Written By Shaun Blankenship

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They all departed the bus in the usual grogginess. When they went to elementary school, waking up in the morning meant eight o'clock. Now almost all of them were forced to wake up from five-thirty to six. The whole gang was there: Rhonda, Harold, Eugene (Ol' Crater Face himself), Phoebe, Sid, Stinky, Helga, Gerald and Arnold. The rest of them rode a different bus and still hadn't shown up. There was one face that Arnold had realized missing in particular.

"Hey, Gerald, where's Lila?"

Gerald stopped and gave a look of puzzlement at Arnold. "Arnold, are you still crushing over Lila?"

"No, I was just wondering where she was. She lives on our bus route, she should've been on our bus."

"You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?"

Gerald put a hand on Arnold's right shoulder. "Man, I can't believe you didn't hear. She's pregnant, Arnold."

Arnold gasped in amazement. "She's pregnant? When did that happen?"

Gerald opened up his complimentary student planner and flipped through the pages. "Hmm, let's see… You know, I think she's do for next week."

Arnold's eyes became wider. "She's been pregnant for nine months?"

"You didn't notice the little pudge in her stomach? What did you think? Her dad struck the lottery and now they can afford food?"

Arnold raised his index finger at Gerald. "Hey, watch it. That's not funny."

Gerald finally removed his hand from Arnold's shoulder. "I'm sorry, man."

"Well, who's the father?"

"Oh, she doesn't even know."

Arnold's jaw dropped so far down that he thought it might've fallen off. "How can she not know who the father is?"

"Well," Gerald started. "You know how Lila became back in eighth grade when her father got fired from his previous job?"

It all started to make sense to him. "Yeah, how she started to…"

"Yeah," Gerald continued. "She started doin' drugs and stuff. She can't remember who the father is!" Gerald looked at the ground, pitying it as if it were Lila. "Man, I don't even know what that girl's thinking now. She's always so out of it. I heard when she first was pregnant, she honestly believed that it must've been either a gift from the stork or that she had been chosen to give birth to Jesus."

Arnold glanced skeptically at Gerald. "Oh, come on."

Gerald preached, "I'm serious! Something is wrong with that girl! She has smoked her brain crispy!"

"Come on, Gerald, do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Alright, listen." Gerald backed off a little. "If you don't believe me; after school, why don't you go pay her a visit? Say hi or something? I dare you to try and start a conversation with her."

The five-minute warning bell rang and was heard even outside to where Arnold and Gerald were. Arnold quickly produced his schedule out of his pocket. "Oh, shit, I have to be on the other side of the school. See ya later, Gerald."

They both walked in the school but were quickly separated in the hallway. Gerald waved to Arnold. "See ya later, man." Arnold and Gerald rushed to meet their classes.

***

The teacher stood in front of the class. He slowly took a sip of coffee from his personalized Garfield mug (It was a neat gift from his wife: a comic strip that said, "I hate mornings. / Edgar Lynn hates mornings. / Great minds think alike.") and began to speak. "Hello, welcome to psychology. Anybody who thought this class would be an easy elective and don't plan on working, please spare me and get out of here right now."

At that time, Sid had started to rise out of his seat. The teacher quickly reacted vocally, but the rest of his body hadn't budged from the slightest finger movement down to where his feet. "That was meant as a joke. You know, ha-ha and such." Sid quickly took his seat. He groggily took another sip of coffee. "If you do have a problem with this class, I suggest you speak with your councilor. I advise you do it very soon, but on your own time. Right now, you're in my world."

The class let out a very low amount of laughter. The kind of laughter you give to someone who you can't tell is either serious or joking. This teacher was hard to read; he had a zippy wit and personality although it looked like if given three seconds of peace, he'd fall asleep for five hours. All Arnold could really focus on was his huge bald spot and the little tuff of hair that he tried to comb over it with. Other than that, his hair made a giant horseshoe around his head.

The teacher took a seat on a nearby chair. "So, would anyone be willing to tell me what you think this class is about? Anybody?"

After a moment of prolonged silence, Harold raised his hand. He had changed slightly since fourth grade but not much. He had joined the football team in ninth grade and since then became more buff, but he still was a little "big". His gut still hung out but now he was smart enough to wear a shirt that would fit over it. His hat had been replaced with a bandanna; another one of Harold's clever loopholes. The student handbook forebode that students wear hats to class… but it didn't say anything about bandannas…

The teacher didn't say anything, but merely pointed a finger at Harold. Harold placed his hand back down. "Um, are we going to learn how to hypnotize people and mess with their heads?"

The teacher crossed his arms and looked down. "No, we will not be learning how to hypnotize people and mess with their heads."

Harold slammed his fist on his desk. "Aww, why not?!"

Yup, it was the same old Harold.

***

A white haired man with a mustache sat down behind his desk and kicked his feet up. It gave him sort of a Steve Martin feel about him. "Welcome, students, to another fantabolous year here at Hillwood High School. I'm your teacher, Mister Cleredon, and this is…" He broke his sentence off and stood pausing in front of the school. "…Systems of Justice."

Out of all the seats in the class, Arnold had ended up next to no other but Helga G. Pataki. Mister Cleredon was the only teacher he ever knew to actually give seat assignments on the first day of school. Usually teacher wait until the third or fourth. How Arnold had been placed to Helga, he would never know.

The teacher stood up. "Now, I can be a nice guy if you don't push me. Just don't make me upset. I'm a very easy-going person and I like things that way. I might have my bad days but…" He took another pause like the one before. "…I get over them. Just watch out."

Helga sat fidgeting in her seat. This was the only class she had that didn't use desks. It had a combination of twelve tables and two chairs at each one of them. And wouldn't you know it, right next to her was Arnold. During this time, she probably would've been scribbling inside of her notebook but she hesitated. What if she wrote something about Arnold but not realizing it during the moment and Arnold saw it?

She tried to break the silence between the two of them while the teacher went on with his monotonous droning. She started, "So, Arnold… how was your summer?"

Arnold looked at her and but his finger to his lips. "Shh! Be quiet, Helga. We're gonna get in trouble."

Mister Cleredon stopped his present lecture. "In case anyone is doing anything besides listening to me, I advise that they stop it."

Arnold and Helga quickly focused their attention toward the teacher. The stress was killing her. Well, that went well. This class is gonna be fun.

The teacher continued, "I'm gonna tell all of you something right now. I don't mind if you have food in my classroom, just as long as it's not gum. If it is gum, I better not see it: no blowing bubbles or anything and you better chew it with your mouth closed. Other than that, you can eat your morning pop-tarts, drink your soda or maybe even your apricot nectar." Mister Cleredon quickly rubbed his fingers across his lips. "That's another thing I want to bring to your attention. If any of you happen to be shopping and you see apricot nectar on the shelf; hey, remember good ol' Mister Cleredon. It will help your grade drastically!"

He sits back down at his desk. "Especially if you pay for it."

***

"Welcome to Chemistry." Miss Riley was setting something up on the front lab table. She had a box of matches and a Pringles can. Arnold couldn't really see exactly what she was doing. "Just to let you know, we will be doing many experiments this year, and many that involve dangerous chemicals. I will need everyone to have his or her parents sign this form my aid is going to pass out. Who's my aid anyway?"

Phoebe had reached her hand out. "That would be me, Miss Riley! My name is Phoebe." It was incredible. It was almost as if Phoebe hadn't changed at all since fourth grade. She still wore the same old blue shirt and glasses. It was if someone had taken a picture of her when she was young and stretched it to make it taller. The only difference with her was the effect of puberty on her vertical profile.

"Okay, Phoebe." Miss Riley walked to her desk and grabbed a stack of papers. "Can you please hand out one paper to each student?"

"You got it." She took the stack and began her task. There couldn't have been more than twenty-five students in the class, yet there the stack was well over 80 copies of the same form.

The teacher resumed with her presentation. She filled the Pringles can with some sort of gas; the label was hard to read from the back of the class. "This is an example of the type of stuff we will be doing in this class. Now who can tell me the formula for water?"

The class remained motionless. Miss Riley sighed, "Honestly, does nobody know? You guys are, what, seniors? Juniors? You learn this junk if third grade!" She grabbed a marker and wrote on the dry-erase board on the wall. She spoke as she wrote, "H… ₂…. 0! That is water! Now many people think that to get water, all you have to do is mix hydrogen and oxygen and you have water. The truth is that you have to cause a reaction, it's a little more complicated."

She stopped filling the Pringles can and lit a match under it. The room filled with a deafening blast and the cylinder-shaped can flew at the ceiling so hard that it indented a little half-crescent shape on the corkboard ceiling… next to two other round marks. Miss Riley bent down and grabbed the can off its side on the floor. "Now that is how you make water! And look!" She held the can up to the class so they could look inside. It was hardly noticeable but a small amount of liquid sloshed at the bottom of the can. There was less than half of a teaspoon of water formed. "And that's all you get from it! Imagine how long it would take to make a full glass of water like this!"

***

Arnold looked around him but he did not know one face in the gym. The class was filled with mostly freshman, but he could tell that a few of them were almost as old as he was. Looking amongst them made him feel like an old man in a nursery. He pulled his schedule out again and looked at the teacher's name. 'Wittenberg'? Our old coach? I thought he was teaching gym at the elementary.

His schedule was snatched away from his face by an unknown hand and the raspy voice of a woman from his past spoke to him. "Well, look at this! It's Arnold in my Physical Education class. What's the matter? You haven't received your gym credit yet?" Tish' handed him his schedule back. "You're, what, a senior?"

She walked out in the gym so that she was centered to the students lined up along the retractable stands. She gave a short blow on the whistle around her neck and clapped her hands to get her pupils' attention. "Alright, now listen up! This is P.E. one! In case you wanted a more difficult class, you might want to go and talk to your councilors. This is the easiest class you will ever see in your life. If you don't pass my class, you must have really screwed up.

"I have a few ground rules. Number one: no pop, soda, juice, or anything else besides water in my classroom. If you bring it, I keep it. When I keep it, I will chug the whole thing as you sit and watch dehydrated.

"Number two: there will be no cursing in my class! I know we play sports, I know sometimes you may get hurt and maybe then I'll let it slide. If you're just swearing for the fun of it; you know, if you happened to not like a play the other teamed did and you wanted to just tell 'em off, five points will be deducted from your grade."

One of the freshmen snapped his fingers in disappointment. "Aw, shoot, Misses Wittenberg! Gosh darn it all! Jeezum Crow!"

Tish dropped her hands by her waist and walked over to the freshman. She bent down slightly so that her eyes were nearly inches away from his. "You think you're pretty funny, don't you?" She stepped back to her original spot. "Any clear, intentional insinuations of an obscenity shall also mark five points off of your grade. What's your name, boy?"

The freshman was now nervous and shaking. "Um…"

"Last time I checked, I didn't have a kid named 'Um' in my class. What's your name?"

He finally stammered to get the words out. "James Pokard, ma'am."

Tish went over to a side of the gym and grabbed a clipboard. "Jimmy, that'll be ten points off of your grade."

James looked confused. "But I said three things…"

Tish scribbled down on a grade book attached to her clipboard. "Oh, thank you. I guess that's fifteen points off of your grade. Would any one else like to join Jimmy here in losing some points?"

Nobody dared to test Misses Wittenberg.

***

Arnold, Gerald, Helga, and Phoebe all sat on adjacent sides of a square table. Many other students had found themselves in the same position around the classroom, but once again Arnold knew none of them. You know, for someone who's been here so long, you'd think I'd know some of these kids' names!

Arnold looked at Phoebe. "So, Phoebe, what's been going on? How have you been?"

Phoebe adjusted her glasses. "Oh, you know; same ol'-same ol'."

Gerald put his forearm on the table and started smoothly talking to Phoebe. "Hey, what are you doing after school?"

Phoebe's peach-colored face turned red. "Oh, nothing…"

"'Cause I was thinking if you weren't busy, we could do something. You know, see a movie or go skating or somethin' like that."

Arnold diverted his attention from Gerald and Phoebe and focused on Helga. She had been extremely quiet and was reading a book. Arnold read the title to himself, "High Fidelity." Helga put the book down and looked at the football-headed boy across from her. "Is that a good book?"

She gave him a look as if interrupting her reading had offended her. "Yeah, it's really good." She placed the book back in front of her face.

The class bell rang and the Creative Writing teacher came in to the class no more than five seconds after it was done. "Hello, everybody, my name is Miss Apollyon."

Helga slammed her book down in disgust. You know, right when it was getting good…

The raccoon-eyed teacher went behind her desk and sat down. "Okay, now when you think of writing what usually pops up in your mind?"

Phoebe raised her hand and spoke without being called on. "Authors."

Miss Apollyon clasped her hands together and gave a slight shrug. "Yeah, I guess that would come to mind. What do you think of when you think of authors?"

Kids all over the class began speaking out of turn. "John Grisham!"

"Tom Clancy!"

"William Shakespeare!"

"Edgar Allen Poe!"

Miss Apollyon nodded her head in agreement. "Yes, those are some good authors. Who else?"

The outburst continued. "Peter Straub!"

"Nick Hornby!" Helga raised her book up as she said it.

"Stephen King!"

The teacher looked down at the floor. "Ugh… Stephen King is a popular writer but he's not a very good writer. His books are just… horrible."

A voice called out from the class, Arnold's whole table recognized it but could not place it, that spoke out in calm protest. "How can you say that? How can you hold a grudge against the King? How could he be a popular writer without being a good writer?"

Arnold quickly realized who it was. Peapod Kid glared at his newly found teacher. He hadn't changed much either: same old hair, only that he had died the tips of it blue and replaced his glasses with contacts. Maybe that's why I didn't recognize him at first, Arnold thought to himself.

The teacher lifted her hands up in surrender. "He just has no talent whatsoever in my opinion. But that's not important…"

Peapod interrupted, "How could you say that about him? He's Stephen King! He's…"

"Look, if you keep this up, I'll be the first teacher in the history of this school to suspend someone on the first day." Peapod sat in his seat with his never before seen blue eyes looking crossly at his teacher. "Quit wasting your time with that Stephen King crap. There are better authors out there like William Faulkner, or Michael Crichton."

Peapod Kid muttered something under his breath, but all Arnold heard of it was "…stupid Michael Crichton loving witch…"

***

Algebra II was a new class to Arnold but very familiar to Helga. She had failed it last year and still needed a math credit. She had learned everything last year but a had a problem actually handing in her assignments. It was more of a silent protest than laziness; her teacher had given her a detention in the beginning of the year for putting her head on the desk during the last five minutes of class. But the days of Mister Hutchinson have passed and now it was time for Misses Brown… and by the looks of it, this time around it would be easier than cheating in solitaire.

The teacher stood out of her desk and paced in front of the class as she spoke in a low, shy voice. "Hello, kids, I'm your teacher Misses Brown. This is Algebra II, the follow-up to Algebra I. That's all I really have to say, does anyone have any questions?" Nobody rose their hands. Her message was clear enough. She sighed and spoke again, "I guess you guys can talk to each other than for the remaining twenty minutes of the class. Be prepared tomorrow, you will need a scientific calculator for this class." The teacher sat back at her desk and turned to her computer. She clicked on an icon and went back to what she was doing before the hour started: playing FreeCell.

The class was filled with sophomores and one freshman that had been fortunate enough to take the first class in eighth grade. Intelligent kids had privileges like that, while the kids with true knowledge got the average treatment. At times, it upset Helga knowing that she didn't qualify for Advanced Placement classes, although she knew she was smarter than anyone who had qualified was. It was just unfortunate for her that she had been looked down upon by when she messed up, when she procrastinated and how she didn't have parents who would drop everything they have to help her with homework. The more she thought about, the more she got peeved.

Arnold moved up in his row so he was horizontal from Helga. He set his books down and took a seat in a desk that had to have been there when disco was a staying power. "Hey, Helga."

She lifted half of her uni-brow (Even though she had been teased about, she kept as a symbol of herself. It was the only thing about her she would never changed; and without it, doing the wave with it wouldn't be as funny and it had taken her so long to perfect it) and gave Arnold an unwelcome face. "What's the big deal? All day you've just been talking to me."

"Well, you're the only person I know in this class, besides Chocolate Boy over there. And don't forget, during Systems of Justice, you tried speaking to me."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't stand that guy. He just kept on talking; it was so annoying. So what's been new with you?"

"Nothing much. Did you hear about Lila?"

"Doi, everybody's heard about Lila! She's got a kid in the oven."

"Why is it that I'm the last to know everything?"

"Because you never leave your home!" Helga became very serious for a minute. "You've spent all your time caring for your grandparents. It's not like that's a bad thing, but with it is the burden of being less socially active. You're not going to know about people unless you talk to them… or a good friend of theirs."

Arnold scratched his chin. He knew Helga was right, but the only thing he could think of was Boy, I need to shave. I'm getting' stubble. "I suppose you're right. I should visit her after school."

"Yeah, if you can even talk to the dopey idiot."

Arnold gave Helga a look of disapproval. "You shouldn't talk about people like that, Helga, no matter how you feel about them."

Helga widened her eyes in a weird sense of surprise. "Well, I guess you're still the little Boy Scout you've always been. Little Mister Perfect."

"It's not about trying to be perfect, it's about being respectful. How would you feel if she was walking around calling you an idiot?"

"Two things, Arnold. One: she's so high on a daily basis that she probably wouldn't be able to pronounce 'idiot.' Two: I wouldn't care, I'm not the one who's having a kid."

A moment of silence ran between the two of them while the rest of the class talked noisily. Arnold finally spoke up, "Helga, I really hope some day you wake up, and I hope you do it before it's too late."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you should stop living like you're the only person on Earth. Other people live here too and they disserve the same amount of respect from you that you give to yourself. Once you realize that, a lot of your problems will instantly going away. It's the golden rule: treat others how you want to be treated."

Well, now, Helga thought. Arnold has become Buddha all of a sudden.

"Arnold, I just can't have any respect for Lila. She was stupid, she's paying for it, yet she's still treating his body like it's a party all the time! That kids gonna come out with three heads or something! One arm and a foot for its hand! It'll be kick-punching people!"

Even though Arnold found her last comment ver rude, he still had to laugh a little at the visual to it. "Helga, you really need to improve your attitude."

Helga looked at the digital clock on the wall. When's this class going to be over?