I realized that a lot of people don't really like Carly right now in the story. I'm sorry for that: she'll get nicer, I promise! And when I finally come to the end of this story, I'm going to have a sequel of sorts, rather the continuation of the story, but from Carly's POV.
Disclaimer: the poem that Sam wrote is one of my own; don't own iCarly peoples, just this fantastic twisted plot.
Inspirations: Spy Kids 3-D; lots of Demi Lovato and Selena Gomez videos.
Chapter Ten: iAm a Hot Mess
I was feeling completely and utterly miserable, but for some reason, I managed not to drink again. I think going to school with a hang over and fighting with Carly drove me to something else. It drove me to write. I was sitting on my bed, pen in hand and notebook in lap, and I just couldn't stop writing. I don't write, ever. But for some strange fucking reason, not talking to Carly drove me to write. To write. Writing. Why am I writing?
Maybe the fact that I was writing paid off, though. I realized that we had been assigned something for English class, that I was required to write a poem, in any verse that I wanted (which meant there was going to be no absolute constructive verse at all) and I have to read it in front of the class. I don't mind the public speaking, really. But there's just... I don't even feel up to going into school and looking presentable because I'm not speaking to Carly. Yeah, I know, it's depressing. I'm depressing.
The pen in my hand kept moving upon its own accord, I realized. My eyes might have been half closed at some points, but I didn't stop writing. Granted, half of the page was covered in sketchy doodles in the blue ink, I never stopped moving the pen. Eventually, words started to form when my eyes stayed open and focused on the paper. I cracked out a poem, and when I read it over, tears welled in my eyes. I would end up writing something about how shitty of a friend I was to Carly, I seriously would. Sighing, I knew I wouldn't get anything better than this, so I tossed the pen aside. I stuck the paper into my folder and shoved it under my pillow.
It was only four in the afternoon and what was I doing? Going to sleep. This is what I've become without Carly, a person that hibernates in the mid-afternoon hours of the day. At least I'm not drinking. I know that Carly would be upset to know I was hung-over yesterday. I figured, if we ever started talking again, I'd just not tell her that happened. I don't like worrying Carly anymore than she already worries on her own natural medium. I swear, if I'm in the bathroom for too long, she comes knocking on the door to make sure I didn't fall in. As much as I love her, she has a very maternal aspect that hangs over our friendship.... relationship.... whatever the fuck we have that's fucked up and warped and I wish she didn't have a boyfriend.
The next day at school was boring, until I came to English class. Now this is one of my classes that I don't have with Carly, and I don't have Freddie in here either; he reports to Carly, I found out, about what I do in my classes that he has with me and she does not. Great. I never really considered him much of a friend, but he's even less of one now that I know he reports to her. I wonder if she has spies everywhere, checking up on me, even when we're not speaking. Well, she did seem pretty pissed off yesterday. Why does she think I'll be the one that comes crawling back to her? When have I ever came crawled back to her after a fight? Never. Not once did I cave. We would mutually apologize. And sometimes I would share my food with her after we fought to make amends, but that wasn't me crawling back to her, ugh. I'm almost certain we might never be friends again at this point. There's no way I'll be the one that caves.
The bell rang, echoing in my ears, as I settled into my seat in the back of the room. My backpack was up on the desk, my arms folded and my face buried in the space my arms had created. That's when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the teacher, Mr. Higgins. He had knelt down beside me. He was a new teacher here, but he was still pretty cool, I guess.
"Are you feeling up to reading your poem out loud?" He asked, his voice quiet and yet very calm and collected. I nodded weakly and shifted in my chair to pull my folder out of my backpack.
"Yeah. I have it, boss." I told him. For some reason, I had started to call him boss several months ago. He didn't mind it so it stuck. I was the only student who called him that, though. I headed up to the front of the room and Mr. Higgins made a point to quiet down the rest of the class, informing them to give me their undivided attention.
My hands were shaking more than they should have been. Was this poem too personal? I don't even know. I was standing behind a pine podium, somewhat hidden from my audience of 18 people, including the teacher. Taking in a deep breath, I unfolded the slightly crumpled lined notebook paper and I closed my eyes. It was now or never, right? Yeah.
"A Story of Friend," I breathed the titled evenly, my voice sounding much steadier than I ever thought that it would. "A friend is there when you need her most," I had to open my eyes to collect the next words, but I drew out my voice, sounding as though I was winging it. Well, kind of winging it. "but I wasn't there for you. I was selfish. I took advantage of the situation." My voice was getting shakier and more cautious as I kept speaking. But I had to keep going. If I didn't, I knew I would never have the balls to get back up here. I focused as intently as I could on a spot on the back wall of the classroom, trying to ignore the whispers and the snickers beneath me. Normally, I don't care about public speaking; it just never phases me. But today? Ha. I'm lost in a sea of my own drowning thoughts. "Raindrops melted our sweet sugar coating, leaving you and I exposed." If sugar coating meant hiding the sexual tension, then yes, that was so true with me and Carly. Why do I not even remember why I meant by half of this poem? I knew it was about Carly, just... oh, I need to keep reading, right. "In a world of hope, there's unlimited chances and forgiving wrong choices. A friend is there to pick up the pieces when you crumble and stumble, but I just stood by as you fell... face first into your problems." I had to close my eyes again and take a deep breath. I felt like I wanted to cry. But I was too proud to cry in front of anyone. I didn't even cry around Carly. "If I can't be a friend, how can I be a best?"
When I opened my burning eyes and looked at the stoic faces of my peers, and my awed, teacher at the far desk, the corners of my lips curved into a smile. They were clapping, commenting on how well written that poem was, how they all could relate to it in some way. I don't know why they would relate to it. It's not for them. I had squeezed my eyes shut and retreated swiftly back to my seat. I hadn't even noticed the teacher get up but he made his way across the room to the ringing telephone, answering the call; then he dialed another number. I had lifted my head and gazed around the room. He hung up the phone and came to kneel beside my desk again.
"How do you feel about public speaking?" He asked quietly while the class roared around us. They were delighted they didn't have to do anything constructive.
"I, uh.. Don't mind it, why?"
"Principal Franklin asked if you would be up for reading your poem at the next assembly; it's tomorrow, during first period. There's going to be a few speakers, so you won't be alone." He was trying to reassure me but I just nodded. I wasn't nervous about the actual reading, I was nervous about what might come of this. I don't want to be a poet. I just.. wrote a damn poem that touched a handful of people. Ugh. I'll probably get made fun of for this. Great. I'm not looking forward to that.
The next day came a lot slower than I wanted it to. The afternoon dragged on and the night was pulled out even slower. I wasn't even sure how I was going to do this, how I wasn't going to vomit or something.
Principal Franklin suggested I wear something semi-decent. I settled on a pair of black skinny jeans that I had borrowed from Carly awhile ago, a red tank top, and a red and black striped blouse that buttoned down; I had the sleeves rolled up to my elbows, too. My feet were comfortable in a pair of red high top Converse sneakers, casually completing the outfit. I let my hair spill over my shoulders in the natural loose curls.
"Sam, it's your turn." He whispered, setting a firm hand on my shoulder. Well, firm but gentle. He was like the father-figure I never grew up with. I nodded slowly and reached into my pocket, pulling out the slightly more crumpled piece of paper with my poem on it. There was a podium set at the center of the stage. When I readied myself, I didn't expect the bright spotlights to be on me. I gave half a smile and looked down at the paper, adjusting the microphone with one hand and smoothing the paper with the other. No one had ever seen me looking and feeling this completely and utterly vulnerable before. I did not like this at all.
"A Story of Friends," I spoke the title near the microphone, but not far enough away to avoid a screeching feedback rip through the auditorium. I cringed at the sound and I earned some groans from the crowd before me.
"A friend is there when you need her most... but I wasn't there for you." I had to look up, I had to. If I didn't, I would never win this battle I was having with myself. My voice needed to not sound so shaky, so uncertain, so foggy and distraught. "I was selfish. I took advantage of the situation. Raindrops melted out sweet sugar coating, leaving you and I exposed." My eyes started to search through the people that I could just barely make out in this awkward light. These spotlights were killing me. I could practically feel the sweat forming on my brow, poised to roll down my face and possibly drip upon the microphone or the podium, or my crumpled paper with the words I needed to get across. "In a world of hope, there's unlimited chances and forgiving wrong choices. A friend is there to pick up the pieces when you crumble and stumble, but I just..." When my eyes settled in on a particular brunette next to the person she was calling her boyfriend, my breath caught and I almost froze on the spot. But I gulped and looked down at my words. I needed to know that this was going to be okay. I know I had to be a friend to her, but now I need a friend. I need her. "... stood by as you fell face first into your problems." That's when I felt the need to direct my words to her, but she was letting go of his hand, whispering something to him with a cheeky smile. I miss her smile. She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, I think, and shifted out of her seat, getting up and leaving the auditorium. I couldn't hold in my tears anymore and I had to finish this thing before I could run, before I could escape and cry to myself. "If I can't be a friend, how can I be a best?"
As soon as I stopped speaking, I practically ran off the stage and into the wing. I ran to the wing that was empty and I bolted for the bathroom. My hands were shaking as I fumbled with the stall lock, ensuring that I wouldn't fall if I leaned back on the closed door. Squeezing my eyes shut in some effort to tell myself that this is just a horrible dream, I started to rip the paper to bits. I don't care anymore. I can't stand this. The way she makes me feel is not normal. It is not right to love someone this much, that you have to practically break yourself down completely and feel the lowest of lows to know that you are completely and utterly helpless without that one person that you just can't have. I tried to be with her. She rejected me. Why, I have no clue.
Tears flooded and rolled down my cheeks in groups, but I couldn't stop them. I rubbed at my eyes furiously but they just burned the more that I rubbed. I was making it worse for myself. I knew I was. I didn't care. No one cared about me anymore. Why should I care about myself? I shouldn't. Good answer, Sam.
That's when I froze. My body tensed when the bathroom door opened and swung shut. I didn't know who it was so I just sniffled, squeezing my eyes shut again.
"Sam," Her voice was so calming. I threaded my fingers through my hair after I finished ripping up the paper in my hands until all I felt was my fingertips against each other. I choked back a sob and she came towards the stall I was in. I felt her hit the stall; I think she clenched her fist and punched it, but I didn't know.
"Carls," I spat back, rubbing my eyes again. I couldn't face her like this. Opening my eyes, I drew in a few low, deep breaths and exhaled shakily.
"You're crying. Why," She asked. For some reason, her voice sounded cold. I turned around slowly, trying not to fall because my knees were quaking, and I unlocked the stall door. "Why aren't we speaking. Why," She sounded as though she was pleading with me, begging for an answer to leave my chapped lips.
"I'm not crying. And we're not talking because you have a fucking ego," I told her. When I opened the door, I hadn't realized she was leaning against it. So I quickly stood in front of her, holding her by the waist. Turns out that her forehead landed on mine in the process and her hands landed plainly on my shoulders. We were inhaling each other's exhales.
I don't think I had been this close to her since we were in the shower, our smiles meshing in that memory. But today, there was no smile to exchange between us. There was nothing I could say or do to want to change my mind. As much as I love Carly Shay, she needs to grow up before she can be my best friend again.
"I'm sorry." Her voice broke our silence of about five minutes or so. I could feel my face shifting a little, so that our lips actually touched. I could just barely taste the salty tears that left her dark brown eyes and rolled over her nose to cascade along her lips. But I didn't kiss her. I didn't have it in me to do that. "I'm so scared, Sam. I need you in my life." She didn't seem to mind speaking against my lips like this. I felt one of her hands shift from my shoulder and cup my face. I couldn't even help but lean against her touch and close my eyes. My God, her hands are so soft...
"I missed hearing your voice," I whispered to her, forcing out a laugh. Although I had closed my eyes, a tear or two slipped out and rolled down my cheek. I felt her thumb stroke against my face and catch a tear. No matter what, I wasn't going to tell her about the one-night-stand I had with my new friend Jack. Nope. She'd be pissed beyond belief.
"So are we friends again?" She asked me quietly, threading her free hand through my hair slowly, giving me that trademark Carly smile. I nodded against her hand. "Come on, let's go back to the auditorium then."
Just when we were leaving the bathroom, Principal Franklin came over the PA system, stating that students would be going to their second period classes now. That meant I had to leave Carly. I wasn't ready for that just yet.
"Walk me to my locker?" She asked quietly, letting go of my face and taking a step back. My arms were still around her waist, but she started to remove them, instead holding my hand with laced fingers. I could get used to her breaking me down like this and bringing me back up, even if it was an emotional roller-coaster from hell.
"What about your boyfriend?" I asked cautiously, crinkling my brow in minor disgust.
"What boyfriend," She teased, squeezing my hand. "Don't worry about him. Bros before hoes, right?"
"Always,"