This is a project that I am launching. And what better way to start than through the POV of our dork Freddie.

Sam can do a lot of things. She can pick a lock in under 5 seconds. She can hot wire a car. She can blow up anything, anytime. And food.

Don't even get me started with food. She can eat 3 whole hams without getting sick. She can clean out an entire buffet. She can devour anything edible, be it frog legs or pig ears. Anything. And you would think: with her eating so much, she'd learn about ingredients and flavors and things like that.

As it turns out, the one thing Sam can't do...is cook. She can only eat food; she can't make it. But this fact hadn't occurred to Sam, which is why, due her love of eating, this semester she chose to take a cooking class. And unfortunately for Carly and me, she needed test subjects.

We couldn't use Carly's because Spencer needed the whole apartment for, approximately, a bazillion sculptures to be entered in the Seattle New Artist contest. So now we were in my kitchen. And Sam had just placed in front of us two steaming plates of...

Carly tentatively poked at the black mass with her fork. "Sam? What is this?"

Sam was grinny. She was in her positive cooking mode. "That, my dear Carls, is duck a l'Orange. It was especially tough to make because the recipe was in French."

"I didn't know you knew French."

"I don't."

"Then how did you—"

"That's beside the point, Carly. Trust me, it's duck a l'Orange."

For obvious reasons, I was skeptical. "Sam, it looks like a steak."

The forces must have been against me that day because Sam's happy attitude disappeared faster than one Magic Malika's tricks. She spoke in a dangerous voice. "It's duck, Freddie. Eat it."

"What color was the meat when you bought it? There's no way that's duck."

"Eat it."

I stare at the meat. It's completely black. "I can't eat that, Sam. I'd get cancer. It's so burned the whole thing is probably one massive carcinogen."

She pointed at me with a long knife. "Eat it."

I gulped nervously. "Um...I'm full."

"Yeah, full of crap. EAT IT."

I shook my head.

Sam turned to Carly. "Make him eat it, Carly."

Carly looked from the venomous expression on Sam's face to the terrifyingly long knife in her oven-mitted hand. She turned to me. "Maybe you should do what she says, Freddie."

I felt this was completely unfair. "Why? You're her best friend! You should try it first."

Carly glared. "What? You should try it. You're her...almost boyfriend."

"WHAT?!? Where'd you get that crazy idea?"

Carly smirked. "Oh, you think I don't know. I see things, Freddie, and I—"

"There's nothing to see! How could you possibly even—"

"That's what you'd like me to believe, when in reality—"

"Are you serious? What kind of—"

Sam slammed the knife into the table causing Carly and me to jump in our seats. I looked down at the knife. It sunk at least an inch into the polished wood. That's going to be hard to explain to my mom. I looked back up. Sam looked furious. She spoke through gritted teeth. "All I want. Is for someone to. Eat. The. Damned. FOOD!"

Carly raised her hand.

"WHAT?"

Carly timidly answered. "I'll try it."

And just like that, ultra scary angry Sam was replaced with super happy cooking Sam.

"Thank you, Carly."

She even went as far as to place a cloth napkin in Carly's lap. "I hope you enjoy it."

I snorted and Sam chucked the oven-mitt at me. "Shut up, Benson."

I fell silent. We both watched with bated breath as Carly cut into the duck/steak. She stabbed a dainty piece on her fork and brought it up to her lips. Carly took a deep breath and put the food in her mouth.

She started to chew and a confused look crossed her face. "Sam? I can't taste anything." She chewed some more. "Come to think of it, I can't feel anything either. What did you—"

Carly fell forward, her face landing in the steak/duck. The fork fell from her unconscious hand.

I screamed. "Omigod, omigod, omigod."

Sam rushed to Carly's side and picked up her wrist. She let out a sigh of relief. "Calm down, Fredbutt, she's still alive. Call 911 before that stops being a fact."

The paramedics showed up. They told us that she was probably going to be fine and that they just needed to take her to the hospital to make sure. They put her on a gurney and we piled into the elevator. When we arrived in lobby, Lewbert shouted. "NO MEDICAL EMERGENCIES IN MY LOBBY!"

Sam shouted back. "Shut up, Lewbert. We'll have a medical emergency if we want to."

The ride in the ambulance was uneventful. After the check up (the doctor said Carly would wake up in a couple hours), Sam and I were sitting next to Carly's bed. I asked the question that had been on my mind.

"What did you put in there?"

Sam shrugged. "Oh, you know, some herbs, spices, stuff..."

"And where did you get all these ingredients?"

"From that white rack in your kitchen."

I stared in disbelief. "Sam! That was my mom's rack of medicinal herbs! The brown rack was the one with cooking herbs and spices. You poisoned Carly!"

"WHAT? Who the hell puts medicinal herbs in a kitchen RIGHT NEXT TO THE REGULAR HERBS!"

"My mom does. It's supposed to be for CCC's. Cooking Caused Catastrophes....though, looking back, that wasn't such a smart choice."

Sam scoffed. "Well, no duh. This time they caused the catastrophe."

"Yeah..."

We sat in silence for a couple seconds before Sam started laughing.

I was confused. "What?"

She started laughing even harder. "You do realize that you just said 'my mom's rack'."

I face-palmed. "Let's get something from the vending machine."

Sam was still giggling as we walked down the hall. Then I saw my mom following a doctor who was pushing...Spencer in a gurney.

I ran over. "Mom, what happened?"

My mom spoke in a shaky voice. "I-I came home and f-found Spencer on th-the ground with a p-piece of d-duck in his mouth."

Sam punched me in the arm. "See. I told you it was duck."

I am Freddie Benson and this is my life.

How was it? You can tell me by reviewing. Thank you for your support.