A/N: I don't own iCarly, blah blah blah. Anyhow, this is a quick fic, inspired in part by the song F.N.T. by Semisonic and in part my unhealthy love of Spam. I know it'll never happen, but I can't help myself. Read it, review it, print it out and doodle on it...
I'm surprised that you've never been told before…
Sam is sulking. Yes, she admits it. She's sulking and it's not fair to her friends, who have no idea what's going on. Especially Carly. But hey! It's Carly's fault she's sulking in the first place! It's not her fault the other girl doesn't know it. She slumps in her seat and glowers at nothing in particular. Carly touches her arm gently. "Sam?" She whispers, "What's wrong?"
Sam turns, snaps. "Why does something have to be wrong? Huh?" Carly looks surprised and after a moment of silence Sam turns away and goes back to glowering. Class seems to drag on and Sam ignores the rest of Carly's attempt to talk. Eventually the bell will ring and then she'll be free to sulk undisturbed – at least until it's time to do the show. She sighs and sinks lower in her chair.
The bell rings and she bolts from the class, but Carly is quick enough that she catches her before she can finish grabbing her things from her locker. "Sam, what's up with you today?"
Sam doesn't even bother to look at her best friend, but continues stuffing things in her bag. "Nothing. Nothing is up at all."
Carly opens her mouth as if to protest and, for just a second, Sam has to fight the urge to hit the girl who has been her best friend for years. Luckily, Freddie appears behind Carly and wraps his arm around her with a smile. They're always touching since they started dating. Honestly, it's been a year and they still haven't gotten over the lovey-dovey phase. It sickens her a little and when Freddie kisses Carly's hair it doesn't help matters. Carly practically ignores him, as she's apparently too worried about Sam.
But Sam knows better. Carly would rather be with Freddie. Or rather, that's what Sam thinks and she's never been much inclined to question herself. She turns on them without shutting her locker. Freddie, evidently oblivious to the conflict, smiles. "You coming to the groovy smoothie with us?" He asks cheerfully.
Sam laughs. "And be a third wheel again? No thanks." Freddie just shrugs. She's suddenly upset by the fact that he doesn't bother to ask again and without thinking she grabs an old, molding orange from the back of her locker and throws it at his head as hard as she can. Freddie lets out a strangle cry and Carly gasps.
"Sam!" Carly says and she sounds absolutely appalled. Sam isn't sure why – it's not like it's an unusual occurrence. Still, as Carly begins to tend to Freddie's head – it's not even bruised, there's just some mold on it now – Sam gets angrier. She glances at the calendar inside her locker – a week until she's eighteen and free. The date never seemed very important to her, but lately the idea of freedom has become more and more appealing. Lately, the idea of leaving Seattle has become more and more appealing. She shakes her head and slams her locker shut.
"Whatever." She says, turning her attention back to Carly and Freddie. "I'm out."
"iCarly at five!" Freddie calls. Yeah, yeah. iCarly. Whatever. Sam raises a hand in recognition and marches away from them without a second look.
She doesn't go home, though she's not sure why. Maybe because it seems less welcoming than school, maybe because she wants food and knows there won't be any there, maybe just because her feet automatically carry her to Bushwell Plaza. Whatever the reason, it's only a matter of time before she's walking into the Shay Loft and dropping her bag on the couch with a satisfying thud. Carly and Freddie aren't here; she knows that and maybe that's part of the appeal.
The sound of running water is audible from Spencer's bathroom. She can hear him singing and imagines him washing his hair as he does so – she doesn't allow herself to imagine more than that, though she's tempted to. She doesn't call out to him, either. He'll hear her soon enough. Instead, she heads straight for the fridge and yanks it open so that she can bend over and contemplate its contents.
The sound of running water stops abruptly, but the singing doesn't. For a second a flicker of a smile stretches her lips and then it's gone, just as quickly as it came. She yanks a can of peppy cola from the fridge as well as a package of thinly sliced ham and then slams the door shut hard. Spencer's singing stops; he heard her, she knows. "Carly, that you?" He calls.
"No." She shouts back, feeling annoyed by the very suggestion.
She plops down on a stool and rips the package of ham open. Soon she can hear Spencer in his bedroom and then she can hear him behind her. "Sam? What are you doing here?" He asks, as if he doesn't already know.
"Food." She says, holding the package of ham above her head.
He makes a quiet noise that seems to say 'I should have known' and then comes around to face her. "Where's Carly?"
"With Freddie." Sam answers. "Where else does she go these days?" Her shoulders slump a bit more and she glowers at the counter. With a heavy sigh she stuffs a handful of ham into her mouth.
Spencer hides a smile. "What's wrong?" He says, leaning back against the kitchen island. Sam looks up at him, narrows her eyes.
"Why does something have to be wrong?" She shouts through a mouthful of meat, waving the package of ham wildly above her head.
Spencer has to bite his lip to hide his laughter. "Maybe," He says slowly, "because something is."
She hates him for being so perceptive. That's a lie. She couldn't hate him if she tried. Still, why does he have to… notice things? She sighs heavily and opens the can of soda so that she can use it to help swallow the ham that's keeping her from really talking. "It'll sound silly." She says. He doesn't speak, but just waits. "Fine." She's snapping at him now, but he doesn't even flinch. "It's Carly! This morning we were reading responses to the last iCarly and almost all of them were 'Oh, Carly, you're so hot!' or 'Oh, Carly, you're so great!'"
For just a second he looks confused. "But… you guys get that kind of stuff all the time. Why should it bother you now?"
She slumps again. "Because… because I'm sick of it always being Carly! It's always her! Just once I'd like it to be 'Oh, Sam, you're so hot!' or 'Oh, Sam, you're so great!' But it never is! It's always Carly!" He seems about to protest and she cuts him off. "No! You don't get to argue, because I'm right! Neville refuses to give our website a good review, because Carly refuses to kiss him. I get a boyfriend, he wants to kiss Carly. The show gets made into a TV show and they get rid of me, but keep Carly! I give Freddie his first kiss, he starts dating Carly." He looks confused again and she waves a hand. "Oh, I don't want Freddie! It's just not fair! It's always Carly! The show is even named after her! Everyone wants Carly, everyone loves Carly! No one wants me… Lovely, perfect Carly! Maybe I should just be more like her…" She looks completely dejected for a moment and then, with what seems almost like anger, she stuffs ham in her mouth until her cheeks bulge and then slumps forward with her chin in her hands.
And Spencer is smiling. He steps forward and leans forward so that his face is level with hers. "Sam…" He says slowly. Her eyes flicker up to meet his. He raises one hand and strokes her face from the top of her head to the bottom of her bulging cheek. Then he cups the side of her face with his big hand and leans a bit closer. "You should be you. Only you." His voice is a quiet whisper. She is wide-eyed, staring at him. He leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead. "You're lovely." He whispers and leans down to kiss one bulging cheek. "And you're perfect." He kisses the tip of her nose. "And someone wants you, Sam." She swallows hard, the ham creating a great bulge in her throat. It feels awkward at first, but she soon forgets when he moves to kiss her other cheek. "I want you." He says. There's a moment's pause and then he presses his lips to hers. She's lost in the feeling, the taste – he tastes like soap, but not like when you get soap in your mouth. Just clean. And there's something else. A lingering sweetness that she can't place. Before she can figure out what it is, he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers. "And I can't believe you don't know that."
A smile splits her face and she can't believe her bad mood even existed. She shuts her eyes and raises one hand to cover the one he's still using to cup her face. It's as if this was exactly what she needed – and maybe it was, because she's now a thousand thoughts are racing at her. Horror at the idea of leaving Seattle, guilt caused by how rude she's been to her friends, more guilt over the fact that she'd actually been jealous of Carly. She sighs contentedly and leans her face forward to touch his lips once more, determined to figure out what it was she tasted on his lips – but then the door to the apartment opens and they jump apart as if they've been burned. Sam sips her soda; Spencer leans nonchalantly against the island once more.
"Sam?" She turns at Carly's voice and an apologetic smile creeps onto her lips as she slips off the stool and steps forward to wrap her arms around the other girl.
"I'm sorry, Carly. I don't know what got into me." Carly, of course, accepts this without question and hugs her back. For what has to be the millionth time in her life, she's thankful to have such an understanding best friend, even if Carly is annoyingly perfect sometimes.
Freddie laughs. "I do. Forget to take your midol?" He says. She looks up and sees a welt forming on his forehead.
"I'm not apologizing to you, Freddork. I'm not sorry." But she's smiling as she says it and he smiles back.
"We've got to do the show." Is Freddie's only response and the three of them head for the stairs.
After only a couple of steps, Sam licks her lips and pauses. "Spencer," she says, turning her head to look at him, "have you been eating… vanilla frosting?" He just smiles mischievously at her and she knows that she's right. A sense of victory makes her grin.
Carly furrows her brow. "That's all he's had to eat all week." She says, clearly confused as to how Sam could know this. "Some girl at the store talked him into buying a whole case of it. He thought she was cute." She pauses. "Actually," she says then and something like recognition twinkles in her eye. "Now I think about it, she looked a little like you. How did you know?" She gives Sam an intense look as she asks the question as if she'll be able to find the answer using nothing but her eyes.
Sam laughs. "Lucky guess, I suppose. Come on. We've got a show to do." And she hurries up the stairs with tingling lips and an intense craving for vanilla frosting.