Current mood:

creative

let's go below the surface, see what we can find
So I signed up for Arnold/Helga over at 30_kisses, which is this sort of challengey thingy that gives you 30 themes and you have as long as you want to write 30 stories (or draw 30 pictures) of any length, connected or not, each corresponding to one of the themes, and each having something to do with kisses. Of course the minute I looked at the themes I saw one continuous 30-chapter story, so I'm doing them in chronological order and making them all related, but you don't have to. Here's the first theme - "look over here."

Kick Off Your Shoes

Chapter One - Keds</b>


It was an unspecial day, really. Grandma had been Custer that morning, but the doomed general had dropped a kiss on his cheek as he’d left for school. Eugene had fallen down a flight of stairs and Curly had crawled into the air vent and refused to come out until everyone sang “Pop Goes the Weasel” in French, which pretty much amounted to nothing new.

And now it was a beautiful Friday afternoon in May and they were clustered on the stoop, listening to Gerald spin one of his gloriously freakish tales. Rhonda and Nadine were twirling a rope for Helga, who, while not the epitome of grace, was good at all things physical, and they’d gone through the alphabet twice already.

Arnold watched the flash of tan rubber every time her white Keds left the pavement, as Gerald’s voice droned poetical above him, and Wondered About Helga. He’d spent so much time doing just that that he’d tended to give it respectful capitals. Right now he was Wondering why she’d stopped watching him. She’d always kept those unsettling eyes trained on him before, and he’d grown used to the warmth of her gaze on his neck, the prickling of his skin that told him she was somewhere around, just looking. It might have creeped him out, but the fact of the matter was that a boy with no parents and a houseful of crazy people didn’t get quite enough of people looking out for him, and so instead of being freaky it was strangely comforting to know that Helga was three rows behind and she certainly wasn’t looking at the blackboard.

But since last summer that pleasant prickle had grown more and more infrequent. Surreptitious glances to the back of the room had found Helga actually listening to the teacher, or taking notes, or answering questions in class—all odd occurrences. Arnold chalked it up to the fact that middle school was a lot more difficult than elementary, and Helga, who had always breezed through most subjects with a scornful air, might actually have to pay attention now…but there were other things, other reasons that lurked in the back of his mind. Things like awkward conversations held on empty streets that would not be paved over, confessions and nervous laughs and hands so hot they threatened to burn a hole through his own.

And it was too big for him, like naming the stars. So he’d found the perfect little cubbyhole in his mind where he could hide those things away, keep them locked up tight except for that moment right before he fell asleep, when they shimmered in front of him like will o’ wisps.

Everyone knew you should never follow will o’ wisps.

Arnold didn’t like change, didn’t like it one bit, and that was an excellent reason for his present dissatisfaction. It was so good he almost believed it himself.

But the why and the wherefore wasn’t so important right now. Nothing could really be important right now, not with the sun so pleasant on the back of his neck, and Gerald weaving a tale like an urban Arachnae, and the whole glorious weekend stretching out in front of them like a lazy cat, and summer so close. He watched the sunlight splash on Helga’s pigtails as she changed places with Nadine after tripping on “A,” and looked forward to the spray of freckles he knew she got in the summertime. So she wasn’t looking at him, his subliminal commands proving ineffectual, and hadn’t looked at him for nearly a year. This was perfect, here, right now. Or at least close enough to it that he almost didn’t mind.