You knew what you had to do right after you admitted the truth. You had to find him. You had to apologize. You just didn't know how. So you choose to talk to him.
You pick the lock on his front door and continue on. You know he won't be in his room; he'd be out on the small balcony. How do you know this? Because he was there when his dad left him 8 years ago. And you were right there with him, telling him how a life without a dad wasn't so bad. But then again, you never knew yours.
You silently open the sliding glass door and step through. You were right. He's sitting there, on the cheap lounge chair you got him one year for his birthday, listening to slow, sad music from his PearPod and speakers.
He has noticed you're there yet, so you knock on the glass door you just opened. He turns his head and finds you, an apologetic girl with a bowl of meatballs. You nod. He nods, and motions for you to join him. You gently climb through and sit on the ledge, as he turns the chair to face you.
"What's up?" you ask, trying to keep things normal, because that's why you came: to make things normal.
"Nothing," he replies, as he gets out of the chair and heads over to the PearPod and speakers, shutting the music out.
"Meatball?" you offer, keeping your Sam persona in check.
"No thanks," he stutters, as you shrug and throw the meatball off the balcony, and onto the roof of a car.
He's standing by the ledge adjacent to yours, approximately four feet away. "That was really brave, what you said." And you realize that the little kid you used to hang around with grew up. You can tell from how deep his voice is.
"You heard?" you question, and he turns around to grab his laptop.
"You don't think I'd miss iCarly," he smiles, and so do you, as he shows you his laptop before putting it down on the ground. He sits on a stool six feet across from you and looks at you.
You look at the ground before blurting out, "I'm sorry. 'Bout telling people you never kissed anyone." He's silent, which you take as another wave of embarrassment and not being forgiven.
"And about putting Blue Cheese Dressing in your shampoo bottle," you add. "And about sending your cell phone to Cambodia. Everything. 'K?" He laughs and you smile.
"So this means you're not gonna mess with me anymore?" he questions, and you almost laugh at how stupid that sounds.
"No, I'm still gonna mess with you," you fire back at him. "I'm just gonna apologize every few years so I can start fresh again," you smile. The excuse is phony, but still believable.
"Good," he admits.
"Good?" you repeat in shock.
"Yeah. It would be too weird if you didn't make my life miserable all the time," he teases. "But, you know, maybe you could pull back just a little bit…" he begs.
"I don't think so," you shoot out. You've dug your own grave too earlier, and there's no choice but to deal.
"Yeah, I didn't either," he replies, shaking his head. He knew better than that.
You make a tsk sound with your tongue and shrug. "It's so stupid," you complain.
"What do you mean?" is asked because the tech geek doesn't understand.
"You know," you gesture. "How people get all… freaked out about their first kiss." Another tsk, and then you add, "It's so stupid."
"So you weren't lying," he asks in disbelief. "You've really never kissed anyone?"
"Nope." And the words are out of your mouth because it's impossible to lie to your best friend. "Sometimes, I just.." you come clean. "I just wish I could get it out of the way."
"Yeah, I know. Me too," he admits just as truthfully.
"Right? You know, just so I can stop worrying about it."
"Yeah." He's silent for a moment and then smiles and laughs.
"What?"
He shrugs, "Nothing. It's…"
"Tell me," you interrupt, never one for patience.
"Nahh, it's…"
"Say it!"
"Okay!" he surrenders. "I was just going to say --"
"That we should kiss?" you finish for him.
The words tumble out of your mouth before you can take them back. The idea is looming above your heads, ready for action. His face falters for a second, and he looks shocked that you had the same thought he did.
"You're gonna break my arm now, right?" he asks, afraid of you. But you shake your head with a slight "No," and you can hear his breathing return to normal.
"Well, should we? Just so we can get it over with?" he questions once more, and you're stuck. Do you want to? Or is your mind trying to play tricks on you again? The thought of kissing Freddie jumps out in your mind. You can imagine his warm lips pressed slightly over yours, your faces fitting together like a puzzle. As the clip replays in your mind you feel a smile and a blush forming on your face. You would've left it there, had he not been there. But he is, so you cover it up quickly.
"Just to get it over with." It's not a question when formed from your lips. It's a command almost. And whatever flicker of hope you had before burns out when he repeats it quick enough to show you he won't mean the kiss. Or maybe he will, but you're such a horrid person he'll want to forget it.
"And you swear we'll go right back to hating each other as soon as it's over?" But of course you don't mean it. You never have hated Freddie (except for that time in third grade when he gave a lollipop to Carly and not her), and she probably never could.
"Totally," he agrees, once again much too fast for your taste. "And we never tell anyone-"
"Never," you interject, because two can play at that game.
You sigh, as the wind whips around your face, and try to control your fast-pumping heart. Calm down, you think to yourself. It's just Fredward, the Freddork, Fredweirdo. The one you've kept so many secrets with. But that brings the thought of your secrets into your head and you remember an incident that happened not too long ago….
Samantha Puckett shivered under the blanket draped across her body and the couch. She had slept over at the Shay's house due to her mom's vomiting after drinking wine on an empty stomach. Outside the Shay's comfortable apartment the temperature was a steady thirty-nine degrees and the wind blew slightly into her face because Spencer left the window ajar.
The door creaks open, making choppy sounds of annoyance, and a shadow looms in the doorway. Sam's body goes into danger overdrive, but calms down once she sees it's just Freddie.
"What do you think you're doing," she hisses.
"We're filming Wake Up Spencer! tonight. Remember?" And it takes a second, but she does. She remembers their earlier conversation at the Groovy Smoothie and the stunts and jokes they had planned.
"Oh, right," she whispers out, a bit embarrassed to be forgetful of one of the only things that she looks forward to. She takes the pause to absorb everything.
She, Sam Anneliese Puckett is alone on the first floor of the Shay's apartment with Freddie; clad in only a pink long-sleeved shirt and black pajama shorts (which probably explains why she's freezing). Freddie, on the other hand, is wearing a dark green shirt and red pajama pants, in the spirit of the Holidays a few weeks before. And then Sam realizes she's been standing there, a blank look on her face, staring at Freddie.
"Uhh…. ummm… Are we going," she stutters, as the awkwardness gets the best of her. He nods and follows her lead up the staircase and past the numerous inventions scattered around.
She's reached the second floor and taken a left at the top of the staircase, and followed the hallway down past the guest room and over to Spencer's room. Just before she opens the door, she loses her balance after stepping on a small whirligig Spencer must have dropped. She flails her arms around trying to regain her stance, but it's no use. She's falling, about to crack her head on the floor. She prepares her body for the pain
And then there's none.
She looks around, confused, until she sees the source of her relief. Freddie had placed the camera on the floor and rushed to catch Sam.
The Wake Up Spencer from that night brought nothing special. You screamed random things at him, while Freddie caught it all on camera. You can't even remember what you made Spencer think, although usually can. And you think it's because of what happened.
Your mind had gone into overdrive from the moment Freddie caught you. You remember his warm arms underneath you, and you remember feeling his hot breath as he almost inaudibly asks if you are all right.
And you say you're fine and continue on. But you never forgot that moment.
You realize that the two of you have been sitting, staring at one another, for a minute or so. The awkward-ness of what you are about to do creeps in. You want it gone.
"Well… Lean!" you say, unsurprised that neither of you have taken the initiative. But he does what you say. He leans in and captures your lips with his. And for all the freaking out about your first kiss, this one isn't too bad. At least, that's what the reasonable part of your brain says.
You try to forget about the other part. The one that is telling you what you're really thinking. The one that is pumping your heart abnormally fast. The one that speeds up your breathing and gets your mind whirring.
The part that thinks that you enjoyed it, because you like Freddie.
Which is completely abnormal for you. You don't like Freddie; you are just his friend, right?
And then it's over. The two of you fall back, and think it over. You argue with your mind, and you think that he thinks that it was horrible. Which it was, because he kissed you and not his dream girl, Carly.
"That was … uhhh…" he trails off.
"Nice?" you suggest, thinking it's better to have him lie than break your heart. Woah, you think. Where did THAT come from?!
"Yeah," he says, "Nice, uhh…" he pauses.
You adjust your position to half-standing, half-leaning and say "Good work," although it is completely clichéd and retarded.
"You, too," he responds awkwardly, as if thinking the same thing on his part. Or maybe he's wondering if this was a mistake.
You get up and start to climb back out the window, the embarrassment painted on your face. He can see it, you realize, when he speaks out to you.
"Hey, I hate you." But you know he doesn't. You can see that from the smile on his face. He's trying to make everything normal, but he could never hate his best friend of 10 years. But then again, he could never fall for his best friend of ten years.
"I hate you, too," you mumble, and continue on your way. You know you don't hate him. You really love spending time with him. As friends, you remind your brain. Freddie and I are nothing more than friends and will never be. You don't entirely believe that, but it's a start.
You give him one last glance and see that he's looking at you first, and then up at the stars. Just like he used to do when you left for your own home. And as you walk away, you can't help but to think that your first kiss was better than "Getting it over with."
Because you, Samantha Puckett, regret many things in your life. You regret never knowing your dad. You regret alienating your mom and others close to you. You regret letting Jonah push you around. You regret becoming a bully. But in your head, you know there are some things you'll never regret. Befriending Carly, helping Freddie deal with everything, and being a part of iCarly.
Having your first kiss with Freddie is one of them.
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