Sam's POV

Stupid me. Stupid, idiotic, moronic, dumb me. I had to go and potentially ruin my reputation by uttering three words to Freddie. Now he knew I had something to say, and he'd surely hound me until I gave up. I almost told him I was falling for him. What a dope I am to think I could say that and have it be normal—have him reply that he too loved me. I know it felt like the two of us were being pulled together by some magnetic force of destiny…but how could I be so sure?

I was packing my suitcase to go over to Carly's house. She hadn't explained to me why I needed to pack but just said to get a few days worth of clothing, and come over. So I made sure to put my T-shirts, jeans, hoodies, and pajamas in my bag. If it was a slumber party, I hoped Fredlumps wouldn't drop by. Tell you the truth, I got nervous at Carly's sleepovers 'cause I was worried he'd see me in my PJs. I didn't wear long pants and shirts; I wore short shorts and tanks with spaghetti straps. Sometimes I just wore a floppy T-shirt that barely went to my knees. I despised going to Japan overnight where he'd see me in my slumber attire—that's one of the reasons I told him to go in the same room as she mother (that, and to irritate him beyond hope of recovery).

The drive to Carly's was short. I lived in a neighborhood nearby Bushwell Plaza, so my mom didn't have to drive me too far. After a shouting match with Captain Wartburger in the lobby, I hustled up the eight flights to her apartment, and entered without a knock. She was in the living room with Spencer watching the Dingo channel; neither acknowledged me. I tossed my luggage to the side and saw, as it landed, that it landed on two other suitcases. One was pink—Carly's. The other was raggedy with spray paint all over—Spencer's.

"What up with the bags?" I yelled. The two of them realized my presence, and sputtered awkwardly at my having noticed their things.

"Well, erm…" Carly said, "I…kinda wanted to discuss it with you after—"

"Hola, mi amigos y amigas!" Freddie's voice came right before a slammed door. I turned my head to him and his Spanish-speaking mouth's grin fell. In his hand was a suitcase, which again aroused my suspicions.

"Why do you have that, Benson?" I demanded of him, pointing at his bag. He glanced at it and shrugged like he didn't know where it came from but I knew he did.

"Carly told me to bring it…" he said. I turned to Carly, who was smiling feebly. I'd wipe that smile clear off her lips if she didn't tell me what the chiz was going on.

"Okay, what up?" I said, "You tell me to pack a suitcase and then Freddie shows up with one too, right after I found your own suitcases over there. What, are we running away to Mexico together?" Freddie had dropped his bag too and was standing next to me, mirroring my angered pose (arms crossed, eyes narrowed). Spencer and Carly rose from their seats and she stepped forward, looking tired.

"In the e-mail, Andrea said you had to move in together as Stage Four of the challenge." she explained, "We figured…well, I figured Spencer and I would go to a hotel and you could have the apartment. We didn't tell you because, frankly, we didn't wanna die."

"Are you frickin' kidding me?" I screeched, "We have to live together an extra night? I can't even be in the same room with him without—" Declaring my love like a lovesick idiot! I thought. I couldn't finish with that or I'd be in some hot water. Carly rolled her eyes and clapped Spencer on the shoulder. It must've been a signal, for he immediately ran to their suitcases, picked them up, and dashed away. Carly ran close on his tail.

"Bye!" she said, "Have fun, you two crazy kids!" With a laugh, she shut the door on us. Freddie and I stared dumbly where they had disappeared to until I gave a moan and collapsed on the sofa.

"Great, just wonderful." I said as he sat beside me, "Now we're stuck with each other for the next few hours. What am I gonna do with a dork around?" Truthfully, I sorta enjoyed the prospect of spending alone time with him. But at the same time I was deathly horrified. Being alone in a house with him just send shivers up my spine.

"Look, I'm not having any fun either." he replied, "However, as the old saying goes: 'When life hands you lemons—'"

"Throw them at your face?" I asked in a sardonic manner, causing him to roll those puppy-dog brown eyes.

"No." he said, "You make lemonade. You make do with what you've been given without complaints." After uttering "complaints" he put a single finger on my nose, and I had to hold back biting it off.

"It's apparent me and Life wouldn't get along well." I said with a smirk. He just smirked back and patted my head, which again gave me chills.

"What could we do?" he said, "We could bake a cake, play a board game, do charades—"

"Bury me after I die of boredom from you talking." I teased. Freddie rolled his eyes and appeared to give up on giving suggestions, for he began flipping through channels after I said that. Not that I minded; television was better than some dorky game of checkers.

He kept channel-surfing absently—I doubt he even saw what was on. FOX, Dingo, CBS, ABC, NBC…every frickin' network but no shows worthwhile. Socialization was a no for us, though—imagine if I slipped and said something I'd regret. Or if he'd ask what I was about to say at the reception. I'd rather watch him switch channels in monotony.

"Hey, Glee." I looked up from my daydreaming to find Freddie had landed on a decent TV show. In the scene Finn and Quinn were talking as Rachel eavesdropped with a sad face. I clucked in disappointment, earning a weird expression from Freddie.

"What?" he asked. I tore my face from the TV to glance at him and gave a sigh.

"It's that stupid Finn." I said, "He's been dating Quinn for a long time but now that Rachel's come along he's starting to like her, but won't leave Quinn. Coward. He belongs to Rachel!" I shouted the last sentence and a small quiet settled except for the voices on TV. Then a chortle came from Freddie's mouth.

"You don't watch this often." he said, "He did start moving away from Quinn and onto Rachel, and in the finale he told Rach he loved her." I cocked an eyebrow as I smirked fully.

"Hmm." I said, "You're a Gleek, eh?" He turned scarlet at my mocking voice.

"A lotta dudes watch Glee." he muttered. I laughed at his embarrassment and punched him friendly-like in the shoulder. He saw my playfulness and punched me back with his own grin. We kept punching each other lightheartedly then—if we had put any pressure in our punches we'd be dead. But it was a joking fight, like we were best friends. That was kind of what we'd grown to be; Freddie was a very good friend to me. In fact, he treated me better than most of my boyfriends. He was such a gentleman…such a dork. But he's a loveable dork. Which is why I hate him: because I love him so much. Now, though, I had to figure if that love was platonic or romantic.

After our little "fistfight", the two of us went into the Shays' kitchen and raided their freezer. We discovered some Neapolitan ice cream—when they mash up chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry—so we did what any sane people would do: we took the whole block, coated it with whipped cream and chocolate syrup, and dug in with giant spoons.

"This is Heaven." Freddie mumbled with his mouth full of ice cream, "Man, am I glad we got to stay here together."

"Amen, Fredweird." I said, my mouth equally as stuffed with the chiz. We both laughed and returned to our bowls. It was heavenly to be eating that ice cream with Freddie. I guess we could get along pretty well alone. I could relate to and socialize with him as easily as I could with Carly.

We polished off the Neapolitan ice cream and, upon seeing how late it was, decided we should head to bed. We grabbed our suitcases and went up to where the bedrooms were located. Carly told us to go to the spare bedroom right between theirs, but when we opened the door there was one king-sized bed.

"Where's the other one?" Freddie asked while I scoured the room. Besides the bed there was nightstand with an alarm clock, a mini-TV, a bunch of paintings and one wacky sculpture (by Spencer no doubt), a bean bag, and an armchair, but no other bed.

"There isn't one." I said, and then, to my horror, I realized what Carly's intention was. No way! When we were in Japan, I heard a buzzing like a chainsaw and found out it was Freddie's mouth! I was not sharing a bed with a snorer! And even if he didn't snore, I wasn't sharing with him at all!

"Well, too bad for you." I said, hopping onto the bed, "You'll have to sleep on the couch." His eyes enlarged and he looked angry at what I said. Storming over, he dropped his bag and gave me a death-stare.

"I'm not taking the couch!" he yelled, "It's a king-size! We can…share…"

"Ew, no!" I yelled back, "You snore like a buzz saw! I'd get more rest sleeping next to a garbage disposal!"

"Well, you drool!" he countered, "I don't want to wake up in a puddle of your saliva!"

"You won't." I said, picking up his luggage and throwing it hard at him. He caught it with an "oomph" and staggered. "'Cause you're going on the couch." He snarled at me while his left eye twitched in frustration.

"Fine." he said, leaving, "Just to get you to quiet down." I smirked as he slammed the door shut. Mama always wins, I thought. I was just thankful he wouldn't see me in my pajamas. As I've stated, that'd be bigger humiliation than slobbering on his pillow.

I changed from my day outfit into dark green shorts and an yellowish-orange tank top. I felt self-conscious when I imagined Freddie seeing me in my pajamas. I'm not pretty like Carly so he'd find it either disgusting or hilarious. Both ways made me feel insecure. Before I could think of any more mental ways to torture myself, I slipped in between the covers and fell asleep.