DISCLAIMER: I wish I did, but alas, Dan Schneider is the genius behind iCarly.

a/n Hey, hey. This is my first story so please be kind with me. I'd take criticisms though. Oh, and the stories don't necessarily follow the storyline of the show. Anyway, read on. :)

I hate my dress (pale blue). I hate my heels (silver). I hate my size 32D underwire Chantelle bra (nude) that my mom and the saleslady made me buy to go with the aforementioned hated dress and hated heels . Yet, here I am, wearing all three, standing near the snack table at P.S 182's Mardi Gras- themed Juniors-Seniors Prom.

And all the while, my best friend, Carly Shay, who's stunningly gorgeous and overly strong from four years of being sports oriented, is squeezing my forearm so hard I can feel a bruise forming. But that's okay. The pain distracts me from the hate.

"He's dancing with Rebecca!" Carly moans.

"He is?"

Carly's been obsessed with "he" since the middle of Sophomore year when she was positive they shared a moment while filing into the auditorium for an assembly on the dangers of drunk driving.

"If Jake doesn't ask me to dance, I'm going to kill myself. I swear to God." Carly jabs her finger in the air to emphasize how serious she is about the threat of suicide.

"I still have half a bottle of codeine from when I got my wisdom teeth out," I offer. "That and a bottle of Jack Daniels from Spencer's liquor cabinet will at least put you in a coma."

Carly gives me a look. "Why do I like you?"

There's no judgement in the question. She's genuinely baffled.

"I have awesome connections to awesome parties," I remind her. "And I have a car."

"Right." She nods, our friendship back to normal. A regular person would be offended, but Carly and I understand each other.

At least, we did. Before this whole prom fiasco started. Carly decided that since this is our senior year, we were obliged to attend. Apparently, eschewing traditional stuff like prom and basketball games is okay only to a point. Now that we're approaching graduation, Carly feels we need to embrace "the high school experience." She said she wants memories. I tried objecting but she was firm on her stance, and as a best friend, I was compelled to support her.

"My breath stinks." Carly says, her voice rising a couple of octaves higher. "It does, doesn't it?" Huffing in front of my face.

"You're fine." I tell her. "Crest fresh." Which is a lie. Her breath does stink, but being honest about it might breed hysteria.

"I'm gonna go find Adam," Carly announces, referring to her date. "I'll get him to dance , then I'll maneuver him closer to Jake."

I consider pointing out that scheming to dance next to one's crush might fall to the category of pathetic, but similar to the breath situation, I decided against it. "Maneuver next to Jake. Check."

My own date, Fredward "Freddie" Benson is nowhere to be seen. Fifteen minutes ago, I sent him to the vending machine near the boys' locker room to get a can of Fresca. I tried to drink a cup of the punch the prom committe provided, but in addition to being spiked with several competing hard liquor, I hate punch. Fresca, on the other hand, is very refreshing. I wonder if Freddie decided he had enough and snuck out of prom. Maybe I'll get an apologetic message from him on my cell phone in the morning.

"Wish me luck." Carly gives my arm one more squeeze, then race-walks toward the crowd to search for Adam, who's most likely too drunk off spiked punch to realize that he's merely a pawn of my best friend's Machiavellian pursuit of true love.

I drift closer to the snack table and shove a fistful of broken Lays chips into my mouth. Too late, I remember I hate Lays chips. Aside from the grease factor, tiny crumbs get stuck between my teeth and will most probably stay there until I floss two or three weeks from now. Fastidious, I am not.

I am, however, the kind of person who slows down to look at a horrible car accident. It's that instinct that compels me to turn my attention back to the dance floor. I see Carly and Adam grinding to the music the band is playing. As promised, Carly is subtly but determinedly guiding Adam towards Jake and Rebecca. I wonder if, in her zeal, Carly has stopped and noticed that Jake and Rebecca are now making out.

My wondering is interrupted when I felt a presence behind me. I fantasize that the presence is a prom-hopping serial killer who has approached to bring me out of my misery. Alas, I turn to see Freddie Benson, slightly sweaty and holding a can of Fresca.

"Sorry it took so long," he said, half-panting. "The vending machine only had Pepsi so I ran to 7-Eleven down the street." His expression borders on triumphant as he hands me the Fresca.

"Thanks." I'm sort of caught off guard by the lengths Freddie went to acquire my drink. Sprinting to a convenience store in order one's tux certainly qualifies as above and beyond. I hate it when people go above and beyond. They make me feel self-conscious and a bit nauseated.

Then again, Freddie is an above and beyond type. He's one of those science-loving guys who borders along geeky and dork that he overcompensates by being genuinely nice to everyone that they have no choice but to like him. I took his niceness into account when I asked him to prom.

"Sam?" It's weird to hear him say my name for some reason. Maybe because I'm still rattled about the heroic dash to 7-Eleven.

"Yeah?" I take a sip out of my soda, it's grapefruity goodness slides down my throat in a way that makes me glad to be alive.

"Doyouwannadance?" It was spoken softly but years of watching TV on a low volume while doing homework practiced me for moments like this.

"That's okay," I tell him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carly and Adam are a mere couple away from the still-grinding Jake and Rebecca, and Carly is waving her arms wildly as she bops in Jake's direction.

I turn my attention to the colorful streamers surrounding our team's banner. I hate streamers.

Freddie looks around the gym, too, hoping his gaze would find something worthy of conversation. I know I should be making an effort, maybe ask about the Fresca adventure. But a there's a lump of resistance in my throat. I feel any attempt at a good time will validate Carly's stance that the prom is an experience worth having. To atone for what an awful person I am being, I hold out my can of Fresca, offering him a sip.

He takes the can and gulps. There's a weird intimacy to it. Someone watching might think we're a couple. I hate couples. As far as I know, they're all smug on the outside but miserable on the inside.

"Let's get our picture taken," Freddie suggests. "It'll be fun."

"I'd rather not get in on the whole Mardi Gras deal," I inform him.

"Why?" He looks confused. The expression on his face reminds me of Carly's, earlier, when she couldn't remember why she liked me.

"Hurricane Katrina?" I remind him. "Considering New Orleans is currently a wasteland, I don't exactly feel comfortable whooping it up."

Freddie shrugs, his shoulders straining the material of his rented tux. "I don't know. I thought it was a nice idea."

"Oh." Somehow, he's managed to make me feel small. I hate feeling small. "Anyway, it means fat Tuesday and it's Saturday."

"Good point." He smiles, and I feel better. I hate that his smile makes me feel better, because that implies that I'm weak, that I need the approval of others to feel okay about myself.

"Thanks again for the Fresca." I say for no apparent reason. "It's very refreshing."

He nods. For a couple of moments, we stayed silent. I study the couples milling around the gym and on the dance floor, all adorned in their plastic beads, not a care in the world. I think, not for the first time, that humans need to be subdivided into a number of different species. There would be one species for pedophiles, another for homecoming queens and football captains, a third for geniuses who cure cancer and spend the rest of their lives getting the bottom of pi. I don't know what my species would be, except that it's not represented anywhere in this gym.

"Are you sure you don't want to dance?" Freddie asks finally.

"Positive," I assure him. "I'm good just hanging here."

I don't add that I hate to dance. I hate it more than my dress, my heels, and my bra combined. I hate it more than this prom.

"Do you mind if I ask someone else then?" he asks. "I mean, since you don't want to?"

The question startled me. The last thing I expected when I asked Fredward Benson to the prom was that he would leave my side in pursuit of a dance partner. During one of our physics experiment, I clearly heard him saying that he does not get his groove on whatsoever. Given that Freddie has an obvious aversion to drawing attention, the news didn't surprise me.

"You want to go out there?" I'm looking at him closely for signs that the old Freddie has been replaced by an alien replica.

"It is the prom," he responds. "That's what we're supposed to do. Dance." He smiles again. "Didn't you get the manual?"

"But you said you don't dance." I remind him. "You said you have no rhythm and that given a choice between medical interrogation and doing the Moonwalk, you would choose the medical interrogation."

He gives me a look. "Okay. Do you remember everything everyone says or is it just me?"

"Everyone." And it's true. Conversations get stuck in my head for years. Melanie, my twin, says it's a gift. I just think it's annoying.

"Anyway. I wasn't suggesting we do the moonwalk. We could just get out there and sort of move back and forth." He sways a little to show me what he means.

"Huh." I'm forming my next thought when I see Carly making a beeline for Freddie and me.

"She looks happy," Freddie says, noticing Carly, too.

He's right. Even from here, I can see that her cheeks are glowing from more than the blush she made me put on her five hours ago. "Yeah."

"Is that bad?"
"Why would that be bad?"
"You tell me."

Freddie is probing. I hate probing. Luckily, Carly reaches us before he can delve further into my thoughts on the topic of happiness.

"Adam threw up," she announces. "Nobody even noticed."

"Ah, memories." I was being sarcastic, but she didn't pick up on it.

"Jake and I had major eye contact," Carly tells us, beaming. "Something is definitely in the air."

"Carly's in love with Jake." I explain to Freddie. It doesn't seem fair to leave him out.

"He's a great guy." Freddie says. Giving Carly a little pat on the back. "You'd make a cute couple."

Once again, I'm astounded by Freddie's general niceness. He's got to know that Jake doesn't even know that Carly's alive, yet he doesn't hesitate to join in on Carly's enthusiasm. Suddenly, I get an idea.

"Since Adam's out of commision, you two should dance," I suggest to them. "I'll watch."

Carly's head bobs up and down but Freddies shakes his. "Maybe you should see how he's doing," he tells Carly. "What with the puking and all."

She sighs. "I guess I'd be a pretty shitty date if I didn't, huh?"

Freddie shrugs. Clearly not wanting to say it but thinking that's the case.

Carly grins. "Next time you see me, I'll be in Jake's arms. Guaranteed." She then leaves. I marvel at her ability to live in personal denial. She will never be in Jake's arms. I know that as sure as I know that I will never wear these heels again.

"Don't say you didn't have your chance. I tried."

"Can I ask you something?" His intotation goes up at the end of the sentence, like he wants my permission, but my gut feeling is that he'd ask it anyway.

"Sure." I wonder what's coming. It could be anything from my bra size to my opinion on world hunger.

"Why did you ask me to prom?" Freddie is looking straight at me, his brown eyes curious, one eyebrow raised slightly.

"Because you're nice and smart and I knew you wouldn't have a date." I reply. There are other reasons, too, but Freddie didn't need to know that.

"Bullshit."
"Excuse me?"
"Nice and smart?" he repeats. "You're a bit more complicated than that."

"I didn't even want to come to prom." I admit. "But Carly had her heart set on it. . . I didn't want to let her down." The information is veering toward personal, and I feel uncomfortable. Under most circumstances, I hate feeling uncomfortable. But wth Freddie, it's sort of interesting, like an experiment.

"Still doesn't explain why you asked me," he says. "Maybe at some point, you'll reveal this particular secret." He's staring at me like he knows something. Like he's read my non existent diary or taken a spin in my mind.

"I doubt it." I tug at the bodice of my hated spaghetti strap dress to turn his sttention toward by 32D cups and away from this little conversational interlude.

"I know you a lot better than you think," he continues, undistracted by my somewhat hefty bosom. This comes out sounding like a challenge, whether he meant it to or not.

"You don't know me," I smirk at him. I keep myself shrouded, metaphorically speaking, from the world at large. It keeps life simpler.

"I know you're scared," Freddie says. "I know you walk around wearing your protective shell, pretending you don't care what anyone thinks, because deep down you think they won't like what they see." My smirk literally fell from my face.

My heart starts beating fast, I go to take a sip of my soda only to find it empty. I look at my feet then back at Freddie. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

I've been seen.

Freddie picks up on my verbal paralysis and takes his cue. "I also know that if you'd open up and let people know you, they'd be in for a treat," he continues. "Despite all your hardwork to convince me and everyone else that you're an abyss of negativity, I'm not buying it."

"You're wrong," I respond finally. "About all of it."

Freddie stares at me, into the abyss of negativity. He seems to be weighing something. "I'm going to leave now." His tone is pleasant, as if delivering a fair-weather report. "You ever wanna tell me the real reason you asked me to be your date, I'd like to hear it."

I don't protest. I simply watch him leave, relieved. How could he have read me so simply? Even Carly has problems understanding me sometimes. Anyway, for me, prom is almost over. All I have to do is find Carly and tell her I'm leaving.

Heading toward the dance floor, where I see Carly's head bobbing, I tell myself I'm glad to be rid of Freddie and his analytical dysmantling of my personality. I want to be alone. I love being alone. At the edge of the dance floor, I position myself to get Carly's attention. I assume she revived Adam, who's most likely resumed his intake of punch.

And then I see her. She's not dancing wth Adam. She's dancing with Jake. And they're not just dancing, they're talking. He smiles, she laughs. It doesn't look like drunken, prom laughter either. It looks like the real deal. Carly guaranteed the next time I saw her, she's be in Jake's arms, and she was right.

I think of all the times I told her to forget about Jake. I think of how she'd just shake her head and say I didn't know what I was talking about.

She was right all along, I was wrong.

What if she listened? Where would she be now? She'd be right next to me, holed up in her bedroom with a box of pizza and 4 seasons of Girly Cow. Carly wouldn't be living, she'd be hiding.

Just like me.

My feet start to move. Even in the heels, I make good time as I head toward the door, toward the sign that says "Thank You for coming." In my peripheral vision, I notice Principal Franklin standing by the exit. I blow by him, pushing open the heavy door and bursting into the warm May night.

The parking lot is a sea of cars and rented limos. I know he won't be here, but I keep moving anyway. I have to. Even outside, I can hear the band.

"Sam?" Freddie's voice says. He steps out behind an SUV , and under the parking lot light his skin is pale, almost like an apparition.

"You were right," I admit. "About all of it." He grins. I think he's not surprised to see me but I can't be sure. "I'm ready to tell you. . . the reason. . . about why I asked you."

I don't usually speak like this, with hesitation. But what I'm about to say is the truth, and it doesn't roll off easily from my tongue.

"It's because you said you didn't dance," I start. "I hate dancing." But that's a lie. I stop, force myself to rewind and tell the truth. "Actually I'm scared of it. Terrified, in fact. The idea of everyone watching. . . thinking I look like an idiot. I couldn't bear the thought of prom if I had to in front of that band and. . . do something. I thought you'd be safe. That you wouldn't want to dance."

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, as if he's savoring the moment. "Finally."

"And it's not just that," I go on, the words rushing out now. "I'm scared of everything. Where to sit at lunch when Carly's not there. What to say in class. People." I take a breath. "I hate being scared."

"Then stop." Freddie walks out of the light and into the dark, touching my cheek. "I'll help you."

"You can't."

"I can."

I shake my head. It can't be that easy. Except he has such kind eyes that I want to believe him. I want to live. "How?"

"Take my hands," he says softly. "You are a prom queen. Just dance, dance, dance."

I hold my breath. Every cell in my body is screaming run. But his eyes, those kind eyes, hold me in place.

Inside, the band has transitioned into something that sounds like zydeco music. I picture Carly, estatic, grinning at Jake.

"There's no one to see us," Freddie continues. "I'll even close my eyes."

I know that if I do not do this, I will regret it forever. I reach out, and Freddie clasps my hands. His skin is smooth and dry and reassuring. I exhale. I can do this. We can do this.

Freddie and I start to sway. I move my hips, and then my feet. I shut my eyes, and I think he shuts his. I listen to the band, and I imagine we're in the middle of the dance floor. There, most of them are staring at us. But for once, I'm not scared.

I open my eyes slowly. When I open it completely, I am engulfed in brown. Soft, smiling, brown eyes. The pair of eyes is slowly getting closer and I realize Freddie is leaning towards me. I smile and meet him halfway. Right then and there, I had the most amazing first kiss. It was simply enchanting. Freddie pulled back, and we smiled at each other.

As the song ends and another begins, I keep a tight hold on Freddie's hands. I'm free and I don't want it to end. This is my prom night. I love my dress. I love my heels. I love my bra.

And someday, just maybe, I will love to dance, dance, dance.

Please review and tell me what you think. THANKS. :)