Heyy, everyone, I'm baaack! I know I haven't update my iCarlys in super long, which is because I got really sick with Post Potter Depression - the number one leading cause of death in America :D It's kind of funny, because I completely hated Harry Potter until two months ago. Anyway, I was too obsessed to write iCarly for a while (if you like Harry Potter, I've written a couple of Harry Potter fanfictions - all oneshots. Check them out!). But I was rereading this story and I was like, "Hey, I'm funny!" And then I discovered two one-shots I never published. Huh.
Oh, and for anyone whose interested: I will be posting the next chapter of What Happens Next in the next week or so, I think (I'm pretty busy with school - I'm finally a big, bad eighth grader!). So, so sorry for the delay, but I am going to finish it.
Okay, all systems go. (I would do the whole genre and post/pre Seddie junk, but honestly I'm too tired to do that, and I figured that you can't all be complete morons.)
Definition of a Nub
"I'm not doing it," I announced as soon as I stepped into the library and caught a whiff of the air. It smelled like cobwebs, old lady perfume, and hand sanitizer. Three things that I distinctly hated. "I hate this place."
"Sam, you have to!" Carly insisted as I started to walk out, grabbing my arm. "You'll fail if you don't. And we can't work on the essay at my place. Spencer's having some big musuem director over and he hates all forms of children."
"And my place and yours is out of the question," Freddie added. "You know, for obvious reasons."
I chose to ignore Freddie, for obvious reasons. "I'm already failing Couber's class," I pointed out, wriggling my arm out of Carly's grasp. She had a pretty good grip, no doubt from years of restraining me. "I have nothing to lose."
"Getting a D isn't failing," she said patiently.
"It's pretty close," Freddie muttered from behind her. She stamped on his foot, nowhere near hard enough to hurt him.
"And you have plenty to lose. I heard her talking to Mr. Howard, and do you know she's considering giving you an F?"
"She can't!" I protested loudly, suddenly panicked. Failing a class and getting an F were two very different things in my book, separated by a thin line. Crossing that line was like suicide
"Quiet in the library, Samantha," Mrs. Carver, the librarian, squawked as she waddled by, wearing her multi-colored fishing hat as usual.
"Eat me, hat," I snarled, too distracted to notice what I was saying. Not that I would care either way.
Mrs. Carver stopped, then hurried back to us. "Did I just hear what I think I heard?"
I shook my head. "No, I don't think you did."
Mrs. Carver breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. That's what happens when you get old. Your hearing starts to fail you." She rustled Freddie's hair around, then toddled back to the desk. We all shrugged.
"What did Mr. Howard say about it?" Freddie asked quietly as soon as Mrs. Carver was out of earshot, obviously concerned about volume. Such a nub.
"Obviously, he agreed," Carly admitted.
"I've already gotten an F on a report card," I hissed urgently. "If I get another one, and in English -"
"- you have summer school," Carly finished for me grimly.
"You've got to get a good grade on this essay," Freddie said. Way to state the obvious, nub.
"Thanks, Sherlock," I snapped, running a hand through my hair. Then I glanced up. "How bout writing it for me?"
"No way," Carly said quickly. "You have to do this yourself, or you'll never be able to."
I groaned. "Fine. What's the assignment."
Carly pulled out a perky pink folder from her bag, and pulled a piece of paper out of that. "'All year, we have been studying how words can effect our lives'," she read. "'For this final essay, you must choose a word - it cannot be an adjective or adverb - and explain how it and it's definition have applied to your life and have helped shape who you are. Please include at least three specific details. Your essay will be composed of an introductory narrative, introduction and conclusion paragraphs, and three body paragraphs. Your final grade on this assignment will count for thirty percent of your final grade.' See, it's not that bad."
"I didn't understand half of those words," I complained.
"Just choose a random word, and write about how it relates to you," Freddie translated as he and Carly pulled me over to one of the tables in the library. "If you get an A on this, you could go from a D to a C minus."
"Gee, thanks," I said sarcastically as I sat down, though there really wasn't anything to be sarcastic about. He was still a nub. "What are you guys doing for yours?"
"My word is siblings," Carly said proudly.
"That makes no sense." I grumbled. Drat. I'd been hoping to copy off her.
"I'll explain when you have an idea." She smirked at me, clearly knowing what I had wanted to do.
"What about you, Freddiza?" I asked, turning to Freddie, who was already scribbling down words in his notebook. When he saw me trying to peek, he pulled it away.
"Extremes," he said suspiciously, watching me carefully.
"Extreme is an adjective."
"Or a noun."
"Don't be stupid, Freddie."
"I'm not the one whose stupid."
I heard my own intake of breath, the anger rushing through me, and the heartbeat echoing through my skull. "God, I am so sick of people calling me that! Just because I don't like school automatically makes me an idiot? I'm not stupid, you know. I'm not stupid!"
I wasn't mad at exclusively Freddie - lately I'd been hearing this from teachers, my mother, people I passed in the hallways. Detention, sassing adults, and loving jerkey always make you stupid in the minds of other people, and it was really starting to make me angry. By the time I finished, I was yelling. We all glanced over to Mrs. Carver's desk. She was asleep.
"I'm not stupid," I repeated stubbornly, softer this time. I locked eyes with Freddie without glaring. Then I stood up, and walked rigidly yet quickly away.
When I got to the dictionaries, I slowed down (I could use it to brainstorm for my essay) and quietly glanced over. Carly was whispering furiously to Freddie, who looked guilty. Her expression reminded me of those on the faces of young mothers, lecturing their four year old sons about stealing candy from the drug store and teasing their little sisters -
Ha ha, very funny Carls, I thought, realizing what 'specific detail' Carly must be using for her essay. Of course. Me and Freddie were the siblings. We were always fighting, we had an obvious rivalry, and we only knew each other because of nessecity. Yet, I suppose you could say that, when it really mattered, we were there for one another. How clever of her. And corny. And untrue.
The whole thing made me even more angry and worked up then I had been before. I opened the colossal dictionary with more force than needed, wrinkling my nose at the smell of coffee and dead animals (someone seriously needs to tell Mrs. Carver about a little product called air freshener). I'd opened to the N section. Sighing, I ran my finger down the page, reading off the words in my head. Next, nibble, nickname, nightmare, nitrogen, no, nonsense… all boring, and nonexistent in my life - another word on the page.
I glanced at the next page. Nose, notary, nothing, novelty, November, noxious, nuance, nub, nugget -
I stopped and went back to nub, a smile creeping onto my face. I didn't know it was an actual word. I almost called Freddie over to tell him his name was in the dictionary, before I remembered I was still mad at him. I can enjoy this myself. I read the definition;
Nub: [nub], noun; the heart of a matter, the main or most important part of a problem or argument.
I blinked. That couldn't right. I read the definition again. And again. And again. But it still didn't change.
All these years, I'd been practically calling Freddie my heart, and most important, and I didn't even know it? My head was reeling.
"Hey, Sam?"
I gasped. Suddenly, my heart was pounding. I whirled around. Freddie was standing in front of me. Nice timing.
"Yeah?" I managed to say, sort of breathlessly. His eyebrows creased. Paranoid, I reached behind me and slammed the dictionary shut.
"Are you okay? You seem kind of freaked out -"
"I'm fine!" I lied brightly, trying to calm myself down. I definitely was freaking out, which made zero sense. So what if the word nub had some stupid definition that no one had heard of? I tried to convince myself. No need to freak out. No one's going to care.
"Um, okay," Freddie said warily. He glanced around, probably searching for some sort of trap.
No, that's a lie. Freddie would care. And, for some reason, that was what was scaring me.
"Why are you here?" I asked sharply, not in the mood for any civilities. Unfortunately, that seemed to be exactly what Freddie wanted.
"Look, I just wanted to tell you that you're not stupid. You know I never mean half the stuff I say. I just can't think of anything worse to call you. But seriously, Sam, you can be really smart when you want to be. I'm sorry."
I was already off guard, but his words delayed mine even further. "And that's just not something Carly scripted for you?" I asked stupidly, completely disproving everything he had just said about me.
He grinned. "Nope."
"Well, all right then." I smacked his shoulder hard, feeling normality start to return when he winced. "You are temporarily forgiven, nub." I cringed. Normality left. The word was instinct. Thank God Freddie didn't notice.
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go make sure I'm not bruised." He smiled briefly at me before walking away, his hand rubbing his shoulder.
I closed my eyes, weak with relief. But it didn't last long. Relief never does. Freddie was a nub, and this time, I meant it literally.
Like it? Love it? Hate it? It's not my best, but I like the beginning. The "Eat me, hat" line comes from this funny Australian book, Goon Town, that I haven't read in forever and now really want to read again. If you read, can you please review?
Loads of love (and apologies for not updating!)
~ Cierra