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This story is rated K+.
Recommended for ages 10 and up.
000fna

Part One

Blisters

by TeamMu

A Short Story

Part 1 of 2


Sam’s foot kicked the left side of the door. "Is anyone home?" she yelled. It was a bright pink August morning. The first of the month, to be sure. Her foot was still wet from the rain outside’s grass still held inside of them. The sky was grayish-blue. The sun was sure to give out a warm, calming feeling to anyone who soaked it in.

Sam, however, kicked past all waves of sunshine. She had marched out of her house, stomped on the squishy straight grass all the way to Bushwell Plaza. Her crocs left watery tracks in Lewbert’s office.

“Is any… body… home?” she yelled again, kicking even harder. The shiny apartment door grew in wood cracks. Eventually, the door opened. Very slowly, but Sam was waiting. When the door finally creaked open enough to see a tuft of brown hair, Sam kicked the door wide open and grabbed the person in front of her by the shoulder. Unforutanately. it wasn’t the person she was looking for.

“Hi, Mrs. B!” Sam said in a polite, clear voice.

“Um, hello, Samantha.” Mrs. Benson replied, shaking out of Sam’s grip. “Care to tell me why you woke up half the apartment and ruined my door to show up in that outfit?”

Sam quickly glanced down at what she was wearing. A tank top, hand-me-down sports pants, and crocs. What was so bad about that? “Uh, well, I’m here to give Freddie his homework.”

Mrs. Benson stared.

“He accidentally left it… uh… back there.”

Mrs. Benson sighed. “We’re in the middle of summer, Sam. Now please go back home before I call the police."


Sam scratched the side of her head in fustration. Couldn’t this woman get anything? “I meant his iCarly homework. You know, stuff that he has to do before 7am for… iCarly.”

“Can it wait?” she asked.

Now Sam wanted to punch her. “I said before 7am!” she snapped.

Mrs. Benson pulled her robe closer to her waist and yawned. The clock behind her ticked three times before she came up with an answer. “Very well, then. I will go wake up Freddie, and you two can work on your assignment. But be very quiet, Fredward will still be sleepy and so will everyone else here. Ok?”


“Yeah, whatever.”

“Ok?” Mrs. Benson said, sounding angry.

“Ok.” Sam sat by the side of the bruised door while she waited for Mrs. Benson to come back.


What is taking her so long, Sam thought as she rubbed her crocs furiously against the tan and rustled rug. Right across the hall, in Carly's apartment, she could hear the faint purring of a microwave, followed by the sound of Spencer humming. Sam craned her neck towards the door.

A couple seconds later, the smell of strawberry waffles faintly wafted past her nose. Sam tried to ignore it, but she couldn’t. She found herself crawling forwards onto Carly’s door.

“SPENC!” she yelled, pounding on the door. There was the sound of a pot dropping, and several footsteps. Sam stood up as the door opened.

“Uh, hello Sam, who randomly shows up at seven-thirty in the morning” Spencer answered. “What are you… um…?”

“I’m hungry!” Sam whined. “Give me whatever you’re making…”

Spencer’s face twisted in confusion. “Why don’t you just get it at home? Why did you-”

“I’M HUNGRY!” Sam repeated. Spencer disappeared into the kitchen.

Sam continued to stand. It had been ten minutes since Mrs. Benson left to "get" Freddie. She still wished that the woman would hurry up, but she felt that strawberry waffles were slightly more important. She followed the delicious smell into the kitchen.

There, Spencer was putting the finishing touches onto three stacks of three waffles. They each were poured with thin strawberry syrup and sprinkled with cinnamon. They were also topped with three cherries and two halves of a stawberry.

They looked absolutely delicious. "Spenc, can I eat now?" Sam whined.

"Look at these! I got this recipe from my grandmother when I was little!" Spencer exclaimed, prasing his food instead of eating it.

"Can it eat them now?" Sam repeated.

"Not until you tell me how great my grandmother's cooking is," Spencer grinned.

Sam grimaced. Is he serious? "You are as great as my grandmother's cooking. Now can I eat?"

Shifting back into a contempt face, Spencer took two of the three plates of waffles and put them on the kitchen table. He and Sam both sat down, and Sam began digging into the food with her hands.

Spencer glanced at the fork right beside her. "So, why are you here, exactly? And what was that noise several minutes ago?"

Sam looked up. "I wanted to tell Freddie something," she said in a low voice.

"What?"

"Well... I just got mad at him."

Spencer continued to look at her as if he expected her to continue. “You got mad at him for…”

“He posted a poll about me on iCarly.com that was comparing me to a donkey! Thousands of people commented! I found out about it yesterday morning, but I didn’t get to beat him up for it.”

Spencer sighed. “You know, there are a lot more ways to resolve a problem like this without hitting.”

“Exactly. Which is why before he got home from school yesterday, I put spoiled milk and mayo in his dinner, when his mom wasn’t looking.” Sam grinned, pleased of her devious plan.

Sam could tell Spencer was trying to keep a serious face, but was miserably failing. “Wouldn’t that, like, make him sick?”

“Probably, and I’m going to give him a piece of his mind now,” Sam said with an impatient face. She finished the last of the strawberry waffles and licked each of her fingers. It was silent for about ten seconds.

Finally Spencer said, “I want to go read something. Do you mind leaving already?”

“Gladly.” Sam pushed her chair away from the table and stepped out. Her much drier crocs sprinted across the hardwood floors of the living room. She opened the door out into the hallway, and let herself out… only to come face-to-face with Mrs. Benson.

Sam immediately reacted. “What the heck took you so long?” she snapped.

Mrs. Benson had an exasperated look on her face. “As it turns out, Freddie is a little sick, from food poisoning. I’m taking him to the hospital this morning, so you have to wait to discuss your homework.” She turned around, ran into Freddie’s apartment, and shut the door.

Sam clenched her fists and smiled.

Part Two

Blisters

by TeamMu

A Short Story

Part 2 of 2


It was no use feeling anything called or related to guilt. All it did was eat you alive, and Sam wanted to be the one eating things. So she decided to ignore any signs.

Sam yelled one last goodbye to Marissa, then ran outside. The sky was now a really light blue. Sam was in a hurry to get back to her house before her mom got all crazy again. Chances are, she wouldn't wake up. There were still no lights on in her house, from what Sam could see, so she decided that her mom was sleeping in.

Sam's crocs skidded across the pavement in exaustion. After only about one hour, they were already worn out and torn at the bottom. She simply threw them off her feet as to not deal with them. Aftermwards, she ran bare-footed straight to her front door.

She was still mad at Mrs. Benson. She promised that she would get Freddie to talk to her, but Mrs. Benson didn't even consider waking him up at all just because of some stomach-ache! Some people can just be unfair.

Sam paused before opening her front door. Did Freddie's stomach have to do with her prank yesterday night? I could've easily been lack of meat, like Sam would have sometimes. But she did put rotten mayo inside of his food, and she was pretty sure that fresh mayo alone would give some people food poisoning. Or at least the people with ridiculously weak stomachs.

So, Sam concluded, she totally caused Freddie to get sick! This was even better than the after-prank she was planning! After clearing her mind of that morning, she opened the door and fond herself face-to-face with her mom.

Sam's arms slumped at her sides. This was not going to be easy.

But luckily, her mom didn't seem to be even half awake. Her eyes were still half closed, and she was staring straight past Sam. She figured she still had a chance.

"What are you doing outside of the house?" Pam replied warily.

"Well..." Sam stopped. What should she say? "I was taking Frothy out for a walk," she replied calmly, hoping her mom would buy it.

Fortunately, it seemed like she did. Pam pressed her head against the wall of the door. She didn't even look like she was paying attention to Sam. "When did you even leave?"

"I snuck out the window in my room, and I took Frothy with me so we could have a walk in the early sunshine. The air is really good for Frothy's skin." Sam scrtached her head.

"Cool..." Pam murmured. "So, where is he?"

"Who?"

"Frothy?" Pam replied, waking up slightly. "Where is he?"

Sam realized that she had run into a loophole. Her mom was already in a quiet state already. Why didn't she just tell her that she went for a walk herself? Desperate to come up with a conclusion, Sam's eyes wandered along the ground. "Did you lose him?" Pam asked.

"Yes! I mean, oh no! Frothy's gone! I must've left him back at the park, where we went! Sorry mom, I'll go find him right now!" Sam looked up.

Her mom simply put her hands back into her bathrobe pockets and turned back into the house. "Good luck, then," she groaned, then shut the door.

Sam was glad she didn't have to worry about her mother anymore. Now she could go for some icecream. Unfortunately, there were no icecream trucks this morning, so Sam decided to force some out of Spencer.

Sam turned on her heels and ran straight towards Bushwell Plaza. She had already eaten waffles, which were hot foods, and now she needed to be cooled down with icecream. Sam looked straight at the building and nothing more.

However, if the cat right below her quick feet had meowed, she would have noticed it. Her foot went right down, normally expecting to hit it sidewalk like it has been doing. But something soft was under her foot instead. And before Sam could look at what was even there, a tiny crunch followed.

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