"Gratitude looks to the past and love to the present . . ."–C. S. Lewis

Part Three: The Kickball Day Announcement

Arnold and Gerald hurried to class through a hallway packed with happy, smiling kids. They walked into Mr. Simmons' fourth grade classroom to see Mr. Simmons smiling happily as he erased something that looked a lot like a crude, cartoonish figure of himself, with crossed eyes and exaggerated facial features, saying something which had already been erased. Harold, Sid and Stinky could be heard near the back of the classroom, the latter two snickering into their hands, while Harold himself was laughing out loud.

Arnold took his seat. Gerald sat in the desk next to his in the front row just as Helga, with Phoebe by her side, entered the classroom, just beating out the tardy bell. Phoebe walked between their desks, nodding and smiling at Arnold and turning her head toward Gerald, also smiling and giving him a shy little wave. Gerald grinned and made a pistol with his finger, winking at her. Helga marched just behind her, turning her head toward Arnold, who looked up and smiled at her. She scowled at him, baring her teeth menacingly, and continued to stomp her way back to her usual desk in the back row, in the aisle behind Arnold. She flopped heavily into her seat.

Mr. Simmons closed the door as the last bell rang, and then turned to his students, a cheerful smile on his face, his eyes shining brightly. "Hello, class!" Mr. Simmons said to them in his usual morning greeting, stretching out the "hello" part as he always did. This was met with an enthusiastic: "Hello, Mr. Simmons" by Eugene and Sheena, a friendly smile and nod from Arnold, Phoebe and Lila, a few groans (mostly by Harold) and a slightly audible "Criminy," from Helga, which Arnold heard quite clearly. Everyone else was silent.

"Well, class, today is the last week of the school year . . ." the teacher began, and only managed to get that far before the entire classroom erupted into cheers. Helga didn't smile for some reason.

Mr. Simmons continued on, smiling. "Okay, settle down, boys and girls, listening ears. Today we will not be having the usual schoolwork, because today is the annual P.S. 118 tradition known as Kickball Day in which our class will be taking part just before the lunchtime period—um, yes, Rhonda?"

Rhonda's hand was in the air, which upon being addressed; she lowered it promptly and asked, snootily, "Do we all have to be in this kickball game, because today I am wearing my brand new, one of a kind, red Caprini platforms. I don't want to get them all dirty kicking around a ball for two hours"

"Yeah, Mr. Simmons," Helga said sarcastically from her nearby seat. "We wouldn't want little Miss Rhonda-Lloyd to get herself all dirty. I mean, criminy, her nose is so high in the air, if she had to take a shower, she'd probably drown." This drew a number of muffled snickers, and not so muffled giggles, from everyone within earshot. Arnold actually smiled slightly, even though he normally didn't approve of talking about someone like that. Gerald had his face in his arms on his desk, snickering loudly into them. Rhonda, for her part, shot Helga a dirty look and turned away, her nose in the air.

Mr. Simmons merely answered, his smiles never wavering, "Okay, settle down everyone. Well Rhonda, attendance in the Kickball Day activity is not mandatory, so anyone wishing to sit out may do so and cheer on your classmates."

Aside from Rhonda, only Lila and Brainy appeared to want out. Neither of them was very athletic.

"However, due to Kickball Day, all the normal class work today has been cancelled . . ." This drew more cheers, and this time Helga joined in, smiling slightly, as if that was the best news she'd heard all day. "Instead, to pass the time, I am going to assign some interesting and special projects," Mr. Simmons added, using his fingers to make quotation marks when he said "special" as he almost always did.

Arnold briefly wondered what sort-of "special" projects they would be, when he heard the sound of a sheet of paper being torn behind him. He flinched slightly, knowing full well what the sound meant. Helga was getting ready to shoot spit wads at him . . . again.

He sighed heavily. Just one more week to go, he told himself as the first spit wad hit him right behind the left ear, leaving a sticky feeling where it hit. Arnold scowled, turning to look at her, knowing what would happen next. Helga looked up at him, pretending to not know what was happening, though not bothering to hide the scowl of annoyance on her face, and asked "What?"

Arnold turned back around and then he heard the sound of another scrap of paper being torn. He sighed again and tried to pay attention to Mr. Simmons telling the class about their first activity. Instead he looked over toward the open window and the blue sky and white fluffy-looking clouds outside.

Again, the dream from last night went through Arnold's mind. The vision of the Helga from his dream stood out in his mind. The softer, kinder Helga, a complete opposite of the girl he saw every day, the girl who'd picked on and bullied him his whole life, who called him names, who made his life miserable . . .

And yet, the girl who, for some strange reason he didn't understand, loved him deep down.

No matter how many times Arnold tried to shove the memory from that night on the balcony of the Future Tech Industries building, into the back of his football-shaped head, it came back to him somehow, always when he least expected it. To say that Arnold had not been ready for the knowledge that Helga Pataki loved him would be an understatement. Her confession had been a complete and total surprise to him—as was the long, deep kiss she'd given him in the heat of the moment.

Later on, after saving the neighborhood from the wrecking ball, and from that evil industrialist Sheck, both of them sort-of agreed that the whole thing never happened. It had all been too much, too soon for both of them.

Arnold was just starting to wonder if that night had anything to do with his dream, when another spit wad hit him in the back of the neck, making a small, wet-sounding splat. He sighed and hoped that fourth period would get there soon.

To Be Continued . . . .

"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides." –David Viscott