Ohmygod. I didn't think I'd move on to a Scamantha fic this fast, but I had this idea a while ago and I felt like I should really really write it down and see what you guys think. There are, of course, many many many SamxScam stories out there, most probably better than mine, but hey, it's still fun to write about Scam. GO SCAM! Scam is, in fact, the dope :)

So please read and review, because that would be really nice. I'm writing another TS fic too, but I think it's not for everyone. It's about Clover. Enough said.

Buuuut anyway, feel free to hate Avery. I definitely would. Oh, and also, I made Avery up, completely. Maybe there are some Brittany-elements in her character, but that's just because they're both those "perfect" characters that everyone loves to trash.

And no worries guys, it's still a Scamantha fic. They is gonna get together :D Unless, of course, they DON'T. A-HA! That should keep you interested :P Okay, so now I kind of gave away my plan as to how to keep you reading. Damn. Okay. All right. Let's go then.

Diclaimer:

Hi. It's me. Crying.

Because all rights go to Marathon Inc.

Please turn off the camera.

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I am applying just a touch of make-up to my face when the doorbell rings.

"Sam!" My mother's voice sounds annoyed. "Come down here! We're trying to make her feel welcome, remember?"

I lean my head back, then look at my reflection and sigh. Time to practice. I plaster the hugest, fakest smile I can possibly manage onto my face. "Hi, Avery," I say, but I sound just a little bit TOO enthusiastic. I glance at myself one last time and run a hand through my hair. Oh well. Might as well just get it over with.

My mother is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She raises an eyebrow at me, and I can feel my cheeks become hot. It's now wonder she looks so surprised. This is by far the skimpiest, most revealing thing I own. But, as always, she doesn't say anything, just stares at me until I become extremely uncomfortable. Her slightly disgusted expression brings back my defensive side, though. I cross my arms over my chest.

"What?" I ask, irritated.

Mom just looks at me.

"Ugh. What kind of double standard is this, anyway? Avery wears these kinds of dresses all the time, and no one ever thinks it's anything but normal!"

"Honey," she says, softly, which only makes me more angry, "Avery is three years older than you."

"So?" I scoff. "She still acts like a kid."

My mother sighs and rubs her left temple. "You would be surprised at how much she has changed this past year. She's a real adult now. Something that YOU clearly aren't. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're the one who seems to be acting like an immature child right now."

This silences me. The one thing I always had over Avery was that I was the mature one. I'm not about to give up my only advantage.

"Speaking of Avery," I say, smirking just a little now, "isn't she waiting outside?"

As Mom's eyes open wide with surprise and embarassment, I can't keep myself from chuckling slightly. She has been preparing for tonight for at least the past week - cleaning the whole houses, cooking the largest dinner we've had in years, and all in all doing a lot more for Avery than she's ever done for me. I shrug to myself. Well, Avery was always her favorite. I'm stuck in second place, but it was okay as long as Avery was only here on family gatherings. But living with us? Nightmare alert!

My mother rushes to the door, then halts and smooths down her hair and clothes. She glances back at me expectantly, so, reluctantly, I go and stand next to her.

The door opens, but I don't even register who is standing in front of me. I just smile brightly, as practiced. "Hi Avery," I gush. Perfect, I think to myself. She'll never know that I hate her guts.

Then I look at her, and my proud smile vanishes. I feel my stomach tightening, almost making me nauseous. Before me stands a woman; sophisticated, beautiful. Gone are the short, provocative dresses and the cheap jewellery. Instead, Avery is wearing a cream-coloured poncho, expensive-looking skinny jeans and gorgeous high-heeled boots. Her auburn hair, so much less alarming in its colour than mine, spills over her shoulders in it's natural curls, instead of being straight-ironed to death like she used to wear it. Her smile is warm and genuine. And loving.

I hate her so much at that moment that for a second I think I'm going to strangle her.

Then I remember the whole maturity-thing. I clench my teeth and try to smile back. As if she had expected something else, Avery looks relieved and her grin widens.

"Sammie," she squeals and throws her arms around my mom and me. "And Gaby! I missed you guys! I can't believe you're letting me stay with you!"

Me neither, I want to say. But I bite my tongue.

The hug ends and Mom and Avery go inside. I look at the cab driver who stands in our driveway, looking slightly lost in the middle of a mountain of Avery's bags. Sighing, I go and help him carry them in. Then I carry them up the stairs. I think about savagely murdering my cousin the whole time I am doing this.

When I'm done, I walk back to the kitchen, which was just renovated to months ago. My mother and cousin sit around the sleek marble counter island in the middle of the room, sipping champagne from the flutes that I swear we haven't used in at least three years. They seem to be getting along great. I go and sit next to Avery on one of the siver stools standing there, and rest my head on my hands, exhausted.

"Oh, darling," my mother says with a concerned glance, "you look so tired. You should go to bed. It IS a school day tomorrow." They both look at me sympathetically, like I'm some little kid.

"I'm not tired," I reply, feeling insulted. "I am just exhausted because SOMEONE decided to leave their bags for me to carry."

"Sammie, I'm so sorry!" Avery says. The worst thing is that she really does look very sorry. "I didn't mean for YOU to have to carry all of them. I was going to do it myself later -"

"Avery," Mom interrupts her quickly, "it's our pleasure. Isn't it, Sam? After all, you are built in such a delicate, feminine way. Sam has no problem carrying bags. You know, she just has those strong, broad shoulders that her father had."

I gape at her. Did she just call my shoulders MANLY? Avery seems to notice my exasperation and rushes to ease the tension.

"Oh, but you do have such a nice figure, Sammie. Stand up, I want to see how tall you are."

I rise, reluctantly, and stand there awkwardly, not really knowing whether to blush or laugh or twirl or whatever. Then I see Avery's face. Her eyebrows are raised as she stares at my dress. I have the sudden urge to cover myself, and I know this outfit was a big mistake. But how was I supposed to know that she was going to show up looking all grown-up and classy? I thought it would be like all those other times, when I felt boring just standing next to Avery and having every guy's eyes glued to her body.

My mother watches us, and tuts at me. "Honey, I told you that dress was-"

I silence her with a death stare. The tension between us is palpable.

"It's... nice. I- I like it," Avery says, smiling hesitantly. But she's not fooling me. The patronizing tone, the cozying-up-to-my-mother act... Avery is NOT FOOLING ME. Really! Somewhere under the nice-girl-facade is the cousin who stole my first boyfriend and threw up on my brand new party dress, all in the same night. That night, of course, being my sixteenth birthday party. Which she crashed and then made her own. Good times.

And she never even apologized. I swear all of it was on purpose. Because, deep down, Avery hates me even more than I hate her.

I blink and surface from my thoughts of revenge, realizing that the others have returned to their pleasant chatter. As far as I can tell, they are now discussing Avery's love life. I snort. More like sex life, I think. Avery doesn't love anyone.

"Well, Gaby, that just means so much to me, that you would want to meet him. Of course, we haven't actually been on a date yet... so do you think it would be to forward to ask him over?" Avery gushes.

I grin slyly. "Well, Avery, I do know you as being very forward when it comes to men, right?"

Avery looks hurt - that's right, she got the message. Slut.

She recovers from my comment a bit too quickly for my taste. Oh well.

"He does seem to like me a lot! And he's so very charming," she continues. I feel like throwing up.

"What's his name, then?" Mom asks enthusiastically. Of course she would want to know. Anyone Avery likes must be amazing. As opposed to my boyfriends, who are never suitable, in my Mom's mind. Ever.

Avery giggles in fake embarassment. "Silly me, I completely forgot about that," she laughs. "His name is Timothy."

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GASP! OHMYGOD!

Are we over it?

Tim Scam and Avery, sitting in a tree. Yup.

Sucks to be you, Sammie.

I hope you like it, please review, or else I might have to stop this, because 2 stories at a time is sort of exhausting. But I just had to write this down. Anyway, get ready for a few enticing twists in the plot, I'm going crazy with this one :)

Love from TheLastPrototype.