Have Your Cake, Helga! 🎂 | a Hey Arnold! Fanfic

Chapter 5

The neighborhood party was just a few days away. Arnold and the rest of the boarders were on the roof preparing the space when he saw Helga walking on the sidewalk below.

"Helga! Hey!" Arnold waved to get her attention. Helga looked up but when she saw who was calling her, she lowered her head and started walking faster.

Arnold dropped what he was doing and left the roof, running downstairs as fast as he could to get back on the ground floor, but by the time he made it to his front porch, Helga was already out of sight.

The phone rang off the hook at the Beeper Emporium, but Helga refused to answer. She knew it was Arnold, or Phoebe, all gung ho to berate her for her terrible behavior. Or worse – they'd pretend like nothing was wrong and beg for her to come back.

Except there WAS something wrong. What is was, Helga had no idea, but she could feel it in her bones, all the way down to her soul, to her very essence of being. She SHOULD have been happy to spend time with Arnold, and yet, as of late, every time she was around him, she felt this empty, nagging feeling that she couldn't accurately identify.

It was like there was hole in her heart that she didn't know was there, that not even Arnold could fill. It consumed her, getting larger with every passing moment.

"For crying out loud, Olga," barked Big Bob. "Can you answer the freakin' phone?"

"It's Helga, DAD," she responded over the incessant ringing. "And why don't you answer it? Last time I check it wasn't my ugly mug plastered all over the signage!"

"Hey, hey, hey! You are out of line, missy!" threatened Big Bob, pointing his finger at his daughter. "I didn't bust my butt to build this empire just for you to dump all over it!"

The phone stopped ringing. "Glad that's over," said Helga.

"That could've been a sale, Olga!" yelled Big Bob. "For cripes' sake, for once can you show respect for my legacy?"

"WHAT LEGACY?" Helga exploded. "Newsflash, Dad – we're not in 1998 anymore! Nobody uses beepers anymore, except for maybe on-call surgeons, but you tell me the last time a bunch of Doogie Howser M.D.s came busting down our doors for your products?!"

Big Bob folded his arms indignantly. "I dunno. I think you just lack the creative mind of your old man to sell beepers."

The phone started ringing again. "You know what? FINE." Helga grabbed her backpack and walked over to the nearest cardboard box, kicking over so its contents – what else? Beepers – fell to the ground and she began scooping them into her bag en masse. She then zipped it up and slung it over her shoulder and walked toward the exit.

"Where are you going?" asked Big Bob.

Helga turned to look at her father, her eyes fresh with determination. "You want creativity? I'll sell the whole lot of your crappy beepers, and come back with twice the money their worth. And when I do, I'm gonna burn the profits right in front of you, just to prove that I'm the daughter of a talentless hack!"

She stormed out. Smug, Big Bob brushed his hands in satisfaction. "Heh. Still got it."

"B...." the small voice of his wife could be heard over the phone. "I think the toilet's backed up again..."

"Criminy! What did I tell you? Rip up the flyers extra small before flushing! I can't afford another visit from the plumber!"

Phoebe was alarmed to find her best friend at the street corner accosting passersby with the promise of outdated electronics.

"Beepers!" she yelled, sounding like a vendor at a softball game. "Get your beepers here! Perfect for the eager nostalgia hound. Works great as a paperweight or electronic musical instrument. Get 'em while they're hot!"