What are you supposed to do? When your mother is suffocating you to the point where your face feels like it should be turning purple? When the girl you're in love with decides to take the scholarship to NYU? When the only male role model in your life has no time for you - he's got a real family now?

You think about it as you're lying on the roof, trying to count the stars. It's hard, with the city lights. You're still living with your mom, thousands of miles away from your best friend/true love, just across the hall from the man who's too busy changing diapers to hang out.

You're basically alone.

"Freddork? What're you doing up here?" a surprised voice cuts into your musings. You look over.

Okay, so you're not really alone. You've still got her. The bane of your existance. Your arch-nemesis. The Voldemort to your Harry; the Darth Vader to your Luke; the Scar to your Simba.

Sam Puckett.

The same Sam Puckett who sent your cell phone to Cambodia. The same Sam Puckett who shaved your eyebrows off - twice. The same Sam Puckett who is constantly eating, beating and cheating. Your worst enemy.

"Oh, you know," you say, turning your attention back to the stars - or lack of them anyway. "Counting those sparkly things in the sky. Avoiding my mom. The usual."

You see her approach out of the corner of your eye, and your body tenses automatically, waiting for the bruising. She doesn't do anything, though, she just plops down beside you.

"If I had a mom like yours," she turns to look at you, grinning. "I'd have started avoiding her years ago." You smile back despite yourself.

Sam Puckett.

The same Sam Puckett who came to you for help. The same Sam Puckett who kissed you - twice (maybe). The same Sam Puckett you gave up six months away from your mother for. Your best friend.

"I guess I'm just slower on the uptake than you."

"Pfft, I've known that for years. You're like the dumbest smart person I've ever met." She lies back so she's horizontal beside you. Her beautiful, magical hair - hey, you can totally admit it, you're not blind, it's amazing - is in your face. You brush it off. She elbows you in the ribs.

You wonder if she's right. You were on the honor roll in high school, got a full scholarship to the University of Washington, was amazing with the tech stuff (and still are). You're intelligent. Usually.

But...you did listen to everything your mom said for over a decade. You do still love Carly, even though she's on the other side of the country and probably never loved you the same way, anyway. You were Sam's punching bag for over five years without (too much) complaint. Maybe you're not so smart after all.

"Yeah, I know," you turn your head to give her a small smile. "And you're the smartest dumb person I've ever met."

She grins widely, showing her perfect teeth. How have they always been so nice, without her even going to a dentist until ninth grade? It baffles you, and you don't even hear what she says next.

"Huh?"

"You nub, I just asked you if you were hungry. Mama's cookin' up some chicken tonight," she stands up and stretches. "I'm actually good at the whole, you know, 'cooking' thing."

You consider your options. You can either go home and eat a fat-free, sugar-free, meat-free meal with your overbearing mother or go to Sam's apartment, where you'll eat chicken and fries, and drink Peppi Cola, and have brownies or, God forbid, Fat Cakes for dessert. Then you'd crash on her couch beside her watching Girly Cow and she'd make bacon in the morning.
It's a rountine you think you could get used to.

"Yeah, okay. Am I driving?"