Disclaimer: I can hope, wish and dream that I own SpongeBob, but it's just wishful thinking. Stephen Hilenburg is the owner.

Title: Love Potion 3

I'm pacing around my living room, gushing out all the confusing complications I encountered with Sandy this week to my wise, wise pink friend.

"She's been acting so weird Patrick, really weird. It's so unlike herself. I mean, a girl and guy who are just friends can touch each other, right?" I ask without looking at him. I realise I've stopped pacing.

"Yeah, yeah it's true." my pink friend mumbles (a little woozily?). I'm slightly more reassured by his words. I continue my strides in the living room.

"Yeah, you're right. Friends can touch each other, but not how...not how." I pause, thinking about Sandy actions. This leads me to halt, and stop pacing again. Not only did she touch me unexpectedly than normal, but the things she said and they way she said it was so unlike her. She's never done that to anyone else I know, so why me? I do remember that her actions towards me weren't friendly, but they weren't unfriendly either. I'm still confused.

"Oh, help me out here Pat. I'm puzzled and I ain't got as much knowledge as you do on life and-" I stop my sentence when I'm sure I hear Patrick murmuring an order of 'Gooberry Sunrises' (a yummy ice cream special). Why is he ordering a sundae? Curious, I look at him sat on the armchair comfortably with a drool dribbling down his chin. I groan in disbelief. He's snoring! So he's just been sleep talking... this whole entire time.

Snapping my fingers in front of his face is hopeless. I shake his arm gently to wake him up. "Pat, Pat, hey buddy wake up. Patrick," talking quietly isn't working. "Patrick!" I shout.

I find it a little funny at how his eyes widen really, really big when finally waking up. "Huh, where's my sundae, where am I?" He blinks so many times I'm blinded by it. "Hey, this isn't the Goofy Goober's Party Boat." he declares.

"No, it isn't Patrick. You're at my house."

He scratches the drool on his chin. "Oh, must've been a dream or something. What am I doing in your house...I get it. Are we having a slumber party?"

I shake my head at that.

"Nope." I answer (but it does sounds like a good idea to. I'm sure Squidward would love to join us). "You were listening, well, I thought you were listening to my dilemma about Sandy."

"Sandy? Oh, Sandy. Go ahead, lay it on me."

I close my eyes and try not to sigh exasperatingly like I want to. I'll explain the 'Sandy' problem to Patrick. Again.

.

.

Too much talking:

To begin with, on the day she was recovering from passing out in her lab-she offered for me to stop by her place for tea and cookies the next day. Since I'm fond of it and her, I agreed. There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. I love spending quality time with my best friends in the whole wide world!

At first, everything was as normal as usual: she opened her door, we greeted each other, wait a minute. Before we greeted, she ran up and hugged me tightly (I guess that was different), I didn't mind the hug-I enjoyed it and embraced her back. So after the hug, we greeted and traded jokes around, though I do remember that when I told Sandy a funny one; when she doubled over; as soon as I touched her hand to lift her up to her feet; her body kind of jolted in this robot kind of way. Naturally, I was worried, but when I asked her if she was okay, she gave me that huge grin which meant everything was fine. Because she was fine, I was fine so there was no problem...yet. It started when we we're sitting down on her bench. She was drinking her mint flavoured tea by glass while I drank mine by the tea bag floating in my bubble helmet.

"SpongeBob?" she had asked.

"Yes, Sandy." I had replied.

Her question was slightly odd. "D-do you like me?"

"Of course I do."

This did happen a few days ago, but I think her cheeks were a little red at my response. If that did happen then I think I was wondering why at that time.

"Do ya like me for what's on the inside, or outside?"

"Both. I like the inside of you and the outside of you, Sandy. A lot." was the reply I remember saying.

"Oh, if that be true then why do ya like the outside, SpongeBob?"

"Um, well it's probably 'cause you're a squirrel and because you're a girl." I had said. "I've never had a land animal as my friend before so I'm really glad I met you, and you're a girl. I don't have many friends who are girls."

"Interestin'. So you acknowledge that I'm a girl."

"I sure do! You are a girl, Sandy."

Sandy's eyes seemed glued on her tea when she twirled the spoon in it. With her head slightly bent down, I couldn't see face fully, so I had no clue if she was smiling or frowning.

"What body features of mine tell you that I'm a girl?" she had asked.

I might've hesitated when speaking. "You have those,...I know your a girl because..." explaining seemed to be hard.

Even with my bubble helmet, I was sweating a bit. For some reason, it was just difficult for me to explain why Sandy looked like girl. She just did, she really just did. Hearing her chuckling at me put the odd question down, but I still felt as if I hadn't answered her properly, or maybe I didn't answer in a certain way she wanted me to answer.

"No need to throw a conniption over that lil' question now, SpongeBob." she had stopped chuckling. "Though perhaps mah questions weren't too clear. Okay then, truth be told I've been feeling a little, well just a tad self-conscious about myself lately, and I need some objective opinions."

I nodded my head in understanding. Patrick had done the same thing to me when he didn't believe himself to be a starfish. "I get it Sandy, you can interrogate me all you want." I replied. To prove my sincerity, I placed my hands over hers on the table. Maybe she didn't like the temperature of my hands because she immediately snatched hers out of mine. When I looked at her (seriously concerned), that redness on her cheeks returned. Was she embarrassed? Before I could apologise ('cause I really didn't mean for my hands to be so hot) she had spoke.

"Am I cute?"

What did she mean by that? "Cute?" I had questioned.

She nodded her head. "You heard right. Cute. Am I a cute kind of girl?"

I replied without thinking about it too much. "Er, sure. I think you're pretty cute, Sandy."

She cast her head down. She didn't seem sad like I had thought because her voice was still upbeat. "So you think I'm cute. Whatta about pretty? Am I a pretty girl?" she said.

"I-I think you are." I said, stammering a little (I don't know why). "Not only that, but I think you're the prettiest girl in Bikini Bottom." I fanned my shirt a little (for some reason the temperature seemed warmer. I probably drank my tea too fast).

Her eyes stared intently at mine before she spoke. "No wonder I like, you're a natural flatterer." she praised. "I do wonder if y'all know what ya actually doin'. To judge whether am pretty or not, you're perceiving me differently."

"Is that bad thing?" I questioned, worriedly. I didn't want to judge a book by it's cover-that would be breaking the special golden rule I've kept since pre-school.

"Usually," she replied. "but in this case, I don't mind you're blue eyes on me." When she said that, there was a kind of half-smile I've never really seen on her face before. It was friendly but a little sneaky.

Sandy said she was self-conscious, so I was helping her by telling her what I honesty thought about her appearance, but I did think then that maybe there could be a limit on the question she asked. I mean asking me if I found her, 'physically attractive'...was too much. It was such a different experience I've ever had to look at Sandy, my best friend in that kind of way (doing so wasn't bad, but something inside me fought not to).

"Like what you see?" she whispered (it did sound quite mischievous). Sandy had probably noticed the gazing I did at her (maybe I was ogling by accident). I felt ashamed. Guilty.

that I had been, well I didn't know (I still don't know) what the action was exactly called when I was staring at her, but it was like...like as if I was checking her out. Like how I did at home to check whether a tomato in my fridge was eat-able or not. There was a difference though. I didn't touch, taste or smell her like I did with a tomato. That thought then and there had made me blush. Why was I thinking that? Or like that?

Beneath the table, I felt something really warm, almost like fur moving against my legs. My mind had told me then that Sandy was rubbing her legs against mine. Her action had shocked me a little, but it had shocked me out of my daze. It never occurred to me that Sandy could be...could be distracting.

"My, oh my. You ain't blushin' are you?" she asked. I avoided her eyes. She giggled (I don't think I've heard such a sound like that from her). "Am I that distractin', SpongeBob?"

I gulped. It was like she read my mind.

.

.

Too much touching:

What is more is that after the day when Sandy asked me those 'self-conscious' questions. I remember coming to her place (Patrick came too) for Karate as usual, but it apparently she had another kind of game for us to play. She had said that this game was all the rage in Texas. The game was called 'Twister'. Twister was this large plastic mat with four rows of large coloured circles of red, yellow, blue and green (I was disappointed that the colour beige wasn't there). There's this spinner that determines where the players put their hand or foot. For some reason, Sandy was really strict on Patrick not playing (he had to be the spinner guy). He didn't mind though because once Sandy explained to him (in a really low voice) that 'flexibility was required', he freaked out.

Me and Sandy played around five rounds of Twister together. I admit that it's a really fun game, but it has it's little flaws. After the first one, things got awkward. Very awkward. Sandy never told me what age Twister is for, but mind seriously doubted that it was a game for kids. I mean, there's too much touching. A lot. If it hadn't been for my bubble helmet I'm positive that with the amount of times Sandy fell on me (it's not like her to have bad balance), we would have...would've...maybe did something. Back to the awkwardness. I learnt then that Twister was a game of very, very close proximity. Me and Sandy are close an all, but we've never been that close to each other.

"Green circle!" Patrick shouted. (It sounded like he was in pain?)

I remember giggling nervously. "Heh, heh. S-sorry Sandy," I apologised. "I never meant to touch you on your, um...I was trying to touch the green circle and, well your, y-your-" I stopped speaking when she ended up giggling herself (My face was probably as red as Mr. Krabs at that moment).

"Don't worry. I forgive ya." Her smile put me at ease. "Though, can ya forgive me for this?"

Before I could've mouthed the words 'For what?' out loud, my eyes must've widened to the edge of my face when her brushed against my own 'keister' as old man Krabs would say.

There was a lot more touching that happened and sometimes I had wondered if maybe there were times where it could have been deliberate.

"Oops. Sorry, SpongeBob." she had apologised (I still think she was hiding a laugh). "My tail has a mind of it's own sometimes." My blush must've been the reddest thing in the whole wide world at that moment. Not even the ketchup or perfectly sliced tomatoes at the Krusty Krab could match the colour spreading across my face.

Things went worser when Patrick spoke.

"Guys? Watching you two touch each other sexually ain't fun no more." he had whined. (HOW could he have SAID that?) "Can I go home now?"

.

.

Too much tension:

Thirdly, I had looked forward to this day more than the others because finally we would get to spar since last time we were supposed to, we had played T-Twister instead. I couldn't wait then to show Sandy my new Karate chop move (inspired by a movie I saw last night) I had practiced on. We spar, we drink lemonade, everything had gone well so far until she had said.

Sandy was rolling her shoulders again. "Ugh, my muscle are so sore." I did tell her ten times to stretch before we spared, but Sandy didn't want to listen. She could be stubborn like that, but did she want to be sore on purpose? "Why, their stiffer than a metal board."

I bit my lip. "Anything I can do to ease the pain?" I had asked, concerned as usual.

"You good at massages?" I had nodded my head at that.

She laid on the mat placed down on her grass. Kneeling besides her, I exercised my hands and placed my palms near her shoulders to work from top to bottom. I was a gentle as a baby clam when rotating and pressing at certain points. Hearing her purr told me that I was doing something really good (Gary purrs all the time when I massage his eye stalks), but when she started to talk, the atmosphere in the room changed.

"Oh, you've done it now." She sounded hurt. I had quickly removed my hands, already worried that I may have touched a pressure point I shouldn't have. Sandy did reassure me that that was so not the case.

Problem was that she kept speaking a lot, and when I say a lot I mean a lot, a lot. I don't really know how to describe it but her voice was really, croaky? No, that's not it (she did NOT sound like Old man Jenkins). Hmm, her voice was this husky-like tone that I've never (ever) heard her say and it was so not her. When she moaned, it wasn't a Patrick moan like: 'I'm SO hungry', or a Squidward moan like 'I need a better job', or even a Ms. Puff moan like 'They don't pay me enough for this'. It was so, so...not her (but it sounded like her). I was uncomfortable, that was for sure, but when she said my name, I had stopped the actions of my hands. Barnacles. Something was definitely wrong. They way she had pronounced my name created a release of jumpy things in me that were, happy?. Why did it affect me so much? I can't explain it (I STILL can't). All I knew then was that I had to get out of there. Quickly! So the little white lie I told could've worked (if I had remembered what happened yesterday), but it hadn't.

"You're lyin'." her tone of voice brought out the guiltiness in me. "Gary went to the vet two days ago for his eyeballs. You specifically told me that since ya couldn't play Twister with me again."

I can't my head down. I feel my eyes watering. I hate it when I stretch the truth to my friends.

"I get it. You just don't like being near me." her voice is quieter. "Ya should've just told me that you didn't like mah body."

"What?" I question in shock. "I never said that! I-I don't even think that, I do like touching you."

"Then why won't ya touch my body?"

"Because, because I can't."

There was a half-like grin on her face. "They were workin' quite well a minute ago SquarePants."

"I didn't mean it like it." I had said, slightly annoyed at Sandy.

"Spit it out, SpongeBob. What goin' on?"

It was like the emotions within me had burst out (literally). "Fish paste, Sandy! I'm confused. I'm so so confused and, and it's all your fault!" I shouted, while pointing at her. I didn't check her facial expression then. "You've been making me so confused these days. One moment you're asking me if you're attractive, and then the next we're touching intimately and then after," I had mimicked her voice to for the next point (maybe I shouldn't have). "You're moaning in that mysterious voice, 'please touch harder SpongeBob'."

When I looked at her, my heart wanted to break. For a moment she looked so broken and hurt (because of me and my stupid big mouth), but then her face became unreadable (it's never been like that). I wanted to apologise to her then, but she had questioned me a question that had me stumped.

"My verdict is that you're confused because you don't know what you're feelin'." What she's saying is true. "When you touch me. Are ya happy inside because you're makin' me very happy, or is it because maybe you-yourself feel very happy inside when touchin' me?"

All I heard was my heart beating very loudly for four seconds. I couldn't match the stare she was giving me and I couldn't answer that question which I only half understood. I understood what she said (she had spoke in English), but not that meaning of what she wanted me to get. I don't think I was ready to get that meaning (or maybe I was scared to get it).

"I-I'll see you around, okay." was what I said closing her door behind me, even though I had heard her voice calling me.

As soon I step out, I am not a happy sponge. Walking my way home, I rub my head in confusion and regret. I've never been so frustrated at Sandy like this before. She's turned my head into absolute mush these few days with the things we did and said. It wasn't us, it just wasn't her. Barnacles! Was I too mean to her? Could I have said what I said better? Why didn't I answer her last question? Why couldn't I? The questions keep spinning in a circle in my head, giving me a head ache. I need some hot coco.

.

.

"I can't sleep or eat properly any more. I feel so bad for shouting at her like that." I confess. "It's just that Sandy looks like Sandy, smells like Sandy and even sounds like Sandy but deep down somewhere, I know it isn't her. I'm probably not making any sense am I?"

"Nah, I get ya SpongeBob," he answers. "but are we talking about the Sandy who has the big long nose and plays the clarinet really, really badly."

"No, the person you're thinking of is Squidward, our next-door neighbour." Bearing in mind what Patrick said about Squidward, I defend our neighbour. "Squidward doesn't play the clarinet badly Pat, he's just one of those special people in the world who transcend the traditional way of playing it." And if I'm not mistaken, I clearly remember the day (two weeks ago), when the cops came round in our neighbourhood and arrested Squidward for, as I quote: 'playing the clarinet in an unique illicit and reprehensible manner that disturbed the peace. Who knew Squidward's clarinet playing so captivating, it was criminal?

I don't think my explanation was any good, since it took fifteen minutes to enlighten Patrick on the female brown-furred squirrel from Texas who had been one of our bestest friends for a number of years now. Afterwards, I explained the problem with Sandy not being her original Sandy self.

His hands were on his chin, contemplating. "She's probably a robot." he declares.

I'm sure my eyes widen at that. "What? No! Sandy is definitely no robot, I can assure you on that Patrick." I've seen Sandy cry, laugh and love, plus she hasn't got any metal pinchers for hands, therefore she is not a robot.

"Then maybe, she likes you a lot."

"Duh, of course Sandy likes me a lot, I'm her first friend she ever made in Bikini Bottom."

"Hmm, well maybe it's her time of month!"

"Time of month?"

Patrick nods his head, gesturing for me to sit. "C'mon, y'know that womanly thing that makes 'em crazy, haven't you heard it before?" I shake my head, and he explains further. "When are you going to learn SpongeBob?" He whispers in a top-secret voice next. "I shouldn't tell you this but...it's a special set of days when girls have the right by some nature law or sumthin' to act completely different."

"Completely?"

"Yes, completely."

Vaguely, I reminded of those special days in a month when the Krusty Krab is (almost) destroyed by Mr. Krabs daughter; Pearl. Hey, this might make sense, but I also remember remembers Squidward describing Pearl's state as 'implausible PMSing (along with the other seven words you should never say).

"I get it now. It happens to Pearl and only last a few days, so does this mean Sandy acting strange will only be temporarily?"

He grunts something I can't understand, but he's also picking at the flint in his belly button (I should tell him it's unhygienic). He flicks it somewhere (yuck!).

"Yea," he says. "but isn't sandy different from Pearl?"

"What d'you mean by that?"

"Y'know, she's a not wet animal, and likes to breathe that thing we can't see."

"I'm sorry Pat, but you've lost me there."

He shrugs his shoulders. "That's okay, I've lost myself too."

For a few seconds, I stare at my intelligent friend blessed with immense knowledge. It was at times like this I thought Pat came from another entire world (I maybe exaggerating). Patrick did tend to not remember things well (even if it happened it a second). It was probably memory loss since he tends to forget: who is mother is, how Squidward looks like, the colour of his skin, or even his name. Perhaps his brain is full of some much knowledge that he can't remember everything. I guess it's true that no one is perfect.

"You were talking about how Sandy is an air-breather, remember?" I remind.

His eyes widen. "Oh yeah! Sandy is an air-breather and Pearl is a water breather like us. They're different."

"But they're both girls."

"Understand SpongeBob that the two girls are two different kinds of animals. Despite the fact that they're both mammals, one should observe that their ecological area they've inhabited has influenced their behaviour greatly. " (Holy shrimps! Why did Patrick get no diploma in college?) "Also, you should take into consideration at the different ecosystems the girls have been socialised in."

This is exactly why I'm proudly to be his best friend and also (secretly) jealous. As amazing and intellectual his explanation is...I only understood seven words. I smile sheepishly at him. "Hey buddy, can ya dumb it down for me?"

He sighs a tired sigh, (I feel somewhat offended). "Pearl and Sandy are both girls." Patrick makes a squiggly shape with his hands (what is it supposed to be?). "Both live in different habitats. Sandy comes from land and breathes air. Peal comes from water and breathes water. Both live differently and have been taught things differently."

I think I'm starting to get it. "So, whatcha saying is that even though they're the same gender of female, they're prone to act differently due to their ecosystem thingy upbringing?"

"Uh, yeah, something like that." he replies. He finds the remote (which was in his PANTS!) and turns on my television.

Worries begin to enter my mind (not only because of Patrick's unhygienic issues). Pearl and Sandy are opposites. If Pearl's personality change is temporary as a water breather, then would mean that Sandy's personality as an air breather is...permanent. No! That can't be true. Just as Patrick explained, her change in attitude must be a mammalian land thing. Though how long will it last? I'd better ask a specialist in land animals. I got it! I'll go to the Bikini Bottom Library and find a book on...oh wait. I can't. I've been banned from that place for 236 days. New plan, I'll just ask someone who's wise and intelligent. Someone with years and years of experience in cultures. Patrick's sleeping (again). At first I decide to go to Sandy, but once realising that she's the problem I stop in my tracks. After a few moments, I snap my fingers and know who to ask.

.

.

After staring at me, Squidward slams his door shut (a little forcefully). Since he was in a towel with his shower cap on, I think that maybe he wanted to finish his shower. No matter, I think of the next person I can ask at work tomorrow. It's a great man, a wise one, it's (drum roll please)... the hard-working owner of the Krusty Krab; the devoted father to Pearl and a veteran from the Navy; Mr. Krabs.

A/N: Writing Patrick is so hard, the guy's an enigma! Also, what's your response on Sandy's new behaviour? By the way, I will be updating Therapy for a Sponge (to those who read that) soon-I haven't forgotten about that story. Constructed criticism and advice is so wanted, so don't hesitate!