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Chapter 73 The Day After II
🕑 Added 2025-04-21 19:10:53 +0000 UTCI was sitting in Carly's living room, sipping a soda and talking about everything except the Super Bowl. Her place was cozy—warm lighting, tidy shelves, and Spencer’s usual bizarre artwork scattered everywhere. Carly sat across from me on the couch, legs crossed, a smirk dancing on her lips after one of my jokes.
"You and Cher?" she asked, obviously fishing for gossip.
"Just good friends," I replied with a grin.
Before she could press further, the front door swung open unexpectedly.
"Is Sam here?" Freddie called as he stepped inside, glancing around.
Carly and I exchanged a look.
"No. Why?" Carly asked.
"Because I pulled a prank on her," Freddie said nonchalantly.
Carly blinked. "You pulled a prank on Sam?"
"Uh-huh," Freddie confirmed.
"What, are you tired of living? Why would you mess with Sam?" Carly asked, clearly horrified.
"Because she put a dead fish in my locker," he replied flatly.
Freddie held up his backpack. "Smell this."
"No. Gross," I said immediately.
"I don’t want to smell your fishy backpack either," Carly added, cringing.
"What prank did you pull on Sam?" I asked, genuinely curious now.
Suddenly, there was a loud pounding at the door.
"Open the door!" Sam shouted.
"Call the police," Freddie muttered in panic.
"Open this door, Freddie!" Sam yelled again.
"Leave me alone, Sam!" Freddie shouted back.
"We’re even!" he added, hopefully.
"Come here, Benson!" Sam’s voice echoed from the hallway. Then, with a loud crash, the door burst open and she stormed in.
Carly looked at Freddie, raising an eyebrow. "You handcuffed her to Gibby?"
I burst out laughing. "Freddie, you’re insane," I said between laughs.
"She put a dead fish in my locker!" Freddie defended himself.
Sam looked ready to explode. "Gibby is way worse than a dead fish."
Right on cue, Gibby proudly declared, "My mom thinks I’m awesome!"
"Just give me the key!" Sam growled.
The next five minutes were pure chaos—running, dodging, yelling, and one broken lamp. After a frenzied game of tag, Gibby was finally freed and sprinted out the door like his life depended on it.
Sam and Freddie, however, were still arguing like nothing had been settled.
"Come on, you put a dead fish in my locker," Freddie said.
"And I handcuffed you to Gibby. We’re even."
"Yay," Carly said, trying to lighten the mood. "Who wants lemonade?"
"I don’t play to get even," Sam said, stepping closer.
"Mama plays to win."
She pointed at Freddie. "I’m gonna get you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But I’m gonna get you."
"I’m not scared," Freddie replied, clearly terrified.
—
The next day, I walked into school, still smiling from all the chaos at Carly’s. As I turned the corner into the main hallway, I spotted Freddie standing next to one of the teachers.
The teacher had a hand on Freddie’s shoulder and said, in a tone meant to be reassuring, "There’s nothing wrong with not having kissed anyone yet. Say it: ‘I am Freddie Benson, and I have never kissed a girl.' "
A beat of silence. Then the hallway erupted with laughter.
Freddie turned bright red. I almost dropped my backpack.
I murmured under my breath, "What the hell is going on? What does this idiot teacher think he's doing?" I tried to stay calm.
Then I spotted Terrance down the hall.
"Terrance!" I called.
He turned with a grin. "Jake!"
"Intimidation mode: on. Let’s go."
Terrance started walking toward us—and with him, three other guys from the football team, all upperclassmen. Big, loud, and loyal. Without needing an explanation, they followed his lead.
We approached Freddie. Terrance started cracking one fist into the other, looking like he was about to knock someone out. The other three mirrored him, arms crossed, stone-faced.
The hallway fell completely silent.
I stepped beside Freddie and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Freddie. Let’s go to class." Carly was beside him and came along too.
We turned and walked together, the others flanking us like bodyguards. The crowd moved out of the way, and no one laughed again.
When we reached the classroom, I stopped at the door, looked at Carly and Freddie, and asked in a low voice, "Who did this?"
Freddie didn’t answer right away. Carly glanced around the room, her jaw tightening.
Then Sam walked in.
I didn’t need a confession—by the look on their faces, I knew. Freddie, Carly, even Sam herself couldn’t hide it.
I ran a hand down my face with a long exhale. "Of course," I muttered, ruffling my own hair in frustration.
Then I turned and walked toward Sam.
"We need to talk, Sam," I said quietly, eyes locked on hers.
"Jake," Carly began, trying to defuse the tension.
"Not now, Carly," I said, without looking back.
—
Sam and I walked outside, heading to a quiet corner near the back of the school.
She folded her arms. "Alright, what’s up?"
I took a deep breath. "What the hell were you thinking, Sam? Publicly humiliating Freddie like that?"
She looked away for a moment, jaw clenched. "It was just a joke."
"It wasn’t funny," I said, firm. "He looked like he wanted to disappear."
"You crossed the line, Sam."
She didn’t say anything at first. Her arms were still folded, but her shoulders slumped just a bit.
"If you weren’t my friend," I added, voice low but serious, "you’d have seen how I cross the line."
Her eyes met mine, a flicker of surprise breaking through the tension.
"You're better than that," I continued. "And I know you care about him, even if you pretend not to."
Sam exhaled through her nose, gaze dropping to the ground. "I didn’t think it’d get that bad."
"Yeah, well, it did. And you know what the worst part is? He still tried to laugh it off. Because that’s what Freddie does."
Sam nodded slowly. "I’ll fix it."
"Good," I said, softer now.
Then I turned and walked back toward the building, leaving Sam standing alone in the quiet, finally thinking it through.
