She Said No: Jazz
It was always phone calls. Danny, calling her for help. She didn't mind, she could understand. There wasn't really anyone he could talk to and hope to have a modicum of true understanding. Except for Tucker, and Tucker was too wrapped up between his two best friends to concentrate solely on one.
Jazz supposed she was expanding her focus, since she was walking up the sidewalk in the park, eyes searching for a figure she expected to find. Danny had called, had said that she'd skipped out, she was having trouble dealing. Even with her therapist.
But Casper High was full of vultures, circling the damaged carcass and waiting to sink their pointy little beaks in. Or maybe it was Danny. The fact that she'd had to be saved, something that Sam could tolerate when it was ghost related, but not when real life came to call.
Ah, there. Curled up on a bench, knees pulled to her chest and arms wrapped around. Head against them, propped up on her chin. And looking so lost. Yes, Sam needed to talk to someone. And sometimes the therapist wouldn't work so well, especially when certain aspects had to be kept secret.
How Danny had gotten into the apartment.
How he had known how to save her.
And the more mundane inquiries that the police had pestered her about until her parents had threatened a lawsuit to stop the harassment. Sam had stuck by the story that she had passed out shortly after Danny arrived. If Danny was to be believed, it wasn't a story. Sam hadn't been conscious to see anything. And since Danny was a terrible liar when it came to anything but his ghost half…
"Sam? She asked quietly as she eased herself onto the bench next to the younger girl.
"Danny sent you." A statement, not a question, and Jazz smiled a little. The psychic connection that wasn't. Right. "He keeps trying to get me to talk to you."
Jazz shrugged, dancing around encouragement. "He's trying to help."
"He already helped enough," Sam whispered against her knees. Jazz said nothing. Time passed, and even without glancing at her watch Jazz knew that it had been considerable. At least an hour, and then Sam finally spoke again. "I feel like it's my fault."
Tears clogged Jazz's throat, and she hesitated before laying a hand on the younger girl's arm. "It's not your fault. It's not ever your fault." Jazz patted her arm ineffectually. "You can't think like this. It was Alex's fault, and still is."
"You said no."