Again, this isn't a very long chapter (seven pages) but I'm proud of it. Writing this story is incredibly fun, because I've grown to love Freddie and Sam more and more.

I was suddenly brimming with warmth and happiness; we had the entire weekend, just the two of us, to do whatever we pleased. Screw what Mrs. Benson thought; all that mattered was us, and our joyful little world that would exist only when the two of us had a solitary moment.

The sky was suddenly bluer, the grass greener, like stalks of rippling emeralds in the crisp breeze. Everything was clear and sharp and breathtakingly beautiful, from the sparrow perched on a thriving tree to the millions of rounded pebbles crunching under my feet. Was this what it felt like to be truly happy?

"You're in a good mood," Freddie commented. He still seemed a bit disgruntled from the conversation with his uptight mother; I quietly set a goal to make him see the wonder of the day we had to spend together.

"Look at this," I said, waving my arm at the world at large. "Everything… it's incredible!"

Freddie bit back a laugh. "What's up with you? Did Carly give you soda? I told her what sugar does to you in the morning."

"Shut up," I advised. "Don't you see how awesome this day is?"

So I wasn't describing everything perfectly. So what? I was distracted by my good fortune.

"What the heck are you talking about?" Freddie asked. He seemed intrigued now; I was determined to lift his spirits.

I dragged him around Seattle until we found a bench. I plopped him down next to me, warning him, "If you interrupt, I'll buy fifty lemonade snow cones and shove them down your shirt. You know I will."

Freddie opened his mouth to challenge me. I gave him my most threatening look, growling, "You haven't turned me into a 'nice girl' yet, Fredward. I'm still Sam."

He nodded, smiling at my odd actions. "Go on."

I began to describe each of the different aspects of the day, from the sky to the city animals to the possibilities that lay before us. He listened intently. Freddie's eyes filled with some of the childish wonder I felt, which meant I was doing my job correctly.

"And the best part," I said at last, feeling a bit uncomfortable as Freddie's eyes pierced mine, "is that we can just relax the entire day, doing whatever we want and not worrying about anyone or anything. No one else matters."

I fell silent, failing to mention that the most important part of this Saturday was that I had Freddie, which felt like a fairytale in itself. Freddie was already gazing at me like I was some sort of genius; if I told him being with him was like a dream come true, he might start sobbing, and then I'd have to shove snow cones down his back.

"That," he said at last, "was incredible. You're such a writer!"

I bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you take pleasure in causing others to see the world the way you do," he said. "It also means you see the world in a very unique way… you're--"

"Okay, okay," I interrupted. "Enough with the sappy stuff."

"Corny and cheesy stuff, you mean."

I glared at him for maybe a second before lapsing into stifled giggles. "Why are you so annoying?" I groaned. "I can't even hit you, because then you'd dump me."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Then you're an idiot!"

He nodded vigorously. I couldn't help myself; I socked him as lightly as I could in the arm, feeling a rush of adrenaline as I did so. Freddie yelped, laughter bubbling from his lips. The sound colored the air, drowning the wind and cutting through the slight chatter of neighborhood squirrels.

"That's it," he grinned. "We're done. Nice knowing you."

Though it was obvious he was joking, my stomach still turned to ice, head bending as though weight were crushing my neck, blonde strands covering downcast eyes.

"Hey," Freddie said, grabbing my shoulder. "I'm- I'm kidding."

"I know," I muttered. How could I explain how it terrified me to hear him even joke about breaking it off?

The blissful mood was definitely evaporating fast. "Let's go," I insisted. He rose with a tentative air, as though waiting for me to either burst into tears or hit him again. I was tempted to do the latter, just to release some frustration.

"Okay, where are we going?" he asked lightly. I fought the urge to fall into the 'misunderstood, depressed girl' demeanor, where I'd just shrug and mumble indifferences until he became so fed up I'd miss out on a great day.

"Mall?" I suggested. Freddie pulled a face. "Okay, no mall. You think of something."

"Well, we could go if you really wanted to," Freddie said grudgingly. I gaped.

"Are you serious?" I squealed, then rethought. "No. No way. I'm not going to waste our day blowing my money on crap I don't need and probably won't use. Let's go somewhere fun for both of us."

"That's sweet," he mumbled. "But… I kinda…"

"You want to go to the mall!" I laughed. "Oh, this is too good!"

He glared me down. "I just don't want to look like a dork anymore."

My eyes widened with hope. "You want me to dress you?"

He blushed a deep crimson, cheeks stained with color just below the cheekbones. A smile curved my lips, both at his embarrassment and at my good fortune.

"Can I make you goth?"

Freddie jumped about a foot. "No! Are you kidding me? My mom would--"

I raised an eyebrow. He gave an exasperated sigh.

"That's not the only reason I don't want to be goth. It just wouldn't fit me!" he protested, the color fading from his cheeks as he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not that type, Sam."

"You don't have to hate the world or anything," I begged. We were walking; when had we started walking? Luckily, Freddie was moving in the direction of my favorite mall, just five blocks from Carly's apartment.

"I know," he muttered. "But goths are so…"

"Freddie!" I whined, stretching his name over five syllables. "Goths rule. Can I at least make you emo? Or, like, a rocker?"

He snorted, and I gave it up as a bad job.

"Fine. What do you want to be?" I grumbled. He shrugged.

"I don't know, I really don't. Just not this," he said, picking at the flimsy checkered jacket hanging sadly over a plain white t-shirt.

I frowned, eying Freddie up and down. Oh, it would be so easy to transform that little nerd ensemble into something Jake would drool over… maybe just a few skulls, Freddie wouldn't mind…

"You're gothing me up with your eyes!" he yelped, swatting at the air in front of him. I cracked up, shoving him roughly off the sidewalk into the millions of flickering grass blades, reflecting the lazy sun. He stumbled for a moment before trying to return the favor, but I was far too quick for him.

The mall came into view. "We're racing!" I declared. Freddie smiled absently, knowing better than to argue.

"Rules?" he questioned. I pondered for a moment, eyes sliding across the landscape. A somewhat evil grin grew on my lips.

"We'll each make our own rules," I said slyly, hoping Freddie hadn't caught on. "What do you get if you win?"

"You have to buy me lunch," Freddie said matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes. He could have made me spend a day with his dorky friends or actually pay attention in class, yet he picked a free lunch.

"Okay," I said. "And if I win, you have to let me dress you for a whole hour. If you complain, I add ten minutes."

His mouth fell open, eyes widening in pure horror. "Sam, no!"

I stuck out my tongue. "We race to the mall entrance," I said forcefully, quenching his spluttered protests. "On your mark, get set, go!"

My feet were flying before Freddie had time to shout, "You evil little…!" The pavement pounded against my soles, creating an uneven yet addicting rhythm. My breath came in short bursts; that one year of track had really helped.

Freddie was gaining on me, shouting obscenities amidst an outburst of disbelieving laughter. We must have looked ridiculous, but it didn't matter.

The mall was suddenly in front of me, looming a whopping five stories with nothing but incredible stores. I touched the smooth glass doors lightly with a single fingertip, chuckling softly. Freddie was in for a treat.

Approximately ten seconds later Freddie arrived, panting slightly and looking thoroughly disheveled. I don't think the running had any effect on him; the boy was just scared of his immediate future, as he should have been.

"Sam," he began, voice taking on a pleading tone. I knew I would melt if I let him continue, so I did the only thing that would shut him up.

Leaning in, I gave him a quick peck on the lips before saying sternly, "Shut up and take it like a man. Or at least a nerd. Take it like a nerd. A nerd is half a man."

Freddie gave a strained bark of laughter. We headed into the mall, and were greeted by tinkling, repetitive elevator music, loud neon signs promising their products were the best of the best, and a throng of eager customers, just waiting to line the pockets of some other fool.

We were home.

"Hot Topic," I said automatically. "We're going to Hot Topic."

"Sam!" Freddie groaned. I rolled my eyes.

"We only have an hour, Sherlock. I'm not wasting any time."

He didn't complain as I dragged him by the arm into Hot Topic, grinning at the array of red-and-black shirts that would go so nicely with his hair. I rifled through the different clothes, eyes raking up and down Freddie's form as he squirmed uncomfortably. He did look quite out of place next to the girl with the multiple nose rings who was purchasing some Twilight crap (a ring, a bracelet, some sixty dollar perfume).

There was a pair of ripped black jeans on the rack next to me; I demanded Freddie tried them on, along with a long-sleeved top displaying a skull. He glared at me in horror.

"There's no way--"

"Fredward. Now."

I sounded just like his mom! Luckily it worked, and Freddie was scuttling off to the changing rooms in no time. Five minutes later he emerged, looking thoroughly emo.

Because there was nothing else to do, I doubled over in laughter. Okay, so the whole 'goth' thing didn't work for him. Freddie looked absolutely ridiculous.

The ripped jeans were at least two sizes too small, causing him to shift from side to side and make the material creak in protest. I cringed as he turned in a slow circle, eyebrows raised and daring me to lie and say he looked good. The shirt fell so awkwardly on his frame, I almost missed his nerdy ensemble.

"Get changed," I sighed. "We'll go somewhere else."

He gave a sigh of relief and headed back to the changing rooms, shrugging off the shirt before the black curtain had completely closed.

We hurried from the store, avoiding the smirking employee's gaze. My ears rang as soon as we were free of the gothic environment; had the music really been that loud? I hadn't even noticed. It had felt natural.

"That was terrible!" Freddie whined. "Don't make me do this, Sam."

"Oh, please. You tried on one outfit. Suck it up."

"Sam--"

"One more word and I'm adding ten minutes," I warned. He clamped his jaw shut, a childish scowl on his face.

We scoured three more stores after Hot Topic. Freddie muttered his protests softer each time. Soon his arms were laden with two pairs of jeans, one slightly darker than the other and ripped at the knees, a gray sweatshirt, three spring-colored tees, two deeper colored tees, and a wristband with a skull on it, because I just couldn't help myself.

He tried each on in earnest, admiring how it brought out his non-dorky side, however small the side may have been. I leaned against a wall and smirked at his satisfied expression, finally snorting an, "Oh, please!" as he turned in front of a mirror.

"Why don't I just sign you up for 'America's Next Top Model'?" I asked, pulling his new black jacket off of his shoulders and wrapping it over my left arm.

"Do you think I could win?" Freddie asked looking infinitely hopeful. I couldn't tell if he was kidding, and believe me, when your boyfriend considers trying out for the girliest model show out there, you get scared.

My response to his absurd question was an abrupt kick to his shins before turning to pay for his clothes (with his money, of course. These clothes were for him).

"I think we have enough," I said. He turned to me.

"What?"

"We're good. We have enough clothes to completely rejuvenate your look. Let me just pick and choose which goes with which, and we'll get you looking like a normal teenager in no time."

"But…"

Freddie's face had fallen, eyes memorizing the pattern etched into every tile lining the floor. His hands clasped themselves behind his back.

"We'll do this again," I promised, trying hard not to laugh at his newfound hobby. At least this got his chin up.

We headed towards the bathrooms, discussing at full length which jeans would go best with his gray t-shirt. I had to say, for a boy who had been deprived the fine art of shopping his whole life, Freddie had excellent taste.

If there is any problem with this chapter, I'll fix it ASAP, so PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not give me a review saying, "Umm, the whole chapter's underlined. Just thought you'd like to know." I get it, guys. 3