Chapter 5: Moves in the Game
Disclaimer: At long last, have you no sense of decency? iCarly never belonged to me, and it hurts that you keep bringing it up.
Day 2 - Evening
1
Rehearsal went off, as it usually did, without a hitch. The three of them had become a nearly synchronized team. Rehearsal now usually only dealt with any props they had to set up. Carly would run through some lines. Sam didn't. They all agreed she was better when she went off the cuff, so the script just had a spot for Sam to say something. They invited Gibby, but he really wasn't allowed to participate in rehearsals. They preferred him to be off the cuff, also, because more humor was generated when nobody knew what he was going to do.
"Good job, guys," Freddie said, from behind his computer.
"Anybody want to watch a movie?" Carly asked. Gibby said he would, and Sam was about to agree, with the requisite it not be a girly movie. Freddie shook his hand at her.
"We have tutoring, Sam."
"You shake that finger at me again, dewdrop, and you might lose it," Sam said. Carly mouthed "dewdrop?" to her. Sam shrugged. She liked to try out new material every once in a while.
"Regardless, Sam, we have work to do."
"Jeez, taskmaster, don't you ever want to have any fun?"
"Why, Sam, what could be more fun than the sound of poetry dripping from your honeyed tongue?" Freddie said and smirked. He looked down and finished a few things on his computer and didn't notice the three of them staring at him.
"Oooooookay," Carly said. "Well, we'll be downstairs if you guys get finished early. Come on, Gibby." The two of them left.
"Honeyed tongue?" Sam asked. Freddie looked at her, surprised.
"What?"
2
"Hey, iCarliers, how'd rehearsal go?" Spencer asked after Gibby and Carly had come downstairs.
"Pretty good," Carly said, distractedly. If she didn't know better...
"What's up, Carly?" Spencer asked.
"Nothing. Just Freddie said something a little strange."
"I think he was flirting with Sam," Gibby said. He looked down with a pained expression as he flexed his thumbs.
"Freddie? Flirting with Sam?" Spencer asked.
"Well, it kind of seemed like that," Carly said.
"When's the last time Freddie's been on a date?" Spencer asked.
"Uh, he went out with this girl, Leslie, right after school ended. He said it didn't go too well," Carly said.
"Well, there you go. He's probably just exercising his flirting muscles, so he's ready when he needs them. And why not Sam? That way he doesn't waste the flirting on somebody who might think he's serious."
"You really think so, Spencer?" Carly asked.
"Sure, it's possible." Carly couldn't quite read the look on Spencer's face.
"Wait a minute, we have to exercise our flirting?" Gibby asked.
"Yeah, you don't use it, you lose it, Gibster," Spence said, winking.
"Oh, man."
3
"So you really think I have a honeyed tongue?"
"It's just an expression, Sam."
"So you're saying my voice is ugly-sounding." No matter how hard he looked, there was no hole for Freddie to fall into.
"No, Sam, your voice isn't ugly."
"So what would you say my voice sounded like?" Freddie groaned and rolled his eyes at the same time. Sam, who found it unbelievably cute, stared at him placidly.
"You have a very nice voice, Sam."
"Would you say it's honeyed?"
"Sam!"
"All right, let's get on with this."
"Okay, let's go over another Cummings poem."
"What about the one about the mud?" Sam asked.
"You mean 'in Just-'?" Freddie asked. They went over the poem a few times. Sam was bewildered that something that just seemed to be about two kids playing in the mud seemed to be so much more.
"You understand?" Freddie asked.
"I guess. You're saying to break the poem down into individual sections to analyze each section and then tie all the sections together?"
"You got it, Sam." He held out a hand for a high-five, which she ignored. After a moment, he brought his hand down.
"So we can do the same thing with the poem Ted gave me, right?"
"Uh, I guess so," Freddie said. Why does she have to keep bringing everything back to this?
Sam read the first section of the poem. "What if no one's watching" was the first line, and it was repeated twice more during the poem.
"Do you think the guy who wrote this thinks the girl is concerned about what other people think?" she asked.
"I still think it's the football team," Freddie said, smirking.
"Freddie!"
"Fine," he said, and sighed. He pretended to look at the poem again, although by now he could quote his own words without looking. "I guess so. He does mention the 'no one watching' thing a few times."
"I think this girl scares easily," Sam said. Freddie raised an eyebrow at her. "She hides behind walls. Why would somebody hide behind walls if they weren't scared?"
"Maybe she doesn't want people to see who she really is," Freddie said. Shut up, Benson! Do something to get out of this.
"Hmm. Maybe. The guy says he tries to climb over the wall or bust through, but she's always a step ahead." Freddie, who was about to say something insulting about ham, paused.
"So the girl just needs to open up, and she finds love. Happily ever after and all that," Freddie said. Today's Freddie Benson has been replaced by a crazy and possibly high Freddie Benson, he thought.
"That stuff's for fairy tales," Sam said. She saw his shoulders slump. "What you believe in 'love conquering all', Benson. That's not surprising. How many poems did you write for Carly?"
"I'm not in love with Carly," he said, without thinking. He saw a flicker of emotion he couldn't understand on Sam's face, and realized what he had said. Ack, abort, abort. Maybe it will just be easier if I just beat myself up. Save her the trouble. But Sam replied to the statement, and not the implication.
"You don't love Carly?" she asked. Relax, Puckett, just because he might not love her doesn't mean you stand a chance.
"No."
"Since when?"
"I guess since soon after we broke up. I realized what you said was right. And maybe what I thought I was looking for wasn't there. With Carly."
They looked at each other for a long while, neither willing to express their thoughts.
"So, uh, about this poem. This girl is into winning," Sam said, looking back down at the poem.
"But the only thing he wants to win is her." Sam looked at him again. Yes, Sam, I love you, he thought. He pictured himself standing up, producing bouquets of flowers out of thin air, an orchestra appearing behind him...no, wait, this was Sam-waiters bearing trays of meat. The corner of Freddie's mouth twitched, but he betrayed nothing else.
"Well, he says they always play a game and wonders what would happen if it was just the two of them." Sam realized she and Freddie were alone. Funny how that hadn't really sunk in for her before. She looked at the corner of his mouth where his lip had twitched. She wanted to kiss it. Snap out of it, Sam.
"And, next, he talks about her being his blue-eyed wonder and wondering when she'll, well, see him basically, see what he has to offer her." Freddie figured that he had spent so much time with the danger zone that was Sam Puckett that he jdidn't realize when to quit.
"And she keeps him guessing." Sam paused. "When do kisses mean something?"
"Don't kisses always mean something, Sam?"
"In the poem, I meant. He asks that. Do you think they kissed?" Sam caught herself looking at his lips again and looked away. She almost wished somebody would come in and interrupt them, before she ended up attacking his lips like they were a plate of bacon.
"I don't know. Maybe it's a metaphor or something," Freddie said. Coward. We kissed, Sam. You and me. Your lips tasted like strawberries. And meatballs. And that combination shouldn't have worked. But it does for you.
"And then he finishes up talking about how if she listened, she might realize he stopped playing long ago," Sam said, trying to move the talk past kissing. She sighed. "Who could it be?"
"Didn't breaking the poem down help you?"
"No. I mean, I guess. I think I can kind of see how these people are, but I can't see who they are. I would have to spend time with people at the school to do that, and that's boring."
Freddie smiled.
"It's not funny, Fredward. I don't want to get expelled."
"So tell Principal Franklin a name. Just pick somebody." She looked at him.
"No, that person would have to agree it was him. And it's too risky for me to threaten somebody into doing so. Ted's keeping an eye on me."
"Then tell him it's me," Freddie said. Sam gaped at him.
"You?"
"Sure, tell him I wrote it. I'll agree that I did. Done."
Sam thought about it. "That wouldn't work."
"Why not?"
"Who'd you write the poem about?" she asked.
"Um..."
"See? Ted's not stupid. He's going to make sure you're not just covering for me."
"You."
"What?"
"I wrote the poem for you." Maybe I am high. Did somebody put something in my Peppy Cola?
"For me?" Yeah, if only, she thought.
"Sure. We have a relationship. We're almost friends," he said, smirking. "You got blue eyes. You're always, 'Mama plays to win'. It could be you."
"What walls would I be hiding behind, Freddie?" she whispered.
Freddie's courage departed.
"Well, you know, whenever the cops are chasing you."
Sam sat back, not realizing she had been decreasing the distance between Freddie and herself. What I wouldn't give if it was you who had written that poem about me, she thought.
"It wouldn't work, Freddie."
"Why not?"
"Because what if whoever really wrote the poem spoke up? Then I would be just as screwed."
"Oh."
"Anyway, thanks for trying to help."
"Of course I'd help."
"Because we're 'almost friends', right?" she asked.
"Sam, of all my friends, you're the almostiest." She laughed. "Now why don't we take a look at your Algebra homework."
Sam groaned.
A/N: Whew, that was a close one. Freddie's playing with fire. Keep him away from Spencer.
Thanks for reviews from: Wonderstruck, Jamizp2433, kiyokoseddie, Lady J.E.P., IHaveTheBestPenameEver, Julefor, jackpotdante, and Geekquality.
IHaveTheBestPenameEver: It's probably not going to be 45 - 50 chapters. Not counting the first day, school days will be probably two chapters, while weekend days will probably be one chapter. So right now (subject to change) maybe 27 chapters.