Heyy all! I'm back; I KNOW I still have to finish iAm a Ballerina, and I promise that I will but I just was itching to write this so I did. =D Okay, on with the disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly.

"Freddie Benson and..." I silently pleaded with the teacher.

"Saman-," Sam glared at the teacher. "Sam Puckett."

Sam smiled clearly pleased. Not only did she successfully freak out our English teacher, but she was now 'getting' a free 'A' to boot.

That demon.

"Benson, you'd better get to work on that project; don't want to fail, do you?" Sam winked and clicked her tounge against the roof of her mouth.

Figures the first project of the only class I have with Sam alone had to be English.

English wasn't my favourite subject, in fact it was my worst. I was only passing with a 92.

Either way, I was not doing this project by myself.

"No way, Sam. Not this time."

"What did you say, Nub?"

"You're going to help me."

"Not a chance."

Suddenly the bell rang.

"Well, Fredweird, I gots to jet."

I scoffed.

"Where do you have to be?"

"I have to talk to a certain mermaid about a wedgie."

Sam left, grinning devilishly.

"What are you-"

I heard a shrill, high pitched scream coming from Gibby, then it clicked. Suddenly Principal Franklin was calling for the nurse while Briggs managed to yell and scream at Sam.

Poor, poor Gibby.

I sighed and shook my head as I gathered my books to leave. Sam would never change. Ever.

"Mom? I'm home!"

"That's great, Sweetheart! How was your day?"

"Well..." I tried to gather up the courage to tell her that Sam had to come over sometime this week. My mother was deathly afraid of Sam. Why do you think she makes me carry a pocket sized First-Aid kit around?

"I have a new English project," I began shakily.

My mother ran over to me, analyzing every part of my body frantically.

"What is it?! What are you not telling me?! You HAVE to tell me EVERYTHING, Fredward; I'm your mother!"

"Well..."

"WHAT!?"

"Sam... is kind of my... project partner?" It came out as more of a question.

Suddenly shock registered on her face and her eyes widened with fear.

She grew shakier and slowly but surely fell over.

"M-mom?"

I tried to drag her to the couch, in which I was partially successful.

Her left limbs were suspended in the air; dangling off of the couch. Oh well, at least her head was elevated and she was breathing.

I opened my book bag to take out the outline for the project while I waited for my mother to wake up.

ENGLISH GRADE 11
WRITTEN STORY

People often find levels of creativity through writing. This can be through fixated versions of one's reality and experiences or completely made up. Your task is to write a short story on either a fictional or non-fictional event. The one thing to remember is to always
BE CREATIVE!

Your project must include:

-A written story
-A visual image representation
-A title page

*Image must be HAND DRAWN*

Well then. How am I even supposed to write a story? Plus, I am not that artistic.

I learned to draw a rabbit when I was three. It was at 'Mother and Son Rabbit Drawing Class'.

Yeah, don't ask.

My mother made me practise drawing a rabbit for years on end after she found out I couldn't draw right away. Sam's right; she is crazy.

Out of no where, my back pocket began vibrating. After being caught off guard, I was relieved that it was just my phone. You never know what Sam could put in my pockets.

"Hello?"

"Freddie?"

"Oh, hey Carly. What's up?"

"Not much..."

"So what are you calling for?"

"..."

"Carls?"

"..."

"Carly? Hello?"

"I need a favour..."

I became slightly frozen.

"W-what?" I asked, praying it had nothing to do with Sam.

"Will you keep Sam company for a few hours while I go to jail?"

"WHAT?! Carly, what exactly did Sam frame you for?!"

"No, no," Carly chuckled lightly. "It's Spencer..."

"What now?"

"Long story short, never allow Spencer in a dog park."

"Right. Well, sorry Carly, but I'd rather live to see my grandchildren... heck, I'd rather live to have grandchildren."

"Please?" Just for a few hours. Sam can't go home and I don't trust her here alone." Well, at least Carly was aware of Sam's... tendencies.

There was a muffled whine in the background.

"Sam, you know you aren't trustworthy," then another muffled whine emerged.

"Sorry about that," Carly returned back to the conversation, slightly annoyed. "Anyway, please?"

I sighed. She wasn't going to give up at this point.

Besides, maybe I could get Sam to try and help me start the project. Pfft.

"Ugh, fine." I felt a bubble of anxiousness burst in the pit of my stomach.

"Great," Carly sounded genuinely relieved. "See you soon."

I hung up my phone quickly and gathered my things for the project.

"Fred-Fredward?" This was the softest voice my mother had ever used in my presence in such a long time.

"Hey mom, going to see Sam. Later."

There was a crash and bang, at which I ran to make sure my mother's head wasn't broken; though Sam probably would praise the heaven's above if that happened.

I turned the corner and found her head miraculously on a pillow with slightly disheveled hair. She'd be awake sooner or later.

I walked out of the door, sighed and prepared for battle.

"Thanks so much for doing this, Freddie."

I sighed.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Benson, don't even think about bringing me into this project while I'm at Carly's."

I glared at Sam, but before I could respond Carly spoke up.

"Okay, I'm off. Sam; stay blonde, Freddie; avoid death."

Sam smiled devilishly.

"I can't promise the second one."

Carly grinned and left shutting the door behind her. She must not of realized that Sam wasn't joking around.

I glanced in Sam's direction.

She was biting her nail while staring at the fridge.

"Fredward, make me a ham sandwich."

"Do it yourself!" I retorted.

I walked to the couch and sat down as far as I could away from Sam.

"Please Freddie," Sam cooed gently, making me highly uncomfortable as she slid closer to me.

My breath hitched in my throat as Sam's hand touched the outside of my thigh.

"S-Sam, stop; what are you doing?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked; seemingly oblivious to her uncharacteristic actions towards me.

"Get your own food by yourself and help me with this project." I stated firmly.

At first Sam sent me a flirty pout, but as soon as she got the fact that I wasn't going to budge, she whacked my arm. Hard.

"Make me a sandwich now, or your going to be just like the pogo I had for lunch."

I gulped heavily.

"O-okay..."

Damn. I hated being fearful of that petit, blonde-headed, Demonoid.

"After youe done eating, you're helping me with the project, okay?"

I heard Sam get up.

The footsteps gre closer and I felt a warm hand rising from my lower waist trailing up to my neck.

Then the warm hand was replaced by soft lips.

I shuddered.

What was Sam thinking? Actually, what was I thinking?!

I was falling under Sam's seductive ways... so, do I really hate her then?

Her lips moved around to my jaw.

I involuntarily moaned.

I turned Sam around and planted my lips on hers. I could tell this took her by surprise. Well, now she knows how I feel.

"Mm- Fre- Freddie." Sam managed to say.

Suddenly she pushed me off.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Sam screamed.

"Trying to get you to shut up and help me!"

"How is kissing ME helping YOU?!"

"You kissed me FIRST!"

"... did not."

"W-what?! I was there, I should know!"

Sam scoffed.

"I gotta go."

She stood up, but before she could leave, I grabbed her arm and pulled her down.

"What ARE you doing?" Sam struggled. "Let me go!"

"Not until you tell me what your problem is!"

Sam's expression shattered; you could tell she was becoming even more broken than when she and Carly were in the midst of a fight or something.

I softened my voice dramatically; practically to a whisper.

"What's going on with you, Sam?"

"I... I..."

"You can tell me. You know you can, so just let me know why you're being so... so..."

"Not me?" Sam finished.

"Yeah." I said taken back, surprised that she really wasn't oblivious to what she was doing.

I could tell Sam was struggling to tell me what she was thinking; tears brimmed her eyes.

"IthinkI'mfallinginlovewithyou."

That was a mouthful. Wait... what?

"Did you just..."

As I tried to grasp what she just said, Sam bent her head down to face her lap.

"Sam?"

"What?" She muffled angrily.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, Carly said that-"

"Wait, this was Carly's plan?"

"See! I knew it! Everytime something happens, you have to make sure Carly is somehow involved."

"No, no... that isn't... I mean, are you joking?"

"Why would I even joke about this?! God... I knew this was a bad idea."

I pushed a ringlet away from Sam's face as if it were the most natural thing I would do.

Sam looked somewhat confused, but ignored it.

"Sam... what did Carl- she tell you?"

"She said that if I flirted with you a little more and became less agresive, you would notice me for sure."

Is that what she thinks she's been? Less agressive? Pssht.

"So she isn't at jail right now?"

"Oh, no, she is. This was just good timing, I guess."

I smirked.

"So, what did Spencer do, anyway?"

"Apparently, he was trying out his new camera because he wanted to get into doggy day photography or something. While he was taking a picture of this dog, he ran into a tree, making his camera fly and hit and old man in the head. He called the police and Carls is trying to convince the guy not to press charges."

I laughed, not only at the story, but the fact that Sam was smiling again.

Then it struck me. I liked her back.

I turned to face Sam. Her blue eyes were staring at a space in the wall, then at me.

"What?" She smiled lightly.

I leaned into her ear and whispered softly, "I think... I like you back."

My neck retreated back a little and I pressed my lips to hers.

She was most likely shocked; at least that's what I got from her expression of her wide blue eyes staring back into mine.

I pulled away.

"S-sam?"

"You aren't joking, right?"

I smirked.

"Why would I even joke about this?"

Sam smiled too, and grabbed my hand, entwining out fingers.

"So, want to get started on that project?" I asked.

She released my hand and flung it back into my lap.

"I love you, but not that much."

Sam stood up and walked to the fridge; probably to finish making her sandwich.

Ugh. I hate projects.

Sam turned to me and smiled.

Well... I don't hate them that much.