iBreak the Rules : Rule 1
Rule 1: Put up with Sam's teasing. It's her way of showing affection.
Like any other day, Sam Puckett burst in her best friend's apartment without knocking, dropped her bag on the floor, and headed towards the fridge. "Hey, Carls. Freddifer."
Carly and Freddie looked up from the TV where an episode of Girly Cow they'd seen fifty million times before was playing. "Hey, Sam. I thought you were at home cleaning your room?" Carly smiled and got up to supervise her best friend to make sure Sam didn't completely clean the fridge out.
Sam smirked as she turned with a bowl of cold chili in her hands. "Meh, I didn't feel like it, so I told my mom that it was Frothy's turn. When I left, she was still yelling at him."
Coming over to the counter, Freddie grabbed a handful of grapes that Carly had gotten out earlier. "Why would your mom think the cat could clean?"
"Why does your mom do anything? Oh, yeah," Sam said as she scraped the bottom of the bowl clean, "I forgot, 'cause she's a freak."
"Sam." She just continued to grin at his warning tone, and came over and stole the grapes right out of his hand. "C'mon, man!" Freddie lunged to grab them back, but Sam just laughed, ran around the kitchen island and jumped onto the couch.
Carly sighed, exasperated with her two best friends' bickering. "Change of subject! Since you're here, Sam, we can rehearse that turkey leg bit for iCarly."
Stretching out to take up the whole couch, Sam contemplated just pretending she had already fallen asleep, but realized that her grapes would then be prey for Freddie's grasping hands. "Alright, alright, Mama's coming." She sashayed past the nub again, tauntingly waving her still grape-filled hand at him. "Come along, little Fredward."
"You know," Freddie pointed out, following her up the stairs, "there's still a whole bowl of grapes here. If I really wanted some that bad, the last place I'd take some was from a source that I'm not sure has ever been washed."
"Yeah, and I'd steal them all from you, too, dude," Sam shot back, vaguely hurt that Freddie doubted her personal hygiene. Sure, she didn't have the best manners, but she didn't smell or anything. Did she? "Face it, Fredwina, you and your puny nub arms are no match for me."
As they filed into the studio, Carly made an ooh-ing noise. "Be careful, Sam. Freddie's started working out. Your mouth is going to get you into a fix even I can't get you out of."
Sam glared at her supposedly best friend and popped the last grape into her mouth. "Carly, Freddie could work out for ten years straight and he still wouldn't have what it takes to beat me."
Freddie just smirked. "If you say so, Samantha."
"Dude." Sam took three threatening steps toward him, impressed when he didn't budge one step. But she saw it - that little flicker of fear and excitement behind his brown eyes that made it all worth it. "The name's Sam. And that's Mama to you." Then she raised her hand and thumped him right between the eyes before he could stop her.
Stepping back, she grinned. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I, Sam Puckett, always win-"
"Because it takes a grown man to beat you? You know, fight fire with fire?" Regret and anxiety immediately passed over Freddie's face, but it was too late. The mark had landed.
Sam played it off, scoffing and dropping onto her favorite beanbag. "I'm all chick, Fredbag, but I'm still more a dude than you'll ever be." Carly had remained quiet through all of this, but now Sam looked towards her and asked, "So, remind me again, Carls. What's the punchline behind this bit?"
Rehearsal moved on with no one mentioning the awkward exchange between the two frenemies. Sam shook off the funky, nub-induced mood and threw herself into the random humor of their hit webshow. But she couldn't quite meet Freddie's gaze as they called it a day.
"So do you guys want to stay for dinner?" Carly asked as they (mostly she and Freddie) cleaned up the splattered bits of turkey meat from the studio floor.
Nudging a piece of meat with the edge of her shoe from her spot on the bags, Sam shrugged, then stood and stretched. "I think I'm just going to go home and rescue Frothy. No doubt either my mom is still yelling at him or has tied a scrub brush to his stomach so he can clean as he walks."
Carly stopped, concerned. "All right. Text me later?"
Sam just waved her off and walked out of the studio, grabbing her bag from the living room on her way to the door.
"Puckett!" Freddie ran down the stairs, stopping Sam as she was half out the door. "I'm sorry about calling you a man earlier. You know I didn't mean it. I mean you are obviously…" He fumbled as she raised her eyebrows at him, and a flush started rising in his cheeks. "I just… Obviously I know you're not a guy. And I'm… well, I'm sorry."
Sam leaned against the door jamb, savoring this small victory of knowing that no matter how bad she'd felt hearing it, Freddie clearly felt just as bad about saying it. "No problem, nub. After all, I guess if I dish it out, I should be able to take it, too, right?"
He grinned at her. "I guess so. Or you could just not dish it at all, and we could avoid this whole sticky mess…? Nah, I didn't think so," he said with a laugh as she gave him a get-real look.
"C'mon, Fredward." Sam pinched his cheek, maybe a little too hard. "If I didn't pick on you, how would you know I liked you?"
"You like me?" he asked in his best fake-surprised voice.
"Relatively speaking, for a nub. Don't let it get around." And with a grin, she was gone.