Ridgeway Middle School & High School -- Seattle
Two hours after school finished for the day, ninth grader Neil Alvarez thumps textbooks into his locker one at a time. "No," he says into his cell phone. "The meeting just got out; I'll be there in a half hour."
A woman's voice buzzes out of the phone's earpiece. Neil furtively looks over one shoulder then the other, and, seeing that the hallways are deserted, he mutters, "Yeah, I love you too, Mom. Bye." He switches off the cell phone and slams his locker door shut--
And finds himself face-to-face with the terror of the eighth grade (and the ninth grade, and the tenth grade, and the eleventh grade...): Sam Puckett. She's standing directly behind his locker with her arms crossed, her backpack thrown casually over her shoulder, and her head cocked to one side.
Neil shrieks. Then he raises his hands, palms toward her, and he takes several slow steps back. "I didn't do it!"
"Didn't do what?" Sam asks casually, and then, with her teeth, she tears a vicious bite off the strip of beef jerky clutched in her fist. She's still advancing on him.
"Whatever you're looking for somebody for. Whatever you're mad about. It wasn't me!" The weedy little guy keeps backing up, tightly clutching the strap of his backpack.
Sam catches him in two quick steps, grabs him by the button-up shirt front, and hauls him up on his toes. "Who says I'm mad?" she asks, affronted.
"No-nobody!" Neil yelps. "You're not mad! You look totally un-mad."
"Right on, little man," Sam -- who is barely an inch taller than said little man -- says. She bites her beef jerky with her free hand.
"Um." Neil is still almost dangling. "Did you ... want something?"
"Yep." She drops him; he staggers back a step and starts trying to smooth out his shirt. Sam, meanwhile, roots around in her Bermuda shorts pocket and comes up with her cell phone. Neil eyes it like it's a bomb. Sam shoves it in his face. "I got videos on here," she informs him. "I want 'em off and on DVDs." She reaches around and pulls a videotape out of her backpack.
Neil looks like he might cry. "What're you doing with that?" he asks. "It's dinosaur stuff."
"I want it on a DVD, too."
Neil pulls a miserable face. "Why're you asking me?" he whines.
" 'Cause you're a nerd," Sam says, matter-of-fact. "Come on. You're in the AV Club! It's like you're asking to get shoved into lockers."
"Yeah, I'm in the AV Club with Freddie Benson," Neil points out fastidiously. "Isn't he iCarly's technical producer? Why don't you get him to do i--"
Sam finally stops chewing on beef jerky long enough to jerk Neil up by his shirt again. "No outside involvement; no Fredward. Got it?" she growls.
"Got it," Neil squeaks.
Sam sighs, as if this were a great hardship, and grits: "Do this and I'll protect you from that skeevy sophomore who steals your lunch money, okay?" She releases him and steps back. "Tell anybody about it, and..." She draws her beef jerky across her throat and points at him.
Neil gulps, nods, and bolts with the tape and the cell phone in hand.
"And take the sound off the one with the robot!" Sam calls after him.
He skids around the corner and disappears from sight.
Sam considers the situation for a second.
"And bring back my cell phone!"
A woman's voice buzzes out of the phone's earpiece. Neil furtively looks over one shoulder then the other, and, seeing that the hallways are deserted, he mutters, "Yeah, I love you too, Mom. Bye." He switches off the cell phone and slams his locker door shut--
And finds himself face-to-face with the terror of the eighth grade (and the ninth grade, and the tenth grade, and the eleventh grade...): Sam Puckett. She's standing directly behind his locker with her arms crossed, her backpack thrown casually over her shoulder, and her head cocked to one side.
Neil shrieks. Then he raises his hands, palms toward her, and he takes several slow steps back. "I didn't do it!"
"Didn't do what?" Sam asks casually, and then, with her teeth, she tears a vicious bite off the strip of beef jerky clutched in her fist. She's still advancing on him.
"Whatever you're looking for somebody for. Whatever you're mad about. It wasn't me!" The weedy little guy keeps backing up, tightly clutching the strap of his backpack.
Sam catches him in two quick steps, grabs him by the button-up shirt front, and hauls him up on his toes. "Who says I'm mad?" she asks, affronted.
"No-nobody!" Neil yelps. "You're not mad! You look totally un-mad."
"Right on, little man," Sam -- who is barely an inch taller than said little man -- says. She bites her beef jerky with her free hand.
"Um." Neil is still almost dangling. "Did you ... want something?"
"Yep." She drops him; he staggers back a step and starts trying to smooth out his shirt. Sam, meanwhile, roots around in her Bermuda shorts pocket and comes up with her cell phone. Neil eyes it like it's a bomb. Sam shoves it in his face. "I got videos on here," she informs him. "I want 'em off and on DVDs." She reaches around and pulls a videotape out of her backpack.
Neil looks like he might cry. "What're you doing with that?" he asks. "It's dinosaur stuff."
"I want it on a DVD, too."
Neil pulls a miserable face. "Why're you asking me?" he whines.
" 'Cause you're a nerd," Sam says, matter-of-fact. "Come on. You're in the AV Club! It's like you're asking to get shoved into lockers."
"Yeah, I'm in the AV Club with Freddie Benson," Neil points out fastidiously. "Isn't he iCarly's technical producer? Why don't you get him to do i--"
Sam finally stops chewing on beef jerky long enough to jerk Neil up by his shirt again. "No outside involvement; no Fredward. Got it?" she growls.
"Got it," Neil squeaks.
Sam sighs, as if this were a great hardship, and grits: "Do this and I'll protect you from that skeevy sophomore who steals your lunch money, okay?" She releases him and steps back. "Tell anybody about it, and..." She draws her beef jerky across her throat and points at him.
Neil gulps, nods, and bolts with the tape and the cell phone in hand.
"And take the sound off the one with the robot!" Sam calls after him.
He skids around the corner and disappears from sight.
Sam considers the situation for a second.
"And bring back my cell phone!"