Eraser
"Why does my mom hate me?" Freddie asked as he stormed into the Shay's apartment.
"I dunno, probably because you have terrible taste in fashion, go on and on about lame tech stuff and pronounce 'coupon like 'coop-on," Sam said promptly from the couch.
"Oh that's hilarious," Freddie snapped as he dropped onto the couch next to her.
"Aw, it's okay, I still love you," Sam grinned, leaning over and kissing him. "But what's up with your mom? What'd she do this time?"
"She put me in dance lessons again!" Freddie exclaimed.
"Wow, seriously?" Sam said. "This is what, her sixth time?"
"Seventh," Freddie corrected. "I'm telling you, she's not going to be happy until I'm performing with the American Ballet!"
"Pfft, they'd never let you in there," Sam scoffed.
"Gee thanks," Freddie said, rolling his eyes. "You're just oozing sass today, aren't you?"
"You're making it too easy," Sam chuckled, taking a sip of her root beer. "But seriously, your mom kind of needs to drop her dream of you being a dancer. I think that ship has sailed awhile ago."
"No kidding," Freddie sighed. "But that's never going to happen. In fact, to make things even worse, she signed us up for a mother-son dance recital at the end of the month."
Sam spat her root beer out of her mouth, all over Freddie's shirt. "No way! This is the best thing to ever happen to me!"
"Yes…that was the compassionate response I was searching for," Freddie said, wiping the liquid off his face.
"I'm sorry, it's just, you know, you dream of this kind of stuff happening, but you never think it will actually happen," Sam said. "So do you two get matching costumes? Are you going to have to lift her? Is she gonna lift you?"
"Why do you have to torture me like this?"
"Because, I'm your girlfriend," Sam smiled. "It's my job. But you know, maybe if you nail this recital of yours, your mom might let up on the dancing."
"Why do you say that?" Freddie asked.
"Well, because your mom probably just wants one dance with her precious son who she not-so-subtly wishes was a daughter," Sam shrugged. "Once she gets that, she'll move onto something else. Maybe she'll put you in sewing class."
"Hey…you might be right," Freddie said. "About the dancing. Not about the sewing…hopefully."
"So just don't screw up the recital," Sam said. "And you may be in the clear for the rest of your life."
"But how am I supposed to not screw up?" Freddie sighed. "Believe it or not, I-I'm not the best dancer."
Sam gave a very dramatic, and very sarcastic gasp.
"You having fun with this?" Freddie asked, rolling his eyes.
"Yes I am," Sam said happily. "But hey, if you want, I can teach you some steps."
"Oh that's right…you dance!" Freddie said. "Why didn't I think of this before; this is perfect! If you teach me I won't have to go to those annoying lessons and I'll still rock the recital and get my mom off my case!"
"Won't your mom know you ditch your lessons, though?" Sam asked.
"Nah, the mothers and the sons are in separate classes," Freddie explained. "She'll never know."
"Wow, look at you being all sneaky," Sam said, impressed. "Dating me has done you some good."
"Sure has," Freddie laughed. "So you'll really teach me how to dance?"
"As long as I get to go to the recital," Sam said.
"No way!" Freddie exclaimed. "You'll take video and use it mock me for the rest of my life!"
"That is one hundred percent true," Sam nodded. "But that's my price. Take it or leave it."
Freddie sighed. "Fine…I guess it's the lesser of two evils."
…
"Keep your hands on my waist," Sam said a few days later when the two were up in the iCarly studio, practicing some dance moves.
"I am," Freddie said. "Or I'm trying. But I keep thinking about having to put my hands on my mom's waist and I kind of want to throw up."
"Dude, focus on me," Sam said. "You're not doing half bad. Surprisingly."
"Well, I've had a good teacher," Freddie chuckled, leaning down to give Sam a quick kiss. "So you think I'm ready for the recital?"
"We still have to work on a few more steps," Sam said. "But I think you'll be ready in time. So your mom still really thinks you're going to those lame lessons?"
"Yeah," Freddie nodded proudly. "She has no idea that every time I say I go I'm really coming over here to learn from you."
"God, if that woman ever finds out I'm helping you skip dance lessons, she'll hate me even more," Sam smirked.
"She doesn't hate you," Freddie said.
Sam simply stared at him.
"Okay, she might…strongly dislike you," Freddie said lamely.
"Whatever, let's just finish up," Sam said, taking his hand. "Remember, when you're stepping to the right, make sure your feet are in line so you don't keep tripping. And stop looking down so much. And stand up straighter."
"Ugh, this is too hard; there's too many things I have to be doing at once," Freddie groaned.
"Well the quicker we finish up here, the quicker we can do something else," Sam said. "Like going over to my place, which is very empty right now…"
"I can do it!" Freddie said quickly.
….
"I can't believe how sparkly this is," Sam grinned the day of the recital as she picked at the red, sequined collar of Freddie's shirt. "It's more sparkly than anything I ever had to wear for pageants."
"My mom picked it out," Freddie mumbled darkly.
"I'm so glad I got all these pics," Sam said, looking at her Pearphone. "They'll look great on the iCarly site."
"Sam!"
"Relax, I'm joking," Sam said. "Some things are too nubby for anybody but me to see. So you remember the routine?"
"I think," Freddie nodded, somewhat nervously. "This is the first time I'll be doing it with my mom though. Weird that they wouldn't have a mother-son rehearsal before the actual recital."
"You'll be fine," Sam said. "You did the routine perfectly with me last night. Now your mom is taller than me, so make sure to take that into account, but seriously, baby, you're going to do great."
"All thanks to you," Freddie said.
"Yeah, well-oh chiz! Your mom's coming now!" Sam said, looking over Freddie's shoulder. "I'm not in the mood for her right now. I'm just gonna go find a seat in the audience. Break a leg out there. Love you."
"Love you too," Freddie said.
A few seconds after Sam ran off, Marissa Benson reached her son.
"What on earth was that gutter girl doing here?" she demanded at once. "This is a dance recital; not a who-ha!"
"I wanted my girlfriend to be here, mom," Freddie sighed. "Besides, she's really into dance."
"Well, she's not going to ruin our big day, Freddikins," Marissa said firmly. "All my life I've dreamed of this moment. Me and you, immersed in the art of dance! It's so much more cultured than anything you'd find on those computers of yours."
"Yeah…well…let's just get this over with," Freddie sighed.
…..
"That was the most spectacular experience of my whole life!" Marissa said breathlessly as her and Freddie exited the stage after their routine. "I've never felt more alive! I knew I should've signed you up for mother-son dancing years ago! I always wondered why you never took to dance before, but it turns out you just needed the right partner!"
"Let's just hope now this is finally out of your system now," Freddie mumbled under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing!" Freddie said quickly.
"Marissa, Freddie," the director of the mother-son dance program said suddenly, stepping towards the two. "Excellent job out there!"
"Um, thanks," Freddie said. "Well, um, we should be going-"
"Wasn't my Freddie so talented?" Marissa gushed.
"Yes, surprisingly, he was," the director nodded.
"Oh no…" Freddie sighed.
"Surprisingly?" Marissa sputtered. "What do you mean 'surprisingly'?"
"Well ma'am, it's just that your son never attended a single practice this month," the director explained.
Marissa's jaw dropped. "He what?" she turned towards her son. "You didn't go to dance class?"
"Um…I'm going to check on the other dancers," the director said quickly, backing away.
"Okay, mom, before you make a scene-"
"Do you enjoy hurting your mother, Fredward?" Marissa demanded. "Because that's what you're doing!"
"Mom, I'm sorry, but…I just couldn't take any more dance classes!" Freddie said. "I'm not the dancer you always wanted. I'm never going to be. I only agreed to do this stupid recital because I thought it would get you off back."
"Did you just call this recital 'stupid'?" Marissa gasped. "Language, Freddie!"
"Mom, I'm sorry, I-I just don't dance," Freddie said firmly. "And you're going to have to accept that."
"But-But you were so good out there!" Marissa sputtered. "And if you were that good without lessons, imagine how you would be with-"
"Actually, I did have lessons," Freddie said. "But just not with any of these teachers."
"Well then where on earth did you learn-"
"Sam," Freddie replied simply. "She taught me that entire routine."
"That gutter girl?" Marissa exclaimed. "How could she teach you dance?"
"I told you, she's really interested in dance," Freddie said. "And she does dance. She's really good!"
"She dances?" Marissa scoffed.
"Yes, mom," Freddie said, rolling his eyes. "She used to do all sorts of competitions and pageants when she was younger. And now she goes to some studio a few times a week just to practice her technique and stuff."
"She's a dancer?" Marissa said, this time her tone far less disgusted. "Your girlfriend…Samantha…"
"Uh-huh," Freddie said, slowly smiling. "Pretty impressive, huh?"
"I-Well…"
"And she taught me that entire routine I just did out there," Freddie continued. "Not bad for a, what is you like to call her, despite my protests? Oh yeah, a gutter girl?"
"I never would've thought she'd be into something as cultured as the art of dance," Marissa said, flabbergasted.
"Still think Sam's just some hoodlum?" Freddie smirked.
"Well…Well I suppose if she's gifted enough in dance to teach you that routine," Marissa said reluctantly. "She might not be all that bad after all…"
