A/N: I had to make Brad a little different from in the show. This is a bit before iOMG, so he hasn't been introduced on the webshow chapter is longer, I hope you like it!

To Julefor-I hope the Gibby/Brad bit in the story clears that up! Thanks for telling me!

"So you'll do it?" Carly faced the dirty-blond haired teen. She leaned on the half-car in the iCarly studio along with Sam, with Brad lying on the front. Each held a bag of extra greasy French fries Sam had brought in. "Sure! So I just be the technical producer every other week?"

"Yup! You hold the camera and create all of the special affects," Carly explained, sounding chipper.

"It might take time away from your precious little nerd club," Sam said sarcastically. Brad's face clouded a bit. "I can make it up later, I think," he said slowly.

"Ah, forget it. It's nowhere near as fun annoying you as it is Freddie."

"We're starting soon! Sam, get up." Carly said exasperatedly.

"What, now? But I haven't started writing anything!" Brad exclaimed.

"Er…you're not supposed to write. You just move the camera."

"But I have some really great ideas…"

"This is iCarly, not iBrad," Sam blurted. She walked over slowly and stood next to Carly.

"Brad, please go behind the camera and start the countdown," Carly said, finger-combing her hair for the show.

"Will do! In 5-4-3-2-1!"

"You're not supposed to say the 1!" Sam and Carly snapped simultaneously.

"We're live!" He yelled.

"You can't say that out loud!" This time it was only Carly.

They both realized the show had started and faced the camera.

"I'm Carly!"

"And I'm Sam!"

"And this is iCarly!"

"The only webshow where your part-time tech producer looks like a manlier version of Justin Beiber!"

"Please welcome…Brad!" Brad turned the camera to him. "Hi iCarly people! I was thinking we could do a ton of great things with the show, like- "

"Brad, tell us something about yourself," Carly interrupted.

"I like making fudge. And I-"

"That's all the time we have for you, Brad!" Sam cut in. "Brad will be our technical producer every other week." She pressed the Woo button on the remote. "Our other tech producer had to move away to Vancouver for crazy reasons because of his crazy mom. Please have a moment of silence for Freddie." She pressed the Aww on her machine.

"But he'll be here every other week to party with us! In memory of Freddie: Random Dancing!"

The disco lights came on and the pair started to dance. Suddenly, the typical iCarly lighting came back.

"Um…what's going on?" Sam glared at Brad. "What happened to the lights?"

"Oh, I don't think that bit's too good. You should do something else."

"We decide what we do on the show!"

"Well, I just think it would be better if you had something like…Random Math Problems! That'd be pretty good."

Carly forced a chuckle. "While I sort this out, please enjoy the picture of a two-year-old viciously attacking her dad." She motioned frantically for Brad to put the image up.

"That's not funny at all! We should post a picture of the new Pearpad model."

"All the iCarly fans want to see the two year old! Just put it up already!" Sam shouted.

"Fine." He quickly clicked on the picture. "But for next time, we need to change a lot of the show. Today's was pretty bad."

Sam advanced on him. "There's no 'we"! It's me, Carly, and Freddie! You're just an almost-intern who's filling in for the dorkster! Quit butting in!"

"We're in the middle of a show!" Carly's voice could've broken glass. "Save this for later! At least when Freddie and Sam fought on the show it was entertaining! This is just annoying to listen to!" She sighed. "Let's just wrap this up quickly, okay? Brad-no comments!"

"Fine," Sam muttered. Brad still didn't talk as he took the two-year-old picture off.

"Now we're back!" Carly plastered a smile back on. "Let's all hope the dad survives the attack of the toddler. But that's it for this iCarly."

Sam pressed the Aww button. "We'll see you here next week! With FREDDIE!" She spit out.

"Bye!"

"Caio!"

Brad looked at Carly and Sam, both seething at him. "I just thought I had good ideas."

"Yeah, well, don't shove them down on throats! You can tell us after the show next time and we'll consider it!" Carly looked furious.

"Well, you'll have to take at least take some of my ideas. Otherwise you'd be stuck with Gibby as your techie. And he barely knows what the Internet is."

"We know Gibby's bad with that stuff! But he's a decent kid," Carly said. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

"I don't give a ham to whether Gibby's a good techie or not. I just like hurting him." Sam stopped to think for a moment. "Guess I'll hurt him more now that Freddie's gone, but it isn't anywhere near as satisfying. It's a lot more fun to put Freddie in pain."

"We're not talking about Gibby," Carly said impatiently.

"That's true." Sam commented. "So, Brad, unless you can be a good tech producer twice a month, without talking, you can go CHIZZ OFF!"

Now back to Freddie. First person POV

I'd settled in quickly at the new apartment. It was right across the street of my new school, but my mom had walked with me up until the front gates because she was worried I'd get lost.

I looked across the gray expanse of the school. There were gray buildings, gray signs and even somewhat grayish grass. The large (gray) billboard showed it was the Ernest M. Smith School for Proper Youth. I went in a set of large, medieval front doors.

A sign saying, The principal's Office was right next to the entrance, behind a large set of prison bars that made it impossible to enter without keys. The school looked completely deserted.

I walked up and knocked on the bars; it didn't make much noise, but the door opened. "Please hang on, I'll unlock everything," a polite female voice promised.

She came over with two sets of keys and unlocked four keyholes in swift succession.

"Are you the principal?"

"Of course not! The principal is right in there." She gestured inside. I went in the office cautiously and sat on a rigid, cushionless chair facing an uncluttered desk.

"No sitting until the teacher comes in," said a voice from behind me, enunciating every syllable. I stood up confusedly. A man came around and sat down on the chair in front. He was bald, with a salt-and-pepper beard that didn't have a hair out of place. He was dressed in an all black, military-style outfit, perfectly groomed.

"You may sit down now," he said coolly.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Fredward Benson. I'm good with technology and I-"

"This is a meeting, not a Girl Scout introduction. I am Mr. Wyldon and that's all you need to know. Let me make a few things clear. We do not tolerate those ridiculous things that you did on the webshow of yours, what was it?" He waved his hand.

"iCarly."

"Yes, that. And naming it after a girl. Really insensible thinking. At this school, we do not play around with computers. You are here to receive a good education and to become disciplined and strengthened. We have five hours a week of Physical Education. If you skip, or can't keep up with the class, you'll flunk. Understood?"

"What? Aren't PE grades based on how well you try in class?"

"You do not interrupt the teacher while he's talking." His gray eyes steeled. "As for your question, it's not based on how much you tried. Whoever said that was a failure at his classes. We do not accept failures. A bit about the school. This used to be an all-boys academy until a group of weak females cooked up a storm and demanded that girls be let in. They arrived only recently, on a probation period. If they survive the year, they will be allowed to remain. I think it's a terrible idea-they're all spineless things, always fainting. I fully intend to make them fail at the end of this year."

My thoughts drifted to Sam, and what she would do at the end of this bigoted man's tirade. Probably kick him in the face (or somewhere else) and stroll out after picking the locks. He smiled inwardly.

"Don't you think that's unfair? There are plenty of girls who can keep up with males. And one of my best friends has been beating up the boys at our school for ages."

"You do not disagree with the teacher's saying!"

"But it seems ridiculous to run a school with a sexist principal." I mentally kicked myself. Probably wasn't a good idea to say that. But I couldn't be in the same room with Sam for years, and nod along when someone said that girls were weak and prone to fainting.

The grey eyes flashed, though nothing else in the perfectly controlled man budged an inch.

"You said your name was Fredward?"

"Yup! Freddie for short."

"Well, Fredward, congratulations. You've earned detention on the first day of school." He jotted down something quickly on a yellow wad of paper, tore it off, and handed it to me. "Your first class is physical education. It's right down the hall so if you take too long, I'll know you wasted time. Give the paper to the teacher and go choose your sport. This is the only day you'll be allowed to go without a school uniform. Understood?"

I nodded, mouth closed. I walked out of the office with thoughts tumbling around my head. The greatest one was, "How is this legal?" I walked to my first class, oblivious to my surroundings.

"This is P.E.," said a male voice in front. "You're gonna be in here for five hours a week for the next of your school year. Please choose which sport you want to participate in." The man was only a bit taller than I was, with a friendly face and a smile. "We have soccer, football, basketball, swimming, rock climbing, fencing, boxing, and wrestling." He eyed me quickly. "With your build, I'd recommend boxing."

"Wait-you said there was fencing?"

"Yup. Pretty popular choice, I'd say."

"I'll take that."

"Nice pick. Go right down to the end of the gym and we'll see how you do."

"Oh-I'm supposed to give you this." I handed the yellow paper over.

"Got detention on your first hour in school? Congrats."

I walked past about ten courts of different sports. It looked as if the entire school budget had been spent on top-of-the-line gym equipment and fields. At the end of the line was a neat fencing arena with hundreds of differently sized foils, sabres and épées.

"Grab one," a burly guy with a fencing outfit and a whistle barked at me. I picked up a foil and bounced it slightly, then walked over to the fencing strip.

"En garde!" The referee shouted and blew his whistle. My opponent immediately attacked, heading for my torso. I twisted slightly and parried his blow, then slid under his foil to poke him under his throat.

"Touché!" He cried. "Resume positions and continue." We sparred for five minutes without any change, but I could feel myself getting confident. I slid the hilt of the foil to his hilt, then twisted slightly. His sword flew out. He stopped, surprised, as I tapped him twice.

"Is that even legal?" The boy took off the mask, scowling, and ruffled his hair a bit.

"No rules against it, sonny," the referee shrugged. "Switch out!"

Muttering under his breath, the boy left the area and motioned for one of the others to come in.

"That was actually quite illegal," the coach said, lowering his voice. "But that kid is an insufferable brat, so I let it slide. Nice work, by the way. Disarming isn't allowed but it's hard to do."

I smiled politely, clueless as to what he meant. I think I need to study more than usual this year.

I seemed to improve with every round of fencing. My sixth rival took only a few seconds to beat. By the start of seventh match, there was a large crowd gathered around the fencing mat.

"This one's tough," the referee warned. "Try to end it quickly or he'll gain the upper hand. En garde!"

Offense is the best defense, I remembered. My mom had told me that when I asked her why she was fighting against ticks before I had any.

I suddenly became aggressive, putting force behind every hit. My rival gave ground inch by inch. Then he suddenly spun the foil around and jabbed me in the side.

"Touché!"

I gritted my teeth and started swinging faster. The sword seemed to moved with a mind of its own, until I ended up prodding the stomach of my opponent.

"Touché!"

We continued sparring. A minute passed, then five, then ten.

"All right! Next one who gets a point wins!" The coach bellowed.

"Go Freddie!" A loud voice cheered. I had hoped not to hear that voice ever again.

I turned around, astounded, and my opponent used the distraction to finish me off.

"Touché!"

I threw the foil down and took off my mask to make sure I wasn't seeing wrongly. Please let it be someone else. Nope, it was the same face and the same loud voice.

"Mandy?"

"Quack!"

A/N

For anyone who doesn't remember, Mandy was the obsessive fan who followed the trio all day, then signed the iCarly website over to Nevel.

Please tell me if you notice any grammar/spelling mistakes.

Did anyone understand the reference with Wyldon?

Thanks a ton to Tomboy 22, Julefor, LyshaLuvsSeddie, Burning Forest, seddieconnection, TonyTone, and rootierootie for reviewing! And for the story alerts!

PLEASE REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! You'll make my day (:

P.S.

Read this fanfic! It's really funny.

.net/s/7386067/1/The_bMom_b_bSpy_b_bNext_b_bDoor_b

Sorry, kind of long author's note. Thanks! (: