Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly. If I did, Creddie wouldn't exist.
"Oh come on, Gibby's sweet, and cute, and fun, and…" Sam andFreddie looked at me incredulously. "There's gotta be something wrong with that chick," I lied, agreeing with my friends.
That was a few hours ago, right after a special iCarly. Freddie had successfully proven that he hadn't tried to kiss Tasha, Gibby's girlfriend, after a mishap that made her fall on top of him. After Gibby had taken Tasha back, they had walked off hand in hand. I could feel my face flush, and my heart was heavily filled with envy.
"Carls, you okay?" Sam asked, tossing a pillow at my head, removing me from my thoughts. She was sprawled out on the coffee table in front of the television, with the colorful flashes of Girly Cow reflecting off of her body.
"Peachy," I responded, tossing the pillow right back. "What's this episode about, anyway?" I laughed, pointing at the screen.
"Girly Cow and Manly Bull are dating but Girly Cow keeps flirting with Gnarly Duck," Freddie absent-mindedly reported, his eyes fixated on the screen. Sam and I gaped at him- he was actually watching it? I wasn't even paying attention.
"What? I watch it for the graphics!" he defended himself. Sam smirked at him, and catapulted the pillow towards his stomach. "Oof," he whispered, gulping and standing up.
"Aww, did I hit Fwedwad too hard?" Sam laughed, standing up as well. As Freddie walked around the couch to "regain feeling in his gut", Mrs. Benson ran through the door.
"Freddie! Are you hurt? I heard you cry for help!" she wailed, dragging her twenty pound "portable" first aid kit through the door.
"Mo-om! I'm fine!" he shook off the intrusive prods from his mother, his face flushing furiously.
"Good, good," she accepted that answer. She glanced down at her watch. "Oh, we need to go. Right now!" she grabbed Freddie's arm and pulled him out the door.
"What? Why?" he screeched, trying to stop his involuntary transfer.
Mrs. Benson tried to lower her voice. "If a boy wants respect from his peers, he has to let Mommy wash his ears." This was followed by sniggering from Sam and me. It's not that I didn't respect Freddie- I did. Sam clearly didn't, but I couldn't help but laugh at Mrs. Benson's antics. She meant well, but she did it in a way that could only produce hilarity, unfortunately at Freddie's expense.
I heard him protest, "Aw, Mom, come on!" as to which she simply repeated the rhyme. Freddie grumbled and acknowledged us an angry good bye.
"Well Carly, I'm going to sleep," Sam yawned and went toward the door.
"You're going home?" I asked, shocked. Sam barely went home anymore. She basically lived with Spencer and me.
"Hell no," she bluntly retorted. "I'm locking the door to make sure Benson doesn't decide to come back in. Momma's sleeping on the couch in a little tank top, and Momma don't want him walking in on me and my boobs."
I had to laugh at that one. It was no secret, even though Sam never passed up an opportunity to insult Freddie, that she loved him. And he loved her too. Gibby and I had often spent lunch periods watching them playfully fight and subtly flirt. We knew we had to get them together.
A lot of other people can't see Freddie and Sam together. But opposites attract, you know? She's just the right amount of aggression and mischief for him, and he's the perfect blend of nerd and sarcasm for her. There's a whole forum on our site for the 'Seddie' fans. I'm personally glad 'Creddie' has lost its popularity. After Freddie saved my life and we dated…and then broke up because of the bacon concept… he had adamantly stopped crushing on me, which was a relief, because I didn't know how much more of it I could tolerate. I just wanted to slap him and say, "Stop it, you nub! I love Gibby! And unless you decide to become him, there's no way we can ever be together!"
I don't really know why I didn't go for it earlier. We've known each other forever. He was my first best friend, way before I met Sam. We were in the same day-care…
"Hi!" said the shirtless boy, approaching me as I toyed with the blocks on the rug.
"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" I shrieked. I was staring up at his stomach rolling over his pants. I smiled as I zoomed in right below his belly button. "And that's a cute birthmark," I commented, poking it. "It looks like a meatball."
"I know, right?" he exclaimed, giving me a high-five. "I'm Charles Gibson, Gibby for short."
"I'm Carly Shay, just call me Carly," I responded. "Want to play blocks?" I asked, passing him a red one.
"How'd you know my favorite color was red?" he questioned, his eyes growing wide.
"I don't know! It's a pretty color!" I mumbled. I wasn't going to tell him I had spied on him and Freddie when they finger painting. Freddie had scribbled out a robot, and Gibby's was a meatball, covered in sauce.
"True dat!" he beamed. "It's the color of meatballs!"
When I met Sam a few years later, Gibby was left behind. But my feelings for him grew, especially because I was admiring from afar. Which is kind of hot.
"You want any of this pork roast?" Sam yelled from the kitchen. "It's kind of hot," she warned, putting some on a plate for me.
"Like Gibby," I sighed, dreamily.
She stopped her scooping and stared at me. "What?" she yelped. "Carls, what the fuck?"
I stuttered, trying to find a cover. "He's like a pork roast, not hot!" I shoved her off of me, laughing. "Ew, Sam!"
"Oh, good. You had me worried there for a sec," she giggled along with me. She passed me the roast. "Here. Eat. Enjoy. Be one with the pork," she instructed monotonously, waving a chunk of meat in front of me on a fork. As I reached out to bite it off of her utensil, she quickly shoveled it into her own mouth, smirking. "Momma don't share her food," she reminded me.
Soon after we finished pigging out and the Girly Cow marathon ended, which was around 2 AM, Sam and I passed out on the couch. We woke up in the morning, to the sound of Spencer singing while flipping pancakes.
"Pancakes! Pancakes! Flippin' pancakes! One and two and blue and strawberry! Pancakes! I like pancakes! Carlotta does too! And Sam and Freddie-oo! And pro'lly Gib-ay!
"Hey!" I shouted, resulting in Sam bolting upright. "Shut up about pancakes!"
"You can't make me!" Spencer replied, starting on another verse.
"Panqueques?" Freddie asked, waltzing in through the door. He stared at Sam, with her hair all disheveled and her shirt pulled up a bit too much. "Uh, uh, uh…" he stammered, trying to look away but failing. At least I had some decency at the moment.
"Relax Benson, it's just boob," she mumbled, pulling her shirt down. I knew she was trying to play it cool, but her cheeks were too red to ignore.
"Sam, you're my little sister. No more boob talk until I leave," Spencer commanded. Sam apologized, shockingly. Sam doesn't usually apologize. She probably agreed with Spencer, she didn't want Freddie thinking about her boobs. Wait, yes she did.