A/N: Blamtinartie friendship.

Sometimes, Sam's teachers do the thing where they call you up to the blackboard and make you read or write shit out.

In years past, he'd flash a grin at the cute teachers, and sometimes it worked long enough for them to smile back and pass him over for later. It's not because he doesn't like the attention, when he presents; it's because he wants everyone to like him, and that means looking good in all respects. In school stuff, too, even though he's going to be, you know, a model.

He's not going to avoid being called on today, but that's all right. It's his turn to present his paper for English, and everyone pitched in to help him flesh it out.

("It's 'your' here and 'you're' there," Tina pointed out. She grabbed an apple slice off of Sam's tray. "But I didn't think Lady Macbeth was manipulating her husband. She was ambitious because it was a man's world and it was the only way she'd get ahead. Afterward, she felt guilty because of her role in Banquo's murder."

"She pushed him into it," Sam argued. "If she hadn't, Macbeth would have stayed alive and none of this would have happened." Tina scowled and muttered, "misogyny", under her breath.

"They both wanted to be king and queen, but he didn't think he could get the support until she encouraged him to do it," Blaine pointed out. He shook his head at Tina and poked Sam in the ribs. "That's just fact."

"That's just - " Tina huffed - "anyway, even though I don't agree with everything you said, I liked what you wrote about the witches and the role of evil in the play. That is good."

Sam had reached over and ruffled her hair, and Tina smirked, made a creaky witchy hee - hee - hee!, which made them all laugh. Afterward, Blaine had found a fresh piece of notebook paper, and he'd written out all of his answers in good. Then he'd re-checked Sam's grammar and spelling, Artie had made him practice his diction, and then Sam was ready to go.)

"Sam, your presentation is up," said old Mrs. Schimmel. "Please share with us your insights on Macbeth." She pursed her lips and looked down at her clipboard, shot him a critical glance.

In years past, the younger Sam might have stood up there, against the yellow chalk, and stammered, ashamed, because he hadn't prepared. Or he'd have struggled to read his chicken scratch and then - humiliated - the teacher would make him come in after school to present to her, alone. Or he'd have broken out an impression and distracted everyone with McConaughey long enough that everyone forgot what they'd called him up for.

But this was a new day, and a new Sam. A new, confident, unafraid Sam. He was gonna rock this thing. He trotted out his golden smile and leapt out of his seat, paper in hand. "Sure thing, Mrs. Schimmel. I gotcha. I've got a lot of things to say."