No Competition

By Arnold's Love & Pointy Objects

Chapter One: Le Commencement de Guerre

"…and last, but certainly not least, I'd like to thank you, the heart and soul of Hillwood's French Ambassador's Honor Society, for voting me into this noble role. I will do all that I can to uphold the traditions that have made this one of the most prestigious organizations that our grand school has come to support.

"I cannot, however, forget to thank my vice president, Arnold. Working in tandem, I know that we can achieve success and help this lofty establishment grow to new and exciting heights. With me as your president, and Arnold following quietly behind me, there is nothing we can't accomplish. And, as they say, behind every great woman, is a less great, but still moderately acceptable, man. Thank you."

Yes, that was a low blow. And yes, I'm going to hear about it later. But, come on; he dared to run a race against, me, Helga Pataki. Did he think that he wouldn't have to hear about his crushing defeat later, from yours truly.

The French Society breaks, and everyone makes a mad dash to the back of the auditorium for stale cookies and flat punch. Unfortunately for them, I have other things to do. I shoulder the weight of my heavy backpack and exit the auditorium, to the tune of a few people congratulating me on my new position as president and my speech. How did that old saying go? "It's hard to be humble when you look this good…" How true.

"I'm sure you're just loving all this new attention," someone says, from behind me, as I exit the auditorium and enter the spacious lobby of the school. I turn slowly, already wearing a devious smile. He shouldn't be surprised.

"I don't do it for the attention, Arnold. I do it because, I care," I tell him, empathetically placing my hand over my heart. Whatever. Yeah, I care alright…I care about the attention.

"Yeah, right. You care about the attention," he remarks, stepping towards me. I am never disappointed. Even after all these years, this boy can still read me like a book. "A riveting speech, Ms. President."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Vice President. Hmm, 'vice'?" I say out loud, putting a hand to my chin. "An adjective, from the Latin 'vicis', or interchange, meaning to be next in line in importance to. Or maybe, vice in regards to the Latin term 'vitium', which is a habit regarded as a weakness or flaw in someone's character. Or maybe-"

"I'm surprised that you didn't add that to your speech," Arnold says, huffing as if he were angry. There's a spiciness in his voice these days that makes our playful competition that much more fun. When I initially decided to become his opponent in…well, everything, I didn't see him as much of a formidable opponent. Boy, did he prove me wrong.

Arnold's smart. Everyone knows that. He excels at nearly everything he tries because he knows that he's already good at it. Academically, he's got it made. I don't know what exactly is in that huge, football head of his, but I'm guessing that's it a mighty big brain. He aced Mrs. Bastly's Chemistry class… and let me tell you, no one aces her class. Even few actually pass. I, thankfully, had Mr. Hormel, who grades on a ridiculous curve. But, his passing is a feat, in and of itself. In regards to extracurriculars, yeah, he's great at that too. Senior Chairman of The Hillwood Young Philanthropist's Organization, President of the Honor Society of the Arts, and Captain of the Speech and Debate team. I say that last one with a bit of a sour tongue, because he stole this particular victory from me. I should have been president of Speech and Debate. I mean, the speech I just gave was nothing short of phenomenal and…hello? My middle name is 'Debate'! No one argues better that Helga Debate Pataki.

"Mrs. Patterson thought it was too long, anyway. And that it'd stir up unnecessary competition," I tell him.

"Stir up? Helga, this pot's been stirring for a long time, now…"

"Tell me about it," I say as we head of the front of the school. Whenever I get the chance to walk with Arnold, it never stretches any farther than the front steps of the school. We live in opposing directions (ironic, no?) from the building. Sometimes, if I have Jiu Jitsu, I'll walk to 4th street with him, and if he has volunteer work at the animal shelter, he'll walk with me towards Main. "See you tomorrow."

"Yup. Remember, Speech and Debate meets at 2:35, sharp, Ms. Vice President. See you there," he says, walking away, triumphantly. I'm not sure how you can walk away triumphantly, but I'm sure that he was.

Stupid Debate Club. Stupid Vice Presidency. Stupid crushing defeat.

Backing away from my laptop, I stretch and steal a glance at the clock near my bed. 8:36 PM. I didn't mean to spend so much time on my speech, but Arnold already had a leg up on me. It had to be perfect.

I had to be perfect.

I shook my head, and ignored the underlying reason for my need to go up against Arnold on occasion after occasion, heading back downstairs to see if there was anything to eat. Miriam is usually able to throw a frozen dinner in the oven (even though she sometimes forgets to remove it), and I'm hoping that there's something left over. Ever since she returned to school to get her BA in Business Management, she's been slightly more responsible, but a lot busier as well. I guess I don't mind much; it's be weirder to have her (or Bob) for that matter, home all the time just…being there. At least when she's home, she's holed up in her own room writing dissertations and stuff. No shot outta my nose.

Once I'm back upstairs, a plate of once-frozen lasagna as my companion, I start to wonder why I'm still battling Arnold. I know that I'm not as smart as him; I never thought I would be. And it's obvious that people are naturally drawn to him. Winning French Honor Society president was actually a shock, seeing as he's got quite a few fans on his side. But, that's beside the point. I know I'm not as smart as Arnold, okay? I know that.

But, I'm not stupid, either. And I'm not lazy. And I'm not afraid of hard work. So, how do you let somebody see that; somebody like Arnold, who is so impressive all by himself, that the accomplishments of others pale in comparison? My final decision was that I had to show him. In the seventh grade, Arnold went out for treasurer of our class. I ran against him. And granted, I didn't win, but I gave him a run for his money. I made posters, coerced the principal into letting me have air time during the morning announcements, anything…just to show him that I could put effort forth. That I could try. And when he won, I shook his hand, told him it was a great race, and that we should do it again.

And we did.

Since then, nearly everything between us has been a competition. Before it was just the little things: getting to lunch faster so we could snatch up the best seats, higher scores on tests, things like that. In our freshman year of high school, when our teacher was on maternity leave, we even battled over who could give the substitute teacher more grief.

I was about to get started with my homework again, when a faded, black and white newspaper cut out crossed my eye. It was definitely old, from several years ago, when Arnold and I were still getting acclimated to battling one another in any way that we could. Our eighth grade science teacher, Mrs. B, assigns us this bizarre project. We have to grow Boston ferns for the remainder of the school year, and at the end, she measures them to see how we did. Sounds easy right? No. Apparently these plants are practically impossible to raise past a week. At first, I thought the project was just another was for the sadistic Mrs. B to torture us for the entire school year. But, and it only took me a few seconds to realize this, this could be used to my advantage…against Arnold. We must have had the same line of thinking, because when I caught his eye from across the room, he was already wearing a smirk, and I knew that the games had begun.

Fast forwarding six months, I enter Mrs. B's class to find a dead plant on almost every desk of my classmates, their sullen faces telling me how miserably they all failed. Well…not all of them. Toward the back of the room sat a bright, beautiful green fern, it's stalks covering the top of the desk an spilling onto the floor. And who should be standing by this impressive feat of horticulture? Arnold. Doi.

Anyway, at the end of class, the ecstatic Mrs. B measures our plants, and I'll just tell you right now, I didn't win. She measured the longest stalk on each of our plants, and even though my leaves were bigger and brighter (thanks to the special formula given to me by Ms. Vitello), Arnold beat me out by a quarter of an inch. That's right.

Now, I'm never one to take defeat lying down, so I asked her to measure it again. She did. Same results. Even after leaving class that day, I still argued that he cheated somehow, and the dispute was never resolved. I know this because my beautiful Boston Fern is still with me (I've named her "V", because when it started growing, it was only two twin stalks coming out of the soil, and "V" is such an evil letter. It's a letter to be feared and taken seriously. Like me.). If by some chance Arnold is paired up with me for a project, he'll come by and have Cindy Sue (his fern…could you imagine a stupider name? I get the feeling that he thinks of himself as Gipetto and thinks that his fern is a real girl…pathetic) and bring his fern along for a little friendly measuring. No matter how I ration out this plant's food, he always has be by a hair. But one day, I will prevail. I look over at V and she sways a little bit in agreement. Oh yes, we will prevail.

But, lately, the big dogs have been let out. Arnold's been stepping up his game, and it's not so easy to conquer him anymore. Well, if he's stepping up his game, then I can most certainly step up mine. There's a quote from that hot-shot soccer player, that I keep taped to the inside of my locker. I read it everyday before school starts to get me motivated: "You can't just beat a team, you have to leave a lasting impression in their minds, so they never want to see you again." I have a feeling that something big is happening. Something is brewing and it's going to take everything I've got just to get out alive.

This is beyond academics, or charity work or community service.

The battle lines have been drawn.

This is war.

A/N from Pointy Objects: Thanks for giving this story a chance; I know I can speak for Arnolds Love when I say that we're both really proud of this, and really excited for people to read it. It's like nothing you've ever read before. It's going to be epic, and it's being brought to you by the Forces of Arnold's Love and Pointy
Objects!