Note: I do not own Life With Derek or any of the characters. This story's basically focused on Sam and from his point of view. I hope you enjoy, and please review. I thought Sam needed his story, and I like doing stories like this ever since I did Currently Without a Name focusing on Tapeworm from The Suite Life.

Chapter 1:

I sigh, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets. Derek's going on about something, but I'm not really listening to him—I don't really like hearing what he has to say sometimes—it's either something really stupid or something I just don't feel like hearing. Sometimes he talks about people—like behind their backs, and I don't like it.

Sometimes Derek can be the most sarcastic and insensitive jerk on earth, I swear. Sometimes I'm ashamed to be associated with him. And other times he can be really kind and genuine. That's when I'm glad he's my best friend.

I don't know. I've asked around what others think of him. I mean, Derek's always kind of been sarcastic and mean, but he never really means to hurt anybody. Just lately, his comments have become crueler, and some people have dubbed Derek the "meanest kid" in the grade. It's sort of hard to tell when he means something and when he doesn't.

Some people think he's moody, some think he's a jerk.

The most popular answer so far is that he's bipolar. I laughed when I heard that.

Derek's moody, but I don't think he's that crazy. At least people know he exists.

Yeah, me? I'm Sam, and as you've probably guessed by now, Derek's best friend. I've been so since we were two. That's my rep. Well that, and being the pretty boy in the junior grade. The only reason people notice me is for my looks—I guess I'm not that ugly. Well as Jenna McKenna, the most annoying girl in history would say, "Saaaaaam's a gorrrrrrgeeeeousss huuuuunnnnk." And yes, she does talk like that.

Too bad I don't like her. I don't like anybody right now—which includes Casey, Derek's step-sister. See, at first I thought she was cute and pretty cool, and I liked her, but when we started dating, I realized there's nothing bad about her, but we just don't have too much in common. So, both she and I agreed that it would be better to just break up and explore other people, I guess.

I'm sort of bad with words, yeah, who says "explore other people"—that's why I let Derek do the talking, while I stand there. Sometimes it makes me feel stupid. Anyway, Derek's yelling at me now, so it sort of rips me out of my daydreams.

"What?" I ask. God, Derek can talk really loud.

"I have an idea," says Derek, waving his hands around. Ok, Derek moves his hands a lot when he talks, I've noticed that.

"Which is…" I say, pushing my dirty blonde hair back into my blue beanie. I like beanies. A lot.

"I have an idea where we can get rich. Fast." Derek's all waving his hands around, but I'm just trying not to groan out in disgust.

Yeah, the last plan that he had? Not good. He ended up in jail. Yeah, for a short period of time—Casey came and saved him—but still, that was not good. He was selling CD's, not knowing that they were illegal to burn and sell without the artist's permission.

"Does it involve music?" I ask him.

"No, actually it does not," he says, turning to face me.

He reaches like my shoulder, and his face is all angry. For such a small person, Derek sure has a lot of anger stuffed inside him. I once suggested that he should take an anger management class. He listened, and ended up punching the teacher in the nose. Derek's still mad at me for having a super growth-spurt while he's still, to put it lightly, a midget.

"It involves… a new clothing style. Started by," he flourishes his hands, "me."

I laugh, a hoarse, deep sound. Yeah, my voice broke a long time ago. "What's it called? Dork Couture?"

Derek gives me a dirty look, but I'm still laughing. Who would wear anything Derek designed?

"Actually, it's called," Derek sighs, as if he's going to reveal the hugest secret in the whole entire world, and runs his hand through his reddish-brown hair in what he thinks is a slick manner. "I'm still in the process of deciding, but it will probably be Derek Couture."

I laugh even harder, fighting not to cry now. The funny thing is that Derek's completely serious—he doesn't think it's a joke at all, and he's just standing there, looking so angry.

"I'll do it!" he snaps angrily. "I will do it! Laugh all you want now, Sam, but I'll do it, and make a fortune, and I won't give any of it to you."

"Don't worry," I say with a broad smile, "I don't need fifty cents."

All the sudden Derek's whole attitude changes.

"Please Sam," he's saying. "I need you to trust me on this."

Yeah, this? This means he needs my help with something and is going to force me into it. The last time he said those words, I ended up baby-sitting Marti, his younger sister, for him for a week. He said it wouldn't be too long, but see, I got fed up when Marti tried to force me to kiss her because she was playing princess and I was her Prince Charming. Yeah, and I told Derek, and you know what he did? He told Marti that I was in love with her and she should follow me everywhere.

Some friend that is.

Anyway, that explains why I'm scared right now. I've always been pressured into things I've never wanted to do by Derek—I mean, since I was two when I gave him my Godzilla toy—so I'm sort of nervous right now. I've always been kind of a follower—Derek's follower to be exact. I mean, I'm just sort of the guy that's not really there—only there because of my rep as Derek's friend and because of my good looks, (I'm not trying to be cocky, but that's the way it is). I mean, I have six brothers and sisters and I'm just sort of smashed in the middle. They're all loud and outspoken, but I've always been sort of the quiet kid. They get the genes from my parents, who are the bluntest people, but I guess I just didn't inherit that trait.

"What is it, D?" I ask him, feeling vaguely suspicious.

"It's nothing, Samuel," he says, purposely calling me by my full name to annoy me. "It's just that… never mind, you wouldn't do it."

"What is it?" His stalling isn't getting him anywhere—I'm not going to be fooled.

"I need to… advertise my clothing," he says, looking straight at me. "And how I can do that…"

I get the hint.

"No," I say immediately. Derek and I have been friends for so long, sometimes I know what he's thinking before he says it.

"Come on, Sam, come on…"


"Come on, do it for me. I'm your best friend, Sam, come on, I'm your best friend…"

"Don't you use that best friend gag on me, Derek. I don't need this."

"Come on, come on…"

"I'm not going to model for your clothing and that's final."

Yeah. If only it was.

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