Hey there, friends~! So, I uh... well, I've had this for about a day and a half... (Bad author, bad!) I know, I'm sorry. It's not my fault. It's my friend Syd's. Honest. She didn't read this to tell me what she thought for like, a day and a half of that, so yeah. She doesn't usually read them for me before I publish, but to be honest, I was kind of nervous about this chapter. Kinda silly, huh?

Well, not really. This pretty much puts into concrete the rest of the story. oooooooooooooooooooooooh~! YES, I HAVE MADE A DECISION! :D For the ending, at least. Then, who knows? Will you still all love me?

With that in mind, I quite possibly seal my fate. Your beloved and humbled author, Sarcasmastic.

P.S.- Review! PLEASE?

Mrs. Baxter had come in from her nail appointment and went straight to the phone. It'd been bothering her all day, and she wasn't going to forget this.

"Yes, I would like to file a complaint. With you? Alright. …Well, Lately, I have been seeing that Danny Phantom character around my property," she began, saying his name as it was filth upon her lips, puckering them to further the taste from her tongue, "and I would like to know what you propose to do about it. ….Well, he IS a ward of the state, is he not?" she paused. "…Well, yes, I understand that he is 'dead'," another pause, "…but he is still a child, and he is trespassing; and I want him taken care of!" The woman on the other line spoke. "What do you mean, 'private company'? Ghostbusters?" she slammed down the receiver and huffed.

She'd seen glimpses of him over the past week: in the yard, the playground next door (while not her property, still close enough to cause disruption), in the front of the house, and on her deck! Russell better do something about this! I am not going to have him around… influencing my son. Come on, Stacey! Protect your child against this "ghost boy"!

"Stace, I think there's something going on with Dash—he's acting strangely. Did you notice?"

"Yes, I noticed. I think I know what is wrong. Did you notice that that 'Danny Phantom'… thing has been around lately? A little more than is usual?"

"Oh, no… that criminal? What's he been doing around here?"

"I do not know, but I have a feeling that it has to do with our son. I want this taken care of, Russell. I am afraid."

"Me too. Hang on," he said. Mr. Baxter rose from his seat in search of an item. He opened this drawer and that: there was a place for everything, and everything was kept neatly in its place. Too bad it was his wife who did the organizing.

"Leftmost top drawer—under the tablecloths," she said from the table over her shoulder.

"Righto, thanks," he replied, opening the drawer and lifting a perfectly white, perfectly folded cloth to reveal the cover of "Amity Park Listings". It seemed to him to be a few years old, but he didn't really mind. "Here it is. The Phonebook. Do you think they're in here?"

"Of course they will be. Is 'Fenton' spelled with a 'P-h' at the beginning?" she asked.

Upstairs, down the history hallway, was a small classroom in which Danny sat; alone in a sea of peers. His teacher, poor Mr. C, always receiving his silent ridicule [probably somewhat unfairly], was teaching and telling the class while they took notes.

What time is it? 9 o' clock. Okay, Mr. C, continue to tell me about the French revolution, because honestly, this headache is starting to get to me. Is it pounding with my heartbeat, or opposite to my heartbeat? Or am I just imagining this? Danny sat in class, pondering life as he stared, mind absent of any valuable thought, at a bird resting on the electric wire outside of the window. He wished he could disappear; not just from Danny Fenton's life, but now, Danny Phantom's as well.

Dash just had to come find me today, right? At least I got away with only a busted lip and a nice, long talk. Is Phantom getting to him? Danny shifted uneasily in his seat. I mean, this time last week, it was concussions and unconsciousness. Now, there's a witty banter, a little hitting, then he just… gets distracted. As he watched the bird fly, he began to think of his own actions, his effect as the bird on the wire he'd been resting on. He never even really says anything related to Phantom… really makes you think: is all of this… healthy? What am I doing to Dash's mind? His inner workings? Am I being selfish?

He hadn't told Dash two different times. He'd had the chance and he could've told him: once as himself, and the other as Phantom. He could've ended all of this stress with a few words, and taken the result for the best, but he didn't. You just couldn't ruin a good thing, huh? Even if it's at the expense of someone you care about. He'd begun to sink lower in his seat, and now his nose was resting on the rim of the wood paneling. He could see just barely over the desktop, and was looking intently into the bottomless pits that were the eyes of the girl sitting across from him. She had scorn on her face, but it wasn't directed at him. No, she had other things on her mind; as did he. Her green eyes were dead to him, and his blue eyes were dead to her. Would it be better if I just left Dash alone? I mean, I pulled him into all this—at the beginning, my landing on his porch threw him into a giant pool of dramatic… well, dramatic bullshit. I mean, he's a jock. He can't date anyone but the best, and sorry, Danny boy, that's just not you. He scrunched his face up, scratched his nose, and continued to think. I mean, if you don't have the courage to be honest with someone you love, then how can you be with them? You don't deserve something like that… Dash doesn't deserve something like you.

"Can I help you?"

Danny had been staring at that green eyed girl for what seemed like forever now. He looked up, and realized that Mr. C had looked away, and she had gotten a word in. He shook himself back into reality, sat up in his chair, and shook his head firmly.

"Good, then stop staring at me."

"Pfft, you wish," he mumbled, crumpling back down and resting his head on his desk, arms folded. He sat with a scowl on his face, but let it go quickly enough. Her face returned to the board, but not before uttering a short "freak" in his direction.

You don't know the half of it, baby, was his only thought as he raised his head to look at the cruel, unforgiving hands of the clock, and realized that it was 9:03. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. Why can't today just end?

Dash stood in the c-gym in his weightlifting class that he hated, but needed.

I wonder what Danny was talking about this morning… I should've taken a second to listen to him; God, Dash. Idiot. It was probably important.

Aww, things not going well with the boyfriend?

Shut up, you. Do we have to go through this every damned time?

Not if you listen to me once in a while. There's something up with that little faggot ghost kid of yours.

He sat, lying on a bench underneath a barbell with two 50-pound weights that he should've been using, but were his disguise instead. He sat with his arms raised above him, holding the bar, but not moving.

What?

I'm telling you, something isn't right with him. Listen to me, Dash. You're me; I'm you. So, when I tell you something, that means that you know it yourself. This Phantom kid? There's something dishonest; something that you need to know about. Or better yet, just drop the faggot and you won't have to deal with it at all!

No; no. You're lying… Danny wouldn't do that to me—he's told me pretty much everything! I mean, that's the reason we started talking!

He was too busy losing an argument to himself to notice that the teacher was coming by. His eyes were closed, and in that darkness, he had lost his way; no longer able to discern the border between reality and dreams. His reality seemed like a dream for a while there; he had a killer girlfriend, he had a ton of friends, he wasn't talking to himself… We started talking because he needed to vent about that girl.

You don't even know who the chick was.

IT DOESN'T MATTER WHO SHE WAS! "WAS" is the keyword! I have no reason to think that he's hiding something!

"Come on, Baxter. Keep it up. You need to be able to bench 232 by December. Let's go." And that was all that he said.

On the other side of the school, two girls stood talking.

"What is it?" she asked instantly, before Sam had even let it go. "A picture? Of Wha—Oh!" she cried, throwing a hand to her mouth.

"None other than the infamous Danny Phantom—the one who has captured your heart, yeah?" She smiled. "What do you think of him now, Paulina?"

From over the picture emerged two fireballs of pure Latino scorn. "He's going to pay for this."