Freddie was comfortably engulfed by a beanbag chair, reading one of Carly's girly magazines. He was wearing a polo in a particularly fetching shade of salmon. And his khakis were kind of bagel-coloured.

"Tasty," Sam said.

He looked up briefly. "Hmm?"

"Your shirt. Makes you look like lox."

Freddie did that frowny thing he did when he was not quite concerned enough to run away, but still slightly worried for both her sanity and his own personal well-being. It was quite possibly his least endearing quirk. It usually made Sam want to make him actually run away.

He shrugged and ignored her, turning his attention back to the magazine.

Sam approached, dropping into the other beanbag chair, squinting at the title.

"Dude. You're reading Teen Mode?"

Freddie shrugged again, and turned the page.

Sam put her yellow Converse-clad feet in his lap, wiggling them in his face. The magazine went down. Freddie's frowny look turned to a scowl.

"What, Sam," he said. He tried to push her feet out of his lap, but they weren't moving.

"No way you have nothing better to do than read that dribble," Sam said.

"Neither did you, apparently," Freddie said dryly, holding up the page. There were ketchup and mustard-y fingerprints all along the bottom. He turned back two pages, and there were marks of barbeque sauce.

"Mmm," said Sam, thinking about when she'd snagged some of Spencer's take out BBQ. "I might have flipped through it."

She fixed him with her patented don't-push-it-kid stare. "But I am, by all standards, a girl." For good emphasis, she wriggled her fingers, pink and purple nail polish flashing in the light. "On the other hand, your gender may be questionable, but I don't think it's gotten to that point where..."

"Thank you, Sam, I can fill in the rest myself," Freddie interrupted. He didn't look terribly happy.

"Anytime," Sam said, beatifically. She kicked his knee. "Spill."

"It's about relationships," Freddie said.

"Carly will never love you," Sam said automatically.

Freddie gave her a dirty look and did his frowny thing all at once. Sam was, secretly and inexplicably, delighted. She quirked an eyebrow back at him.

"They say here that, in major cities, the likelihood of actually staying in a relationship is about 10%," Freddie read, and looked back up at her. "Isn't that sad?"

"So's your face," Sam said, and thought. "...and Spencer's attempt to be a fireman."

"Oh, is he back yet?" Freddie asked interestedly, ignoring the jibe.

"Carls is fixing him up," said Sam. She vaguely motioned around her elbow and her face and possibly her stomach. "You know."

Freddie grimaced. "Yeah."

"So, Mr. Romantic," Sam started, digging her feet into Freddie's lap. He pushed them off. "Those statistics really got you down, huh."

"It's just sad, that's all," Freddie said.

"Like it has anything to do with us?" Sam said, frowning when she realized her statement had suddenly turned into a question. She hadn't meant for her voice to suddenly go up at the end. Apparently, neither had Freddie.

"Seattle's a major city."

"I hear Hawaii's nice," Sam replied cheerfully. "Montana's not bad either."

"Like we could go to Montana," said Freddie, rolling his eyes. Then he looked guilty, like he hadn't quite meant to say that, either. "That's not what I meant."

Sam looked him straight in the eyes. "My Aunt Judy's brother's in Montana," she said, off-handedly. But not meaningfully. At all.

Carly suddenly burst into the studio, all sunshine and cheerfulness and a little bit of nerves. "Sorry, sorry," she said hurriedly, carrying a box of props from her room. "We can start rehearsal now. And Spencer said he'd take us all out for smoothies once his burns cool down."

"Spence is the man," Sam said immediately, leaping to her feet. She looked down at Freddie, who'd hastily dropped his magazine. Apparently he didn't want Carly knowing he'd been reading Teen Mode. "Ready to go, Fredwardo?"

"Yee haw," said Freddie. But he was grinning.

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