Got bored.

I glared at the paper, my frustration and anger about to explode. The numbers looked like some foreign ghost language to me. Sam had lent me her notes, but even with her careful instructions I couldn't understand it. Had Mr. Nash even gone over this? I vaguely remember it, I think. I must have been asleep again.

The clock ticked from downstairs, my hypersensitive ears picking up the minute sound. I didn't look at my own alarm clock. It was probably somewhere around three or four in the morning, as usual. The silence of the house rung in my ears, my slumbering families snores being the exception. I envied them. I could feel the ten ton bags under my eyes begging for sleep, but I knew I couldn't go to bed till my homework was done. I was completely failing math. And English. And science. Hell, I was failing everything. Report cards come out in a week and a half and if my parents see my grades I'm toast.

With an exhausted sigh I heaved my thick brain back to the swirling math numbers. They sat like mud in my head whenever I tried to process them. They looked like a bunch of squiggly lines floating over the paper. Kinda like my ghostly tail, or any ghost tail for that matter. Or maybe they looked like some of the green lines in the endless Ghost Zone. I stared at them, the shadow of a lazy smile on my lips, remembering all the times I flew around amity park, floating on a bunch of squiggly lines.

A loud snore from my Dad rumbled the house, causing me to jolt back to reality. The echoes of flight fluttered away and the cold silent house was back, pressing in uncomfortably. Cursing my lack of sleep, I shook my head like a dog, forcing my mind to wake up. I glared at the paper some more, but my brain slowly fell back into it's deadened state of lethargy. It wasn't sleep, but it wasn't quite awake either. It was more like just existing, a state that I couldn't remember not being in. Sam said it was too much stress.

I looked to the book, the words Algebra I branding in my brain. Flicking to the chapter, I tried to read the books instruction for something called Foiling. Sounded like that kitchen wrap to me. Ignoring the sudden desire for food, I tried to understand the function or whatever it was, but it was even more confusing than Sam's notes.

With a depressed moan, I dropped my head to the desk, a dangerous move but I was too tired to care. I was too tired to care about anything anymore. I've had my ghost powers for a year and a half now, saving, protecting, and taking the hits for this town everyday. I'd managed to pass my freshman year with a C average, but now, halfway through my sophomore year, my grades were teetering on the edge of the D to F canyon. My dream of becoming an astronaut was in flames, and I knew it.

Needless to say, my parents were furious, setting up earlier curfews that I broke every night and taking everything from video games to friends away. I hated disappointing them. I was letting them down all the time with my endless stream of apologies, but what else could I do? They don't want to hear more lies.

I had to hang out with Sam and Tucker in secret now. We haven't gone to the movies for months, something we used to do every Friday. Thank god for Jazz. She covers for me when ever she can, and it's only through her help that I'm able to protect this town without my parents sending me off that the boarding school in Wisconsin. Vlad sends us brochures every month.

My powers themselves are steadily improving, but not nearly as fast as I'd like them too. It's starting to come to a point where I have to remind myself why I can't take Vlad's offer to train me.

Meanwhile, my parents invention are getting more and more dangerous. I can't go downstairs without first checking to make sure it's safe. They always leave their prototypes on the table or couch or something, and I aways end up getting shocked, caught, or some mystery goop dumped all over me. My oblivious parents have no idea why they always go off around me, but I know they won't pass it off as accidents for long.

So between constant ghost fights, disappointed parents, and a failing high school career, it's no wonder I'm about ready to snap. And my parents want me to get a job, the irony.

I peeled my head from the desk, wincing painfully at the massive headache I just gave myself. The room spun for a moment, until I focused on the dancing squigglies. Oh, and I forgot to add sleep deprivation to the list.

I forced down the millionth yawn that day, closing the math book and pulling up the English one. Mr. Lancer was having the time of his life with To Kill A Mockingbird. Something about symbolism and classic writing. I tried to read the assigned chapter, but the words started dancing like the squiggles. I put the book down before I went too crazy, but the assignment was to pick out all the symbolism in the chapter and explain what it means, so I was screwed unless I read the stupid chapter.

God this was impossible. I twisted around and stared at the bed longingly, trying to ignore the screaming gash across my back as I looked. The bed looked sinfully soft and I yawned again. Regretfully, I went back to the homework, thinking about all the irritated sighs and looks of disappointment I would receive from my teachers if I didn't do it.

You know, the absolute worst part of all this was the looks I get from everyone I protect, the looks of disappointment and shame. If only they knew, if only they all knew. I'm not a screw up, I'm not lazy, and I'm not a failure. I want to impress them, I want to stop being an embarrassment to my parents, I want to stop being the stupid slacker in class. I wish so much that they wouldn't treat me like one. I hate letting people down. It's come to a point where most of my teachers don't even care anymore, and it hurts. When they take up homework, they never expect me to have it and they pass me on, like I'm invisible. When they take attendance, I have to let them know I'm there or they'll miss me. I'm just another loser to them, destined to work at the Nasty Burger for the rest of my life if I ever graduate, and that really hurts.

I hate crying. It's a weakness I strive not to fall to. I may have fallen in the eyes of my peers, but I'd never let myself sink to crying. But sometimes, at the end of the day, when I have piles of failed grades, unfinished homework, ashamed parents, painful ghost injuries, and crushed dreams, I break a little, and I can't stop the hot tears sliding down my face.