A/N: I don't really write fanfics, so this'll prolly suck. Maybe a good idea, probably poor execution. Leave thoughts in a review, please! They'd make me happy.
Sam Puckett could count the number of times she'd cried on one hand.
She decided it could stay that way. Looking down at her hand, fingers splayed, she remembered each time. Each time was like a finger, individual but with one thing in common.
Her thumb, the first finger (is it a finger), reminded her of when her dad left. She'd like to be able to say that she didn't cry, but she was 5 years old. Every five-year-old cries. Especially when she realizes that her dad isn't ever coming back. She wiggled her thumb, remembering how her dad was one thing that united their family. When he left, Melanie tried to unite them again, but she just couldn't do it. That reminded her of another time.
"I'm sorry, Sam! I'll be back in the summer! Bye!" That was all she'd said before hopping on the bus for her fancy boarding school in California. Sam'd been left alone. Again. She shut herself in her room—slamming the door, even though it was early—and crying into her pillow. Everyone she'd thought would be around her forever (she had never counted on her mom much, even though she loved her) had left, and now she was supposed to be the rock. It wasn't fair.
The third time, she thought, didn't really count. She'd been exhausted after working for hours, surrounded by food and the rudest customers ever; of course she'd cry. She didn't know anyone (ok, maybe her dad) that wouldn't have. She cried because she was tired, and she cried because, through all the crap that'd been going on, she hadn't cried since Melanie left, and didn't a girl deserve to cry once in a while? That was what Carly said, anyway.
The fourth time was the time she almost died and—more importantly—almost stopped being friends with Carly, the one person she included in her 'family' that wasn't actually related to her. Of course, looking back, that was stress (well, fear too). Almost dying has a way of putting a cattle prod to your tear ducts.
She honestly had thought that that was the last time she'd cry. Nothing else, she figured, could happen that hadn't happened before.
"So…did we just break up?" She guessed they did. And they did—for real—at midnight. That wasn't fair either, she thought. Even when they hadn't 'gotten along', they'd still gotten along.
"Did'ja know that if you cut your pinky off, you lose 40% of the power in your hand?" She remembered a trivia game they'd played after iCarly one night—just her, Freddie, and Carly, with Spencer downstairs, finishing a sculpture in between turns. She'd one with that one, and so she'd remembered it.
The fifth time she cried was at 12:10, after Freddie had gone home and she'd started walking towards hers, cutting through the park and sitting on a cold bench, peeling paint rubbing off on her jeans. That time wasn't loud, like the others. She sat, staring at the lamp in front of her, tears sliding down her face, dropping onto her lap. She could hear her brain screaming at her: What, have you lost it? Aren't you Sam Puckett? Move on! Get up, girl! You're losing your grip!
And maybe she was. 40% of it, at least.
Review, Please!
