Sam tugged at the cuff of her sleeve, bunched up her shoulders, and sighed, returning to a slouch. Her hands lifted from her sides and patted the fabric at her sides. The material was nice-looking, but wouldn't last ten minutes in an out-and-out fight. She swayed a little on the spot, noticing the funny sound the hem made swishing against the floor. If she stepped on it, the entire skirt would probably rip.
Yep, that's right. The skirt. Somehow, Carly Shay had managed to make Sam Puckett wear a dress. A girly one. For the entire day, she had insisted.
Sam's only consolation to her ire was that Freddie was going to look about twenty times girlier in his wizard's costume — not to mention, put all his true dweeb-y-ness on grand display.
Carly, Spencer, Sam and Freddie were going to a Renaissance fair. Freddie's idea.
Sam was going to kill Freddie when she got back into regular clothes.
The car ride was hot, sweaty and boring. The fun all began when, parking in front of The Groovy Smoothie, they saw Gibby with another inexplicably pretty date. He pretended he didn't know them as they tromped inside for last-minute refreshments. Sam tried as hard as she could to death-glare T-Bo out of approaching them, but failed.
"Rutabagas?" he said, waving the smelly vegetables about two feet from Spencer's bug-eyed, nostril-flared face. Not listening, Spencer stooped and attempted to hide behind Carly's back, stage-whispering into her ear,
"Car-lyy." Her face was quite similar to Spencer's in its perturbance. "Look."
Carly's voice wobbled and rose in pitch as she half-shouted, "I am looking! Come on." She reached back and grabbed Spencer by the arm, dragging him towards the exit as Sam and Freddie took up the rear, carrying the smoothies they'd bought in the meantime.
Settling into the car, Carly and Spencer were still silently freaking out as they took the front, while Freddie and Sam slid into the back. Freddie began setting up the camera in his pointed wizard's hat in the back while Sam sulked and called out to the two in front,
"What's the matter with you guys? You've been acting all jumpy ever since Jank Food Guy offered us those turnips."
Freddie stared at Sam. "'Jank Food Guy'?" His face and voice were full of sarcastic disbelief. "And I'm pretty sure he said they were rutabagas, Sam."
Sam whacked his shoulder with a momentarily returned glare before leaning her head in between the two front seats. Spencer remained motionless but for the occasional unintendedly dramatic twitch. Carly stared into space, her centered pupils giving the impression that her brain was currently in a completely other place and time. Her nostrils, like her brother's, were slightly flared, though far less than his. Sam began.
"Spencer."
He started at the sound of his name and said foggily, "Baah! What is it?"
Sam raised her eyebrows high and said, "Drive?", gesturing to the steering wheel in front of him. He turned to look at it and then, as if seeing it for the first time, nodded and said, "Wha— oh, yeah. Okay." and shifted gears, following instructions blindly. Sam then proceeded to Carly.
She waved her hand in front of Carly's face. "Ca-arls? You there?" No response.
"Hello-oo?"
"Sam, don't smack her," came Freddie's slightly scared voice from the back seat, pronouncing every word clearly.
Sam turned to stare at him with her best Dude, what are you think-ing face and said deprecatingly,
"I wasn't gonna hit her! Are you hitching a ride on the CrazyTown Express along with these two nuts? This is Carly. Come on!"
Now hearing herself addressed, Carly came enough out of her stupor to say, a panicky note to her voice, "Come where?"
Sam seized her opportunity and said in one fast blur, "What's up with you and Spencer and the turnip guy?"
"Turnips? Huh?" was Carly's confused reply.
Spencer faintly said, "Not. Turnips." Sam glared at him and said, "Fine. Rutabagas then." At the sound of the word both siblings jumped in their seats and Carly gave a little shriek. Then it all came out.
"Dad used to make us eat those things all the time when we lived with him! They were terrible!" exclaimed Carly.
Sam flatly glared. "Oh, come on, they couldn't've been that—"
"Steamed! Boiled! Sautéed! Fried! Baked, smoked, grilled — you name it, Dad cooked it like that, with special sauce, and before him Mom — that was before you, Carly," Spencer added in an undertone before continuing, "Monday! Tuesday! Wednesday! Wednesday! Thursday! Friday and Saturday, Sunday! Leap Year! Every special occasion, with every meal, whenever company came over—"
"—or just family," interjected Carly.
"—With rice! With other vegetables! With soy sauce and mustard! Every frakking night—"
"Okay, okay, I get the point! You don't need to yell!" yelled Sam, not noticing the irony. Alone in the back, Sam still leaning down between the front seats, Freddie rolled his eyes. Then he realized something and said to Spencer,
"Wait, you said Wednesday twice."
"I know," was Carly's eerily whispered reply, although Spencer was the target here. "Wednesday was Special Double Day." Spencer cringed.
Sam leant back into her seat and said, "Man, I didn't know you guys' parents were so weird," completely ignorant of her rudeness and yet getting away with it because, really — it was Sam.
She pulled out her PearPod and blasted some heavy metal, simultaneously closing her eyes to prepare for a nap. Freddie skimmed over the manual for his new mini-hat-cam. Carly and Spencer both stared into space, lost in memories of the horrible menus of yesterday.
It was going to be a long trip to Buckley.