iBreak the Rules : Step 1
Rule 1: Put up with Sam's teasing. It's her way of showing affection.
Step 1: Don't react - at all.
After careful deliberation, Freddie was about 87% certain that this was the right course to take. Although the closer he came to acting on it, the further down his certainty level went. Closing his locker, he shook his head. C'mon, Benson, it's now or never.
Moving over to the girls' lockers, he slung his bookbag over his shoulder, waiting for them to catch up so they could go back to Bushwell Plaza and start hashing out the next iCarly.
"Hey, Fredwardo." Sam noticed him first, and grinned as she haphazardly shoved her belongings into her locker. Her curly blond hair fell over her shoulder and she impatiently pushed it back as she had to lean on the last textbook to squeeze it in, and slam the door shut. "Done. Let's go get some smoothies. Drinks are on the nub."
She looked at him expectantly but Freddie just shrugged. "Sounds good. I've got my laptop, so we can start putting together a show outline."
Carly and Sam groaned at the same time; Freddie was always trying to make the show more organized and streamlined, but both girls hated dealing with the practical points. Of the two, Carly was far more willing to help support the structural integrity of iCarly. Sam considered it a fate worse than death, which she took no pains to conceal from either of her two best friends. "Dude, that is the MOST boring part of the show. Comedy shouldn't be structured, it should be free-form, spontaneous, artful." Pushing open the school door, Sam started walking backwards so she could smirk at Freddie. "Stuff you don't get at all. I swear, you're so uptight, your mom must have started starching your antibacterial underwear."
Fighting down the defensive reply that he wanted to shoot forward, Freddie struggled to show no reaction at all. "You'd have to ask her. She prefers to be alone to do laundry."
Carly looked shocked (impressed, even?) at his restraint, but he could see a flash of disappointment in Sam's eyes.
He'd figured out a few months ago that most of Sam's barbs were nothing more than a mechanism to get some sort of reaction out of him, a game she used to keep things at an even keel. It was really only when he lacked the desired reaction (or she didn't get what she wanted) that she struck out violently anymore.
At the Groovy Smoothie, after turning down T-Bo's numerous pitches to buy grilled cheese on a stick, Freddie opened up his laptop and pulled up the template he used to outline every week's episode of iCarly, while the girls started tossing ideas back and forth. This part of the process never ceased to amaze him, and baffle him. One of them would throw out the most random thing, and then they'd go back and forth, building and refining the idea until they had a hilarious sketch.
Before iCarly, Freddie had never really respected creative intelligence. After all, smart was smart, right? But these two - Sam especially - pushed smart to a new level. Okay, so she wasn't great at school (especially since she didn't bother to apply herself) but she was really smart in other ways that counted. In creative - and cunning - ways.
And that's why he had to be twice as cunning if he ever wanted this plan to work.
The next day, after school and an iCarly planning session, the three were hanging out at Carly's apartment - like usual. Sam was raiding the fridge - like usual. Carly was telling them all about her day - like usual. But Freddie was waiting for the right moment to really push his plan into action. He'd gone almost two full days without smirking, jibing, insulting, or teasing. Already she was starting to give him considering looks, and was obviously becoming frustrated that he wouldn't play her little game.
But it wasn't enough.
In the middle of Carly's story about her history class - which neither Sam nor Freddie were in - Spencer called from the parking lot asking Carly to come help him. Leaving the two of them alone.
Sam sprawled out on the couch, propping her sneakers on the coffee table and making her way steadily through a gargantuan sub sandwich. Freddie took his chance and sat next to her, picking up the remote and flipping the channel restlessly, waiting for it.
She didn't disappoint. "Hey, Benson, I was watching that."
Excellent. "Whoops, sorry, here you go." Freddie switched it back, dumbfounding Sam enough that she actually set her sandwich down on the plate so she could stare at him.
"What's with you lately? Have I beaten you down enough that now you're like a whipped puppy?"
Freddie just shrugged. "Sometimes it's just not worth the effort to fight about something so small, you know?" He glanced over at her, and saw her watching him in return with narrowed suspicious eyes. He smiled a little. "C'mon, Sam, don't you ever get tired of fighting all the time? It has to be exhausting."
She shrugged bad-temperedly and bit back into her sandwich. "It's better than being bored, which is what I am now, listening to you. So shut your trap and let me watch my stories." Her words were harsh, but Freddie knew he'd struck a chord. She kept slanting glances his way, and was taking much longer than normal Sam-speed to finish her sandwich.
He sat quietly until Carly returned. By the time the Shays made it through the door, Sam was practically squirming in discomfort, and immediately got up to help - something she never would have done had she burned off her energy arguing with him.
After a few hours (and a rib dinner) Sam left, and Freddie was getting ready to go home as well, when Carly stopped him.
"What're you up to, Freddie?" Freddie could tell that Carly wanted to be strict with him, but couldn't stop her lips from turning up at the corners.
As he opened the door, Freddie grinned. "I'll guess you'll have to wait and find out."
Carly leaned out into the hallway as Freddie let himself into his apartment across the hall. "Just tell me this: is it going to hurt Sam or your guys' friendship?"
"I hope not," he answerered, smile slipped. "But things will definitely never be the same."
Step 1: Don't react - at all.
After careful deliberation, Freddie was about 87% certain that this was the right course to take. Although the closer he came to acting on it, the further down his certainty level went. Closing his locker, he shook his head. C'mon, Benson, it's now or never.
Moving over to the girls' lockers, he slung his bookbag over his shoulder, waiting for them to catch up so they could go back to Bushwell Plaza and start hashing out the next iCarly.
"Hey, Fredwardo." Sam noticed him first, and grinned as she haphazardly shoved her belongings into her locker. Her curly blond hair fell over her shoulder and she impatiently pushed it back as she had to lean on the last textbook to squeeze it in, and slam the door shut. "Done. Let's go get some smoothies. Drinks are on the nub."
She looked at him expectantly but Freddie just shrugged. "Sounds good. I've got my laptop, so we can start putting together a show outline."
Carly and Sam groaned at the same time; Freddie was always trying to make the show more organized and streamlined, but both girls hated dealing with the practical points. Of the two, Carly was far more willing to help support the structural integrity of iCarly. Sam considered it a fate worse than death, which she took no pains to conceal from either of her two best friends. "Dude, that is the MOST boring part of the show. Comedy shouldn't be structured, it should be free-form, spontaneous, artful." Pushing open the school door, Sam started walking backwards so she could smirk at Freddie. "Stuff you don't get at all. I swear, you're so uptight, your mom must have started starching your antibacterial underwear."
Fighting down the defensive reply that he wanted to shoot forward, Freddie struggled to show no reaction at all. "You'd have to ask her. She prefers to be alone to do laundry."
Carly looked shocked (impressed, even?) at his restraint, but he could see a flash of disappointment in Sam's eyes.
He'd figured out a few months ago that most of Sam's barbs were nothing more than a mechanism to get some sort of reaction out of him, a game she used to keep things at an even keel. It was really only when he lacked the desired reaction (or she didn't get what she wanted) that she struck out violently anymore.
At the Groovy Smoothie, after turning down T-Bo's numerous pitches to buy grilled cheese on a stick, Freddie opened up his laptop and pulled up the template he used to outline every week's episode of iCarly, while the girls started tossing ideas back and forth. This part of the process never ceased to amaze him, and baffle him. One of them would throw out the most random thing, and then they'd go back and forth, building and refining the idea until they had a hilarious sketch.
Before iCarly, Freddie had never really respected creative intelligence. After all, smart was smart, right? But these two - Sam especially - pushed smart to a new level. Okay, so she wasn't great at school (especially since she didn't bother to apply herself) but she was really smart in other ways that counted. In creative - and cunning - ways.
And that's why he had to be twice as cunning if he ever wanted this plan to work.
The next day, after school and an iCarly planning session, the three were hanging out at Carly's apartment - like usual. Sam was raiding the fridge - like usual. Carly was telling them all about her day - like usual. But Freddie was waiting for the right moment to really push his plan into action. He'd gone almost two full days without smirking, jibing, insulting, or teasing. Already she was starting to give him considering looks, and was obviously becoming frustrated that he wouldn't play her little game.
But it wasn't enough.
In the middle of Carly's story about her history class - which neither Sam nor Freddie were in - Spencer called from the parking lot asking Carly to come help him. Leaving the two of them alone.
Sam sprawled out on the couch, propping her sneakers on the coffee table and making her way steadily through a gargantuan sub sandwich. Freddie took his chance and sat next to her, picking up the remote and flipping the channel restlessly, waiting for it.
She didn't disappoint. "Hey, Benson, I was watching that."
Excellent. "Whoops, sorry, here you go." Freddie switched it back, dumbfounding Sam enough that she actually set her sandwich down on the plate so she could stare at him.
"What's with you lately? Have I beaten you down enough that now you're like a whipped puppy?"
Freddie just shrugged. "Sometimes it's just not worth the effort to fight about something so small, you know?" He glanced over at her, and saw her watching him in return with narrowed suspicious eyes. He smiled a little. "C'mon, Sam, don't you ever get tired of fighting all the time? It has to be exhausting."
She shrugged bad-temperedly and bit back into her sandwich. "It's better than being bored, which is what I am now, listening to you. So shut your trap and let me watch my stories." Her words were harsh, but Freddie knew he'd struck a chord. She kept slanting glances his way, and was taking much longer than normal Sam-speed to finish her sandwich.
He sat quietly until Carly returned. By the time the Shays made it through the door, Sam was practically squirming in discomfort, and immediately got up to help - something she never would have done had she burned off her energy arguing with him.
After a few hours (and a rib dinner) Sam left, and Freddie was getting ready to go home as well, when Carly stopped him.
"What're you up to, Freddie?" Freddie could tell that Carly wanted to be strict with him, but couldn't stop her lips from turning up at the corners.
As he opened the door, Freddie grinned. "I'll guess you'll have to wait and find out."
Carly leaned out into the hallway as Freddie let himself into his apartment across the hall. "Just tell me this: is it going to hurt Sam or your guys' friendship?"
"I hope not," he answerered, smile slipped. "But things will definitely never be the same."