Sam yawned and threw another rag at Spencer. "Here," she said. "You wipe the cabinets."

He scoffed. "You haven't cleaned anything."

"Have too. I washed the dishes."

"Sam, it was one glass."

"And a fork," she pointed out.

"Oh, fine," Spencer grumbled, picking up the rag off the floor beside his feet. "I knew pancakes were a bad idea."

Sam smiled. "You tried." She wandered into the living room and flopped on the couch, turning on the TV. In the kitchen, Spencer whistled as he wiped pancake mix off the cabinets and countertops.

"Hey," he called out to Sam, "how did it get on the ceiling?"

Sam turned around and looked up at the spot on the kitchen ceiling where Spencer pointed, six feet below. "Oh. Beats me. There's nothing good on TV," she added, getting up to go to the kitchen and help Spencer. She left the television on.

"No good fights?" he asked as she grabbed an old rag to scrape dried mix from the floor.

"Nah. Not even reruns."

They cleaned in silence, the soft sound of the television and pelting rain in the background. Somewhere in the building, a baby cried.

Sam stood up from the now clean floor to wipe off the fridge. "Man, this stuff got everywhere," she observed.

"Yeah, because you got the idea to insult my cooking skill."

"Oh, shut up. So you kiss me as revenge?" Her back was to Spencer, but she knew he was turning redder than a tomato.

"Best revenge I could think of," he said after a while.

Sam smiled, and a pink paper on the refrigerator's door caught her eye. "What's this thing?" she asked, taking it down to show Spencer.

"Oh." He took the paper. "Carly, ah -- gave this to me after my mom...passed away."

Sam nodded absent mindedly, reading the page. Spencer watched as her blue eyes moved left to right, taking the words in. He tried concentrating on Sam, not his family with the empty holes.

She looked up at him. "Ironic."

With that, she stuck the paper back on the stainless steel door and hurried upstairs, alone.

---

Sam went back to Carly's room, shutting and locking the door behind her. She didn't want Spencer to come in. She just wanted to spend time with her best friend's memories.

The metal box was still on the floor, still open, still waiting. She pulled out the diary and took it with her to Carly's bed, were she sat to read it.

Opening it to any random page, Sam read an entry.

May 24, 2011

Woot! Junior year's almost over. Thank God. This was probably one of the worst years of my life; I felt really awkward he whole time, and I'm not sure why. Maybe this is the point in time where you can tell the difference between boys and girls mentally, you know? Like, all the guys are consumed with the idea of getting laid, but girls are like, "No." At least, I was. I didn't (and still don't) want some random guy to get in my pants unless we've been dating at least a year.

Call me old fashioned. One night stands are tacky. Yeah, insert conceited hair flip here, har har.

But anyway, enough of that. I got the job on Sunday! You are now reading the words of the new bagging girl at Hey Food! I'm psyched. Finally, my own cash. The manager called and asked when the soonest I could start would be, and I said Wednesday (tomorrow) after school would be the best, since I would rather not work on a Monday (but I didn't tell him that) and today I had the school beautification meeting after school. I planted lots of purple flowers, by the way.

Hmm, maybe junior year wasn't too bad.

I'm gonna go have some celebratory fruit.

I will leave you with this random thought: Brady Bunch of what? Grapes? The Brady Bunch of Grapes of Wrath. I slay me.

Sam laughed at that last part. Carly always knew how to amuse people, even if it was just a diary she might not have even intended anyone else to read.

She remembered when Carly started working at the grocery store, and how excited she was. Of course, as the days wore on, she got even less excited and more tired. Then she got her first paycheck, which got her excited again, meager as minimum wage is. It was a never ending cycle, but Carly was accomplishing something and Sam was proud of her.

She put the diary down on the colorful comforter to look at later and looked around the room. On every shelf was something: a picture, a trophy, a figurine. There was a vase of dried flowers on the corner of her desk and a poster of Cuttlefish on the closet door. On one wall was drawings and doodles, done directly on the wall with the words "no reproductive organs!" written and underlined three times. There were flowers drawn in permanent marker, stick people in crayon, "OMG i have no nose" and "iCarly rulez" painted on. Sam loved to doodle stuff late at night, when she couldn't sleep but Carly was already snoring.

The blonde smiled and stood up from the bed to go over to the window. Even the window sill was decorated with random finds from the dollar store and thrift stores. Plastic beaded necklaces were wrapped around a picture frame that held the photo of a beach sunset, taken one day last winter when the two of them decided to visit on a day that threatened snow. A plastic palm tree sat beside the frame. Sam picked it up and observed it. Carly found it in the street one day on the way to the Groovy Smoothie, tucking it into her pocket. She colored the spots were the paint rubbed off, setting on the sill "so it can grow," she'd joked.

The will crunched as Sam accidentally stepped on it. She picked it up off the floor and stared at it, deciding what to do. No way did she want Carly's bedroom, a pristine memory of her, to be taken apart and given away. Sam wanted it all to herself and Spencer. She didn't want to hand over Carly's life to those who may not have even known her very well, may not even deserve it. The people that didn't understand Carly's hospitality, even for a tiny fake palm tree.

Inhaling deeply, Sam was tempted to crumple up the paper and throw it in the trash, maybe cut it up into tiny little pieces and flush it down the toilet, possibly toss it into the rain to be destroyed. She shut her eyes. Thinking about this was reminding her of the loss, of that night. She didn't want that. Sam unlocked the door to call out for Spencer.

Almost immediately, he was in the room, an alarmed look on his face. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Is there a rat?"

Sam looked up at him, tears already staining her cheeks. "I don't want to get rid of her."

Spencer's expression softened and he held Sam as she buried her face in his tee shirt. She cried softly, soaking the thin cotton of his new Smashing Pumpkins shirt. He lifted her head, softly meeting her lips with his.

"She'll never be gone," he promised.

Spencer seems like he would be a fan of the Smashing Pumpkins.

They kissed twice!

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