream of Arnold's love confession.

As always, please review!