"Is your seatbelt buckled?"
Sam Puckett rolled her eyes as she twisted in her seat, snatched the length of fabric, and snapped it in place. She kept her attention straight ahead so she wouldn't have to look at her chauffeur. On said person's face would surely be an infuriating smile.
"Thank you Sam," Mrs. Benson said. She shifted the gear of her Honda to 'drive,' and within a few minutes the two were cruising down Ridgeway road. The older woman glanced at the younger, who had her chin propped on the cup of her palm and was staring vacantly out the window.
"So how was school?"
"The chiz."
Mrs. Benson had the sudden urge to smile, but managed to retain her placid expression. Some kids acted like tough, uncouth delinquents in front of their peers, in hope of impressing them. Some behaved this way towards adults, just to show how much they meant it. Sam Puckett however was no act. The girl was true, through and through. After all, there was no one to impress; it was just Sam and Mrs. Benson in the Honda. Alone. An opportunity that Mrs. Benson hoped to take advantage of.
"Oh come on Sam, I'm sure it wasn't that bad." Sam withdrew her chin from its resting position and fixed Mrs. Benson with an iron-cold glare.
"Gibby puked all over!" Mrs. Benson shrugged.
"Well, you probably shouldn't have given him that wedgie."
"I didn't know wedgies could induce vomiting!"
"It wasn't the wedgie." Mrs. Benson removed one hand from the wheel and pointed at an area on her lower abdomen. "If you push hard enough on that spot right there, you trigger a vomiting reflex." Sam's eyebrows rose.
"Oh." She sounded both mildly shocked and interested. "Really?"
"True chiz." Mrs. Benson chuckled inwardly. Humph, chiz. And Freddie thinks I don't know his lingo. Mrs. Benson's mental laughter abruptly halted when she realized how quiet Sam had become.
"Don't even think about it Puckett!"
A loud sigh pushed past Sam's lips, and in five seconds she had reassumed her previous position. Mrs. Benson made sure Sam's hands were a safe distance from her stomach before returning her attention to the road. Although Sam didn't know it, Mrs. Benson was once more struggling to repress a grin.
On the passenger side, Sam began fiddling with a lock of golden hair. Though facing the window of the car, Sam's focus was actually on the owner of the vehicle. She couldn't remember a time where she had been completely alone with Mrs. Benson. That in itself had to be an all-time low, but what really got her brain buzzing was how Mrs. Benson always acted around her.
To Freddie, Carly, Spencer and the rest of the world, Mrs. Benson pushed the envelope when it came to neuroticism. But the woman never lost her patience with Sam. It made no sense. Of all of them, Sam should be the one that drove her mental. But there seemed to be some endless well of calm reserved within Marissa Benson for Sam and Sam alone. Even the time when Freddie had moved out of the apartment and Mrs. Benson had sarcastically commented about how he had "women" in his room; that had primarily been directed at Carly.
"So do you like being a nurse?"
Sam needed to get her mind on something else.
"It's okay. I always wanted to work with people, so I guess I got my wish."
'Always wanted to work with people?' Sam thought. 'This freakbag is one of the worst people persons I've ever met.'
"Do you wish you did something else?" Ordinarily, Sam would never have been so chatty with Mrs. Benson. Sam supposed there was nothing else to do though, considering they still had a while before they reached their destination. It would also help distract her from her own intrusive thoughts.
"I wished I had gone to medical school," Mrs. Benson answered almost immediately. "I could have more control over my hours and treatment plans for patients." There was a pause in Mrs. Benson's response, and when she realized that Sam didn't have anything else to add, she continued. "You see Sam, I like working with people, and as a nurse I still get to do that. In fact, I probably get more interaction with patients than I would have as a doctor. But in the hospital where I'm employed, all RNs are on shift-work. Sometimes I have sixteen-hours shifts. Also, if I disagree with a certain doctor's treatment plan, I don't have the same power to dispute it as an MD."
"So fascinating…" Sam groaned. She already regretted her decision to engage Mrs. Benson in conversation. Still, if she kept going, maybe Mrs. Benson would finally put her to sleep. If she could remain unconscious throughout the duration of the car ride, it would solve all her problems.
Mustering her strength, Sam said: "So why didn't you become a doctor?" The question came out somewhat garbled. Already, Sam flirted with slumber.
This didn't escape Mrs. Benson, but the older woman answered as if she hadn't noticed.
"Freddie."
This perked up Sam.
"Freddie?"
Mrs. Benson nodded. "I had Freddie when I was in college. I decided I wanted to be a doctor during my third year, so I still had to take several classes to meet the requirements for applying to medical school. I thought that I would go back to college after Freddie was a few months old. I got delayed by one thing or another. And then, before Freddie reached two, David died."
Any vestige of fatigue rapidly left Sam. In the driver's seat, Mrs. Benson was calm, but the deep-seeded emotion of the subject matter bubbled beneath the surface.
"It all happened so fast. David and I were a young couple with our whole lives ahead of us, and then, just like that, he was taken from me." Mrs. Benson had to stop for a moment. Sam was about to say something but Mrs. Benson waved her off. She took a deep breath, regained her emotions, and resumed speaking.
"David had been our main source of income, so I had to act quickly. I took a job as a lab tech over at the university. It was too much money to take all the pre-requisites for medical school, but I just needed two more classes to apply to nursing school. I got scholarships to pay for my nursing degree, and I was even allowed to keep working in the lab for a stipend. Once I graduated, I started working in the hospital, and, here I am today."
Sam was silent. Not the bored, zoned-out silence that usually befell her, but silence in the sense that she was thoroughly immersed in thought. She had never known any of this before. And she had a strong feeling that neither Carly, Spencer, nor the majority of mankind knew this either. For a brief moment, she wondered whether even Freddie knew this, though when she remembered that Mrs. Benson was in fact Freddie's mom, that seemed rather extreme.
"Why are you telling me this?"
The inquiry didn't come out the way Sam intended, but she refused to take it back. She was curious as to what Mrs. Benson's reply would be.
Mrs. Benson shrugged. "It seemed like an appropriate response to your question." From her peripheral perspective, Sam detected a twinkle in Mrs. Benson's emerald gaze. "And it kept you awake, didn't it?"
For some reason, in that moment Sam realized that she and the older woman shared the same color eyes. Sam cursed herself inwardly for having such a strange thought.
She snorted. "You have a problem if I sleep?" Again, she almost regretted her own bluntness. Especially after Mrs. Benson had revealed such personal, intimate details. Almost.
"I guess not," Mrs. Benson said. "I just had the feeling you wanted me to do the talking."
Sam growled under her breath. She thought she had been subtle about that. That, and right now she wasn't even sure if she wanted Mrs. Benson to do the talking, which just irritated and confused Sam. She thought she had some sort of handle on this woman. Now, she felt like she didn't even know her anymore. It was like Mrs. Benson had sprouted a second head.
"Of course, you won't tell Freddie I said any of this," Mrs. Benson said. "He doesn't think anyone else knows." The blonde sighed. As much as she desired to preserve her anger and refuse Mrs. Benson this courtesy, even Sam had some honor.
"Don't worry," she mumbled. Once again, Mrs. Benson had found a way to steer her emotions in an unexpected direction.
"Speaking of Freddie, I keep seeing you two together a lot these days."
Sam felt her honor promptly disintegrate. If that's how the old bat wanted it, she could kiss any civility between the two of them goodbye.
"What do you mean by that?" Sam didn't trust the pleasant tone from Mrs. Benson one bit.
"Oh it's just I never used to see you two spending so much time together. And Freddie hasn't had to see that verbal abuse counselor for sixteen months. I guess lately you two must just be getting along better."
Sam's defensive instincts flared.
"I think your son is the biggest loser to have ever been born on the face of the earth!" Mrs. Benson's conciliatory tone did not falter in the slightest.
"He is a pretty big dork, but that's mostly my fault. He's the last piece of David I have. I get very protective over him."
Sam's teeth gnashed together. What was this woman's deal? She was confusing Sam so much, the blonde couldn't take it.
"He does have some good qualities though, doesn't he Sam?"
"No, he doesn't!" Sam's respiration rate increased. "And you're insane! You act like an overprotective, worry-wart psychopath around everyone else, and now when you're alone with me, you're acting all…normal!" If Sam's words affected Mrs. Benson, the older woman neglected to show it. "And…I just insulted your son! Shouldn't you get, I don't know, pissed off about it! If you're so protective over him, why aren't you going ballistic on me?"
Mrs. Benson stayed cool as a cucumber.
"If you're referring to how I act around Carly, it's quite simple. I can't stand her." There was not even a hint of doubt as Mrs. Benson said this. "As for Spencer, he kind of needs a mother figure around." Mrs. Benson's cheek pinked ever so slightly. "Though if I were a few years younger, I might have more in mind than just that."
Sam had the urge to punch that area under her stomach.
"And as for you…" Mrs. Benson turned her head so that she faced Sam directly. The older woman smiled. "Well, maybe I just like you Sam."
It was genuine. It was one-hundred percent, irrefutably, crushing-you-by-the-balls honest. Mrs. Benson liked her. It was so direct. So sincere. Yet in all her years, Sam had only heard those words uttered to her once before, and that was by her very own raven-haired, best friend that Marissa Benson despised so much. And like everything else that Mrs. Benson had said thus far, the notion toyed with Sam's mind to a nearly painful degree.
Sam protected herself in the only way she could. By denying it.
"Bullshit!" The emotions warring in Sam's chest threatened to strangle her. "Y-you can't just maybe like me. I'm not falling for it. I'm the last person in Seattle you'd want to give a ride to and we both know it." Sam's fiery eyes blazed at Mrs. Benson. "You think you can just, tell me a sad story and that we'll start bonding and everything." In that moment, Sam utterly detested Mrs. Benson. She eventually had to avert her gaze. The older woman's face. Still kindly, despite all the things she had said. It could break her heart.
"You don't even want to drive me there in the first place," Sam continued softly.
"That is not true!" The steel under this statement flattened Sam's self-pity. "Sam that is not true. I'm driving you because I know you need it, and because I know no one else could. And because I would have killed for someone to do the same thing for me when I was your age. Even though I was too stubborn to ask for it."
The only sound inside the vehicle was the steady hum of the motor. The occasional whooshing of another vehicle passing by. Sam's gaze flicked to and fro, but she remained quieter than a stone.
"You mean…" Sam couldn't finish her sentence.
"I was a lot like you Sam." Mrs. Benson's cool composure had not vanished, but her voice adopted an almost mild exasperation to it. "I had to look after myself when I was fifteen. The only time in my life where I didn't was the few years I had with David. My father was…" Mrs. Benson briefly closed her eyes. "A menace." That last remark cut deep to the heart. It was obvious. "I was probably more hard-core than you actually. I lost my virginity when I was fourteen. Grass was an old hat by the time I hit high-school. And yet…"
A dreamy, yet determined look inhabited Mrs. Benson's features.
"Despite everything that was going on, I could fence." Mrs. Benson laughed. A single tear rolled out of the corner of her eye. "It didn't matter how messed up everything else was. And my father, he swore I never would be able to." A sense of adventure overtook Mrs. Benson's delivery. "But I could just do it. It was one thing that came really easy to me. I was myself when I fenced. And I was good at it too. One time, I cut my hair real short and entered the boys division at a local tournament. The look on my father's face when I showed him the trophy I won!"
Mrs. Benson laughed again, louder this time. She was completely enwrapped in the memory, the sweetness of her old triumph. She let out a few more chuckles and then exhaled. Her sense of calm renewed itself.
"I'm not good at anything," Sam groaned.
A sharp, high-pitched laugh escaped Mrs. Benson's throat.
"Hah! You're co-host of one of the most popular webshows on the internet. If you're not good at anything, then my boobs are purple."
"It was Freddie's mistake and Carly's idea," Sam insisted. "It's Carly's show. She does all the work anyway. I just…help out."
"The show is named after Carly," Mrs. Benson agreed. "And even though I don't like her, I have to admit, she gives it character." Mrs. Benson's visage was impassive as she focused on the road ahead. "But you're the heart of it."
It took a few moments for Mrs. Benson's words to sink in.
"You just watch the show to spy on Freddie." The older woman paused.
"Freddie's the one who said that. After you and Carly quit the show last year."
Sam became quiet again. There was no retort she could give to this. Freddie would have meant it. She could have just said Freddie was wrong, but that would have been childish. Even Sam knew that.
Several minutes passed by where nothing was said. Sam would peak at Mrs. Benson every so often, but the woman was absorbed in her driving. Finally, out of her periphery, Sam noticed Mrs. Benson shaking her head. Side to side. Probably reliving some memory again, Sam thought. But then the rest of Mrs. Benson's body began to shake as well. At first, Sam thought the woman was weeping. Sam shied away from this, as she was not keen on undertaking anymore emotion that afternoon. Then Mrs. Benson began to chuckle, and Sam realized she had grabbed the emotion by the wrong side.
"What's so funny?" Sam asked. Mrs. Benson was snickering to herself, like she had just been told a dirty secret.
"My first," Mrs. Benson chuckled. She wiped away the tears from her eyes, which had now become droplets of mirth. "His name was Angelo. That's the one thing I agree with your mom about. Italian men thrive in the bedroom."
"Uhh, too much information Mrs. B."
"Let me finish telling it." Mrs. Benson was cracking up harder now. "So I go to his apartment. His parents aren't home. He's young, just like me, but he says he's done it before. So we're in the sack, he's bringing it home like a battering ram."
"Mrs. Benson, I really don't want to hear this!"
"Wait!" Mrs. Benson was gasping as she pounded the wheel in silent hysterics. "So…" she lost it for a minute but recovered. "So the whole time, I'm lying there scared to death cause I don't know what's going to happen next. Angelo didn't know either I found out later. I thought something was supposed to come out, but I didn't know when or what. And right before he, he came, he…he…" Mrs. Benson was nearly crying again. "He farted."
The words rolled off Sam at first. He farted? That was all? Then for some random reason, she suddenly imagined Freddie bringing it home like a battering ram, and then farting, and suddenly the idea killed her.
"He farted?" Sam started howling, immediately going red in the face.
Mrs. Benson nodded vigorously. She could barely speak. "For like two seconds. It was so loud."
Sam cried. Her mental image now included Freddie setting loose the loudest, wettest fart ever unleashed from a butt. Her hysterics only intensified when she recalled another memory, this one actually centered on Freddie.
"One time," Sam began. "When we had just started doing iCarly." Tears leaked freely down Sam's cheeks. "I was hiding in the studio behind Freddie's tech cart. And when he came in I jumped out… and…he got so scared he went home…and when he came back…" Sam was sobbing now. "He had on a different pair of pants." The blonde clapped her hands together. "He shit his pants!"
Mrs. Benson clapped the steering wheel. "I remember that," she exclaimed. "I had to throw them out afterward!"
For several minutes, both women were incapacitated. It was all Mrs. Benson could do to keep driving. As runaway hysterics tend to play out, only a few seconds could pass where one of them stopped laughing, which was when the other would start up again and then both resumed howling in concert.
It was a massive laugh. A good laugh. The kind that left both females breathless, and expended. And content.
"Wow," Mrs. Benson said once they had recovered. "Guys are something huh?"
"Yeah." Sam swiped an eye with her thumb. "I tried to tell my mom about that once." Sam chortled in spite of herself. "She was too gone to get it."
"Ohhh." A hand nested on top of Sam's head. It stayed there, lovingly tousling the blonde's hair. No hand had touched Sam's head like that before. Grudgingly, Sam discovered that she sort of liked it.
"Your mother still has time Sam. It's not too late for her yet."
Ten minutes ago, Sam would have rebuffed this. She knew her mother's history, and she knew the chances of her turning things around. Instead, perhaps due to the emotional expenditure that had just occurred, Sam conceded.
"Who knows? Maybe one of these days she'll get it right."
"We can hope for that. Deep down she loves you Sam. That's one thing I could never say about my father."
Sam mulled this over. She peered out the window. A few of the buildings she could recognize. It wouldn't be much longer until they arrived.
"For some reason my mom really likes Freddie." Sam started picking at a hangnail. "Isn't that messed up?"
"How do you feel about Freddie?"
Sam wasn't prepared for that question. She glanced at Mrs. Benson, as if assuring herself that the woman wasn't being serious. When she met Mrs. Benson's friendly, caring expression, she knew a real response was expected from her.
"What do you mean?" Sam shot Mrs. Benson her best 'You're not serious, right?' look. "Freddie's my best…frenemy. How am I supposed to feel about him?"
"I think your feelings run a little deeper than that Sam." Sam spread her arms wide in disbelief. She kept staring incredulously at Mrs. Benson, but the older woman only narrowed her own gaze at the blonde.
"Again, what the chiz does that mean?" Sam asked.
"Get real Puckett. Everyone can see it."
Any feelings of fondness Sam felt for Mrs. Benson evaporated. The woman had tricked Sam into letting down every other wall she had erected. Not this one though. This one thing, she would keep for herself.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes you do Sam," Mrs. Benson pleaded. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"Nooo, I don't." Sam waited, but Mrs. Benson returned her attention to the road. "Are you listening? No I don't."
"Then why can't you admit how you feel about him."
"I don't feel anything about him!"
"I don't think you're telling me the truth."
Sam's pulse quickened. She started to panic.
"I already told you what I thought about him. I think he's biggest dork to ever set foot on the face of the earth."
"Someone's got to love the biggest dork to set foot on the face of the earth, don't they Sam?"
"I feel nothing towards him!"
"Yes you do Sam. You feel so much towards him it hurts. You're so afraid of him rejecting you you can't even stand it!"
"No I'm not!"
"Yes you are!"
Mrs. Benson's gaze was burning on Sam. She was fully animated in a no-nonsense way for the first time.
"Just admit it Sam. Admit it, and it will finally be out and you won't have to keep it locked away anymore."
"I don't like him!"
Sam's heart was beating crazily in her chest. She couldn't take another second of this. What was going on here? It was beyond endurance.
"No, you don't like him. You love him. You love him more than anything else in the world. More than you ever dreamed you could love anyone."
"Let me out of the car," Sam said in a dead tone. She raised her eyebrows. "Let me out right now."
"You love him so much Sam! When he went on his first date with Valerie, you wanted to say something then, didn't you?"
"Let. Me. OUT!"
"And when you told him he was important to the show. You were afraid that he could see right through you. And you tried so hard when you made that bet not to make fun of him. So that he couldn't tell. It wasn't just the money."
"I DID NOT!"
"You were so scared when you kissed. You tried not to show him you liked it, and you weren't sure if he liked it either. Then he gave up the cruise so he could send that rotten girl away, and it made you so happy because you thought you had a chance. That maybe the kiss meant something!"
"You said you liked me? Why are you doing this?" Tears flowed soundlessly down to Sam's chin. A brick had dislodged itself from Sam's final wall.
"And you got so jealous when you heard he kissed your sister. It made you crazy that he couldn't tell your lips from his. But it got even worse after he went out with Carly, and it hasn't been the same since. Even though they broke up, it hurt so bad that he had wanted her more than you. But you bore it. You bore it so no one would ever know."
The final wall tottered back and forth. "You're KILLING me! I swear to God…"
"Then ADMIT it Sam! End it. Say it once and for all, and let it be done!"
"ALRIGHT!"
Sam was so enveloped in emotion, she didn't realize the car no longer moving.
"I…" It quivered in her throat. She tried to swallow it, but it wrenched itself out of her chest and through her mouth, and with it went the last of her restraint.
"…love…h-him." The wall went crashing down. The blonde threw herself at Mrs. Benson and wept. And wept. And wept.
"Oh GOD I love him so much Mrs. Benson!" Sam sobbed. "It's true, everything you said is true and it hurts so bad!" She sniffed. "I love him with everything I've got. I've never told anyone until now. And…" Sam pulled back from Mrs. Benson's arms, so she could make eye contact. "And what if he doesn't love me back?" Sam dissolved into fresh weeping and wound up face-first on Mrs. Benson's lap. "What if he doesn't love me ba-ack?"
Marissa Benson took everything in stride. She patted the girl's back when it was needed, massaged her scalp as was required, and spoke comforting words at all the right moments. All the while, she found herself wishing that the girl was hers. That Sam belonged to her instead of Pam.
They were standing on the pavement. In the parking lot, outside the car. It was silent now. The tears were gone, the feelings had been soothed. Yet at this moment, one final thing remained.
Sam swallowed. She and Mrs. Benson were standing directly in front of one another. The older woman would be the first to break the silence.
"Are you ready?"
Sam kept her gaze downcast. She had practically unveiled her soul to Mrs. Benson over the course of twenty minutes. She felt naked.
"I'm sorry I put you through all that," Mrs. Benson went on. "I know it was hard. But having gotten all of that out, maybe it will make this easier for you."
"Yeah. Maybe." Sam studied her tennis shoes. There was a question burning in her mind, though she knew how Mrs. Benson would answer it.
"So…" Sam laughed quietly to herself. "You're not going to tell me how he feels. Right?"
Mrs. Benson shook her head. Sam didn't even spare a glimpse to verify. Had she done so, she might have caught the ghost of a smile flicker across Mrs. Benson's features. Little did she know, for the umpteenth time that afternoon, the older woman was trying to repress it.
'He's already in love with you Sam,' Mrs. Benson mused. 'He just doesn't know it yet.'
This piece of information, however, Sam would have to earn on her own.
Sam let out a sigh. Her hands curled at her sides.
"I think I'm ready."
Mrs. Benson smiled. She put a hand on the girl's shoulder.
"Good luck." Her smile lingered. "I think you're doing the right thing. No matter what else happens, I think the most important thing is that you see each other."
Sam smiled weakly in return, letting her gaze fall back to the ground. She turned around to face the hospital. On the fifth floor waited her mother. In the psychiatric ward. Mrs. Benson had told her that psychiatric wards were usually kept on the fifth floor, which she knew not only from her experience as a nurse but from visits long-ago to Mrs. Benson's father. It was uncertain how long Pam would be staying there.
Sam suddenly turned around. Her palms flipped towards to the sky.
"Maybe you can give me a fencing lesson sometime. You know, in private." Sam smiled somewhat sheepishly at that last part. "Gotta reputation to keep you know." Mrs. Benson crossed her arms genially.
"That's fine. Wouldn't want anyone to think I've grown soft on you Ms. Puckett."
Sam grinned. She turned around before doing one final double-take.
"And I'm sorry." She rolled her eyes. "You know, for repeatedly suggesting you're a neurotic wreck."
"I most certainly am a neurotic wreck Samantha!" Mrs. Benson insisted. "And if you're staying in the Bushwell for the time being, I must just have to give some of the crazy to you."
Sam was walking toward the hospital, staring back at Mrs. Benson and laughing.
"Regular tick baths?"
"Twice a week!" Mrs. Benson replied, joining Sam in chuckling.
"I don't have leg hair!"
"Which worries me deeply!" Mrs. Benson made her way to her car.
"Why do you always have to irritate everybody?" Sam reached the entrance while Mrs. Benson opened the car door.
"Eat your prune pops!"
Sam giggled like a preschooler. She waved like one too. "Bye Mrs. Ben-son," she laughed. She finally went through the automatic door leading to the reception area.
Mrs. Benson closed the car door, Sam's laughter echoing in her ear. In that moment, the tough front and layers had receded, and the young blonde was a normal, carefree fifteen year-old once more. For the second time that afternoon, Mrs. Benson found herself wishing that the girl was hers.
Mrs. Benson started the ignition. As she backed out of the parking lot, and toward the driveway that led to the main road, she could make out the reception area in her rear view mirror. Through the automatic glass doors, she could make out the silhouette of Sam. But the girl wasn't alone. Standing next to her was the very familiar figure of her son, whom she had supposedly driven home from school before going to get Sam. She had to pick Sam up later so she could serve her detention for wedgeing Gibby.
She watched as the figure that was Freddie put his hand on the silhouette that was Sam. Together, slowly, the two made their way out of the reception area.
Then again, perhaps Sam would be hers one day after all.
Disclaimer - I do not own iCarly, it's characters, nor any other shows, characters, music, and/or movies that may be referenced.