Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly, nor did I own Norma Jeane Baker.

I always thought my role model would end up being this muscley chick who could throw a real punch. Yet here I am, staring at a picture of this… Barbie doll. When you think of Sam Puckett, who do you think of? Did you think of Marilyn Monroe? No, you don't.

I don't think that I actually like her. I think I like her quotes more than anything else. I'm telling you, those quotes were made for me and just for me. Everyone else can just scurry along now.

The real lover is the man who can thrill you by kissing your forehead or smiling into your eyes or just staring into space.

And I'm ashamed to say I was thinking of none other than queen of the dorks as soon as I saw the words 'the real lover.' Why? Why did he pop into my head above all other guys? It's 2010 now, this is my decade.

You need a friend. No, you don't just need a friend. You need a best friend.

I ran down the hallway towards her apartment door. I slammed the palm of my hand against the wood rapidly, losing count of how many times per second. "Carly! Carly! Carly, Carly, Carly, Carly, Carly!"

I was so busy trying to get one door open; I didn't even notice what the one behind me was doing.

His voice rang through the air like a bell. "Sam?"

I looked behind me. It's him. I'm trapped. I turned my head back to the blockade in front of me. "CARLY!"

He grabbed my waist and pulled me away from the door. Oh my God, this feels oddly natural. Stop! I whipped around and faced him willingly for the first time. He had no right to touch me like that. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You can't see her right now, she has a headache," he whispered.

I looked at him again. This was the kid I thought of?

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked.

It's then that I realized I was hyperventilating. I turned away from him and kicked the wall with all I had in me. And then I did it again. It felt terrible, but I couldn't really feel it all that much. I felt his arms wrap around my waist again. Where in the world was this nerve of his coming from?

I felt him pulling me to the floor, leaning against the hallway wall. I struggled to get out of his grip, but he just wouldn't get it. I was on the cold floor now, with his arms wrapped around me. I kicked and shook but he wouldn't let me go.

"Sam, tell me what's wrong with you!" he yelled.

"There's nothing wrong with me!" was my rebuttal.

Oh, so now I'm telling myself lies. No, I am the brutally honest one! I don't sugar coat things for other people, let alone myself! I knew exactly what my problem was, and my problem's hugging me.

"Then, whatdo you need Carly for?" he whispered.

I could feel his warm breath on my ear. It was supposed to be gross. I hate him. I'm supposed to hate him. Yet his breath was the one thing calming me down.

"I need to talk to her." I finally answered.

"So talk to me," he said calmly.

"I can't!"

I'm not lying. I can't talk to him right now. Apparently he's 'the real lover.'

"Sam, you've told me every disgusting thought in your mind since the third grade! You can tell me anything."

I felt the water in my shoes soak through my socks as I continued to kick.

"Just stop, I'm not letting go," he warned.

"Ya wanna know my problem, Freddie? Fine. Here's my problem."

No! Stop! Samantha Puckett, stop it! Let go of his lips right now! You're ruining your life! You're confusing him! Stop!

I scolded myself, but didn't listen. I never listen. I liked what I was doing right now. It felt oddly natural. I don't even care that he's not kissing me back; I wanted to keep kissing him. But then, of course, all good things come to an end.

I grabbed his shirt collar and held his scared and confused face about an inch away from mine. "Get it?"

I unhooked his arms around me during his moment of weakness. I stood up and started banging on Carly's door again. "Carly, Carly, Carly, Carly, Carly, Carly, Carly!"

I felt his hand enclose around my wrist and pull me away from the door.

"STOP IT!" I yelled at him.

He swiveled me around and grabbed my other wrist too. "Sam, I think you just need to go home and calm down," he whispered. "I don't think you're thinking straight right now."

"You don't think I know that? Do you think that if I were thinking straight, I would kiss you?"

"Don't pull that crap, you were enjoying kissing me," he snapped.

I'm doing it again. I'm kissing him again. The sad part – I am thinking straight. I want to kiss him. I felt his hands release my wrists, his arms slowly snaking around my waist. I grabbed his collar and pulled him closer to me.

I pushed his lips off of mine, but held on to his collar. "I. Don't. Wanna go home. I wanna be with you."

He had concern written all over his face. Now I get it. He was worried about me. He thought I was a loony goon for liking him.

"Sam-"

"I don't get it," I interrupted him. "I had no intention of being near you in any way, shape, or form."

"You're fine," he whispered.

I felt his lips press against my forehead. Marilyn, shut up. You've done nothing but… Speak the truth all day.