Hey, everyone! I'm going to assume that now you're here because you genuinely like my story. Yay! Thanks for reading! Nothing really new (since I'm uploading these chapters one after another) except the time. So, yeah...

All I'm asking from you is some comments. Critisim or compliments, I really don't care, as long as it's honest. Feedback makes me a better writer, better writing gets me more feedback, and soon I'm a smash hit singer/songwriter - in my perfect world, anyway. So, click away!

SAM

I was over him. Honestly.

Well, that might've been a lie. I should've been over Freddie, that was true. I was Puckett. We love, we lose, we move on to the next cute guy in line, and by the next hour the cycle repeats itself.

But I wasn't sure that cycle applied to me anymore (well, the losing part did, I suppose). And I wasn't sure I wanted to be a Puckett anymore. I wanted to be -

Oh, grow up! A voice that I recognized to be my own complained in my head. Don't you see what you've become? A Carly! A lovesick teenager! You already want to marry the guy! This isn't you, Sam! Where's your personality? Where's your need for ham and other assorted meats? Where's your urge to break things, and to especially break Freddie?

If I could break him, I would. If I wasn't so darn sick with him, I would smash his face. It'd be much easier to move on if he didn't look so attractive.

I stared at my reflection in my bathroom mirror. Why in the world I had chosen Freddie to love? He was a tech nub, and he'd never been arrested, and he got good grades... and he was cute, and sweet, and occasionally funny in a geeky way, and knew me... wow, I was a goner.

The fact was, I hadn't chosen Freddie. I swear, I never planned on even remotely liking him. It just happened, which makes it sound lamer than it already is. One day, I'm giving stuffing rotten meat into his locker, giving him creative varieties of wedgies, and thinking of new ways to say I hate you, and the next, I was staring at the back of his head during science, whispering Sam Benson late at night to the ceiling, and thinking of a way, any way, to say I love you. It had been pathetic - correction, it is pathetic - and my denial of the fact that I did like it made it even more so.

And I had definitely never planned on doing anything about my little problem - you know, besides shipping him off to Uzbekistan so I didn't have to worry about it. But Carly made me watch some stupid movie about this guy who really likes this girl, but never told her, and after twenty years (or one hundred and twenty minutes) she's hit by a car and dies, and he goes so insane from regret and grief that he throws himself off a cliff and accidentally drags his four-year-old son down with him. I mean, yeah the ending was completely unrealistic, but it had freaked the chiz out of me. And then I'd decided that, at the very least, I could not pound on Freddie all the time, and hang out with him a little, so maybe, just maybe, he'd make a move for me.

Of course, I forgot about how stupid my friends are. The whole Sam-loves-Brad thing was a total screw-up. And I'd gone into the courtyard just to get away from them, since Carly was going to send me to the nuthouse with her constant make a move, bla, bla, bla jabbering.

But Freddie came outside. It really was his fault. First of all, he just wouldn't leave. Secondly, the wind was blowing his hair just the slightest bit, and he looked so darn hot, and it made me shiver. Third, he was talking about love, of all ridiculous things. And I guess Carly's make-a-move speech wore off on me. Plus, when the guy you are possibly in love with begins to preach to you about love, what do you do?

You kiss him.

But he didn't kiss me back.

So, I swallowed my pride and enjoyed my kiss. I know his eyes were open. You just sense these things. But it was the last time I was going to ever kiss him, for certain. I couldn't just stop.

And, when I did stop, he just stared at me like… well, like I'd just kissed him. I left quickly after that. It was just so embarrassing. Carly had tried to talk to me, but I pretended not to hear her over the sound of me chewing ham.

Riding home on the way back from the lock-in had been torture. He'd been so quiet and stiff. I'd wanted to lean over and slap him, talk to him, kiss him (that one especially), to do something to get him to react. I hate it when tension just sits there, and no one does anything about it. And I wanted to do something about it, except it was too scary.

I sighed and wandered back into my room, where I flopped onto my bed. I clutched my pillow to my chest and shut my eyes tightly. The very thought of him made me burn with humiliation. I wish I could cry. But crying was even more embarrassing. I'd rather just lie on my bed until he fades away.

After a few seconds, I heard voices coming from outside. Then the doorbell rang. Sitting up, I crept to my window and peeped out the blinds. Then I gasped. Holy crap, what were Carly and Benson doing at my house?

Suddenly, Freddie's head turned towards my window. I jerked away from the window, then glanced frantically around the room. I didn't have time to crawl out my window, and they'd easily find me if I hid in the bathroom. Could I sneak out the back door without them seeing me? Probably not.

I took a deep breath. Calm down, I thought desperately. You just need to think. Maybe I could -

But before I could really think of plan, my door opened.