Disclaimer: iCarly is not mine, will never be mine, so stop reminding me of the fact that I can't make Sam and Freddie make out every single scene, mkay?

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"AHHH!"

I cover my face with my hands and roll over from where I was on the couch. Falling over onto the floor unexpectedly, ("Whoa!")I find myself collapsing on top of a shrieking best friend.

"Good morning to you too," I mock salute to her pale face. Grinning lazily, I stand up, kick a drooling tech nerd with my left foot, and stretch out.

Ahhh.

"Did you know that good morning is just as sufficient a greeting as falling onto someone uninvited?" Carly says, shifting her weight with support from the arm rest.

"But where's the fun in that?" I give her my best mischievous grin.

"The fun would be not breaking my collarbone," she groans, rubbing the back of her neck while collapsing onto the soft sofa cushions. "God, how scary was last night?" She asks.

"Well, judging by the fact that Frederica here is still passed out in the fetal position, I'd say it was pretty scary." I point out the dork still curled up on the floor, sucking his thumb. Hmm, I thought I kicked harder than that. "What's with the scream?"

"Just remembering last night, when the TV fell on us," she sighs, "delayed reaction I guess. Sorry if I woke you up."

Speaking of delayed reactions, I just remembered the dork's sucking his thumb. Eager to get a-moving with this new piece of information, I wave my hand, "it's no big deal, Carls. " I say, the cogs moving in my brain. "Hey, can you hand me the light blue camera behind you?"

Carly frowns, "I don't remember a light blue camera."

"Freddison probably bought it here for its proficiency in filtering the white balance or something," I say, "just give it here."

But Carly's frown deepens. "In fact, why are we in the living room? Didn't we shoot iCarly in the studio? "

"Spencer probably bought us here so we'd be more comfortable," I answer easily, "So how about handing me that camera?"

Becoming increasingly agitated, Carly's voice grew shrill, "Well, why didn't Spence bring us up to my room and Freddie home? Why the living room? He wouldn't leave us just sprawled out on the floor!" At that, Freddie groans, probably being subconsciously reminded of the cold hard wood he is currently facing down on.

"Look, I don't know what goes on in Spencer's mind," I say soothingly to my frantic best friend, "and I bet you he doesn't either. But right now, my mission is to take a picture of my infant of a technical producer, so could you help me with that?"

Carly hesitates, wanting to go on. But she nods resignedly, knowing it was fruitless to argue with me until I've accomplished my mission, although she still looks troubled. She reaches to the couch to try to find the camera by feel, and suddenly, I realized my senses weren't all that sharp at the moment either. Carly's profile was a blur, and her perky sounding "got it!" ringed in my ears. Must be what a hang over feels like, I thought. Wow, if drinking too much equals to being knocked out by a giant TV in a thunderstorm, I am definitely having some words with my mother.

Head spinning, my fingers barely caught the camera as Carly throws it to me, it fumbles between my fingers and I feel oddly pathetic.

"Well?" Carly looked at me expectantly, hoping that I'd finish with the photo soon so we can discover where the camera came from. So I snapped a shot and suddenly felt better. Figures.

Looking at Carly, I grin. "It's perfect," I declare, settling back to the couch and scooting closer to her. "Look at the way the slobber contrasts with his brown hair," I point. The corner of Carly's mouth curls up to an amused half smile and she lets out a small laugh. Encouraged by the fact my friend looked less edgy than she has all morning, I go on to describe how the formation of drool on his chin makes a perfect Pisces sign and how that makes him a nub-ass-wimp face until Carly and I were laughing our heads off, shooking the couch.

"And - and," I said between snorts, "see the blob of drool over there on Freddie's right arm? It almost makes him look like he has biceps!" At the thought of the meek geek (hee) having any sort of muscle, I burst into giggles, but I was laughing alone, as Carly - for whatever reason - stopped laughing. Instead, she was examining Freddie carefully.

I pause. "It's over there, by his head?" I point out helpfully, "Don't they look like biceps?"

Carly looks at it closely, "those are biceps," she points out.

I laughed.

"No, I'm serious." Carly says seriously.

Deciding to humor my delusional friend (she must have hit the ground hard), I took a look at Freddie. The blob that I thought I saw wasn't there, instead, there was a bump on the arm, and it - it did look like muscle. Hm, how about that. I still wasn't convinced, so I reached out and touched it.

Nice, firm...holy crayola, those were biceps. My eyes bugged out, and so did Carly's, but that's probably due to the fact that I'd just willingly touched Freddie. "You're right," I tell my best friend. "These are biceps! The dork has biceps!"

And of course, that was the moment his eyes fluttered open. (what a girl.)

After five seconds of uncomfortable silence (which mostly consisted of me staring at the dweeb, Carly staring at me, and said dweeb trying to recall consciousness.), he says, "Why are you feeling my arm?" realizing I was still clutching - biceps! - to his right limb, I hastily drop my hand.

"I was trying to find ticks, if you must know." I lie.

He is not convinced. "Ha-ha, Sam. No, really, why were you groping my arms just now?"

I shrug, "you could change the subject all you want, it's not gonna save you from the ticks."

Rolling her eyes, Carly informs him. "You have biceps."

"…No I don't. Where did you get that idea?" He looks confused. We stared at him.

"Uh," He berates himself, "I mean, I'm sure I have them somewhere, but - I do work out and everything, it's not like I'm not totally unfit, and I do go jogging with Gibby once a week - alright, once a month, but - biceps?!"

Carly and I looked at each other. We lift Freddie's arm and pointed at the bulge.

"Holy batman!" his eyes widened. "When did I get those?"

"We're just as surprised as you are," I snort. Carly gave me a look. "Next thing you know, you're gonna grow leg hair." I poke the bulge.

Carly spoke up, "Where did this all come from? Muscle doesn't just grow over night. Just yesterday you had to ask Sam to open your water bottle for you."

"Hey, if it had to happen to anyone, I'm glad it was me." Freddie says.

I don't reply. Instead, I bunch up the skin in his arm and make it look like a face. "Hello," I say in a high girly voice, "I'm Freddo's bicep. It really sucks living on a dork-"

"Stop wiggling it!" he snaps.

"Don't tell me what to do, Benson, I'll wiggle it if I want to!" I snap back, wiggling it harder while staring daggers at him. He glowers back, and I think about how weird this must be for Carly, watching me wiggle Freddie's muscles while we glare at each other.

Carly doesn't chuckle. She looks to be deep in thought. "Lift up your pants," she orders.

"Huh?" Freddie and I say simultaneously. "Just do it," she says exasperatedly, as if she's talking to a bunch of eleven year olds. We're all fifteen! Granted, Freddie acts like an eleven year old sometimes, but with those biceps, he could pass for twenty...mm, biceps...

Obediently, Freddie lifts up his pants. He then let out a girly shriek. "That's leg hair!" he tells us excitedly, as if we couldn't already tell by the streaks of descending black hair, I was suddenly tempted to play line the dot.

"Looks more like fur to me," I say, but Freddie's too excited to jab back, he's running his hands through them and looking at them as if they're a newborn baby instead of icky black stringy things on a barely pubescent teenage boy. He used to look at Carly that way, I reflect.

"What is going on?" Carly demands, looking at me. I shrug.

The movements of the shrug made me realize that I was sitting on something; standing up from the couch, I pick the object up. It was a pair of horn rimmed glasses. (None of the Shay's need glasses.)

Out of curiosity, I put them on. Suddenly, my vision improved by quite a bit. It wasn't quite the right degree, as I could tell, because I was feeling woozy, but it was high enough that I could see things more clearly than I have all morning. Suddenly seized with a desire to see Freddie's arm muscle in high definition - he has biceps! I can't believe it - I turn around and examine the dork.

Holy crap. He's not the dork.

I must have looked horrified, because Carly snatched the glasses from me, "what's wrong?" she asks. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Uh, I have." I say. "Put the glasses on."

Confused, Carly obeys, lifting the glasses up and tilting them so the points landed on her ears. Then she takes one look around and screams.

I covered my ears and Freddie grimaced. "Why are you wearing glasses?" He asks.

Instead of asking the question, she gawked and points a finger at him, "You - you're hot!"

Completely baffled, he takes a step back, "uh, I'm glad you think so?" He says as if it's a question. Carly was still staring at him.

"Not that I'm not appreciating the new, uh - appreciation you guys have for me or anything, but didn't you say last week that though I'm endearingly adorable, I could never be seen as hot in your eyes and therefore could never be applicable as your future husband?"

"And you," he points at Sam, "once compared me to a kumquat."

I smirked. "Not my fault the resemblance is uncanny." He rolled his eyes.

"It's impossible to change over night." He continues. (Carly's not easing up on the staring. It's a bit creepy actually.) So, is it possible that I've always had those things – you know, been hot - , but you guys just realized it?" He looks kinda terrified that he actually said this out loud, but kind of smug too.

Carly and I just laugh in response. We laugh so hard that we put our hands on each other's shoulder's to support ourselves. Freddie's face turns beet red, but we just can't stop laughing.

"Sorry – Freddie -" Carly gasps, and then collapses into giggles. He crosses his arms and flops down onto the couch, waiting for us to be done. (it took awhile.)

After the last giggle subsided, Freddie sighs. "So I guess it's not that," he says.

Carly agrees. "Yeah, those bad boys probably took awhile to grow." she peers over at them, still wearing the glasses. She clears her throat. "Can I - Can I touch them?" She says.

Freddie looked startled. "Huh?"

"Yeah Carls - Huh?" I echo.

"I just wanna know what they feel like!" she protests in a small voice.

"Uh," he looked at a loss of what to say.

"Oh come on," she persuades, "you let Sam fondle them for like half an hour!"

I look at Freddie, and he looked over at me. "Weird choice of words, Carls." I say.

"Oh, you know what I mean." She replies, a bit exasperated. "So can I?"

"Sure, I guess?" I see Freddie nod. So she reaches out and touches them.

"They're cool." Carly says after a moment.

Me and Freddie nods our heads automatically, probably both thinking that a hormonal Carly is a scary Carly. Or he's loving it, who knows.

"So, let's figure this out!" the brunette chirps, as if nothing out of the ordinary has just occurred at all. "He can't have grown them and the leg hair overnight, because that's impossible. Something weird is going on here and we're gonna find out what." She states confidently, sounding more like the peppy-hooray-hurrah-student-council Carly that I knew and loved occasionally when she implements my ideas on the lunch menu. (No greens. Ever.)

"So first things first: did anything else about you change?" She asks Freddie. "Like, your foot size or pants size or -"

"I dunno, let me check." He sprints into the bathroom.

My eyes followed his exit, and eventually drifted to Carly's when I realized there was something different about her appearance.

"Carly?" I spoke up. "When did you get a hair cut?"

She tilts her head, "I didn't," she says, her hands reaching out to touch her hair, as if making sure it was still there. "It's always been brown and a little more than shoulder length."

"Not anymore." I say, and reached over to get the camera which lays forgotten on the couch. A quick snap and I handed it over to Carly.

"No way," her face turns white. "What happened to my hair?"

Knowing that she was on the verge of a major freak out, I say, "It's just a little bit shorter," trying to comfort her. "It's not even that big of a deal, it's not like you have a bob suddenly or anything."

"That's true," she agrees in a small voice. Just then, Freddie yells from the bathroom, "Carly!"

"Yeah?" She replies. "Did you find anything?"

"Well, my shoe size stayed the same, and I realize I have no idea how to check my pant size, so nothing really has - HOLY CRAP!"

"What happened, geekwad?" I yell. But he doesn't reply, all I could hear was the noise of shoes clanking against the floor and faint whooping sound, making me chuckle in realization.

Carly smiled, but she stroke her hair uncertainly. "Relax, Carls, you look fine." I assure her. "You'd look great in whatever, no mushroom hair or even that fuzzy lemon of a sweater you're wearing now could stop you from looking ten times better than me."

Carly laughed, "the sweater is a big ridiculous isn't it?" she chuckles. I nod, "Completely. Why are you even wearing it anyways? It's summer and it's like 85 degrees outside." I open the window. A gush of wind came through it and I shuddered a bit.

"It's not that warm," Carly argues. "It's actually pretty nice in the sweater. You look like you're freezing to death."

Just then, Fredward breezes through the bathroom door and comes out looking completely delighted. "Guys!" he calls out, excited. "You'll never guess what my-"

"Yeah yeah, we can guess, Fredward. Too much information," I cover my ears.

Freddie rolls his eyes and turns to Carly, "By the way, what happened to all those fancy soaps you guys always buy? All you have in there is dove and it's covered in red and purple splats."

Carly looks annoyed. She's always been OCD about those soaps. "What? Let me see." She dashes to the bathroom and I followed behind.

"Are you okay, Carls?" I ask, knocking on the door. Carly doesn't seem to hear me. "Oh my god, the lavender scent platypus is gone!" she calls out the bathroom door frantically, "Spencer is going to freak!"

"Where is Spence?" Freddie asks. I shrug, thinking the same thing.

Carly finally emerges from the bathroom. "We need to find out what's going on, now." She demands. Dragging us by our ears ("ow! My mom just cleaned it yesterday!" ugh, earwigs), she marches us to the couch and pushes us down.

"Okay, here's the plan." She says firmly. "We're going to think clearly, looking around, recount last night's events and we're going to figure out why this boy suddenly jets through puberty, and why Perry is with us no more. Rest his flakey little duck-beaked soul." She made a cross on her chest.

Freddie nods and stands up, but I cut in, "How about you two go up and look around the studio, and I'll stay down here and look around the fridge?"

"Are you gonna come up with us if we say no?" Asks an amused Carly.

"Not a chance." I deadpanned.

"Okay." She drags Fredward by the arms (hah) and they climb up the stairs to the studio.

Alone at last. Rubbing my hands together in anticipation, I half-run to the fridge and open its door, letting the scent of frozen food-things wash over me. Then I reached out to my usual place, grabbing a fistful of – nothing?

I mentally checked down the list. Second compartment, check - the walls decorated with little tiny dancing ham stickers, check - next to the ketchup, usually, sometimes in canned form, often wrapped in plastic. The ketchup was there, as it's always been, sitting in a little red throne that sung christmas carols for no reason at all Spencer had made one lazy Tuesday afternoon, but where was the ham?

Stunned beyond belief, (Spencer would never forget my ham. Never. He knows how I get.) I close the fridge door dejectedly. That's when I noticed that pinned onto the fridge, there was a picture of Spencer – and someone else.

The first thing that popped into my mind when I took a good look at the photo was Sasha Striker, the girl who Spencer had made out with that time he was obsessed with Pac-rat. The girl looked enough to be her, the same hair style, same body frame; same face, but matured, somehow. But it couldn't be her, Spencer hasn't talked to her in ages and he wasn't all that good with keeping up with former flames, anyways.

That was not the most puzzling thing about the photo, though. The puzzling thing was that in the background of the photo, there was a girl. Well, two girls. Two girls that looked a lot like Carly and me. Except, we were so much taller (and bustier), and I was hanging on the arms of Freddie. The strange thing is, Freddie looked exactly like he did this morning, but me and Carly looked like much older versions of ourselves.

Suddenly struck with a good idea - I am an idiot for not thinking of it before - I twist the kitchen faucet and splashed some water on my face and specifically, my eyes. Everything looked clearer. With a slight bit of trepidation, I moved my fingers around the photo, carefully removing it from the fridge, and held it up in front of my eyes, scanning it.

It looked like an ordinary couple shot. Spencer and - Sasha?- holding hands at a party, both wearing tremendous grins and Sasha patting her stomach for whatever reason. In the background, the older lookalike me and Carly were laughing and I look just a bit drunk, which probably explained why I was hanging on to Freddie for support and why he had a concerned look on his face. On the edge of the photo, it said in faded letters, 3/9/2019.

It's a credit to the size of TV that I didn't realize what it meant just then. But I did realize that there was noise outside of the hall, getting closer to the Shay's loft. Looking around for a place to hide (I have no idea why), I remembered that the Shay's had a mirror. Quickly forgetting about hiding, I ran towards it, positioning myself and – and –

I was the older version. The longer hair, the adult attire - I should have noticed - And suddenly everything that should have been obvious from the start dawned on me.

Carly didn't own a yellow fuzzy sweater. Freddie never had biceps. And Spencer never did promise he wouldn't ever forget my ham.

"Toto," I said to myself. "I don't think we're 15 anymore."

-

Kat here here here. This is my first chapter, and my first published fanfiction, really. (And it's not even on my own account, rofl.) So comment and tell me what you think, even if it's harsh, I LOVE constructive reviews, so send 'em! Click the green button! (See, I have learned :p.)

Ham ham pashmina afghan! for the people who liked it, and wobbly teabags! for the ones who don't. Special Ham if you just really, really can't wait til iFight Shelby Marx.

(And if you're wondering where Somer is...she told me to relay a very special message to you guys!

'somer is busy being awesome. leave a message at the sound of the beep.')

Yeah, she - I don't know. -shakes head-

Haha.

Bye.

P.S I feel like tacos.

P.S.S JUST WATCHED IFIGHT SHELBY MARX. I AM PSYCHIC. -POINTS UP TO THE SPECIAL HAM SENTENCE-