Title: Keeping The Moon

Author: The-Infamous-Bounty-Hunter

Summary: There's a secret to becoming beautiful and confident-but it's not what you think. When Sam Manson is shipped off to Amity Park while her mother, Aerobics queen Kiki Manson is touring Europe. Sam is stuck in what she thinks is the worst summer of her life-but she finds herself changing her mind. For one thing, her sweet aunt Mira, is a laid-back eccentric; for another, no one in Amity Park knows that back home, Sam is considered a loser and "easy." Then one day if by fate, Sam lands a job as a waitress where she meets Morgan and Isabel. The two wisecracking-and wise-twentysomething waitresses help Sam see herself in a new way and realize the potential that has been there all along.

AN: Go me, uhuh! My first Danny Phantom fic, which is an AU! Dude, the summary above and the whole plot of this story is based on my favorite author's book, Keeping The Moon: A Novel. Sarah Dessen is a wonderful writer, who writes in 1st person POV and writes as these girls that are all connected to each other. I also need help on where Amity Park is located. And give me a break on the spelling, I don't have Spell Check and it's 6 in the morning. So, I hope you guys like the story, and if it's short, then I'm totally sorry!

Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom, the summary above, or the whole plot. Danny Phantom belongs to Butch Hartman, and Keeping the Moon belongs to Sarah Dessen. Got it? Gooooood!

Chapter One

My name is Samantha Manson. Welcome to the first day of the worst summer of my life. "Sam," my mother said with a sigh as she walked down the airport terminal with me. She was in one of her excersise jumpsuits, FlyKiki purple. She looked like a shiny grape. Her assistant, standing by the luggage claim, took a not-so-subtle look at her watch. "Will you please try not to hate me?"

I fake-smiled at her, my arms instinctively tightening over my chest. "Oh honey, you look terrible with your hair that color and that thing in your lip, even when your smiling." She came closer, her sneakers making a squeaky mouse noises on the neatly waxed linoleum floor. Like her jumpsuit, they were brand name shoes, the Kiki exercise line. "Sam, you know this is for the best. You couldn't stay by yourself at the house all summer. You'd be lonely."

I gave her a dirty look. "I have friends, mom." I told her blandly and she cocked her head, already doubting my answer. "Oh Sam, it's for the best." She repeated, and then opened her mouth again. "It's for the best."

The best for you, I thought. That was the thing about my mother. She had good intentions...just not good ideas. A cough from her assistant alerted my mother quickly, and she placed her hands on her hips. "Kiki," Came the long sigh, "We've got to go if we want to make your own flight." I rolled my eyes at the assistant's quickness and I felt my lips tighten into a frown.

This one would be fired before I got back, maybe on the plane that would take my mother out of my life for 3 months. My mother let out a sigh, the turned to me. She briefly looked me up and down, her eyes stopping on the little silver piece of jewelery hanging off my lip. "You'll keep up all your workouts, right? It would be a shame to gain all that weight back." I nodded, opting to stay quiet.

"And you'll eat healthy-I told you I'm sending the complete Kiki line-so you'll have your foods with you at Mira's." I nodded again and my mother let her hands drop to her sides. For that one moment I saw my mother again. Not Kiki Manson, the fitness guru and personal trainer of the masses. Not the talk show Kiki, the informercial Kiki, the Kiki that smiled out from a million weight-loss products worldwide. Just my mom.

But now the intercom in the airport had called my plane for take off, and I had to leave. "Oh Sam," she said, burying her face in the jet-black hair that had almost made her breakdown when I came to breakfeast that morning. "Please don't be mad at me. Okay?" I hugged her back, even though I'd told myself I wouldn't. I wanted my mother to let me leave with that angry look on my face, her last memory before she got to stay in Europe.

I pulled back, barely looking at her face and grabbed my stuff. "Bye mom. I love you." I whispered, before turning around and walking towards the gate that would take me to boring, old, Amity Park. A desperate calling of my name made me stop in my tracks, but I continued on, ignoring the choruses of 'I love you, too!' even when they were gone.

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In my first memory, at five, I'm wearing white mary janes and sitting in the front seat of our old Volare station wagon in front of a 7-Eleven. It's really, really hot, and my mother is walking towards me carrying two Big Gulps, a bag of Fritos, and a box of Twinkies. She's wearing cowboy boots, purple ones, and a short skirt, even though this is during what we call the "Fat Years." Being obese-she topped ouy, at her worst, about 325 pounds-never stopped my mother from following fads.

She opens the car door and tosses in the loot, the bag of Fritos banking off my leg and onto the floor. "Scoot over," she says, settling her large form in beside me. "We've still got half a day until Texas." The rest of my memories are all of rolling grasslands, gas stations, and the smell of gas as we made our own pathway down the open road of America. The one thing I had in common with my mother put us together against the world.

My mother and I were both fat. The last time we ever stopped in the "Fat Years" was Charlotte, North Carolina, three years ago. It's the longest time I've ever stayed in any one school. It's also where my mother became Kiki Manson.

Before that she was just Katherine, college dropout and master of a million small talents: she'd pumped gas, peddled cemetary plots over the phone, sold Mary Kay products, even arranged appointments at an escort service. Anything to keep us in food and gas money until she started itching to travel again. One day after a particulary bad experience, my mother rear-ended a black Cadillac in a parking lot. Since we were flat broke because she had lost her job that day, she talked to the lady who owned the car, who ran a gym called Lady Fitness, into letting her work off the cost of the repairs. She started by cleaning the machines and answering phones, but after a few weeks the woman liked her so much that she gave her a full-time job and a free membership. A week earlier we'd be back to ketchup soup and ramen noodles, sleeping in the back of our crappy car. But everything in the "Fat Years," seemed to always work out.

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When the plane finally landed in the Amity Park airport 2 hours later, I stumbled out of the gateway and into a guy. He was holding a sign that said, "Sam Manson", and he smiled at me. "Are you Sam Manson? Mira's niece?" He asked me, and I nodded. This guy was cute. He was wearing a simple white shirt with way too baggy jeans. Hippie bracelets lined his wrists, and he blinked under sunglasses that had blue frames.

"Samantha, right?" He asked dumbly again when I continued to stare at him. My head snapped up and I quickly jumped off him.

"Sam," I said.

"Right." He smiled. I couldn't see if his eyes were crinkling at the sides, but he had the cutest dimples ever. "Mira sent me to pick you up. I'm Danny Fenton."

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How's that for the first chapter? Is it too short or too long? Please, tell me in your review!

Love,

The-Infamous-Bounty-Hunter!