Hi there! Any a' y'all out there remember me? Oh, Come on! I haven't been gone THAT long...have I? Okay, maybe
I have, but I have a very full life! Alright, that's no excuse but.... :::Falls to her knees::: Please Forgive me for not updating
sooner! I'll never do such a horrible thing again, Promise!
*Tee Hee* Okay, now that THAT insanity's over and done with, onto the third Chapter!
Disclaimer- If I owned Hey Arnold, Arnold and Helga would be living in happy coupled bliss whilst trying to set up
Phoebe and Gerald, who would then insist upon having a double wedding with their blonde matchmakers when they
reached the age of Twenty-Four and....oh, why am I writing this?!
~*~A Christmas Present for Arnold~*~
(@)~)~~Chapter three- The Queen's Heart.~~(~(@)
I look up at the skylight in my room. Lying down on my bed, I should be asleep. But I can only think of one thing.
Her.
Helga, where are you?
You're out there, somwhere in India, searching. For your benifit? No. For mine. You're trying to find MY Parents.
Why?
Because you think I hate you? I lied. I'll never hate you. I'll never hate anyone. I don't think I've ever felt hate before in my
life.What makes you think that I would hate you? Because it seemed that way at the time? People say a lot of things when
they're angry. A lot of things that they don't mean, that they'll never mean. You've been gone for two weeks now.
Reporters are trying to find you, but you've vanished again. Why are you so good at that?
Why am I talking to you in my mind?
Because you're no where else where you can hear me, that's why. We watch the News everyday now in class at
nine o' clock, just to see if there's any news of you.
There never is. Just constant speculation. Of where you are, who you might be with, why you might be there.
They say you may be in China.
I can't believe I told you I'd never forgive you.
I do.
I wish you were here, right now, so I could tell you that.
I'm worried.
I'm worried about you, Helga.
Come Back.
Please?
I glance at the clock. 4:02 a.m. Another Sleepless night. Because of her. I can't get my mind off her. Even when I dream,
she's right there. You never know how much you'll miss a person, until they're gone. I never expected to need her back
this much. The funny thing is, it's not because she's out there, in the world, because of me. It's not because I feel guilty,
and I need her back to help ease my conscience. I miss her. I actually, truly, miss not having her here.
I miss her mood swings.
I miss her sarcasm.
I even miss her calling me Footballhead.
But most of all, I think I miss the times when she would be herself in front of me. And I miss the sound of her voice, when
she leaves her bully exterior behind.
I didn't think I could miss her so much.
But I do. Even though I'm not sure why.
Helga, if you're out there, I need to know you're alright.
I can't lose you too.
I feel my eyes getting heavy. I yawn, and then there's only a warm, familiar, darkness.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Suge, you'll be the Belle of the Ball!" Row squeals happily, tipping the brim of her white cowboy hat up.
I turn around in front of the mirrors, looking at myself from every angle, "Riiiight. Like I care about that." I scoff.
Row pouts in jest, "Well, it can't hurt to have you looking Drop Dead Gorgeous."
I raise my right eyebrow, "You're enjoying this." I say.
Row smirks, "Sure am."
I roll my eyes, getting in a quick look at the scenry change from India. We're in London, England, now. And Everything's
different. England is very class-defined, I've learned. You're either rich, or you're poor. I guess it's like that everywhere,
but for some reason, It's so much more noticable here. The sky is never blue, either. There may have been some sun
before we got here, but Row and I can't be to sure.We're staying with a woman who was knighted by the Queen herself
for serivce to the Royal family, some time back. Dame Cordelia Wells. She's an older woman, but not anything as old
as Aishwara. She's about in her late Sixties. She's the kind of person who wear's bringht red lipstick, teases their
hair, and has a friendly smart remark to almost anything you can say. She's open as a book, but as hard to get as Algebra.
I like her.
She's also related to Row...in some way. Niether of them really know how. Some sort of Auntish-cousin thing when
one of Row's Uncle's married one of the Dame's distant Cousins.
Basically, they're not related, but they pretend to be because they like eachother so much.
Row and Cordie (as she later told me to call her.) told me that they've seen eachother very often. When Row first came
to England, her Uncle introduced the two of them, and ever since then, whenever she would fly there, she would visit
Cordie. It was inevitable that we would end up staying at her house, but that's okay. I like this place about as much as
I like Cordie Herself. The house is...really more of a mansion, but very modest. It has an outdoor's sort of cottage
theme, and evrything in it is meant to be casual and comfortable. The place looks lived-in, not like an antique you're not
allowed to go near. In the bedroom Cordie gave me, there are the relics of a few stains on the beige shag carpeting, and
the wood of the furniture is faded to a warm tan.
The second we had arrived in the house, Row had told Cordie about the party over tea (I'm actually starting to like the
taste of the caffine-laden stuff), and Cordie had been overjoyed to inform us that not only had she, too, recieved an
invitation, but that she would also be in attendence, and would be honoured if the infamous 'Christmas Girl' and her Piliot
Rowenna Stevens accompanied her. We'd both agreed.
The first thing Cordie did, was to give me (as a gift, she said) another full wardrobe, this time full of all the lastest fashions
off of all the hottest runways.Row had gone through the agony of making me try every last one of them on, to see how they
fit. Even I have to admit, most of them were nice. I'm not into fashion, but at least the clothes given to me were a bit more
ordinary then a closet full of Saree's and Langa Suit's. Some of the things the Dame gave me, though, were tossed faster
then I could throw them across the room. Rhonda would've liked them. They were all showy. Stuff you wore to make
people think you're a snob who has time to go to all of those fashion shows and buy the designers silghtly strange clothes.
I snap myself out of my thought, looking at the desk that held a little box. It was out from it's usual place in
my duffel bag, I'd been showing it to Cordie. The present I'd gotten for Phoebe.
When I'd taken a second glance at all the jewelery Aishwara had, the
necklace with a simple chain and an oval pendant with a dark blue stone in the center had caught my eye. Lapis,
Aishwara said it was. She told me that one of her friends had given it to her, and if I wanted it, then it was mine.
I'd told her exactly what the fate of the piece would be, and she had only smiled and said,
"It will have a better home around this Phoebe's neck then it will hidden away in one of my Jewelerly boxes."
So I'd taken it along with me. I've brought it out to look at, a few times during the week.
When Row and I saw the date on the invite Sulmon gave me, on the ride to England, we'd instantly groaned.
We'd have to stay there for one week before the Gala was shedualed. But now it was the Day Of. And besides,
Cordie's jokes had made the week pass quickly and happily.
At least, mostly happily.
Arnold was always in the back of my mind. My locket was constantly being pulled out. I dream about him, too.
I stay up some nights, replaying the ally scene over and over, going through every moment we've spent together.
But most of the time, I don't let it go to that extreme. After all, he'll soon have his parents back. He'll soon be happy.
Damn. I've become an optimist, haven't I?
Now we were in Cordie's room. She had brought me evening gowns. Gowns upon Gowns. More then I'd ever know
what to do with. Cordie's off getting us drinks while I'm trying on the tenth dress. Row said she likes this one the best.
Row looks like a real Texian today, it made Cordie and I laugh when she came downstairs for Breakfast. She's wearing
and worn, white coyboy hat, a fitted blue-plaid buttondown shirt, and a pair of purposly faded jeans with leather patches
at the knees and down then sides.
"How many more do I have to try on?" I say, trying to be annoying.
"Five." She answers sweetly, batting her eyelashes teasingly.
I sigh and fall to the ground, eight layers of lavender chiffon floating down with me.
I really hate dresses like this. They're supposed to make you look like a princess, but they end up making you look bloated.
Row laughes suddenly.
I grin, "What's so funny?" I ask.
She starts laughing harder, "You just...look so...uncomfortable..." she breaks into a fit of giggles.
Cordie enters then, with a tray of two Cherry cola's for Me and Row, and a glass of red wine for her.
She takes one look at me and shakes her head, "Bullocks, Noël, you look ready to murder yourself."
I slump, "Can I take this thing OFF?" I plead, still smiling a bit.
Cordie waves her hand, "Yes, Go, go. Ya' look like an overstuffed doll anyways."
Row stops laughing, "I think she looks CUTE!"
"This coming from the girl wearing a Coyboy hat in England." Cordie shoots back elfishly.
I try and hold in my laugh, but end up snorting it through my nose.
Row gives me a mock-glare, "You. Off to the bathroom."
I make a mad dash to the bathroom ajoined to Cordie's bedroom, quickly getting the thing
off me right before Cordie throws in another,
"I wan'ya to try this one. Two'a the otha's look like the've been mangled and had things spilt on'em.
Id'jit designers. Gits, the lot of 'em." Cordie says, letting her life-long English accent show fully. I take a look at the dress,
eyeing it over carfully. First thing that caught my eye, was that it was a shade of pink. That calms me down immediatly.
Okay, it's at least a colour I know I like. It's a light pink, and with the way the fabric shimmers, it sometimes looks white.
The top has straps the size of elastic bands and has has metalic pink thread fully sewn in through the entire bodice.
the skirt's made up of the same coloured silk, flares out, and has a trail of a few feet.
I grudgingly put the thing on. It's soft, at least. Doesn't make my legs feel like they're being scratched up against
barbed wire. I zip it up, having a little trouble at the end, but I manage. I shake out my hair and re-enter the room,
where Row and Cordie are arguing about whether Row would look good in neon green.
"I'll look smashing!" Row tries, a fake accent veiling her intensions.
"You'll look sickly." Cordie counters.
I clear my throat.
They both look at me. Cordie covers her wide smile with her hand,
"That one." Row says with finality,
"That's fer' sure." Cordie agrees. She get's up and lead me to the mirrors.
I have to admit, the thing doesn't look bad on me.
"Shouldn't I try on the--"
"NO!" both woman cut in on the end of my sentance.
"Alright, Alright! Criminey!" I say, waving my hands in the air as a sign of surrender.
Cordie grins, taking a sip of her wine, "Good. Now, we've got my dress, Noël's dress, now all we need is dear
Row's ruddy dress."
I smile with relief, "And then we're done, right?" I'll be glad to get this over with!
Cordie's eyes pop at me and laughs loudly,
"Done? Oh darlin', no! We gotta get to Clara and Vickie's salon for hair and nails and makeup and--"
I hold up my hand, "Wait a minute, Sister! Just How long are we going to have to do this?"
Cordie thinks for a bit, "Well, let's see, we'll probably be done with dresses by one. So I'd say from one thirty 'till
'round five? we have to be at the Party by Five-Thirty."
I look at Row. Row looks at me.
"ARE YOU INSANE?!" we both say in chorus. Three and a Half hours, just to go to Dinner?! Come on, the Queen can't
be that worried about what we're going to look like!
Cordie clucks her toungue at us, tilting her head back to laugh,
"C'mon, Sweedies, it won't be all that bad! The press is gonna' be there, so I want us to look our best!" she puts her hands
to her hips and tilts her head in a jest impression of some sort of 50's mother-figure.
But I caught what she just said,
"Pr...press?" I inquire. Oh please, say it isn't so!
"Yeah, the place is going to be absolutly CRAWLING with the buggar's!" Cordies says, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
I groan in agony, throwing myself onto Cordie's bed.
"Well, wha'ja expect, sweed'art? She IS the Queen!"
"I'm not good around press." I mumble to Cordie, my head buried into the sheets.
"Now, Suge, what did I tell ya' 'bout worrying like that?" Row eases, trying to make the fact that I would be eaten alive
once more a bit more bearable, "It ain't healthy."
"Our dear Rowenna's Right." Cordie says amiably, " 'Side's, hun, we'll be there to help you. We'll make sure you keep
your mouth good an' shut when you need to."
I sit up from my panic, and Cordie hands me my coke. I take a sip, contemplating what she just said.
Hey, they were two grown adults. If they couldn't put a stop to my big mouth, then who else could?!
"Well, maybe it won't be that bad, after all." I mutter, more to myself then to them,
" 'Course it won't." Row chirps brightly, "Now, can we all concentrate on the most important matter at hand?"
Cordie and I both look at her inquizitivly,
"What's that?" I ask, speaking for both of us.
Row skips over to a pile of dresses, located on the far end of the room, that are intented for her,
"Why, findin' ME a dress, Suge Honey!"
We all laugh. But no matter how Row pouts, we still manage to keep her away from that neon green dress she snuck
in by herself.
I take a long glup of my cherry coke, closing my eyes to feel the cool liquid sliding down my throat.
In another place, another time, all would've been right with the world.
But it just isn't.
I miss Arnold.
I'm closer, Arnold. I'm getting closer. I hope you know that.
I wonder, do you miss me at all, Footbalhead?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Do you think she'll be on today?"
"I dunno."
"She has to be, how can someone just dissaper?"
"She dissapered to get to India..."
"Doesn't mean she can do it again!"
"How do you know?"
Silence.
This was the coversation of the gang, crowded outside my front stoop and huddled around the small, portable T.V.
We've been doing this on the weekends, congregating at my front porch for every news report, just to see if there's
anything new about Helga. I'm just watching. Just waiting. The news'll be on in a few minutes. I think I'll lose it
if there isn't anything about her today. I think I'll just grab a ticket to wherever and start looking for her myself.
Hey, if she can do it, so can I.
I hear a muttered greeting to someone who's just arrived.Gerald. He smiles and quickly takes a seat next to me on the
top step, turning to face me unsurly
"How you doing, Arnold?" He asks me.
I try to smile, but it comes out a rueful grin, "Wish I knew." I mumble as an answer
He nods, looking at the T.V...no, looking at Phoebe, from the corner of his eye,
"She's worse." he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. I look at Helga's best friend, letting out a sigh,
"Yeah." is all I can say. Phoebe has gotten worse. There are grey hallow's under her eyes, from insomnia worse then mine.
Her hair is disheveled, and the colour in her skin is drained. She wouldn't look bad...if you like corpses. This started after
we haden't heard anything about Helga three days after her apperence in India. Rhonda's different now, too.
She's anxious. She get's jumpy everytime Mr. Simmons says he has an annoucment. The whole class is pretty much
like that, though. You can almost hear us hold our collective breaths when the anchor person annouces a 'Special
Report'.
"...And now, the Seattle News with Russel Hudson." says the over-acted voice from the T.V.
We all stop. We all watch the screen. A young man who's just begining to show signs of balding--Russel Hudson--
sits in the news room, straightening his papers and waiting for the cue to speak.
He looks up from the batch of perfect sheets, "Hello, and thank you for joining us today on the Seattle News, I'm
Russel Hudson." is his introduction. He lets his expression mould into one of interest before reading his first story,
"Today, we are pleased to annouce that it is Her Majesty, the Queen of England's Thirty-Fifth annual Pre-Christmas
Dinner Ball. The best of Society from England and around the world will be there in an early celebration of the Holiday
Season that is quickly coming upon us."
Oh, who cares! That CAN'T be the top story! These people must know where Helga is! That's more important then some
royal party! I take a deep breath. I have to calm down.
"We will now go there, live Via Sattelite, with our own Coraspondent, Joanna McFarlinn."
We're all shot into a rush of consiousness. Joanna McFarlinn? No! She's looking for Helga! She can't be there! Unless...
She's given up.
"Wilicker's, guys, I rekon Joanna ain't lookin' fer' Helga no more." Stinky tells us.
"Shh!" Nadine hushed him quickly,
No, she hasn't given up. She can't. Or else, who's going to find Helga?
Joanna's on the screen in the next instant, her microphone in hand, in front of a huge, castle-like estate. She's standing
beside one of those Red-Velvet Ropes that are used as barriers at banks. There's a whole string of ropes, and on the
other side of them, a red carpet leading up to the doorway of a palace. The caption at the
bottom of the screen reads 'Buckingham Palace' There are tons of other reporters cramped beside her, shouting their
story, and making so much noise that she practically has to yell into the camera,
"Thank you, Russel. I'm outside The Famous Buckingham Palace right now where the Elite from around the World are
just begining to arrive for a night of Royal Treatment. Elton John and Elizabeth Taylor arrived earlier tonight, and we
excitedly awaited the next group of well-known people to step onto the Red Carpet beside me."
A white limo, longer then any I've ever seen, pulls up to the carpet. Somebody hands Joanna a piece of paper and she reads
from it quickly,
"Yes, we've just got word that the Dame Cordelia Wells is about to step out of that car...But she does seem to have
two other guests that are unknown...let's watch." the camera turns to the carpet, but does it so that Joanna is still seen
from the corner. The rest of the reporters crowd around, holding out there microphones in hopes to get an interview.
A valet dressed in a red suit opens the door, keeping his back stiff and his chin up the entire time, and out step three
people, one at a time. The first looks fairly old, with grey-blonde hair and a bright red dress made to pool around her,
and sleeves that out lengthed her arms. But she was forgotten, the second we saw the next woman steps out.
She's medium height with long blonde hair that was dead straight, except for the ends, and two stands that hang in her
face. She's wearing an apple-green dress that's fitted to her body and flares out at her ankels. It has no sleeves, only
weird, criss-cross straps, but she does have on Elbow-length gloves, the same colour as her dress.
We all recognize her imediatly,
"IT'S THAT WOMAN! ROWENNA!" Phoebe shrieks at the T.V.
"Yeah! The pilot lady!" is what I hear from Sid.
"Is Helga with her?!" came the impatient voice of...hey, wait, did I say that?
As if to answer that question, the third person steps out. A girl, younger and smaller then everyone else, wrapped in a
sheer, oversized scarf that covers her shoulders. It's probably supposed to keep her warm, but I doubt it is. Her pale
pink dress glows a silver-white off the camera lights, the end of it following behind her as she walks. Her golden locks
are left down and free, falling over her shoulders in their own, curled style. And her light-pink lips curve up in a nervous grin.
Helga.
"Helga!" Phoebe exclaims, brows knit together in worry and confusion,
"I can't believe it..." Rhonda breathes
"WHAT?! HOW'D SHE GET OVER THERE?!" Harold, of course.
"...Does this mean Arnold's Mom and Dad are Royalty?" Sheena asks herself out loud, tilting her head in question.
Everyone stops talking and looks at me, waiting for my answer.
Before I open my mouth, I'm saved, by the one and only Joanna McFarlinn,
"I don't believe it!" her voice blares over the T.V., "It's Christmas Girl! With her Piliot, Rowenna Stevens!"
We all turn back to face the screen, where every reporter is shouting at Helga.
"Hey, Christmas Girl!"
"Noël! Over here!"
"Answer a few questions, Noël!"
"Christmas Girl! Christmas Girl!"
As her limo drives away, she turns to Joanna's side of the gathered crowd, putting her hands to her hips,
"Criminey, WHAT?!" she demands loudly, her eyes wide and waiting.
"Careful, Noël." says the old woman in the red dress--Cordelia Wells, I'm guessing-- almost immediatly.
Helga nods to her, then turns back to the reporters. Rowenna goes and stands next to her without hesitation.
It was nighttime there already, and Helga pulls the scarf around her more tightly, probably half frozen from the cold. Can't
these people just let her go in? If she get's sick, It's their fault! Don't they care?! She looks at all of them,
"Ask me what you want to, it's too cold out here to stay for long. You all have coats." Ha! I knew it!
One reporter takes off his coat and hands it to her over the rope. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes,
"If I take THAT I'll never get inside! Cripes, can't you flesh-eaters find other people to annoy?" she says to them,
"Just a couple of questions, Noël!" One reporter assures.
She stares at the man, flinging her arms out in question,
"So I'm waiting, but your not asking!" She responds, cheeks flushing in anger.
A hush falls over the media's best, as they think up a real question that will get Helga to divulge what they really what to
know. Her name, My name. Reporters care too much about things they shouldn't.
"Why are you here?!" asks a young female reporter. Hmm, I remember that being asked before.
She turn's to her, "Why do YOU think? More information, doi!" she retorts simply.
"The Queen knows this kids parents?" a Man's voice booms over the murmers of the people.
Rowenna puts her hand on Helga's arm, shooting her a cautious glance.
Helga looks at her, then at one of the other camera's and smirks,
"Does she?" she says patronizingly, acting dumb, and smirking at the sighs of the frustrated newspeople.
"Have you made any attempt to contact the boy who--"
"No." Helga snaps back the answer to that question so fast, it left the people stunned. I bite my lip out of guilt.
A hundred falshes of light hit her, as some of the paparatzi take pictures for their newspapers and journals.
"Where have you been for the past week?!" one woman calls out.
"With Cordie." Helga responds bordly, pointing to the Dame, who smiles, crossing her arms.
Helga shivers violently then, and begins to walk with the two women to the doors leading into the Palace,
"Alright everyone, one more question before Miss Wells, Suge n' I freeze!" Rowenna shouts to the Media.
"Christmas girl, tell us!" The voice of a young man hollars, "Are you any closer to finding the boys parents?!"
We all sit up on the steps as Helga stops dead in her tracks, tilting her head down and staring into nothing,
"Yes. I'm much closer." she says evenly, but in a voice barly audible, "I'll find them, you don't have to worry about that."
She steps up to the castle doors, where two soldier's let the three of them in.
And Helga's gone again.
"No..." I breathe.
NO!
She can't just dissapear again!
Joanna McFarlinn turns to her carmera uncertainly, "Well, that's the second time we've heard from this elusive Christmas
Girl, but will it be the last? My answer to all the wondering viewers out there is...No."
We all stare at the T.V quizicly and sit up a little straighter,
"The Seattle News," Joanna anounces with satisfaction spread across her face, "Has been given one of the few
VIP Media Access Tickets into the party that are handed out every year to various News and Entertainment Stations."
She pulls out a card from under her jacket that she wears around her neck with the help of a piece of string, brandishing
it to the camera smugly.
"In half an hour," she continues, "I will be inside Buckinham Palace to talk to the guests...and I will make it a point to
see that I get a chance to speak to Noël!" Some other reporter's in the mob on T.V glare at her, obviously wanting the
little plastic card around her neck.
"So, Join me in thirty minutes, when we'll have an inside look of the Queen's Christmas Party! Until then, I'm Joanna
McFarlinn...back to you, Russel."
Russel comes back on the screen, in the newsroom, and Stinky shuts off the T.V.
Like we could care about what else happened.
"So...she's in England now..." Nadine reasons,
"I heard it's a nice place." Eugene chirps.
"That's not the point, Eugene." Phoebe mumbles.
We were all silent. Pensive. I'm just thinking about Helga, as I'd just seen her. With her hair down, in that pink
dress. Funny, I didn't know she could be so pretty.
Well...I mean, she's pretty, but it's not like she's...um, she just looks...uh...interesting?...
Yeah, that's what I mean. She looks interesting.
The front door opens, and everyone looks to see who's invaded this moment of thought.
Grandpa.
"Jeez, Shortman." He begins, turning up the collar of his jacket to keep out the frigid air,
"Don't you think you're friends should be gettin' home? It's colder then the winter of thirty-six out here."
We all sigh, slowly getting up from the steps of my stoop.
"So everyone, I EXPECT you to watch the news from your common homes in EXACTLY A HALF HOUR!"
Rhonda, bossy as ever. But I don't think she needs to worry. Something tells me that the only way you'd keep any one
of us from the news in half an hour would be to drag us away with heavy machinery.
I say my goodbyes to everyone quickly as they rush to their houses, with no intentions of wasting time. Gerald offers to
walk Phoebe home, and she accepts tiredly.
And me? I dash inside and park myself in front of the Television. Oskar, Ernie and Mr. Hyunh are sitting on the couch,
"We heard the report, Arnold." Ernie says, a strange smile taking over his face.
"This girl. She cares for you. Very much!" Mr. Hyunh says enthusiasticly.
I freeze. Yes. She does, doesn't she? Helga G. Pataki cares about me.
I don't think I've quite gotten used to it. It hasn't really sunk in yet.
"Yeah..." I say, slowly, looking at the television screen the held a caption of her quietly,
"...She does."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I step into Buckingham Palace, hands shaking. But my face remained unchangingly fearless. Cordie turns to the
two of us with a bored look of unimpressed ease at the splendor around her,
"We'll have to be introduced to the Queen and King now," she tells her, her proper English seeming to get better and
better with each step she takes, "It's quite an outdated tradition, but they still pratise it."
My hand goes up to my thick mass of hair, hoping beyond hope that it hadn't been ruined somhow from the beauty salon
to here, trying to feel if any of my curls were out of the place the hair stylist, Vickie, had put them in.
I felt a hand take hold of mine. I glance down. Row's, of course. I look up to her, my face conveying the nervousness I felt.
She smiles warmly down at me, "You can't back down now, Suge. Remember, you got a mission."
I nod at her, "I know."
Three butlers enter, one taking our 'Wraps'. Pathedic excuse for a scarf, if you ask me. And it doesn't even work, you freeze
with it! Cordie told me wraps are mainly for show, but I don't know what kind of show I would've put on if I had
become an icicle out there. Yeah, very glamouress, The Christmas Girl Ice Cube.
A smile unconsiously appears on my face as the other two butlers leads us... well, I guess to the throne room. No one
bothered to inform me about how this Royalty deal works. Oh God, do they expect me to bow?! Why didn't I ask Cordie
any of this when I had the chance?! Do I have to kiss a ring or curtsy or call someone 'My Leige'?!
I tilt my head so I can look past Row at Cordie, "Cordie, what am I suppose to do when I--?"
"Shh." she cuts in quietly, motioning her head just in front of us. I look ahead of us.
A room. Actually, more of a dance hall.
Decorated to the Hilt with festive Christmas things. Wreaths of holly, mistletoe as far as the eye can see. The whole
place smells of pine. Four evergreens stand, tall and proud, in each corner of the room, each blanketed with cotteny,
fake snow. The floors are white marble. A huge staircase decends from the center of the room, aristocratic guests gliding
down it in small groups. Speaking of small groups, congregation's of people clutter everywhere. Some of them laughing, and
some of them causing laughter, drinking from crystal goblats as if they did this kind of thing everyday. A few of them,
however, sulk pretentiously in the corner, their noses srunching distastfully at some of the people who pass them as they
nibble at their tiny appitizers, right before drawing away from the morsel of food in digust of its taste.
Snobs.
Rhonda would fit right in.
Nobody here is my age, though. And as were lead across the marble floor, some of the Stuck-ups shoot me pointed
glances.One man steps up to us, setting his drink down at a table. his twenty-something looks aged by his
expression of concieted contempt,
"Dame Cordelia." He patronizes, matching our stride as we follow the butlers, "How nice to see you. It's good to
see you managed to crawl out of your pathedicly poor excuse for a life long enough to join us...even though,
you didn't bother to change your clothes, as always." he smirks rudly.
My blood boils suddenly. What's this throw pillow doing, talking to Cordie like that?! I'm sure he wouldn't have that much
to say if I gave him a talking to with Old Betsy! He looks pretty scrawny, I could have him down in four seconds flat.
"And what's this?" He says in his oily accent, "You've even brought some white-trash Americans along for the ride.
Cordelia dear, were you hoping to get some press? Well, allow me to inform you--" he stops for a moment, looking
at Row and I in turn and curling his lip in distaste, "--this is neither a trailer park or a daycare center."
Row narrows her eyes at him. Griting her teeth, she snarls, "You're right, it isn't, no wonder you don't fit in."
Why isn't Cordie saying anything? Why is she just standing there, her body terse and her head held high? Why is
she letting this moron say this to her? Who IS this idiot?!
Cordie stops walking, and so did the rest of us. The butlers, looking at eachother quickly, scurry off somewhere.
Cordie breathes in deeply, trying to keep calm, "Giles, go back to wherever you were and leave us be, we've done
nothing to you, and you have no right to speak abut Rowenna and Noël like that."
Giles ran a hand through his well-kept dirt-brown hair, laughing. A laugh that was so cocky and full of hate that I
clenched my hands into fists, letting my muscles tense, waiting to jump on him so I can pound him a new face.
"Ah yes--Noël, I've heard of that little nothing." he sneers in my direction, walking from Cordie to me and bending down
so he was right in my face. His breath smells rancid, and he must be wearing turpentine for cologne.
"Leave her alone!" Row hisses,trying to push him away, "Get away from her!" Giles just laughs silently, overpowering her.
"So you don't have a name, hm? Maybe your parents never gave you one, if you even have parents. Hell, I'd try and
disown you if you were mine, gallavanting all over the earth like some vagabond tramp." He chuckles darkly, "That
must be why you're with Cordelia. Do you know how she accquired her title? For being a serving maid who just
happened to be in the right place at the right time. And now she's helping you look for somebodies parents. Somebody
who's probably just as worthless as she is."
My face burns and my nails dig into my palm. His yellow teeth form a provoking smile that just BEGGING me to smack
off his face. The ego in his muddy eyes cut into mine, daring me to hate him more then I already do.
That. Is. It.
Before my fury has any time to die down, I haul back and hook him in the jaw as hard as I can. One blow, my knuckles
digging into his fleshy cheek. He hits the ground in shock, the room's attention swung to me. A thousand pairs of eyes
peer at me in demand for an explination. Giles props himself up on one arm, his free hand patting his jaw gingerly.
My breath is heavy, and I glare down at him, "Don't EVER say ANYTHING about us again! What's your problem,
anyways, ya' fruitbasket?! You don't have anything better to do then to call me and my friends a bunch of Tramps?!"
Cordie grabs hold of my shoulders as the rest of the room gasps, now watching Giles, silently shaming him for insulting
an elder lady, a young woman and a little girl.
"Noël, don't!" Cordie warns, but it sounds more like background static when compared to the rage pounding in my ears.
I free myself from Corie's grasp as Giles looks around the room imploringly, "She...she hit me!" he screams in a girlish panic.
"Hit you?!" I seethe, "You're lucky I don't beat your head in! Get this through your pea-brain, GILES, there's no way I'll
EVER stand by and let you call me a worthless gallavanting vagabon...whatever you said! And I DO have parents, and
they would never disown me! And Cordie's a Dame because she deserves to be,
and don't you forget it, Bucko!" I take another deep breath.
"We agree completly."
The whole room, including me, turns around to see the cause of the rich--Silightly high-pitched voice that had sided with
me so fiercly. There stood an older woman, dressed in a forest green gown with white trimmings. She holds herself with
a regal air, even though her short, wavey, brown-auburn hair-- that holds within a few light streaks of grey-- supports no
crown. And from every picture I've seen, she looks like the Queen. Distastfully, her green eyes stare down her long,
straight nose at Giles, floundering on the ground.
"Your Highness!" he gasps, suddenly sounding very innocent. Oh no, she can't be the Queen. This CAN'T be the person
I need to meet, standing here, after listening to me rant to this jerk.
"...Thank goodness your here, Your Highness!" Giles continues, "I was just about to have Codelia's party arrested for
disturbing the safty of this gathering." he snaps his fingers to call over the butlars. Arrested?! No! I won't let him!
The Queen put up her hand, as pale as the rest of her skin, "They'll be no need for that, Giles Montfonte.
Your party is the one who will be leaving."
Giles eyes go as wide as pie plates, as the Queen approaches me. Oh no, what is she going to say to me?! What do I do?!
In a frenzy, I bow, and the queen chuckles good-naturedly,
"Stand up straight, child, no one's bowed that low without there being a ceromony in years." she whispers to me.
I bolt upright quickly, a thin layer of sweat breaking over me.
she nods her head to me quickly and motions for me to stand beside her, which I do in an instant. Then, turning a cold
expression onto Giles Montfonte, she begins to speak, and everyone in the room is silent, giving her the uttmost respect,
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Duke Montfonte," oh, so this guy's a Duke, huh? "We realize that your family and
Dame Wells are not on the best of terms, but your father would have conducted himself better, may God rest his soul."
A few murmers of agreement from the crowd.
" You behavior here has been inexcusable, insulting a child of only..." she looks at me, "Eleven years old?" she questions.
"uh...Ten, Your Majesty" I correct, a little shakily.
She nods, "...a child of only ten years old. She was properly justified in her actions."
Yes! You preach it, Queenie!
"The gaurds will escort you and your guests out."
and with that, two butlers lead Giles, who was turning purple by now, and two young, heavily-made-up ladies out of the
room. Giles gives me one final look, which I answer with a tight-lipped, scornful grin,
"Catch ya' in the funny paper's, Duke." I whisper, almost silently, to myself. And then, he was gone for good.
The Queen smiles triumphiently and turns her attention to her guests,
"We apoligize. Please, do not let Duke Montfonte end the celebration."
Everyone smiles and a murmer of "Yes, your Highness." Ripples through the crowd before everyone goes back to what
they had been doing before I knocked Montfonte's lights out. I quickly go into a state of curiosity. Why does she keep on
saying we...oh, yeah! Of course, the queen's supposed to speak for the country whenever she talks. 'The Royal We', I
think they call it. I remember Phoebe explaining it to the class once, for one of her extra-credit assignments.
The Queen smiles down at me, and motions for Row and Cordie, who had been staying near me, but off to the sidelines,
to clome closer. She waits for them to come to us, greeting them both in turn before she begins walking, putting her
hand on my shoulder and guiding me along with her, Cordie walking on the Queens side, and Row on mine.. After a
while, she laughs a little,
"Do you know, Sulmon called to tell us about you the moment you left his house." she says,
I look up at her astonishedly, "Really?" I say,
"Yes," she answers, "It was the first time we have heard from him in quite a while."
I look around the room, not quite sure how to answer to that. People in the room stare at us as we pass, coveting the chance
to walk beside the Queen. I square my shoulders proudly, tilting my head up a little.
"He didn't describe you as quite so--" she searches for a word, "--violent, however."
I bite my lip in shame.
"Yeah, well, he was asking for it." I blame.
"You couldn't be more correct." she says, "Duke Montfonte is deserving of whatever shame comes to him from this
incident."
I breathed a sigh of relief, glad she felt that way.
The Queen swiftly changes the subject, turning to Cordie,
"Tell me, Cordelia, do you know whom Noël searches for?" she asks.
Cordie looks at me, arms crossed. I let my eyes wander around the room, averting her gaze. Cordie had asked me--more
then a few times--this past week, the names of Arnolds (or, 'The Boys' as she knows him) parents. But I had simply refused.
...'At least give me the name of the boy, then.' I remember her saying, 'Gimme the boy's name an' I'll bother ya no longer.'
And every time she asked me, I'd gone through the same drill. A quick sigh first, then I'd say:
'I'll tell everything to Queen Elizabeth. And I'll only tell everything when she's right in front of me. Guess you've just gotta
be patient, Cordie.'
But now here we were, and Cordie had no answer. She chews the inside of her cheeks slowly,
"No, Your Highness, I can't say that I do." she finally confesses.
The Queen gives her a smile of satisfaction, "Do not be ashamed, Cordelia." she tells her, "We do not know, either."
I look at the Queen in disbelief, "You mean Sulmon didn't tell you?"
She shook her head, "He told us only that we would be pleased when you told us."
Pleased? Just exactly how well did she know Arnold's Parents?
"Oh," I say, at a loss for words, "Well, you see...Your Majesty, I'm searching for the parents of a boy I know."
"So We have heard." the Queen comments.
Row puts her hand on my shoulder, persisting me to continue, "Go on, Suge." she urges, "Say their names."
"There names are--" I stop abruptly, my mind suddenly filling with doubts that I had never thought of before now.
What if the Queen didn't know anything, either? What if this whole journey
was for nothing? What if I couldn't find Arnold's parents? How can I face him, knowing I failed him again?
No, don't think about that, Helga. Just be sure you tried.
Yes, I need to be sure. I need to make sure I've done everything I can to find them. I take a deep breath, swallowing my fear,
"Their names are...Andrew and Gwen." I say, ending with an exhausted sigh.
The Queen blinks at me for a moment, her mouth opening silently. Cordie and Row look from me to her, and the Queen
takes a step back from me. My feet shift nervously, as my stomach sinks down somewhere near my ankles.
Queen Elizabeth brings her hand to her mouth, cupping them over her thin, lipsticked lips, a look of amazment filling her features.
"Someone..." she whispers, her aged eyes glittering unexpectedly, "Someone is looking for Andrew and Gwendolyn?...
Our Andrew and Gwendolyn?"
Gwendolyn? Arnolds mother's full first name is Gwendolyn? I think back to the only picture I've seen of her, the one
Sulmon gave me, after she had just had Arnold. Gwendolyn. It's a pretty name. It suits her.
The Queen come towards me, quickly pulling into a rib-cracking, bone-crushing hug. My body tenses, freezing up. I'm
not very used to getting hugs, forget about getting hugged by royalty in the middle of a huge party! So the hug goes on,
my arms stiffly at my sides, and all eyes in the room are once again on me. I look at Row and Cordie and nearly burst from supressing my laugh. I never though I'd find any use for the word 'flabbergasted', but that's exactly the expression on thier
faces! Without warning, while I'm biting down on my toungue to keep my laugh in check and wondering how exactly you
go about breaking off a hug with the Queen of England, she lets go of me, and whispers in my ear,
"We have been waiting a long time for someone to come to us, looking for those two."
I pull myself away from her gently, looking at the Blue-Blooded Queen with awe,
"They were really two of your friends, Your Majesty?" I question. Even though it's what I've been told, I still hardly believe it.
She chuckles a little, touching my face with white-gloved hands,
"They were in our heart, always," she confides to me and then, as an afterthought, adds quietly, so only I
can hear, says, "As was their son, Arnold."
I give her a wide smile.
Of course. If Sulmon knew about Arnold, then natuarally, so would the Queen.
The moment was inturpted then, by an elderly womans voice calling me happily from behind the Queen,
"So this is the one called Noël!"
I tilt my head so I can see the woman. She is old. I mean Old! Her face is gentel, but it reminds me of crepe paper,
white and wrinkled. Her hair is snow-coloured, and styled something like the Queen. She's short and plump,
wearing a bright blue dress. She supports her body with a cane.
"Your Highness!" Cordie says quickly, giving a hurried bow. Row does the same, while I stand in great confusion.
So there are two Queens now? Where'd the other 'Highness' come from?!
"Mother!" The younger Queen beside me exclaims, "What are you doing? You remember the doctor said that you
musn't be up and about to much!"
The elder Queen joins us, with the help of two butlars by her side, and waves the first Queen off,
"Elizabeth! I'm perfectly capable of saying Hello to this young lady." she says, pointing to me.
Swiftly, she outstreaches her arm in my direction, "Elizabeth the First, my dear girl." she introduces, "The Queen Mother."
Queen mother? You mean the Queen is this womans daughter? No wonder she's so old! But I guess being the Queen's
Mother is a pretty cushy job to sit around and wait to have. For one thing, she doesn't seem to have to refer to herself
as 'we'! I look up into the ancient slits of blue that were her eyes, that still shone with a youthful light.
I take her hand and shake it heartily, "Noël," I tell her, "But some people prefer calling me 'Christmas Girl'."
The Queen Mother errupts with dignified laughter. My eyes sweep the room once again, and I can't believe it. Even after
all this time, people are STILL staring at us. Can't they give it a rest?
Elizabeth the First takes a few deep breaths, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Noël." she says after a while, and then
shakes hands in turn with Row and Cordie.
The Queen (who I'm guessing is Elizabeth the Second) suddenly remembered what I had just told her and caught the
attention of her Mother,
"Mother, do you know the two this little girl searches for?" she asks, already anticipating the answer.
The Queen Mother shakes her head seriously, and smiling, the Queen whispers the names of Arnold's parents into her ear.
As soon as she heard, the Queen Mother's eyes widen with gleeful astoundment. A weary smile makes its way to her
mouth, and she shakes her head again, almost in an amused sadness. My hear tilts forward in alarm. What could
possibly make this lady sad?
"To think--" she begins, "That I'd have to wait until I was a Hundred years old, for a girl that's young enough to be my
Great-Grandaughter to actually look for those two amazing people."
I gawk at her in bewilderment.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD?!
Wow, Aishwara's a blanket-hugging baby compared to her!
Both Royals laugh at the expression on my face, and Row puts her arm around me,
"Close your mouth, Suge, you're collecting flies!"
My mouth snaps shut, and I smirk at her,
"Very funny, Row." I comment, smothering the urge to stick out my toungue.
She smiles with pride, and Cordie rolls her eyes at the both of us.
"Oh, yes! He will have to be there when we tell her!" the Queen Mother says, Agreeing to something her daughter had just
told her. She takes my hand and begins leading me across the floor, her blue dress brushing against my pink one as we walk,
"Come, there's someone here you must meet! He'll tell you everything you need to know!"
I gasp with delight. Everything?! You mean they know someone who can tell me exactly where I need to go to find Arnold's
Parents?! Where is he?! I've been waiting a long time to speak to this guy...whoever he is.
Queen Elizabeth the Second, Row and Cordie trail behind us when we at last reach a man, standing by himself, propped
up against a corner wall. He's dressed in a crisp white suit, the only other colour on him being his black tie and shoes.
His hair is black, too. Messy. He has a thick black moustach and goatee. His skin is darker then many of the people in
the room, making him look decidedly out of place. He swirls his amber drink around in his heavy crystal glass.
His dark eyes lift to us, looking at the Queen mother first, then to me.
"Your Majesty." he say respectfully, bowing his head a little. His accent is Spanish, or Mexican. I wish I knew how to
distinguish accents better.
The Queen Mother smiles patiently at him, her eyes twinkling from the information she held. She lowers her voice and says,
"Noël, I would like to introduce an old friend of Andrew and Gwendolyn's, Eduardo."
She then turns to Eduardo, with her sparkling eyes and her all-knowing smile that reminded my so much of Sulmon's,
"And Eduardo," she says, "I would like you to meet your Angel of Redemption."
~*~ End of Chapter Three~*~
Well La ti da...I'm finally done! Time to upload this. Now, I KNOW I've made promises like this before, but this time,
I really mean it. I WILL update some time again this week. Why? Because it's March Break! Yay, I have free time!
By the way, I'm not sure if I got every detail of Elizabeth I and Elizabeth II right. I don't think my description of
Buckingham Palace was to great, either. Sorry, I didn't have that much information to work with, so I could only
try. Anyways, time to get cracking on Chapter four!
So, until soon, wishin' you....
Luv
Life
Luck
n' Lafta'
~*~CD~*~
I have, but I have a very full life! Alright, that's no excuse but.... :::Falls to her knees::: Please Forgive me for not updating
sooner! I'll never do such a horrible thing again, Promise!
*Tee Hee* Okay, now that THAT insanity's over and done with, onto the third Chapter!
Disclaimer- If I owned Hey Arnold, Arnold and Helga would be living in happy coupled bliss whilst trying to set up
Phoebe and Gerald, who would then insist upon having a double wedding with their blonde matchmakers when they
reached the age of Twenty-Four and....oh, why am I writing this?!
~*~A Christmas Present for Arnold~*~
(@)~)~~Chapter three- The Queen's Heart.~~(~(@)
I look up at the skylight in my room. Lying down on my bed, I should be asleep. But I can only think of one thing.
Her.
Helga, where are you?
You're out there, somwhere in India, searching. For your benifit? No. For mine. You're trying to find MY Parents.
Why?
Because you think I hate you? I lied. I'll never hate you. I'll never hate anyone. I don't think I've ever felt hate before in my
life.What makes you think that I would hate you? Because it seemed that way at the time? People say a lot of things when
they're angry. A lot of things that they don't mean, that they'll never mean. You've been gone for two weeks now.
Reporters are trying to find you, but you've vanished again. Why are you so good at that?
Why am I talking to you in my mind?
Because you're no where else where you can hear me, that's why. We watch the News everyday now in class at
nine o' clock, just to see if there's any news of you.
There never is. Just constant speculation. Of where you are, who you might be with, why you might be there.
They say you may be in China.
I can't believe I told you I'd never forgive you.
I do.
I wish you were here, right now, so I could tell you that.
I'm worried.
I'm worried about you, Helga.
Come Back.
Please?
I glance at the clock. 4:02 a.m. Another Sleepless night. Because of her. I can't get my mind off her. Even when I dream,
she's right there. You never know how much you'll miss a person, until they're gone. I never expected to need her back
this much. The funny thing is, it's not because she's out there, in the world, because of me. It's not because I feel guilty,
and I need her back to help ease my conscience. I miss her. I actually, truly, miss not having her here.
I miss her mood swings.
I miss her sarcasm.
I even miss her calling me Footballhead.
But most of all, I think I miss the times when she would be herself in front of me. And I miss the sound of her voice, when
she leaves her bully exterior behind.
I didn't think I could miss her so much.
But I do. Even though I'm not sure why.
Helga, if you're out there, I need to know you're alright.
I can't lose you too.
I feel my eyes getting heavy. I yawn, and then there's only a warm, familiar, darkness.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Suge, you'll be the Belle of the Ball!" Row squeals happily, tipping the brim of her white cowboy hat up.
I turn around in front of the mirrors, looking at myself from every angle, "Riiiight. Like I care about that." I scoff.
Row pouts in jest, "Well, it can't hurt to have you looking Drop Dead Gorgeous."
I raise my right eyebrow, "You're enjoying this." I say.
Row smirks, "Sure am."
I roll my eyes, getting in a quick look at the scenry change from India. We're in London, England, now. And Everything's
different. England is very class-defined, I've learned. You're either rich, or you're poor. I guess it's like that everywhere,
but for some reason, It's so much more noticable here. The sky is never blue, either. There may have been some sun
before we got here, but Row and I can't be to sure.We're staying with a woman who was knighted by the Queen herself
for serivce to the Royal family, some time back. Dame Cordelia Wells. She's an older woman, but not anything as old
as Aishwara. She's about in her late Sixties. She's the kind of person who wear's bringht red lipstick, teases their
hair, and has a friendly smart remark to almost anything you can say. She's open as a book, but as hard to get as Algebra.
I like her.
She's also related to Row...in some way. Niether of them really know how. Some sort of Auntish-cousin thing when
one of Row's Uncle's married one of the Dame's distant Cousins.
Basically, they're not related, but they pretend to be because they like eachother so much.
Row and Cordie (as she later told me to call her.) told me that they've seen eachother very often. When Row first came
to England, her Uncle introduced the two of them, and ever since then, whenever she would fly there, she would visit
Cordie. It was inevitable that we would end up staying at her house, but that's okay. I like this place about as much as
I like Cordie Herself. The house is...really more of a mansion, but very modest. It has an outdoor's sort of cottage
theme, and evrything in it is meant to be casual and comfortable. The place looks lived-in, not like an antique you're not
allowed to go near. In the bedroom Cordie gave me, there are the relics of a few stains on the beige shag carpeting, and
the wood of the furniture is faded to a warm tan.
The second we had arrived in the house, Row had told Cordie about the party over tea (I'm actually starting to like the
taste of the caffine-laden stuff), and Cordie had been overjoyed to inform us that not only had she, too, recieved an
invitation, but that she would also be in attendence, and would be honoured if the infamous 'Christmas Girl' and her Piliot
Rowenna Stevens accompanied her. We'd both agreed.
The first thing Cordie did, was to give me (as a gift, she said) another full wardrobe, this time full of all the lastest fashions
off of all the hottest runways.Row had gone through the agony of making me try every last one of them on, to see how they
fit. Even I have to admit, most of them were nice. I'm not into fashion, but at least the clothes given to me were a bit more
ordinary then a closet full of Saree's and Langa Suit's. Some of the things the Dame gave me, though, were tossed faster
then I could throw them across the room. Rhonda would've liked them. They were all showy. Stuff you wore to make
people think you're a snob who has time to go to all of those fashion shows and buy the designers silghtly strange clothes.
I snap myself out of my thought, looking at the desk that held a little box. It was out from it's usual place in
my duffel bag, I'd been showing it to Cordie. The present I'd gotten for Phoebe.
When I'd taken a second glance at all the jewelery Aishwara had, the
necklace with a simple chain and an oval pendant with a dark blue stone in the center had caught my eye. Lapis,
Aishwara said it was. She told me that one of her friends had given it to her, and if I wanted it, then it was mine.
I'd told her exactly what the fate of the piece would be, and she had only smiled and said,
"It will have a better home around this Phoebe's neck then it will hidden away in one of my Jewelerly boxes."
So I'd taken it along with me. I've brought it out to look at, a few times during the week.
When Row and I saw the date on the invite Sulmon gave me, on the ride to England, we'd instantly groaned.
We'd have to stay there for one week before the Gala was shedualed. But now it was the Day Of. And besides,
Cordie's jokes had made the week pass quickly and happily.
At least, mostly happily.
Arnold was always in the back of my mind. My locket was constantly being pulled out. I dream about him, too.
I stay up some nights, replaying the ally scene over and over, going through every moment we've spent together.
But most of the time, I don't let it go to that extreme. After all, he'll soon have his parents back. He'll soon be happy.
Damn. I've become an optimist, haven't I?
Now we were in Cordie's room. She had brought me evening gowns. Gowns upon Gowns. More then I'd ever know
what to do with. Cordie's off getting us drinks while I'm trying on the tenth dress. Row said she likes this one the best.
Row looks like a real Texian today, it made Cordie and I laugh when she came downstairs for Breakfast. She's wearing
and worn, white coyboy hat, a fitted blue-plaid buttondown shirt, and a pair of purposly faded jeans with leather patches
at the knees and down then sides.
"How many more do I have to try on?" I say, trying to be annoying.
"Five." She answers sweetly, batting her eyelashes teasingly.
I sigh and fall to the ground, eight layers of lavender chiffon floating down with me.
I really hate dresses like this. They're supposed to make you look like a princess, but they end up making you look bloated.
Row laughes suddenly.
I grin, "What's so funny?" I ask.
She starts laughing harder, "You just...look so...uncomfortable..." she breaks into a fit of giggles.
Cordie enters then, with a tray of two Cherry cola's for Me and Row, and a glass of red wine for her.
She takes one look at me and shakes her head, "Bullocks, Noël, you look ready to murder yourself."
I slump, "Can I take this thing OFF?" I plead, still smiling a bit.
Cordie waves her hand, "Yes, Go, go. Ya' look like an overstuffed doll anyways."
Row stops laughing, "I think she looks CUTE!"
"This coming from the girl wearing a Coyboy hat in England." Cordie shoots back elfishly.
I try and hold in my laugh, but end up snorting it through my nose.
Row gives me a mock-glare, "You. Off to the bathroom."
I make a mad dash to the bathroom ajoined to Cordie's bedroom, quickly getting the thing
off me right before Cordie throws in another,
"I wan'ya to try this one. Two'a the otha's look like the've been mangled and had things spilt on'em.
Id'jit designers. Gits, the lot of 'em." Cordie says, letting her life-long English accent show fully. I take a look at the dress,
eyeing it over carfully. First thing that caught my eye, was that it was a shade of pink. That calms me down immediatly.
Okay, it's at least a colour I know I like. It's a light pink, and with the way the fabric shimmers, it sometimes looks white.
The top has straps the size of elastic bands and has has metalic pink thread fully sewn in through the entire bodice.
the skirt's made up of the same coloured silk, flares out, and has a trail of a few feet.
I grudgingly put the thing on. It's soft, at least. Doesn't make my legs feel like they're being scratched up against
barbed wire. I zip it up, having a little trouble at the end, but I manage. I shake out my hair and re-enter the room,
where Row and Cordie are arguing about whether Row would look good in neon green.
"I'll look smashing!" Row tries, a fake accent veiling her intensions.
"You'll look sickly." Cordie counters.
I clear my throat.
They both look at me. Cordie covers her wide smile with her hand,
"That one." Row says with finality,
"That's fer' sure." Cordie agrees. She get's up and lead me to the mirrors.
I have to admit, the thing doesn't look bad on me.
"Shouldn't I try on the--"
"NO!" both woman cut in on the end of my sentance.
"Alright, Alright! Criminey!" I say, waving my hands in the air as a sign of surrender.
Cordie grins, taking a sip of her wine, "Good. Now, we've got my dress, Noël's dress, now all we need is dear
Row's ruddy dress."
I smile with relief, "And then we're done, right?" I'll be glad to get this over with!
Cordie's eyes pop at me and laughs loudly,
"Done? Oh darlin', no! We gotta get to Clara and Vickie's salon for hair and nails and makeup and--"
I hold up my hand, "Wait a minute, Sister! Just How long are we going to have to do this?"
Cordie thinks for a bit, "Well, let's see, we'll probably be done with dresses by one. So I'd say from one thirty 'till
'round five? we have to be at the Party by Five-Thirty."
I look at Row. Row looks at me.
"ARE YOU INSANE?!" we both say in chorus. Three and a Half hours, just to go to Dinner?! Come on, the Queen can't
be that worried about what we're going to look like!
Cordie clucks her toungue at us, tilting her head back to laugh,
"C'mon, Sweedies, it won't be all that bad! The press is gonna' be there, so I want us to look our best!" she puts her hands
to her hips and tilts her head in a jest impression of some sort of 50's mother-figure.
But I caught what she just said,
"Pr...press?" I inquire. Oh please, say it isn't so!
"Yeah, the place is going to be absolutly CRAWLING with the buggar's!" Cordies says, rolling her eyes in exasperation.
I groan in agony, throwing myself onto Cordie's bed.
"Well, wha'ja expect, sweed'art? She IS the Queen!"
"I'm not good around press." I mumble to Cordie, my head buried into the sheets.
"Now, Suge, what did I tell ya' 'bout worrying like that?" Row eases, trying to make the fact that I would be eaten alive
once more a bit more bearable, "It ain't healthy."
"Our dear Rowenna's Right." Cordie says amiably, " 'Side's, hun, we'll be there to help you. We'll make sure you keep
your mouth good an' shut when you need to."
I sit up from my panic, and Cordie hands me my coke. I take a sip, contemplating what she just said.
Hey, they were two grown adults. If they couldn't put a stop to my big mouth, then who else could?!
"Well, maybe it won't be that bad, after all." I mutter, more to myself then to them,
" 'Course it won't." Row chirps brightly, "Now, can we all concentrate on the most important matter at hand?"
Cordie and I both look at her inquizitivly,
"What's that?" I ask, speaking for both of us.
Row skips over to a pile of dresses, located on the far end of the room, that are intented for her,
"Why, findin' ME a dress, Suge Honey!"
We all laugh. But no matter how Row pouts, we still manage to keep her away from that neon green dress she snuck
in by herself.
I take a long glup of my cherry coke, closing my eyes to feel the cool liquid sliding down my throat.
In another place, another time, all would've been right with the world.
But it just isn't.
I miss Arnold.
I'm closer, Arnold. I'm getting closer. I hope you know that.
I wonder, do you miss me at all, Footbalhead?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Do you think she'll be on today?"
"I dunno."
"She has to be, how can someone just dissaper?"
"She dissapered to get to India..."
"Doesn't mean she can do it again!"
"How do you know?"
Silence.
This was the coversation of the gang, crowded outside my front stoop and huddled around the small, portable T.V.
We've been doing this on the weekends, congregating at my front porch for every news report, just to see if there's
anything new about Helga. I'm just watching. Just waiting. The news'll be on in a few minutes. I think I'll lose it
if there isn't anything about her today. I think I'll just grab a ticket to wherever and start looking for her myself.
Hey, if she can do it, so can I.
I hear a muttered greeting to someone who's just arrived.Gerald. He smiles and quickly takes a seat next to me on the
top step, turning to face me unsurly
"How you doing, Arnold?" He asks me.
I try to smile, but it comes out a rueful grin, "Wish I knew." I mumble as an answer
He nods, looking at the T.V...no, looking at Phoebe, from the corner of his eye,
"She's worse." he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. I look at Helga's best friend, letting out a sigh,
"Yeah." is all I can say. Phoebe has gotten worse. There are grey hallow's under her eyes, from insomnia worse then mine.
Her hair is disheveled, and the colour in her skin is drained. She wouldn't look bad...if you like corpses. This started after
we haden't heard anything about Helga three days after her apperence in India. Rhonda's different now, too.
She's anxious. She get's jumpy everytime Mr. Simmons says he has an annoucment. The whole class is pretty much
like that, though. You can almost hear us hold our collective breaths when the anchor person annouces a 'Special
Report'.
"...And now, the Seattle News with Russel Hudson." says the over-acted voice from the T.V.
We all stop. We all watch the screen. A young man who's just begining to show signs of balding--Russel Hudson--
sits in the news room, straightening his papers and waiting for the cue to speak.
He looks up from the batch of perfect sheets, "Hello, and thank you for joining us today on the Seattle News, I'm
Russel Hudson." is his introduction. He lets his expression mould into one of interest before reading his first story,
"Today, we are pleased to annouce that it is Her Majesty, the Queen of England's Thirty-Fifth annual Pre-Christmas
Dinner Ball. The best of Society from England and around the world will be there in an early celebration of the Holiday
Season that is quickly coming upon us."
Oh, who cares! That CAN'T be the top story! These people must know where Helga is! That's more important then some
royal party! I take a deep breath. I have to calm down.
"We will now go there, live Via Sattelite, with our own Coraspondent, Joanna McFarlinn."
We're all shot into a rush of consiousness. Joanna McFarlinn? No! She's looking for Helga! She can't be there! Unless...
She's given up.
"Wilicker's, guys, I rekon Joanna ain't lookin' fer' Helga no more." Stinky tells us.
"Shh!" Nadine hushed him quickly,
No, she hasn't given up. She can't. Or else, who's going to find Helga?
Joanna's on the screen in the next instant, her microphone in hand, in front of a huge, castle-like estate. She's standing
beside one of those Red-Velvet Ropes that are used as barriers at banks. There's a whole string of ropes, and on the
other side of them, a red carpet leading up to the doorway of a palace. The caption at the
bottom of the screen reads 'Buckingham Palace' There are tons of other reporters cramped beside her, shouting their
story, and making so much noise that she practically has to yell into the camera,
"Thank you, Russel. I'm outside The Famous Buckingham Palace right now where the Elite from around the World are
just begining to arrive for a night of Royal Treatment. Elton John and Elizabeth Taylor arrived earlier tonight, and we
excitedly awaited the next group of well-known people to step onto the Red Carpet beside me."
A white limo, longer then any I've ever seen, pulls up to the carpet. Somebody hands Joanna a piece of paper and she reads
from it quickly,
"Yes, we've just got word that the Dame Cordelia Wells is about to step out of that car...But she does seem to have
two other guests that are unknown...let's watch." the camera turns to the carpet, but does it so that Joanna is still seen
from the corner. The rest of the reporters crowd around, holding out there microphones in hopes to get an interview.
A valet dressed in a red suit opens the door, keeping his back stiff and his chin up the entire time, and out step three
people, one at a time. The first looks fairly old, with grey-blonde hair and a bright red dress made to pool around her,
and sleeves that out lengthed her arms. But she was forgotten, the second we saw the next woman steps out.
She's medium height with long blonde hair that was dead straight, except for the ends, and two stands that hang in her
face. She's wearing an apple-green dress that's fitted to her body and flares out at her ankels. It has no sleeves, only
weird, criss-cross straps, but she does have on Elbow-length gloves, the same colour as her dress.
We all recognize her imediatly,
"IT'S THAT WOMAN! ROWENNA!" Phoebe shrieks at the T.V.
"Yeah! The pilot lady!" is what I hear from Sid.
"Is Helga with her?!" came the impatient voice of...hey, wait, did I say that?
As if to answer that question, the third person steps out. A girl, younger and smaller then everyone else, wrapped in a
sheer, oversized scarf that covers her shoulders. It's probably supposed to keep her warm, but I doubt it is. Her pale
pink dress glows a silver-white off the camera lights, the end of it following behind her as she walks. Her golden locks
are left down and free, falling over her shoulders in their own, curled style. And her light-pink lips curve up in a nervous grin.
Helga.
"Helga!" Phoebe exclaims, brows knit together in worry and confusion,
"I can't believe it..." Rhonda breathes
"WHAT?! HOW'D SHE GET OVER THERE?!" Harold, of course.
"...Does this mean Arnold's Mom and Dad are Royalty?" Sheena asks herself out loud, tilting her head in question.
Everyone stops talking and looks at me, waiting for my answer.
Before I open my mouth, I'm saved, by the one and only Joanna McFarlinn,
"I don't believe it!" her voice blares over the T.V., "It's Christmas Girl! With her Piliot, Rowenna Stevens!"
We all turn back to face the screen, where every reporter is shouting at Helga.
"Hey, Christmas Girl!"
"Noël! Over here!"
"Answer a few questions, Noël!"
"Christmas Girl! Christmas Girl!"
As her limo drives away, she turns to Joanna's side of the gathered crowd, putting her hands to her hips,
"Criminey, WHAT?!" she demands loudly, her eyes wide and waiting.
"Careful, Noël." says the old woman in the red dress--Cordelia Wells, I'm guessing-- almost immediatly.
Helga nods to her, then turns back to the reporters. Rowenna goes and stands next to her without hesitation.
It was nighttime there already, and Helga pulls the scarf around her more tightly, probably half frozen from the cold. Can't
these people just let her go in? If she get's sick, It's their fault! Don't they care?! She looks at all of them,
"Ask me what you want to, it's too cold out here to stay for long. You all have coats." Ha! I knew it!
One reporter takes off his coat and hands it to her over the rope. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes,
"If I take THAT I'll never get inside! Cripes, can't you flesh-eaters find other people to annoy?" she says to them,
"Just a couple of questions, Noël!" One reporter assures.
She stares at the man, flinging her arms out in question,
"So I'm waiting, but your not asking!" She responds, cheeks flushing in anger.
A hush falls over the media's best, as they think up a real question that will get Helga to divulge what they really what to
know. Her name, My name. Reporters care too much about things they shouldn't.
"Why are you here?!" asks a young female reporter. Hmm, I remember that being asked before.
She turn's to her, "Why do YOU think? More information, doi!" she retorts simply.
"The Queen knows this kids parents?" a Man's voice booms over the murmers of the people.
Rowenna puts her hand on Helga's arm, shooting her a cautious glance.
Helga looks at her, then at one of the other camera's and smirks,
"Does she?" she says patronizingly, acting dumb, and smirking at the sighs of the frustrated newspeople.
"Have you made any attempt to contact the boy who--"
"No." Helga snaps back the answer to that question so fast, it left the people stunned. I bite my lip out of guilt.
A hundred falshes of light hit her, as some of the paparatzi take pictures for their newspapers and journals.
"Where have you been for the past week?!" one woman calls out.
"With Cordie." Helga responds bordly, pointing to the Dame, who smiles, crossing her arms.
Helga shivers violently then, and begins to walk with the two women to the doors leading into the Palace,
"Alright everyone, one more question before Miss Wells, Suge n' I freeze!" Rowenna shouts to the Media.
"Christmas girl, tell us!" The voice of a young man hollars, "Are you any closer to finding the boys parents?!"
We all sit up on the steps as Helga stops dead in her tracks, tilting her head down and staring into nothing,
"Yes. I'm much closer." she says evenly, but in a voice barly audible, "I'll find them, you don't have to worry about that."
She steps up to the castle doors, where two soldier's let the three of them in.
And Helga's gone again.
"No..." I breathe.
NO!
She can't just dissapear again!
Joanna McFarlinn turns to her carmera uncertainly, "Well, that's the second time we've heard from this elusive Christmas
Girl, but will it be the last? My answer to all the wondering viewers out there is...No."
We all stare at the T.V quizicly and sit up a little straighter,
"The Seattle News," Joanna anounces with satisfaction spread across her face, "Has been given one of the few
VIP Media Access Tickets into the party that are handed out every year to various News and Entertainment Stations."
She pulls out a card from under her jacket that she wears around her neck with the help of a piece of string, brandishing
it to the camera smugly.
"In half an hour," she continues, "I will be inside Buckinham Palace to talk to the guests...and I will make it a point to
see that I get a chance to speak to Noël!" Some other reporter's in the mob on T.V glare at her, obviously wanting the
little plastic card around her neck.
"So, Join me in thirty minutes, when we'll have an inside look of the Queen's Christmas Party! Until then, I'm Joanna
McFarlinn...back to you, Russel."
Russel comes back on the screen, in the newsroom, and Stinky shuts off the T.V.
Like we could care about what else happened.
"So...she's in England now..." Nadine reasons,
"I heard it's a nice place." Eugene chirps.
"That's not the point, Eugene." Phoebe mumbles.
We were all silent. Pensive. I'm just thinking about Helga, as I'd just seen her. With her hair down, in that pink
dress. Funny, I didn't know she could be so pretty.
Well...I mean, she's pretty, but it's not like she's...um, she just looks...uh...interesting?...
Yeah, that's what I mean. She looks interesting.
The front door opens, and everyone looks to see who's invaded this moment of thought.
Grandpa.
"Jeez, Shortman." He begins, turning up the collar of his jacket to keep out the frigid air,
"Don't you think you're friends should be gettin' home? It's colder then the winter of thirty-six out here."
We all sigh, slowly getting up from the steps of my stoop.
"So everyone, I EXPECT you to watch the news from your common homes in EXACTLY A HALF HOUR!"
Rhonda, bossy as ever. But I don't think she needs to worry. Something tells me that the only way you'd keep any one
of us from the news in half an hour would be to drag us away with heavy machinery.
I say my goodbyes to everyone quickly as they rush to their houses, with no intentions of wasting time. Gerald offers to
walk Phoebe home, and she accepts tiredly.
And me? I dash inside and park myself in front of the Television. Oskar, Ernie and Mr. Hyunh are sitting on the couch,
"We heard the report, Arnold." Ernie says, a strange smile taking over his face.
"This girl. She cares for you. Very much!" Mr. Hyunh says enthusiasticly.
I freeze. Yes. She does, doesn't she? Helga G. Pataki cares about me.
I don't think I've quite gotten used to it. It hasn't really sunk in yet.
"Yeah..." I say, slowly, looking at the television screen the held a caption of her quietly,
"...She does."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I step into Buckingham Palace, hands shaking. But my face remained unchangingly fearless. Cordie turns to the
two of us with a bored look of unimpressed ease at the splendor around her,
"We'll have to be introduced to the Queen and King now," she tells her, her proper English seeming to get better and
better with each step she takes, "It's quite an outdated tradition, but they still pratise it."
My hand goes up to my thick mass of hair, hoping beyond hope that it hadn't been ruined somhow from the beauty salon
to here, trying to feel if any of my curls were out of the place the hair stylist, Vickie, had put them in.
I felt a hand take hold of mine. I glance down. Row's, of course. I look up to her, my face conveying the nervousness I felt.
She smiles warmly down at me, "You can't back down now, Suge. Remember, you got a mission."
I nod at her, "I know."
Three butlers enter, one taking our 'Wraps'. Pathedic excuse for a scarf, if you ask me. And it doesn't even work, you freeze
with it! Cordie told me wraps are mainly for show, but I don't know what kind of show I would've put on if I had
become an icicle out there. Yeah, very glamouress, The Christmas Girl Ice Cube.
A smile unconsiously appears on my face as the other two butlers leads us... well, I guess to the throne room. No one
bothered to inform me about how this Royalty deal works. Oh God, do they expect me to bow?! Why didn't I ask Cordie
any of this when I had the chance?! Do I have to kiss a ring or curtsy or call someone 'My Leige'?!
I tilt my head so I can look past Row at Cordie, "Cordie, what am I suppose to do when I--?"
"Shh." she cuts in quietly, motioning her head just in front of us. I look ahead of us.
A room. Actually, more of a dance hall.
Decorated to the Hilt with festive Christmas things. Wreaths of holly, mistletoe as far as the eye can see. The whole
place smells of pine. Four evergreens stand, tall and proud, in each corner of the room, each blanketed with cotteny,
fake snow. The floors are white marble. A huge staircase decends from the center of the room, aristocratic guests gliding
down it in small groups. Speaking of small groups, congregation's of people clutter everywhere. Some of them laughing, and
some of them causing laughter, drinking from crystal goblats as if they did this kind of thing everyday. A few of them,
however, sulk pretentiously in the corner, their noses srunching distastfully at some of the people who pass them as they
nibble at their tiny appitizers, right before drawing away from the morsel of food in digust of its taste.
Snobs.
Rhonda would fit right in.
Nobody here is my age, though. And as were lead across the marble floor, some of the Stuck-ups shoot me pointed
glances.One man steps up to us, setting his drink down at a table. his twenty-something looks aged by his
expression of concieted contempt,
"Dame Cordelia." He patronizes, matching our stride as we follow the butlers, "How nice to see you. It's good to
see you managed to crawl out of your pathedicly poor excuse for a life long enough to join us...even though,
you didn't bother to change your clothes, as always." he smirks rudly.
My blood boils suddenly. What's this throw pillow doing, talking to Cordie like that?! I'm sure he wouldn't have that much
to say if I gave him a talking to with Old Betsy! He looks pretty scrawny, I could have him down in four seconds flat.
"And what's this?" He says in his oily accent, "You've even brought some white-trash Americans along for the ride.
Cordelia dear, were you hoping to get some press? Well, allow me to inform you--" he stops for a moment, looking
at Row and I in turn and curling his lip in distaste, "--this is neither a trailer park or a daycare center."
Row narrows her eyes at him. Griting her teeth, she snarls, "You're right, it isn't, no wonder you don't fit in."
Why isn't Cordie saying anything? Why is she just standing there, her body terse and her head held high? Why is
she letting this moron say this to her? Who IS this idiot?!
Cordie stops walking, and so did the rest of us. The butlers, looking at eachother quickly, scurry off somewhere.
Cordie breathes in deeply, trying to keep calm, "Giles, go back to wherever you were and leave us be, we've done
nothing to you, and you have no right to speak abut Rowenna and Noël like that."
Giles ran a hand through his well-kept dirt-brown hair, laughing. A laugh that was so cocky and full of hate that I
clenched my hands into fists, letting my muscles tense, waiting to jump on him so I can pound him a new face.
"Ah yes--Noël, I've heard of that little nothing." he sneers in my direction, walking from Cordie to me and bending down
so he was right in my face. His breath smells rancid, and he must be wearing turpentine for cologne.
"Leave her alone!" Row hisses,trying to push him away, "Get away from her!" Giles just laughs silently, overpowering her.
"So you don't have a name, hm? Maybe your parents never gave you one, if you even have parents. Hell, I'd try and
disown you if you were mine, gallavanting all over the earth like some vagabond tramp." He chuckles darkly, "That
must be why you're with Cordelia. Do you know how she accquired her title? For being a serving maid who just
happened to be in the right place at the right time. And now she's helping you look for somebodies parents. Somebody
who's probably just as worthless as she is."
My face burns and my nails dig into my palm. His yellow teeth form a provoking smile that just BEGGING me to smack
off his face. The ego in his muddy eyes cut into mine, daring me to hate him more then I already do.
That. Is. It.
Before my fury has any time to die down, I haul back and hook him in the jaw as hard as I can. One blow, my knuckles
digging into his fleshy cheek. He hits the ground in shock, the room's attention swung to me. A thousand pairs of eyes
peer at me in demand for an explination. Giles props himself up on one arm, his free hand patting his jaw gingerly.
My breath is heavy, and I glare down at him, "Don't EVER say ANYTHING about us again! What's your problem,
anyways, ya' fruitbasket?! You don't have anything better to do then to call me and my friends a bunch of Tramps?!"
Cordie grabs hold of my shoulders as the rest of the room gasps, now watching Giles, silently shaming him for insulting
an elder lady, a young woman and a little girl.
"Noël, don't!" Cordie warns, but it sounds more like background static when compared to the rage pounding in my ears.
I free myself from Corie's grasp as Giles looks around the room imploringly, "She...she hit me!" he screams in a girlish panic.
"Hit you?!" I seethe, "You're lucky I don't beat your head in! Get this through your pea-brain, GILES, there's no way I'll
EVER stand by and let you call me a worthless gallavanting vagabon...whatever you said! And I DO have parents, and
they would never disown me! And Cordie's a Dame because she deserves to be,
and don't you forget it, Bucko!" I take another deep breath.
"We agree completly."
The whole room, including me, turns around to see the cause of the rich--Silightly high-pitched voice that had sided with
me so fiercly. There stood an older woman, dressed in a forest green gown with white trimmings. She holds herself with
a regal air, even though her short, wavey, brown-auburn hair-- that holds within a few light streaks of grey-- supports no
crown. And from every picture I've seen, she looks like the Queen. Distastfully, her green eyes stare down her long,
straight nose at Giles, floundering on the ground.
"Your Highness!" he gasps, suddenly sounding very innocent. Oh no, she can't be the Queen. This CAN'T be the person
I need to meet, standing here, after listening to me rant to this jerk.
"...Thank goodness your here, Your Highness!" Giles continues, "I was just about to have Codelia's party arrested for
disturbing the safty of this gathering." he snaps his fingers to call over the butlars. Arrested?! No! I won't let him!
The Queen put up her hand, as pale as the rest of her skin, "They'll be no need for that, Giles Montfonte.
Your party is the one who will be leaving."
Giles eyes go as wide as pie plates, as the Queen approaches me. Oh no, what is she going to say to me?! What do I do?!
In a frenzy, I bow, and the queen chuckles good-naturedly,
"Stand up straight, child, no one's bowed that low without there being a ceromony in years." she whispers to me.
I bolt upright quickly, a thin layer of sweat breaking over me.
she nods her head to me quickly and motions for me to stand beside her, which I do in an instant. Then, turning a cold
expression onto Giles Montfonte, she begins to speak, and everyone in the room is silent, giving her the uttmost respect,
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Duke Montfonte," oh, so this guy's a Duke, huh? "We realize that your family and
Dame Wells are not on the best of terms, but your father would have conducted himself better, may God rest his soul."
A few murmers of agreement from the crowd.
" You behavior here has been inexcusable, insulting a child of only..." she looks at me, "Eleven years old?" she questions.
"uh...Ten, Your Majesty" I correct, a little shakily.
She nods, "...a child of only ten years old. She was properly justified in her actions."
Yes! You preach it, Queenie!
"The gaurds will escort you and your guests out."
and with that, two butlers lead Giles, who was turning purple by now, and two young, heavily-made-up ladies out of the
room. Giles gives me one final look, which I answer with a tight-lipped, scornful grin,
"Catch ya' in the funny paper's, Duke." I whisper, almost silently, to myself. And then, he was gone for good.
The Queen smiles triumphiently and turns her attention to her guests,
"We apoligize. Please, do not let Duke Montfonte end the celebration."
Everyone smiles and a murmer of "Yes, your Highness." Ripples through the crowd before everyone goes back to what
they had been doing before I knocked Montfonte's lights out. I quickly go into a state of curiosity. Why does she keep on
saying we...oh, yeah! Of course, the queen's supposed to speak for the country whenever she talks. 'The Royal We', I
think they call it. I remember Phoebe explaining it to the class once, for one of her extra-credit assignments.
The Queen smiles down at me, and motions for Row and Cordie, who had been staying near me, but off to the sidelines,
to clome closer. She waits for them to come to us, greeting them both in turn before she begins walking, putting her
hand on my shoulder and guiding me along with her, Cordie walking on the Queens side, and Row on mine.. After a
while, she laughs a little,
"Do you know, Sulmon called to tell us about you the moment you left his house." she says,
I look up at her astonishedly, "Really?" I say,
"Yes," she answers, "It was the first time we have heard from him in quite a while."
I look around the room, not quite sure how to answer to that. People in the room stare at us as we pass, coveting the chance
to walk beside the Queen. I square my shoulders proudly, tilting my head up a little.
"He didn't describe you as quite so--" she searches for a word, "--violent, however."
I bite my lip in shame.
"Yeah, well, he was asking for it." I blame.
"You couldn't be more correct." she says, "Duke Montfonte is deserving of whatever shame comes to him from this
incident."
I breathed a sigh of relief, glad she felt that way.
The Queen swiftly changes the subject, turning to Cordie,
"Tell me, Cordelia, do you know whom Noël searches for?" she asks.
Cordie looks at me, arms crossed. I let my eyes wander around the room, averting her gaze. Cordie had asked me--more
then a few times--this past week, the names of Arnolds (or, 'The Boys' as she knows him) parents. But I had simply refused.
...'At least give me the name of the boy, then.' I remember her saying, 'Gimme the boy's name an' I'll bother ya no longer.'
And every time she asked me, I'd gone through the same drill. A quick sigh first, then I'd say:
'I'll tell everything to Queen Elizabeth. And I'll only tell everything when she's right in front of me. Guess you've just gotta
be patient, Cordie.'
But now here we were, and Cordie had no answer. She chews the inside of her cheeks slowly,
"No, Your Highness, I can't say that I do." she finally confesses.
The Queen gives her a smile of satisfaction, "Do not be ashamed, Cordelia." she tells her, "We do not know, either."
I look at the Queen in disbelief, "You mean Sulmon didn't tell you?"
She shook her head, "He told us only that we would be pleased when you told us."
Pleased? Just exactly how well did she know Arnold's Parents?
"Oh," I say, at a loss for words, "Well, you see...Your Majesty, I'm searching for the parents of a boy I know."
"So We have heard." the Queen comments.
Row puts her hand on my shoulder, persisting me to continue, "Go on, Suge." she urges, "Say their names."
"There names are--" I stop abruptly, my mind suddenly filling with doubts that I had never thought of before now.
What if the Queen didn't know anything, either? What if this whole journey
was for nothing? What if I couldn't find Arnold's parents? How can I face him, knowing I failed him again?
No, don't think about that, Helga. Just be sure you tried.
Yes, I need to be sure. I need to make sure I've done everything I can to find them. I take a deep breath, swallowing my fear,
"Their names are...Andrew and Gwen." I say, ending with an exhausted sigh.
The Queen blinks at me for a moment, her mouth opening silently. Cordie and Row look from me to her, and the Queen
takes a step back from me. My feet shift nervously, as my stomach sinks down somewhere near my ankles.
Queen Elizabeth brings her hand to her mouth, cupping them over her thin, lipsticked lips, a look of amazment filling her features.
"Someone..." she whispers, her aged eyes glittering unexpectedly, "Someone is looking for Andrew and Gwendolyn?...
Our Andrew and Gwendolyn?"
Gwendolyn? Arnolds mother's full first name is Gwendolyn? I think back to the only picture I've seen of her, the one
Sulmon gave me, after she had just had Arnold. Gwendolyn. It's a pretty name. It suits her.
The Queen come towards me, quickly pulling into a rib-cracking, bone-crushing hug. My body tenses, freezing up. I'm
not very used to getting hugs, forget about getting hugged by royalty in the middle of a huge party! So the hug goes on,
my arms stiffly at my sides, and all eyes in the room are once again on me. I look at Row and Cordie and nearly burst from supressing my laugh. I never though I'd find any use for the word 'flabbergasted', but that's exactly the expression on thier
faces! Without warning, while I'm biting down on my toungue to keep my laugh in check and wondering how exactly you
go about breaking off a hug with the Queen of England, she lets go of me, and whispers in my ear,
"We have been waiting a long time for someone to come to us, looking for those two."
I pull myself away from her gently, looking at the Blue-Blooded Queen with awe,
"They were really two of your friends, Your Majesty?" I question. Even though it's what I've been told, I still hardly believe it.
She chuckles a little, touching my face with white-gloved hands,
"They were in our heart, always," she confides to me and then, as an afterthought, adds quietly, so only I
can hear, says, "As was their son, Arnold."
I give her a wide smile.
Of course. If Sulmon knew about Arnold, then natuarally, so would the Queen.
The moment was inturpted then, by an elderly womans voice calling me happily from behind the Queen,
"So this is the one called Noël!"
I tilt my head so I can see the woman. She is old. I mean Old! Her face is gentel, but it reminds me of crepe paper,
white and wrinkled. Her hair is snow-coloured, and styled something like the Queen. She's short and plump,
wearing a bright blue dress. She supports her body with a cane.
"Your Highness!" Cordie says quickly, giving a hurried bow. Row does the same, while I stand in great confusion.
So there are two Queens now? Where'd the other 'Highness' come from?!
"Mother!" The younger Queen beside me exclaims, "What are you doing? You remember the doctor said that you
musn't be up and about to much!"
The elder Queen joins us, with the help of two butlars by her side, and waves the first Queen off,
"Elizabeth! I'm perfectly capable of saying Hello to this young lady." she says, pointing to me.
Swiftly, she outstreaches her arm in my direction, "Elizabeth the First, my dear girl." she introduces, "The Queen Mother."
Queen mother? You mean the Queen is this womans daughter? No wonder she's so old! But I guess being the Queen's
Mother is a pretty cushy job to sit around and wait to have. For one thing, she doesn't seem to have to refer to herself
as 'we'! I look up into the ancient slits of blue that were her eyes, that still shone with a youthful light.
I take her hand and shake it heartily, "Noël," I tell her, "But some people prefer calling me 'Christmas Girl'."
The Queen Mother errupts with dignified laughter. My eyes sweep the room once again, and I can't believe it. Even after
all this time, people are STILL staring at us. Can't they give it a rest?
Elizabeth the First takes a few deep breaths, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Noël." she says after a while, and then
shakes hands in turn with Row and Cordie.
The Queen (who I'm guessing is Elizabeth the Second) suddenly remembered what I had just told her and caught the
attention of her Mother,
"Mother, do you know the two this little girl searches for?" she asks, already anticipating the answer.
The Queen Mother shakes her head seriously, and smiling, the Queen whispers the names of Arnold's parents into her ear.
As soon as she heard, the Queen Mother's eyes widen with gleeful astoundment. A weary smile makes its way to her
mouth, and she shakes her head again, almost in an amused sadness. My hear tilts forward in alarm. What could
possibly make this lady sad?
"To think--" she begins, "That I'd have to wait until I was a Hundred years old, for a girl that's young enough to be my
Great-Grandaughter to actually look for those two amazing people."
I gawk at her in bewilderment.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD?!
Wow, Aishwara's a blanket-hugging baby compared to her!
Both Royals laugh at the expression on my face, and Row puts her arm around me,
"Close your mouth, Suge, you're collecting flies!"
My mouth snaps shut, and I smirk at her,
"Very funny, Row." I comment, smothering the urge to stick out my toungue.
She smiles with pride, and Cordie rolls her eyes at the both of us.
"Oh, yes! He will have to be there when we tell her!" the Queen Mother says, Agreeing to something her daughter had just
told her. She takes my hand and begins leading me across the floor, her blue dress brushing against my pink one as we walk,
"Come, there's someone here you must meet! He'll tell you everything you need to know!"
I gasp with delight. Everything?! You mean they know someone who can tell me exactly where I need to go to find Arnold's
Parents?! Where is he?! I've been waiting a long time to speak to this guy...whoever he is.
Queen Elizabeth the Second, Row and Cordie trail behind us when we at last reach a man, standing by himself, propped
up against a corner wall. He's dressed in a crisp white suit, the only other colour on him being his black tie and shoes.
His hair is black, too. Messy. He has a thick black moustach and goatee. His skin is darker then many of the people in
the room, making him look decidedly out of place. He swirls his amber drink around in his heavy crystal glass.
His dark eyes lift to us, looking at the Queen mother first, then to me.
"Your Majesty." he say respectfully, bowing his head a little. His accent is Spanish, or Mexican. I wish I knew how to
distinguish accents better.
The Queen Mother smiles patiently at him, her eyes twinkling from the information she held. She lowers her voice and says,
"Noël, I would like to introduce an old friend of Andrew and Gwendolyn's, Eduardo."
She then turns to Eduardo, with her sparkling eyes and her all-knowing smile that reminded my so much of Sulmon's,
"And Eduardo," she says, "I would like you to meet your Angel of Redemption."
~*~ End of Chapter Three~*~
Well La ti da...I'm finally done! Time to upload this. Now, I KNOW I've made promises like this before, but this time,
I really mean it. I WILL update some time again this week. Why? Because it's March Break! Yay, I have free time!
By the way, I'm not sure if I got every detail of Elizabeth I and Elizabeth II right. I don't think my description of
Buckingham Palace was to great, either. Sorry, I didn't have that much information to work with, so I could only
try. Anyways, time to get cracking on Chapter four!
So, until soon, wishin' you....
Luv
Life
Luck
n' Lafta'
~*~CD~*~