Disclaimer: heeeeeelloooo. I don't own it.
15 Going On 25
Carly's POV
Written by Kat
"Soo," I say to my friends once we stepped outside. "When were you guys planning to tell me the big news?" I grin.
Sam and Freddie just stare at me. "I still can't believe it," Sam mutters, looking down at the floor.
"I know." Freddie raises his eyebrows, gesturing between him and Sam, "I mean, you and me?"
"Who da-thunk-it?" Sam agrees, examining the ring, which was at least 70 karats, set with six round diamonds, one brilliant (and huge, oh my god) center stone, and the letter P on the hinge, for Puckett. I was almost starting to get a little jealous of Sam. I mean, not that she's not cool and appealing and everything, but twenty five and unhitched was not part of the Shay master plan.
"Not me," Freddie shrugs, fiddling with his hands, looking – not…disappointed, but a bit uncomfortable. I felt sorry for the guy. It's not exactly a walk in the park to be engaged to someone who might bite your hand off at any given moment. Actually, I haven't talked to Shane in years (literally). I have no idea what the guy is like. He could have started a peewee babies emporium with Griffin for all I know.
Backing away from the scary thought, I shrug. "Well, I think it's adorable." I say, trying to break some of the tension. Truthfully, though, I thought they were an odd couple. Sure, they worked well together when Sam's not spit balling into his you-know-where, but it's just a slight bit strange to know that two people who you are practically siblings with somehow ends up together. I never thought of them that way, but hey, it was better than Gibby.
"At least I didn't end up with Gibby," Sam says, looking thoughtful. "Whatever happened to the shirtless wonder anyways?"
"I wonder," Freddie jokes. "Oh, you mean your brain? Not funny, geekazoid." Sam flicks Freddie's forehead, wearing a grin despite what she was saying. He grins back at her, then, realizing what he was doing, looks away.
Sam's grin dropped. "Is this gonna get weird, Freddork? 'Cause Mama doesn't do weird," she demands, grabbing a hold of his head and whipping it towards her.
"No, it's just..." he looked like he was searching for the right word. "Okay, it's pretty weird. And can you get your hands off of my hair?"
"Not until you get over it," Sam shrugs, looking defiant.
"How am I supposed to get over it with your grubby paws all over my face?" he complained.
"Just the benefits of married life, babe." Sam grinned.
Freddie sighed. "Okay okay, I'll try my best to be normal. Geez, woman, how did I ever fall for you?"
Sam considered this for a moment. "Probably my incredible personality and gorgeous figure," she answers nonchalantly. "Now where's the apartment? I'm starving."
I chuckled, "Some things never change."
It was pretty disturbing to see Sam unlock the door (with a key) to Freddie's old home and walk right inside like she was Mrs. Benson (Which, come to think of it, she will be soon. Hm...). I could tell I wasn't the only one who thought so, because Freddie crouched down on the ground and faintly croaked "I don't feel so good."
"Oh, come on Freddie," I manage to say. "It's not...that weird." Dragging him up to his feet, I was suddenly reminded that we forgot to ask for the key to the Mazda (and also forgetting there was one in the ignition). "Wait," I gestured to the boy, and knocked on the door.
"Coming!" I heard Sam yell, and Freddie slumped back down.
A few moments later, the door opened. "What's up?" Sam says, stepping out, hands cradling a bowl full of fruit. "Any problems getting to the car?"
"Well, actually, we kinda forgot to ask you for the key." I laugh self consciously. I hated making mistakes, but today was just so weird.
I see Sam nod, "be back in a sec." She disappeared, probably off to find Freddie's jewelry box. A moment later she reappeared, "here." she stuffed a remote into my hand. I examine it; instead of keys, it only had two buttons, one labeled "in" and one labeled "out". New technology! Freddie's gonna love this. "Cool, thanks." I nod.
"No problem," Sam salutes, closing the door. Then, I hear a scatter of pots and a whole string of Jesus' middle names. Soon enough, a furious Sam sticks her head back out again, and I notice that Freddie is laughing. "Benson!"
"Yes, dear?" He feigns innocence. I scrunched my eyebrows together, confused.
"Did you tie my shoelaces together?!?" Sam demands, face red. Ah, yes, that would do it.
He shrugged. "You told me to act normal." Freddie grinned triumphantly.
Sam considered this. I notice with a fear for my brunette friend that her hands are twitching towards the bowl. Probably for the grapes, and probably aiming for a new development of Freddie's. Then, her hands stop twitching.
"Fair enough," she says, looking down. "Good...work. Fruit?" She offers the bowl, now opening the door fully.
"I'll take a grape," Freddie grins, popping some into his mouth.
As Sam closes the door, the corner of her mouth quirked into a small smile, I reconsider what I've seen and think that maybe, they aren't such an odd couple after all.
--
"So, basically, strike up conversations with people who seem to know you, search for any memories you can. Photos, journals, online blogs, anything.," I finish, looking at Freddie.
He nods. "Got it. Hey, should we go back and tell Sam?" He pointed up to the apartment as we're walking in the underground garage, looking for the Mazda.
"Nah," I wave my hand. "She'll probably forget and turn on MMA."
He chuckles, then suddenly got somber. "I wonder what happened to Shelby Marx...what happened to everyone."
I shrug, "let's find out!". As we go around a corner, I spot the number. "Sixty three," I say out loud to myself. "That's the one."
"Good eye," Freddie says, and I can't help but think that his tone is different from all the other times he complimented me. Too bad I don't have my memories back now, as the new Oprah, I could probably decipher signals like this.
As we reach the car, Freddie (who begged to click the control) plopped down on shotgun, and I settled myself in my usual seat in the back of the car. It took a few moments for us to realize that no one was driving.
"I forgot! We're fifteen," I slap my hands on my forehead. "How the heck are we gonna drive this thing? We're not technically even the legal age yet!"
"Doesn't matter, does it? I mean, we look twenty five, hardly anyone's gonna guess that we're actually teenagers." Freddie tells me, looking positively giddy at the prospect of driving. Boys.
"That still doesn't change anything, neither of us knows how to drive," I point out.
"Actually, Spencer taught me a lot when we go 'man-bonding'." Freddie smile sheepishly.
"Yay," I sigh from relief, slumping back into the chair. Then, processing what he said, I sat back up in alarm. "Wait, Spencer taught driving to a fifteen year old?"
"They started when I was fourteen, actually."
"Oh my god."
"I never realized how much you talk in italics."
"Shut up," I poke him in the ribs absent-mindedly. He pokes back, and I was suddenly reminded of Facebook. Oh, good, I should definitely check if I have one once I get to Shane's.
Still poking Freddie, I quirk my head a bit. "How are you still alive?" I ask, genuinely curious. "I mean, a fourteen year old driving under the supervision of Spencer is pretty much a death sentence."
He shrugs. "There were some close calls," he recounts, "but most of the time he just had Socko pick us up." Upon my question glance, he paled. "You don't wanna know." He gestures. I figured the same thing, so I drop it.
"Well, we might as well count our blessings," I sigh. "How much do you know?"
"How to change the oil, uh, how to change a new tire, how to start it." He winces. "And I know what PRNDL stands for, but I did before we started the lessons, so."
"Oh my god we're going to die."
"Again with the italics?"
"I'm serious!" I plop back down dejectedly and fold my arms.
"Oh come on, I've seen Spencer do it a hundred times," He prods. "And I'm a genius with anything that requires motors."
"That may be true," I point out, "but a fried processor chip wouldn't kill you!"
"Come on, Carly, please? I'll drop you off first," he bribes.
"Come on? Come on? You, a completely inexperienced fifteen year old, wants to take a spin around downtown and bargain for our lives and all you can say to convince me is come on?!" I yell, feeling the anxiety catch up with me.
"Well…don't you wanna see your new life? Shane?" He says back, "and besides, how else would we get there?"
Nothing came to me at that moment. But once we're skidding across the street downtown, my face in a pillow and hysterical laughter coming from the driver's seat, a list of them popped up; we could have taken the bus, the subway, asked Spencer to drive us, call Shane to pick us up, walked there...
BOOM.
"Did...you just crash into that stoplight?"
"...uh huh."
"Let's take a cab."
"Right."
--
Exhausted and permanently scarred, I was dropped off by at the apartment entrance by a very nice Indian cabbie named Mohammed who I hugged and kissed a million times and swore to interview on iCarly, even though I have no idea where that films or even if I'm allowed to pick my own guests. Whatever, I'm here and I'm safe from Fredward Benson, Speed Demon and that's good enough for me.
Remembering what Spencer said about the doorman, I looked around and tried to find some sort of old, distinguished British-man type with names like Norman or Richard. Instead, I find myself examining the outside lobby. It was absolutely gorgeous, the kind that hotels would have. The ceilings were divided into squares, with crystal chandeliers that look like they belong in a fairytale. They and the fireplace on either side of the walls lit up the place, and I held in my breath while walking around, taking it all in and trying to remind myself not to squeal.
I've never been clumsy, but looking up made me dizzy and I wasn't exactly looking at where I was going, so it was no surprise when I bumped into someone(really, you all saw this coming) back first, tripping over my Miu Miu shoe's (Eep! I have Miu Miu shoes!). What was surprising was that he caught me, his hands over my waist and my head dipping down, and it was just like a fairy tale.
There's really no other choice when someone catch you by the waist but to look at them, so I did. He was totally cute, has the nicest smile and a symmetrical face (I love symmetrical faces), and my age! His best features were his eyes, though. They were a nice rich brown and I felt like I was staring into an ocean of hot chocolate.
"Are - are you okay, Carly?" He says, and I almost swooned at his use of my name. Until I realized his voice cracked.
Standing up so fast I almost slipped again, I quickly step back a little and rub my eyes. Yup, he was fifteen. That's teenage acne right there, alright.
Suddenly realizing what a creepy pedophile I must have looked like, I looked around self consciously to see if anyone saw. I didn't see anyone shooting me weird glances, but I saw a couple of people on the phone and realized that they could be calling 911 right now, so I definitely needed to make a quick exit.
Cleared my throat, I shot him my most dazzling smile. "Hey – uh -" I examine his nametag, "...MyKynnzyye? What kind of name's that?"
"Oh, it's a hip way of spelling McKenzie, ma'am." He informs me brightly, blushing a little. "My dad was gonna call me Mac, but then mom said that oh no, there are like million's of Mac's in the word, so dad told her to do whatever she wants but I was gonna be named Mac, so my mom became creative and decided on this for my name, I don't think my dad likes it though, because now he calls me Renesme behind my mom's back. I don't know what that means, but it sounds pretty demeaning, so I never asked." he shrugged shyly, realizing he was rambling.
I consider telling...MyKynnzyye where his new nickname came from, but I decide a barfing teen wouldn't be helping me much right now, so I just smile at him and ask him sweetly to open the door for me. I think he almost tripped over himself to get to it. To thank him, and, okay, just for fun, I blew him a kiss from the other side, and he actually did fall that time.
…Being a hot grownup is so fun!
--
After calling Spencer to ask for my apartment number which he inconveniently forgot to tell me the first time, and wasn't very helpful the second time either ("Where is your apartment? Why, it's everywhere." He chuckled wisely, probably stroking that invisible beard of his. God, one of these days I'm gonna cut off that beard). I finally reach it. Exhausted from climbing the stairs (because of course the elevator wasn't working) and ready to plop into bed, I realize that I needed a key card to get in; or more specifically, a doorman with the keycard. Groaning internally, I go back down the stairs, hoping to find one.
After squealing just a little bit at my downstairs neighbor's door, which had a giant "M. Cyrus" printed across it, I manage to find an old looking Asian man with a keycard on his hand. Trying to convey to him that I needed to get into my apartment, I jumped up and down and mimicked actions like I did that time I went to Japan. But apparently not all Asian people are as good at charades, because he shot me a glare and slipped into the gold-adorned room. Well then.
Trying not to dwell on the fact that I just made a total idiot of myself (or why the ancient man went into Miley Cyrus's room...?), I picked myself up and forced myself to go down the other corridor, ignoring my urge to just lie down and nap.
Eventually, I found this equally-angry-looking-but is-an-actual-doorman doorman. His nametag said Joe, and he actually wasn't all that angry, because he smiled when he saw me. "Eh, Carly!" he greeted me, wrapping me into a big bear hug. "How have you been, chicka?"
"I've been fine, Joe." I said with a strained smile (I'VE BEEN AWFUL, THANK YOU VERY MUCH), thanking the lord that his name wasn't something like Reynalydo. "Could you get me in?"
"Sure, sure, anything for the new Oprah," he smiles and leads me back up the stairs to my room. When he slipped the card through the card-slot, I felt like I could cry.
"Thanks you so much, Joe! Have I ever told you how much I love the name Joe?" I beam at him, resisting an urge to try at a glomp.
"No problem, miss!" he tipped off his hat. I giggled as he took down the hallway.
Grabbing the doorknob and turning it around, I sighed in relief. "Finally," I mutter to myself. Pushing the door open, I yell gleefully, "Honey, I'm home!" (I've always wanted to say that.)
"Hey, you're back," I heard Shane's voice say…from an intercom? Looking around to see that it wasn't just me being delusional, I spot a white box from my right, decorated with…buttons and such. I reach out to touch it, but his voice suddenly popped out again, scaring me a bit. "I'll be right there!"
Realizing I haven't said a word since I came in, I call out "hey" weakly. Not sure what to do with myself (god, I really am out of it), I sit down slowly on one of the couches.
The minute my skin made contact with the soft cushions, my whole body relaxes and stress flies out of the window. I sigh, realizing that this is the only relaxing moment I had today; taking advantage of it, I kind of…cuddle with the pillows, taking sometime to examine my surroundings.
It was all very…brown. And white. And very, very modern (As you can see, I am not the most verbose person at the moment). It was definitely gorgeous, though, glamorous with an edge to it, probably because technology adorned the walls: PearTVs (probably to support Freddie), laptops all over the place, and film equipment hung up everywhere on the walls, and this was just the sitting room.
All over the place were iCarly posters, promos, and screenshots. I was kind of wondering if I was super narcissistic or something until I realize that in one of the posters, a giant "Produced By Shane Marslow" was written across it in times new roman. Ah, that would explain it.
Before I could examine further, I heard a whoosh sound. The door across from me opened, and Shane came out, sporting a messed-up hairdo and…
"Hey hon," he called out, kissing my forehead and wrapping his hands around me. "How was Spencer's?"
AND HE WASN'T WEARING ANY CLOTHES.
Pushing him away from me in shock, I splutter out, "why aren't you wearing any clothes?"
He chuckled. "Babe, you know I don't believe in that kind of stuff."
"You don't believe in... clothes?" I question, looking at him strangely. Who was my boyfriend?!
"Yeah, they're totally unnecessary. I mean, it's just covering up me, you know?" He says passionately.
"Uh-"
"Anyways, I thought you accepted that part of me? You've dated people with worse secrets, and they found love. Well, not with you, but, you know what I mean." He chuckles.
Realizing I was coming across as strange, I shake my head. "I…I'm fine. Spencer just…came up with a new invention. You know." I nod my head, hoping the excuse was believable enough. Does Spencer even sculpt anymore?
"Oh," he nods in understanding. Now grinning, he snakes his arms around my waist, leaning his forehead onto mine, "well, we can't have you remembering such a traumatic experience, now, can we?" he whispers huskily.
"Uh, ha-ha, n-no we can't," I chuckle nervously, still aware of his state of undress, which will soon become a moot point if this goes where I think is going…
"You know," he presses his lips to mine lightly, "The maid's not home. What do you think?"
"...I think I left something at Spencer's!" I almost shrieked, push his face away with my hands and jumped out of his arms. Grabbing my stuff (then remembering I don't have any), I push the door open and got the hell out of there.
--
"And – and then he grabbed me and – whispered things!" I cried, rocking back and forth on the couch of my old home, clutching a pillow to my heart.
Spencer just stared at me incredulously. "He's your boyfriend."
"A boyfriend I didn't know I had!" I throw up my hands and cross my arms.
"Carly," he says in a consoling voice, "you've been living with this guy for like, what, after till college?"
"After till college?!"
"After till college – now, he's been a nudist for half those years, and even when he wasn't, he never liked to keep his pants on. Even when I was visiting," Spencer looked up, contemplative. "I remember this one time when I was going to visit you and I found him and Gibby – that's not important. What's important is that he really loves you, Carls. And, you loved him too. Just give him a try?"
I looked up, "I did?"
Spencer nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yeah! You guys went everywhere together. You were-" he struggled with the words, "- perfect for each other. Like Sam and Freddie." He snickered.
I cross my hands and lay them down on the pillow. "Okay, I'll give him a try." I sighed.
Spencer clapped his hands, "Yay!"
"But you cannot make me go back there!" I warned, glaring at my older brother (literally).
"Of course not, you can eat and shower here," he nods, then grins, "You want spaghetti tacos?"
I almost cheered, "Yay, something didn't change!" but thought better of it, so I just nodded and looked around, "where's Sasha and Sadie?"
"Oh, they went shopping," he called back out behind the kitchen counter, digging the cabinets for spaghetti and who knows what else.
"Didn't they just go this morning?" I recall the wild assortment of bags Spencer was carrying when we first saw him.
"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly.
My face grew into a grin, "we really are related."
"Hoh, yeah." Spencer grunted, carefully measuring the spaghetti with an Arrested Development DVD. "You and Sasha were really close, and Sadie totally looks up to her cool celebrity aunt," he grinned.
"Awesome," I remark, then added with a second thought, "how'd you and Sasha meet?"
He seemed to be thinking. "I don't know," he finally decided, dumping the spaghetti into a bowl and arranging the taco shells into the shape of Chewbacca.
"Okay," I said easily, moving onto the next question, "what's Sadie like?"
Carrying the plates towards the couch (they have a coffee table now), he puts them down and sat down next to me. "Complex," he announces. "A bit like me, a bit like Sasha. You know, perfect." He smiled at me, and I felt a pang in my chest. I wanted some of that domesticate bliss.
"She's really cute," I say, deeming that a neutral response. Then – "so, if Shane really loves me that much, why didn't he, you know, propose?"
Spencer doesn't seem bothered by the abrupt change in subject, "I think you were afraid of the media scrutiny?" he says, "there was this one episode where you said that sixty-five percent of all celebrity marriages collapse because of the press." He seems delighted to say the statistics, a habit he's had since he was a child.
"Oh, okay," I say, pleased with the response, though still wishing I could get married like everybody else, despite the fact I didn't even wanna be around my boyfriend.
Wanting to change the subject, I asked, "how come you knew we had amnesia right away?" It had to have been amnesia, there's no other logical way and Carly Shay does not believe in miracles.
"You had all the signs of an attack," he says, forking the spaghetti onto the tacos then cramming them in his mouth. "It was obvious."
"An attack of what?" I ask.
He mumbles something like "-ja", mouth full of tacos. I assume he said amnesia and moves on.
"How's, uh," I mentally list all the people who I can remember. "– Mrs. Benson? How come Sam's living in her apartment?"
"Oh, she's great," he says, swallowing another mouthful. "She got married!"
"No way, to who?" I ask.
"Some dentist," he waves his hand. "They moved to the suburbs to have a nice easy boring life, so Sam moved in to be closer to Gr- uh, Freddie." He seemed to pause.
I frown, "but Freddie doesn't live there anymore."
A beat. "Yeah." Spencer nods, chewing slowly.
"Ohhhh-kay." I look at my brother strangely. He seemed to be avoiding my eye.
Deciding to move on again (you kinda have to do that a lot around Spencer), I mentally check the list. "How's Gibby?"
"Gibby's a lawyer," Spencer stated. I almost choked, and I wasn't even eating (didn't feel like it.) "Gibby? A lawyer?"
He shrugged, "yeah. After high school, he went to Harvard on early admission, now he's back at Seattle running his own firm and a small chain of haberdasheries with Nevel."
I started laughing.
Spencer looked amused, "I know. I don't even know what a haberdashery is and it still sounds like Gibby."
I grinned hard, still laughing inside. Then I remembered, "Nevel?"
"Yeah, they're like best friends," he says, "they met at an iCarly taping; you invited them back for a Friends&Foe special edition. I was there, and I met Miley Cyrus." He beamed.
"So Nevel's not evil anymore?" I asked, not able to wrap that around my head.
"No, he's still pretty evil. He never gives me the right change when I shop there." Spencer answers sadly.
"I'm sorry Spence," I say with a hint of a small smile on my face, my good mood retaining. "Taco?"
Litting up at the sight of my offering, he grabs for them like a child, "Sasha never lets me have thirds," he explains. Ah.
"Good taco?" Chuckling at my childish brother, I suddenly remember my mission. Oh, right, the list. "So, while we're being random, how's Socko?"
"Socko? Oh, he got married," Spencer says, mouth full of spaghetti.
"Who's the socky girl?" I joke.
"Well, remember those two girls at the junkyard me and Socko were supposed to go camping with, but then Chuck trapped me in the basement and sprayed me with unknown fluids?" He pointed to the water gun which he won from Chuck after a particularly odd face off at DDR.
"Oh yeah," I nod. "Which one did he end up with?"
He stopped chewing and looked at me weirdly. "Neither. He married Gina Galliano down the street."
"Oh," I say. "What…was the point of the story then?"
Spencer looked down. "I just wanted to show off my gun." He said quietly.
"Oh. Okay." I say, not missing a beat. "Do they have kids?"
"Yeah, they got this little tyke named Ivan, he's really good friends with Sadie," Spencer became more animated, talking excitedly. "Socko loves him and we have play-dates all the time. You know – Build-a-bear, Chuck E Cheese, the zoo." He grins. "Sometimes, we even let the kids tag along."
I had to chuckle at that, but Spencer suddenly jumps up. "I gotta run," he gestures to the door, looking at his watch. "I'm late."
I look at him with an amused face, "late for what?"
"I gotta go pick Chuck up from his boxing lessons," Spencer says, still looking at the watch, looking distressed.
I adjust myself on the couch, "but I thought you hated him?"
"I do." He says seriously, putting on his coat. Turning the knob, he runs out of the apartment. "Bye!"
I could only roll my eyes and chuckle. Turning myself so I was now resting my head on the armrest, I turn on the TV and channel surf, trying to catch something familiar. Turns out, there wasn't. All the old shows had either been taken off air or had new episodes so far into the future I had no idea what was going on, and I was in an information overload already.
Sighing, I open the cabinet below the TV, hoping for some old movies to watch. Ah, there it is. "Dark Knight" – just watched that yesterday – "17 Again"- hits too close to home – "Girly Cow: the Spectacular"- aha! Perfect.
Carefully removing the DVD, I took a glance at the package below it – Hm, is that the old iCarly logo? Swallowed by curiosity, I gingerly place Girly Cow on the floor, grabbing the second package instead.
The DVD cover was a picture of me, looking significantly older and significantly more glamorous. I wore glasses (that explains it!), but they looked totally awesome and intelligent. Across it was text in purple font. It said "iCarly: the fourth season collection", listing a bunch of credits where I could find Shane. Turning it around, I found a picture of Sam and Freddie in a small box, on top of it said "Friends & Foe Season Specials". In another box beside them were Gibby and Nevel, then Spencer and Miley (??). I laughed at Spencer's star struck expression, then, realizing what I'd just found, laughed some more.
Jackpot.
-
Holy similar, this was a long chapter. Anyways, I'm all tired up from typing, so, here, LOL. Sorry for the long wait. This chapter was a monster!
Interactive:
1) Who do you think Future-Freddie is dating? Who would you want it to be? (we have it planned out, but guessing is fun!)
2) Say BAM WHAM SHIZAM if you liked this chapter, BOO if you didn't. (I'm so creative, right?)
3) I've put in a few more hints in this chapter as to Sam's fiancée. As usual, bibbidi bobbidi brouhaha if you think you know it, and friends don't let friends get mullets if you have no idea.
BTW: I totally uploaded this without consulting Somer. Sup, chica. (AND IT IS NOW HER BIRTHDAY! EVERYBODY WISH HER THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER :D)
