Notes from the drawing table: My first ever CHAPTER II ! All Gibby and Sam.

Just have to express my admiration for all those who publish multichapter fics. I'm finding out that oneshots are much easier.


The Summer Between

2. We Made It

"Gibby"!

Engrossed in the music and lost his own 'dancing' world, Gibby didn't respond so Sam lightly slapped one of his swaying hands.

"Yo, Sammie. Why'd you stop dancing? I was about to unleash some new moooves," he replied, and then almost tripped as he attempted a lumbering spin.

Sam chuckled and shook her head. "C-mon 'moves', let's go . . . I'm hungry."

"Wow, already"?

When she turned to walk away, Gibby reached out and playfully snagged a handful of long, wavy blonde hair and held her back.

"We've been dancing for like an hour," she said, squirming out of Gibby's long-armed grasp. "Lucky for you you're so big now, dude," she snapped. "I wanted to kill you back there when you were tossing me in the air like a pizza crust." Sam readjusted her disheveled cap and punctuated the threat with an angry glare that quickly transformed into an ear-to-ear grin.

"Just one of the perks of being Gibby," he replied, returning her smile.

"Yeah, well, I almost hurled this morning's perks all over your big, melon head. Bet you would've loved that," she said, jumping up to swipe at his hair.

"Oh - not cool, Sam. Never mess with the 'doo'," he flinched while lightly checking his gelled spikes with the palm of his hand.

"C-mon, Gib - I gotta get more of that jerk chicken. It was awesome! Let's hit that food court," she said, motioning with typical Samantha Puckett flare.

"True dat," he agreed enthusiastically, as he grabbed his little carnivorous pal by the right shoulder. "'Moves' . . . I love that"!

"Good, Gib, it's all yours." Again, she shrugged off his oversized mitt. "Let's find Carly and Freddie. They must be famished from counting all those blades of grass. And Gib - what's up with all the grabbin' on me today? You got a thing for me all of a sudden"?

"Nah Sammie . . . just feelin' good," he answered, tossing his oak-like arm around her. "It was a struggle but . . . we made it. High school is done. The future is set. Now we've got the entire summer to party and do whatever we want." Gibby squeezed Sam into his enormous body. "Yup short stuff . . . Gibby's feelin' good."

"Freedom, big guy . . . nuthin' like it," she agreed cheerfully, while unwrapping the happy giant's heavy arm from around her shoulders.

This was her favorite Gibby . . . 'Good mood' Gibby. It had been awhile since his last explosion, but nobody wanted to be around when 'Bad mood' Gibby surfaced. His incredible growth spurt had wreaked havoc on his system, which had resulted in some scary mood swings. Today was too nice of a day to worry about any of that, though. They'd been through a lot and had grown close over the last year, so if her best guy friend wanted to walk with his big-ole arm around her, then Sam Puckett could live with that.

Arms intertwined, they wandered back and forth across the lawn looking for Carly and Freddie. After ten minutes of searching, Sam stopped and dug her phone out of her pocket. "This is dumb . . . why are we walking around? I'll just text Carly."

While Sam pressed the button to wake up her cell, Gibby decided that he'd had enough of the sun so pulled his t-shirt on.

"Wait . . . Carly texted . . . no way," Sam exclaimed. "Here Gib . . . check this out."

Shading the phone from the sun's glare, he read the text aloud:

*drinking free beer in beer garden. meet us there! carly*

"Beer"?

"Free beer, Gib! I can't imagine how those two pulled that off, but let's get over there fast before they screw it up. That text was almost forty-five minutes ago."

Sam stuffed the phone into her back pocket and started across the crowded lawn, not so politely weaving her way around huggy couples, lawn chairs and picnic blankets. Free beer was almost as good as free food. Not that she drank a lot, but she'd attended quite a few 'senior' parties in the past several months and had developed a taste for good beer. After all, free was free.

Gibby, with his long stride, caught up quickly.

"Carly must be kidding, right? She can't mean beer, beer. How can it be free, anyway? They gotta be pulling our chiz."

"If I go all the way over there for nothing, the only thing that's gonna get pulled is Freddie's geeky head . . . right off his shoulders"!

"Pffuh. If you say so, pipsqueak," he replied sarcastically.

"Wha- "

"I can't believe Carly is drinking, especially after what happened last time," Gibby said, interrupting. "Spencer never found out, right"?

"Hell no, dude. I'd never rat out my best friend. We got a ride back to my house from Wendy's uncle - remember? We called Spence and told him that Carly had 'girly problems' so she was going to spend the night. He didn't want to hear nuthin' else after that. It was all cool."

Gibby didn't remember much from that night except for the huge mansion Wendy's uncle owned on the lake where they partied, and that they all did too much drinking. He agreed anyway.

"Oh . . . yeah. Your mom didn't' care"?

"You know how my mom is with that stuff: Kids will be kids. What Spencer doesn't know won't hurt him. Wait until she wakes up . . . that will be punishment enough."

Sam could usually count on her mother to keep a bit of teenaged mischief on the down low. She didn't make a fuss if her daughter drank an occasional beer at home. After all, Pam wasn't the strictest parent in the world. 'Samantha, I'm not gonna buy beer for you, but if you find a way to get it on your own, you sneaky little shit, I won't take it away. Just don't get arrested 'cuz I ain't bailin' you outta the can. I'd rather you and your friends drink here so I can keep an eye on you. And if you get yourself all drunk and sick, don't come crying to me.'

Motherly advice that could only come from Pam Puckett. Advice Sam found humorous because her mother was rarely home to keep an eye on anybody.

As they exited the amphitheater grounds, Sam tapped Gibby on the arm and stopped. "Gib, what did you mean before"?

"Before what"?

"Well . . . after I said I was going to whup Freddie's butt if they were lying about the beer - you kind of scoffed."

Gibby studied Sam's questioning face. "You want the truth"?

"Yes! What the he-" but before she could finish, a green golf cart marked 'maintenance', honked them out of the way.

They crossed out of the middle of the paved access road to the shade of the tree-lined sidewalk.

"Ok, Sammie . . . truth. Do you still really think that you can take Freddie? He's letting you win all those 'wrestling' matches, ya know. He loves having you on top of him, crawling all over him, pinning him to the ground or where ever. It's all a ploy. Freddie has you suckered. He's . . ."

"What? I can wipe the floor with that dork any day of the week"!

"Ok, half-pint . . . you keep believing that. Look at you and look at Freddie. You weigh a hundred and a bit and that 'nerd' can bench press three times that. He's playing you. He's not that wimpy little tech-geek anymore. I'm tellin' ya Sam . . . he's got . . ."

"Freddie will always be a wimpy little geek to me. This is a ridiculous conversation. Let's go before those two get caught and blow our chance to get our drink on."

Sam turned to march off but Gibby stepped in front to block her path.

"I thought you wanted the truth? Listen to me . . . haven't you noticed how often Freddie pokes and prods you into arguments now? You don't even have to start them. Like the other night at Carly's after graduation . . . we were all chillin' and talking about college and the future and all that"?

"Yeah. Freddie was being annoying and wouldn't stop with all that 'the Puckett Plague is about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world', so I slammed him. That shut him up."

"Oh, little one, you are so delusional," Gibby said, shaking his head. "What you couldn't see while you were on top of him was Freddie winking at me and making the mock 'help me please' face. He could have tossed you off and pinned you in a second. That wasn't the first time, either. Freddie's got a mad . . ."

"You're crazy, Gib. I think all that hair gel is seeping into your brain."

"Sam, he did the same thing the day we went to watch that JV baseball game. He kept buggin' that you had a crush on that kid who hit the homerun, Mark, until you couldn't take it anymore? So you chased Freddie across the outfield in the middle of the inning and attacked him? He came back with the biggest smile on his face. Freddie's just letting you do whatever you want because . . ."

"Because he's a do -"

"SAMMIE! Let me finish. It's because Freddie has a mad crush on you. How can you not see it"?

Sam looked at Gibby with a stunned expression that came dangerously close to turning into a smile, but she quickly recovered.

"Whatever," she snapped, darting around him. "The only thing that boy has a crush on is his mommy and all of his nerd-gear"!

Matching her pace along the shady sidewalk, Gibby continued.

"Sammie, you and I hang out a lot and I see the way you look at him. I saw you watching him chat up Becca in the lunchroom that day . . . the little blondie tenth-grader . . . the one who everybody says looks like you? You hate watching baseball. You only came with us to keep an eye on Freddie because you know that Becca keeps score for . . ."

"Dude"! Sam growled. "You and Wendy with all this 'I know you're in to Freddie' crap! I don't want to talk about this anymore. C-mon Gib," she said, stopping at the crosswalk, "let's just go get some beers – alright"?

"I'm tellin' ya true, short stuff," he said, stepping closer to his best friend, female or otherwise."In two months, Freddie will be away at college and you're gonna be here in Seattle and it might be too late for you guys. There will be tons of college chicks for him to choose from. None of them are gonna know or care that Freddie Benson used to be a nerd or what he was like when he was fourteen. He's bound to fall for at least one of them." Gibby put a hand on each of Sam's shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. "Sammie, that chick should be you."

Silently, Sam looked down and kicked at her yellow converse. "I don't know, Gib," she said, barely above a whisper then pulled away.

"He'll never make a move Sammie . . . so you're gonna have to."

She turned to face Gibby, ignoring the 'walk' signal.

"Why do you care about this anyway? NOT that any of it is true."

"I just want my friends to be happy . . . especially you, short stuff. Both of you are avoiding a good thing . . . and one of you has to do something before it's too late."

Peering up at her towering friend, she smiled sweetly.

"You're a good dude . . . Charles," she said, strands of blonde hair waving in front of her deep, blue eyes. Rarely did anyone use Gibby's given name. She did so only when they were discussing important or personal issues. An increasingly frequent occurrence as they grew closer and as their friendship grew stronger.

She offered a knuckle bump, which Gibby readily accepted.

"We should be working on getting you a woman, Gib."

"No worries, Sammie - The Gibster's time is coming."

Knowing Sam as well as he did, Gibby decided it was best to drop the discussion for now. Naturally guarded and cautious, Sam didn't express her true feelings easily. While she'd never actually said anything to him about liking Freddie as more than a friend, he could see it in the way she acted when Freddie was around. Freddie, under the influence of a few bottles of beer, may or may not have let his feelings for the girl whom he often referred to as a 'blonde demon', slip to Wendy the night at the lake party. Surprisingly, she wasn't saying much and Freddie hadn't said anything since. Sadly, it seemed as if his friends were content to remain as sparring partners forever.

No sense ruining the rest of the holiday weekend by pushing the issue, he figured. It was still early and they had the whole day, including the headliner concert at the stadium across the way, ahead of them. Anyway, he had his own relationship situation to ponder.

The duo crossed to where most of the food and vendors were set up. Rows and rows of stalls, selling all kinds of Jamaican themed food and merchandise, jammed the circular park. Irresistible aromas floated in the air. Still distracted by the conversation and unable to resist her gnawing hunger, Sam temporarily forgot about the chance for free beer. Gibby, always more interested in food than drink anyway, was happy to hang out and eat his fill. After they ate, Gibby and Sam meandered from booth to booth and browsed through clothing, jewelry and all manner of goods.

"Sam, how about this one"?

Gibby held up a light tan, linen, button down with faint brown pinstripes and an embroidered logo above the left pocket.

"Nice Gib. They got one in your size"?

"Yup. 3X - Tall. Perfect."

Sam reached and felt the material.

"How much"?

"The lady wanted fifty-five," he whispered, looking back to the ancient attendant who smiled at him, "but I think I can talk her down."

"Fifty-five bucks! You must be rollin' deep, big guy."

"I told you that my dad bought two more apartment buildings, right? He's rollin' deep. He gave me a butt load of money for graduation. I'm set for the summer with plenty to spare."

While Gibby haggled, Sam sorted through the jewelry a few rows over. Almost all of the pieces she liked were some combination of red, green, black and yellow. She settled on two simple, rope 'friendship' anklets for her and Carly and a necklace/bracelet combo for herself. Just twelve bucks total. She didn't have a 'rollin' deep' dad like Gibby - or much of a dad at all for that matter - so she had to be careful with her money.

Sam spun the anklets repeatedly between her thumb and finger and thought about Carly Shay and the bond they'd formed over the past five years. A few more iCarly's and that chapter of their lives would be closed. With college starting in the fall, she wondered how much she would see of her best friend. Their lives were changing fast and Sam wasn't sure if she was ready to let go. She started to drift back to her conversation with Gibby about Freddie –

"Are you ready, Sam"?

Gibby's voice jogged her back to the present.

"Uh . . . sure. How'd it go"?

Gibby proudly announced that he'd bargained down to forty-three dollars. He was wearing the new shirt, unbuttoned, exposing his t-shirt underneath. When they passed the stall where he'd made his purchase, the tiny merchant, who had to be at least seventy-five years old, smiled and waved.

"Tanks, Gee-bay . . . yu mek good haggla"!

Gibby waved back, "Thanks, Ezola"!

Sam couldn't restrain a giggle.

"Ezola? What was that all about"?

"I . . . don't really know. I think she thought I was cute."

Sam smirked and held back more laughter. "Yep - I'd say The Gibster's time has come. I'd get her number if I were you, big guy."

"What can I say . . . the old ladies love them some Gibby."

Sam's phone buzzed with a text that she read as they walked.

*where r u? PAR - TAAY! WoooHooo! Carly*

"Uh . . . Gib . . . I think we better find Carly and Freddie . . . fast."

Following paper signs that pointed to the way, they entered the expansive plaza whose centerpiece was the fifty-year-old fountain. Kids and adults stood close and allowed themselves to be drenched by the steady streams of water that gushed from the silver dome. Others ran back and forth, halfheartedly trying to dodge the intermittent bursts that erupted from underground jets. Shouts and excited screeches from the smaller kids brought back fond memories. Both had been there many times in their young lives. Today they had no interest in playing in the water. The only liquid they were interested in was beer. Possibly – free beer.

On the other side of the plaza, a temporary chain-link fence enclosed the area designated, 'beer garden'. It didn't quite reach the tree line that bordered the park on three sides. No one appeared to be checking ID's so Sam and Gibby sidestepped a wobbly couple exiting and waltzed right in. Gibby probably could have entered unchallenged anyway. His height often masked his age. Sam may have had a problem if anyone cared to look. Sam was a pro, though. She knew how to act like she belonged, even if she didn't.

Wooden kiosks surrounded several large trees near the center of the well-trampled lawn. Most had colorful awnings advertising some brand of beer. Others sold food, which Sam made a mental note of for later. Tinny sounding reggae music sputtered from small speakers dispersed throughout the park. White plastic tables of varying shapes and sizes stretched from fence to fence. Red and white umbrellas emblazoned with the Red Stripe logo, Jamaica's national beer, sprouted from most. As far as Sam could tell, nearly all the chairs were occupied with happy beer and wine drinkers.

"Where would you guess they are, Sammie"?

"If I know miss-goody-two-shoes and Fredmammas boy, they're hiding all the way in the back."

"Then all the way to the back it is."

They wandered down the middle aisle, vaguely defined by the spacing of the tables. Sam scanned to the right and Gibby scanned to the left. Nothing was still. Someone was constantly getting up from, or returning to, a table. A steady flow of patrons, like ants, streamed back and forth to the kiosks.

A group of three college-aged guys sitting at one of the tables watched as they approached. One of the three, a dark-haired kid, shirtless and muscular, full cup of beer in hand, stood up and spoke.

"Hey, sexy mama . . . why don't you ditch the gorilla and hang out with us for a while. Me and my boys - we know how to party."

Gibby froze dead in his tracks and shot a menacing look. Before he could say or do anything, Sam took the lead. An overconfident, loudmouth frat boy didn't intimidate her in the least. She approached kid but didn't say a word. When they were almost toe-to-toe, she took the beer out of his hand and drained it with one long gulp.

"So do I," she said, confidently, and handed back the empty cup.

The surprised frat boy looked like he was about to say something but he didn't. His buddies erupted in to fits of laughter and threw mocking comments his way as he sat back down, empty-handed and grumbling.

Sam had no idea why, but when she got back to Gibby, she pulled his face down and kissed him on the cheek, making sure the college guys were watching. Gibby didn't react. He continued to eye the group dangerously. Before his building rage could boil over and start real trouble, Sam tugged Gibby by the arm:

"Forget it, Gib – just another moron who's not worth your trouble."

Sam hustled Gibby away. She knew he'd grown used to comments about his size. Most of them, especially if they came from his friends, didn't bother him. Of all the insults the kid could have picked, he had to use 'gorilla', one that Gibby specifically hated. Please, let's not run into those guys anymore today, she hoped.

When they were about twenty yards from the rear fence, Gibby spoke:

"Holy chiz, Sam. Is that Carly"?

"Where"?

"In the left corner. Last table."

Sam's view, briefly obstructed, opened up. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Carly was standing on one of the flimsy chairs dancing slowly and shaking her head to the music. Freddie was holding Carly's chair steady with one hand so it wouldn't tip, and drinking from a plastic cup with the other. There looked to be six or seven empty cups on the table.

Sam and Gibby looked at each other with the 'what the hell?' expression.

"Oh shit, Gib," Sam mumbled low, "here we go again."


under the table: Clarification - in case the the portrayal of Gibby seems to not make sense. My Gibby has grown to 6'6" and weights about 260 - 300 lbs. He's partially based on twin guys who were seniors when I was a freshman. They were both 6'6", big and had the gentle giant reputation until provoked. Also partially based on a good friend of mine who is almost that big and full of good advice. Plus . . . I think Noah Munck is going to grow into a big kid. I like the ultra-cool, Tasha era Gibby.

The first three chapters take place in the Seattle Center complex. You can google it to see a map if you care to see roughly how the 'movement' in these chapters takes place. I'm sure there are many errors. I love the 'satellite view of my house' website!

I'm very disappointed with the grammar check that comes with Windows 7/Office 2010. It should be more strict. Anybody have any suggestions? I'm back to relying on my college writing textbook to correct my many grammatical shortcomings! At this pace . . . I might be forced to actually learn the rules of grammar by heart. What fun is that?

Happy Reading! (and writing) DTaC.