Chapter Text
In many ways, she was perfect. Almost too good to be true.
She was Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, and lately, Arnold had found himself thinking of her differently. Why was that, he wondered. They'd meet in passing at school, sometimes afterward. Just friendly hellos, nothing more. More often than not, they'd get together with the rest of the gang for fun and games: baseball and…football.
Of course: football! For as fashionable as Rhonda was, as effortlessly elegant and as infuriatingly snobbish as she could be…when it came to football, she was…wow! This fashion model could tackle; she could block. She would always get up no matter how hard she was sacked, never seeming to mind. Through the aches and stiffness and soreness, she was never down in spirit, almost as if the team mattered more to her than her appearance.
She was all these contrasts in a pretty package.
Wait a second…“pretty”? Where did that word come from? Did it just enter Arnold’s mind? Did he really consider her pretty? Before now, she was just one of the gang, no more and no less. And now?
It was raining, and they were standing in a huddle, Arnold detailing the final play. Looks of faith and determination all around him, but Rhonda…
Something about her eyes. Was that her usual camaraderie in them, or did he dare believe it was affection?
No! He shook his head to banish that thought. No time for that! They had a play to make and a game against the fifth-graders to win.
"Forty-two! Thirty-three! Hut…Hut…HUT!"
The play was a blur of fakes, passes and bamboozlement, before Gerald received the ball and scored the winning touchdown. Joy as the fourth graders piled onto him in muddy celebration. All except for Rhonda. The princess within must have prevailed, deeming the celebration a step too far. Instead, she was keeping a safe distance from the mud bath.
The rain persisted, eventually prompting the kids to disperse. All except for Rhonda. Normally, she'd be the first to run from the rain. Instead, she was hesitating, standing as if expecting someone. Not her best friend, Nadine; she'd bolted with the rest.
So it was just Arnold and Rhonda.
"Hey Rhonda," Arnold said as he approached her, cloaked head to toe in mud.
"Hey,” she responded, seemingly noncommittally. “Sorry, I’ll take the hard knocks for the team, but rolling around in the mud is where I draw the line!"
"It's OK, Rhonda. I understand,” Arnold reassured. “You were a beast out there. That block on Edmund was incredible!"
Rhonda smiled wearily. Arnold, too, knowing that this was one of the only situations in which he could call someone like Rhonda a beast and not get an earful as a consequence.
"Oh, you know,” the (usually) prim and proper girl answered. “I just didn't want to let the team down. You worked so hard coming up with those plays. Heck, you even got me to believe we could win. If anyone was incredible out there, it was you!"
Wow! Complimented by Rhonda Wellington Lloyd! Sincerely so, with no sign of her usual haughtiness.
Rhonda remained in front of him.
Rain-slicked hair clinging to her brow.
Face all grimy.
Red sweater torn, smudged and badly stretched.
And yet…and yet…there was that word again. Somehow, she’d never look prettier than now.
"Hel-lo, Arnold!” Rhonda asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Are you OK? Did you take a hard knock to the head? Why are you just staring like that?"
Oh heck, he had to go for it! He stepped forward onto his tiptoes and leaned towards her for a kiss. His eyes were closed, meaning he couldn’t see Rhonda’s orbs that remained wide open in surprise. The kiss lingered for exactly as long as it took Rhonda to recoil from him in shock.
"Ew, Arnold! What was that all about?" she fumed. "What were you thinking?"
Arnold was left stammering for an explanation. An excuse, any excuse.
Maybe he did take a few hard ones to the head.
Maybe his wiring was still janky after all that contact.
Maybe—
He was still formulating his first syllable when Rhonda fumed some more. "I mean, look at me!” she fussed. “I'm all dirty, I'm sweaty, my hair's a mess. And my clothes… Urgh, just look at them!"
"Sorry, Rhonda," Arnold offered in true contrition.
"I mean, could your timing really be any worse?” she huffed in a tone he couldn’t quite read. “Good-bye!" she capped off her rant as she pivoted away from him and began running for home.
Arnold was left not knowing what to think. If this was meant to be a move on Rhonda—and he wasn’t even sure that it was—he'd blown it and was now regretting the misstep as he watched Rhonda run. After some distance, she stopped and turned back, surprising him. She paused, then flashed him a faint smile that lasted the slightest bit longer than he expected. She turned away again to continue on her way.
In many ways, Arnold mooned again as Rhonda disappeared from view, she was perfect.