Title: Yo Yo Girl
Author: Alex Foster
Word Count: 738
Warnings: Underage drinking
Rating: PG for implied adult themes
Summary: Sam never was very good at keeping promises. She figured she should feel bad about it, at least some of the bigger ones in life, but never did. Future fic.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Dan Schneider. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
4. A relationship of mutual understanding or trust and agreement between people
Sam never was very good at keeping promises. She wondered if maybe she should feel bad about it, at least some of the bigger promises in life, but never did.
Carls would feel bad. The same girl that had broken hearts intentionally and unintentionally of nearly every boy and some girls at Ridgeway and later NYU would never give her word and then vanish for weeks at a time. Would never pretend she wasn't sorry.
He shouldn't indulge her, maybe there was a part of her that expected him to stop, but Freddie kept right on being his stupid self. Sure they threw the H word back and forth, as always, but even after all this time it was still code and they still knew what it really meant.
Freddie told her he hated it when she showed up at his apartment, bags in hand, looking for a place to stay for a couple of days or a month. They argued and shouted but it never escaped Sam's notice that he always had a box of fat cakes and more bacon than his delicate system could possibly handle waiting in the kitchen whenever she showed up.
It was a familiar dance by now. He would offer the couch and she would announce she was taking the bed instead. Being that same stupid self he had the gentlemanliness to act surprised when told he was welcome to share it.
Sam made sure never to stay too long. In her head she counted the days but refused to compare her time at Freddie's to the length of some of her mom's longest relationships. By her reasoning it should be worth a few extra days since they never used the R word.
Carly wasn't like her, unsurprisingly. Carls needed those words, clung to them, and would probably pluck them from the air and keep them pressed in a scrapbook if she could. When the three of them were together, Sam knew she could count on Freddie to share eye rolls with her at Carly's latest boyfriend and the dovey chiz they coated themselves in.
She figured he did it more to make fun of Carly's boyfriend rather than at the concept in general, but Sam knew to take what she could get. After all she'd seen his rather extensive collection of chick lit and knew he had an inner weakness for dovey.
She remembered long ago lying on freshly cut grass, basking in a dull buzz, and listening to Freddie trying to explain something about orbits to her. How some planets and moons crossed paths with each other but they were off by just enough that instead of colliding they actually stabilized each other, yanking each back into the proper alignment. She couldn't remember what he called it exactly, resolving or resonant maybe, but there was something about the analogy she liked. She'd never ever tell him so, but it was kind of…pretty.
Eventually Freddie would start to plan things with her, to talk about that new restaurant down the street he wanted to try, and it was all so relationshipy that her bare skin would shiver underneath his two thousand thread count sheets. When that happened she was sure to leave before morning. She'd pack her bags while he slept, take some gas money from his wallet, and vanish without a note.
Sam knew she should probably feel bad about it, at least after the second or third time. Promises were funny things, those spoken and those felt, but he couldn't really expect her to keep them if she never learned how. Carly could disapprove and tsk all she wanted, but she didn't really understand. Sam didn't really understand it either and she wasn't self-reflective enough to care or ask Freddie.
Maybe she was trying to see if there was a leaving and returning quota and one day he would just slam the door when she showed up looking for a place to stay. Growing up she had watched her mom's exes play that pity ditty more times than she could count. And with those examples fresh in her mind, Sam ran without looking back.
Fredward Benson was a stupid idiot though and never would slam the door in her face. They would yell and scrap and he would offer the couch. She hated him more than a little for that reason and often told him so. It was code and they both understood.