AN: So this is more like part two of chapter three, but since it was mostly done, I decided to post it a little early.

Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom and Tangled. All rights go to their respective owners. Please support their official releases.

Chapter Four: Personal Issues

I watch as the class freezes in place. Even those who were only half listening do double takes and start staring at me, wide eyed with disbelief, shock, or confusion. All the while, I stand in front of the class, smiling sweetly like I didn't just tell them that their new classmate would be leaving them soon in the worst possible of ways.

Oh yes, the cheery nerd having a tragic backstory. I can see it now. Rumors spreading of a girl with no friends from moving to place to place because of an incurable disease. Watch out! Don't get too close! You might get infected. All the while she's covering up her true pain and suffering behind a veil of sarcasm and smiles. In the end, it's all she can do to die alone in the hospital, friendless and forgotten.

Oh, woe is me and stuff.

But seriously though, the shock factor was just to annoy Mr. Favoritism. He probably had some big bad speech planned after I introduced myself about being careful and that they should be good humanitarians and help me and junk like that.

Ha! I have enough of the stage and spotlight, thank you very much.

All you need is a microphone, and you'll be set.

I mentally arch an eyebrow at Ini. And do what? Pole dance with it? You know, I can't exactly sing. Bad lungs you know?

Ini's giggle echoes in my head. She then sends a mental image of me tangoing with a microphone stand in front of the classroom. The entire class plus Mr. Lancer and Ms. Ishiyama gape at me stupidly while a boy, Danny I think, sits in the background laughing.

Inwardly, I smirk. Not exactly what I meant by pole dancing, but hey, that's embodiment of innocence and insanity for you.

"Ms. Wahnsinn!" I look lazily towards the teacher who is looking at me with a mixture of shock and disproval.

'I'm sorry did you want to wait to make them love me before crushing their dreams of being my friend?' This is what I want to reply, but that would not win me any favors. I'm done messing with the man, for now. No need to make him my enemy on the first day of school.

"Sorry to be blunt, Mr. Lancer. I just thought they should know. That's practically the whole reason that you're showcasing me up here, isn't it?" Damn. I let some snark seep through. Oh well.

He gives me an unamused look. "There are procedures and better ways to present these types of issues. The way you presented the issue was uncalled for."

Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. All I hear are excuses to hide the truth.

"This is a joke right? Because this isn't funny Mr. Lancer." I turn to see a blonde kid with a letterman (wow, he got that thing when he was a freshman. Impressive.), suddenly speaking up. His eyes flick between us, wide eyed and afraid.

I look around the room and find the same expression on other people's faces. Okay, now I'm feeling guilty. I didn't want these guys to get feel bad.

Great. Now, I'm the bad guy.

I smile sadly at the jocky looking dude. "Sorry, but it's true. A genetic defect that causes my lungs not to be able to replace new cells as quickly as they should. It wouldn't be so bad, but the lungs are only once cell thick and regeneration is essential. Overtime, my lungs will deteriorate to the point of being unusable, and I'll die. Right now I'm projected to live for ten more years at best."

The poor guy's eyes widen even further, his mouth slightly agape. "Ten years?" He mumbles. "That's not enough time to do… anything."

I shrug. "It's better doing nothing normally with other people for ten years than being alive in a hospital bed alone for twenty." I pause in my speech then sigh in frustration. "Look, this isn't about my short life span. I knew I was gonna die young at ten. I'm practically numb to the idea now. Yeah, the numb will probably wear off when I'm on my death bed, but that's neither here nor there." I shake my head. I'm getting sidetracked. "The point is the only reason I'm telling you this is so I can live longer and not die when an emergency happens."

"Like what?" The blonde jock asks, rather loudly in my opinion. "What can we do to stop this stupid lung cancer? It's not like we're doctors or anything!"

The boy shrinks back as I turn to glare at him. "First of all it's not cancer. I've seen cancer. Trust me, this is not it." I close my eyes and calm myself. They didn't know about my mom. How could they? I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding and open my eyes to continue. "All I'm asking is to look out for me."

I pull out my inhaler from my right jacket pocket and hold it up for everyone to see. The crowd leans in closer to get a better look. "This is my emergency lifeline, aka my inhaler. If I'm clutching my chest, I will probably use it to not feel like I'm dying. One spritz coats my lungs with this junk that holds them together and stimulates cell growth." I put the inhaler back into my pocket.

"W…wh..wh...why are you telling us this?" The red headed stereotypical looking nerd in the front asks. (Seriously, the guys screams nerd pride. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a sign saying 'beat me up' on his back.)

I arch an eyebrow and smile, amused. "Because Principal Ishiyama thought it was a great idea to tell my Homeroom of my condition just in case I can't get to my inhaler, or if I have an attack, and I'm too weak to get up afterwards to go to the nurse's office. I'm just asking you guys to have my back for the worst case scenario. The more people who know, the greater reassurance of my safety." I pull my backpack off my shoulder and dig through the front pocket until I pull out yet another inhaler.

"There's always one inhaler in my right jacket pocket or jeans pocket if it's too hot. The other one is the front pocket of my backpack. Just hand it to me so I can use it. If I can't, and worst comes to worst and there's no teacher around to help, shake it and spray it into my mouth."

And hope to God it works.

I've never actually gotten to that scenario. The closest situation to a student helping me would be carrying me to the nurse's office. I don't know if I'm beyond helping myself that the spray will actually work.

Best not to think about it, and just hope that I'll live.

Or you could ask Daddy.

Maybe. But shh... I'm in the middle of an epic explanation.

Yes, I will let you have your moment, oh, Master of Explanations.

I sigh, put the inhaler back into my backpack and pull it back over my shoulder before I look at them all. "So any questions?"

I see a hand raise tentatively in the back of the class. An African American boy (or did he prefer to be called black? Race politics suck.) in a red beret wearing glasses and a yellow sweater – sweat shirt looking thing. He's studying me, like he's unsure of what to make of me.

"This…this isn't some cruel joke right? Because it's not very funny if it is." His voice is a little shaky. Ini notes that he asked the opposite question of the jock. I half acknowledge her and look around. The entire class seems to be waiting for an answer.

I shake my head, stuffing my hands in my jean pockets as I did so. "No. It's not a joke. It hasn't been a joke for six years, but let me tell you this."

Thank goodness I don't have stage fright because if I did, their stares would have sent me running the other direction. Even so, I have to resist the urge to look away from the crowd with all the attention I'm getting.

I close my eyes, trying to calm myself and find the right words. "Look, I may be dying, but I'm not dead. I want to live my life as much as I can, even if it's not something spectacular because really if I'm happy and enjoying the little things that life has to offer, is it such a bum deal?" I take a moment to wet my chapped lips, trying to ignore the stares. When I continue, my voice is quieter, almost a whisper. "Yeah, I'm going to die young. Granted, that fact terrifies me sometime and other times it's…it's…like.."

My eyes widen when I found the right words, though my heart sinks with each word that comes out of my mouth. "It's like being frozen in front of rushing train." Eyes around the room become tinted with curious interest. "You know it's coming. You know you're gonna die. Sometimes, you just want it to come faster and get it over with, because just waiting for it kills you more than actually dying sometimes… but…" I think of my dad. His jokes, his hugs, and what he does for me. A more genuine softer sort of smile creeps onto my face. "I have a good life. I have a loving father with a steady income. Yeah, I'm the new girl, but even if I don't have a single friend here, I have my friends back at Texas that I can skype with if I ever get lonely.

"I'm content and happy, which is more than what a lot of people can say. There are other people dying on the streets with their own fears, their own trains rushing to get them and unlike me their trains might have been coming for years without anyone else to help them. So yeah, it sucks. I'm dying, but it could be worse. Don't pity me. I hate that. There's nothing I can do to stop this from coming without ending myself right now. So why worry you know?"

They don't understand. They probably would never understand. I can tell that just by seeing their confused, angry, damn pitiful, anything but empathetic faces. Not like I wanted them to know what it feels like to have a death warrant, but still, it's sad to see.

Look again. In the back of the class.

I follow Ini's instructions and, to my shock, she's right.

There are three teenagers in the back who have that look in their eyes. The look that's way too mature for their ages. It's Danny, the African American boy, and a Punk/Goth looking girl.

The girl looks at me with what seems like respect. She leans back in her chair, arms crossed, and a slight frown on her face. Her violet eyes stare, analyzing me, but she nods acceptingly, much to my confusion.

Red Beret (Dang I need to know names) simply stares at me like I'm an alien creature from another planet. His expression has a mixture of awe and (damn it) pity. Unlike most of the others though, he has a small smile on his face. It's reassuring in a way that says to me that he knows that he doesn't quite understands, but he'll try the best way he can.

And then there's Danny. He does have the empathetic stare. Like he knows the very possibility of death every day and hides it away with a smile. Like he knows his own morality. I can't distinguish what all he knows in that stare. The only thing I do know is that with a small quirk of a reassuring smile that's on his face with understanding in his eyes, he gets it. He knows I don't want their pity because pity just makes everything worse.

I feel the soft smile return to my face before looking away from them. They'll be on my top list of 'people who I should try to befriend'…though I don't want to know what demons made them able to be empathetic.

Maybe in time.

I force myself to look away and smile back to the class. "So… anything else?"

Other than a few whispers of conversations, no one speaks up.

"Alright then." I jump when Mr. Lancer speaks, swirling my head suddenly to look at him. I forgot Mr. Favoritism was there. "You may sit next to whomever you like for the remainder of the Homeroom. However, I would like to see you afterschool if you don't mind, Ms. Wahnsinn."

"Not at all. Just not too long though. I have to get home as soon as possible."

"Of course."

As I turn away, I notice the arrangement of the room for the first time. It's astounding really.

For a person to understand why I revel in the wonder of human and social interactions, a little story is in store.

I remember in sixth grade when my history teacher told us to look around the classroom on the first day of school. We were confused since we didn't find anything wrong. Then he pointed it out. We had all arranged ourselves according to our social groups. Keep in mind at the time I just moved to a new area (again), and we just started middle school, so all the faces were new. The most fascinating and maybe disturbing thing is that my teacher was right. I found myself sitting with a Caucasian girl who had a shirt with Pokémon reference, another Caucasian nerd, a nervous looking boy this time, and an Asian girl reading the Hunger Games, quirking an eyebrow at the teacher for giving her something new to notice.

Just my type of people.

Ever since then, I've noticed the separation, the isolation, people tend to unconsciously to put others in when they aren't assigned a place to be. Ini didn't particularly get it when I tried to make her understand. After all, people are people, and they should be treated equally based on character, not on hobbies, race, sexual orientation, etc.

Ini doesn't get a lot of things, especially when it comes to human cruelties.

And here, just like in my middle school and my last high school, you can tell that the students have arranged themselves rather than be assigned seats.

The right side of the room seems to have all the better off kids or at the very least, seemingly better off. The jocky ones with the bright smiles and cocky eyes, who are alternating between chatting with their friends and staring at me. Then there are the pretty girls next to them that know that they're pretty and wear make-up to make them look twenty.

They must think they look more mature no doubt.

I think they're the cheerleaders as well, but to be completely honest, if these girls were to go to my old schools, they would instantly be labeled as sluts. Not fair maybe, but with the heavy make-up, skinny jeans, way-too-tall high heels, and crop tops, I'm sorry, there's little to no other labels you can put on them other than 'you know you want to do me.'

Not fair, but with the cocky ass looks they're giving me, I'm keeping with that sentiment.

In the front of the class, the type of kids that could be described as either geeks or band nerds sit shakily in the front like they're terrified of their own shadows, which from personal experience, shadows can be horrifying! They look between me and the jocks, gulping and sweating nervously as they continue stare worriedly. What are they worried about? I have my suspicions, but I'm just hoping I'm wrong.

I really don't want the School Wrecker to come back.

Then there are the etcetera kids, of course. Those who don't particularly belong in the previously established groups like a couple of brooding or overly cheerful groups or are sitting by themselves. One African American girl wearing a yellow tank top sits by herself. I would try to sit next to her, but she keeps giving me an odd look that's a mixture of pity and cold analysis like she's fighting an inner battle with herself or something.

I'm going to be Switzerland and not get involved with her little war.

And then there's the trio in the back. It's so weird! It's like there's a little bubble around them. The concept fascinates and concerns me in equal measure.

The three sit the back corner of the room farthest from the door. The Goth/Punk girl sits in the corner and the red beret dude sits next to her while Danny sits in front of them both. However, there's at least one desk between them and everyone else in the classroom. Even those close to them are turned away. It simultaneously makes them invisible and paints a huge target on the little group.

It's these moments of stepping back and seeing everything that makes me wonder. Wonder what? Various things, I suppose. On my more vindictive days it would be the hope of humanity when we can't even bring people together in a classroom. These jocks have these stupid sneers and arrogant smiles that repulse like a magnet, yet in this case opposite don't attract.

Yet some days when I'm kinder, I give logic to the separation. People of certain social groups don't need to interact if they don't want to. People have the right to sit with the people they choose. I know I don't want to sit with random people I don't particularly know that well when I could be sitting with my friends.

Today, I'm just tired and don't give a crap. Having the class stare at me like I was about to fall over at any moment is not on my top ten lists of things on my bucket list. Trust me, I have one.

Time for a complaining moment. I'm physically tired from waking up early and socially tired from all this people. If only I was mentally exhausted then the rest of Homeroom could make a good nap time.

Complaining moment over.

Unfortunately that's not the case for me at the moment, and I need to find a seat before I can even think about napping. There's an empty desk in the front right corner of the room, one away from the wall, that's calling my name, so I walk over to it, swing my backpack to the ground, and plop down in my seat.

There are a few whispers around me, but I'm not feeling up to eavesdropping on blatantly loud conversations next to me. They give me headaches to listen to. Instead, I sigh and rummage through my backpack with one hand until I find my drawing notebook.

Let's just make this clear, I'm no artist, nor do I want to go professional though I might write a book before I die. No, I just like to doodle. My dad bought me the notebook after he got tired of seeing pen marks on my arm. That and the note one teacher gave him that she was not amused at my doddles on the back of my semester exam.

In my defense, it was almost an hour before the final bell rang, and she told us we weren't allowed to do anything after the test except sit there. I guess she hoped to encourage us to check our answers, but I already did that five times before I started doodling. It was her fault for making the test so easy.

I don't do well with boredom.

I sigh once more as I pull a pencil out of my bag, twirling it absentmindedly between my fingers. I close my eyes and get distracted at the feeling of wood dancing on my skin, slowing or speeding up the movements randomly to see how it would feel.

I stop twirling it when I accidently stab my hand with the point edge, biting my lip to keep from reacting too much.

Concentrate, Hannah!

Go away.

Don't you love me, cranky?

Shut up, we all can't be hyperactive like you.

Why are you so cranky, Hannah?

Other than being tired, I just can't figure out what to draw.

I draw a little swirl on the paper to show my lack o' creativity at the moment. My eye twitches at the persona's reaction. Predictably, Ini is jumping around her little mental room like a three year old on a sugar high at the prospect at being creative, the lights in her room swirling in random colored spotlights, giving me a headache.

She grins at me as she jumps around.

I know! I know! I know!

Not the ghost boy.

She suddenly stops jumping around and pouts, lights suddenly still.

…Fine… Then just draw regular ghosts then.

You're really demanding today, you know that?

I expect some cutesy or smarty response back from her or even a pout with a spout of outrage from the persona.

…please?

Her pleading tone catches me off guard. It's silent in my mind, as she waits for her answer. I imagine her ears are turned back, her eyes glancing at anywhere but where she looks when she talks to me. It's a heartbreaking sight to see. For anyone else, I would think they were trying to manipulate me in some way, but this is Ini, and she doesn't understand the meaning of manipulation.

The silence penetrates the whispering students around me, making them seem like garbles in another land. I frown at the situation, my heart heavy from Ini's reaction.

I… I don't know why she's like this. Ini gets this way for the most random reasons. I try to find logic in her actions, but she's one of the only people that I can't seem to figure out, which is ironic since she is in my head.

She suddenly attacks herself sometimes. Mentally and not like with her claws and teeth and such, not physical harm. The closest thing I could compare it to would be ego issues that normal teenagers would get. It's like she doesn't feel worthy or guilty at moments. I never particularly understand it.

It doesn't mean I don't try.

I flip to a fresh page and smile softly, but making sure I direct the feelings of comfort towards my little persona.

Alright my Insanity.

And when Ini smiles, I start drawing ghosts in my notebook, using a small swirl as a starting point.

Word count: 3784 words (not including intro, outro, or title.)

AN: Done. So Hannah is still at her first hour of the first day of school. Ugh! Not much has happened in a lot of words!

I think either next chapter or the chapter after that actually plot will begin… Hopefully. Hannah was supposed to meet Danny and friends this chapter originally, but I realized how out of character that would be for both her and Team Phantom. At the moment, after talking about her disease and such, Hannah wouldn't really be in the mood to talk to people. I had this whole scene planned out with dialogue and everything already written down but it wouldn't have worked.

I just realized I accidently gave Danny the stereotypical main hero seat that high schoolers always seem to sit in... At least he isn't next to a window. (The second to last row on the edge near a window to look at for thinking purposes important to the plot. Look at high school animes to see what I'm talking about.)

I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story, so far. I've been a little unsure about this whole endeavor, but you guys are really supportive with all your reviews, follows, favorites, etc. I will try to get more third person POV in this story.

As you may have seen, I changed the summary, which I like much better than before. What do you think?

Anyway, see you next time!