Full summary:

You can't stop the future. You can't rewind the past. The only way to learn the secret… is to press play. Sam doesn't want anything to do with the tapes Paulina made. Paulina is dead. Her secrets should be buried with her. But when Paulina's voice tells her - that somehow - Sam is responsible for her death, all through the night; Sam keeps listening. She follows Paulina's recorded words throughout Amity, the small town that's oblivious to secrets, and what she finds...changes her life forever.

I know I shouldn't be starting another fic right now, mostly because I am still working on 2 other ones, but this idea was too good to pass.Mainly because I hear so many negative views of Paulina, I am curious to see what kind of responses I might get by displaying her in a new light. (She isn't the only one that will be put into new lighting, though)

Th1rteen R3asons Why is a novel written by Jay Asher. Beautifully written, and just simply AMAZING. (Though, in the book, I don't think her reasons for committing suicide were valid.)

And here I bring you; the DP version of that suspenseful and addicting novel.

PP never happened.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Danny Phantom, nor Jay Asher's work.

Th1rteen R3asons Why

Chapter 1: Something special

Sam's POV

To everyone's relief – including mine – the bell rung, signaling freedom for the next hours until dawn breaks again. Chairs scrapped, chatter arose; papers, textbooks were shoved into bags and the classroom was empty almost in record time. Mr. Lancer just stood, pen in hand, still astonished at exactly how, we adolescents manage to get out of class this fast.

Chucking at his baffled expression, I proceeded to pack my own things. Well, I would have, if a certain someone wasn't holding my backpack already loaded with my belongings.

"Ghost powers do come in handy sometimes," He said, his blue eyes sparkling with the mischievous glint I love. Resisting is just futile; and so I get to my tippy toes – darn those growth spurts – and kiss his cheek.

He blushes tomato red, and I feel my cheeks are also tilting pink, but I don't care. He stares into my eyes, and I look into his; mesmerized, by just the raw emotion that's prominent in them. My stomach suddenly gets butterflies.

It feels so good to not hide these emotions anymore.

He asked me out just a few weeks back.

"I don't think I will ever get used to this," I jump at Tuckers sudden appearance; and once comprehending the look of utter disgust on his face, I laugh.

Danny pulls me in for a hug, and I am still giggling in his chest as his strong arms wrap around me. He rests his chin on the top of my head, and out of the corner of my eye I see Tucker smile.

"Took you guys long enough," He says, fiddling with his PDA. He looks nervous.

As we exit the classroom, the three of us being the last to leave, I can't help smiling at just how lucky my sad, twisted life of ghost-busting can be.

That is, until Mr. Lancer speaks up.

"Miss Manson. May I please talk with you privately?"

I groan, and send Danny an apologetic glance. He nods in understanding, but hint of worry is still in his eyes. He leaves the room with Tucker – lingering for a few seconds on the doorway – and then he shuts the door with a soft click.

This better be quick Mr. Lancer.

"Samantha," He says. I wince at the harsh name and glare at his bald head with such force I wish it explodes.

"You can call me Sam." I say though gritted teeth.

Disregarding, or ignoring, my request he continues; "Tomorrow a special Author is coming to visit our school. There is going to be an assembly in which all students of Casper high will attend. All grades need to pick one student to get up on stage and share their thoughts on a novel, poem, or song."

I blink. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"You, Sam, are going to represent our grade,"

I whine. "What is the point of this?" I grumble. I really don't need to get up on stage and blabber on about a book.

People already think I am a freak, now I'll just be a complete nutcase.

But to my surprise, Mr. Lancer smiles. "Rules don't specify exactly what you have to talk about, Sam." He says, "Do something special."

Something special?

Bewildered, I nod and make my way out the classroom.

But as the door clicks behind me; I smile too.

Unique is my specialty.

12 hours later

"Miss?" She repeats. "How soon do you want it to get there?"

I rub my fingers over my temple, wanting the erratic pounding inside to die down.

"It doesn't matter," I say.

The clerk takes the package. The same shoe box that was on my porch less than twenty-four hours ago; rewrapped in a brown paper bag, exactly as I received it. But now, addressed with a new name.

The next name on Paulina's list.

Kwan.

"How much is it?" I ask. My headache is getting to the point I wish someone would just shoot me.

Maybe I can spare a visit to Paulina.

She places the box on a rubber pad, and then punches a sequence on her keypad. I set my cup of gas-station coffee on the counter and glance at the screen. I fish out some bills from my wallet and slap them on the counter.

When I take a sip from the coffee, it's lukewarm, and hard to swallow. But I have got to stay awake somehow.

Or maybe not. The best way to pass through the day today is to just be half-asleep at school. Maybe it's the only way to get through today.

"It should arrive at the address tomorrow," She says, "Or maybe after tomorrow," She drops the box in the cart behind her.

I should have waited till after school today. I should just give Kwan one last day of peace. Even though he doesn't deserve it.

Hence why I am here at five thirty in the morning.

When he gets home tomorrow, or the day after, he'll find a package on his doorstep. Or if it's his mom or dad he'll find it on his bed in the afternoon. And he'll be excited. I was excited. A package with no return address? What's this? Maybe a secret admirer?

"Do you want the receipt?" The clerk asks.

I shake my head.

A small printer spits one out anyway. I watch her tear the slip and crumple it in the wastebasket.

There is only one post office in Amity. I wonder if this same clerk helped all the others on the list, those that got the package before me. Did they keep their receipts as sick souvenirs? Pin them on chalk boards? Tuck them in their drawers?

I don't need it. If I wanted a reminder, I would have made copies of those tapes or kept the map. But I never want to hear those tapes again, even though her voice will never leave my head. And the houses, the streets, the people; Casper high will always be there to remind me.

I walk out the post office, slowly. Ever swallow tastes sour. Every step is an effort. I want to collapse into the side walk and just lay there. I don't want to face school today.

I don't want to face the people there.

I don't want to face that one seat in the class. That one seat.

Paulina's.

Empty.

Hurray for DXS! Next chapter will take place one hour after school, and you guys can see what exactly makes Sam so exhausted, and why's she's awake at five thirty in the morning (She didn't sleep at all), and what the heck is going on.

Thanks for reading, please review!

~Mark the tiny Giraffe.