Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly.
(A/N) Seeing as not everybody has read my previous iCarly fics, I should mention that in my personal canon, Freddie talks to little people in his head while under great stress. Also: I have no problem with Justin Bieber. I respect him. I'm not a fan but I'm not a hater. I'm neutral. Any jokes at his expense are just that: jokes. I'd also like to mention that Carly's slight OOC-ness is intentional as she is a serious Bieber fan and that makes people a little...defensive of him. So yeah. I'm not really sure how I feel about this fic so I'd really appreciate your feedback.
Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this fic to my awesome Bieber-loving friend Smile_When_You_Cry who doesn't let the fact that she's a Justin Bieber fan turn her into a psycho and to my just as awesome friend angie2282. They are supportive of my writing, great friends, and contain extreme amounts of awesomeness. They definitely deserve this dedication. Freddie's Log:
Date- December Thirty-First of the two-thousandth and twelfth year. Time- Unsure. Location- Locked in my bedroom. Status- Unsure of why I'm talking like a Navy officer stuck in a cheesy action movie.
...
I know, I know. Not the best way to start an internal monologue.
But you know what, little people in my head? Let's move on. That lame beginning is in the past. Let's just focus on my life in the present. What about my life in the present? Oh, nothing. Just that IT SUCKS.
WHY DOES MY LIFE SUCK?
Because Carly's caught a horrible disease, Sam can't handle it, and I just want the both of them to shut up about it!
What disease has Carly been infected with?
BIEBER FEVER. YEP, THAT'S RIGHT. CARLY'S A 'BELIEBER'. SHE'S ALWAYS TALKING/TWEETING/READING ABOUT HIM. IT'S SO ANNOYING.
But wait! It gets better!
SAM HATES HIM WITH EVERY FIBER OF HER BEING. WHENEVER CARLY SPAZZES OUT ABOUT HIM, SHE STARTS LOOKING LIKE SHE'S ON THE VERGE OF SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION.
(For all the little people in my head who don't know what happens when you get a Bieber hater and Belieber in one room, let me demonstrate what happens with a simple math equation. Belieber + Bieber Hater= ANNOYING ARGUMENTS WITH ME IN THE MIDDLE.)
Now I suppose many of you are wondering why I'm locked in my bedroom. My reply: Patience, imaginary ones. All will be revealed soon. (Yes, I did have to sound like some weird, mystical guru when I said that.)
It all started exactly one month ago. It was about forty degrees outside. It wasn't Artic conditions but that didn't stop my mother from forcing four plaid scarves, two white long-sleeved shirts, two black woolen sweaters, five pairs of socks, and two pairs of thermal underwear on me. I was powerless to say no for my mother has ways that shouldn't be challenged by those who don't want their manhood severed. Why is this important, you ask yourselves? Well! I just thought you wouldn't mind hearing about my problems and giving me a metaphorical reassuring pat on the back.
BUT FINE. I SEE HOW IT IS. YOU JUST WANNA HEAR ABOUT CARLY AND SAM. PFFT.
(I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm just very frustrated right now. I'll try to be nicer.)
So as I waddled into Ridgeway and began shedding the excess amounts of winter garb (Garb. It's fun to say. Repeat after me. Garb. Gaaaarb. GARB! Yeah. You enjoyed yourself. Admit it.) as I scanned the immediate area to ensure that Sam wasn't within mocking distance. (In case you're wondering, mocking distance is about twenty feet give or take a nerd standing in her line of sight.)
After five minutes, I was down to only having one pair of socks to remove. Suddenly, Sam stormed over to me clad (I love my extensive vocabulary...) in jeans instead of the usual cargo shorts (not that I notice her outfits), a striped long-sleeve shirt, and a purple hoodie and knocked over the pile consisting of two plaid scarves, a white long-sleeved shirt, three pairs of socks, a black woolen sweater, and a pair of thermal underwear (don't ask how I got it off). I marveled at the fact that it wad forty degrees outside yet Sam decided to show up in clothes that should've had her shivering violently.
"Uhm...Sam? Any particular reason why you knocked over my clothes mountain...? And shouldn't you be dressed in warmer clothes?" I asked apprehensively. And I didn't actually care about the fact she wasn't appropriately dressed for the inclement weather. (Inclement. Yeah. I'm every English teacher's dream.) I just wanted to distract her from her anger. ( The last thing I needed was for Sam to add another bruise to my arm.)
"Shouldn't you be jumping off a cliff?" she retorted with a scowl.
"Why are you in such a bad mood? All I've done is breathe," I answer, ignoring her previous comment.
"It's all Carly's fault," she growled. Yep. Growled. As in the sound an angry dog makes. Only scarier. (Sidenote: I half expected her to tell me that breathing her air was a problem.)
"Carly? What happened?" I asked.
"She's been talking all weekend about Justine Bieber!" she exclaimed. I raised my eyebrows in shock.
"Justine Bieber? Do you mean Justin?" I responded, not quite believing my ears.
"Whatever! I hate the stupid nub and Carly won't shut up about him! If I see, hear, or even smell something related to him, I will beat up whoever's responsible for inflicting that on me!" she shouted. A timid-looking ninth grader wearing a T-shirt that said 'The Future Ms. Bieber' ran the opposite direction. (We haven't seen her since. There's a rumor she ran away to Nebraska.)
I personally don't get the big deal about him. Yeah, he's a good singer and does charitable stuff and all that chiz but why spaz out over him? I asked Carly this. She smacked me with a rolled-up poster of his. Yes, that's right. Bieber Fever has turned sweet Carly Shay into a Freddie-smacking fangirl.
Even worse, she and Sam aren't speaking to each other. And when I do force them to talk, Sam starts ranting about how much he sucks and Carly just shoots her a death glare and looks up Bieber-related tweets on Twitter.
IT'S SO ANNOYING.
Especially yesterday. What happened yesterday? You ask. I answer.
So, I was hiding from my mom in the iCarly studio. (She wanted to wax my legs to prevent ticks from hiding there. I finally grow leg hair and she wants to wax it off. Unbelievable.) I started playing World of Warlords on my PearBook.
Just as I was about to vanquish the two-inch Elf-lord of Region Nine, Subsection Eight, Village Seven-D, the dilipidated house on the large hill near a meadow, kitchen, lower left cupboard with the weathered knob facing northeast and take all his elf copper to trade it for this totally awesome ruby-encrusted sword crafted by the infamous blacksmith Romelius of the Hoobsher Fyords-
(What's that? You don't care about what I was doing? You just wanna know what happened with Carly and Sam?
WELL THEN. I GUESS I WON'T TELL YOU WHY I WANTED THE SWORD OR WHY ROMELIUS IS INFAMOUS. I'LL JUST GO BACK TO CARLY AND SAM. BE THAT WAY.)
So back to the story. I was just about to vanquish the Elf-lord I mentioned earlier when Sam stormed into the iCarly studio and slammed the door thus causing me to be distracted from World of Warlords and the Elf-lord killed my character (Sir Lord of Knightly Techiness. Or Bob for short.); Sam however was oblivious to this and angrily took a bite of beef jerky.
"What's wrong?" I asked her because that's the kind of caring person I am. (No, really.)
"Carly bought another Justine Bieber poster. That makes five! I can't go in her room without feeling eye-raped." she answered with a shudder. I didn't really know how to answer the eye-rape comment. (Partly because I felt the same way.)
"Why do you have a problem with her love for him?" I inquired. (Inquired. It's fun to say. Almost as fun as 'garb'.)
"Because it's annoying! Everything with her is 'Justine Bieber said this' or 'Justine Bieber went here' or 'Justine Bieber breathed this air'! I might smack her one day!" she huffed. This is when I realized the situation was serious. (I briefly considered correcting her on his name but decided I didn't want to die yet.)
SAM NEVER WANTS TO SMACK CARLY. IF SHE WANTS TO SMACK CARLY, THEN SOMETHING IS TERRIBLY AMISS.
So, I started worrying. I was afraid Sam would take out her anger on me so I bid her goodbye and calmly walked out of the studio and decided to hide in the elevator.
Thirty minutes later, a combination of boredom, hunger, and having to go to the bathroom drove me out of the elevator and into the Shay apartment. (Which might as well be my apartment when you think about it...)
Which turned out to be a humongous mistake.
Carly was red in the face and she looked furious. (Last time she was furious was when...Uhm...Gimme a minute...Oh forget it. Carly's never been furious. She's a saint with a suprisingly strong right hook.)
After assessing the situation and deciphering the shouts of "HOW COULD YOU-" and "HE SUCKS BECAUSE" and "I HATE-" and "JUST GIMME A BUCKET OF-" and " JUST GO EAT A PINEAPPLE, YOU-" and "-RIPPED IN HALF-" and "SHUT UP ABOUT-", I figured out that while I was gone, Sam had snuck downstairs into Carly's room and torn her latest (and most flattering, according to Carly) poster of Justin Bieber in two, smeared wasabi sauce on it, and stuck it in the fridge behind a carton of chocolate ice cream.
Carly had then walked downstairs twenty minutes later, opened the fridge to treat herself to some chocolate ice cream, saw the poster, shrieked, and they started arguing.
...
I don't know if I should be proud or scared of the fact I understood all of that from what little I heard.
...
I really need to get some guy friends...
MOVING ON WITH THE STORY.
So Carly got really mad at Sam for defiling her poster and Sam tried to defend herself by saying the Constitution clearly stated that she had the right to do as she wishes to posters. (In case you're wondering, Sam's failing Social Studies. And English. And Math. And Gym. And all her other classes. She's even failing this one class she isn't even taking. I don't know how.)
Then Sam caught sight of me and decided to make my day by dragging me over to where she and Carly were standing by the fridge to defend her.
"I bet Freddie agrees with me." she said smugly while latching on to my wrist. Her grip felt like hand-cuffs. I started wiggling my wrist to try to squirm out of her grasp.
"No, he agrees with me!" Carly responded as she took hold of my other wrist. At this point, I was literally caught in the middle of two angry teenage girls who were arguing about a guy. (Looking back on it, it's a miracle I made it out alive.)
"Uhm...Freddie doesn't really know what he's agreeing to..." I interjected, hoping that speaking in third person would get them to listen. Carly looked at me as if she just realized what I said mattered.
"Fine. I'll explain. Don't you think it was wrong of Sam to defile my poster?" she said condescendingly.
"Don't you think it's wrong of Carly to annoy us with her constant Justine Bieber spazzing?" she mocked.
"HIS NAME IS JUSTIN! NOT JUSTINE! HE IS A MALE!" Carly shouted, obviously infuriated.
"DON'T MAKE CLAIMS WHEN HE DOESN'T HAVE THE GOODS TO BACK IT UP!" Sam screamed. (That was mean of her. No need to act like he isn't a guy when he really is. And I'm not saying that because I know how he feels due to Sam saying the same thing about me last week.)
Carly gasped as if someone had purposely run over a puppy. (What? I didn't want to use the typical 'smacked in the face' comparison like everybody else!)
"TAKE IT BACK!" Carly shouted as her grip on me slackened. She was obviously enraged.
"I WILL NOT!" Sam replied. Her face was flushed with anger. Her grip on me also loosened and I started inching away from them. Once I was positive their attention was away from me, I sprinted out the door, into my apartment, and locked myself in my bedroom aka my current location. (Told you I would explain how I got here eventually.)
So now, I'm talking to you (you being the little people in my head) because my best friends have allowed Justin Bieber to ruin their life.
The worst part?
Theirs isn't even the first friendship to crumble thanks to this obsession with him!
Tureen refuses to even look at Wendy ever since she found out Wendy was a fan; Rebecca Berkowitz threw one of Gibby's sneakers at Rip-Off Rodney when he 'coincidentally' started selling water bottles around the same time that Justin Bieber came to Seattle (poor Gibby didn't even get his sneaker back); and the new exchange student [insert unpronounceable name here] from [insert unpronounceable country name here] is being alienated by her entire third period just for having one of his songs on her PearPod. (Good thing she doesn't know a single word of English other than 'I enjoy eating Fladoodles' or else she'd be really offended.)
I flinch as I hear a door slam and Sam's shout of "CALL ME WHEN YOU GET OVER THIS NUB-BAG, SHAY!".
...
I seriously need to fix this. Now. Preferably before the world explodes from the combined anger of Carly and Sam.
I need to make a plan.
I hear Spencer's voice shout "Carly, I'm home! And I brought Swedish lollipops! They taste really good once you get over the taste of tuna!"
I shudder at the concept of a tuna-flavored lollipop. Only Spencer.
WAIT! THAT'S IT! I'LL GET SPENCER TO HELP ME!
Maybe he can get one of Socko's many odd relatives who are all coincidentally named after their job can help me!
I decide that this will be my plan of action. I pick up a black permanent marker for no particular reason and head out the door. Thankfully, my mom is working at the hospital today and can't harass me with her insanity.
I reach my front door and almost run straight into Carly's face. She hurries past me, mumbling a quick apology and something about a replacement. I shake my head as I think of the crazy fangirl that has possessed the body of Carly Shay.
I step inside the Shay apartment and I see Spencer standing by the trash-can, emptying a bag of lollipops with a disgusted expression on his face. I decide I should cheer him up and distract him from his apparent disgust by complimenting him.
"Uh...Nice scarf you got there." I tell him. It is a nice scarf. It's black and has yellow light-up rubber duckies. One of the duckies is smiling somewhat demonically. Creepy.
"Yeah. Socko's cousin's nephew's daughter's step-mom's sister-in-law's father's brother's son made it for me." he told me while flapping around the scarf to show off its ducky glory. How he remembers that but not his cell phone number, the world may never know.
"Uhm. What's Socko's cousin's daughter's...brother's father's... sister-in-law's son's... step-mom's nephew's name?" I ask, struggling to remember the person's connection to Bob; I expect their name will be something 'Scarfo' or 'Knito' or some other name that matches their job. Spencer gets a look of mild annoyance on his face and sighs as if about to explain something extremely obvious to a small child.
"It's not Socko's cousin's daughter's brother's father's sister-in-law's son's step-mom's nephew's that made it; he's the one who makes mittens. The scarf maker is Socko's cousin's nephew's daughter's step-mom's sister-in-law's father's brother's son, Bob. I can't see how you'd confuse them. They're so different. Silly Fredward." he says as he pats my head. I'm not quite sure how to answer this so I'll just ask him about my plan. (Sidenote: I'm truly shocked that his name is Bob. I feel strangely empty. Huh.)
"Well...Okay then. I'm sorry but-"
"Apology accepted." Spencer interrupts as he places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a serious nod. (I worry about him.)
"Like I was saying...I need your help with-"
"Does it involve sewing a shawl for Australian hobos who appreciate women's clothing of the outerwear variety?" he asks seriously. I don't even...Why? I...You know what? I can't even formulate a proper witty remark about that. I just...Let's just pretend we didn't hear that, shall we?
"No." I reply.
"Then I'll help!" he responds enthusiastically.
"Great!" I say.
"Fantastic!" Spencer answers.
"Marvelous!" I exclaim.
"Amazing!" Spencer shouts, obviously trying to one-up me. Ah, hell naw! (Pardon my random moment and my foul language. That was...out of character for me. Again, I apologize.)
"Swell!" I shout. (What? There's nothing wrong with quoting Mickey Mouse! Don't judge me...)
"Every positive adjective in existence! And pie! Of the blueberry variety, no less!" Spencer shouts with a triumphant grin. Darn. I can't top that.
Wait. Wasn't I going to tell Spencer something...? Help me out, people in my head. (And you in the corner, I saw that. Not cool. Attempted chewing of electrical wiring is not only suicidal and frowned upon, it also has the potential to have you blow up and the last thing I need is for an imaginary person to explode in my head. I'd never get rid of the migraine.)
Ah yes, getting Carly and Sam to forget about their fight over their clashing feelings towards Justin Bieber. I look at Spencer who's staring off into space with a glazed, somewhat perplexed expression on his face. (God knows what he's thinking about.)
"Spencer? Can I tell you the plan now?" I inquire.
"Huh? Sure." he answers.
"You know how Carly and Sam are in this huge fight? Well, I need your help to get them to shut up about Justin Bieber." I explain.
"Justin Bieber's cool. He's Canadian. Canada's awesome. Even their bacon. Although it's technically sliced ham but-"
"Focus!" I interrupt to stop him from going back to daydream land.
"Right. Sorry." he apologizes with an abashed expression on his face. I feel slightly guilty.
"It's okay. So yeah, I need your help." I tell him.
"How?" he asks. I say nothing.
I haven't thought about that. I just assumed Spencer would be struck by one of his random strokes of genius and fix everything. I assumed incorrectly. Sigh.
"Uhm. How can we get them to see that their fight is incredibly stupid?" I ask. A look of deep thought appears on his face.
"I've got it! We use my tie!" he exclaims, appearing quite pleased with himself.
"How would we use your tie?" I inquire, not entirely sure that I wanna hear the answer.
"Oh, that's right. The other purpose doesn't apply here..." he mutters. I'm tempted to ask what this 'other purpose' is.
...
Best not to ask.
I let out a frustrated groan.
"How can we get those two to see that this fight is so stupid? It's like they're blind to the stupidity! If only they could see how they look to the rest of us!" I shout.
"That's it! I've got it!" Spencer yells as if he's had an epiphany.
"What? What'd you come up with?" I ask excitedly! Maybe he's got a brilliant idea! Maybe this'll fix everything! Maybe this will be the solution to everything! Maybe this'll-
"What if we took pie and pudding and combined them into one dessert? That'd be amazing! People would no longer worry about having to choose between pie and pudding! They can just order pie-pudding!"
-be the weirdest thing Spencer's ever said. Grr. I let out another frustrated groan.
"Spencer! Focus! We need to make Carly and Sam see how idiotic they're acting!" I shout. If only we could show them their stupidity-
"That's it! We film them while fighting and show them the video!" I scream.
VICTORY IS MINE. OH YEAH. METAPHORICAL TRIUMPHANT HAPPY DANCE.
Spencer frowns. "Not as good as my idea." he mumbles and starts to stomp upstairs.
"Where are you going?" I call out after him.
"I'm telling the Internet the awesome idea that you can't appreciate!" he answers; he's obviously upset with me for not talking . Well, look who's being a Mr. Grumpy Pants. A guy gets a light-up rubber ducky tie and all of a sudden, he has the right to talk to me like that! (Besides, Spencer unleashed on the Internet is not a good thing. We still get cops showing up at our door from whatever happened last time. All I know is that it involved a sweater vest, a Wal-Mart employee, a cheerleading pom-pom, a blog, and a very angry old lady.)
Then again, he's a Mr. Grumpy Pants who needs to help me with my totally genius plan.
"Spencer! Come back! I need your help!" I say. Spencer halts. He doesn't turn around. He stands there with his hands in his pockets as if he's considering something important while trying not to be angry. (Someone tell me when my life turned into an episode of Degrassi.)
"Please help me. We'll make pie-pudding as soon as we get them to make up. We'll show it on iCarly and everything..." I say in a desperate attempt to convince him to assist me. Spencer sighs like an action hero stuck at a crossroads. (Part of me wants to smack Spencer and tell him he's not Denzel Washington or Johnny Depp. The other part of me is wondering how the chiz I'm going to make pie-pudding.)
"Sure, Freddie. Sure." he answers as he walks down the stairs, places a hand on my shoulder (...again), and looks me dramatically in the eye. I glance from side to side while entertaining the brief notion that I'm on some reality show that's purposely caused the past month of my life to be this complicated just to get viewers. (And no, I'm not a conspiracy theorist! Just because I believe in aliens, the zombie apocalypse, reality shows conspiring against me, subliminal messages in little kids' shows, and...You know what? Maybe I am a conspiracy theorist...)
"So, should we start now?" I ask, eager to end this awkward moment.
"Sure." he answers. I rub my hands together for whatever reason it is that people rub their hands together in order to brace themselves for something.
"Okay. Go get my hand-held video camera from the iCarly studio and I'll figure out where we can hide it so that Carly and Sam don't see it." I tell him.
"Got it!" he answers while giving me a thumbs-up. Spencer turns around and starts to run up the stairs.
"It's not safe to run up the stairs!" I yell.
"What are you, my mother?" Spencer responds. Two minutes later, I hear a thud and a yelp of pain. (Oh, Spencer. What will we do with you?)
I shake my head and scan the room. Now where could one hide a video camera? If I hide it someplace too obvious, they'll notice and the plan will not work. And the plan needs to work as it is the last chance for me to keep the few shreds of sanity that Sam hasn't destroyed.
Couch? Someone might sit on it.
Ceiling? I refuse to hang my property from a ceiling.
Fridge? Sam might eat it. (Raw, no less.)
On top of the television? Too obvious.
On the floor? Might get stepped on.
In one of Spencer's sculpture of a robot made out of plastic water bottles? That's crazy.
And yet...
It just might work.
"SPENCER!" I shout from the base of the stairs.
"WHAT?" he shouts.
"COME DOWN HERE!" I respond. Some seconds later (what? It's not like I'm going to bother counting the number of seconds took!), Spencer was at the base of the stairs, tangled in cables with my hand-held video recorder dangling from his hair. Uhm. I'm not going to bother commenting on that.
"So, I figured out where we can hide the camera." I tell him while carefully removing my camera from his hair.
"And I figured out why Carly doesn't allow me to set up electronic devices." he informs me. I don't like the sound of that. Sigh. I'll deal with it later. Right now, I just need to fix Carly and Sam's friendship.
"Okay...Well, how do you feel about removing some of the bottles from your Bottle Bot sculpture and hiding the camera there?" I ask.
"Sure, go ahead. As long as you promise not to get angry at me for what I did." he answers. I'm tempted to go upstairs, inspect the damage, and scream at him. I clench my fists. Think of your mission, think of your mission, think of your mission...
"All right...I promise." I say. (I'm going to regret it later, I just know it.) Spencer smiles.
"All right! Now let's remove some bottles from my robot to hide your video camera in there!" Spencer says excitedly.
"Good thing he's not real. Then it'd probably be really painful..." Spencer says somberly. (I worry about him.)
I walk over to the Bottle Bot and Spencer follows. I'm about to grab some of the water bottles in the robot's chest when Spencer suddenly smacks my hand away.
"Not there! That's where his plastic heart is!" he scolds. (I give up on trying to understand Spencer. I really do.) Spencer then tears out some water bottles barely two inches below where my hand was. I give him a 'What the chiz?' look.
"What? He didn't have any vital internal organs in that particular place." he says with a shrug. He rips out another water bottle.
"There. That's enough space to hide it." I say and place the video camera there.
"What now?" Spencer asks.
"Now, we hide behind the Bottle Bot and lure Carly and Sam over here. We get them to fight, film it, show it to them, and voila! Justin Bieber-related fight is over!" I answer. Spencer chuckles.
"You said 'voila'...Normal teenage boys don't do that..." he teases while poking my rib. I scowl at him.
"Whatever. Now I just have to figure out how to get them both over here..." I mutter. Spencer gives me a disbelieving look.
"Really? You don't know? Just text Sam and tell her we have that bacon-flavored ice cream she loves so much. Then, take that black marker that's sticking out of your pocket, draw on a poster of Justin Bieber, and when Carly gets home, tell her Sam did it. Then they fight and we film it." he tells me. My mouth drops slightly open in shock. How Spencer goes from talking about pie-pudding to coming up with a genius plan, I'll never know.
"That's brilliant!" I tell him. A satisfied smile spreads across his face.
"Just go upstairs to Carly's room and bring me a Justin Bieber poster while I text Sam." I say. I whip out my phone out of my pocket and send Sam the text/bait as Spencer runs upstairs, trips, and continues running upstairs. (He never learns, does he?)
I wait for Spencer to come back downstairs. As soon as he returns and hands me the poster of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named (and no it's not Voldemort; so shut up, all you Harry Potter-addicted wise guys in my head), my phone buzzes with Sam's reply. It reads I'll be there as soon as possible. Eat a single bite without me and you will wake up tomorrow among the Canadian hobos. (Gotta love her nice way of putting things. And yes, that was sarcasm.)
I put my phone back in my pocket and take out the black marker. I walk over to the couch and take a seat and Spencer imitates my actions. I uncap the marker, lay the poster on the coffee table, and shudder as I look at the poster. (It's like he's staring through my very soul. Creepy. I feel eye-raped again.)
I take my marker and scratch out his eyes. That's better. No more teen pop sensation piercing my soul. I scribble over his smile. I decide that sometimes the cliché way is the way to go and sketch a moustache and glasses on his face. Spencer snatches the marker from me and quickly draws a penguin in a tuxedo sitting on Justin Bieber's shoulder while poking him with a sharp stick. Well, way to make me feel like a sucky artist, Spencer. (What's that? I ama sucky artist? I remember a time when my head was populated by nicer imaginary people. Humph.)
I take the marker back from Spencer and set it down on the table. I inspect the poster. It seems defiled enough. Carly's fury will be whipped up enough to make for a good fight with Sam. I hear a knock on the door.
"Frednub, it's me Sam! Open the door! I want my bacon-flavored ice cream!" Sam yells. (Note how she refers to the ice cream as 'hers' even though I told her it was Spencer's.)
Spencer and I leap up from the couch and hide behind the Bottle Bot just as Sam punches open the door and shatters the lock. Spencer frowns and mumbles "Now I have to ask Socko if he's related to any locksmiths..."
Sam looks around. "Fredini? Spence? Are you guys here?" She paces around for a few moments and shrugs. "More for me!" She walks over to the kitchen and opens the freezer. She starts drumming her fingers against the fridge door as she searches for the bacon-flavored ice cream that isn't there.
The three of us whip our heads towards the entrance to the apartment as we hear a horrified gasp that obviously belongs to Carly. I quickly press the record button on my video camera.
"SAM! HOW COULD YOU?" she shrieks as she holds up the ruined poster of Justin Bieber. Sam smiles at the sight but quickly hides it when she sees the anger evident in Carly's face.
"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'D DO THIS TO ME!" Carly shrieks. (And yes, the sound does pierce my eardrums.)
"What? How dare you accuse me without proof!" Sam yells indignantly. Spencer nervously starts stroking his light-up rubber ducky scarf. (One of the rubber duckies still has that demonic smile...)
"I do have proof! You were alone before I walked in! Therefore, nobody else could've done it!" Carly shouts, a triumphant gleam momentarily replacing the anger in her eyes.
"Why would I waste my time drawing on your stupid Justine Bieber poster?" Sam yells, fury becoming more evident in her face. (If only Justin Bieber knew what he does to people...)
"JUSTIN! NOT JUSTINE! JUSTIN! JUSTIN, JUSTIN, JUSTIN!" Carly shrieks (seriously, what's up with all the shrieking on Carly's part?).
"I'M SORRY, I FORGOT TO CARE!" Sam shouts. Carly clenches her fists.
"I'm kinda starting to regret this..." Spencer whispers.
"Remember, it's for the greater good. We've got to end this once and for all." I whisper in response.
"APOLOGIZE!" Carly shrieks (...again with the shrieking).
"Okay." Sam says calmly. Carly looks taken aback for a moment but quickly composes herself.
"Go ahead. I'm waiting." Carly tells her. (Could this fight be about to end? Dare I hope it?)
"I'm sorry." Sam says. Carly smirks triumphantly. Carly's about to say something but Sam shushes her.
"I'm sorry that you have nothing better to do with your life than spaz out over some ugly girl who needs a new hairstyle." Sam says. Carly's mouth opens in shocked anger. She's about to start shrieking again when something happens that nobody expects.
Spencer's light-up rubber ducky scarf catches on fire.
"OH MY GOD!" Spencer shouts as he quickly whips off the scarf and runs over to the couch. Carly shrieks (I swear she's going to make me go deaf by the end of today) and Sam looks at me confused as I dash away from the burning scarf. The flames spread a little further among the scarf. We all let out little girl screams. Carly grabs the poster, runs over to the flames, and starts using the poster to stamp out the flames.
Sam immediately runs over to the kitchen and grabs a fire extinguisher from a cabinet under the sink. She runs over to the scarf (half of which is now ash) and sprays it with whatever the contents of fire extinguisher are.
What are me and Spencer aka the men of the situation doing? Biting our lips in fear as we let Carly and Sam save the day.
The fire dies out and Carly and Sam stare at the pile of ashes next to the Bottle Bot (who now has slight burn marks on his left foot). A
After a few minutes, Carly breaks the silence.
"I'm sorry Sam. Do you forgive me?" she says. She turns to look at Sam with a somewhat nervous expression etched across her face. Sam smirks.
"I'll forgive you if you forgive me." Sam answers. Carly lets out a relieved sigh and hugs Sam. Sam winces (she's always hated hugs) but eventually returns the embrace.
"Friends again?" Carly asks.
"Friends again." Sam answers. Me and Spencer look at each other and fist bump in honor of our victory.
"So about that pie-pudding, Freddie..." Spencer says. I start wondering how I can avoid making pie-pudding with Spencer when Carly's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Hey Spence? What's this video camera doing here?" Carly asks. Sam's eyes narrow in suspicion.
"And why does it have a recording of the fight me and Carls just had?" Sam asks, giving me and Spencer questioning looks. Spencer and I exchange panicked looks. How exactly do we explain what we did?
"Well you see..." I say. Carly and Sam start walking closer to us, their arms crossed and angry expressions forming on their faces.
"The thing is..." Spencer says, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. (You'd be scared too if you knew you were thisclose to the wrath of teenage girls.)
"Now don't get the wrong idea here..." I tell them while holding my hands up in defense.
"Would this be a bad time to ask about the pie-pudding?" Spencer whispers. I glare at him.
"Yeah, Spencer. It is." I whisper in response. I go back to looking at Carly and Sam who look furious.
"I'm sure if we all just calmed down and talked it out..." I say in a lame attempt to defuse the ticking time-bomb that is my current situation.
Sam grabs the used fire extinguisher.
Carly grabs a pillow.
Me and Spencer run out the door.