Disclaimer: dear fellow readers, I do not own iCarly or those affiliated. yours truly, samm.

It was five-thirty in the morning.

oOo

The world outside my window was still dark, and I almost groaned when I rolled over to turn off my alarm. But before giving myself the opportunity to oversleep, I kicked my bedsheets off my body and literally rolled off my bed. In the darkness, I felt around my room, trying to reach my closet without tripping. Eventually, I reached the door and flicked on my closet light. Well, more like a flashlight taped to the wall, but it was the same concept.

My window was open, and aside from my curtains flapping as a clear sign, I felt the shivering winter breeze against my skin. Oh great. I found my black Adidas duffel bag and unzipped it, digging around for my running shorts and sports bra. I replaced my flimsy Abercrombie t-shirt with the pale pink sports bra, and just pulled the running shorts over my Spanx. I never really wore pants to bed, anyway.

"Where the hell is-" I muttered under my breath, but before I could finish, I found what I was looking for. Plopping down on the floor of my closet, I pulled on my Ugg boots, one of many Christmas gifts from Mikey. Standing up, I pulled a grey Ridgeway Bulldogs sweater over my head and used the light of my closet lamp to put on some mascara and blush.

I shouldered my duffel bag, closed my closet, and felt around for my bedroom door. I could hear my mom sleeping in her room across from mine, and I tiptoed to the kitchen. Of course, I was hungry as hell, so I grabbed a Cliff bar, a bottle of water, and some deli ham. The clock on the microwave said it was five-forty-five, so I turned on my heel and headed for the front door.

oOo

"Morning, Miss Puckett," Mr. Delfino greeted as I walked past his corner café during my commute. He was outside, sweeping the corner of the street where his store was. "It's getting' pretty cold, eh? Gonna need more than those shorts."

"Yeah, you're right," I smiled, and then stopped beside him. My eyes were droopy, and the cold air was really getting to me, so I figured I could use a coffee. "But Mr. Delfino, you think you could open for business a little early for me? I need some coffee."

"Sure thing, Miss Puckett," He smiled, then taking a set of keys out of his pocket so he could open the doors to the café. It was nice and heated when he led me inside, and I patiently waited for him to brew a pot of black coffee, load it with skim milk and fake sugar, then a nice long drizzle of caramel, topped off with whip cream and a lid. I handed him ten dollars for the two-dollar coffee.

"Keep the change," I winked at him before I took my coffee and walked back out into the frigid November air. "Goddamn… It's cold…"

Sipping on my coffee, I continued down the street, and after a few blocks, I reached Sixth Street. Blending in with the banks and cafés and more sophisticated buildings that littered Seattle, a plain, fixer-upper office building stood tall and proud in the center of the Sixth Street stretch. It had about ten floors and rented out to everything from dentist offices to workout centers. The lobby inside had access to a bathroom, elevators, and a stair case. A security officer was sitting at the one and only reception desk. Water-stained magazines and institutionalized furniture was arranged to look like a fancy sitting room.

I took the stairs to the second floor, which is where Alton Dance Company was located. There were several doors along the otherwise empty hall, and each one led to a different dance studio. At the very end was an office for the more pencil-pusher aspect of ADC. I went into the third room and found it empty. It was rare for anyone to be here before seven, hence me waking up early. My lips pressed into a smile as I kicked off my boots, pulled off my sweater and shorts, only to be left in my sports bra and Spanx. A true dancer's uniform. I stared at the mirrored wall across from me, and studied myself. Of course, I was small. Small waist, barely five feet tall, thin thighs. Small. Duh.

But it was the nimbleness of my joints, the gracefulness of my limbs, that I really ever paid attention to. It was about what my body could do. Some people were born with average bodies and spend years conditioning themselves for the strain of dance, while I was blessed or gifted or whatever with a petite, supple, almost elastic body. Ready to dance, I hooked up my iPhone to the stereo in the corner and pressed 'Play.'

The gentle hum of Ludwig van Beethoven drifted across the room and sweetly filled my ears. I found the rhythm of the music in the pit of my stomach and stretched my right foot out in front of me. On the next downbeat, I launched my left foot behind me and above my head, putting my entire balance and body weight on my single right leg. A confident and serene glow radiated off my body, and I smiled easily.

Feeling my limbs loosening, I released my position gracefully and repeated the same steps on the opposite leg. Most people have a weaker side – left side for right-handed people, right side for the left-handed – but I was lucky to be ambidextrous and have both sides equally strong. Dropping my leg back down, I shook out my limbs and pulled my lush waterfall of blonde curls into a ponytail. Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" was softly fading, a sign that the song was nearing to an end. I used those last few moments to stretch out my arms, my back, stomach, and sides.

The next song played from the iPod stereo, and as quick as a light bulb, yet as fluid as a slow transition, I picked up the pace. My bare feet glided against the smooth, cool wooden floor, and I felt the song inside me. The song mixed with my emotions, and it was a small melting pot within me. The built-up anger I had mixed with the in-your-face notes of Rihanna's "Rude Boy," and my movements more natural and smooth than any well-rehearsed choreography.

Even focusing on my body movements and the pace of the song, I smiled. One of those wholesome, 100% smiles. The kind you only get when you're surrounded by what you love, and you're doing what you love. You know, the true kind of smile

oOo

"You're late, Miss Puckett." Ms. Waters informed me when I walked into chemistry ten minutes late, dressed in my very classy boots and running shorts. I really had no time to change from my dance clothes to something more normal, but I lost track of time in the studio. I had to rush to class in the first place just to make it before the ten-minute bell.

"Really?" I rolled my eyes, sounding as irritated as possible. "I hadn't noticed."

Instead of writing me up for disrespect or whatever the teachers did when I was a freshman, she shook her head. "Lucky for you, you missed the chance to pick your new lab partners for the rest of the year."

Dammit. I scanned the classroom and saw Carly, my best friend and only lab partner ever, sitting next to some pretty-boy lacrosse player she'd been eyeing since Halloween. All my classmates and sort-of friends were paired off evenly, so if I was stuck working the rest of the year by myself, I was getting good and ready to shoot myself in the foot.

"But we have one extra person reserved for you," Ms. Waters motioned her fresh-out-of-college hand to the front corner of the room, and of course, there he was. Benson. "So get comfortable with each other, 'cause you better make it work for the next five months."

Freddie fucking Benson.

I hadn't even let that name cross my mind in days. Weeks. Months. Almost for a whole year. I spent a good amount of time avoiding him to the point of being strangers, and before I knew it, I shared a table with him in room 212, and I had something to do with him for the next five months. I dropped my binder and textbook on the table and plopped onto the barstool. Freddie made no attempt to say hello, and neither did I.

I kept silent for the most part, occasionally mouthing a few words of disgust to Carly, and took my class notes like a good little girl. In the corner of my eyes, I saw Freddie working on calculus homework instead of taking paying attention. So that either he was too good for this class and working on tomorrow's assignment, or he never got around to doing it in the first place. Then again, why did I care?

My page was filled with my curvy, glitter green notes on the importance of atomic numbers, and my mind started to get away from me. In my head, I pictured myself, holding in an assisted arabesque before releasing and leaping into a midair-split. I tried to incorporate some sort of jazzy footwork mixed with the precise requirements of Pointe shoes. How am I supposed to do that? If I wanna rip my Achielle's tendon, then making my feet move in a faster, more sloppy way was a good way to start.

Once again, I started looking at the corner of my eyes, drifting away from all thought – whether it'd be chemistry or ballet – and focusing on Freddie with his goddamn homework.

His wrist was flexing as he scribbled numbers on his graph paper, occasionally putting down his pencil to type formulas into his calculator. I went from glancing from the corner of my eyes to turning my head slightly to get a better view. Of Freddie.

One side of me sort of wondered how me and him would be if things didn't happen the way they did. The other, more brash side of me, didn't really wanna think about it. So I went back to circling key words and writing the homework assignment in the margin. First and foremost in my mind was dance choreography, but lingering in the back was Freddie and his stupid homework.

Then the bell rang. I packed up and left before I had no choice but to look Freddie in the eye.

oOo

"Maybe you're overreacting," Carly mumbled, folding shirts according to the display map. First the right sleeve, then the left, then horizontally from the back to display the logo or words on the front. I collected the extra hangers and began hanging returned and last-minute rejected articles of clothing. "I mean, when we were picking partners, Freddie just sat there and watched everyone else pair up. Ms. Waters is not trying to screw you over."

"Well, why couldn't you pair up with him? I mean, you're the one who's all buddy-buddy with him still." I said that almost accusingly, and before I could continue with my rant, a preteen redhead was approaching the counter with a handful of t-shirts and her mom. "Hi," I smiled, taking the clothes and starting to ring everything up. "Did you find everything okay?"

"Yeah," The girl said, clearly not up for any interaction with anyone. "Just fine."

As I continued to fold the clothes and put them in a bag, Carly turned to face me. "Look, it's only five months. Maybe it's fate saying you to should…" She was searching for the right words. "Make amends."

"Your total is thirty-two-fifty," I told the mother, taking the credit card and completely ignoring Carly. "Would you like to sign up for an Abercrombie store credit card and save fifteen-percent on today's purchase?" I recited verbatim, just like they trained me when I first got the job last summer. The mom shook her head and I just wrapped up the transaction, handing over the receipt, the card, and the bag. "Have a nice day."

"Quit using customers as a reason to ignore me," Carly pouted, crossing her arms over her pink Abercrombie shirt. It was store requirement to wear head-to-toe merchandise. "But seriously. Freddie's feeling really bad for everything that happened."

"Did he say that?" I continued with hanging the shirts, not even looking up. I took her silence as a no, he didn't say that, but I'm just saying things for the benefit of this used-to-be friendship, so quit being stubborn and be friends with him again, Sam, because I miss hanging out with the both of you at one time. "Exactly."

oOo

"Mmm, Sam…" Mikey moaned as he pressed his lips against my neck. My breath hitched in my throat as goosebumps shot down my spine. His hands were cupping my ass and I inhaled, smelling his musky cologne. Our lips met and we sandwiched them frantically at first, then gradually slowed it down to an easy pace. The lights in his room were dimmed and his stereo was playing soft classic rock. My hands were pressed against his firm chest and I could feel his fingers play with the hem of my shirt. I pushed off and looked at him with an anxious smile. He got the message I was sending with my eyes.

Without answering with words, I pulled my shirt up and off my body, leaving me in my white floral bra. My hair was long, stretching down to the bottom of my ribcage, doing a good job of masking my boobs. Mikey joined me by sitting up just enough to pull his own shirt off his tanned, freckled body. This wasn't the first time we were resorted to taking tops off, yet I still found myself drooling over the faint lines of his abs, the wispy blond happy trail that met up with his belly button…

"Sam," He whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind my hair before lowering my head to meet his lips. I felt his tongue brush against my bottom lip and I opened my mouth a little wider to let him in. I could feel a hard heat rise against my waist and I broke away to look down. He noticed and smiled a shy smile. "Do you… You know…"

My heart stopped. This was it. I could feel his fingers starting to fumble with my jeans button before I could even answer. He got it fully unbuttoned and unzipped before I sat up. "Do you, um, think that we're ready?"

"Shh," He hummed, sitting up and pressing my forehead against his, then locking his green eyes with my blue ones. "Sam… I'm ready… We've gotten so far, that this is the next step. And of course, if you don't wanna go this far, we'll stop right now – no pressure. But you know I love you, and I don't wanna just keep telling that to you. I wanna show you too."

"But what about pregnancy?" I mumbled, breaking eye contact and looking down at my lap. "Or something? I mean, what if I'm all awkward and inexperienced and… gross?" Mikey had been my boyfriend for half a year, and he had yet to see me fully naked. I winced before saying what I said next. "This is my… My vir- Well… You know… Something I can only give once…"

"You know I'd be here to keep it safe and cherish it forever…" He sighed and I started to feel bad for even second-guessing the whole thing. "And who cares if you're inexperienced? I mean, so am I. I've only done this twice. And both times were awkward and weird. It's normal, and I think it's cute." He smiled and got off his bed, going to the underwear drawer of his dresser. After a few seconds, he pulled out a small foiled package, clearly labeled Trojan Latex Condom. He rejoined me on his bed and put me back on his lap. "Besides. I'm prepared, and no matter what, I'll be here to support you…"

"Okay," I swallowed, then smiled, rolling over to remove my jeans completely. "Let's do this."

oOo

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight," Velma shouted over the music. She clapped her hands over and over in a frustrated manner, almost as if clapping along to the tempo would make the group any better. "Come on, people! The opening show is in two months! One, two, three, four-" She sighed and reached her hand up to close it into a fist. "Stop, stop!"

I was in the middle of a foot grab, so I released my foot and put my hands on my bare hips. Even though this was the third hour of a seemingly eternal dance rehearsal, the radiation off my body made everything so simple, so pleasant. I glowed from the core, all the way through my skin. After that night with Mikey, though, I felt almost completely in tune with every aspect of my body.

"What are you smiling about, Samantha?" Velma targeted in on me, and I almost jumped at her voice. I shook my head instead of responding and she motioned for me to step in front of the rest of the group. "Show me how your flexibility is getting."

Weeks ago, Velma came to me with homework to really push myself to the point of being human rubber, and since the day she told me to do so, it was all I've been working on. So I proved to her and to the class that I was capable of bending every which way as needed. She only hummed in semi-approval before waving her hand to the person working the stereo. "Alright Samantha, dance your part. Now."

I gulped. I managed to avoid direct solos in front of the group, but Velma was the head of New Dance Company. What she said, went. So as the jazzy intro started, I readied my body in my first position. I jutted out my hips and kept my legs bent as the music carried me into each new set of eight-counts. Head turned this way, foot kicked out that way. I was one of the middle-men, not exactly stuck in the back, but not seasoned enough for a more spotlight role. She yelled at me, reciting my choreography as I danced it, and I gave her each thing she yelled for.

One of my final moves was a leap from one side of the stage, to the other, so I spun to face the direction of my jump just like I always rehearsed, and right on the downbeat, I sprung up onto the ball of my left foot as my right leg led the way. I threw my body back just as Velma specified, and due to my new flexibility, I could feel my thigh and my back touch. I landed on my right foot so barely wobbly, that it was invisible to the untrained eye. But Velma had a trained eye, and like I said, what she said, went.

The music stopped and my breath was hitched. She eyed me carefully with her pursed lips. "Beautiful, Samantha. See?" She addressed the rest of the class. "This is what I want from you people! That last leap landed a little shaky, but you will work on that, yes?" I nodded quickly and she stepped closer to me. Her red lips paired with her short black hair made her look much younger than she was. They were still pursed, which is probably why she had so many laugh lines already. "Have you been working on your solo audition piece?"

I nodded again and swallowed. "Yes, it's definitely a work in progress."

"Meet me after rehearsal," She said simply, giving me a once-over before going back to the rest of the group. "Alright, from the top!"

oOo

Everyone started heading home around nine o'clock, but with my bag shouldered and water bottle in my hand, I met Velma at the front of the studio. She was bent over, copying something from her iPhone into a binder. I didn't want to interrupt her, so I patiently waited to finish what she was going. I stood beside her for almost ten minutes before she stood up and just looked at me. "What?"

"Oh," I was surprised. She did tell me to meet her, didn't she? "I'm sorry, but didn't you say to, um, meet you after rehearsal?"

She just looked at me, confused, and started to unzip her pink sweatsuit jacket. I was about to apologize and say nevermind, but then she caught on. "Oh yes, Samantha. About your solo piece."

That was what this was about? "Uh-huh."

Velma bent over to fish something out of her tote bag before giving whatever she found to me. It was a key. "I really want you to do well for the auditions, but I can't tell you what to do, so here. That is the key to the basement."

I frowned. What would I need this for? She continued explaining to me, as if she heard the question in my head. "The office spaces are closed at ten, and don't open until six in the morning. But the basement isn't leased out to anybody, so it's open twenty-four-seven. So you'll have more than your cramped bedroom to rehearse in."

This was the most generosity I've seen her give, so in a nutshell, I was thankful. I smiled big and started heading for the studio door. "Thank you, Velma. I'll head down there right now."

oOo

There was no door or hallway that lead to the basement, just some stairs that ended to the wide, open basement. There were rooms within the basement, but the open stretch was filled with spare chairs and empty filing cabinets. I heard faint hard rock music and yelling muffled behind the doors of one of the rooms, so I figured someone else was down here, but I didn't really care. First and foremost was dance.

I sort of guessed by opening a door, hoping to find it empty. Luckily, I found the room Velma probably used, since there was a mirror, a ballet bar, and a stereo in the corner. The concrete floor was not exactly the wood floor I was used to, but it would get the job done. It was getting late, so I didn't want to waste time. I hooked up my iPhone to the stereo and played my Possible Solos playlist.

My absolute top choice was Marvin Gaye's Let's Get it On for my solo piece. It was definitely more of a kinky, sex-driven song, but I wanted to keep things playful and mildly kid-friendly. And, of course, I needed to showcase my flexibility, so I played the music and really let the music blast. I faced away from the mirror and swayed my hips. Then I hit the floor and stood back up, making sure to whip my hair. I went on my hands and pushed into a front handspring, landing gracefully on my butt, then somersaulting onto my feet and getting up with no effort at all.

My hands grabbed my hair as I stared at my reflection and snapped my hips and butt towards the mirror, before releasing my hair. Very erotic, yet adorably playful. Then instantly, I fell into a backbend, keeping my legs in a split as I pushed my backbend into a back handspring. I crouched into a crabwalk position, keeping my right leg straight as I made a full circle with my entire limb. Then I threw myself into a downward facing dog and held my left leg above my head, showing how deep I could push my split.

That was all I had so far, and I let the music continue to play as I experimented with new moves and incorporated new styles. I ran and reran the same choreography over and over until it became as simple as breathing. After forty-five minutes, I sat on my butt and listened to the song, sipping on my water bottle.

"You never told me that you could move like that," A voice said. I jumped to my feet and looked at the doorway, which I unknowingly left open the entire time. There was Freddie Benson himself, wearing no shirt, gym shorts, and big, red boxing gloves over his hands. He was slick and shiny from sweat and I only stared at him. What the fuck? He took my shock as my continued silent treatment, so he just stepped in the room and kept talking."I mean, wow. Sam. How did you learn to do all that?"

I bit the inside of my cheek and debated whether just to stare at him or actually say something. Finally, I put my hands on my hips, narrowed my eyes, and took in a sharp breath. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He didn't flinch at my harsh voice, but just held up his hands, showing me his gloves. "This. What're you doing here?"

In the same nonchalant voice he used, I mocked him by motioning all around me. "This."

Time ticked by as we stared at each other, and five minutes passed before he finally gave in. "How've you been lately, Sam?"

"I fucked Mikey," I crossed my arms over my chest and hoped to see some sort of reaction from him. He only pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and leaned against the door frame. So I decided to add more. "And it felt so good. Magical."

"Oh really?" He smiled sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. He stepped closer, slowly, step-by-step, until his tall frame was only an inch away from my smaller one. He looked down and met me in the eyes, and I only glowered. I would've pushed him away, but he was the one wearing the gloves. Wait, why was he? But before I could really work up some curiosity, he was opening his mouth to speak. "Did you tell him it was your virginity, too?"

"Shut up, Fredward," My arms crossed, I backed away from him, close to tearing up. I could hear the tremble in my voice. "Just… Just shut up."

He didn't. Shut up, I mean. "Or should I tell him the truth?"

"Fuck you," I started to feel tears about to fall down my face, and I rushed away from him, picking up my bag and slipping on my shoes. He blocked my way out the door, and I shoved past him. He stayed where he was, and when I reached the stairs, I turned to look back at him. "Fuck you, Freddie Benson."

"Samantha," He cooed, remaining in the same spot. "That's already been done."

hahahahaha, Freddie, you douche.

hey you guyssss(: miss me? 'cause I sure did miss all of you. and omfg, I bet more than half of you are coming at me with some implement of torture, wanting the next update of that other story I'm doing. Goodness gracious, I don't even know what I named it… but anyway, that'll be up next weekend or the weekend after garunteed. I'm sorry, but sophomore year has been a pain in the ass for me lately. Chemistry is so much fun, but so much homework… ):

anyway, about this story. It's gonna be a little more, um, grown up. Don't worry, it's not gonna be f-bombs here, sexual intercourse there,, I'm kicking my own ass to make sure it's a healthy dose of sexy and sweet(: so review it, pleaaaaseee. Please please please?(:

i'm halfway done with writing chapter deux, so maybe tomorrow it will be posted. But only if I get a ton of reviews, okay? Like, I'm talking fifteen or twenty(;

gotta love bribes, don't youuuu? Ahahahaha (but seriously, I'm not kidding. I will post it tomorrow if I get reviews,, haha)

well, that's about it… OH WAIT. All of Sam's choreography is based off of Lauren Froderman from So You Think You Can Dance season seven. She was the winner, and she was amazinggggg. Sam's Marvin Gaye dance routine in this story is a play-by-play of Lauren's audition piece of the same song, so be sure to youtube it, okayyyy?(;

love forever and ever,

sammypaige(:

xoxoxxoxoxooxox

p.s., iLost My Mind? Holy crap… I'm posting this in celebration of that… so watch it if you haven't yet and… oh my god… I lost my mind when I watched itttt… hahaha