"Yeah, like how the Titanic staying afloat didn't go so well."
--Sam Puckett
i'M Sick of Making it Worse -- Chap iv
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"I can't believe it," she giggled again and looked at me. Then frowned again. "You're lying to me."
"No, no I'm not," I laughed and looked up from the sidewalk at her, "We do it all the time from Carly's apartment, which is just across from mine. Me, her, and Sam."
"That is so weird," Amelia laughed. "Because I always heard about it all the time from around school—"
"But you never watched it," I pretended to pout and she pushed at my arm.
"We didn't have the Internet!" she protested.
"Is that even possible?"
"So you guys do all sorts of crazy stuff all the time, and thousands of people watch it? And you run it?" She sounded impressed. It felt good.
"Yeah, pretty much," I tried not to sound like what she was making me feel.
"That is so cool. So ..." she looked over at me, "I get to see you on the Internet tonight?"
"Well ... you might hear me ... I'm not actually in front of the camera very often. It's really Carly and Sam who do all that."
She was quiet for a moment. "So they're like your best friends, huh?"
It was in these kinds of moments that it was sort of embarrassing to have two girls as your best friends. It was usually worse admitting it in front of other guys, but I'd been doing so great so far with Amelia that it was more than enough to make me cringe. Plus there were all those nasty female undercurrents that went along with stuff like that that I probably would never understand.
"Yeah." So I just left it at that.
She was staring at the sidewalk when I risked a sideways glance at her. But suddenly it was okay not to be saying anything. It was almost kind of nice. So I walked along beside her, kicking at the yellow leaves that were starting to appear at the edges of the sidewalk.
The air was a noticeably cool shade of warm, and it was hard to believe that just two days ago me and Sam had been sweltering in my apartment. But now there was that definite smell of fall in the air.
Everything else in my life was kind of in shambles. But this ... this was nice. I found myself wishing it could stay like this, with things messed up everywhere else, but pleasant here. That would be okay.
"Well, I go this way," she was saying, her eyes back on mine, "I guess I'll see you later."
"Yeah, I'll see you later," I said, feeling a little bit of everything as she gave a small wave and turned off.
A date. I had a date with her this weekend. We both tried to pretend that it wasn't that serious, for various reasons, but it was.
I gave myself a deep breath and smiled.
--
"Now isn't that ironical?" Carly asked mock-seriously into the camera, nodding her head to indicate that it was indeed.
"And just in case you couldn't figure it out," Sam said, "That is not a hillbilly word. And why is that important Carly?"
"I think you know, Sam," Carly answered.
"But I want you to say it," Sam rolled in her eyes and then whispered loudly, "Play along!"
"Okay, let's do it together," Carly suggested.
"Okay," Sam said and they both leaned in and shouted, "Because it's National Hillbilly Week!"
Sam made a crazy and absurdly loud "Hillbilly" noise. Or I assume that's what it was supposed to be. I held my free hand to my ear and tried not to look at her.
"Where would civilization be without the many contributions of the Hillbilly?" Carly asked gravely.
I flipped on our image of a Hillbilly in a caveman-discovering-fire situation for the browser. This all was done with the practiced flip of a switch, with absolutely zero camera shake, might I humbly add.
I caught Sam glancing at me, and not for the first time in my life I wondered if she had a built in sixth-sense that was able to detect the degree of nerd in my thoughts.
"Wondering what road kill is for, that's where," Sam answered.
"And without Hillbillies, we wouldn't have words like ain't, lickety-split—"
"Try talking thems Englash without them words," Sam smirked at what she evidently took to be Hillbilly speech.
"Without Hillbillies we'd be hopelessly sophisticated." Carly threw her hands up.
"Without Hillbillies, my Great Aunt Peg would've never run off to Arkansas!" Sam followed suit.
"Home of Mall-Mart," Carly added helpfully.
"And now the dozen and a half cousins we have to send Christmas presents to," Sam's eyes narrowed, "Thanks a lot, Aunt Peg."
"Sam!" Carly whispered. "They might be watching!"
Sam pffed. "They don't have the Internet in Arkansas."
I couldn't help it. It was funny. And probably true.
Sam spared me the shortest glare in history, as if daring me to laugh again.
I made a face at her that I hoped she realized was supposed to represent vomiting.
Somewhere between the second and third rounds of faces we made at each other Carly noticed.
"Ohhh-kaaaay," she said quickly. It probably did look kind of weird to the viewers watching Sam making inexplicably angry faces at the camera. "We're going to move onto our next segment."
"Oh. Yeah. Right," Sam said unenthusiastically as she went off camera and out the studio door.
"While Sam is getting ready," Carly continued, "We thought we would leave it up to you, our iCarly viewers, to decide what would be the best name for this segment. Right now we're split between 'Need for Feed' and 'Scarf or Barf' ... but those just don't quite seem to ring." She leaned in conspiratorially towards the camera and lowered her voice. "Plus we want to keep this PG, so ..." she raised her voice again, "Feel free—obliged even—to send us some of your ideas. Just drop a piece of Elec—tronic—amic," she slipped into Hillbilly again for a second, "Mail into our virtual little mail slot to let us know.
"But now it's time to welcome our first contestant, my brother Spencer!" Carly gestured towards the door where Spencer ran in with his hands in the air. He slowed and stopped when he saw that it was just Carly clapping and shouting his name.
He dropped his hands. "I was told there was going to be applause."
"Oh," Carly said in an embarrassed voice as she reached over and tapped the applause button on Sam's remote. "Sorry."
"I'll never forgive you," Spencer said in a monotone voice, waiting for a second at Carly's expression, "Kidding! I am ready to go and mega psyched!" He threw his hands out in front of him and made a confused face. "What do I do?!"
"You can step right over here—" Carly led him by the arm over to a seat and table loaded with hot dogs, buns, related paraphernalia, and another chair. "And sit."
"All right," Spencer said as he sat down, but just as quickly bounced back up, "So who am I going at? Huh? It isn't that creepy little Emmett kid, is it? Come on, I want to know!"
"Uh, Spencer?" Carly asked with a slight frown. "You didn't have any spoonfuls of sugar just now, did you?"
"I—" Spencer started, but then looked at her with a slightly jittery look. "It helps calm my nerves."
"I told you not to," Carly said sternly.
"Yeah, but ... isn't there some law against embarrassing older siblings on the—" Spencer turned his head to where I had moved in close with the camera. "—Internet—" He jerked back in surprise. "Geez."
"Sorry," I said and stepped back a little.
"Okay, so to recap exactly what is going on for all you out there," Carly said, "Spencer and another contestant are going to be engaging in what is known in some parts of the world—including Arkansas—as a hot dog eating contest. The rules are simple—at the end of five minutes, whoever has completely swallowed the most hot dogs is the winner and will win not only everlasting Internet fame, but a pair of tickets to the Seattle Music Fest!"
"Yay!" Spencer ... well, Spencer squealed. "I mean, ahem, yes. But I am ready, ready to ravage some weenies, because I AM—" He leaped on top of his chair. "SPENCER THE DISPENCER!"
Carly made an effort at a smile at the camera as she tugged Spencer's arm and dragged him back down into his chair. "No more sugar for you. Ever."
"All right," Spencer said quietly as he put his head down.
"Okay! So let's get this weeny show cooking!" Carly hit the drum roll button on Sam's remote, "Now give it up for contestant number two!"
"Wait, who is it? Who is it?" Spencer was grinning and trying to peer around Carly at the door, "Who is—"
I could tell the exact moment when he caught sight of Sam. Spencer let out this sort of strangled peacock sound.
"Oh—My—God—" Spencer turned wild eyes on Carly.
"I am ready and super excited for this," Sam said in the most unexcited voice I'd probably ever heard her use. She was wearing a paper bib and one of those goofy little hats the Chinese restaurant down the street gave out.
"This—wait—please—" Spencer clawed at Carly's arm, but she brushed him off, "Mercy ... please ..."
"So let's get this show on the road," Sam sat down opposite Spencer. "Tech weeny, put five minutes on the clock."
"Isn't he the tech producer?" Spencer asked as Carly hit him back into his seat.
"Same difference," Sam said as she fixed a hot dog and delicately stuffed it into her mouth.
I executed probably one of the best eye rolls of my career, but she didn't even bother to look at me as she finished swallowing her hot dog.
"She shouldn't be doing that, can—can she be doing that?" Spencer asked as he scooted over towards Carly, where she beat him back into his seat with a significant expression.
"I find that food helps to calm me for these things," Sam answered. I think if she had been any calmer it probably wouldn't have been healthy.
"Do you do these things regularly?" Spencer whispered.
Sam shrugged.
Carly was giving me the emergency eyebrow signal that we used to indicate the possibility of cutting a segment off.
"Doesn't matter," Spencer declared, bravado suddenly recovered, "I shall employ my superior stomach capacity and age earned experience—"
"Yeah, yeah, let's go gramps," Sam said.
"And remember!" Spencer jabbed a finger at her, then moved it around the room. "Remember! I have the patience of an oyster!"
There were a long few seconds of silence.
"Of an oyster!" Spencer repeated. "Do you get it? Oyster ... pearls? Making pearls?"
"Yeah, we get it," Carly said in an unimpressed voice. "But there's a five minute time limit."
Spencer's bravado disintegrated. "What did I do to deserve this?"
"All right, here we go!" Carly said. "On your mark!"
"Did I mess up supper last night?" Spencer asked in a pained voice.
"Get set!"
Sam was doing arm stretches.
"Put your homework through the wash?" Spencer asked.
"Go!" Carly shouted and I hit the timer.
It was horrifying yet oddly one of the most mesmerizing things I'd ever witnessed. She was like a paper shredder on steroids, or weeny shredder I guess.
It was so mesmerizing in fact that Carly had to bump me about halfway through it to remind me to turn the camera back to Spencer, who was attempting to manually force four hot dogs into his mouth, plus their accompanying buns.
Roughly four minutes later we called it early in order to avoid a call for the paramedics. Sam looked up a little surprised. And then kept eating.
"So there you have it, we declare Sam the winner and recipient of two tickets to the Seattle Music Fest!" Carly handed Sam the tickets, which she waved off.
"Mmet me minish," Sam managed.
Carly hit the cheering button on Sam's remote.
I briefly turned the camera to where Spencer was leaning back in his chair, incoherently moaning something about it being physically impossible. By most accounts it should've been—if Sam's stomach obeyed the laws of nature and dimensions, that is.
"And I think that'll have to do for this week. And kids," Carly leaned in close, "Don't try this at home. What you just witnessed here was done by trained professionals."
"And we're ... clear." I put the camera down.
"Sorry, guys," Spencer said, "I really didn't ... mean ..."
"Ah, come on," Carly said as she helped him to his feet and slung his arm over her shoulders. "It's not your fault, it was just the sugar—which you're never having again."
"M'kay," Spencer murmured in a queasy sounding voice as he limped along with her out the door.
I had that horrible I'm-alone-with-Sam feeling a moment before they rounded the corner. Risking it, I glanced at her, but she was looking off to the side and slowly taking off her bib and little Chinese hat. And not giving any signs that she was going to vacate the room anytime in the near future.
Sighing in annoyance, I started the post-iCarly stuff I had to do.
"Listen, we need to talk."
She nearly scared me half to death.
"Oh, do we?" I asked sarcastically, remembering a time not all that long ago when I had wanted to talk to her about something. It was a good thing that had never happened.
"Yeah, we do," Sam stood up, all commanding and evidently full of the belief that I was going to go along with her. Ha. "I know that you're all in a nerdy little fit because I hit you ... if you had a male ego it would probably be in a fit too."
"It's too bad you don't have a female ego," I threw out my face in emphasis, not at all worried if this particular comeback made any sense, "Because then that would have never happened."
"Is that why you kissed me?" Sam shot back. "Are you more attracted to male egos?"
I'm not going to get mad. I'm not going to get drawn into her childish little arguments.
But okay, I was mad. She was talking about the kiss thing like it was nothing, just another bit leading up to another punchline that didn't matter.
"I've had it with you, okay? Don't you get it? I don't want to talk to you! So just—just—"
"Yeah, yeah, what?" Sam inclined her ear. "If you'd quit throwing a dorky little hissy fit for a minute and just shut up, I'd apologize to you!"
"Do you think I care if you apologize?" I shouted back. Honestly I was a little surprised that she was even able to pronounce that particular A word, but I was serious. I didn't care.
"Yeah, you do, and you know it," Sam answered. Like she knew me.
"No I don't!"
"Listen," Sam closed her eyes, "I was ... thinking that I would make it up to you by giving you one of the tickets."
"To the Music Fest?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"To go with ... you?" I asked, throwing in a little more of the situation's absurdity I was feeling.
Sam nodded, not looking quite so confident anymore.
I suddenly realized that this wasn't easy for her. And not just the apologizing part. She was staking a part of herself in this. She was opening herself up like she rarely ever did. The Sam I had first become friends with, or even the Sam of a year ago would've never done this.
"But don't you remember, I'm sure you heard," I said, feeling it push behind me. This situation was so perfect. I don't think I could've stopped if I had wanted to.
Sam looked confused.
"I'm ... preoccupied this weekend."
Sam's face hardened a bit as she caught on. "It's not like it has to be at any particular time."
"I'm already going on a date," I yelled, "Do you think I want to go on one with you?"
"It's not a date," she yelled back, beginning to look genuinely angry. It was about time.
"Don't play dumb, I'm sick of you doing that—" I started, suddenly going off on an unexpected tangent. Unexpected to me anyway.
"What? Do—what?" She was nearly to screaming levels now, as she enunciated every word.
"Play pretend. Oh, it's not a date," I mimicked a girly voice, "Oh, I didn't really want you to kiss me. I just was acting all friendly and soft around your place for the fun of it." I swear my head was involuntarily shaking. It was almost kind of scary. "You're such a liar. About everything."
"Take that back," she sounded practically murderous, "You don't mean it. Take it back."
"It's the truth," I narrowed my eyes. It was so much nicer not to be afraid of her.
"The truth? You want the truth?" She was yelling again. "How about you've been acting like a jerk all year. There's some truth you can stick right up your attitude. You've been taking this whole little emo thing out on everyone—on your mom—me—the only one you're not is your precious little Carly cakes!"
"That's it, isn't it?" This particular revelation felt particularly good. I only wished I could make her feel bad even the smallest fraction of how good it felt to me. "You have no one to take with you. No one. Carly's too busy, always too busy, and now Sam has no friends. What are you going to do? Pay some random person from school to go with you? All of them are either afraid of you or hate you because you do some popular kiddy web show."
She was fuming, and was looking like she was going to break one way. Either to hit me or leave. But that didn't matter so much as the look she was wearing. We both knew I was right.
"So where were we?" I asked, knowing it just had to go on a little further. It was like I could feel how close she was to breaking; I could feel a lot of stuff, like the heat that seemed like it was radiating off her. And her face was—I wish her face wasn't like that. I had to hate the fact that she was anything above ugly. "Oh yeah, truth. You want to know the truth? No one likes you, no one can like you unless you act like someone else. That brings us to lies, like the way you had to act around Jonah. As in not you. I mean, because obviously guys are always just falling all over themselves for you, and not just because of your winning personality. In fact—"
She was beyond fuming now. The hurt look of a moment ago had more or less been burned off. She took a step forward.
"What? What are you going to do?" I asked mockingly. "Hit me? Are you going to hit me again? Go ahead, we wouldn't want to break precedent."
But she couldn't now that I'd dared her to. Her face was flushed and she gave one shake of her head before resolutely stepping around and then past me, out the door.
I took a deep breath, feeling somewhere between elated and sick. The elated didn't last. It never did. It never lived up to that promise that it would.
I hadn't realized a lot of stuff in that span of time. I hadn't realized that I was sweating, and breathing heavily. I hadn't realized that I was still clutching the camera lens of several minutes back. I hadn't realized how much my chest hurt.
I'd more or less obliterated any line that there'd ever been between me and Sam Puckett. Jumped over it, on top of it, and then nuked it for good measure. But it was over now, so there was no sense in caring. She'd more or less decimated our friendship in under a week. That was impressive, even for her. After everything we'd been through.
I slammed the lens back into place with a snap. All right, she had been trying to apologize. Trying to apologize.
And suddenly it seemed like such a great idea. To go to the Music Fest with her. But it was too late now. About two thirds of an epic argument too late. I'd gone and sorta ruined it.
Suddenly I wasn't sorry anymore, I was angry all over again. I already had a date this weekend, I didn't want to go with Sam.
When I turned, Carly was storming through the studio door, only looking slightly less flushed than Sam had.
"All right, this is enough of this," Carly said.
"What?" I asked, more or less stalling a little as I prepared for what I knew was coming.
"Oh, don't worry, everyone in the entire building knows you two are just the best of friends again." I can't remember seeing Carly this mad, at least not for a long time.
"It's no big deal," I said, some of my anger leaking out again, "We've got it under control." Just stop trying.
"Uh huh. What's wrong with you? How—" Her voice caught a little. "How could you do that to her? She was practically crying when she came down."
"Crying?" No way. She had to be exaggerating.
That was a semi disturbing image I didn't want to imagine.
"Almost. What did you say to her?"
I frowned. "I thought you and the whole building heard it all."
"We're two floors down." She said in a way that led me to believe that my attempts today at sarcasm were on their way to having two girls wishing they could rip my head off. "I was exaggerating!" Now she was yelling.
"Just drop it, okay? We've already been through this. I don't want to talk about it!"
"You know what? Just forget it!"
"Okay!" I shouted.
"Fine, just make everyone miserable and see if I care!"
She left.
"Like you'd notice." I almost wish I'd been able to say that when she was here. But I guess I'm not quite that brave.
I was having such a great day that I immediately ripped up the envelope with the Music Fest tickets inside that Sam had evidently dropped into my mail slot on the way out of the building. But, in order not to break with the rest of the day, I wasn't brave enough to do it until my mom was out of the room.
It also would've been kind of awkward after my mom had peeked inside and taken them to be a thank you for having Sam over when we'd been sick.
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