Title: Boys With Girlfriends

Rating: T

Synopsis: High school is like every other social hierarchy. And Sam and Freddie reside on opposite ends.

A/N: This is gonna be a little fluffy multi-chapter, inspired by a multitude of 90's teen comedies. I know the premise has been done before, but heck. It's just too fun not to do.

Suggested playlist for this chapter: Diana Vickers; Once, Ellie Goulding; Under the Sheets, Chris Cornell; Part of Me, A Fine Frenzy; Electric Twist

"You're breaking up with me?"

Freddie Benson stared at the raven haired cheerleader in front of him, watching as she shrugged nonchalantly and looked to her friends for confirmation. It shouldn't have surprised him really; she looked to their approval for everything else they did too.

"Yeah Freddie, I am," Miley cooed, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers, "Griffin Fisher asked me out. And...well you know. Bad boys are so in right now."

"Miley, we've been dating for two years...I love you," he implored, his voice hushed. The group caught it anyway and giggled amongst themselves, pretending to concentrate on their phones. She fluttered her long dark eyelashes; her swirling brown eyes seemed blacker now.

"Listen," she heaved a dramatic sigh, "I loved you too. But I'm seventeen."

She blinked owlishly as if that was enough explanation for ending their two year relationship. "And?" he frowned, confused.

"And....time for a change?" she offered, eliciting more giggles from the group, "Listen Freddie. You shouldn't feel like you're leaving this with nothing. When I met you, you were a complete nerd. I upped your status, you play football now. Girls fall over themselves for you. After this is over, you've left with some very high connections."

"High connections?" he laughed the words, disbelieving, "Miley, baby....don't make me beg."

"Freddie baby," she repeated, taking a step to him, "Begging won't make a difference."

She looked sad, but Freddie honestly believed the emotion to be faked. So much else seemed to have been. With another sigh, she pecked his cheek and rubbed the lipstick off with her finger. "Bye Freddiedoodle."

Flipping her hair, she departed with her Miley army in tow, leaving him gripping the arms of his backpack for support.

"Freddie," a hand snaked its way to his shoulder, "I saw what happened. You ok?"

He turned to his friend, feigning a nonchalance he didn't really feel. "Yeah it's all good. Like I care."

The brunette gave a sympathetic smile, her hand still on his shoulder. "Freddie, it's me here. I'm not one of those douche bags you hang about with. I can tell if you're hurt."

"I'm not hurt," he asserted, almost a little angry at the assumption, "Like she said, I'm the captain of the basketball team. I've got good grades, good friends. I'm gonna be just fine."

Carly nodded, slowly and deliberately. "Wanna be just fine at mine tonight with me, pizza and Noah?"

"Yeah. Eight?" he asked quickly.

"Eight for what?"

Samantha Puckett bounded up to the pair, her long, straight blonde hair bouncing over her shoulders. A contradiction in terms, the small blonde looked menacing in ripped dark denim and an angry Metallica t-shirt. Some things would never change.

"Your parole officer is calling round," Freddie snapped.

"What's wrong Frednerd? Finally realised shooting balls through hoops is as pointless as say...your life?"

"Delinquent," he spat, turning and walking away.

"Douche face," she retorted coolly turning to Carly. She glowered at Sam through expertly curled bangs.

"Whatever happened you two?" the brunette asked, rueful, "I remember a time when your insults were full of love and imagination."

Sam narrowed her ice blue eyes. "Junior high happened Shay."

"Yeah but you two used to be...weird friends. It was nice. We had a web show," she reminded her best friend. Sam ignored her, focusing her attention on her over stuffed locker, and trying to balance the contents while shoving her gym bag inside.

"I'm fully aware of that Carly. I was there."

"Yeah I know. And I was there when you suddenly stopped talking."

"Nothing sudden about it kid. Freddie got all popular and if possible even more dweeby than usual, and I just got too cool for him. It was inevitable really."

Carly's brow furrowed, and she leaned into the lockers. "But how did I manage to stay friends with both of you if these changes were so huge?"

"Cos you..." the blonde stopped briefly to kick the locker door shut and it closed with a resounding clank. "You are like Sweden. Forever neutral and pretty."

"Pretty?" Carly cocked a perfectly groomed eyebrow, but was clearly flattered by the compliment.

"Yeah. I figured mentioning the word pretty would make you forget what we were talking about," Sam grinned, jutting her chest out proudly. Out the corner of her eye she caught Griffin striding down the corridor of Westbury High, leather clad, pulling off his 'oh so bad and I know it' look. She couldn't help it; she swooned like a girl.

"Why did you ever dump that stud muffin?" Sam growled, lusting after the bulky teen.

Carly shrugged, following the blonde's gaze. "Pee-wee babies amongst a multitude of other factors. Plus, I have Noah. How can I do better than a youth volunteer, who beats guys up who bump into me at clubs but is still huggable and adorable?"

Sam blinked. "Way to wave your perfect boyfriend in my face Shay."

"Sorry, but he is perfect."

Sam watched on horrified as he leant on Miley Jacobs locker, touching her hair and laughing. The dark haired, Britney-esque cheerleader lapped up the attention, hiking her skirt up just that little bit higher.

"Eh....did I miss something?" Sam turned on Carly, gesturing wildly at the couple.

"Huh?"

"Since when did the STI ridden whore open her legs for business again? I thought she was dating the Nerd!"

"Oh..."Carly paused, glancing between Sam and the couple, "Yeah. She broke up with Freddie."

"What?" Sam's screeched induced a nervous jump from the brunette, and she backed off a little.

"Yeah. Like a few minutes ago. Felt the need to make a bit of a scene too. Apparently she and Griffin have a thing going."

"You're shitting me?" Sam scowled, folding her arms across her chest, "Why? Why is she going after the one guy who isn't a complete loser in this school? The one guy I'm actually interested in?"

"Cos she has a thing about stealing guys you have a crush on?"

"What?" she asked, puzzled.

"Never mind. I don't know why Sam," Carly sighed, turning and making her way to class. She could hear the patter of Sam's converse following her.

"Carly, I don't think your grasping the level of my distress."

"I understand Sam, I do. But let's face it, you'll go to that dingy rock club of yours tonight and find some other meathead to fill Griffin's shoes. You'll drink Jager, make out a little and it will all be fine tomorrow."

Sam paused, watching bewildered as her friend escaped into Math class.

"But...I don't like Jager."


Carly and Noah were a pretty cool couple to hang out with. Freddie had reached this conclusion after making peace with the idea of Carly settling down with a ridiculously intelligent volunteer who looked like he lived in the gym. Sure, a younger him would have felt seriously threatened by the other boys presence but something about the pair just fitted perfectly. They weren't big on the displays of affection around people, they conversed with others well. They just seemed to match and hanging out with them was like hanging out with two good friends. There was no awkwardness, or feeling of being misplaced. It was natural and fun. Briefly he wondered if that's what it was like for Griffin and Miley, though this he highly doubted.

"Yo dude," Noah clicked his fingers in front of a dazed Freddie, "Gonna join us in the land of the living?"

"He's thinking about Miley," Carly answered, nestled in her boyfriends embrace.

"Am not!" Freddie defended, pouting a little.

"Then enlighten us Freddie," Carly challenged, "What deep thoughts occupied that ever running brain of yours?"

"I was just thinking....about a pop quiz I have in Algebra tomorrow."

"Surely if it's a pop quiz, you wouldn't know about it?" Noah frowned, bemused.

"What are you? The math cops?"

"Don't get mad at Noah 'cause you couldn't come up with a better lie," Carly grinned lifting her head a little.

He mumbled obscenities under his breath, crossed his arms and sank further into his side of the sofa like a petulant child. There was one bad thing about Carly having a boyfriend; she now had back up anytime she needed. It made for very pointless arguments, on his side anyway. The sound of Kesha filled the living room and Carly answered her Pear phone, leaving the boys to the film.

"Griffin's an idiot man," Noah offered, taking a swig of his beer.

"He is isn't he?" Freddie sought confirmation from the sandy blonde boy on the other end of the sofa.

Noah nodded, the bottle pressed to his lips. "Yup. No one wears a biker jacket anymore. It's not 1999."

"Guys, we've got a huge problem," Carly announced, looking flustered from the landing.

"What's up baby?" Noah queried, turning on the sofa.

"It's Sam; I just got a call from her. She's drunk outside some bar near the Groovy Smoothie. She's in a really bad way, we need to get her."

"We can take my car," Noah stood up quickly, searching out his keys.

"No honey, we've both been drinking. And besides, have you forgotten about the little bundle of joy that is my niece lying upstairs? Can't leave her."

"Then what can we do? Will we call her a cab?"

"Well....there is one person here who hasn't been drinking tonight."

Carly turned to the brown haired boy on the sofa, smiling hopefully.

Freddie gazed at her, his features raised. "No way."

"Please Freddie," she begged, making her way around the sofa and kneeling in front of him. "I wouldn't ask but she's started to ask where she can buy more scotch socks."

"What?"

"Scotch on the rocks."

"Still no."

"Freddie!" she whined, tugging on his hand, "Please. Do this one thing. For me?"

There it was. The flutter of the lashes, the ever so subtle boob lift as she clenched her shoulder blades together. He may have gotten over Carly Shay sometime ago, but alas was still male and therefore not immune to her feminine wiles.

Freddie stood and groaned. "Fine. But you owe me big time."

"Aw my knight in shining armour," she smiled, rubbing his arm.

"Your flattery is useless now Shay, you've got me to do what you wanted."


Freddie pulled up alongside Gallagher's pub, expertly avoiding the drunks and the unconscious as he parked by the side walk. He had never been to the place but had heard stories of drunken brawls and soft drug taking. It was the perfect hang out for any Sam Puckett type. She would fit right in here. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he got out of the car; perhaps more of a search for the perpetual delinquent, alas she stood arguing with a burly bouncer, aggressively gesturing and screaming at the top of her lungs. Freddie stepped in between them to dissolve the situation.

"Hey Sam, what ya doing?" he asked, a little dumbly. She blinked, uncomprehending.

"What you doin' here Benson?" she drawled, stumbling backwards. He reached out, catching her elbow.

"Came to give you a ride home," he offered, still grasping her arm.

"I'm sure you did. Now that Miley-has-tampon-lodged-up-her-backside Jacobs dumped you, I'm sure you would want to ride anything that wasn't as frigid as ice."

His nostrils flared, colour rushing to his face. He had never wanted to hit a girl in his life, but Sam was making it very tempting. "Sam," he tried again keeping his tone level, "Carly told me you needed a ride."

"No. I told Carly I wanted more alcohol," she slurred, tripping on her black heeled boots, "And I'd get me more alcohol if James here would let me back in."

The bouncer regarded her briefly again, his gaze then fluttering to Freddie. "Puckett can't come back in tonight. Too many fights."

"I didn't fight with that guy! He punched my stomach first!"

"Someone punched you?" Freddie asked, pushing her back from the doorway.

"Oh don't come over all chivalrous," she waved him off, "Like you could kick his ass anyway."

Freddie rolled his eyes having had enough with the blonde and hoisted her over his left shoulder. She screamed and kicked out, yelling something about a bottle of beer she left inside. It was a struggle to bundle her into the backseat of his Ford, and she continued to screech as he turned on the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

"Benson when I get out of here I'm gonna kick your ass!" she warned, kneeing his seat.

"That might have scared me when I was fifteen, but it doesn't work anymore Samantha."

"Don't call me that!" she scowled, settling back into the leather. He glimpsed in the rear view mirror, watching her curl up on the seat.

"Don't you dare get sick in there."

The only response he received was a guttural snore, and his lips curled on one side at the sight of her heaped in back of his car. If he thought about, and Freddie did not like to think about it much, he missed her. Some odd, S&M fetish part of his personality missed the abuse and the fun. At least he knew what he was getting with Samantha Puckett; he could not say the same about his new ranking in the social order of high school. Sam had not taken well to his newfound popularity, particularly the girlfriend that had come along with it. From the beginning she made known her disdain for Miley, voicing it on quite a number of occasions. From there, they parted quite naturally. Sam became more and more involved in the rather seedy aspects of high school, Freddie became the quintessential jock. On opposite ends of the spectrum, they simply no longer matched. He would admit, perhaps begrudgingly, that being friends with Sam once upon a time was one of the most natural things in the world.

Pulling into Sam's driveway, he looked back at the blonde lump. Her hair fell over her heavily made up face, her neon pink skirt rising dangerously high up her hips exposing her torn fishnets. It was quite the wonder how she had not become a target for the sleazy and rough, and Freddie feared more than a little that she was especially vulnerable. He cursed his natural chivalry; he very much doubted she gave a damn about his honour, why should he concern himself with hers? Sighing he reached into the back and shook her leg.

"Sam," he said, "Sam wake up."

Grunting she turned away from him, burying herself further into his backseat.

"Sam," he repeated a little louder. Suddenly she sprung up, hitting out and whacking him over the nose with her fist. After much kerfuffle, she finally realised what she had done watching as he escaped the confines of car and kicked the wheel, pain cursing through his face. She followed, albeit a little clumsily, losing one of her shoes in the process.

"Dude...are you ok?" she asked, running a hand through her messy hair.

"Do I look ok Sam?" he yelled, still cradling his nose.

She scrunched up her face. "Argh, stop being such a girl!"

"You punched me!"

"You scared me!"

"I'm bleeding!"

"I'm drunk!"

Both stopped, Freddie bending forward against the car, still spluttering.

"Call it even?" Sam offered. He glared at her, wiping away a stream of blood from his face.

"Why is it spending time with you ends up in some form of physical violence?"

A heavily intoxicated Sam shrugged over-emphatically, before letting out a long sigh.

"So....Miley and Griffin huh?"

"What is this? Bonding time? Cos I gotta say Sam I think we're well past that."

"No dorkward," she mumbled, teetering a little from side to side, "I just figured...well we sort of have something in common now."

"We have nothing in common," he gritted through clenched teeth, pulling his car door open and slipping inside. As he prepared to turn the ignition there was knock on the window, and against his better judgement, he rolled it down. The drunken blonde leaned in showing an ever expansive line of cleavage, which Freddie chastised himself for noticing.

"Au contraire Benson," she purred with a grin, "Way I see it, your ex has something I want. And the love of my life has something you want."

He rolled his eyes. "So?"

"So? What's the best way of getting back at your ex, or indeed getting someone to notice you?"

"Drinking myself to oblivion and flashing my thong to an entire street of people?" he deadpanned. He sort of regretted it with the way she flinched and her gaze fluttered downwards for more than a long moment.

She cleared her throat. "No. But being on the arm of her complete opposite, who's also quite the hottie might get her attention."

Freddie stared at her, perplexed, before the realisation of what she was suggesting dawned on him. "You want me to date you?" He made a strangled sound, something akin to a cat being killed.

"No Fudgeface," she blanched, looking disgusted, "Not really."

"Not really?"

"Let's call it a business partnership. I help you in whatever way you need to get Miley's attention, and you pay me in kind."

"What makes you think Miley would even care if I dated you?"

Sam smirked, pursing her pale pink glossed lips. "Because I'm her self-declared arch enemy. She hates me more than she hates Vans and faux fur. Sure you could date any other girl in school in a vain attempt at getting the girls attention, but it won't work. She knows she's better than them. I however, I make her feel uneasy and she can't stand that."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"Everyone knows a bad boy's one weakness."

He cocked an eyebrow urging her to divulge.

"Although they'd never admit it the idea of a jock moving in on their turf," she paused to gesture at herself, "That drives them crazy."

"You're crazy," Freddie told her, turning the ignition.

"Maybe," she agreed slowly, "But I'm right and you know it."

Cocking his eyebrow, he reversed from the drive and she watched, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"Offer expires by tomorrow morning Benson. After that I find some other douche bag to help me."

He pulled off, revving the engine into the crisp dark night. Sam Puckett was officially crazy. It would never work.

Right?


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