Author's Note: First, I was gonna write a Seddie songfic, but then I changed my mind, so here's my mind's latest creation, She's Sam, a fluffy oneshot. Enjoy.
She's Sam
Summary: "Because she's unpredictable. Like a tornado, or an earthquake, or a fire. She's an acquired taste that really pays off in the end. She's smart, funny, beautiful, and unique. She's Sam, and I don't want anybody else." Seddie fluff oneshot.
Rated: T
Length: 1315 words
To Be Continued: Nope
POV: Freddie
So it's almost Valentine's Day. Her least favorite holiday (second to New Year's, 'cause hey, at least she gets chocolate on Valentine's Day). And since I am her boyfriend, I asked her if she'd go out with me on the big night, since it's a Saturday (A/N: I know V Day is a Sunday, but, hey it'd be easier to just say it's Saturday, so pretend).
"Sam! Sam! Sam!" I ran up next to her in the hallway on the way to fourth period English that we share.
"What, nubface?" she looked up at me with her big blue eyes.
Woulda thought she woulda stopped calling me middle-school nicknames when we're dating?
No, not a chance. "Well, Samantha," I started, putting extra emphasis on the 'antha' part. She hates her full name. "I was wondering, since it's Valentine's Day tomorrow, would you like to go out, you know, on a date?"
Sam never refers to our dates as the 'horrid d-word'. She thinks it sounds too girly and prissy, so instead they're 'occasions on which we may or may not eat, watch a movie, and play tonsil hockey on her couch with her mom yelling at the cat to get a job'.
"Well, Fredward, I'll think about it," she said, sitting on the banister at the bottom of the stairs, with her math textbook splayed open on her lap as she haphazardly finished homework that was due days ago.
"Come on, Sam. For me?" I begged.
"Well, if it's for you… then NO." She grinned widely and laughed.
"I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow. Wear something comfy," I asked of her, slamming her math text closed. "Come on, Briggs awaits us in the English room. And that assignment," I pointed to the paper sticking out of the text, "was due last Thursday. You know Mr. Roberts doesn't take late grades."
"I know. That's why you're gonna hack his computer and change it for me."
"That's also how you're gonna end up in juvie, Sam," I replied, staring into her eyes as I led her down the hall towards the awful Ms. Briggs' class room.
"Hey, been there, done that. It's not that bad. Plus, that'd give me an excuse to get a tattoo. Scare the crap outta your mom, wouldn't it?" she squeezed my hand, let go, and gave me her texts to carry.
"Come on, Freddums, be a good boyfriend and carry my books."
"Sam, it's not considered a book if it's just a hollowed out shell filled with Fat Cakes," I returned her slam and opened up her history book, showing a hollowed out inside, filled with not Fat Cakes, but beef jerky and sticks of mozzarella cheese.
"Whatever you say, Freddo. Momma's gotta eat." She waltzed into the room, choosing a desk as far away from the teacher's as possible, so she could torment me and doodle in her notebook without the distraction of Briggs' lecture on pronouns.
On Saturday, I quickly readied in my room, before telling my mom that I would be safe, and hopped into my grey Prius and driving a few miles to the Puckett residence.
Okay, as far as houses go, it's not what you'd expect. You'd expect Sam to live in some rat hole in the streets, but no, she and her mom live in a small subdivision. Their house is red brick, two stories, with shutters and a chimney. Plus, there are a lot of windows, and Sam has her own little balcony, where I learned that Sam could play guitar almost as well as she can sing.
I pulled into the driveway, parked, and walked up to Sam's door. She's not waiting. I knock a few times and Ms. Puckett comes to the door, wearing a red tank top and some jean shorts. Her hair has been dyed blonde, but her eyebrows are dark, dark blackish-brown. I wonder where Sam got her hair. However, the woman has sparkly blue eyes identical to Sam's, and a friendly smile. "Freddie, how's it going?" she asked me.
"Good, Ms. Puckett. And how are you and Larry?" I asked about her and her most recent boyfriend.
"Oh, well, I broke up with him. He just hated me because I'm beautiful," she said sarcastically, flipping her hair over her shoulder and inviting me in. "So, Freddie… where are you taking my daughter tonight?"
"Someplace special. It's a secret," I divulge nothing, so I don't ruin the surprise
"Whatever, Freddie. And since Sam's daddy, may he rest in peace, isn't here to say this, I will. Don't you dare do anything to hurt my baby, Freddie, because I own a shotgun and am not afraid to use it on you."
I grinned, knowing someplace inside that Ms. Puckett likes me, because I'm good for Sam. "I promise you that, Ms. Puckett. Sam's safe with me."
Just in time, Sam came walking down the stairs, dressed in none other than jeans and a penny tee. I grinned. 'Allergic Ninjas' is its saying.
"Yo, Fredwardo. How's it hanging?"
"I'm fine, as I hope you are. You ready to get this show on the road?" I asked, and she smiled.
"Absolutely, Sir Nubs!" she exclaimed as she grabbed a jacket off of the coat rack.
"Well, Ms. Puckett, nice seeing you as always," I said my farewells.
"Have a good time, you guys! Don't stay out to late." I closed the door behind us and walked her to my car.
We made quiet conversation on the way to our special place. Well, as quiet as a conversation with Sam could possibly be.
"Where are we going, Fredward?" she asked, getting impatient.
"It's a surprise, Sam. I don't want to ruin it."
"Fine," she said, in a huff, as she sighed and took out her cell phone, playing obnoxious ring tones for the final five minutes of our trip.
"FINALLY!" she said, unbuckling her seat belt and climbing out of the car. "Oh my God, Freddie!"
I knew she'd be happy. I took her to the old, off-the-beaten-path bowling alley that made 'the best nachos ever'. This was where we had gone on our first date. "Are you glad we came here?" I asked, throwing my arm over her shoulders and opening the entrance door for her.
"Very much so, Fredward," she smiled up at me, and ran inside to choose her weapon of destruction, a bowling ball weighing likely about the same as she did.
"I'M READY, FREDDIE!" she had gotten her ball, and was tying her bowling shoe. "I'm gonna ROCK this bowling alley!!!!!!!!!" she let out a battle cry and took to the lane.
On her first try, she got a strike. "!" she let loose, doing some sort of jig to the music emitted from the jukebox.
Of course, being a Benson, sports just aren't my thing. Bowling's not any different. So I got a gutter ball. But that night was still beautiful, even though Sam beat me 285-67 in the first game and 294-100 in the second game.
Sam's a beautiful, strange, intoxicating, frustrating, infuriating, irritating, hilarious, smart, people-attracting girl. She's more interesting than anyone else I've ever met, hands down, and she takes life how it is. She doesn't sugar-coat things that aren't great and appreciates life as it should be.
And you see, maybe that's why I'm telling you this. Someone doesn't have to be perfect for you to love them. I knew, when I thought I loved Carly, exactly what drew me to her. She was smart, funny, beautiful, nice, and popular. A perfect combination that just attracted people like flies. But Sam's different.
No, not a chance. Because she's unpredictable. Like a tornado, or an earthquake, or a fire. She's an acquired taste that really pays off in the end. She's smart, funny, beautiful, and unique. She's Sam, and I don't want anyone else.
Author's Note: I hope you loved it. View it as an early Valentine's Day present, since I'm busy with non-Valentiney stuff this weekend. Thank you to all my reviewers for my last few stories, since I haven't thanked you yet. I appreciate every single person who reads or reviews my stories. OH, and if you read iGo To Prom by me and want to know what the prom clothes for Sam, Freddie, Josh, and Carly look like, just go to my profile, they're at the bottom-ish section, under PiCtUrEs & JuNk.
Reviews are love,
jesswrites