Freddie drummed his hands nervously against the counter as the cashier looked down at him with narrowed eyes.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah," Freddie's voice broke, so he cleared his throat before he spoke again. "Why wouldn't I be?"
The cashier gave him a once-over that clearly said it all. After a few seconds of awkward silence as Freddie waited for him to take his credit card, the cashier finally spoke.
"Listen, we've got this thing called the Beginner's Bargain. It's basically a cheaper version of renting. We'll let you take one of your choosing and keep it for as long as you want, for a few hundred less than the actual cost of renting. Then, if you decide it's not, uh, your forte, you can bring it back, no harm done."
Freddie withdrew the card and furrowed his brow. "What if something happens; like, I dunno, I scratch it or something?"
The guy smirked the slightest bit, obviously thinking Freddie would do a lot more damage than a scratch.
"A few falls are okay, a minor scratch can be buffed, but if this thing's wrecked you're paying full price."
Freddie gulped. A beginner's bargain, yeah right. More like a beginner's money-trap. But, he thought, it's not like I'm going to keep it. Renting it would be smarter.
So, as he handed the cashier his credit card, Freddie thought about the bet that started this mess. The one that would, somehow or another, make him or break him. Most likely the second one.
1.5 hours before
"I'll, make a man, out of you!"
Freddie's eardrums pounded as Gibby belted out the song from Mulan. He grumbled to himself angrily, wondering why on Earth he let Gibby drive him home. He listed his options:
a.) Let Sam drive him home in her barely driveable/how-did-the-piece-of-garbage-car-pass-inspection vehicle.
b.) Let his mom drive him home, which also includes the thirty minute disinfectant routine and application of cloud-block, all before he steps foot into her germ-free mini-van.
c.) Let Gibby take him home in his brand new red corvette.
The obvious choice was Gibby. Unfortunately, Freddie was unaware that Gibby had just ordered the complete soundtrack from Mulan. Thank goodness "Reflection," had come and gone.
There was another reason why Freddie didn't want to ever ride with Gibby again, and he was getting angry enough to tell him.
Just as Gibby started the chorus of, "A girl worth fighting for," Freddie turned the music down and said, a little meaner than he should have, "Gibby, why didn't you tell me you bought a chick car."
Gibby immediately gasped and almost slammed on the brakes.
"This is not a chick car," he said, resuming normal driving speed. Freddie shook his head, though he was a little less angry since the singing had stopped.
"I hate to break it to you,' he lied, "but this is one heck of a chick car."
"Why do you speak such lies?"
"It's the truth. When you said it was red, I thought you meant a manly red. Not a strawberry-fresh red."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"The car's pink, Gibby!"
"You're just saying that because you're jealous. At least I have a car."
"Yeah, well, I'm getting one soon."
"Sure," Gibby rolled his eyes, "When oranges start talkin' I'll believe you got a car. Like your mom would ever let you drive. Especially after that taco truck totaled you out."
"Just because I haven't had a taco since the accident doesn't mean she doesn't trust me around vehicles!"
Gibby was just about to mock him some more when Freddie said coolly, "Just drop it."
They drove in silence for a while, until Gibby casually reached over and turned the music back on. It wasn't as loud as before, but Freddie still winced at the sound of Gibby's scratchy voice. As they neared Freddie's apartment complex, a motorcycle gang flew by, revving their engines and wolf whistling at them like they were women. Freddie laughed in a sort of 'I told you so' way to Gibby, but Gibby took their whistles as compliments rather than mockery.
"Those are nice rides," Freddie said, deciding not to reveal to Gibby the motorcyclists' true meaning behind the whistles. His eyes soon locked on a shiny black motorcycle as it passed. Gibby snorted.
"What?" Freddie asked, already sounding offended.
"Oh, nothing," Gibby said, his tone of voice saying completely the opposite. "It's just, if your mom won't let you drive a car, she most certainly will not let you drive a motorcycle."
"I never said I was going to buy it," Freddie scoffed.
"S'not like you would, anyway. "
"Hold up," Freddie said, giving Gibby a death glare. "What are you trying to say?"
Gibby shrugged. "Oh, just that you, I don't know, might be a little bit too scared to ever ride a motorcycle."
Freddie laughed, "So you're calling me a wimp, huh?"
"Pretty much," Gibby said, smiling.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Is that what you're saying?"
"That's what I'm saying."
"On the contrary, I'd love to get a motorcycle."
"Okay then," Gibby said, calling his bluff, "Let's turn this into a friendly bet."
Freddie turned so Gibby couldn't see him gulp, "Huh?"
"The day you ride a motorcycle to school is the day I'll…"
"Tell everyone you see that you have a chick car. And, put a sign on your car that says 'I drive a chick car and I'm proud'." Freddie finished, smiling.
Gibby hesitated for a few seconds, then turned to Freddie and said,
"It's a bet."
"But it's not a chick car."
Present time
"Now, do you have a motorcycle license, or.." The cashier was still giving him that condescending look.
"Totally," Freddie lied, gripping the handlebars of his sleek black and blue motorcycle.
"Do you have a place to put it? Or at least chains to keep someone from stealing it?"
Freddie shook his head again. "It's all covered."
"Okay then," The cashier said, truly not believing Freddie, but not concerned enough to care, "Here's the keys. Happy driving. Come back if you decide to buy it. Or, y'know if something happens and you're forced to pay in full."
Freddie wheeled the motorcycle out into the parking lot and stopped to think. Now, if only the storage area he rented was closer.
He blew a strand of hair out of his face and started the long trip across town, rolling the motorcycle a small bit with every step.
"Not this again."
Spencer stood at the door, wearing his neon green banana pajamas and a scowl. Carl, the police officer, stood on the other side of the door frame, also wearing a scowl. Carl had a young boy in handcuffs, and was gripping the collar of the boy's muscle shirt.
"What's up, Carl-i-o?" Spencer asked, placing a hand on his hip.
"It seems this boy was trying to steal something from you." Carl said, glaring down at the boy. Spencer cocked his head to the side.
"What'd he try to steal?"
Carl drug a weird, spiked plant out of the hallway and placed it before Spencer.
"My ichiboobie!" Spencer screamed, pulling it inside the apartment.
The boy cracked a smile, but Carl's face remained stern.
"No wonder he wanted it, this plant took all of my savings to buy!"
Spencer was hugging the plant awkwardly.
"Carly'd kill me if she learned I spent all her vacation money, too. Don't tell Carls, Carl. Ha-ha, get it? Carls and Carl. Funny."
Carl didn't seem to think it was that funny.
"What do you want me to do with him?" He asked.
Just then, Carly came trotting down the staircase, wearing a tattoo sleeve and several fake lip rings. Upon seeing the boy in handcuffs, she said, "Not this again!"
Spencer raised an eyebrow at her apparel, but she just shrugged. "iCarly skit," she said, taking a step towards the door. "Who stole what this time?"
Carl sighed, as if he had to do this every day, "This boy. Plant."
Carly gazed at the boy, now staring at her in wonder, or maybe fear. He eyed her fake tattoos with a smirk.
"Well, what'll it be this time, Spencer? Downtown, or take in another charity case. You know how the last one ended," Carl said.
"Excuse us for a minute," Carly said, pulling Spencer towards the kitchen.
When they got there, Spencer raised a brow questioningly.
Carly's face was serious, unusual for her. "I think you should send him downtown. Last time you tried to help-"
"You got all smoochity smoochy. I remember."
Carly rolled her eyes. "Just don't feel sorry for him. For all you know he-"
"Could have a secret stash of pee wee babies, I know the drill."
Spencer was looking up at her with crinkled eyes, trying his hardest not to laugh. Carly punched his arm playfully, and then drug him back towards Carl and the boy. When they got to the door, a pretty woman was standing with the thief and Carl, batting her eyelashes as if trying not to cry.
"Oh, please, sir-" she cried, grabbing Spencer's wrist.
"He's too young to be in prison. I'm sure he didn't mean to steal-"
Carly, unaffected by the woman's cries, said, "Send him down-"
"He's fine, Carl! Really! I mean, it's just an ichieboobie! No harm, no fowl. Let him go," Spencer's smile spread across his entire face, and he reached for the young woman's hand gently. "And who would you be? His aunt, perhaps?"
The woman smiled, "His older sister, actually."
"Spencer!" Carly shrieked, as Carl began to take the boy's handcuffs off. "This isn't what we-"
Spencer shushed her and turned back to the girl.
"I'm so sorry about what happened," she told him, with a pouty face. He shrugged. "No biggie. Now, what's your name?"
Her smile returned. "Stephanie."
"Well, Stephanie, allow me to show you to the kitchen."
They left the room, leaving Carly alone with the delinquent. He gave her a small smile that she did not return.
"Uh, your lip ring's coming out," he said, his voice sounding much huskier than she would have guessed. She rolled her eyes.
"It's fake," she said dryly, taking it and a few others out and placing them into a plastic bag. She looked over at him, wondering why he hadn't left yet. He caught her look and shrugged. "She's my ride."
"Spencer, tell your lady friend goodbye. Red hands over here has to go."
Carly knew she shouldn't be so mean, but the last time she let a bad boy hang around too long she ended up dating him. And as cute as he was, she did not need another bad boy. Stephanie, along with Spencer, came out of the kitchen wearing smiles.
"Carlton," Stephanie said sternly, "tell this nice man you're sorry and tell his nice sister you'll see her at school."
He did as he was told, but Carly stood dumbly with her mouth agape.
"School?" She asked, crossing her arms.
"Oh, yes," Stephanie replied, "Carlton is going to be attending Ridgeway starting Monday." She and the thief, Carlton, turned and headed towards the door. "It was lovely to meet you two," She said, smiling. Spencer was about to reply, but Carly beat him to it.
"Yeah, bye!"
She slammed the door shut and turned to glare at Spencer, who was still smiling like a kid.
"This is so awesome, Carls," he said, "maybe this time I'll get to smoochity smooch."
Carly threw a tattoo sleeve at him and ran upstairs.
After I wrote the majority of this, I had to go back and watch iDate a Bad Boy to make sure I wasn't accidentally copying the theft scene. Fortunately I wasn't.
I've had this story in mind for a while. It's exciting to finally put it out there. I'll probably update this weekly, not sure yet. Thanks for reading!