Issue
"Okay, so was this Machiavelli guy a prince?" Carly frowned, flipping through her history textbook.
"No, he wrote The Prince," Freddie said.
"I thought Machiavelli was the guy who painted that famous lady," Gibby said from the kitchen.
"No, that was DaVinci," Carly said. She scribbled down a few notes in her notebook. "Well, I think I'm good for tomorrow's test…maybe I should still review-"
Suddenly, the door to the Shay's apartment swung open and Sam stormed in.
"My life sucks," she said, slamming the door shut. "I need some ham."
"What's wrong?" Carly asked her best friend.
"My stupid cousins wedding is next week," Sam replied, grabbing a small platter of ham slices from the fridge.
"The one with the tattoo of the dog chasing bird on her back?" Freddie asked.
"Yes," Sam mumbled. "And I just found out that if I don't bring a date, I'm stuck eating at the kids table for the reception."
"I always eat at the kids table at weddings," Gibby said. "Much better company."
"Much worse food," Sam snapped. "The kids get some sort of weird vegetarian meal while the adults get lamb!"
"So find a date," Carly said. "You'll definitely find someone in a week. Maybe you can set up a little speed dating thing like you did for me."
"I'll pass," Sam cringed. She turned to Gibby. "Hey. What are you doing next Saturday?"
"Just getting a pedicure," Gibby said.
"Cancel it. You're going to be my date."
"Do I get to wear a tux?" Gibby asked.
"Sure," Sam shrugged. "Whatever you want."
"Sweet!"
"Tell Spencer to buy more of this ham, Carls," Sam said, finishing off the meat. "This is really good."
"Dude, that ham was supposed to be for the entire week," Carly said. "I can't believe you ate all of it."
"I'm tired now," Sam yawned. "I'm going to take a nap upstairs."
"But you have to study for the history test tomor- and she's gone," Carly sighed.
"Yes, it's three o'clock!" Gibby said, looking at his watch.
"What's at three o'clock?" Carly asked as Gibby headed to the door.
"It's almost time for my soap opera," Gibby replied. "I'm finally going to see if Marge remembers that she was engaged to Eric before she got her concussion!"
"Okay," Carly chuckled. She turned back to Freddie. "Do you think we should review that map of Italy?"
"Hmm?" Freddie frowned. He had been staring off into space. "What was that?"
"You okay?" Carly asked. "You never space out like that."
"Um, yeah," Freddie nodded.
"Good. So do you think-"
"Why'd she ask him?"
"What?" Carly frowned.
"Why'd Sam ask Gibby to go with her to that wedding as her date?" Freddie asked.
"Because she doesn't want to sit at the kids' table, remember?" Carly said.
"Yeah, I know," Freddie nodded. "But still, why would she ask Gibby? I mean, why not…me?"
Carly blinked. "Oh. Um, well, I-I guess maybe she thought it would be awkward, you know, since you two used to date."
"So she asked Gibby instead? Gibby's going to be less awkward than me?"
"They're friends," Carly pointed out.
"I'm friends with her," Freddie retorted.
"Freddie," Carly said softly. "Are you really having that big of an issue with this?"
"No," Freddie said quickly. "No issue at all. I'm just surprised Gibby didn't object to being forced to wear a tux. I'm sure him and Sam will have a great time."
"Freddie-" Carly started, closing her textbook.
"My mom needs me home," Freddie said, getting up and grabbing his textbook. "I think I heard the whistle; see you at school, Carls."
Carly sighed as he closed the door behind him. Poor Freddie, she thought. Looks like I'm going to have to fix this.
…
"Jeesh, Carly; have you even worn this many dresses?" Sam asked, looking through Carly's closet.
"I put five options that would work for a wedding aside to the right," Carly said. "Pick one and then I'll do your hair and makeup."
"You know, I'm not the one getting married here," Sam said, looking through the dresses. "Why do I have to do all of this?"
"Because, you have to look nice at weddings," Carly told her.
Sam gave a loud groan.
"So," Carly said, plugging in her curling iron. "When's Gibby going to get here?"
"In an hour, I think," Sam replied. "I still can't believe my cousin; making me bring that lump of a boy just to get meat."
"Speaking of which," Carly said slowly. "Um, why-why didn't you ask Freddie to go with you? You're friends with him."
Sam turned to look at her. "I dunno."
"I mean, Gibby's great and all," Carly said quickly. "But I always thought you were better friends with Freddie than you were with him."
Sam sighed. "Carly, come on. Do you really think a wedding is the best place to go with your ex-boyfriend?"
"I think it would've been fine," Carly said. "Like I said; you guys are friends."
Sam didn't say anything and turned back around to continue looking at dresses.
"Well, I guess you'll still have fun with Gibby," Carly said. "I just would've thought that you'd rather go with Freddie, but-"
"I did, okay?" Sam said, spinning back around. "The second after I told Gibby he was going to go with me, I wished that I had at least asked Freddie first."
"Oh, Sam," Carly said, putting an arm around her.
"We don't need to have a hug fest, Carly," Sam said. "It's fine. I'll go with Gibby, eat my lamb, and then go home. Gibby gets to wear his tux, I get my meat; it's a win-win."
Carly nodded. "Yeah, I guess…although, you never know. Things might start getting better…"
….
"Sam, don't eat a hot dog wearing a dress!" Carly scolded her best friend from the kitchen.
"This hot dog's not wearing a dress," Sam said.
"Ha, ha," Carly said. "Just don't get mustard on that dress! It's mine, remember."
Freddie sat on the sofa, trying hard not stare at Sam in that stunning gold dress.
"I wonder where Gibby is," Carly said, looking at her pearphone. "If he doesn't get here soon, you're going to be-"
The door to the apartment swung open and in walked Gibby, coughing like crazy and holding a bucket.
"Gib, you alright?" Freddie asked.
"No," Gibby coughed, sitting down on the couch. "I think I'm sick."
"Yeah, no chiz, you look disgusting," Sam said.
"You have a fever," Carly told him, feeling his forehead. "I think you're too sick to go to the wedding."
"What? No, he needs to go," Sam said. "I'm not eating a vegetarian meal!"
"Well," Carly said, looking over at Freddie. "Why don't you go with Freddie then? I mean he's not doing anything tonight."
Sam looked over at him. "Would you want to? The reception shouldn't be too long; these things usually get shut down by the cops after an hour."
"Um, okay," Freddie nodded. "I have a tux across the hall. My mom rented it for out mother-son ballroom dancing class. I guess I'll just go change quickly."
"Great," Carly smiled. "Sam, don't forget your purse; it's sitting upstairs on my bed."
"Right," Sam said, running up the steps.
Once Carly and Gibby were alone in the living room, Carly pulled out a twenty-dollar bill from her pocket. "Nice work, Gib."
"Thank you," Gibby said, taking the cash. "Hey, can I order some pizza? All that coughing really worked up an appetite."
"Sure," Carly nodded. "Thanks again for faking sick. I really owe you one."
"As long as I can still wear my tux tonight, we're good," Gibby said.
"Um, okay," Carly said. "I'm just going to run upstairs to make sure Sam doesn't try to smuggle any meat products into my purse."
She disappeared up the stairs, and a second later, Freddie walked in, wearing his tux.
"Thanks again, Gibby," Freddie said, handing Gibby twenty dollars. "You're the best."
"My mom already told me that," Gibby said.
"Just make sure Carly and Sam don't find out you were faking," Freddie told him.
"Got it."
"Alright, Benson," Sam said, stepping out of the elevator. "Let's get this show on the road. You're driving."
"Fine by me," Freddie chuckled. "See you around, Carly, feel better Gib!"
The two stepped out of the apartment. Sam couldn't help but admit that Freddie looked very good in a tux. I guess it was worth me paying Gibby to get sick, she thought to herself.
