Author's Note: This chapter was harder to write than I thought it would be and I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. The first draft of it was entirely too sappy for the characters and the second made it seem like Sam had chronic mood swings. Hope this third try at least moderately worked.
"I swear, Sam, one of these days you are going to push me . . ." ~Fredward Benson, iLook Alike
"What are you doing here, Benson?!" I yelled, sounding more hysterical than I would have liked.
"I'm here to take you to prom," he said, giving me a puzzled look.
"So I guess those smart pills your Mom has been feeding you haven't quite kicked in yet, huh?" I said. "What part of 'I have a date' didn't you understand?"
Freddie was the absolute last person that I wanted to see and there was no possible way that Ross and I could agree upon our story with him there.
"Oh," he said, innocently, "I completely forgot. I guess I'll just wait with you until he gets here."
"Yeah, not going to happen, Freakazoid," I said, motioning toward the door.
"Really?" he asked, infuriatingly. "Why not? I would think that you'd want all the help you could get."
He grimaced slightly, looking up at the monstrosity that was my hair, and extended a hand as if to prod at it.
"Because, you socially incompetent loser," I said, slapping his hand away in annoyance and thinking on my feet, "Ross could get the wrong idea."
That was plausible. Man I was good.
"The wrong idea about what?" he asked, innocently and I practically groaned at his stupidity.
"Well, let's see," I said slowly, pretending to think over. "Maybe about the fact that there's another guy in a tux sitting around with his prom date?!"
Maddeningly, Freddie raised a puzzled eyebrow. This scenario really wasn't that hard to understand. In fact, Ross actually had asked me about Freddie when I asked him to take me prom.
"I mean he'll think that there's something going on between us," I clarified, looking at him as if I thought he were a complete moron.
"Oh, I got that," he said simply. "I'm just not sure why you would call that 'the wrong idea.'"
"Excuse me?" I practically reeled, momentarily unable to contain my shock as I gripped the back of the couch. He actually said that out loud.
"Well, that seems like a pretty accurate assessment of the situation to me," he said casually.
Although, for the most part, he seemed cool and collected, I could see that his hands were shaking. What the hell did he think he was doing?
"Are you off your rocker, Freddork?" I said, laughing in a way that didn't quite manage to mask my nervousness. "I have absolutely no feelings for you whatsoever."
It was a lie that I had been telling for several years by that point, and yet, the delivery was not as flawless as it should have been.
"That's too bad," he said, clearly trying to sound casual but actually matching my not-quite-not-nervous tone. "Because I have feelings for you."
And then I couldn't take it any more. Maybe I wasn't as good a liar as I thought because I had to look away. I could no longer meet his eyes.
"Freddie, stop goofing around," I tried to laugh, pretending to be looking for something in my purse. I could have shot myself in the foot. I sounded like a girl in frikkin' chick flick.
"Sooo," he said, essentially ignoring my feeble response but sounding a bit more relaxed. "You and this Ross guy, huh?"
"What about us?" I said lamely, continuing to rifle through my purse.
"Is it pretty serious?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, looking up at him. "It's pretty hot and heavy, you know?"
And the moment that the words left my mouth, I knew that I had somehow slipped up. A devious glint flashed in his eye hinting that he knew more than he was letting on. Fortunately, I had done this before, and knew that there was still a good chance that I could recover from this sort of mistake.
"Why?" I asked dramatically, trying to look as anxious as possible. "Do you know something that I don't?!"
Even if he knew that Ross wasn't exactly in love me, I could still play it off as if I had hoped otherwise.
"Well," he smirked. "The guy didn't seem terribly upset when I told him that he didn't have to take you to prom."
It was the smirk. The smirk that pushed me over the edge. I could feel my blood starting to boil and my mind cloud over in anger.
"You told him what?!" I yelled, grabbing his lapels. I had worked long and hard to set this up and the dorkwad just went and blew it. And then he had the nerve to show up! To show up and pretend like he didn't know that I was waiting the guy that he turned away!
"You had no right to interfere with my love life!" I yelled.
At first Freddie looked frightened, the way that he always had when I placed him in danger of imminent physical harm, but then he seemed to push through it. His features suddenly seemed to soften, and slowly and deliberately, he moved his hands to my waist.
And suddenly I was the one who was afraid. I couldn't contain a gasp nor could I meet his eyes. I knew that if I did, it would be all over. And I'd be damned if I let him win.
"Freddie, let me go," I said in a low and angry tone.
"N-no, Sam," he said, his voice trembling and his hands shaking.
"I'm warning you, Freddie," I said, "Let me go or else . . ."
"Or else, what?" he asked, sounding both defiant and scared. "You'll force the entire football team to date you until I agree to go to Brown?"
"Freddie," I said, closing my eyes completely and realizing that I had nothing but the truth left. "Freddie, we can't do this."
"And why not?!" he almost yelled, sounding exasperated.
And for the second time that month, I felt fucking tears well up in my eyes. It was like my body was rebelling against me and I was frozen on the spot, mortified . . . I did my best to slow my breathing, praying that that all of it would stop. Or that, somehow, if I stood there silently enough I would disappear into the background.
No such luck.
"Why not?" he asked more softly, and I could hear the fucking pain creeping into his voice.
"Because," I said without really thinking, just trying my utter best to retract the damn tears that I could feel forming, "this isn't how your life is supposed to go. You're supposed to be a doctor with a stupid picket fence and 2.3 nubbish kids. And I could still very well end up working at Chili my Bowl."
And suddenly he was laughing. Laughing! I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was practically crying in front of him and he had the nerve to laugh!
"That's the stupidest thing that I've ever heard," he laughed, his voice now full of assurance and relief.
Let's just say that pissed me off.
"It is not, you insensitive freak!" I said, angrily, meeting his eyes again. "I just want you to lead type of life that you're fucking meant for!"
This, apparently, was the wrong choice of words on my part because it seemed to set something off in him.
"And what gives you the right to decide what that is?!" he asked, releasing me in his anger. "You're not my mother, Sam, and even if you were you wouldn't get to make those choices!"
"Well someone needs to make those choices" I yelled, "because you've clearly been sipping the crazy juice! How could you just throw it all away?!"
"I'm not throwing it away!" he yelled back. "UBC is a very good school!"
"Even if it is," I said, "you clearly chose it for messed up reasons and I'm not gonna let you give up the rest of it!"
"What if I don't want the rest of it?!" he shouted. "For one thing, I don't want to be a doctor! You know that blood makes me faint! And who says I want a fucking picket fence?! And you sure as hell are not going to end up working at Chili my Bowl!"
"And why the hell not?!" I yelled, taking a step toward him.
After all the discomfort that idea had caused me over the last few months, I couldn't believe he could be so damn flippant about my future!
"Because you're Sam Puckett, dammit!" he shouted.
"You're the craziest, stubbornest girl I know," he said, "and you don't do anything that you don't want to. I know that you'll find your way eventually."
I hadn't realized how tired I was or how much I had been holding in. At that moment, all the anger, sadness, and fear about of the future seemed to pour out of me and I was left standing there staring at him in shock. I opened my mouth as if to respond but found that no words would come.
And there it was again. That look. That hopeful, terrifying, wonderful look. But this time it was somehow softer. His eyes were filled with tenderness and never once left my own as he closed the distance between us.
"And I think I love you," he whispered, his voice trembling and his face inches from my own. "Whether or not you feel that way about me."
"You're such an idiot," I whispered back before doing the only thing I could.
His lips were soft against mine and moved with both passion and tenderness.
Finally, I pulled away and voiced the question that had been forming in my mind.
"So where do we go from here?" I asked him.
"Well," he smiled, "how about the dance?"
At first I thought he had misunderstood my question. That he didn't realize that I was speaking of the long term and what would happen to us in the future. I opened my lips to clarify, but before I could say anything he had pulled me toward him again and his lips were covering mine.
And suddenly it was as simple as that. Me. Him. A dance and a kiss.
And the future? Maybe.
We've all made decisions; we've all had to choose. From amongst the skeleton's in our closets, where's my dancing shoes . . .
Author's Note 2: And there you have it. Not the greatest fic in the world, but certainly not the worst. Although I don't quite consider this a songfic, I have included some lyrics at the end of every chapter. They're from an obscure song called "Maybe, Just, Maybe" by the Sons of the Never Wrong. I don't own them any more than I own iCarly. Thanks to all my lovely reviewers. :-)