Chapter 7: Poetry in the Park
Disclaimer: Seriously, do we have to do this every time, or can we just do it in the first section. Dan owns iCarly.
Day 3 - Evening
1
"Spencer!"
"What's up, Carly?"
"You have got to stop Gibby. After you talked about flirting last night, he's spent the entire day flirting with people. He flirted with the head cheerleader. He almost got the entire football team trying to beat him up. He flirted with me! He called me his 'raven-haired beauty'. He even flirted with Ms. Briggs." She shivered at the thought.
After he finished his own shiver, Spencer asked, "Raven-haired beauty?"
Carly flushed. "I didn't say he was incorrect, just that it was strange."
"Did he flirt with Sam?"
"Sam? No way. Do you think he wants his thumbs broken again?"
"Hmm," Spencer said.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Spencer..." Sam and Freddie came in together.
"I don't know how it's my fault you didn't get to pull a prank. Hey, Carly, Spencer."
"It just is, so just accept it," Sam said, getting frustrated. She knew she was taking it out on him because her feelings were out of control. Freddie looked at her.
"You're right, Sam. I sincerely apologize, and I would be pleased to assist you in planning and implementing your next prank." Sam stared at him. "Are you ready to start tutoring?"
"Uh, sure," Sam said. She wasn't often thrown off, but Freddie had done it. She had been expecting his usual protest, and she had her next five statements planned.
They went upstairs, with Carly staring at him. She turned around to see Spencer smiling.
"What?"
"Nothing, calling Gibby." He picked up the phone and began to dial.
2
"That's good, Sam. I have to be honest, I don't really think you need any tutoring on Algebra."
"Great, we can tell Ted, and I'll catch you later," she said.
"You might not need tutoring, but you still need supervision on completing homework."
"I don't need a supervisor, Fredward."
"Fine, think of me as your motivational coach. Plus, we still need to work on your English."
"Blah." Freddie looked at her.
"Come on, let's take a walk."
"Where? What about the English?"
"We'll still do it. We're just gonna take another approach."
"Freddie."
"I'll buy you a Fatshake."
"Okay."
3
They walked through the park, Sam sucking happily on her Fatshake. She had ordered the largest size they had, which was almost too much for her-not because she couldn't drink it all, but because it was hard to get her hands around it. She was hoping to make Freddie upset, not because she had any particular desire to cause him pain or despair, but just because doing so made her feel like she was in a comfort zone. In that zone, she picked on Freddie. He rolled his eyes and insulted her back. Freddie, it seemed, had forgotten the rules. He paid for the Fatshake without no protest, no eye roll, nothing. He had apologized for something they both knew wasn't his fault. And she was still thinking about the Missy situation.
"Stop."
"Stop? Here? Freddie, we're in the middle of the park."
"Exactly. Look around. What do you see?"
"Freddie, are you high? Do we need you to watch a few after school specials?"
"Sam, you know that William Carlos Williams poem you had to read?"
"The wheelbarrow thing? Yeah."
"Well, a lot of that poem has to do with the detail, the picture-image. You need to be able to look at things the same way, to be able to pick out details."
"This is stupid."
"There's a smoothie at the end of it."
"Freddie, do you think you can just use food to train me like one of those Pavlov dogs?" Sam asked.
"Well, look who let some education slip out? No, I don't think I can train you. I think, however, that I can bribe you."
"Fine. I'm ordering a Super Large, though." She looked around. "There's a bunch of kids around. That one is going to push that other one down. Some old people."
"You're picking out the big details. Go deeper." She rolled her eyes.
"Can't get any deeper than you, Benson. All right, There's a squirrel up in the tree. The sky...it kind of looks like one of those multicolored popsicles you get from the ice cream truck. What are you smiling at, Freddie?"
"Nothing, you're just starting to get it. Close your eyes?"
"Are you insane? I close my eyes, and you're going to do something."
"Sam, I won't. Trust me." She looked at him, into the darkness of his eyes against the popsicle sky. She closed her eyes.
"Now describe it."
"Describe what?"
"Describe the park."
"I can't, Freddicus, you made me close my eyes."
"So you can't see. What other ways can you use to describe your surroundings?" What am I, Helen Keller, Sam thought.
"Okay, uh, I can smell my Fatshake. I think a dog dropped a load somewhere around here. There's a breeze. Somebody has a corndog." Freddie looked around and saw that, yes, about fifty feet away, somebody was eating a corndog. "I hear a siren some blocks away." She opened her eyes. "Are you wearing cologne?"
"I always wear cologne."
"SInce when?"
"A couple of years. Why?"
"Shouldn't you be able to shave before you use cologne, Freddie?" He rolled her eyes, and somehow she felt better. She thought the cologne had a pleasant muskiness and wondered why she had never noticed before. "So, is the lesson over for tonight? 'Cause I got hijinks to plan."
He shrugged. "I guess. You can pick your smoothie up," he said, holding out money to her. "I'm gonna stay out here a little bit longer." She reached for the money, and then pulled back.
"It feels better when I see you pay for it yourself, Benson." He laughed and put the money back in his pocket. He sat down on the grass and wrapped his arms around his knees. After a moment, Sam sat down near him, arranging her legs Indian-style. They sat silently, watching the sun slowly sink first to a purple bruise, than fading darkness.
"I won the cruise," Freddie said.
"What?" Sam said. She didn't need to act surprised; his statement had surprised her. He turned to her.
"Cut it out, Sam. I know you know. I figured there had to be a reason you brought it up earlier. Sam Puckett doesn't push something that hard unless she has an ulterior motive. So I thought about it, and I figured Carly must have told you for some reason."
"Nobody told me anything. I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know, Sam, lying usually works when people don't know you well as I know you. Don't worry, I'm not mad at Carly. I never told her she couldn't tell you. I just figured it was understood between us."
Sam dropped the act. "Why wouldn't you want me to know?"
"Because that's not us. It's not what we do. We're the bickering sidekicks. I just figured you wouldn't want that hanging over your head or anything."
"Why tell me now?"
"You already know. And, well, it's stupid. We're friends, Sam. I think it's silly that we play like we're not. We've been friends for a long time. I helped get rid of Missy. You helped me with my mom and Lewbert. Sure, most of your help usually ends up with me being hurt..." He shrugged.
"We're friends?" Sam asked.
"Fraid so. Gonna throw up?"
She smiled. "I might, except I know I have a smoothie coming my way."
They sat there for five more minutes, until the sun had disappeared completely. Freddie stood up and held his hand out to Sam. She thought of protesting, but she still had the humongous Fatshake cradled under one arm. What the heck. We're friends, right? And she allowed him to help her up.
"So," he said. "What's the plan with this prank?"
She favored him with a grin that shone even in the darkness.
A/N: I know this chapter is a little short, but it conveyed everything I wanted to convey at the moment. I was going to have Spencer set something on fire just to fill some space, but who wants that?
Thanks for reviews from kiyokoseddie, Moviepal, Lady J. E. P., jackpotdante, Kressxblack, Geekquality, and ShooshYeah35.
ShooshYeah35: I wrote (although I can't remember if it was in an author's note or one of my stories) that there is an ebb and flow to Sam and Freddie, a tidal quality. So while, as readers, we may think that they should realize they both have feelings for each other, I see them as getting close and pulling back, each for their own reasons. Perhaps some people think that Sam should realize Freddie wrote the poem and that it was about her, but she just agreed that they were friends, and how long did that take her? I can honestly say that, now, I don't know when exactly Sam will find out about the poem, if she does. I somewhat know the end result of the story, but between here and there is a journey on which I'm not sure what highways and dirt roads we may travel on. And...occasional gushing is fine. I think me ego can take it.