Chapter 3: Neutral Ground

Disclaimer: I own a grasshopper. I call him Norman. All Dan Schneider has is a show called iCarly, so, ha, I win!.

Day One - Evening

1

The first argument they had - well, the first argument that particular hour - was about where they would hold the tutoring session. Sam's first option was the Shay's living room, but Freddie vetoed that because of possible distractions from Carly, the TV, the refrigerator, and the possibility of Spencer setting something on fire. Sam nixed the idea of Freddie's apartment before it was even brought up, because of Freddie's crazy mother. Freddie wasn't going to ask Sam over anyway, because of his crazy mother (not that he didn't love her).

"What about the Groovy Smoothie?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, because the food there would be less distracting than at Carly's," Freddie said. "Besides, with so many people around, you wouldn't be able to overcome your urge to insult me."

"You know me so well." Sam grinned. Freddie blinked quickly, but his face gave away no emotion.

"How about the library?" Freddie asked.

"Nerdsville," she replied.

Finally they agreed on the studio, with the caveat that Sam couldn't turn on the TV and Freddie couldn't be a nerd. They told Carly of their plans and requested they not be disturbed.

"If you hear screaming, I'm just beating up Freddie," Sam said.

"Or she's learning something," Freddie added. Sam stuck her tongue out at him, and he returned the favor.

2

"How did you do that, Sam?"

"What, I just added."

"Yeah, but you did it in your head."

"So?"

"So, Sam, if you can add up numbers like that in your head, then you should be able to grasp the rest of this easily. You're just being lazy." He tried to keep the anger from showing. Sam adopted this devil-may-care attitude long ago, and he was afraid of where it was going to take her once she got out of school. If she got out of school.

"Mama is what Mama is," Sam said easily. She had noticed the flash of anger in Freddie's eyes and wondered about it. They were friends. She could admit that to herself, if not to him, and she knew they cared about each other, although she was less willing to show it than he was. But that anger seemed to express more than caring. Even Carly appeared to have given up on Sam's academic life. This wasn't the first time Freddie had shown concern. Afraid she was giving too much credit to how he felt, she did what she always did. She ignored it.

"All right, let's move on to the English. What are you doing in class right now?" Sam gave him a shrug and a "why would you think I would know" look. Freddie sighed.

"Okay, hold on." He went to the computer. After a moment, he said," you're working on E.E. Cummings poems."

"Who?"

"He's a poet. C'mon, read this." He had opened her textbook and showed her a poem called "Buffalo Bill's."

"This doesn't rhyme, either. What's with all the poetry that doesn't rhyme?" Sam asked.

"Never mind," Freddie said. "Read the poem, and tell me what you think it's about."

Sam read the poem. She read it again. She looked at Freddie.

"Uh, some guy died?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure he died, Freddie!"

"Okay, Sam, yes, he died. But that's not the point."

"So you know the point, Freddie?" He looked at her. "I'm just saying, this doesn't seem like your normal thing. There's no computers or anything."

"Funny, Sam. You just have to learn to break things down. Look, Buffalo Bill was supposedly this really famous guy, but like a lot of cowboy figures, he is mythologized, more legend than man. So Cummings is writing about how Death thinks it's getting this great man, when he's really not. All it takes is a little research."

"Hmm." Sam was staring at the textbook.

"What?"

"When did you read this poem, Freddie?"

"Last week. Even though I have an honors class, we still cover some of the same stuff. Why do you ask?"

"Just that part about the 'blueeyed boy'. That reminds me of the poem Ted gave me." Freddie winced. He had been hoping they would be able to avoid this subject, even though, in his mind, he knew there was no way Sam was going to let go of it. Of anything.

"Okay, but that could be a coincidence, Sam. Lots of people have blue eyes. You have blue eyes."

"But look at the poem," she said and pulled it out of her bag. She held it out to him. Again, he pretended to read something he had written.

What if no one's watching?

Would you look me in the eye?

Would you hold my gaze

Or would you turn away

And hide behind your wall?

I've seen you there

And I've tried to climb over

I've tried to bust through

You're always somewhere else

Just a step ahead

You call it winning

But the only thing I want to win

is you

What if no one's watching

This game we always play

And there was just me

and you

Then what would we say?

You're my blue-eyed wonder

Will your blue eyes ever turn my way?

You always keep me guessing

When do kisses mean something?

What if no one's watching?

And you listened to my words?

Would you realized I stopped playing

long ago?

"Okay?" Freddie said. "Except for the blue eyes, there's nothing in common between this and the Cummings poem."

"Well, neither of them rhyme."

"Poetry doesn't have to always rhyme!"

"Calm down, Freddork."

"It's just...if you have a limited view of poetry, you might fail English," he said. Okay, that was lame, he thought.

"Whatever," Sam said. "So how do you think I can find out who wrote this?"

"I don't know, Sam. How am I supposed to know?"

"Well, you're the brainiac, Freddie!" This boy is so frustrating, she thought.

"I'm not any smarter than you, Sam. Well, okay, I am, but you're still pretty smart. You're just lazy." He ignored her sneer. "What can we say we know about this poem?"

"Fine," Sam said. "Let's see. It was found at the school, so it could have been written there. Or the person writing it could have brought it to give to another person."

"Why do you say that, Sam?"

"Well, it's obvious this person is in love with somebody, but is too chicken to tell them directly." Freddie winced at that, but Sam was reading the poem for about the thirtieth time and didn't notice.

"Okay, what else?"

"I'm pretty sure it's written by a guy. It just doesn't really seem like a girl wrote it. I mean, some of the stuff Carly's written..."

"Wait, Carly wrote poetry?"

"Sorry, nub, none of it was about you." She smirked, but he didn't really seem bothered by it. Maybe he really is over Carly.

"Uh huh. So it's a guy and he either wrote it at school or brought it to school to give to another person. What else?"

"The other person has blue eyes. Um...they know each other."

"Why do you say that?"

"Jeez, Freddie, you're making this like schoolwork."

"Well, since you're trying to use this to get out of real schoolwork, I figured you still need to apply your brain. Besides, you want me to help with this, right?"

"Yeah, whatever," Sam said. She should have known she wasn't going to get away with shifting their conversation away from English. Sometimes she was impressed with Freddie. He never would have called her on this a few years ago. "Anyway, he mentions a 'game', and that the other person calls it 'winning'. Also, he says he stopped playing long ago. So they have some type of relationship, but they might not be friends."

"Hmmm." She's smart. You have to remember that, Freddie. She can connect the dots pretty easily if given enough room, so tread carefully.

"Maybe they're on the same sports team or something?"

"What? But that would mean it would be two guys."

"Or two girls, Sam. Just because you think it's a guy doesn't mean it is."

Sam thought about it.

"Maybe. I don't think so, though. This seems more, what's the word, figural."

"Figurative."

"Yeah, that's it. They're not playing an actual game. It's something the two of them do."

"Oh, man, I gotta go, or my mom is going to kill me," Freddie said, looking at his watch. He hoped the distraction would prevent Sam from making the connections. He was in love with her. He knew that. What he felt for Carly paled in comparison to what he felt for Sam. But he could tell Carly he loved her and, while she would reject him, she would be kind in her rejection. Sam's refusal would eviscerate him.

"Fine, Mama's Boy, but we're going to be working on this again tomorrow."

"Whatever, Sam. Finish those problems I gave you. And read the other poems by Cummings!"

"Blech." She waved him off and watched him leave the studio. She wondered if this was such a good idea. She liked spending time with Freddie alone, even if it was spent on schoolwork. But she also was afraid of spending time with him alone, because she was worried that so much time might allow her true feelings to slip out. She didn't think she could stand his rejection. And the only way she knew to combat expressing her feelings as to verbally abuse Freddie. It didn't seem to bother him as much as it used to, but she was scared she would say something that would stop him from talking to her again. But her mouth was on autopilot much of the time.

3

When she came downstairs, Carly was sitting at the computer, watching videos.

"Where's Spencer?" Sam asked.

"He went worm-hunting with Socko. Don't ask. It's some sculpture thing. I hope. He left you some ham in the fridge."

"Excellent!" Sam grabbed the plate of ham and tore pieces off and stuffed them into her mouth.

"Don't forget to breathe, Sam." Sam nodded. "So how was tutoring with Freddie? I didn't hear any screams."

"I decided to let him live a while," Sam said, between bites. "It's okay, I guess, but that boy is like a parent. 'You're not applying yourself. You're smarter than you act.' Blah blah."

"Well, Sam, you are..."

"Shut up, Carls," Sam said, amicably. "I got enough from SuperNerd."

"He's just concerned about you, Sam."

"Whatever. He's just afraid it will look bad on his college applications if somebody he tutors fails."

"No, he's not, Sam."

"Whatever."

"When he left he was grumbling something about you being expelled. What's going on, Sam?"

"Nothing. I mean, Ted caught me in a prank, so he said I had to help with this literary magazine thing, since Briggs is pushing for me to be expelled."

"You have to write a poem?"

"No! Chiz. I have to find out who wrote a poem, so they can publish it in their magazine." She handed the poem to Carly. "So, do you have any idea who might have written it?"

"I don't know. Poetry's not really my thing."

"I know. I've read some of yours." Sam grinned.

"Shut up, Sam," Carly said, blushing. Sam would never let her forget just how many words she had gotten to rhyme with "biceps." "Who do you think wrote it?"

"Not sure. I have Freddie helping me with that, since he's the reason I got caught." Carly looked at her and waved it off. "He was! He was supposed to be lookout. Anyway, I think a guy wrote it to some girl he knows, but Freddie thinks one of the football guys wrote it to a teammate."

"What?"

"Well, maybe not. He's trying to get me to look at the poem 'objectively'. Anyway, I'm pretty sure the guy knows the girl fairly well."

"Maybe." Carly read the poem. "She has blue eyes."

"Yeah, I got that. Do you know any blue-eyed girls a guy is in love with?"

"You have blue eyes."

"Yeah, funny, Carls, but I'm not the type guys write poetry about. What about Sarah?"

"Guys don't write poems about her, Sam. They write limericks."

"Ouch, Shay. I'm rubbing off on you." Carly smiled. "You mind if I sleep here tonight?"

"When have I ever refused you, Sam?" Carly asked, still looking at the poem.

"Never." Sam grinned.

A/N:I tried to write the poem as something a intelligent teenage boy in love might write. Apologies if I missed the mark. I haven't written any poetry in years, and the poetry I wrote was much darker, I would say. Although it generally didn't rhyme.

Happy Fourth of July to everyone. We're finally done with Day 1. On to Day 2. I hope to have a chapter up tomorrow, but don't hold me to it.

Thank you for reviews from Geekquality, afanoffanfic, Sam's Tiger Ate Freddie, and kiyokoseddie.

Afanoffanfic:It would seem to be the easiest solution to have Freddie let Ted know he was the one who wrote the poem, but that he would still prefer to remain anonymous. Of course, that would make this story much shorter. In the Joan of Arcadia episode, Joan, since Grace wouldn't allow her to tell people Grace wrote the poem, dropped copies of the poem from the school's roof (without the author's name). No, I think there will be things that might prevent Freddie from being able to take that simple solution.