AN: Ok, so I wrote this story for Loliver where I mentioned that I had fallen for two random couples this summer – Loliver and Seddie. Which is sad, because I'm way too old for this. I grew up with Lizzie McGuire, dude. But I was in need of fluff, and so I wrote a Lollie oneshot, and guess what I found out? I'm not that good at writing younger-sounding stuff. Well, this is to fix that. It's going to be a pretty short story about Sam and Freddie. Not even entirely sure what it's about yet. We'll see, huh? Alright, go, read.
Disclaimer: If I owned iCarly, I'd have them play the ages they are. I mean, if all three of them are fifteen and sixteen, why play thirteen and fourteen? I don't understand …
When I was seven years old, before my mom completely went off the edge and a couple months after Dad left, I pushed Little Lonnie Leiber out of a tree.
In my defense, he pulled my hair. In his defense, breaking his leg in two places was probably an overreaction. At least that's what my therapist said.
A therapist. Yup. One of those kid shrinks that use puppets and junk like that. His name was Dr. Grunder. He told me that I had anger issues that resulted in violent impulses that stemmed from my father abandoning me and my mother's detachment.
Whatever. In the end, my mom stopped remembering to take me after about six sessions, but some of it sunk in. Since Lonnie, I've never broken anyone's anything – well, not anything bigger than a toe.
Still. I've got anger issues.
Major anger issues.
For instance, what I just did to Freddie's camera. I mean, why mess it up? We need it for iCarly. Besides, it costs more than my apartment (or that's what Freddie keeps saying) and if I break it, Mrs. Benson has to get a new one, and if Mrs. Benson knows that I messed it up, she won't let me anywhere near Freddie until she gets distracted by a new scent of tick bath bubbles or whatever. And then there's definitely no iCarly.
But there I was, making a jerky and peanut butter and jelly sandwich when it hits me that Freddie left his camera all alone upstairs. And that I've got peanut butter. And I've got jelly. And how fun it would be to do something with that peanut butter and jelly and the lonely old camera.
Ten minutes later, I had what I thought would be my masterpiece. Sticky tan and purple spreads were poured over the camera, sliding down the tripod, and dripping onto the floor. I had used squirtable jelly to write my name on Freddie's computer, and was now happily resting in a beanbag, squirting grape into my mouth. I'll say one thing about anger issues – they're fun.
"Carly? Sam? Spencer? Where is everyone?"
I leapt up immediately. "I'm up here, Freddie!" I yelled, sprinting down to meet him. Swear to God, this was better than Christmas.
We met on the stairs. There was a second before Freddie became suspicious. Just one. That was the best thing about pranking Freddie. He kept up. I didn't have to wait for him to understand what was going; I didn't have to worry about him catching up. With Freddie, there was instant gratification. Just come in, say hi, sense something's wrong, see prank, get mad.
There were times when I really appreciated having an easily targeted dork I was so in tune with.
And right on cue, Freddie's face scrunched up. "Sam?" he asked. Only it sounded more like "Saaaammmmm?" That's the way he says my name when he thinks I've done something wrong. It was probably the smile. There's this evil little smile I do sometimes. Freddie, needless to say, has seen that smile a lot.
"Sam!" His voice was sharp and pointed. See, that's when he knows I've done something wrong. He just doesn't know what it is yet.
"Yes, Fredward?" I asked politely. It was too soon to trip his wire. It's no fun if he gets there too soon. I loved watching his suspense.
His eyes narrowed. "Sa-am." That's how he says my name when he's trying to reason with me. "You didn't do something to my equipment again, did you?"
He even guessed what I messed with! I'm so lucky to have such a good bully-geek relationship. Gibby never guesses what I messed with.
"No," I tell him. Then I snicker. Oh, no. Too early.
"SAM!" And that's how Freddie says my name when he knows that I've done something, knows what I did it to, and is now very, very angry about it. And off he went, charging up the stairs, throwing open the door, and screaming like a girl when he saw his camera.
I have no idea what he said when he actually saw the thing. His voice gets all high pitched, like my tattoo artist cousin did when she took out the spike in her nose and everything came out with a whistle.
As he was wailing something about money and giving his great-aunt sponge baths for a month, Carly came in. The evil smirk slid from my face like the jelly off of the computer monitor.
"Hey, Carly," I said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible.
She grinned. "Hey. You've got peanut butter in your hair."
"Really?" I looked down at it with some interest. My hair was so long, and my eating habits were so similar to a caveman's, that I tended not to notice things like that anymore. "Cool."
"Bad Sam! No!" Carly rushed up to pull the peanut buttered hair away from my mouth as I attempted to eat it off. Whatever. It's my hair. It's my peanut butter.
"CARLY!!"
Freddie had realized Carly was there. Great. Once he started forming actual words again, Carly was going to spray me with that stupid spritzer again. She'd started refrigerating it so that it was nice and cold. Can I say that it's really unnecessary to make me wet while I'm indoors? I live in Seattle. I'm rarely fully dry.
"Sam." Apparently, Carly had already figured out that I'd done something. The shouting from upstairs may have tipped her off. "What did you do to him this time?"
I shrugged. "You make me hang out with him, you know."
She rolled her eyes. "You know, I think Freddie was right."
She'd gone up the stairs before I could ask her what she meant.
I stood there for a minute. What was Freddie right about? In my experience, Freddie was rarely right about anything.
But I wasn't one to let something like a little offhand comment ruin my moment. I skipped up the stairs, gleefully anticipating the look on Freddie's face.
AN: And there it begins. Hope you like. Sorry it's short, but I have another fic or two to worry about. Love? Hate? Review!
