Author's Notes: These are merely drabble pieces I wrote about Helga and her little pink books. What could be written in those engrossing pages that have her so enthralled? The poems at the beginning of each chapter are original. Let's take a peek inside of Helga's little pink books. What could she be writing about her peers?

Disclaimer: I still do not own Hey Arnold. :(

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Peering Into The Pages

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Quiet Admiration

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The whisper of my sonnets float to eager ears
My dreams of an unrequited love create his saltine tears
He shivers when he hears my words romance his bashful heart
Poetry he believes, is my innate skill—I know don't do justice to the art
Everyday he follows me, stifling privacy that is never afforded
Even now he's the reason for this rhyme that I've recorded

--- Page 27 of the Little Pink Book

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I don't know why I wrote a poem about him. I was bored I suppose. Phoebe was engrossed in the third Harry Potter novel to pay too much attention to me. Usually at lunchtime, I could be found terrorizing my classmates, but today felt like a writing day. To be perfectly honest, everyday was a writing day, but I rarely wrote during recess.

After failing to pull Phoebe from her novel, I went over to the abandoned swings, sat down and began to write. Normally, my little colorful book with the lavender and indigo pages would be filled with odes to Arnold, but today felt different. I found myself watching the other children as they played, and I felt uninspired. Could it be that Arnold was not only the inspiration for my poetry, but was he also my only driving force?

Before I could think about things too deeply, he was there. As always, he crept upon me like a snake in the night. I heard the tale tell wheezing that was his trademark. My hand with up, as if I meant to hit him. Instead of hitting him, I put pen to paper and scribbled furiously. I ignored his hovering, although it took everything within me not to punch him. Just as I was finishing the last line in my third stanza, a tear fell from above me, blotting the pretty lavender page. A large wet, inky smudge had ruined a portion of my poem.

I was about to hit him, (for real this time) but when I saw the tears fall from his pale cheeks something stopped me. His thick glasses fogged up, and with a shaking hand he wiped them thoroughly. I stood from my swing, facing him fully now. He closer to me, and grabbed my hand gently. Suddenly, I felt guilty. I had not meant to make him cry.

"You... write beautifully, Helga. Your... words are so eloquent... They... make me cry... sometimes, but it's... in a good way."

He wheezed softly, releasing my hand. Unexpectedly, he has managed to catch me unaware. What he says surprises me, and for a moment the tables have turned. Should I give him a gruff comeback? I bite my lip, wondering if I'll later regret my words.

"Gee thanks, uh Brainy that means uh, a lot to me. I guess."

Surprisingly, I mean it. He was constantly following me around, and he always heard my secret soliloquies to Arnold before. He knew how I really felt about Arnold. Hearing his compliment made me feel good in a weird sort of way.

"Now get lost, bucko! I'm writing here!"

I said halfheartedly, ignoring his slight smile. He slunk away as quietly as he had come. Closing my book, my eyes followed his back. Perhaps there was more to Brainy than I had ever realized.