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The Creeps	By : SleepSomehow Category: +G through L > Hey, Arnold! Views: 6641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. Just another dorky fan.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
8: Foul Ball

"So, what do you want to do?" Arnold asks, hopeful.
Helga's impressed with the guy so far. No tuxedo like that one Valentine's Day at Chez Paris'. But he's cleaned up nice in a button-up long-sleeve shirt and slacks, his hair slicked back all neat, at least for now. Arnold's hair has a habit of defying all hair products.
"I'm still not convinced this isn't some set-up, Football Head," Helga waves a finger in his face, "But if it is... I'm going to pound you so hard-"
Arnold grabs her hand, slowly lowering the accusing finger, "It's not, Helga. I promise. I want to go out with you."
"Why?" She asks bluntly, convinced this is just another fantastical dream she'll wake from any minute.
"Because I like you," He interrupts, "Because I got a glimpse of what you're really like... and I like that person, I like you. I want to get to know you."
Helga pauses, frowns, pauses again, "So you... don't think I'm a total creep?"
Arnold's eyes follow the ground for a moment, "I do," He looks up, catching the edge of horror on her face, "It's cool! I'm... flattered, actually."
"But I'm totally nuts! You socked Brainy for less than-than this!" Helga states animated, waving the flowers around herself, "I'm an obsessed, psychotic freak! The only thing I'm missing is the knife!"
"And the camera," Arnold crosses his arms, smirking a little at her desperate questioning, "Are you trying to scare me away? Because it's not going to work."
"I don't get it," Helga slumps back against the bridge, seated on the stone wall, "All this time I thought you hated me. I thought you'd laugh me out of town..."
Arnold realizes he might've hit a note with Helga and frowns, taking a seat beside her.
"Why?" He speaks softer, tiptoeing around the dangerously explosive girl's emotions, "Helga... am I really that mean?"
She looks up, catching his eye, "You can be. Without knowing it, you can be real cruel," Her eyes move away again. She sighs, shaking her head, "No, you're not actually mean at all, Arnold. You're the ultimate 'Nice Guy'...."
"Then why the fear?" he persists.
"Because you scare the crap out of me?" she whispers, glancing over at him with a sudden glare, "If you repeat that to anyone, ever, I will grind your smug little face into the pavement."
Arnold ignores the empty threats, "Why do I scare you?"
"It's not you, really," She shuffles slightly away from him, "It's... how I feel about you that's scary."
"Oh," Arnold's gaze steers away from hers, "That's... ok, I guess."
"And why do you keep looking at me like that? Like I look ridiculous or something?"
"What, no-I-"
Helga backs from the wall, looking down at her out-of-character clothing, "Man, I knew this was dumb. Dressing like this. It wasn't my idea-"
"Helga!" Arnold interrupts, moving up to her, "Stop. You look..."
"Stupid," She blurts out just as he comments, "Sexy."
Helga glares, cheeks growing red.
Arnold gives a half smirk, "You really don't handle compliments well."
She stands up taller, mimicking his coy smirk, not wanting to appear weak, and rolling her eyes, "Whatever, Football Head. Where to?"
"Um, where do you want to go?"
Helga crosses her arms again, "I'm letting you decide. Prove to me this is a real date and not some shit-show for your jerk friends to laugh at."
"I'm not leading you on, I promise. It's a real date."
"I'll believe it when I see it, shrimp. Bring me somewhere you think I'd want to go."
He freezes, feeling as though he's just entered a crossroad and there's a chill in the air. One way could be certain doom. Then again, the other could be far worse. Arnold has never been too keen on reading girls.
This is Helga. Not just another girl. I've known her since I was a kid. When Helga says something, she means it. I've got to prove this isn't a facade. So... where WOULD she want to go?

"Smooth move, Arnold," Helga leans forward in the squeaky, red vinyl booth at Mack's Diner, slurping on the straw shoved in a giant double chocolate shake, "Not a bad start. What brought you here?"
Arnold shrugs, "I thought about Chez Paris' since that one Valentine’s day and all, but then I remembered you puked your guts out after eating weird French food-"
"Cat brains and eggs," Helga mumbles, dipping a finger in the whipped cream on top her shake and sucking it off her finger, "Let's not go reliving that, thank-you-very-much."
"I still don't get why I couldn't tell you were 'Cecile'," Arnold squints, "Your hair and clothes were so different! And all that makeup-"
"I'm a master of disguise?" Helga shrugs, chasing a fallen cherry around the bottom of her shake with her straw, trying to stab it, "The restaurant was pretty dark. Don't beat yourself up about it, Football Head."
"Helga," Arnold swirls his own shake with his straw, "Could you maybe do me a favor?"
She pauses, looking up sheepish from the task at hand.
"Please don't call me Football Head."
She tries not to smirk, "That's... a steep request, hair-boy. It's been your name since we were basically in diapers. What the heck am I supposed to call you?"
Arnold looks down at the ground, "Anything but that."
"Oh, come on, it's just a joke," Helga places her milkshake down on the Formica table top, "So what should I call you if I can't call you Football Head?"
"How about Boyfriend?" Arnold looks up, catching her eye.
Helga freezes then abruptly burst out laughing.
Arnold grimaces as if smacked, "What's so funny?"
"Now I know you're messing with me!" Helga chuckles, "There's no way you actually mean that-"
"Maybe I'm not joking?" his shoulders hunch.
"I wasn't born yesterday, geek bait! You totally are!"
"Forget it," Arnold slumps back against the cracked cushion on his side of the booth, "Forget I said anything."
"Hey, don't go getting sore," Helga tsk's, flicking a discarded cherry pit at Arnold, "How am I supposed to believe a guy who just overnight decides he like-likes me?"
Arnold flicks the cherry pit back, pinging it off the side of the booth and missing her completely, "It wasn't overnight..."
"Ok, over like two nights, Big difference. How am I supposed to trust that, Football Head?"
"See! There you go again with the Football Head thing!"
Helga gives an apologetic half-smile, "That's going to be a tough habit to break."

"What's the deal? They're just sitting around eating ice cream!" Harold barks from the parking lot outside the diner, "Now I want ice cream, too!"
They followed the pair at a distance somehow not giving away their pursuit. Now they sit and watch, unable to hear the date unfold, but easily able to watch through the many glass windows of the Diner.
"Yeah, Gerald, it really does look like they're just on a date. No big deal."
"Shut it, Stinky," Gerald scratches his chin, "It is a big deal! Arnold's on a date with Helga Pataki! I don't know what her intentions are, but I'm certain my bro's about to get his heart drop-kicked through a diner window! That girl, if you can call her a girl, has given Arnold nothing but grief for ages! I just know she's up to no good! Arnold's too good of a guy for this. Too naive, too gullible. Any minute now the snake's gonna come outta the grass and bite! She's up to somethin'!"
"My snake wants to come out and bite that ass!" Sid snickers, elbowing Harold.
"Gross!," Harold frowns, "That's Helga!"
"I'm with Sid!," Stinky chimes in, "Who knew Helga cleaned up so darn nice! I wanna take her on a date, too!"
Sid laughs, "And I wanna take her clothes off with my teeth!"
"Ew!" Harold scowls, "I just want a double chocolate shake. No, a triple!"
Sid rolls his eyes, "Whenever it comes to food or sex, Harold always goes for the grub."
"Look! Arnold's upset!" Gerald exclaims, "See!? She's up to something!"
"Yeah, she just flicked a cherry at his forehead," Stinky points out, "Bounced right off and left a big ol' smudge of whipped cream on the lucky feller's face. What a flirt..."
Harold moans, "That's a waste of perfectly good cherries!"
"Speaking of cherries..." Sid wiggles his eyebrows.
"Man, you're one sick kid, Sid," Gerald shakes his head, turning back to the scene in the diner, "Wait, what's he doing?"
"Oh wow," Stinky exclaims, "That was real bold. Arnold's gonna get hit fer sure!"
"Right in the eye!' Sid laughs, "He got a money shot on her! Bet that stings!"

Arnold gaps, "I-I didn't mean to, Helga!"
"Why you little!" Helga stands up from the booth. Half blind, she reaches out and grabs a handful of whipped cream from her shake.
Arnold goes to duck, instead getting slapped upside the face with the frosty treat. He stares up at his date, completely stunned, a large smudge of whipped cream and chocolate milkshake dripping down the side of his face and in his hair.
Helga manages to squint open the afflicted eye. Spying the boy sitting in such an aghast state, her rage faulters. The girl snorts a giggle then explodes into a fit of laughter.
Arnold glares up at her, "You think that's funny?" He rises from the seat and grasps a handful of his own shake, launching the whipped cream at the girl.
Helga goes to dodge, still getting the edge of the chocolate spattered across the front of her dress as the majority of the whipped cream flies through the narrow room and across the diner counter.
"Hey!" The gruff waitress scolds from behind the counter, "You kids stop that!"
"Time to go!" Helga grabs Arnold's wrist and drags him from the booth.
"Get back here!"
"Run!" Helga shoves Arnold in front of her, the both fleeing the diner before the crusty old waitress can even round the counter.
Halfway down the road they finally come to a stop, panting, Helga still laughing.
"Boy, you shoulda' seen your face!"
"That wasn't funny, Helga," Arnold starts then, seeing how much she's enjoying herself, eventually joins her laughter, "Ok, it was kinda funny."
"Man, look at your hair!" she wipes the chocolate drips from her dress, just smearing it into the black fabric, "Your half chocolate flavored now!"
"You want a taste?" Arnold grins.
"No, I-" Helgas laughter fades, she stops cleaning the shake residue from herself and looks up. The playful mockery coming to a screeching halt, "Err..."
Did.. did those words just come out Arnold's mouth? To me? Wait... is this.... real?
Arnold brushes a hand over the side of his face, managing to whip most the whipped cream and chocolate away and smearing the remainder further into his hair.
"Is that a yes?"
Helga blinks, stumbling over what to say, "Ah, maybe?"
Two seconds later and the young man has grasped her by the shoulders, pulling her into the shaded seclusion of a nearby stoop. His lips are on hers before she can breathe. Tongue still cold from the ice cream. Pinning her to the wall as he forces himself on her. She gives in, confused, surprised, shocked, and completely unprepared.
Helga's written words are driving Arnold to be bold, daring, moving without thinking. She wants him and he knows it. That knowledge pushes him to action.
While his lips keep hers occupied, his hands move from her shoulders bare shoulders down her arms, to her waist.

He briefly remembers that this is their first date. Barely thirty minutes into their first date and Arnold is already leaping across the bases as if he's just hit the ball out of the park. On the first date, you're supposed to hold hands, maybe steal a kiss. This is way more than a peck on the cheek. Maybe that's just how things will be with her? All that pent-up sexual tension has to come out eventually.

Before Helga can catch wind of what he's up to, hands are on her chest. Hands that weren't there a moment ago. Careful at first, just skimming the material of her sleek dress, then giving a firm, purposeful squeeze in unison.
She gives a muffled, "MMPH!"
With a firm shove and a maniacal growl, Helga launches the distracted boy from her and sends him stumbling away.
"I knew this was a setup!! Thought you'd have a good laugh with your stupid friends at my expense, eh Football Head!? Try to play me for a fool!? I'll show you-"
Arnold's confusion is replaced by a feeling of absolute dread as the disheveled girl before him winds back an arm, fist clenched, rage on her face.
She swings.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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The Creeps