51.) Heavy Load - written by Leah (aka Daisy Thistletop)

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Sam tries to balance rugby practice, studying, and all his jobs with the help of his best friend Frodo.

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Thump. Creak.

On the flimsy metal bench, Sam gratefully rested his backpack. Its contents belched from the top above the frayed shoulder straps, the zippers tired and slumping down each side, leaving a large gap. Before he sat down, he automatically punched the stuff down into the gap and steadied it, avoiding total spillage on the dirt track. Visibly, there was a grass-stained rugby helmet covering used schoolbooks, two binders, a motley assortment of pens and half-chewed pencils, a tired-looking jersey and socks, and an empty orange juice bottle, all jostling for position inside. Invisibly, underneath, was more unidentified stuff, probably forgotten old homework and a few dog-eared Cliff's notes, or so he assumed.

Sam had gotten into the habit of the OJ-and-lembas-bar meal from the student store, if he didn't have time for something "hot from the pot" between work and class, which was fairly often. He had just finished his repast. Eyeing the orange juice bottle top with exhaustion, he imagined he would throw it away. In five minutes.

Just. Five. Minutes.

He joined his partner heavily, causing a louder bench-creak. The familiar object used to be a nice shade of pine green, with the MEU gold dragon mascot patch on the front pocket. But that was last year. He gazed at it absently and ran his calloused fingers over it. Now it had faded to an indistinct olive, the edge seams shiny with wear, plagued by open lesions of exposed lining at the corners. There was a dark, slightly more greenish dragon-shadow on the pocket where the emblem had once been.

Sam unbuttoned his letter jacket, put his elbows on his knees and slumped forward, thinking. Elven Languages 1B was finally behind him, and he really should have been walking to the bus so he could get downtown in time to clock in at the stockroom, but, just this once, to sit and not carry the pack for five minutes, just five minutes, and inhale the cool October breeze and listen.

shush shush shush shush shush shush YAAAAAYYYY!

He was lucky. The cheerleaders were practicing out at Pelennor Field today. Sam could barely make out the letters on their uniforms from where he sat, but the offensively bright green and gold pom-poms were definitely visible, popping up and down in time to some unfamiliar distant beat. He squinted in their direction, trying to make out individual girls among them. Some were hobbits, many of whom he was certain he knew at least in passing. The cheerleaders started to form a classic pyramid, and he smirked as he saw the human girls get assigned to the bottom rows. The little hobbits formed the crowning triad, and thrust their pom-poms into the air.

Shrugging his shoulders, Sam found it surprisingly easy to move without all the accustomed weight. He started to move his arms back and forth, stretching a little, still watching the field. Things might be looking up, he thought. If it weren't for all this homework….yes, I might do all right tonight…..maybe get some sleep for a change. But, tonight wasn't going to be the easy night. He furtively planned in his mind, how he would get his homework done tomorrow morning before class AND work. It had become a habit – one day at a time, he would sit and try to work out every hour, and carve out just one, here and there, for a nap, or an honest-to-goodness meal. Yes, something real, not a tasteless lembas energy bar…something meaty, with bones, and barbecue sauce…..mmm…..and garlic fries, fragrant and steaming. Ale, to wash it all down. Sam's stomach grumbled and he realized his eyelids were drooping, so he quickly put his arms into a stretch again to snap himself out of it.

Perhaps the spirit squad girls had seen him, for as they dispersed for an apparent break, one lass started to run in his direction.

Breathlessly, she called out from about 20 feet away. "Samwise, is that you? Come and help us out!" The pretty lass and her pom-poms bounced in place; she was running through her half-memorized routine. Her eyes were cast downward but she flashed an occasional expectant glance up at him.

The gears in Sam's brain ground to a halt. He couldn't remember her name, who she was. He couldn't think of any response that would be right. How in the world could he help them? Why was she asking? Did she really need help or was she flirting? She was pretty, her tawny curls resting against ruddy cheeks, her chest still heaving from the exertion beneath her soft sweater. And, he thought disconcertingly, her skirt was unbelievably short. What should he say? Would it be right to follow her? Would it be stupid to NOT follow her?

Seconds crawled by, and after a bit, the cheerleader shrugged, broke eye contact and jogged back to her friends.

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I'm an idiot, he thought.

Sam resumed breathing. He slumped again on the bench, watching the distant figures as their pom-poms continued to bobble entertainingly on the horizon. There seemed to be a larger co-ed group now, some of the guys in emerald-hued team jackets, taking turns lifting the girls jerkily into the air.

One slim, dark-headed figure caught his eye. It seemed to be walking the other way, yes, not part of the line but behind it now, coming toward him across the track. He recognized it - thank goodness it wasn't another cheerleader, it was Frodo! Saved. NOW things were looking up! Sam grinned immediately.

His best friend came gradually around the track, watching the practice and very carefully avoiding the center of the field. He wore a vintage tan corduroy jacket and a fashionable leather satchel slung down against one hip, and as he got closer Sam could see that he also wore a matching grin to his own. "Hello Sam! You know, you were born to wear that jacket," complimented Frodo in casual greeting, as he looked over his shoulder at the chaotic goings-on.

Frodo scooted over next to him on the squeaky bench and clapped him on the shoulder – but as he did so, he hesitated a moment, looking Sam over critically. He leaned over, peering at his face. "Eru! You look exhausted!"

Sam just looked sideways at him and slumped his broad shoulders in defeat.

"What!" said Frodo, smiling comfortingly. "That's not the Samwise I know. Cheer up. What is it, Elven 1B? The test? I can help you, you know, when I get some time….and I might even be able to find some time right now! You'll do just fine."

Sam just stared at the track dirt, trying to come up with a response for Frodo that wouldn't sound quite as disheartened about everything as he felt. "I need…." said Sam, apparently addressing the trampled dirt beneath him, "I need….just, I don't know…I haveta catch the bus or I'll miss work…"

"I'll walk you, if you want." Frodo put one pale hand on his shoulder and just rested it there, patiently steeped in concern, watching him.

They sat together silently, Sam studying pebbles and Frodo observing.

Suddenly, both were interrupted by someone clearing their throat politely.

It was her again; this time with one of her male admirers by her side. Her sweater was slung carelessly about her shoulders, exposing tanned arms and a clingy white tank top. "Does your friend talk?" she asked Frodo, giggling brightly. The oafish-looking student smirked and looked at Sam, obviously preparing for some kind of showdown.

"Yes, ma'am, of course he does!" he said, beaming right back and ignoring the large dark fellow. "This is my friend Samwise. He's on the Rugby team. Aren't you, Sam?" He scooted around on the seat, kicking his furry right foot good-naturedly with his heel, scuffing up dust around his ankles.

But apparently, the lass was absolutely right about Sam's speech impediment. Thankfully, the condition was temporary, but there was no way for her to know that fact.

Sam stared dumbly at the white tank top for a very long second.

"Well, tell your friend he's welcome to watch us any time at the Field on Thursdays," sighed the lass, and before Frodo could open his mouth again she had already turned her back on them.

Her friend lingered for a moment, and pretended to whisper, just loud enough for Sam to hear, "Yo, babe, need any more lifting? Looks like he's not playing anyways." Before she could respond, he had already hoisted her up onto his meaty shoulders and was bouncing her uncomfortably back down the field.

"Sam?" hissed Frodo directly into his pointed ear. Sam just shrugged and watched their horseplay. Frodo wished he could think of something helpful to tell him in this situation, but his friend's shy demeanor was something not easily cured. Not even with copious amounts of ale. He knew that, for a fact. He had tried.

Sam was very still for another minute, and then suddenly got twitchy, muttering something and pointing to his watch. As they got up to leave, Sam hoisted the bedraggled backpack across his shoulders and shoved one arm through the strap with a practiced motion. Frodo's helpful words finally spilled out.

With a firm hand, he squeezed Sam's thick forearm and looked straight at him. "Don't worry, she knows an idiot when she sees one." Radiating confidence, Frodo took the lead in the direction of the bus stop.

"Does she?" asked Sam uncertainly.

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