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Correction Fluid	By : acsoundwave Category: +1 through F > Danny Phantom > Het- Male/Female Views: 9002 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Correction Fluid
- 1
Correction fluid. When writing in pencil, an eraser’s all that’s needed to edit an error.
Pencil smudges, however, are unpolished; and erasers are useless against the indelible stains of ink pens. Enter the white out, the creamy liquid in a bottle that hides all mistakes.
Yet, problems exist with white out. In order to make a clean break, a copy of the corrected page has to be made, and new words written to replace the ones hidden. The original can never be used again.
If new words are written over the original, it becomes obvious that white out was used. Yet a photocopy is never as clear or distinct as the original.
And, as two friends-turned-lovers are about to discover, if the surface is scratched at long enough--or if it’s not yet dry; the words originally written remain.
The greatest risk: that the whole document will be ruined if someone uses too much...
Correction Fluid

byline: Anubis C. Soundwave
I have to do something about this. Just have to. After everything I’ve seen over the summer, I didn’t want them to be together. It’s too...predictable; too safe, too expected.
I roll my eyes at the happy couple.
Danny rolls his eyes back. “Nice to see you too,” he scoffs.
“Ignore her,” admonishes Manson. I merely shake my head in disbelief as the two geeks walk past.
I don’t really blame Sammy that much, though. She’s shy; and having a luscious boyfriend like she had last year--and this past summer--really took a lot out of her.
No; I blame my dummy friend Dash. How could he possibly be this stupid?
I sip my chocolate milk carefully through a straw. Dash and Kwan arrive, sitting at their usual places here at the Table.
It’s perfect here. Nice lighting from the window, with shade from the trees so it’s not too hot. Great view outside. It’s closest to the lunch line inside; so our hot foods stay hot, and our cold foods cold. My years of being popular has granted me trained instincts for what’s right.
And what’s wrong. Dash pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs, then stares sullenly at “Danny and Sam”.
“You know what you must do, old friend,” I state cannily.
Dash stares at me balefully. “Will you let this go?”
“As soon as you do what must be done,” I answer cryptically. “I know what you two did last summer.”
Dash scoffs, lowering his voice. “Naturally. You were there the whole time. And a good time was had by all--except when you kept trying to wax Manson’s eyebrows.”
“I succeeded every time. Isn’t she pretty now?” I grin.
“Look.” There goes Dash, changing the subject--as he has for the past month. “Let’s try leaving the trio alone this year. There’s a whole new crop of freshmen to torment.”
“We can’t,” interjects Kwan. “Not anymore, dude. It’s our junior year; with college being an issue for us, we’ve got to step up our grades and our A-game.”
Nathan drifts too close to the Table, eyes on the couple and Valerie. The Dozer’s hard at work on yet another homework assignment to rack up yet another straight A-average; acting oblivious to the couple in front of her. I know the truth, of course; and while we’re not friends anymore, I could never betray another woman’s confidence.
Val’s more svelte this year. I approve, and can’t really blame Nathan for chasing her as long as he has. (Since the sixth grade, poor nerd.)
“It was touch and go for a minute there,” Nathan gushes, “but I knew they’d be together.
“Now with Danny out of the picture,” the dork continues blandly, pulling a Foley with the breath spray, “I can finally make Valerie--*”
Dash shifts his returned sullen glare to Nathan, then raises his hand. “...as to our usual fun, Kwan, we don’t have to get our hands dirty anymore. Observe.”
Dash snaps his fingers twice; a tall, muscular sophomore center arrives.
The center bows from the waist, mimicking Darth Maul. (From Star Trek or something; he’s still a bit of a sci-fi nerd.) “Yes, my master,” he hisses.
Dash rolls his eyes briefly, then nods his head toward Nathan. “Deal with him. Preferably in the dumpster.”
“As you command.” The center grabs Nathan by the shoulders, dragging him off.
Nathan struggles. “Wait!” the nerd demands. “As a junior, I just want to ask one question before you strip me of what little dignity wasn’t taken from me during the past two school years.”
The center looks toward us; Dash shrugs. Said sophomore turns back to Nathan, agreeing to the geek’s request.
Nathan runs to Valerie, clinging to her legs. “Time is running out, Valerie. You’re the one for me! I am your true love, your knight in shining armor.”
“Let go of me!” spits Valerie, livid as usual.
“We are meant to be, Val!” Nathan loses his grip on Valerie’s calves as the center drags him off to the dumpster or wherever. “Go with me to prom!”
Valerie buries her face in her hands. Everyone else--who had stopped to view this amusing spectacle--returns to their food.
I turn to Dash, who eyes the couple with veiled, restrained longing. “Quit acting stupid. Get her back.”
Dash blinks, activating that old Eddie Haskell/Dobie Gills routine of his. “...what are you talking about, Paulina?” he sighs with his tired act.
“Her.” I don’t bother to point her out, as he knows exactly who I mean. (What other goth girl do we know that he was snogging last summer? Idiot.) “If you fail in this, drastic steps will be taken to restore the balance.”
“How many anime did you conflate to come up with that one?” Dash quips halfheartedly. Dummy sounds like a deflated balloon.
“Take the girl back from the High Dork, or there will be chaos in this school.” I give him my dangerous, catlike smile.
Dash leans in on me. “Don’t worry about me,” he hisses. “And leave the lovebirds alone.” Rising stiffly, Dash leaves the cafeteria.
As my favorite idiot won’t heed my warning, then I must appeal to what limited common sense Manson has. And as the foliage-eating twit hardly ever uses that anymore, this school year will be called “the year of interesting times at Casper High”.
Kwan studies me carefully, eating some candy corn from his Halloween stash last October. (Candy corn: disgusting, yet lasts like Spam, butterscotch hard candy, and fruitcake--forever. Kwan’s a hopeless addict.) “...you’re up to something.”
I sigh, smiling. “Something must be done.”
= = =
Playing the hero’s not my style. While I follow what Paulina’s saying--no matter how often I blow it off--it just doesn’t work like that. I can’t just sweep her off her feet and take her away from her best friend since forever. (I’ve already traveled that route.)
As I sit on a park bench near the school, where the only memories of Manson that haunt me are sweet ones of me tutoring her in French freshman year(should have been an easy A--my dad’s been tutoring me in it since I was three--but I slacked off a little too much that year), I feel eyes peering at me. Don’t see anyone though, so I guess I’ll continue thinking.
The problem with Dash Baxter’s interest: once my interest is roused, it will not go away. If I find a particular geek(in other words, Fenton--I mean, even he knows he’s my favorite) that has that big sign over his head saying “Please, pick on me; my life is too boring”, I’m going to get him. If I start a collection of pastel plush bears at two-and a half, I’ll still be collecting those things during my mid-life crisis--presuming I don’t end up living the life of Al Bundy. I so see Married With Children in my future: knock up a random cheerleader--the “high school sweetie”, end up selling women’s shoes. (My life is so fucked.)
But in a way, I guess all of that’s why I had to chase after Manson. It’d be doubly pathetic if all those subsequent kisses, caresses, and casual meaningless two-minute makeout sessions that year(which never left this bench--aside from Manson, no one knows; and we never even discussed those during our relationship. and yeah, I timed them. any longer than that would have ended in one of two ways.) didn’t lead to something.
By the end of that year, she said that she “wanted to like me”. Manson then proceeded to list all the obvious reasons for not liking me. When it came time for her to list the reasons to like me:
“I’d hate to base a relationship entirely on physical lust.”
“What’s wrong with lust?” I had demanded. I understood what she meant, but she wrinkled her pointy little nose at the whole idea. (Yet blushing at the same time. Weird, cute little goth.)
Manson carefully explained; I shrugged. We left the bench, shared a casual little kiss--again, nothing special, just being a couple of teenagers without cliques for a change--and headed back to the school.
Sometimes I wonder why I’m still calling her Manson, even after everything. I curl my lips in a bitter smile. Because I really don’t wonder. Seriously, if you act like you don’t care about what you care about, it doesn’t hurt as bad to lose it. Like the “sour grapes” fable, except in my case the wolf tasted a grape or three. Kind of makes it even worse, when you think about it.
Yet another reason why jocks...don’t...think.
Cheerleaders...shouldn’t be allowed to think. Especially ones like Paulina, who always has some plan lurking beneath her sly, seductive grins.
“Why is she so evil!?” Manson demanded. This happened last summer, about an hour after a...tryst in my new car. (A christening of sorts. Except that Paulina was driving while faking sleep--don’t ask how--she would not have known about that.)
I sighed. “She’s not evil; just devious. As long as you stay on her good side, it can work to your advantage,” I added with a wink. Manson rolled her eyes.
“You’ll remain in my good graces as long as you make the right decision.” Paulina pressed our hands together, apparently giving her fucking benediction to our being an item. (If she weren’t a girl, I’d wail on her sometimes. I do it to Kwan when he’s out of line.)
Paulina turned to Manson. “For your own good, Sammy,” she chided, wagging a well-manicured finger, “you’d better listen to me.”
Manson said something polite yet snarky at that point. Paulina merely shrugged and left to pick Star back up.
I’d planned a summer road trip with just Manson and me--for obvious reasons--but first: Star wanted to hook up with her damn college boyfriend again(so he could commit stat rape on her person--again); that meant that as far as her dad knew, she was hanging with me. (An annoying thing that started freshman year. What is it with high school girls and older guys? Don’t they know those guys were just as goofy as us during high school? Or worse: nerds who made good in college and want their revenge fuck?)
I shouldn’t talk. Out of all of us--including her, Fenton, and Foley(and Cindy, who would have been around three weeks older than me--she was a Leo(August 18th, 1991); I’m a Virgo (September 8th, 1991; my great-granddad and namesake died September 9th) that acts like an Aries half the time)--Manson’s the youngest. She was born in 1992, but started kindergarten when I did because she’s a Taurus (May 2nd; which at least explains why she’s so defensive about people eating hamburgers.)
Since I’m thinking about birthdays and zodiac signs: Fenton and Gray are both Capricorns: Gray’s in January 1992, while Fen-toad’s stuck with a post-Christmas/pre-New Year’s birthday, which means he gets shafted on birthday presents. (December 29th. I usually feel sorry for him around the holidays, even when he acts like a shit.) Gray’s is January 12th. (Oddly enough, they’re goats in both zodiacs. If that isn’t a sign that they should be dating each other, I don’t know what is.)
Kwan’s sign is Cancer(July 14th, 1991--the oldest of the A-List), Foley’s a 1991 Libra(October 17th, which makes him the eldest of the Three Geeks), Star’s a 1992 Pisces(March 18th), and Paulina’s the 1991 Scorpio(October 26, and she’ll never let us forget her “sex appeal power”).
If I summon the old Chinese zodiac, I’m done. Fenton, Gray, and I are all Goats; Manson’s a Monkey, which more or less fits her personality type. Cindy was a totally-atypical Goat. (As is Gray--all I’ve ever seen her do is some type of work, which more befits the Greek zodiac. If she’d ever floated off to some secret happy place, no one could notice.) Fenton and I are closer to type.
Why I think the whole zodiac thing matters, I don’t know.
“I do know I miss her.” I sigh, barely even registering that I said it aloud. (I’m in a spot only two people know about--no one cares if I think aloud. As long as I don’t answer back.)
“Miss who?” hisses a voice next to me, softly. Now I might want to see someone about voice-in-head syndrome. Except I’m pretty sure that voice came from outside my voice box.
= = =
“You may as well spill,” I continue, whispering at a volume the dummy can only just hear. “It’s clear you need a friend.”
Dash(said dummy) stares blankly at the horizon, trying vainly to ignore me. “I’m not hearing voices,” he mutters.
“Relax, you goof; I’m not your subconscious,” I quip. Dash merely rolls his eyes.
I have to admit, the big lunk is kind of cute. (When he’s not calling me “Fentoinette” to differentiate me from my “cousin”, who’s being a real ass right now.)
“You’re bummed out about something,” I whisper after a moment.
“Look; if you’re some kind of ghost,” Dash spits dully, “please leave me alone. Don’t want to talk.”
“I’m patient and persistent. Whenever you come to this spot, I’ll be here; waiting until you’re ready. Okay, champ?” I grin.
Dash stands. “Whatever,” he scoffs tiredly as he leaves.
He’s weary, exhausted. I’m not really sure why I care. Why am I so focused on other people’s issues when I have my own? Boy do I have my own--and Danny refuses to be any help, so intent is he on keeping Sam.
I power down as my partners arrive; Tucker(who although is technically Danny’s partner, hasn’t seen much of him lately) and Katie.
The latter, a red-haired girl wearing bookworm glasses, fumes at me. “Why were you bothering him!?” she spits. She’s known Dash since childhood; her late sister was the lunkhead’s best friend.
Katie Malone has helped me steer through this goofy school for the past few months, herself guided by an unseen force. She’d figured out I was Danny Phantom--one of them at least--on her own. Had to let her know I was the one “with an ‘I’ in the name. And I had to give her the basic lowdown on the whole “Phantom Crew”--a name I coined. (Danny thinks it’s a stupid name.)
“What was that all about?” wonders Tucker.
“Not sure,” I shrug. “Seeing Dash like that just bugs me, that’s all.”
“I thought you hated him,” Tucker muses.
“That was two years ago. A lot can change in two years.” Tucker has no idea yet. In three years--if Katie and I are right--I’ll change a great deal. (Katie really has been a great help these past few months. Like her dad says (no, he doesn’t know), a hero is only as good as his--or in my case, her--supporting cast. Katie’s awesome.)
I just hope for two things: one, that we’re wrong; and two, that I don’t have to rely on my beloved father to find out. (He would be the crazed-up fruit loop who tried to kill me two years ago.)
= = =
“...I understand that you’re pulling a lot more than your fair share,” I sigh into the phone. Something’s been eating at Dani lately, and I want to know what, but it’ll have to wait.
“Sometimes being the town hero requires you to fight alone--no matter the odds...” I continue, not even convincing myself with this little speech. “...if the ghost battles aren’t the problem, then I’ll have to talk to you later....
“Conversation ended. Bye.” I hang up, cutting off Dani.
Sam levels an annoyed glare at me. “That was the B-team, wasn’t it?” she asks.
“I told her that she needed to handle whatever problem she has by herself. If I’m always there when she wants help, she’ll never come into her own.”
“It is the only way the ghosts will call her something other than ‘Where’s the real ghost child?’, to quote Skulker,” Sam muses.
“Yep. Can we drop this topic?” I ask.
“If you insist....” Sam thinks I’m being an obnoxious jerk. Really, though, I’m just anxious to take our relationship to the level it should have been at over a year ago.
Problem is, she’s...a bit distant tonight. Truthfully, I’m not in much of “the mood” either.
If it hadn’t been for that serial rapist ghost, I would never have known that Sam’s no longer a virgin. Damn that disgusting ghost. And damn him--her “secret boyfriend”--for.... Have to forget about that. That was then; this is now.
I flop onto her bed, next to her. Only to notice...something that doesn’t belong.
In order to stop myself from sounding like Othello ranting about handkerchiefs(one thing about Lancer: he really drills in the Shakespeare), I leave the bed(taking the stray blond hairs--which, again, just don’t belong--off the pillow) to slip on one of Sam’s oversized T-shirts.
Maybe I just need to get her used to me being in bed with her, before we take it any further. (Rush nothing. That’s the best strategy, given the circumstances.)
I open the drawer with said shirts, and pull out a large black silk pajama top. “This one’s kind of big,” I observe. I silently note that it’d be a comfortable fit on...
...okay. Time to call bullshit. “What was it like, Sam?” I smile thinly, pulling out my T-shirt in his size.
“What are you talking about?” Sam balks.
I roll my eyes. “How was he in bed last night?”
= = =
Danny’s jealous. I’d feel properly contrite if anything had happened, but...nothing happened. I won’t act guilty for something I didn’t do.
Thus, it’s time to pop this prick’s bubble. I can’t believe him! “He wasn’t here last night,” I spit, not feeling civil towards someone implying that I cheated on him.
“Really...?” wonders Danny, his voice laced with sarcasm.
“Yeah; he left an hour before you got here,” I smirk. The ex was right about one thing: baiting Danny is fun. In my case, because I can play “gypsy psychic”. Here’s where he says--*
“What!?” bellows Danny, right on cue. He takes a deep breath. “You...you and he....”
“...were working on a history assignment. The ex and I,” I continue, “took notes from some books in the study downstairs.
“He did come upstairs, in here. We talked. He left.”
“And I suppose nothing happened,” says Danny.
“Not a thing.” Had I let my ex-boyfriend seduce me tonight, honestly...we’d probably still be at it. But no. I let a kiss pass between us, and that’s it. (Though I do concede that a kiss with someone who’s not my boyfriend anymore would be construed as breaking faith with the current one--despite the fact that it was a post-summer good-bye kiss.)
“You’re leaving out a few details,” Danny smiles cannily, still studying the “loser chic” T-shirt.
“Occam’s razor, Danny. He’s had two growth spurts since then; and has outgrown the shirt.”
“Makes sense. What about the pajama top? Did he outgrow it, too?” Danny asks.
“No; I simply forgot to give it back to him,” I state. As I have nothing to hide except the identity of my ex-boyfriend--which is none of Danny’s damned business--being honest is easy. Especially when said current boyfriend is being an idiot about...clothes.
“It’s a sign that he feels...comfortable...in your room.”
“Danny, both of those shirts were there before we broke up. Now; as long as we’ve known each other--as long as we’ve been friends--have I ever lied to you?”
“There was the class pet bunny sex change in the third grade,” Danny quips, trying to lighten the mood.
I grin. The ex won’t let that go either--that bunny was his favorite in so many adorably disturbing ways. (He’d bought sneakers for the rabbit. Nike sneakers for rabbits.)
“Look. That was the third grade. And at any rate,” I continue, sulking, “no one knew the difference for three weeks.”
“Except for Dash. He adored that dumb rabbit. I don’t know about you, but my life and Tucker’s were at stake that day.”
“You’re still alive and griping at me, aren’t you?” I quip.
“I guess....” Danny replaces the two shirts, closes the drawer, and strips to his boxers. My guess is he wants to drop the subject.
= = =
He’s determined to make me feel unwelcome; but this has worked so well. “Come on, Dash!” I spit, sitting outside on the steps. (He has some nerve! I’m supposed to keep him waiting.)
“You can’t rush perfection, Star,” he grins whimsically, leaning his head out his upstairs window.
“I’m not--I’m just rushing you. Now hurry up! The party starts in an hour.”
“...don’t know why I keep doing this....” Dash shakes his head, then returns to his grooming. Well...I’d feel bad about using him like this--he has that all-American look to him that makes my dad feel secure, hence Dash is the perfect “cover boyfriend”--but this go round, he caused this on himself.
He should have hung onto Manson, instead of being available to me. There are provisions in the A-List bylaws for cross-clique dating--heck, my real boyfriend’s a hopeless geek. (As he’s in college, though; being a geek is expected.)
Not that Dash isn’t date material. He’s cute; and once he overcomes his initial shyness, he’s fun. It’s just that we as a group don’t date each other. Period.
Reason being that not only did one of us go that route already--and that ended horribly--but also that it’s almost incestuous. (In my case and Dash’s, it is incest--somehow we and that preppy fullback Hollister are cousins.)
After Cindy died, we all agreed: that was our main ground rule.
I kind of feel for Manson, too; though I’ll never understand her. It’s one thing to hang with a good friend; it’s another to be the friend’s SO. The couple is so focused on being a couple that their pet tech-head’s been left to babysit the two freshmen. (Fenton’s look-alike cousin, and Cindy’s sister Katie. They’re not too geeky, actually; and it’s about time some kids kept Foley in line.) Their relationship’s not going to end well, if our experience is an indicator.
And this concerns me...because if Dash is a factor, then we’re all involved.
My Prince Charm-less has finally stepped out of doors. “Are you ready?” he smirks mirthlessly. “Our chariot awaits.”
“You keep wanting to show off your car.” I roll my eyes, preparing myself for what comes next.
“Don’t get jealous over Cherry; Cherry’s my baby.” Dash buffs “Cherry”--a very nice sports car that he’d earned money over the years to buy, with a match from his dad.
“All the lawns I mowed, all the lemonade I sold, and all the odd jobs I’ve done over the years: it was for Cherry,” continues Dash, rehashing the same litany he’s given for his first car since he was eight. “Cherry’s the culmination of all my hopes and dreams; and I’m showing her off to show the world that she was worth the pain.”
He’s just like his goofy granddad. Listen to this: “her”, “she”. I’d understand if the car transformed into a robot like cars did on a Japanese cartoon I saw once; but...it’s just a car.
“And you forget,” Dash grins, noting my disbelieving stare at “Cherry”, “I’ve already made a lot of memories with this car.” He strokes the roof lovingly, longingly. (He’s so not over the goth.) “A lot of memories.”
Now he’s inside the car. “I thought we were in a hurry. Let’s go!” Dash orders.
I level a glare at him as I enter the passenger side. Once I get my driver’s license, this is over.
= = =
Based on empirical observation, I can reach one and only one conclusion.
Women are evil. That’s the bottom line. Every last female is spawned from the lowest depths of hell.
Yes, even my mom--who, lest I forget, baked away all my hopes and dreams for a secure financial future--and an easy A in Health Sciences--during my freshman year. All for a church bake sale.
And I mustn’t forget my dear friend Sam, who taunted me with a fake PDA in order to trick me into running. Lies. Lies! (And I still haven’t forgotten the bunny rabbit thing during third grade. I think that’s the reason Dash continued bullying Danny and me all the way into ninth grade.)
Yet nowhere is the evil of the feminine more evident than in this pair of fourteen-year old nymphs. The two girls--Danielle and Katherine--leer at me, as they have me at their mercy.
Or they would--if they had mercy. “Come on,” I plead fruitlessly. “This isn’t funny anymore. Give me my PDA.”
“No. We’ve hidden it,” states Katie. Such a sweet, innocent-looking girl. (I always thought she was the good Malone daughter, but there is no good in them.) “We’re doing you a huge favor here,” the red-haired demon admonishes.
“You’ll thank us later, when you’re happily dating,” adds Dani. You can’t even trust the clone of your closest friend. “That PDA is imprisoning you, and you don’t even know it.”
“We’re setting you free, Tucker Foley,” grins Katie.
“I want my PDA, girls. Now,” I scowl.
My words, as usual, fall on deaf ears. “You’ll get it back--after you become independent of it,” smirks Dani.
I shrug. “Forget it. I’ll buy another one.”
“No, you won’t!” spits Katie. “Most guys your age are trying to get their first car, not an all-in-one iPod/Game Boy/handheld text messaging device.”
“You’re entirely too stuck on that thing.” Dani grins wickedly, as is the way of woman. “If you can function without your PDA for the rest of the year, we’ll each eat two pairs of Dash’s jock straps. Used jock straps.”
“...I can only agree to that because we know you’re weak, Tucker. You can’t live without it, can you?” Katie has read my soul. She’s a demon in saddle oxfords.
“And I guess if I lose, I have to do something even more disgusting.” I grin. “I’ll eat nothing but vegetables for summer vacation, if I end up with a PDA before school lets out.”
“Done,” grin the girls in unison.
“I’ve got you on tape about the vegetables, Tucker,” smirks Sam, for once not conjoined with Danny. He must have pissed her off today.
“And I’ll have those jock straps ready, ladies,” Dash smiles ghoulishly.
= = =
I actually have a bit more faith in Tucker than I’d let on. Which translates to: “Would you like fries with those jock straps?”
Oh, well. It serves us right for losing it in the first place. What made Dani think Sin could avoid losing the PDA? To Technus!
It’s a good thing we were planning to wean Tuck off that thing anyway. It’ll give us time to get the stupid device back.
I note the wisp of smoke from Dani’s mouth. “Speak of the devil,” I quip.
Sin pouts. “I’m not that bad, you know.”
“You’re trouble,” I counter.
“Yeah; that’s why you and your partner here are halfway-popular during freshman year,” Sin scoffs.
“Didn’t ask for your help.”
“Volunteered. You two are the textbook definition of ‘charity case’.”
“If you want to be helpful, then get that PDA back from Technus. Why’d you give it to him in the first place?” I demand.
“Katie, I had to. He had Egg. Egg’s my responsibility.” Sin gently strokes a giant white egg.
“What’s in there?” I ask.
“All you need to know is that Egg’s my responsibility. Period.” I’d probably get a better idea about Egg if I knew who Sin was the ghost of.
“Enough,” groans Dani. “We’ve bought some time with the bet; now we can focus on the pressing issue of our day.
“Namely: what the hell will I be when I grow up?”
“I was under the impression that you wanted to be an astronaut,” says Sin.
“No; this question’s more fundamental,” I state. “Like: boy or girl?”
“Ooh.... You don’t know what sex you are?” balks the red-haired ghost.
“I know what sex I was born as,” explains Dani, seething. I don’t blame her; if what’s happening to her was happening to me, I’d be highly upset, to put it mildly. And I was born the normal way.
“You’d better get a move on, Sin.” Valerie’s on the way, so I give my ghostly guide to high school life the heads-up.
“I’m not scared,” she scoffs. “I’m the ghost here.”
“All the more reason why you should be. She’ll vaporize you, no questions asked.
“And remember,” Dani reminds us both, “Danny doesn’t know about her helping us. Let’s keep it that way.”
Sin gives a thumbs-up as she fades out. I roll my eyes. Danny doesn’t even know about me yet. Sin and Valerie would probably be too much for him.
= = =
Daniel descends toward me, a scowl fixed on his features. With his growth spurt, it’s actually somewhat intimidating.
“What’s your goal this go round?” he spits.
“None at present. I’m just checking up on you,” I smile. (That annoys Daniel so much.) “I do that from time to time; no ulterior motive, no master plan--just showing a bit of heartfelt concern for the two people in the world who are like family to me.”
“You didn’t seem to think that two years ago, Vlad.” He’s oh-so-very serious today.
“Nonsense,” I scoff gently. “I’ve always considered you the son I should have had--but for an accident of birth.” (To Jack. But I digress.) “As for Danielle. I was--I still am--quite upset with the turn of events. I said and did things I didn’t fully intend.”
“Like when you tried to kill her.”
“Oh, I had intended that. But that’s all in the past, now; isn’t it?”
“Not for her. You have a ‘cat swallowed canary’ glint in your eye that I don’t like.”
I laugh. “Daniel. I don’t have to veil my motives from you. The simple fact is thus: I have forgiven her. At any rate,” I continue, “Danielle will come to me--as I’m the only person who knows everything about her.
“She’ll have no choice except to return to Daddy; especially as you’ve been such a busy boy, romancing your young lover. Am I wrong, little badger?”
“You’re not wrong. It’s her call, whatever it is. The only way Dani will measure up is if she makes her own choices.”
“Which amounts to a well-deserved vacation for you, doesn’t it?” I beam at Daniel with pride--what a schemer he has become!
“Before you even start: I’m nothing like you, et cetera....” Daniel yawns.
“Come now. You’re not the same naive boy you once were. Then again, you never were all that naive to begin with.
“You forget, my boy: Uncle Vlad is always watching you.”
“You’re getting at something.”
“Just a few observations, Daniel. One, you have the potential to become more powerful than I. As much as this frightens me, it also fills me with pride that I may have had a hand in it. Two, a comparison of our motives.
“Dear boy, you’re becoming more ruthless than I could ever hope for--than I could ever be. Truly, you have bested your teacher.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Daniel balks.
“The way you’re making your enemy suffer, even if it destroys your friends in the process. Not to mention poor Valerie--she’s still very much in love with you. You cad. Even I’m not capable of that level of vindictiveness.”
“I’m protecting Sam, thank you. And I am in love with her.”
“Undoubtedly. All’s fair in love and war. Yet I’m not so blind as to think you’d pass up the opportunity to see him lose--even if your feelings for Sam were as strong as you’re pretending they are.
“As we speak, you’re fighting the urge to erase every memory of him from her; oh, you’re no expert on that. I assure you, I still hold that title at least.
“And I have the added advantage of wanting the woman I’m after very, very much.”
“Does it not disturb you that said woman is my mother?”
“That can’t be helped, can it?” I muse. “Now; I think Jack’s had his fun, and it’s time for Maddie to be mine. However, I have time on my side.
“First, I’ll wait for your friends to turn their backs on you one by one; then I’ll eliminate Jack.”
I sigh. “You really should have taken your own advice, my boy.”
“Why do you even care?” Daniel spits.
“My motives are never as clear to discern as you’d like, huh, little badger? It’s very simple.
“I’ve already told you that you’ll probably be more powerful than me someday, if your battle against that ghost last summer is any indication.
”And I’m sure you know--better than I, I’d bet,” I continue, “where that could lead.”
Daniel’s eyes widen; I’ve struck a chord. “I have a question for you,” he says calmly.
“Say that, for some odd reason,” he continues, somewhat subdued, “my friends and family--including Mom--die. You, essentially, are the only person I can turn to.
“In my distraught emotional state, I ask you to tear my humanity from me so that I wouldn’t feel the pain of my loss and sorrow anymore. What would you do?”
Ah. And (thanks to Clockwork, who appeared to me recently with a concern or two about Daniel’s welfare)I have a--pardon the pun--timely answer to that question. “I’m afraid I’d just have to slap you silly.”
Daniel eyes me carefully. “I suppose you’ve met Clockwork.”
“Yes, I have. And while you did defeat your darker ego in one time event, other scenarios could very well release that djinni--or an even worse demon could emerge from the depths of your soul.
“I’m not evil--as it’s defined. I’m just selfish; irredeemably selfish.”
“You’re perfectly happy to manipulate others to get what you want,” accuses Daniel, “and whoever you can’t manipulate, you’re willing to destroy.”
“And what does that make you, Daniel?” I smile as Daniel’s eyes widen again. “Ponder that for me.”
I vanish before he can react, to chase after me. No matter. Daniel and I will meet again.
All in all, I’d say that was a fine chat we’ve had.
= = =
“...back off, ghost.” Behind me--and far too close to me--is the same so-called hero; who’s given me nothing but grief from the moment I laid eyes on him.
“Somehow, I don’t think you want me to,” he hisses into my ear, backing away--too slowly for my liking--nonetheless.
“What’s with you lately?” I demand to know. “You’re even creepier than normal.”
The ghost chuckles playfully. “Just flirting,” he smiles.
Damn it, I spit silently, quit being sexy when you do that!
“You obviously need the excitement in your life,” the smartass continues.
“Excuse me?” I balk. “Hunting ghosts is my duty.”
“And who told you that it’s your duty, hm...?” Somehow, I let him phase his fingers through my suit, enough for him to gently touch my neck. (How did he know that I like that...?) “Please, enlighten me.”
Quit gazing at me that way; stop it.... I shrug him off. “When I see something that needs to be done, and I can do the job, I do it.”
“Because you have nothing more worthwhile to do in your spare time,” he quips.
His eyes widen as he leers at my cleavage. Pervert. “Or is it something you want from me,” he smirks cannily, “that you’re clearly not getting elsewhere?”
“Not your business, ghost.” What? I can control how the suit looks on me. I can look sexy and kick ghost ass if I want.
“I have a name, you know,” he scowls, finally deciding to keep his distance. As if I care about his damn name. ”And after all our time together,” he continues, “you ought to at least insult me by it.”
“What’s the point?” I scoff. “You’re dead.”
“Am I...?” he smiles wonderingly.
He suddenly draws me close, my head flush against his chest. (Damn him; he’s gotten taller.) “Tell me, great ghost hunter,” he smirks. “What do you hear pounding in my chest, ever so faintly?”
“A...heartbeat,” I slowly admit. “Not that it means anything; you could have stolen that heart!” I add(stupidly, I admit), backing away.
The ghost hero laughs. This stupid fuck is laughing at me! “You still don’t trust me!”
“No,” I spit, “I don’t trust you. I never will.”
He shakes his head. “Quit acting like a stupid bitch.”
“What did you say!?” I fire at this idiot, who dodges my attacks and vanishes. (He’d better vanish--and never return--*)
I’m abruptly pinned to a wall, my suit sliding off my body and into the brush below. “Getting a little slow, are we, Val?” he grins snidely, appearing again. He has some nerve showing his face.
“You son of a bitch.” Here I am, in my damn underwear; pinned to a wall by this idiot ghost-with-a-heartbeat.
“Listen to me,” he whispers, just low enough for me to hear. “I can do things to you--just about any ghost powerful enough can--that would fuck you over for all time.”
He’s half-upset--half-amused at my attempts to struggle free. “Please quit doing that. We’re two stories up.
“If I drop you and you die; you’ll be a ghost. Who’ll hunt after me then?” he quips.
“That goon who’s always trying to bag you as some kind of ghost trophy,” I pout as I cease wriggling. (He was probably getting off on it anyway.)
“...he’s not nearly as much fun. Seriously; Miss Gray.” He stares into my eyes, earnestly. “I can hurt you, harm you; do any disgusting, horrible thing to you that I wanted if I choose to--and you’d never know. I’m more aware of how dangerous I am than you can ever be.
“So, in essence, you have no choice but to trust me.”
I feel so vulnerable. Stupid ghost.... Why do I want to kiss him all of a sudden?
Still holding me(pulling my body close to his again, in fact), the ghost and I descend gently to the street below. Why is he so warm...? I feel languid.
If I kiss him, I could catch him off guard; then I’d break free....
= = =
Hm.... Her lips are sweet. I pull back, making Val mad. (But since my existence as a ghost makes her mad; it’s par for.) “Now you want to flirt...
“...or, more than likely, you’re trying to escape; it’s all good,” I whisper in her ear, tickling it with my tongue.
A soft, sexy little purr. Val has no idea how much I’ve missed doing this to her.... (Well, how much Danny Fenton’s missed it; anyway.)
We kiss again. On the one hand, I shouldn’t be doing this.... Period. Damn, you feel good, Val; just like....
On the other hand, Sam will never know. Mm...we’re on the other side of town.... And technically, it’s Danny Phantom’s first time....
“Nn.... I shouldn’t do this,” pants Valerie, her voice ragged with want. “N-not with you....”
I kiss her again, taking in her need-swollen upper lip. Delicious.... “But you want this, don’t you...?” I smile as we part, my gloved hands roaming her now-bare back. (I’d unfastened the back of her bra to feel her smooth back.)
“Not with you.... With...Danny....” She manages to stop me from kissing her again. It’s a sad day when the main competition for a girl’s heart is your alter ego.
“There’s only one way you’ll find enough time to study, work, and win back Fenton’s heart; you know,” I smile cannily, kissing her forehead.
“...leave the safety of Amity Park to you?” Valerie laughs. “Even if I trusted you enough, you haven’t been on your A-game since the serial rapist ghost incident during the start of last summer.”
“You...could have been hurt.” That ghost was lower than a piece of shit, to borrow a turn of phrase from Mom. If anything had happened to Mom, Valerie, Sam.... That’s why I did what I did.
“It’s not like you to vaporize one of your own.”
“He wasn’t one of our own--even when he was alive. That freak spent his whole life preying on the innocent.”
“So that’s what’s eating you,” muses Valerie. (It’s one of several things....)
I touch her lips, not wanting to spend another moment thinking of that monster. “Help me take my mind off him,” I plead, gently stealing another kiss.
“...now you’re just trying to get in my panties,” she smirks.
“Will I succeed?” I grin as I slide my hands into said panties, cupping her bare rump. (Ass-groping is fun.)
“Ghost...” begins Valerie, as I kiss and grope her, “I told you.... I’m not a necrophiliac....”
A deep kiss starts my answer. “I’m not dead,” I finish.
“And I’ve already told you....” Valerie receives another kiss, even as I slowly inch her underpants down. “...that--put those back up!”
Rats. She noticed, and pulls them back up herself. “What are you trying to accomplish?”
I don’t know: trying to make my secret identity work to my advantage for a change, perhaps? “I’ve always thought you were attractive. Wouldn’t you like to enjoy yourself every once in a while...?
“I promise that you can chase after me later.” I kiss her again before she can answer, moving my hands back to her ample(in a good way)backside.
Again, I shouldn’t be doing this; but I feel no guilt for doing so. (Except the guilt of not being with Valerie in the first place.)
I won’t let Sam be with him. He’s not fit to chew the gum off the soles of her boots, let alone...(another thing I’d rather not think about). Sam and I slept with each other twice(finally), but it’s so...passionless. It’s like we’re holding back because we’re afraid of superimposing our first lovers over ourselves.
Her and the big idiot.(I know who he is; and she knows that I know. Sam just refuses to tell me and move on from him.) Me and...this crazy ghost hunting nut struggling to deny her own lust. (As though I should be one to talk about moving on--I’m still carrying a torch from the middle of freshman year.)
“I told you....” she continues, breaking our kiss. “This is fun and all,” Val admits breathlessly, licking her lips, “but I want to be with Danny Fenton....” Her eyes shine, her smile softens at my name.
I chuckle, my voice husky with want. “You could pretend I’m him,” I tease. Danny Fenton’s a lot closer than she thinks....
I lean in to kiss her again, softly. She kisses back(she might finally give in to--*).
“Ow!” I let Valerie go--to nurse a rock-inflicted goose egg on my head....
“Hey!” shouts a peeved girl. Paulina. Oh, fuck.
“It looks like you have a public relations issue,” Valerie smirks, summoning her suit. She flies away.
Leaving me with the rock-hurling...fan girl.
= = =
“...thanks again for letting me vent, Dora,” I grin.
Dora nods. “Would you like me to smite him?” the dragon princess smirks.
I shake my head bemusedly, then head back to the Specter Speeder. As satisfying as it would be, smiting Danny isn’t part of the plan.
I could have made a scene over this picture; Phantom or no Phantom, Danny had no right to do this. I could have decked him. Right now, I’m thinking of breaking up with him.
Except that would kill our friendship. Being friends with someone since second grade--and not losing that connection in the quagmire of middle school(far too Lizzie McGuire for my taste--I hate that show)--is very valuable to me.
It’s not so much the cheating aspect of Danny kissing Valerie the way he did. Truthfully, I could forgive that. What I don’t like is Danny toying with Val’s emotions, and playing these “if you really loved me, Sam, you’d forget all about your ex and give yourself totally to me” games(all the while ignoring that he’s not over his ex by a long shot). Ridiculous.
And the only thing more ridiculous is Dora’s asshole of a brother sauntering over here.
I roll my eyes as he leans against the Speeder. “I knew you wanted to get your words in,” I sigh, resigned to hear this idiot’s chauvinist ramblings.
“I’d thought it the better part of valor to leave you and the twit to your ‘condemn the man’ diversion,” the curmudgeon spits, barely civil.
That was actually mildly clever. “I do appreciate your efforts at politeness,” I grin, sincere in my thanks.
The surly one and I remain thus for about ten minutes; him leaning on the Speeder while I relax inside it.
He breaks the silence. “I...have been reading,” he opines. “A missive in one of your gaudy ‘magazines’ states that men approach problems differently from women. Hardly news,” he scoffs.
I quirk an eyebrow, glaring at the ghost through the rear view mirror. “What are you getting at?” I demand.
“I would assert that we men yet have aught to teach ye and the whole wretched lot of your sex.”
“Enlighten me, then,” I snort.
“It is clear that if thy swain doth venture elsewhere, it is because you have not yielded unto him the fruits of pleasure that are due him.
“Moreover,” continues this asshat, “you have all reason to ensure the ruin of thy union with your lover. I am of the understanding that you once had another before him, with your lover’s knowledge and disapproval.”
“I’m curious as to how the hell you know about my life.”
“I had developed the curious habit of spying upon thee.” Dora’s brother blushes. “Ask not when it began.”
“I won’t.” Because it more than likely started when Dora first abducted me, after that bogus beauty pageant she had at school. In short, I don’t want to know what a closeted pervert he is. (Doesn’t he know it’s bad luck to eye the bride before the wedding?)
“You are rather becoming,” he continues, “especially when the daisies adorn thy hair.”
“...thanks.” He’s not carrying a torch, is he? I don’t need another complication. (And my ex-boyfriend has liked seeing white daisies in my hair for the longest. He even collected white daisy barrettes for me during elementary school. Such a nut.)
“Do you not still harbor desires for the first lover?” the jerk asks.
“A few; but I won’t let that get in the way of my relationship with Danny.”
“So you are remaining true to ‘Danny’.”
“Yes, I am. I care about him.”
“But do you love him after the manner of lovers?” he asks.
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be bitching to your sister about how the idiot avoided cheating on me only because one of his fans--who he promised a night in bed if she could guess his name, by the way--beaned his skull with a rock.”
“Or: you fear that having spurned your first love, you shall never find another if you lose the second. Ye women are very fools.”
I scowl at the ghost. (Total asshole.) “This conversation is over.” I shut the door to the Speeder and pull away from the castle.
= = =
“Shouldn’t we get Danny?” asks Katie. What a way to spend Thanksgiving weekend. Visiting family.
Except I’m not exactly thrilled to come to Dad’s castle in Wisconsin.
“We don’t have a choice but to go it alone--you know how busy Danny’s been lately,” I explain at length. “Only ‘Dad’ knows exactly why my clitoris transforms into a penis at random intervals. Aren’t you tired of covering for me when we dress out for gym?”
“A bit,” Katie smiles, squeezing my hand. She and I enter Castle Cheesehead.
“My dad would hire someone to bump Mr. Masters off so he could live here,” Katie quips, eyeing the tons of Packer paraphernalia. “The autographed football alone is grounds for murder.”
“I assure you, Miss Malone,” smiles Vlad, who snuck up behind us, “your father will find it difficult to have me...dealt with.”
“How nice of you to sneak up on us,” I scoff, not even bothering to look at him. It’s nice to have a ghost sense.
“She already knows about me, doesn’t she?” Vlad notes blankly, eyeing my friend. Katie and I nod as I finally face him.
Vlad mutters something about “nosy smarty-pants redheads” as the three of us head to his secret lab. (Four counting Sin, who’s our ace in the hole if Vlad tries anything tricky. I can always chalk any devices going off to my presence.)
We enter the lab where I was born(it just gives me the fuzzies!), and another sensor goes off.
“Enough!” Vlad balks. “Danielle, I’ve already calibrated the sensors to account for the two of us. Who else has deigned to honor us with their presence?”
“...the Dairy King?” offers Katie. “He used to live here before you moved in,” she adds, presenting the Wisconsin travel brochure.
Vlad snatches the brochure from Katie. “No matter. To business, then.
“You came here to fathom the reason behind your gender change, correct?” he demands.
“Yep. I came into this world female, and I plan to leave the same way I came,” I state. “Can’t do that while fighting Kitami Syndrome.”
Vlad raises an eyebrow, wondering where I got the name. (Bible Black; so many uses....) “I’ll need you to slip off your clothes, my dear,” he states, “that I may examine you thoroughly.”
“Do you think I trust you that far?” I scowl.
“Do you have a choice?” counters Vlad. I don’t. The jerk already knows this.
“Wait a minute,” says Katie. “You created her--as disturbing as that sounds. Shouldn’t you know what’s happening to her already?”
“I have a very good idea of what’s happening to her,” Vlad smirks. He knows.
“Then just tell us,” Katie scowls.
“Considering your religious upbringing, you may find my rationale and methods appalling. Please, have a seat, Miss Malone.”
Katie sits in the chair Vlad points to, and restraints lock her into the chair. “What--what are you doing?” she splutters.
“Preventing you from interfering with my tests.” Vlad snaps on a pair of sterile gloves.
“I’m getting bad kid porno vibes from all this, old man,” I sigh.
“I won’t derive any pleasure from this, Danielle,” Vlad lies blandly. He’s probably Photoshopping red hair onto my head to pretend I’m Danny’s mom. “The goal is to see how far your condition has progressed.”
“And in order to accomplish this,” I state glibly, “I have to let you molest me.”
“Yes. I’m glad we understand each other.” At least as he sticks two of his gloved fingers there, he’s making me comfortable--ooh, he hit a spot.
“...what the--!? You’re a sick, warped freak!” balks Katie, scrunching her eyes.
“Transform,” orders Vlad hungrily, moving his fingers faster within me. (And clearly getting off on the power trip.)
I struggle to hold back any mewls of pleasure(in vain; sexual contact is new to me) as I summon my ghost half.
“Good, good....” Vlad’s eyes widen as he studies a panel near...the workstation. “...just as I thought.
“Just as we all thought; eh, Miss Malone?”
“How could you think to do this to your own daughter?” spits Katie, crying.
“It’s entirely surgical,” states Vlad again. (He’s such a liar.) “If you want her to remain a her, you’ll let me finish this.”
“Dani...fight back!”
“Fight what?” scoffs Vlad. “I’m not going to fuck her, child. This is as far as it goes.”
“Let...him finish,” I pant. “I’ll explain...later....”
“Don’t bother.” Vlad smiles lewdly at me as orgasm claims me or some such nonsense(all I know is this sudden cascading rush I feel is great...).
My father removes his fingers, takes off the gloves, and turns to Katie.
“...don’t come near me!” she shrieks.
“Child,” Vlad laughs. “If I wanted to rape you, I would have done so already. You have no way of stopping me.
“Allow me to explain.” Vlad touches Katie’s chin. How super-villainous....
He pulls up some diagrams--of my body. “When Danielle was born,” Vlad grins wryly, “I had surgically removed her ovaries and uterus. The intent was to trigger her transformation into what I initially wanted her to be: a perfect clone of Danny Phantom.
“However, she remained female; and I had to continue my attempts to create the clone I wanted.”
“You see, Dani; this is why cloning is wrong.” Katie sticks out her tongue stupidly, half-joking at my dad’s retarded logic.
“Don’t you watch The Venture Brothers!?” spits Vlad.
“I can’t stay up that late and be a member of the debate team at school,” counters Katie.
“Nonetheless, Dani’s late onset of puberty seems to have sparked the transformation I wanted--albeit at a slow pace.
“Slow enough,” Vlad continues, “that if her estrogen levels are raised to a certain point, Dani’s ghost powers will kick in; the organs I removed will regenerate.”
“You mean she’s like a starfish?” balks Katie.
“Think of how quickly I heal after a battle,” I tell her. “Or Danny.”
“You’d have to mortally wound someone like Dani. Someone like me.” Vlad transforms into Plasmius.
“Bram Stoker, or Anne Rice?” asks Katie quizzically.
“I’m a bastard descendant of the real Count Dracula--who wasn’t a blood-sucking Nosferatu, thank you.” Vlad’s very touchy about vampire movies, so he goes on. “Vlad Tepes’ tenuous connection to vampirism stemmed from his bloody but just rule of Transylvania.”
“Which was a part of Romania; and doesn’t change the fact that you’re insane,” spits Katie.
Vlad’s getting annoying. “Quit baiting Malone,” I command, putting back on my clothes. “How can I get my estrogen levels up to the point that my organs regenerate?”
Vlad grins. “Sex,” he states glibly. “Heterosexual vaginal intercourse.”
I stare blankly at him, then raise a skeptical brow. “With who?”
“Whom. And it’d have to be with someone who shares your DNA markers. Danny’s your only exact match.
“Too bad he has a girlfriend, huh?” Vlad gives us a mean, ghoulish grin. “Or did you fuck him beforehand?”
“Not exactly. I needed a DNA infusion in order to stabilize my powers--so I could help Danny stop you and other ghosts threatening Amity Park. And you’ve poked me with so many needles that I’ve developed...an aversion to them.
“The problem is that I don’t think Danny did it right.” I scowl a moment, then continue. “He just phased his penis inside my cervix; no thrusting, no hymen breakage.”
“And his semen--with the attendant testosterone--added to the abnormal levels of testosterone in your body because of your lack of female organs; triggering your transformation into the boy I’ve always wanted.
“I’d never have thought Daniel to be so timid with you, not after taking Miss Gray’s virginity.” Vlad’s referring to Danny’s freshman year in high school. He’s obsessed with spying on Danny’s every move. And I know because I was born about two weeks after that happened; Vlad was watching that on tape. (In other words, Katie’s right: he’s crazy.)
“In any event,” says Vlad, concluding his rant, “if you want to restore your womanhood at this point in the game, you’ll probably have to rape Daniel. Alternately, you can suffer in silence, and explain to your classmates that you had a sex change for your eighteenth birthday.”
He frees Katie, and the two(that is, three with Sin--who probably got off herself) of us start to leave the lab.
“Oh, one more thing,” smiles Vlad. We turn to him. “Please tell the elder Miss Malone to feel free to visit my humble abode anytime.”
“Elder Miss Malone?” wonders Katie, staring at said Plasmius.
“You know: Cindy?” Vlad smirks as he reverts to human form. “Your sister. And make sure she returns my Knute Rockne-autographed football!” Said football “mysteriously” reappears in its proper place.
“Let’s...get out of here.” Katie and I back away. Sin? She vanished....
= = =
Maybe I was wrong about being wrong. All they needed was some time alone, without any pressure to try so damn hard at being a couple. Just chilling out as friends.
Ah; my work here is done. I don’t want to watch Danny and Sam screw like bunnies(heh, bunnies! I’ll never let Sam live that down...).
Still, Val and the Ex-Boyfriend(a. k. a. Dash) are real factors in their hearts. No ignoring that.
“Let’s find a room,” smirks Danny, pointedly ignoring his ghost sense. I know it went off because Danny implanted a biometric sensor inside himself that pages my cell phone and PDA(which I still want back so badly) if his spectral Spidey sense tingles.
In fact, it’s just Sin--who isn’t even trying to hide. She looks bummed.
Against my better judgment, I beckon her to come to my table. “I’m almost afraid to ask: what’s the matter?”
“They know. They know and Katie hates me now. She always hated me.” Sin’s...sobbing. This isn’t a normal day.
“Katie doesn’t hate you, Sin,” I counter calmly. “She misses you almost as much as your dad does. You’re mistaking sibling resentment for hatred.” Heck, I held her all night as she blubbered onto my shirt.
Sin winces. “How long have you known?” she scowls.
I laugh. “From the beginning. Not sure about everything, just that your Egg is keeping you here. I always figured you’d want to haunt the city sooner or later, handle any unfinished business.
“I tried to tell them twice, but hey: no one listens to Tucker Foley.”
“It’s just...that Katie’s right. I never really spent much time with her while I was alive; why should I care now?”
“You’re not here because of her. Despite your many faults when you were the terror of the playground, Sin Malone; you were a great big sister.
“It’s just that you were popular, and she wanted in on it. You had so many friends. Not that they were much help when you obviously needed them.”
“...I never asked them for help, Tucker. I was too scared.”
“Of what?” I could never believe that Cindy Malone--dead or alive--would be scared of anything.
“Dash maiming Alden, for one. It’s too long a story.”
“Alden deserves a Dash-administered beating, for what he put you through.” I’ve heard things, of course.
“Whatever you’ve heard, it’s wrong,” states Sin. “Alden was a good egg. I was trying to deal with him as a friend when Dash jumped to stupid conclusions.
“He couldn’t help it--we were all in the eighth grade.” Sin shrugs, then carefully tends to Egg.
“What were you really scared of?”
“Drop it.” Sin gives me her seventh-grade glare. “I’m heading in; maybe I’ll hang with Walker and Sid.”
“Don’t be a stranger, Sin,” I smile.
= = =
All I can think about is her funeral; and the weeks, months, even years after.
Alden, her ex-boyfriend, visited her grave late at night last month. (Sam and I were visiting her Israeli cousin Salem’s grave.) He’s still worried about fighting Dash. In retrospect, it seemed like he really missed her. Maybe Sin has a point.
It wasn’t long after Cindy’s death that Paulina started being catty. (She was always airheaded, but not nearly as evil as Sam says she is--at least not until high school.) Kwan was the only one to be normal after everything, mainly because he wanted to keep his friends together. (He explained it to me this past summer, when we were both in Tokyo visiting his grandparents. Wonder if he’ll finally admit that he’s Japanese. Kwan keeps insisting that he’s Korean.)
Star turned from being a real-life Dee Dee into a mean-spirited girl. Valerie...hunkered down in her studies even more(and got even bitchier), to the point where not even her friends could stand her much longer. So (as Kwan also explained--their clique is complicated)Val was going to be shoved out of the group sooner or later; Dash just needed an excuse, and the whole business of her dad being demoted gave the goon what he needed. (I hate cliques.)
Dash. He’s always been a jerk, ever since kindergarten. Simple jealousy at first, that Danny would always get attention from the girls in his class. (I thought girls were gross back then--fit only to store earthworms in their hair; silly me.) When Sin(in a bullying way) started plotting to make Danny her husband(long story...), Dash would get meaner.
At least until second grade, when Danny and I met Sam. That’s when Dash seemed to lose his brain. (I blame Ricky Marsh. He was such a good scapegoat.) Sam was always a student in our elementary school, but at first we thought she was being ostracized because she only ate vegetables(or because she was so smart--Cindy and Val’s equal, really).
By third grade, we learned better. Most kids do dumb things, and Sam’s really no exception. It’s just that while some kids eat paste, Sam...would release class pets--and then make up some retarded lie when everyone figured out the truth.
The culmination of this: the bunny sex change. (Dash loved that bunny.) Danny and I were charged with caring for the class pet; Danny wisely tried to keep our bunny away from Sam(who wanted to set the beast free).
So desperate to free the damn bunny, Sam tricked us both. She gave Danny too much soda to drink, and he needed restroom time. Danny caught on, and warned me. Sam offered me some chips. Extra hot potato chips. I chugged down the soda, and headed to the bathroom myself. Leaving Sam alone with the bunny.
She set the rabbit free. Danny and I came back; Danny was angry, and wanted the rabbit found(before Dash beat the crap out of us).
Sam had found the bunny...or so we thought. Dash was the only one claiming that the rabbit we brought back was different; so we wrote him off. (We were wrong.) Three weeks later, the bunny had babies.
Problem was: the bunny Danny and I were caring for was a boy. Which means that either Bun-bun went in for a sex change, or Sam bought a girl rabbit the same color as our rabbit. And Dash--even now--will not let it go.
Not that Danny can’t be crazy every once in a while. I blame Cindy.
Dash’s idea of bullying: push, shove, beat to bloody pulp; lather, rinse, repeat. Intersperse with crappy, uncreative insults playing on someone’s name, habits, or social status in school.
But Sin Malone: no. She could do those things, but poking fun at Danny was her favorite activity. She did everything in her power to humiliate and mock Danny; not because she hated him, but because she wanted to goad Danny into doing something nutty.
And he sometimes delivered in the most unpredictable ways, whenever something in him snapped. Once, she tried to pull a Lucy Van Pelt; Danny still kicked the football.
But the craziest thing Danny ever did: second grade. Sin was being annoying. Danny lured her into the kindergarten classroom, tied her to a chair, poured glue into her hair, and doused her with various colors of glitter. (We called her “glitter girl” for two months after that.) Worse, he told her that no one would ever believe her word, that he--usually a quiet student--would do that. Sin later dumped glue onto Danny’s head in retaliation, but that only got her sent home. (Danny wasn’t quite right about that: her dad believed her. Mitch Malone always believed in his little girl; and I think he still does, even now.)
I also remember the first time two girls ever slugged it out over Danny. It involved a third-grade math test, Sin, and Valerie. What a battle. They later got Danny for that in fourth grade, tickling him into submission.
= = =
All I can say about Sin: she made elementary school an adventure for everyone. And she pretty much stayed the same way, up until the seventh grade.
Middle school: a horrible place for us all. Dash’s grandfather is cool simply for admitting that middle school sucks. (Have to admire the town curmudgeon for keeping it real. He kept his own kid--Dash’s dad--out of it by enrolling him in Amity Park Prep.) Amity Middle has all the bad things about elementary school (bullies), and all the bad things about high school (lockers), without any of the good things about both places to offset the bad. No recess, no field day, no school clubs, no grass.... Get in, pass the three grades, and get the hell out.
It changed us all, in a way. Sixth grade, Cindy was Sin: decidedly feminine, but tomboyish in spirit. (As were her handmaidens, Paulina and Star. Valerie was her respected rival.) By the seventh grade, though, she was Miss “Be Mature”; which started to grate on everyone’s nerves.(The town can only stand one finger-wagging redhead girl too grown-up for her years.)
She started dating Alden, and after a while, Cindy grew colder to her friends; until the only time she seemed to revert to her former self was when Danny was around for her to tease. (Sin could never resist a chance to tease Danny.) Obviously, then, her pack dragged Danny out relentlessly; thinking back on it now--with my own best friends being less themselves--I can’t really blame them.
Cindy was their anchor, the one awesome person in their lives that they could all count on. A word of advice, a crazy plan(usually to torment the three of us). She was their leader.
And now she’s gone; she snuffed out her own light. What bugs me is why.
Why would Cindy kill herself? I doubt it was because Alden broke up with her; she was the prettiest girl in town, period. (Oddly enough, Paulina was pretty tight with her; not an ounce of veiled jealousy.) In short, she wouldn’t be heartbroken if Alden dumped her--plenty of guys know the trash/treasure rule. Alden’s loss.
It’s presumed that Alden impregnated Cindy. But the Malone clan is dead-set against abortion (with the sole exception of her great-aunt Marcy--who has no kids); that was out.
If Alden raped Cindy--which I also doubt--Alden wouldn’t be alive. Her dad jokes about it a lot, but the Malones really do have family connections with organized crime syndicates--including the damn Mafia. (Fuck the Mafia; old man Mitch would probably have ripped him limb from limb personally. He played pro football while getting those Masters degrees of his.)
Rape is a probable factor, but not a reason for Cindy to kill herself. She and her dad had a strong bond, like Dash has with his granddad(Amity Park’s resident crusty asshole). In order for her to even consider suicide, Cindy would have to feel cut off from her dad; so she wouldn’t confide in him.
Because if anybody hurt Mitch Malone’s little girl, that person would pay. Dads turn into morons around--and about--their daughters. Danny’s dad and Jazz, for example.
Another would be Mr. Manson and Sam. Hiring Dash as Sam’s personal bodyguard after the dummy walked her to the Lurk and Skulk against her will, for starters; she was headed home, but Dash insisted on being by her side. (Now that I know about her being rich, I understand at least one reason why she didn’t want Dash along.)
Then again, the reason for Mr. Manson’s overprotectiveness: the crazy recyclo-vegans Sam summoned not only remained long after meat was returned to its rightful place on the school menu; they attracted all sorts of weirdos to the school--including middle-aged flashers, which no dad would put up with. (Danny’s dad “accidentally” fired some of the FFAV’s weaponry near the crowd.)
Paulina’s dad threatened Danny once. And I don’t even need to start with Mr. Gray. Star has to “fake date” guys in order to date her college boyfriend, or Mr. Forrester would go off. (I’m not sure I want a little girl.)
= = =
As I noted before, Mr. Malone believes in his daughters. Cindy never lied to him, and he rarely had a harsh word for her--sometimes even when she needed one. (Or maybe she got the “you’re grounded” speech after they left earshot.) When she was in trouble in school, he was always there--sometimes with her mom, sometimes alone; once, he even brought his class over. (“Now, ladies and gentlemen; you see what has my schedule tied up.” I remember that quip; maybe Mr. Malone did get in a few digs once in a while. However, that was the 1999 SNES wedgie incident--which I wish I could forget.)
I can visualize this in my head: Mr. Malone tried to talk with Cindy during the few months before the breakup. Cindy clammed up. He prodded the way he usually does, goading her with a few mild barbs(the way she often pokes fun at...just about everyone, even her friends; Danny was just her favorite). Frustrated with her problems the way most teens are, Cindy didn’t take her dad’s usual ribbing well; she more than likely said things she didn’t mean.
Could it be that Cindy’s beliefs were shaken, now that she had to contend with being a pregnant teen? No; because if Dash found out about the baby(and he’s no deep, intellectual mind), surely Mr. Malone knew long before Casper High’s current star quarterback did. She would have had that baby, no matter how she conceived it. Not because Mr. Malone would force her(he’d never force his beliefs on anyone), but because he’d talk to her, and convince her. Strong bond.
Which brings me to the last conversation I had with Cindy when she was alive....
= = =
“...do I have to, granddad?” I asked my grandfather, “Junior” Foley. (His real name? Tucker Alvin Foley, Junior. I’m “the Fourth”, Dad’s “Alvin”, and my great-grandfather’s “Reverend”. Now if that isn’t a reason for me to take back the name “Tucker”, I don’t know what is. Aldridge Tucker Foley--my ancestor and Amity Park’s founder--has been dead since 1867; four years after his son, Alvin Aldridge Foley, died in the Civil War.)
Junior sighed. “She needs to talk to someone. I’ve seen that look in too many teenage eyes in my lifetime. Death usually follows.”
“But why me? Danny’s the only one she lets her guard down for.”
“Danny doesn’t want to talk to her. You know what he thinks about people who contemplate suicide.” Yeah; his sympathy for suicide victims falls somewhere between shit and syphilis (to paraphrase a quote from Major Payne)in the dictionary. (Mr. “let them die if they want” would be no help here.)
Girding my loins, I headed toward Cindy; the redhead seated on the loveseat at my house. (Great; a girl on my loveseat, and I can’t even capitalize.)
We talked for a little while, mostly about meaningless stuff.
Hoping to finally broach the topic of her, um, sadness; I speak up. “You know,” I began, “your dad said once that you shouldn’t fight battles that aren’t yours; battles that are bigger than you can handle.”
“What?” Cindy snorted, in a thankfully Sin-like manner. (Around that time her desire to be “mature” was starting to die down.)
“Anyway,” I blathered on(trying to cover how nervous I was), “you know you’ve got your dad to turn to if you’re having a big problem. Because it looks like you have a huge problem.”
“I do. I can handle it. It’s my problem.”
“But it’s more than you can handle.”
“You...go away, please. You’re annoying. You even annoy your friends I bet.”
“I know,” I grinned. “They say that’s what makes me special: I annoy everyone.
“Seriously, though: I need you to listen to me--*”
“No one listens to you, you twit!” Cindy snapped. “No. One.
“Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“But--*”
“Conversation. Ended.” Cindy left before I could even finish my own defense. I slumped my shoulders in defeat and went back to Junior.
= = =
Ancestor Aldridge also wrote a book in 1858, a few months after the end of the One Day War. (Not even a footnote in history books, but it’s the closest Harriet Tubman ever came to being caught. Except for the bravery of the citizens of Amity Park, American history would be...different.) It was dedicated to his daughter, who died in the crossfire.
Instead of being one of the many anti-slavery polemics published by his contemporaries(including Frederick Douglass, whom Aldridge didn’t like; weird, but he had his reasons), or even a memoir(Aldridge never wrote an autobiography; he thought those were pretentious. “Let history judge me, rightly or wrongly” was his motto), Aldridge’s essay was a simple thing called Mind, Heart, Soul: The Keys to the City.
It’s very short, like Fulghum’s All I Ever Needed to Know About Life I Learned in Kindergarten. (Got it and his subsequent books from Junior on my sixteenth birthday; only read it this past week because...my PDA is in Technus’ hands, probably helping him give Danny trouble because of the sensor. Thanks, Sin.)
Basically, the City is any communal subset extended outside the nuclear family; be it a school, a neighborhood, a village, a town or (surprise) city, a state, a country, and ultimately the whole world. In his work, Aldridge states that the City is an organism; in effect, the City is a supra-person, analogous to the body.
Like a person, Aldridge reasoned, the City is composed of three main parts, or Keys(like the mayoral keys): Mind, Heart, and Soul. The Mind is concerned with the day-to-day function of the City; it corresponds to the brain. The Mind’s health determines, ultimately, if the City lives or dies. (Aldridge stated this in contrast to the understanding of his time; science and history posthumously proved him correct...about a lot of things. Plenty of people misunderstood him.)
The Heart is focused on the health and vitality of the City; it’s the City’s great muscle and lifeblood, corresponding to the heart and cardiovascular system. If the Heart fails, the City fights to survive; the Mind grows sluggish and weak, and the Soul is neglected.
The Soul is confronted with the virtues and sins of the City; it acts as protector and keeper, in short, the City’s guardian angel of conscience. Unlike Mind and Heart, the Soul is immortal--meaning that it’s independent of the City’s Mind and Heart. However, without either Mind or Heart, the Soul has no purpose or need to be in the City.
Mind, Heart and Soul must be as one, that the City may prosper as a vibrant hub of activity.
= = =
Using Aldridge’s book as a guide, who’s the Mind, Heart, and Soul of Amity Park?
I can’t answer the other two; but as for its Soul: it could only be Danny. He moved here from out of town; independent and outside of the city’s history, despite being part of it. Mind, Heart, Soul has several Soul chapters dedicated to “Miss Antoinette”, believed to be the historical Antoinette Fenton; our town folk hero. (Heroine, rather. Better not let Sam get me.) Danny’s not convinced, but she’s probably his ancestor.
A question I wish Aldridge had addressed in this book: What happens to a City when it gains the whole world, but loses its soul in the process?
I have to accept reality as it stands. As much as I wanted--and still want--Danny and Sam to be together; the fact remains: each of my friends loves someone else. Those unresolved feelings have been swept under the rug; sooner or later, the dust will out. Ultimately, I may be right about being wrong.
I hate being right, even more than I hate being ignored. Both things are happening at once. Again.
= = =
Never thought I’d see this side of Katie. She’s usually so patient; almost a doormat.
But she’s really being too hard on Sin--Cindy. And Katie refuses to accept any of Sin’s(there I go again!) pleas for forgiveness.
I know when my welcome’s worn out; I’m...hold on a second. A bit of invisibility is good to watch some family bonding.
“...you could have simply said, ‘Katie, honey; we need to talk.’ I’m not six anymore.” Katie rolls her eyes at her dad; this guy that’s eighteen inches taller than her.
“I needed you to calm down first. I’ve recently...painfully....” Mr. Malone sighs, wringing the dish sponge a moment. “I’ve learned that teenagers need to calm down before having discussions with their parents.”
Katie scowls. “Cindy died over three years ago.”
“And three years ago you started the sixth grade, lost your last baby tooth, and cried like you were five because you needed glasses. All of which are nebulous memories compared to the memory of your first child.”
“Do you remember everything?” Katie smirks, trying to poke fun.
“I remember it all quite well: the Crayola-colored shit, the blood-curdling cries at three AM for reasons known only to the child, the nigh-impossible to clean white spit--which always finds its target on the shoulder of one of Daddy’s tacky black suits. I don’t miss those moments, but I do remember them.
“I don’t miss Cindy’s temper much, or her tendency to provoke problems with her peers, or her frustrated whining when her plans soured. I miss ‘Mature Cindy’ about as much as I miss my swollen appendix--remember the appendicitis I had when you were seven?”
“You were such a baby.”
“My appendix was about to explode. I had a right to be a screaming newborn. You remember?” Mr. Malone mimicked--or rather, attempted to mimic--a screeching baby; the result...is hilarious.
He tends to slur his words a lot, which makes this worse--in a funny way. I think it’s cool to have a former pro quarterback-slash-professor emeritus who sounds like punch-drunk Rocky Balboa as a father figure. (The reason he talks like that, though, is that he’s ill. Malone’s been that way all his life.)
“What was that?” balks Katie.
Malone grins, his eyes crinkled from smiling a lot. “That was you, fresh out of your mother’s womb. I think the obstetrician hit you too hard.”
“I guess Cindy laughed.” Katie rolls her eyes again.
“No; Cindy screamed like she was in hell. The whole hospital knew that she was born Thursday, August 18, 1991; at 10:34 AM.
“I ought to quit kidding you, though. Of course I miss her; she was my child. And she was my friend, as I explained to you earlier.”
Katie, irritated, starts to open her mouth; but thinks better of it.
Mr. Malone continues. “I understand that you think I ought to have been close to you, too. But friendship, as I also explained to you, has to be earned. I can’t give that to you simply because you’re my daughter; it’s not enough.
“Friendship is the one thing where you have almost unlimited choices. How to obtain it, how to keep it fresh and strong: it’s all up to you.
“You’ve got a friend; a good one, in Dani. You worked so hard at being her friend, and I’m proud of you--the light pride. I’d hate to see you throw that away because of your dark pride.”
“Light pride” and “dark pride”: Mr. Malone explained once that there are two types of pride; the pride born of love and esteem, and the pride born of fear and hatred. The latter is one of the Seven Deadlies, and in his opinion, Pride is what makes the other six Sins deadly in the first place.
I used to be more of an atheist until a year ago; as I become more of my own person, I find myself more curious about these things than Danny(who gets surly at the mere mention of religious belief). I blame that big redhead goof washing dishes with his daughter.
= = =
What makes Danny so hostile to religion, or believing in anything?(He never even believed in the Easter Bunny.) It’s not his parents; Jack still believes in Santa(and thinks he’s a ghost). Both he and “Aunt” Maddie are agnostics.
My own idea? Buddha, Jesus, and Confucius ought to get together and hammer out these metaphysical details. Too many people die over beliefs; too many arguments leave people bitter and angry. (I pick them because they were documented to have lived; whether the Jewish rabbi/carpenter guy died only to be resurrected on the third day is an article of faith.)
I don’t mind religion at all. It’s just the idea that you have to choose one to the exclusion of all other philosophies that I hate. Serve “insert deity here” alone, or you will go to hell.
Which, incidentally, is how Katie sounds when she attempts to explain God--and the reason why we started arguing. I’d hate to think that God is that anal-retentive about his own rules; compassion’s supposed to be a divine quality. That was the whole point of the crucifixion, right?
= = =
Malone breaks the silence again. “What did you tell Dani about Cindy?”
“That she’s condemned to hell because of her suicide.”
“She was misinformed.” Mr. Malone sighs. “Dani!”
I phase in, then walk into the kitchen. “I was just about to leave.”
“No; please sit down.” Malone doesn’t even turn as I heed his request. “I’m asking you to forgive Katie; she’s very frustrated at present.”
“So I gathered,” I smile gently.
“I want you both to consider this particular phrase carefully: ‘“I will have mercy, and not sacrifice,” saith the Lord.’ Old Testament. Why would He say something like that?”
“...I’d have to read that one again for context,” states Katie slowly.
“I’ll give you the Q-and-D version. God does not take pleasure in punishing the wicked; who have done evil and deserve hell. Why would he want to banish Cindy from his presence forever?”
“It’s not a matter of whether God wants to,” answers Katie. “He has to honor His Word, as I explained to Dani.”
That’s just crap. I scowl at Katie.
“You mustn’t turn Dani against God because of your own anger. I know Him. He’s probably the only individual who loves Cindy more than I do.
“I can see her being punished. I see Cindy in Purgatory, not hell.” Malone shakes his head.
“That’s what you want to believe. That’s what I want to believe. But the reality is that she took her own life for no good reason.” Katie winces as if in pain.
“You act as though Purgatory is a picnic.”
“No, Dad; you’re trying to reconcile the idea of Cindy never being around again--in this life or the next. What can you do?”
“As I’ve stated before, God will listen to us if we argue. Quit thinking like a Protestant fundamentalist,” Malone continues, “and start thinking like a lawyer.”
“You could call on your ancestors,” I quip.
Katie scowls at me. “That’s not how it works.”
“What the hell is prayer, then?”
“Katie’s simply saying that we can bypass that route with a direct line to the Almighty Himself,” Malone grins.
“We’ve done all we can for Cindy throughout her life. She killed herself.”
“And we should just throw up our hands in despair. You may do as you will; that is not how I operate.”
“Your responsibilities as her father are ended.”
“I brought you into this world right behind Cindy, and you think I plan to drop this?” Malone snorts. “No. I know Cindy had good reason.”
“That doesn’t matter!” Katie spits, hurling a fork into the sink. “Cindy abandoned us, threw her life away.”
“God probably wants to know why; though He already does. Even if He doesn’t, I want to know.
“I want to know the truth. Once I’ve learned the truth behind it,” continues Malone, wiping the dropped fork, “then I can rest.”
Malone dries his hands on the dish towel. “I know Cindy; I usually understand how she thinks. There had to be a deeper reason; some problem she was too proud to admit she couldn’t handle.
“You two be good, now.” Smiling sadly, Malone leaves.
= = =
“I worry about him,” sighs Katie. “And it’s her fault.”
I’m beginning to wonder.... “I think you’re jealous that your dad and Cindy shared such a strong bond. My observation of parents--real ones--is that they have a favorite kid when there’s more than one. It’s been that way since time immemorial.”
I shrug. “Isn’t that what happened to Joseph--the guy with the multicolor coat?”
“Because Jacob had his two favorites, and ignored the other ten?”
“I think it’s because the other ten couldn’t accept that and move on. Really, it’s no better than Vlad not letting go of Maddie.”
“Are you comparing me to Count Creepula?”
“No,” I smirk. “You’re not obsessed.”
“I’m not...jealous of Cindy. I was always happy for her.” Katie sighs. “I just wanted to join in.
“Do you know that you’re my first friend--that is, if you’ll still have me?” smiles Katie apologetically.
“I'll never let you go,” I grin. “Will you forgive your sister?”
“I don’t know. As far as her killing herself, it’s not up to me.”
“Somehow, I think God’s wiser than we are. It’s a lot easier for him to forgive than it is for us.”
“But she pushed us all away--me, Mom. Dad.”
“If your dad can forgive her--and he’s the one who lost out the most--then you can.”
“Are you saying that because you think she’s an asset to the Crew?”
“I’m saying it because I like having Sin hang around. At least if she’s with us, she won’t be tempted to cause trouble in the city.”
“Serious trouble, you mean.” Katie laughs lightly.
“...do you mean it?” asks Sin quietly, appearing.
“Cindy, I love you. I guess I’m upset because you’re not around--with us living people--anymore.” Katie dries a tear with a paper towel Sin offers.
“All you need to know right now,” sighs Sin, “is that my death has something to do with Egg.”
Egg again. What’s in that thing?
= = =
I made a promise; a solemn vow. Now that I have the opportunity, I’m going to keep it.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that I saw...her body hanging; just dangling there lifelessly(she was my friend--more than that; almost like a sister), I wouldn’t take these steps. (No one knows that I saw Cindy first, and I plan to carry that to my grave.)
I gave both those idiots fair warning at the start of the year. They had the whole year to figure it out.
It’s bad enough that Old Man’s(Dash’s grandpapa) trying to off himself again; the added annoyance of seeing Danny and Sammy play steady has to come to an end. Otherwise, hair will be pulled.
I’m tired of seeing the moping around; the pretending that everything’s okay. I’m sick of it. And this cute little Catholic schoolgirl plans to do something about it. Now.
= = =
The couple eats together in stony silence. Must have been a pretty nasty fight. Even the Techhead keeps his distance, sitting with Kwan(he’s so friendly), Katie and Little Dork.
Not that I care what happened; my job is to make it worse. I’ve rehearsed it a hundred times: in my head, on paper as my own fan manga(I love Japanese comics!), in front of several mirrors.
“Paulina,” hisses the Goth, “why are you lurking behind us?” She doesn’t even pay me the courtesy of looking up from her carrots and broccoli.
“I can’t stand here?” I balk.
“You might catch our geek germs,” quips the Dork. “We’re concerned.”
I smile thinly at him, receiving a handsome glare from him in return. (He is a cute dork.) “I think I’m fairly inoculated. Don’t you, Sammy?” I grin.
Sammy graces me with the scathing goth scowl. “Why don’t you leave us alone?” she spits. “We’re eating lunch.”
“To be blunt: seeing you two together has made me lose my lunch the whole year,” I state truthfully. What do I have to lie for?
“Then keep your distance,” Danny smirks. “We don’t want you barfing on our lunch.”
“I guess you can’t stand to see other people happy,” scoffs the Goth Wonder.
“If you were happy,” I counter, “I wouldn’t feel physically sick.”
“Sounds like a personal problem. I’m amazed that you care.”
“I’ve told you before; despite what you may think, I’m not shallow.” I just have nothing about myself to hide. (Except for the Cindy thing, and that’s enough for one lifetime.)
“Then I want to reassure you that we’re fine,” grins Manson thinly. “We’re just trying to avoid a lover’s spat over trivial things. Don’t want the rumor mills to start up.” Please. I only spread one rumor about her, and it’s not even a rumor. She and Dash were making out freshman year. (The dummy thinks I didn’t see them go at it during one of their little French “study sessions” that year. Dash is an idiot. I love him though.)
“So you won’t mind if I talk a little bit about you and your ex, then?” I smile.
“Actually, we do mind--*” starts Sammy, but she’s cut off.
Danny smiles at her. “No, no--she’s got my attention.”
“Danny....”
“I’m curious about this guy.” Uh-oh. Just as I thought: trouble in paradise.
“You’re not going to listen to me.” Manson shrugs, giving up.
“Now, I can’t say that I know the guy personally or anything,” I say slyly, letting my eyes drift towards the Table(and Dash). (Maybe I am a bit evil. But I’ll only use my powers to fight for Love.)
I sit next to Manson, who fumes silently. (Blushing, no less. The jig’s up, Goth.) “I did notice them together a few times, though. Makes me hot under the collar thinking about it.
“Sometimes they’d be so deep into each other that you could have a whole camera crew film them--and they wouldn’t notice.”
“She’s making up shit!” blurts Manson, with a dumb lie reminiscent of the class pet lies in grade school. “And even if it were true,” she continues, “that doesn’t matter anymore.
“Danny, you and I are together now,” she glowers, then turns to me. “Deal with it.”
“Sure,” I say glibly. “As soon as you two break up.”
“What!?” Danny stares at me as though I have a foreign growth on my neck. “We’re not breaking up!”
“If you two know what’s good for you, you will. You’ve been sneaking around with Gray,” I tell Danny. (I’m just fishing now, but I bet it’s true.)
“Keep my name out of this bullshit, Ramos!” bellows the Dozer, from across the lunchroom. (Valerie has a powerful voice.)
“As this is the case,” I continue, ignoring Gray, “do you honestly think that Sammy’s going to be the good little girlfriend and stay true?”
“Danny, don’t listen to her,” Manson spits. “She’s lying.”
“She’s going to go where she’s wanted.” I go on, disregarding Sammy entirely. “This dummy’s tired of waiting for you to see her as a woman; don’t you get it, Mr. Fenton?”
“Cease your fucking retarded fishing expeditions!” screams Manson. (Not very ladylike, Sammy.)
Dash will come to her rescue in three, two, one....
Right on cue. “Paulina,” Dash sighs tiredly, a lopsided smile on his face. He places a hand on my shoulder. “Leave them alone; let the nerds eat.”
“I’m just talking; they can ignore me if they want,” I pout.
“Paulina, I’m serious.” Dash drops his smile. “Get up, and leave.”
He has some nerve! “You don’t get to boss me around; I can sit where I want, and say what I want.” Seriously; he forgets that I was our group’s enforcer(at least until I started getting my nails done). I haven’t forgotten how to drop anybody.
Dash’s frustrated now. “...leave these geeks alone. Can’t you see they’re in love?” he adds snidely.
“Why do you care?” I smirk, deftly moving myself onto the couple’s table. “I’m talking about Sammy and her ex-boyfriend; it has nothing to do with you.”
“Quit being a bitch!” Dash thunders, pissed. “I told you to leave!”
Danny has his classic “clueless goon” look; Sammy’s seething. The whole world(well, at least the whole school) is watching....
What a show I’ve put on. But the best part...has yet to happen.
= = =
“I’ll handle this.” Sammy bolts upright, then proceeds to tug my arm. “Get off the table,” she grunts.
“I can’t sit here?” I whine.
“No; you can’t! You’re just trying to stir up crap. Now get off!”
“Make me,” I dare her.
“Fine.” Manson climbs onto the table to shove me off. The familiar “Fight!” chant starts up with the usual suspects.
“Shut the fuck up!” Dash roars, silencing the chanting dork ringleaders. (Those losers always try to push kids to fight; I think it’s how they make the money to buy Yu-Gi-Oh cards.)
Dash pulls on my arm as Sammy pushes; I willingly slide off the table--only to maneuver Dash over the Goth. (Ramos nails her dismount....)
Now what will happen...?
Bodies close together, lips near enough to touch. (They know they want it....) Dash and Sammy--as I knew they would--kiss; the familiar steps to their sexy dance coming back to them all too easily.
“I believe my point has been made,” I smile slyly, watching Dummy and Goth all but screw each other in front of the aghast Dork.
= = =
Sammy manages to gently nudge Dash back, the both of them still overheated from their kiss.
“...we should stop,” she pants, stroking Dash’s jaw line.
“Yeah....” Dash licks his lips, still hungry for more.
Danny does something insanely suicidal in three, two, one....
Yep. Danny grabs Dash by the shirt and letter jacket and yanks my dummy onto the hard tile floor. (Hope he didn’t knock anything loose.)
“Stay the fuck away from her,” he glowers.
And now the males fight over the silly female. I could set my watch to this....
“Fenton...your ass is mine!” Dash jerks himself up, clutches his head in pain a moment, then swings a punch at Danny. Which connects! (Ouch....)
Instead of running, Danny rams his shoulder into Dash’s body, knocking the taller idiot off balance. The dork kicks him and then runs...
...because Mr. Lancer noticed the commotion. Dash, blind with rage, chases after Danny; shoving our dear vice-principal aside in the chaos.
With that, my work here is done, so I’m out.
= = =
“...I believe a three-day suspension will cool your tempers, gentlemen,” seethes Mr. Lancer. “Was this fight necessary?”
Fenton and I really went at it. We each have a nasty black eye; I have a bloodied lip, while Fenton’s face is covered in bruises.
“Who started the fight?” continues Lancer.
“He did,” I spit, glaring at said Fenturd.
“Damn right I did,” Fenton concurs, seething.
Lancer turns to the geek. “Why?”
Fenton erupts. “He kissed my girlfriend! This dumbass damn near tried to mate with her.”
Lancer winces. “I can certainly see why you’re upset. Mr. Baxter,” he sighs, “could you explain why you kissed Miss Manson?”
“Sir, it was pretty much an accident,” I begin. “I was trying to defuse a situation one of my friends started when said friend pulled me onto Manson. Hormones went a little crazy.”
“Do not believe his bullshit, Mr. Lancer,” spits Fenton.
“Mr. Fenton: one, do not use that kind of language in this school ever again. Two,” Lancer continues, “I doubt Mr. Baxter planned to kiss anyone else’s girlfriend.”
“You misunderstand. I know what Paulina did.” Fenton scowls. “But when the opportunity arose, he didn’t even hesitate to kiss her. I refuse to let him get away with it.”
“Hormones...hello?” I chuckle mirthlessly.
“Don’t hand me that crap!” spits Fenton.
“Don’t talk to each other,” scowls Lancer. “Talk to me.”
After a few minutes of Lancer’s lecturing, he leaves to call our parents. We scowl at each other for a bit.
Fenton breaks the silence. “What do you have against me, Dash? Seriously: what did I do to you, that you’re such an ass?”
“You’re a whiny little bitch-boy,” I smirk. “I have to harass you on principle.”
“Why couldn’t you just leave Sam alone, you dumb bastard?” asks Fenton sullenly. Somehow, he’s not just talking about our tabletop antics.
Whatever. “Mocking my intelligence; that’s about as original as my name game, Fen-twat.” I roll my eyes.
“It’s such a big target, right alongside your ego.” Fenton grants me a thin, fake smile.
“Dude, you’re a stupid, damn-near brain-dead shithead. What is your fucked-up goal in pretending to care about Manson?”
“Pretending!? I do care about Sam.”
“And you still have feelings for Gray. The whole damn school knew that before Paulina’s bit of Lunchroom Theater.” She’s going to pay for dragging me into this shit.
“I wasn’t done. I care about Sam, so I’m keeping her away from you.” Oh. That was about as clear as mud.
“You mind elaborating?”
“No problem!” Fenton grins ghoulishly. “You are fucking worthless, Dash. You’re just a coward; an idiot who’s been lucky so far. Too damned lucky.
“I just thought I’d even the playing field for once; let you know what it’s like to be a loser.”
I roll my eyes. “Spoken like a true loser. You act like I just skated through life.
“I earned all this. I happen to have a few talents, and I used them.”
“Fuck your athletic skill, Dash,” Fenton scoffs. “None of that gives you the right to treat me like crap.”
“Only ‘cause you act like crap. If you’re weak, you get screwed; bottom line.”
“You dumbass. You’re the one who’s weak. Weak, pathetic, and useless.
“I’m Sam’s friend. I refuse to watch her deal with the strain of carrying you.”
“You must really hate me,” I laugh. “I don’t hate you, dude. I just think you’re a shit.
“And you have yet to prove me wrong.” I grin at him. “The sad thing is, you won’t even try.”
“I don’t have anything to prove, to you or anyone. You, on the other hand, have a lot to prove to me.
“After all the hell you’ve put me through,” Fenton continues, “do you think I’ll just stand by and watch you be happy with my friend? You need to struggle. To suffer.”
“...you’re an idiot.”
“You’re weak! You don’t deserve her. Prove me wrong, you sorry ass.”
Before I can physically counter Fenton’s argument (read: beat the living shit out of him), Lancer returns with paperwork...and our folks.
His mom, and my granddad; Miles Baxter. The latter is pissed, the expression on his face akin to drinking a lemon juice/vinegar cocktail.
Lancer leaves the four of us; Mrs. Fenton stonily beckons to her boy, and they leave.
“...I’m tired of seeing the inside of this fucking office,” he mutters.
I smile laconically, noting an old picture of him with Star’s great-grandfather (who was the principal here before Mrs. Ishikawa). The two of them gave the camera a peeved smile, with the school superintendent in the center. (Grandpa and Mr. Forrester were at war back then.) “Your photo is still here, big guy.”
“Why’d you get in a fight with that fuckwit?”
“He nearly broke my skull open,” I seethe.
Grandpa’s eyes widen. “He had it in him to do that? What did you do?”
“Nothing! I was trying to stop Paulina from--*”
“--right there’s the problem: don’t stick your neck out. How many times have I told you this?” Numerous times, Miles.... My granddad’s an idiot. (An idiot with a cool vintage car.)
“I’m just glad Dad didn’t come. He hates coming here--keeps thinking Sidney Poindexter’s out to get him.”
“You remember this?” Grinning, Grandpa pulls out a picture of my teenaged dad, dressed in full nerd gear. (Like he wasn’t enough of a dork in Preppy Mode.) “Poindexter did this to him, boy.
“Anyway, he’s still pissed.”
“I’ll handle it, like always. Didn’t even try to cause trouble.” We leave the office, heading towards Chevy(my granddad’s robin’s egg blue 1954 Chevrolet).
I note his silver work mug in the cup holder; Grandpa takes a swig of the contents.
He glares at me. “It’s just some tea, boy. Get in the car.” Grandpa and I enter Chevy; and we drive off.
= = =
Looks like the whole school dynamic has shifted. Dash and Kwan have shut Paulina out. (I don’t fault Dash this time; the bitch got him and Danny suspended.) Oddly enough, she doesn’t seem to care; she’s hanging with Pablo. Must have planned for this.
My problem is that Danny’s shut Tucker out. This is getting stupid. I’ll try to talk Tucker into apologizing.
“Hello? Tuck?” I gently tap my friend on his shoulder.
“Yes, Sam?” Tucker looks up wearily from his new PDA. “Have you come to bring me a menu of veggies?” He did lose the bet, which means Dash won’t be force-feeding Dani and Katie his jock straps this summer.
“No.... I need you to listen.”
“I needed you two to listen to me; but you refused to.”
“What?” I stare at Tucker.
“Why bother trying to convince me that I’m wrong, when I’m right!? Tell me, please.”
“Danny and I have a relationship.”
“And it’s a lousy one--you’re both miserable.”
“How do you know?” I spit.
“I’ve known Danny since kindergarten; you since second grade. I know how you two think.
“Maybe if you two had made your move freshman year, things would be different; as it stands now, each of you is in love with someone else. I tried to tell Danny that, and he shot the messenger--I don’t want to deal with the same shit from you.”
“Tucker.... It won’t hurt to apologize.”
“For what? Telling the truth? I’m not sorry about what I said. Danny’s the one with foot-in-mouth disease, and I’m sick of him apologizing after the fact.
“No. Let him learn the hard way. I’m tired of his ego; sometimes, I’m tired of him. And you.”
“Me!?”
“Why’d you and Dash even break up?” demands Tucker.
“That’s between Dash and me.”
“Don’t you know that dummy’s had feelings for you since grade school?”
I snort. “He never told me.”
“Let’s see: the dumb stunt he pulled on you in fourth grade.” (Tucker recounts an elementary school dance incident, where Dash pulled down my sundress and sucked on my underdeveloped breasts. Craig Malone, Cindy and Katie’s late cousin, dared the dumbass to do it.) “The box of white daisy barrettes he gave you for Valentine’s Day in fifth grade. Who else besides your parents and I know that you like white daisies? The end-of-summer slumber party before sixth grade, when you had your first--*”
“--enough!” I blush, not even wanting to know how Tucker found that out. (That was the first time I was ever touched there--as well as my first period. I was eleven.)
“My point is that he was trying to tell you.”
I wince at Tucker. “My point is...forget it. You’re being so thickheaded.”
“It’s like I’m losing you both, man,” Tucker scowls.
“Danny’s...under a lot of stress.” And he deserves to be, considering that I caught him and his clone-cousin in bed together. “You came in with ‘the truth’ at the worst possible time.”
“Danny had to sleep with Dani,” sighs Tucker. “She was having a sexuality crisis because Vlad messed with her reproductive organs; Danny was the only one who could fix it.”
“That’s not the main problem. My problem is that he....” Danny had cried out Valerie’s name; that’s the problem.
“You two aren’t happy as a couple. Most of the time, you do the same things you’d do as friends--whenever you’re not arguing.”
Tucker rolls his eyes. “I won’t be in the middle anymore; when you and Danny figure it out on your own, we can talk.
“Until then, peace--I’m out.” Tucker leaves, taking the all-vegetarian diet I hand him.
This is all Paulina’s fault. That shallow bitch will pay.
THE END
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