Chapter 1:

I Don't Wanna Be Anything Other Than What I've Been Trying To Be Lately.

(Sam's POV)

I walked through the cool Seattle night, moonlight glinting off my blonde hair, and these stupid shoes I borrowed from Carly killing my feet with each step I took on the rain-kissed pavement. I was humiliated. And by who? GIBBY. Gibby, the person that I take great pains to torment and embarrass, had rejected me for the Girls' Choice dance. He already had plans with a girl. Let me repeat that: Gibby, short, spiky headed, often shirtless little nub, already had plans with a girl. And he turned me down. Me, Samantha Puckett, the girl whose name strikes fear and loathing into most hearts at Ridgeway. What has this world come to?

I know I can be intimidating, but that doesn't mean that I don't want to be liked. If someone would just take the time to get to know me, maybe I could start to break down all these walls I'm so good at putting up. Maybe, I could see what it's actually like to be myself.

I shook my head vigorously. I didn't like to be all girly and vulnerable. It was just weird. All I wanted now was to enjoy a smoothie with my friends, and maybe have a little fun after the suckish night I'd had. I wouldn't even punch Freddie. Well… maybe I would, but not that hard. Occasionally, Momma is feeling in a giving mood.

I tossed my hair over my shoulders as I stepped up to the door of the Groovy Smoothie, and shivered a bit as I opened it and air came rushing out. I started to say hi to Carly and Fredweird, but as I took a step inside the shop, I saw it:

Freddie and Carly, embracing each other, her with her face snuggled against his chest, he with his newly muscular arms wrapped around her waist and his chin resting on her glossy brown head. They swayed around, dancing. I just stood there agape, one hand still on the lapel of my coat from where I had started to take it off. Carly faced the wall, and thankfully couldn't see me. I craned my neck to get a better look at them. Carly's arms encircled Freddie, and his eyes were closed, a stupid smile playing across his irritatingly perfect mouth.

I stepped backward carefully, not allowing the heels of my shoes to make the slightest click on the black and white tiled floor. Drawing my coat back around myself tightly, I gently pushed the door back open, trying to keep the bells on it from clanging and signifying my presence, and ventured into the night. As the door closed behind me, I stomped off down the sidewalk, defiantly clomping my heels into the pavement. I paused for a second, looked back through the window. Carly and Freddie were still entwined, slowly moving around that one spot between the tables. All I could think was how much I wanted to—no. Just no. No no no.

I started off toward home, glaring at each passerby, and gradually walking faster and faster. I came to a crosswalk just as the light turned and had to wait. Normally I wouldn't care, but I didn't feel like trying to run across the street in these ridiculous shoes. I'd probably fall down and get run over by a truck. Maybe a ham truck. Wouldn't that be the best way to go, surrounded by piles of delicious ham?

As I paused, the wind blew, raising goosebumps on my arms, and I huddled inside my jacket that was too old, too small and too worn out to give me any sort of warmth on a night like this. I felt a drop of water hit my cheek. Great. It was going to start raining again, and not only I would get completely soaked, but I'd also ruin Carly's shoes. I looked up at the sky to see just how cloudy it was, and try to gauge how much time I had to get home before it started pouring. Strangely, the sky was clear. How weird. That never happens here.

Another drop of water tapped my cheek. There weren't any trees around that could be dripping on me. I was puzzled—where was this water coming from, and why was it warm?

Another drop. Another. I had to know what was happening. I reached up and swiped a finger across my cheek, then touched it carefully to the tip of my tongue, ready for any sort of gross thing that it could be. Momma isn't afraid of anything.

It was salty. I knew then that it wasn't rain. As the light finally turned, I hurried across the street and paused in front of a closed store to gaze at my reflection in the window.

I was a mess, to say the least. My hair was frizzy, my clothes wrinkled, my pathetic jacket slumped over me like a rag. I leaned closer, so I could better inspect myself. The eye makeup Carly had so carefully applied streaked down my cheeks like a black river, my eyes were puffy and red, and there was a new hitch in my breathing that I hadn't noticed before. I turned my back to the shop, arms crossed, and pressed one foot against the wall. I felt more and more drops trail down my face, which felt completely strange to me. I tried to stop what I knew was happening, but I just couldn't.

I can tell you exactly the last time I remember crying. I was eight. My twin sister, Melanie, was going off to boarding school. She hugged me and got on the train, waving to me sadly as it chugged away. I was little. Although I knew where she was going, the idea of boarding school was confusing to me. I thought my sister was leaving me, and never coming back. What was I going to do without her? I fingered the ham keychain in my pocket—she had used her allowance to buy it for me. I held that little ham and missed my sister and was afraid and young and alone and I couldn't handle it—I started bawling in the middle of the train station. My mother grabbed my arm and told me stop to making a scene, or I'd really get it when I got home. But I couldn't stop—my sister, my Melanie, with whom I shared not only my face, but also a real bond and connection—she was gone.

That was the last time I have ever cried. It was over someone I really loved and thought I lost, and it broke my heart. Later, when I realized she hadn't gone away for good, I scolded myself and swore to never cry over anything again. I didn't want my parents to have one more thing to yell at me about. I didn't want to show I had feelings. I wanted to be strong, and so I made myself that way. It was easier to pretend that I just didn't feel anything at all.

But here I was, standing on the sidewalk, looking awful and feeling even worse, crying. If I love you, like I love Melanie, I guess that's what happens, but if it's someone I hate, like Freddie, I'd put salad dressing in their shampoo bottle, or mail their cell phone to Cambodia or something.

My shoulders shook with sobs. What was I crying about? The nubs passing me by gave me weird looks and then hurried away.

I breathed in and out slowly, and my mind ground to a halt. Burned into my memory was the view of Fredwardo, dancing with Carly, eyes closed, and with that idiotic smile plastered across his face.

The sudden realization made me bolt upright and swipe at my eyes to get the streams of makeup off of my face. I slapped myself hard on the cheek, forcing the thoughts out of my head.

I turned away from the store and began walking again, continuing to head toward my house. Actually, I guess I was more powerwalking—arms flailing, chin held high, blonde curls flying out behind me, pushing my feet onto the ground with an unnecessary amount of force. I was horrified at myself.

If I ever thought about him like that again, I was jumping off the Bushwell Plaza.

Sam Puckett is too tough, too strong, and too mean to love anyone.

And she doesn't need anyone to love her.

She is just fine on her own.

Author's Note: This fanfic is my much angstier version of how I think that the Sam/Freddie relationship should have happened, using the end of the episode "iSpeed Date" as a jumping off point. It is told in alternating viewpoints.

The title of this chapter comes from a lyric from the song "I Don't Want To Be" by Gavin DeGraw.

I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are welcome and appreciated! :)