A/N: Hi everyone. I saw "iKiss" and loved it! Here's a collection of one-shots during and after the episode. This particular one is in Sam's POV, during "iKiss"

iFeel Guilty

Freddie hadn't been at school since Monday.

I was shocked for two reasons. One, that the dork had actually missed school. His Mom is pickier about his perfect attendance than he is. I met him in the sixth grade, and as far as I know, he's never missed a day in his life. And now suddenly he disappears on Monday. Now it's Friday, iCarly night, and I still haven't heard from Fredward. He missed rehearsal on Tuesday, and rehearsal yesterday. So maybe he'll skip iCarly all together.

This brings me to point number two. The second—and strangest—reason was that I actually noticed Freddie's absence. Maybe the techno geek played a bigger part in my life than I cared to admit. After all, we did go to school together, and do iCarly together, and e-mail and text occasionally, and hang out at Groovy Smoothie when Carly was busy, and study for Biology together since Carly had been moved up to Chemistry, and…

Okay, so what if Freddie is a huge part of my life? It's not my fault Carly makes me hang out with the dweeb!

Carly. She…complicates things.

Carly Shay has been my best friend since the second grade. She had a tuna sandwich, I tried to steal it—what? I love seafood!—she pushed me off the bench, ex cetera, ex cetera. Anyway, Carly's pretty much the sole reason I haven't ended up in juvie. So don't get me wrong, I love Carls and everything, she's like my sister. Unfortunately, Freddie also loves her, in an extremely obsessive non-platonic way that creeps out the average person. Apparently, the dorkwad seems to have amazing good luck, since he chose to fall in love with a girl who's totally not average.

If you were to walk around my high school and ask random kids who they thought was the nicest, I could almost guarantee their answers.

"That's easy," They would say. "Carly Shay is definitely the nicest girl here." You may also get the occasional Gibby Gessler or Freddie Benson.

Now, if you were to ask another cropping of tweens who were the smartest, you would hear the names Carly Shay, Freddie Benson, Karen Yamakama and Gibby Gessler.

If you were to take a survey on who was the prettiest, Tasha Kingsford, Stephanie Jeffers, and Carly Shay would be tied for the lead.

Who has the greatest sense of style? Tasha Kingsford, Ashley Harris, and Carly.

Who was voted most likely to succeed? Carly.

Who won the class election in seventh grade but turned it down because she was too busy with dance, singing, fencing and knitting, plus volunteering at the animal shelter and trying to make the honors list? Carly.

Who is one of Principal Franklin's favorite students? You guessed it. Carly Taylor Shay. Surprise, surprise. Oh, I suppose Ted—I mean, Principal Franklin—likes Freddie a lot, too.

Now, what about me? Oh yes, what is associated with the name Samantha "Sam" Puckett?

Bully. Tomboy. Scary. Underachiever. Aggressive. iCarly's co-host. Last week, I overheard Gary Wolff—FYI, Gary's like, the cutest senior at Ridgeway—telling his friend—I think his name's Tom—about me. This is what he said:

"Oh, her? You must be talking aboutthe psycho-path blonde with the wild hair and the hot best friend. The smart and funny brunette, with the award-winning web-show, iCarly. Oh no, Carly isn't the blonde one! As if Carly Shay could ever be compared to a girl like Sam Puckett. Yeah, Sam is the blonde."

Yeah, I'm the crazy blonde. Nice ta meet ya. If you feel like turning around and running to find Carly or Freddie, its okay, do it. I'm used to it.

Wow, you're still here? Wish I could say I'm not surprised, but the thing is, I am. This brings us back to point number two.

For two years now, Freddork has constantly proclaimed his obsessive love for my best friend. She's tried to tell him she doesn't like him like that, but the Momma's Boy isn't gonna give up anytime soon. He said so himself:

"I guarantee, twenty years from now, I will be Carly's second husband. And as for the first one…well, you can't prove anything!"

Pfft. In your freakish dreams, dorkwad.

I open the door to the Bushwell apartment building, putting in my Pear-Pod headphones to block out Lewbert's unintelligible shrieks of rage. I tap my foot impatiently while I wait for the elevator to hit the bottom floor, wearing down the toe of my old black Converse high tops even more. At last the cheery ding manages to penetrate the sound of the Break Lights—in case you don't know, it's the song that plays whenever we do 'Random Dancing'. It's by Cuttlefish. If you don't know who Cuttlefish is, you obviously live in a cave.—and I climb inside, pressing the button that reads 6. I allow myself to focus on the melody of the rock n' roll/pop crossover song until I stop at Carly's floor, and even continue to listen as I walk down the familiar hallway. Only when I reach the door marked 51393 do I hit 'Pause' and bang on it harshly.

"It's open!" Spencer Shay's voice comes loud and clear. I turn the knob and walk into the room that is homier to me than my own house. Spencer is in the kitchen, with a pad and pencil before him on the counter. He looks up smiling.

"Hi ya, Sammy."

I arch an eyebrow skeptically, preparing to look threatening.

"Sammy?" I put my hands on my hips. "That's almost as bad as Samantha."

Since this is Spencer, he reacts like a teenager—the teenager I think of is, to my disgust, Freddie—would. His face turns ashen with fear and he stutters.

"S-s-o-orry, sorry, s-Sam."

I smirk. "It's okay, Spence. Provided you call me Sam. Not Samantha, not Sammy, Sam."

"Can do, Sam." He seems to have returned to his customary self, so I turn to normal conversation topics.

"Watcha drawing?" I ask curiously, peering at the pad of paper.

"I'm planning my next sculpture," He sounds like a six year old in a candy store. "Even though I decided not to try out for the Cobras, I'm still thinking about football, so my plan is to make a life-sized football player…out of footballs!" He grins zanily, in a way I've only seen him smile. It's kinda infectious. A little grin tugs my mouth, and I snort lightly.

"Good luck," I tell him, shaking my head.

"Carly's upstairs with your fancy imported meatballs." He informs me.

My eyes light up. "Seriously?!" What? Is it so weird that I love meat?

"Uh huh. Fresh in from England, my little sis says."

"Sweet! Later, Spencer! Good luck with the sculpture!" I've already climbed three of the steps up to the studio. Normally I'm too lazy to take the stairs, but my love of beef has overpowered my good judgment.

I'm at the studio in less than a minute. I peer into the glass door and see Carly standing by a folding table pouring meatballs from a crate into two glass bowls. My eyes flit around the room a few more times, and I blush. I'm looking for Freddie, and he isn't there.

I put on my tough gal act before opening the door. "Yo," I call out as cheerily as I can. "Sorry I'm late." I'm always late, but I sensed some tension between us that I hadn't noticed. Come to think of it, it has been there all week, building and building. It started out with missed texts, ending with sarcastic remarks and short hellos.

"You're always late, Sam." Her voice isn't angry; it's light, distant, hurt even. She doesn't look at me; her eyes remain on the meatballs falling from the crate.

"Well, we've got three minutes before iCarly," I looked around the room for any signs of a slightly taller, dorky, deep-voiced fifteen year old boy with brown eyes, possibly wearing a sweater-vest or carrying a mini camcorder that shoots in high-def.

I don't see anything.

"Where's Fredweird?" I ask, trying to cover up the pang of disappointment. It doesn't work. Instead of feeling satisfied with myself, a pit carves its way into my stomach.

Her eyes immediately find mine, blazing in a way I've never seen from her. They're mad. No, they're worse than mad. There isn't a word to describe the look in Carly's eyes right now, though I have seen it before. No, not on her. My heart drops as I realize why I know that hurt, angry look so well. I've see it in the dork's eyes whenever we fight.

"Freddie is not coming," Carly informs me. Her voice cool, regretful and mildly tinged with sadness.

The pit deepens considerably. I'm scared. I've never felt like this before, and I never expected Benson to be the one to make it happen. Telling myself its hunger pains, I walk over to the table and pick up a meatball, ripping off half of it and chewing it slowly.

"What do you mean, 'he's not coming'?" I ask her as the sphere of meat gets ground up on my back teeth. "He's missed school all week, and two iCarly rehearsals." I'm suddenly mad. Normally reliable Fredward is flaking on us, and this meatball sucks. (Too much oregano, not enough salt.) "Now he's gonna miss the show?" I demand, stomaching the meat. "It's so unprofessional." I flick the half-eaten meatball back into the bowl, not caring.

"You hurt him, Sam." Carly's voice is a mix of disappointment and anger. "You really hurt him."

Whoa. That was not the answer I was expecting. I feel kind of numb, and it worsens as Carly keeps talking.

"Every time he leaves the house he gets made fun of because you just had to get even and tell the whole planet he's never kissed a girl."

Every time he leaves the house he gets teased because of me? I think to myself. No…it's not possible.

"He won't talk to his own mother!" The anger is growing. "He sits on the fire escape by himself because he's so embarrassed!"

Okay, ow. That one hurt, Carls.

"You ruined his entire life, Sam!" She half-shouts at me. "And you know what? I don't even think you care."

The words cut like a knife. I feel like crying as she shoves past me to stand by the computer cart. I turn to face her, feeling shaky and nauseous at the already swallowed meatball comes back into my mouth.

"I'll go apologize," I offer, hoping to make her—and the guilt—shut up. It's a struggle to keep my voice even.

That doesn't satisfy her. "It doesn't matter if you apologize. You can't take back what you said!"

I'm feeling desperate. "I didn't mean to…" She interrupts; thankfully her voice is a bit calmer.

"You went too far," She shakes her head sadly. "This isn't like putting a dead fish in his locker, or giving him a wedgie, or shoving popcorn up his nose. This is worse, Sam, like ten-thousand times worse. It isn't physical, it's emotional. It's worse than calling him dork or Fredweird or stalker or…"

"Okay!" I scream at her, voice cracking. We stare at each other in silence until a timer on Carly's Pear-Pod goes off.

"It's eight. Time to start the show." She walks away from Freddie's laptop and back towards the main tripod camera.

"How am I supposed to do iCarly now that you told me all that?" My voice wavers and breaks, tears begin to sparkle in the corners of my eyes. I've hit rock bottom. I never cry, and on top of it Fredward Benson is the one who is bringing me to tears.

"I don't know, just do it. You aren't going to let me down now, are you, Puckett?" The tone is thick, hollow, and emotionless. Though Carly's voice has slipped into monotone, it affects me more than when she was yelling.

When she isn't looking, I let a few tears slide down my face.

I'm sorry, Freddie.

--

A/N: Well ladies and gentlemen, there you have it! Chapter one of "Kisses and Confusion"! Though this is a collection of one-shots, the kind of form a storyline of their own as you read them in sequence. I hope Sam and Carly weren't too out of character, but I felt that "iKiss" showed a different side to Sam, a more sensitive, almost girly side that actually trusts and likes—hopefully LIKE-likes—Freddie. I had to change Carly's lines a bit when she tells Sam about what her prank did to Freddie so that I wouldn't' be stealing them from Dan Schneider. I know this one is kind of sad and dramatic, but they will hopefully become more uplifting. Hope this inspires you to review! :)