The girl hunched forward over the table. Limp, greasy chin-length hair was falling forward over her face. She was slumped down in her chair and had her arms folded across her chest defensively. Despite the external appearance of being bored and disinterested, she was on edge. A month of danger and controls had put her on edge, and she could not help but jump a little when she heard shouting somewhere back down the long, winding hallways that she had traversed on her way being brought to this tiny room. She tried to plant her feet firmly on the floor, but being short did not help that goal. It was only possible due to the depth of her slump. Even when she could keep her feet planted, she was still nervously tapping her toes, unable to contain her anxiety.
What was she doing here? Her ears practically twitched with the strain of trying to pick out a familiar voice. A month ago, she had listened eagerly all the time, but over the last few weeks her energy had drained away. Hopelessness had taken over, and she had taken to identifying new voices instead of listening for an old one. But being in this room now - that indicated that someone was coming. Someone whose voice she would be able to recognize without fear.
She heard a door slam open and approaching footsteps. She heard two voices calmly dipping and layering in the rhythm of conversation. It had been a while since she spoke freely like that. When she first arrived here, she had relied on aggressive volume. Lately, she had subsided into watchful, guarded quietness - skills learned through tough lessons. Now, in her own quietness, she listened to the voices. For a second, she lifted her head in surprise. Yes, she recognized the voices. One was a recent voice of authority, but the older, more familiar voice was not the one she had expected. She had expected a higher, sharper voice, but this voice was gentler, deeper, kind.
The idea of kind made her drop her head quickly as the footsteps and voices paused at the door. There were clicks and rattles as she desperately wished that they would keep walking, and then just as desperately that they would come in faster. The door opened and she bent her head forward even more, running her hands through her hair in a wild attempt to hide herself. Her hand kept going when she reached the blunt ends, a sign that the haircut responsible for the shortened tresses had not been that long ago. She wished for the previous length and thickness. Behind its now-sparse covering, her face was flaming with a rapid flush of shame.
"Visitor," the official, stiff-sounding voice said, before the person stepped back outside and closed the door behind them.
She was stuck. But then, when wasn't she these days?
She waited in trepidation, listening to her heartbeat and the visitor's breathing. It was deep, even, regulated. She found her own breathing slowing, deepening, gentling in response. Still, she was on pins and needles until she heard the visitor clear their throat before speaking.
"Hey, Sam. I've come to take you home."
It was Spencer Shay.
And he had found her, Sam Puckett, in a Los Angeles juvenile detention center.
...
I hope that this short sample whetted your interest for this story. :)
I wanted something that would fill in the blanks between what we know from the end of "iCarly" through "Sam and Cat" and then the hints that have been revealed in the reboot of the adult "iCarly". To set up my next college-aged/adult Victorious stories, I needed to explain where Sam had gone (as she is a character whom I will be including fairly often, as she is a friend of both Cat and Jade), so ... this story is coming into being! :)
I'm guessing this story will be around five or six chapters. :) Hope to see you when the next one pops up (it'll be longer ... I know, as it's already written, as well as chapter 3).