HOW AMAZING WAS iOMG? YOU GUYS...I CAN'T EVEN. I CANNOT EVEN. LOL
but seriously, I adored it. So perfectly done. :) Bravo, Dan Schneider, BRAVO. I am dying waiting for the new episodes to start...my best friend & I are already planning a premiere party! HA!

This is my own continuation...my little version of what could happen next. :)
I hope you enjoy...I would love to hear some feedback!
Now, here we go...

Her feet hit the ground over and over in an even rhythm; left, right, left, right. It was odd, the way it contrasted with her heart: slow and even versus racing and sporadic. She couldn't help but think of how much the contrast seemed to fit her: nothing in her life ever matched up. Never had, never will. She was a sporadic and racing heartbeat in a world of slow and even footsteps.

She kept running, legs screaming in pain, until she reached the graffiti-covered stop sign that marked her street; a mile and a half away from the school, she figured she was safe. She put one hand on the pole and the other on her knee, leaning over because her lungs burned with every intake of air. 'It's not fair' is all she could think. Why couldn't she be different? Why couldn't he be different? Why were they themselves? Why was he so slow and even, while she was much too fast and unpredictable? It's not fair.

"Hey," was the half-hearted greeting she got from her mother as she walked through the front door.

"Hey," Sam said back, moving quickly toward the stairs in an attempt to avoid confrontation. She glanced at her mom from the corner of her eye and saw her completely engrossed in some trashy reality dating show, one hand gripping a can of beer, the other buried in a bowl of popcorn on her lap. Of course she was still up.

"Mom?" she heard herself say, turning to face her. She didn't know why she had said it. It just came out. She needed some kind of acknowledgement, some kind of reassurance. Of what? She didn't know. She just needed something. "Momma?"

But she was too quiet and the television was too loud. Her mom let out a loud laugh at something that had just happened between two women clad in trashy lingerie. She swallowed the lump in her throat, but it came back just as quickly as it had left. And then she could feel it. It took up her entire throat, making it difficult to breathe, and she knew she couldn't hold it in for much longer. It was gonna be big and loud and mean. She bit her tongue, trying to hold it in, but it came out all on its own: "Mom!" she yelled this time and her mother whipped her head around to face her.

"What?"

"Why-why aren't you mad?"

Her mother set the popcorn bowl aside, placed the beer on the coffee table, and slowly stood up. "Sam…"

"Normal parents get mad at their normal kids when they just waltz through the door at 3 in the morning! But, no, of course you're totally cool with it!" She didn't know where all of this was coming from, but she couldn't stop it. "I could have been dead in a ditch somewhere and you wouldn't have even known! Why aren't you mad? You don't even care!" A sob escaped and she smacked her hand over her mouth.

"Sam…antha…" her mother's face was horrified as she shook her head back and forth. "Kid, what's wrong with you?"

"Why aren't we normal?" Tears were flowing down her face now and she felt her cheeks burn red with embarrassment. She didn't cry, she was a Puckett. And yet, here she was, standing in front of the very woman who had taught her that crying was for wimps and fairies only, bawling like a kid who just fallen off of her bike. The tears ran into her mouth and she hated the saltiness on her tongue.

"Listen, kid…" her mother took a step in her direction and she took off up the stairs.

But she didn't listen. She didn't listen to hear if her mom called after her or not, she just slammed the bathroom door behind her, locked it, and turned the shower on as high as it would go. She slid the handle over until it reached the bottom of the red sticker and steam began to fill the tiny room. The mirror fogged up and she couldn't see herself; good. That was the way she wanted it. The hot water burned her shoulders but she stood perfectly still and let it. 45 minutes later, when the hot water was starting to run out, she opened her mouth and let it fill up with lukewarm water. When it was a full as possible, she closed her mouth and swished it around. She swished hard and fast, tilting her head from side to side, shoving the water into every crack and cranny of her teeth. When she was satisfied, she spit the water out onto the bathtub floor, bitterly, like it was poisonous. She drug the back of her hand across her lips, then spat again. She turned the water off and, for a split second, was in awe of the silence that hit. She listened for her mom, but heard nothing.

Ten minutes later, sitting cross-legged on her bed in a purple tank-top and gray shorts, she heard a knock on her bedroom door. She collapsed down in an effort to avoid it, legs still crossed, but face buried in her polka dot comforter. She gave the knock no response, but she heard the door handle begin to turn anyway. She heard the television blaring from downstairs as the door swung all the way open and her heart sped up once again. She felt weight on the bed next to her, but she didn't look up. Soon, a hand was on her back, moving slowly up and down.

"Want to tell me what your deal is?" her mother spoke quietly, which was not normal for her. "What happened tonight, kid? You were at that…that lock-in thing, right? What happened?"

Sam took in a shaky breath as she felt a sting behind her eyelids. She shook her head back and forth furiously against the blanket, praying her mother wouldn't notice her shaky tear-filled breathing, but she did. Her hand stopped moving on Sam's back and she spoke even more quietly than before.

"Sam…come on, kid, sit up." She tugged on her daughter's arm, but Sam resisted.

"No!" her voice sounded weak and small, but it still had the normal Puckett level of sass.

"Hey, I've already seen you cry, okay? You cried constantly when you were a baby…I swear, I thought you were just gonna cry until you ran out of tears." She laughed, but Sam didn't. "I've seen you cry, believe you me. Come to think of it, I've also seen your naked butt! You used to run around with your little pink underwear on your head—"

Sam sat up, her hair sticking to her wet face, bitter that her mom had just pointed out another freakish trait she had. "Mom!"

"Hey, got you to sit up, didn't I?" Sam's mother swung an arm around her shoulder and she rolled her eyes at the fact that she had outsmarted her. "Now, what's up?"

She locked her eyes on her hands, where she was picking at what was left of her metallic purple nail polish. Even that wasn't normal. Most girls had pink nails, red even. But, of course, she had to have purple. She could never just fit in.

"I like…a boy."

"A boy?" her mother sounded terribly excited. "Well, who is it? I mean, the only boys I ever see you with are Nerd Boy & that funny looking kid…what's his name, Gabby? No, that's a girl's name…"

"Gibby, Mom, Gibby. And I don't like Gibby."

"Well then, who?"

She looked at her mother like she was crazy. She had just said it and didn't even realize it.

Her mouth formed an 'o' as she finally registered that "Nerd Boy" was the only other option. "I thought you hated him!"

"I…did."

Her mother giggled and Sam collapsed back onto the bed. As soon as she did, the laughter subsided. "Sam…I thought he was a nice kid…did he make you cry? Oh, hon."

"No! He didn't. I did." Her voice was muffled, but her mother heard perfectly.

"How did you make yourself cry?" she tried to move some of Sam's hair out of the way, but she shook it back into place, shielding her face from her mother's inquisitive eyes.

"He doesn't like me, okay? And I knew that, I did, so I don't know why I did it!" She sat up and took another shaky breath.

"Did what, Sam?"

"I'm just stupid and…why would I do that? Gah…I ruined everything, you know?"

"How do you know he doesn't like you? Did he tell you that?" she brushed Sam's hair away from her face.

"No! He's not just gonna say it."

"And why not?"

"Because he's too nice." She leaned back against the headboard and crossed her arms. "He's like thirty times nicer than me."

"Listen to me, kid, I think there's a perfectly good chance that he likes you, too!" she leaned back and scooted closer to Sam, who just shook her head.

"Why wouldn't he?" her mother's voice was quiet again.

"Because people don't," her voice sounded small and she hated it. "People don't like me."

"Wellll," her mom drew the word out for much too long and she grew nervous, thinking that she would just agree with what Sam had just said. "That's ridiculous. I don't know why they wouldn't love you!"

She bit her lip to keep the 4 round of tears from spilling over. She hated those tears with every fiber of her being. She hated them because they made her look weak, and because they made her hair stick to her face, and because they tasted salty and gross when they ran down into her mouth. But most of all, she hated them because she knew why they were there.

"Samantha Puckett, you are so funny. You are so funny, and so fun, and you can make anyone laugh. You have the best sense of humor and you're the smartest person I know."

Sam scoffed, "You don't know many people."

"Hey!" her mother elbowed her. "And you pretend to be so mean, and tough, and unfeeling, but you have one of the biggest, softest hearts I've ever seen. You're the sweetest kid around, underneath all of that stuff."

She didn't scoff, but she didn't agree. She didn't want to picture herself with such a weak, soft, breakable heart. But, at the moment, she couldn't deny it.

"And Sam, you're gorgeous, kid. Seriously, where did you get these good looks?" She grabbed Sam's chin and shook it back and forth.

Sam laughed for the first time that night and pushed her hand away.

"You are perfection, kid. And if Nerd Boy doesn't like you, then he's not as smart as I thought he was."

"Yeah well, you're my mom. You have to say that. It's like, your job or something."

"Yeah well, you and I both know I'm not a good enough mom to say something just because I have to."

They both laughed and she was tempted to agree before she realized how much better she felt. "Yeah you are."

Her mom planted a kiss on the top of her head before standing up and smacking her on the back. "It's late, kid. Bedtime is now."

"Mom," she stopped short of the door and turned to face Sam again. "Thanks. I mean, you know. I love you. And stuff."

Her mom smirked and winked before turning out the light. "Ditto," she said over her shoulder as she left.

She laid down and closed her eyes. Her heart started to ache for a split second, until she willed herself to focus on nothing but the black behind her eyelids, but she couldn't even do that. The weird splotches of color that play whenever you close your eyes blocked her from focusing on the black and soon she opened her eyes again. But with her eyes open, she couldn't pretend that she didn't exist and all the events of the last 24 hours were just a bad dream, which she desperately wanted to do. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and coordinated her heartbeats with her breathing: 3 beats of breathing in, 3 beats of breathing out. For once, she could make something match up. Maybe there was hope for her yet.