A/N: Oh, the final day of this story has finally come. It took me about six days to write it, so I hope it takes less time to read it. But I exceeded my personal record and dished out 9,000 words for this chapter. At first I was like "YEAH!" then I was like "wait, that's a crapload of words for one chapter." So instead, I split it in two. Don't worry though! I'm posting them both up today so no one has to wait anymore. I think I edited this about 257 times, but I loved how it turned out, and I hope you do, too!
DISCLAIMER: No. Just no. You know what I'm about to say, so just no. (yeah I've gotten a total of three hours of sleep so excuse my...oddity...and excuse me if that's not even a real word.)
"Can you believe that dorkhole?" Sam vented to Carly at one of the picnic tables. It was the day after the complete confession and ultimatum she received from Freddie, and she had managed to avoid the urge of talking about what happened until now. "After going on his spiel about how we can't be friends anymore, he has the nerve to just walk away in nonchalance like he's the chizz and all. I'll punch him in his nonchalance and see how chizzy his feels after that."
"I don't know," Carly teased while playing with her salad fork. "You sharing physical contact with him just might make him go even crazier for you. You see how beating up on him has affected his heart now."
"Carly!" Sam fumed, leaning forward to make sure no one else heard.
"I'm sorry," she laughed in guilty pleasure, "but this is a major revelation and I'm gonna milk it for all it's worth."
"Since when did you turn into me," she scowled.
"You have an effect on people," Carly smiled. Of course, Sam was really shaken about this—more than she let on, which was surprising—but it was hard for her to see the horror of this situation when something so huge was brewing between her two friends. "But you're acting a bit more shook up about it than he was. He said he wasn't really that angry or anything"—
"He said?" she repeated. "He talked to you! When!"
She took a bite of her salad. "Just earlier before you got here."
"What did he say?"
"Um, basically everything you just said. You know…minus the obscenities."
Sam rolled her eyes and snatched her smoothie from the end of the table.
"He told me what he said to you," Carly continued, "and it surprised me. Honestly Sam, I think I'm jealous."
She looked up in stupor. "What?"
"Yeah. He's changed a little. And you can't help but be convinced about how serious he is about this. He's not giving up."
"Oh, please," she said with another roll of the eyes. "He didn't give up on you."
"That's different. You're…not normal."
Sam was seriously about to knock out the next person that said that. Did she really lack every characteristic of a "normal" girl? Carly caught her little look of disdain.
"I mean," She tried to correct herself, "you're pretty aggressive and…a lot to handle. But the way Freddie sees it, that aggression kinda turned into a good thing. He's thought a long time about this, and even though he thought of about a million reasons why feeling this way could go completely wrong, he still…wants it—you know, to be with you."
Sam lowered her stare and started biting down on her straw as Carly finished. "And you can't compare that to what he had with me."
"But you saw how he was," she moaned and let her head fall on the table. "He was in love with you; he even dated other girls after you. How can that turn into…having things for me? No way is this stronger…"
Carly took another bite of her salad. "Is it possible that maybe the reason you're refusing this so much is because you actually like it? I mean, whether it being Freddie or not, a guy likes you that much and takes that much of an interest in you. For once can you just be a girl and admit that that's pretty awesome?"
"See," she interjected, ignoring the question, "you just said it, too. Like. Like like like like like. He only likes me, so it's not fair that he's making me so crazy over something that's not even that serious."
It was Carly's turn to roll her eyes. "Listen to yourself, and tell me who's making this bigger than it really is: Freddie or you? Then ask yourself why. I promise you, Sam, that this whole situation would go a lot smoother if you'd finally figure that out."
Sam always wanted to fly to Jupiter. When she was little she always used to wonder what ham would taste like on another planet, and the trip seemed more alluring now because she highly doubt they had emotions in space.
It wasn't even February, it was an ordinary day, but she still saw images of love everywhere she went. In the halls, on TV, and even in her advertising class she dropped in on two girls having a conversation about their boyfriends. "Oh, he surprised me with chocolate," "Oh he bought me a promise ring." She wanted to blow her tongue out at them. I just had my best friend confess his love to me by calling me abnormal then breaking off our friendship, she wanted to say. Beat that.
Sam sprawled herself across her bed, allowing her conscious to seep into the covers. "Love," she whispered to her pillow. She could almost taste the sting of that word burning on her tongue. "Am I really at fault here for thinking that he could never love me?"
And then she realized what she was doing.
She always referred to what was going on as a crush, a small liking. But why was this love thing always creeping up on her and squeezing at her insides? Why was Freddie always creeping up on her? He was never once able to get under her skin; his dorky presence was too funny and amusing to take seriously. But now he was enveloping her mind, taunting her with the memories of that night…
If this was payback for years of physical and emotional torment, then okay, she got it. Could he leave her alone now?
She snatched her pillow from under her and pulled it over her head, trying to force sleep on her weary eyes, but her face caught onto something wrinkly so she looked down to see what could it be.
Oh…
Her father's letter.
She forgot that she had shoved it there when she had to actually use her textbook for other than a paperweight. Curious, she unfolded the paper and stared at the heading. Honestly, she only read it once, and afterward she just shrugged and slipped it between the covers of her book without care. Everyone was riled up about this one piece of paper, even Freddie. Everyone but her. Why did it feel so strange to have this in her hands? She started reading the sloppy script, wanting to remember its contents again.
…I'm coming to town again, Samantha, and I want to meet with you and your mother—but mostly you. I want to know my baby girl again. I need to see the little me with my blue eyes and curly hair and nose. I wanna know you again, and we haven't gotten to do that since I got out the pen. So…please, read this over at least once and get back at me. I wrote my number down again. Or you can just get it from your mother. Whatever you like. But really, Samantha, I miss you so much, and I hope you miss me, too...
Sam sighed. One of recent nagging texts she got from her mom was talking about how Melanie already wrote him a letter and he responded back. Whatever, Melanie was perfect at virtually everything in life, so of course she would respond. But Melanie was also a hundred miles away, attending a prestigious private university in Napa. Everything was perfect in her world, so that letter probably consisted of "how are you, I hope you're doing okay, I've been praying for you" and other generically similar responses. Her mother never had many kind words to say about her father when she was alone, but now that he was back she acted as if he was some long lost brother or something. Sam didn't want to do that. She didn't want to write about emotions she didn't have. She didn't know what emotions she had, so what would a letter written for him even consist of?
She started to skim around the lines of the paper until a few words struck her attention. She read on, and getting a revealing feeling as she did:
Remember when you wanted me to pack your lunch? You were so small back then, and it was your first day of second grade. You wanted a special lunch with one of those Wahoo Punch juice pouches, a pack of string cheese, and a turkey sandwich. Heh, you were so specific about that sandwich. It had to have three slices of turkey, two slices of tomato, and mayo spread on one side of the bread. And the bread had to be cut diagonally. You said you would scream if you had a vertically-cut sandwich. But I got arrested that morning, and I was pretty sure they didn't allow you to make sandwiches where I was going. Sarah said you threw a fit when you came home. You lit your brown paper bag on fire and stole Melanie's juice. Heh, you know you always had my fire. I hope you don't still hold that over me. I'm sorry I couldn't make you your sandwich, baby…
Sam dropped the letter onto her lap. It seemed like forever ago but she remembered that perfectly. Her dad would always sit slouched on the couch watching TV, and he would always eat one of those huge professional-looking sandwiches as he watched wrestling. That was a man's sandwich, and Sam wanted something just like that for herself, just to be like her dad. I can't believe he remembered…
A tear was fighting to fall when Carly's footsteps started sounding down the hall. She panicked and shoved the letter inside a pillowcase, relieved that no tears had yet fallen.
"Knock, knock," Carly sounded as she revealed herself in Sam's doorway.
"You're back?" Sam asked. She had left a few hours ago to embark on the journey of blind dating. If Sam wasn't mistaken it was with some guy in her Econ class.
"Yup. Hence me standing in your doorway."
"So," Sam started as she tucked her legs together on the bed. "How'd it go?"
"Eh, it was alright. Nothing majorly interesting about the dude, so he so did not get lucky."
"Way to let em down easy, tiger," Sam nodded.
Carly laughed. "Thanks. So, what wild fun did you get into tonight?"
"Well, my butt had some mad fun with the couch. Then we asked the TV to join in and before we knew it, it turned into one hella crazy rendezvous," she quipped dryly.
"Ooooh," smiled Carly, "sounds awesome."
"Yeeeep." Sam had to compliment herself on her poker face. She made sure she revealed nothing. On Carly it worked, and finding nothing devastatingly wrong happening to her friend, she decided to head off.
"Well," yawned Carly, "I'm officially sleepy. Night, blonde."
"Night, brune," waved Sam until Carly was out of sight and sound. She threw a flip flop at light switch, allowing it to flip off and for her to escape into the darkness and sleep. That way, no one could actually witness the tear falling across her cheek.
It's been two days, Freddie sighed, laying across his bed. You figure she would call to yell at me or something.
Truth be told, he missed her. He missed her brutality, he missed the mischievous gleam in her eyes when she would look at him, and he missed the way her loose curls would flame around her when she attacked him. It was hard not being her friend.
But it was harder being her friend if it meant sacrificing everything he felt for her.
For once it was Freddie's turn to be selfish, so he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity.
Sam was hungry. She woke up abruptly because of the sharp pain of hunger that erupted inside of her stomach. It was almost one in the morning, and she cursed when she glanced at the clock. She thought she was making progress when she finally fell asleep after tossing uncomfortably in her bed, but to find out she had only been asleep for five minutes set her mood to a deeper shade of gray. But maybe indulging herself with meat would help the pain go away, and would help her finally crash.
Sluggishly she got out of bed and found her flip flops she threw earlier. She was wearing a navy tank top and red boxers—the most comfortable thing to sleep in—so she figured slipping on some type of hoodie would be best for walking out into the cold, Seattle wind. She walked past Carly's room without a problem and grabbed her keys to leave. She had no idea where she would go but maybe she could find that hot dog stand again.
…She couldn't.
After taking the long way down to the courtyard she found the cart nowhere, and concluded that it probably left for the night. She walked across campus to the cafeteria, but they were closed, too. Ugh, did the fates of the universe want her to starve? Did they get some kind of sick enjoyment out of watching her walk aimlessly around at night in search for food? She wanted to scream, but she figured no one could hear her behind her stomach growls. Quickly running out of options, she decided to settle for a jumbo fat cake and a Peppy Cola from the vending machines. At least they ran 24 hours, and were never able to disappoint her. She walked until she reached one of the dorm halls and found two adjacent vending machines near her reach. Smiling, she dug two dollars from the dual pocket of her hoodie and inserted one into the snack machine while inserting the other into the soda machine on the right. She pressed the desired buttons and impatiently waited for the snacks to fall. Finally they did, and she snatched the fat cake first, biting off the wrapper and biting down hard into its creamy center. She devoured it in about forty-five seconds, proud. That was her personal best. Wiping the pink powder from her lips, she hurriedly reached for the soda next. She slipped her hand through the metal slot, but surprisingly felt nothing. She used both hands next, but still touched only the cold metal inside. What? Oh no, God, please don't do this to her today. She pressed her nose against the glass to find the meaning behind this, and pain struck her as she saw the Peppy Cola caught between the glass and the side of the drop-down lever. No! She kicked the machine, but nothing happened. She banged against it, but the soda stood still. She even grasped it and raised it off the floor two inches and slammed it back down, but still, the damn thing wouldn't budge!
"Uuugh!" she screamed. "Give me back my Cola, you hunk of cheap corporation metal before I—!"
"Ahem…" someone coughed behind her, but Sam wasn't willing to let anyone else have the machine until she got what was hers. She was thirsty and upset and didn't want to deal with people right now.
"Can't you see I'm busy, dude?" she said to the unknown person behind her and returned to her banging. But the person seemed unmoved by her fury and grabbed onto her wrist, gently pushing her away from the machine.
It took a minute for Sam to process who was actually mental enough to touch her, and she was about to go nuclear until the guy looked at her. It was a challenging raise of the eyebrow, followed by small shaking of the head and a roll of the eyes. He reached in the pocket of his sweats and grabbed a dollar, unfolded it, and slipped it inside of the machine. About five seconds later after choosing his drink, the lever came down causing Sam's soda to fall. The guy bent down and took her soda from inside.
"Here," he motioned for Sam to take it, but in those seconds she forgot how her hands worked. The boy had too strong of a force over her to make her respond normally.
"…Freddie…" she was finally able to say. He didn't say anything and only nudged the soda closer.
"Take it," he urged.
Hesitantly, she reached for the Cola, but her fingers brushed by his and charged at contact, causing her to flinch and snap her arm back. Freddie scratched at the back of his head, but bent down and retrieved it for her, anyway. This time he tugged her arm back and wrapped the drink around her fingers, forcing her to latch onto it. Sam allowed him to do it, but let her other hand cling desperately onto her side as he did, trying to fight the surge that rushed over her from his touch. He let go and without thinking she said,
"What are you doing here?"
"Uh, this is my dorm hall," he inflected and pointed toward the sign that hung over the double doors. Stimson Hall. Damn it, it was his hall. Why on earth did she not notice that before!
"Oh…" and falling deeper into idiocy she tapped the top of her soda can. "You know, you didn't have to do that. We're not friends…remember?"
If that hit him hard, she couldn't notice it. Instead, he shrugged it off. "I don't have to be friends with anyone to hand them a soda. It's called common courtesy." He turned his foot in preparation to leave when he called over his shoulder one last time. "And, you know, it's also called saying thank you."
Sam watched his back and each step he took until he got closer to his door. Please leave, she thought. She was still hungry and tired and tetchy and being around him didn't make matters for her any better. He was stupid, and he was hurtful, and still after everything that happened between them he still was nice to her. What the hell…? You don't do that to people you don't want as friends.
She tilted her head and realized as she glanced at the soda machine that he left his drink still inside. Quickly she grabbed it and called after him before he opened his door.
"Wait!" she yelled, thankfully getting his attention. "Don't you want your soda?"
But the look he gave her set her back, for he smiled and stared straight into her with those light eyes. "No, Sam. I didn't even want a coke in the first place."
It was hard. It was so hard to fight things off when they kept on coming back ten times harder. No one was ever able to make Sam fall, or to make Sam bleed, but Freddie was always there, crushing her defenses and making her look weak.
He was getting at her heart.
She didn't like it.
The nub was her friend, and it took her a long time to even get comfortable saying that. There was so much violence between them and she loved it, because she knew that was how they operated, and despite her success at driving him crazy, he was patient with her and got her.
She thought she finally got it. She thought she finally understood all the crap people would say about the beauty of friendship. It was a game she played with Freddie, and she was enjoying herself up until now, until Freddie broke the rules: until he started to like her.
He was in love with her best friend, and for years she had to put up with that. But it got easier once she and Freddie started to stick—easier and harder. His love for Carly was a long one; it changed and changed and changed. Even when he dated other girls, he had a phase with them until it was over, and things changed once again. But that "nothing" that he had with Sam was what made their foundation so strong. The way they played their games and danced along their lines strengthened them from enemies to friends. They didn't change. And Sam didn't want to.
At least...she didn't think so.
She was now leaning against Carly's door frame. She had walked back to their dorm after she had her run in, and was too confused to walk to her room and sleep. She figured if she crashed in Carly's room she could straighten her brain and wake up normal again, but she couldn't make herself to open the door. So she sat down and finished her soda, the soda Freddie left inside the vending machine.
Drinking the last drop of her Peppy Cola, she rose from her position on the floor and turned Carly's doorknob, quietly entering the dark room. She made her way over to her best friend who had her back turned and her blanket draped over her shoulders.
"Carly," Sam whispered. No answer. "Carly! Hey Carls, you asleep?"
The covers shifted and Carly groaned inside her pillow. "No, Sam…" she rasped out with eyes closed. "The lights are just off and it's in the middle of the night and my eyes are just closed by coincidence."
Sam bit her lip. "You…mind if…I sleep here tonight?"
Moaning again, Carly leaned up and crooned her neck toward her friend. "Why? Did you have that dream again where the monster that eats your soup turns into a ninja?"
"No, I just can't sleep. C'mon Carly, let me get in."
Carly wrinkled her brow but was way too tired to object, so she shrugged and pulled half of the blanket down, allowing Sam to enter. Still holding the empty can in her hands, she crawled inside and snuggled deeper into the covers, her back turned against Carly's. Absently, he started to play with the tab of the soda can.
"I saw Freddie today…"
"That's nice," Carly yawned, in and out of consciousness. Deep into her thoughts, Sam didn't notice the apathy from her friend and continued.
"And I want to be mad. But I can't. Do you think I'm crazy?"
"Yes Sam…but that's why we love you…"
"Well, I feel pretty crazy right now, I can tell you that. …Do you think it's stupid of me to miss him? Like, a lot, miss him?"
"Stupid people have tiny brain cells…" she sighed halfway into delirium.
Sam ignored her weird responses. "Do you think…if I like Freddie, it'll change our friendship?"
"F-r-i…e-n-d...s-h-i-and p…" she sung to the tune of the Mickey Mouse Club.
"I mean, you just don't say to someone I want to be more than just your friend, and expect them to be okay with it. He makes me so irritated! But…I can't stop thinking about it."
"Freddie's middle name is Karl…with a K… How weird."
"You know he helped get my soda out the machine today…" she found herself smiling. "That dude doesn't know exactly how to hold a grudge, does he? I gave him the perfect opportunity to bite my head off and he passes it up."
"He has a picture of you sleeping in class on his phone…" Carly muffled into her pillow. "It's a kinda awkward lookin one with drool all down your cheek but he thought it was cute… You know pandas are really cute until they try to snap your legs off like bamboo sticks…"
Sam turned wide-eyes and shifted her body immediately so it was facing Carly. "What!"
"I know…like who finds drool attractive anyways? But everyone thinks pandas are adorable…"
If it wasn't for the darkness surrounding them, someone would see the bright red surface on Sam's cheeks. Sleeping in class? It was only obvious then that he had to have taken that picture during Psychology, where she frequently dosed off in. Thinking further, she came to remember a time when she woke up by the bell and a strangely perky Freddie was smirking to himself over her seat. Oh no…it was then!
She plopped her back on the mattress and pulled the blanket up over head groaning underneath the covers. "Ugh, Fredward, you're so dead!"
But the next afternoon she found herself back inside her Psych class, and she couldn't even make herself to talk to Freddie, let alone commit homicide. He sat in the row ahead of her, and as usual he was immersed in the professor's lecture. Sam had her notes out, too, resembling everyone else in the classroom, but unlike them she couldn't concentrate nor find the strength to actually care.
Sam watched as Freddie leaned over and copied his notes down. It was weird. He was left-handed but was trying to write the notes down with his right. He told her a couple months ago that he wanted to teach himself to write with both hands—ambi…docious, or something like that—but she never believe he'd actually commit to it. She fought a smile; his handwriting looked even worse than usual. Catching sight of her pen lying dangerously close to the edge of her desk, she decided to discard of it and tapped it so it would fall to the floor. Unexpectedly it rolled under Freddie's foot, and got crushed by the toe of his sneaker. Sam bit her lip and leaned back in her seat. Oh no… But he caught onto the feeling under his foot and bent down, grabbed the pen after staring at it for a few seconds, and placed it on his desk. Sam leaned forward again as she watched. No, she wanted to call to him, that's my pen, you dork. Damn, she would have to get it back.
A little while later the bell sounded, initiating all the students to rise and head for the exit. Sam scurried to grab her bag and carefully followed Freddie from behind into the hall. Once the crowd got smaller, Sam swallowed hard and walked beside Freddie to even their pace.
"Yo," she finally caught his attention. "That was my pen that rolled to the floor."
The way Freddie turned to her gave her that deep, sinking feeling in her chest again. It was as if his eyes were shooting invisible force fields that refused contact with her. Did he really not want to talk to her that badly?
"What, this one?" he responded dejectedly and he reached in his pocket to grab her blue ballpoint.
Sam grabbed at it. "Yeah, that one," but Freddie held onto his grip so the pen stayed still.
"You stopped me in the hall and talked to me just for a pen?" he asked scathingly.
Sam fought her stutters. "Uh…y-yeah. That's a pretty valuable pen there. So thanks for grabbin it, but I kinda need it back," she stressed as she tried to tug the pen away, but still Freddie wouldn't budge.
"Why are you fighting this so hard, Sam?" he bolstered.
"Because…I want the pen," and she used that Puckett strength to easily snatch it away.
"I'm not talking about the pen."
"Then I'm lost here," she tried innocently. "What are you talking about?"
He sighed. "You fight so hard to keep my feelings away—you even resort to biting me. Yet for someone who wants to keep a friendship like you say you do, you sure don't seem to be doing many things to hang onto it."
"What are you talking about?"
"We haven't talked once, Sam, except for the other night."
"And? You said you couldn't be my friend anymore. I'm giving you what you want, so why are you so upset?"
"Because this is not what I want," he sighed in exasperation.
She looked to the opposite sides of her to make sure no one was in close earshot. She turned back to him, lowering her voice to a bare whisper, fearful of the emotions that would wash over her when she said what she needed to say.
"What? Are you going to say that it's me that you want?" she finally let out. "Because you already had that. We…we already had each other as friends."
"It grew more to me," he lowered his tone as well. "It may not have to you but"—
"It did to me," she stopped him, taking him off guard. "It did a lot to me and—damn it, Freddie you know that."
He wrinkled his brow. "Then…then what are we fighting about here?"
"About a lot," she said, finally finding her voice and gaining more understanding of herself with each word. "I'm not another chick, Freddie. I'm not a Valerie or a Wendy and I'm not a Carly. I can't and won't be in the list of friends you feel like dating or falling in love with. Because you…" she paused, making sure she found her words perfectly. "Because you aren't someone I see myself ever dating. I don't see flowers, I don't see chocolates, and I don't see walks on sunsets. Look at us, Freddie, and see that that'll never be us."
"…Sam…" He slowly shook his head, wanting to object but Sam finished without giving him time to speak.
"You know…I could probably tell you exactly what you want to hear right now, because the thoughts I have about you now are freakin…insane. But no, this isn't what I want so, just forget about it…alright?"
It was Sam's turn to walk away, and even though she did so with a pounding head and a throbbing heart, she did it anyway.
Sam sat cross-legged on her mattress and pulled open her binder to slide her hand across the empty notebook pages. Spread out across her bed were all the letters ever written to her by her father. She clicked her pen; she didn't know what she would say in this letter, but she would write anyway, and decided he deserved that much. If she couldn't release her feelings to Freddie, she could at least accomplish second-best and release her feelings to her father. She sighed...
Hi Dad,
…I heard Melanie already wrote you a letter, so it sucks that I couldn't beat her, but oh well. I heard Pentonville Penitentiary has the best chili. I hope you ate a lot, cuz I would've been all over that…
…Yeah, yeah, I know you gave me like three of these things and I only gave you one, but I figure that's your payback for not being here for twelve years. Just kidding. Well, not really but still…
…I've been taken care of, don't worry. Carly's place has been like my second home and Spencer's kinda adopted me as his little sister now. …Okay, I was lying about that. But how awesome would that be? I should discuss this with him sometime…
…Ugh, I can't believe Mom sent you those pictures. I hated my prom dress, and my date choked on a bad crab puff and had to be rushed to the hospital. Freddie, you know our technical pro—she crossed that out. –my friend, he took me up on a dance. He said it was because he was having a crappy time with his date, but I think it was to make me feel better. Yeah, heh, he's nubby like that…
…Ugh, why you gotta go ask about all that? No, I don't have a boyfriend. Don't want one, don't need one, don't care—she bit her lip and decided to cross out the last part. –Actually, I do have a boy that's a friend. Kinda a best friend, actually. But it sucks cuz I'm starting to feel things for him that I shouldn't. I know what you're gonna say: I should talk to a friend about this, but the only other one I got is too perky and she'll only tell me the same thing over and over, and the other one…well I just told you what was goin on with the other one so I won't repeat myself…
After writing the last part she blew all her tension into the air and collapsed backward onto her pillow. Dropping her unfinished letter on her face, she sighed and pulled at her hair.
"Ugh! Freddie Benson…you are such a diphead." Crinkling the papers underneath her feet, she turned to her side and clutched her pillow close to her chest.
"…Then what does that make me?" she asked herself.
Already knowing the answer.
TO BE CONTINUED...
(always wanted to say that)
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