Could be read as Veggie Burger? Could be? Either way, I love Sam, and I wanted to capitalize on the arc that the show writers forgot to write, I guess- I want to give a huge thank you to all the comments and everything I've been receiving; they're extremely motivating! You all are literally as sweet as I want to make this story. ~Cosmo
The cafeteria settled into its lull as the lunch ladies began to shutter the serving windows. Danny picked at his tray, pushing around his salad and square of pizza bread. There was a dark cloud drowning the geek table. The cold shoulder was arctic and cavernous between Danny and Sam. The feud was still on, that didn't mean they couldn't share the table.
Foley removed his backpack and rooted around, "Do you guys want to see the new dice set I got for the campaign? They're my druid's colors."
"Yeah, Danny, do you wanna not be a selfish jerk and look at your friend's sparkly dice?"
Fenton dropped his fork onto his food and silently stared daggers at Sam. He had an open body language as if begging Sam to take the first shot since she clearly wanted to fight. She replied with a folded brow and a stern expression. All they needed was some nature documentary sounds to fully sell the image of a catty catfight.
"They're not sparkly…" Foley pulled out his twenty-sided die, fumbling for a distraction between the animosity, "they have gold flakes."
A football darted above their heads, narrowly missing Sam's ponytail. She slammed her fists onto the table, causing the bolts in the folds to rattle. Manson snapped at the jocks walking by, retrieving their ball, "Can you find the field? It's not like you spend a majority of your life there or anything!"
"Sam," Danny uttered, embarrassed.
The athletes moved on in their sauntering herd, whispering amongst each other with scrutiny. Sam didn't really get 'embarrassed.' She had immeasurable amounts of confidence and stubbornness. Not to mention bundles of impulsivity, Never speechless. Extremely opinionated. She made it difficult to keep their heads off the chopping block.
"What?"
Danny stood pointing at Sam, "You were the one that told me to pump the brakes when I was getting even with the a-listers, but… what are you doing?"
"I'm sorry, we can't all be social climbers like you," She scowled.
By no means was the ghost anyone someone who sought to be the top, the king of anyone- but he wanted what anyone wanted, to be accepted. He knew that Sam possessed that compassion, so… who was she doing this for? Was this her way of protecting him? Making him feel awful for wanting any form of a boundary?
"This- I'm not some indie rock band selling out. Wh-What are you-? Why- why is it every single time someone pays a little interest in me, it's suddenly open season, huh?" He stared at her with askance, "What gives with that, Sam?"
Tucker pulled out two more tiny drawstring bags, "I forgot to mention I was allowed to make molds in metal-shop so- you're welcome for fly as hell color-coordinated dice sets."
When he didn't start the conflict, Tuck was positively averse to it. He didn't want the people closest to him to be so consumed by a petty difference of opinion. Though in Danny's mind, it was a matter of life or death. More accurately, afterlife or experimentation.
Sam pushed Tucker's hand gently back into his chest, "the adults are talking."
"What about any of this situation is adult?!" Danny exclaimed at her utter tone-deafness, "We're fifteen years old- and you're mad at me, for-" a strangled noise emerged from his throat, "I don't know why you're even mad at me-! Being friends with Dash?"
"This isn't about Dash," Sam countered, she almost scoffed. Danny couldn't place why that annoyed him more than anything leading up to the fight.
"Please enlighten me," Sarcastically, Danny declared, "if it isn't about Dash, then what are we fighting over?"
Gritting her teeth- Sam gathered her trash onto her tray, including Tucker and Danny's unfinished lunches, tossing them into the garbage can. Then kicked it over with her fake leather boot. She wasn't Sam Manson if she didn't leave a wake of chaos in her path.
At the table, Danny sighed. He wasn't really that hungry anyway. Tucker meanwhile gripped his custom made dice to his body. Foley just wanted this to be over already; he wanted his friends back. Without them, Tucker just had old computer parts and his seventy square foot bedroom on weekends.
"So, did you make my ranger's dice green or blue?" Fenton asked
Tucker poured the dice into the palm of his hand, revealing that they were translucent with a cerulean tint with a dark navy in the grooves of the numbers. Danny didn't know the first thing about resin or mold making, but they were smooth, glossy even. He knew it was more complicated than just going to the card store and buying a set. That was enough to tell him that Tucker was a friend for the long haul. Foley wouldn't be creative or thoughtful for anyone else.
"These are so professional, dude!"
Tucker gave a small smile, perking up, "They glow in the dark too."
"No way," Danny studied them closer, "That must've taken forever."
"Yeah- it's whatever yknow? I had way too much free time- But I made them light and see-through because like- uh…"
"Yeah, I figured," Danny laughed, "I appreciate it, though."
"Sam's were a bit harder though since her character is a barbarian," Tucker hefted the purple felt bag, "her set weighs a ton, not on one side, thankfully. But it took some trial and error since I was working with denser material. The guys on the DIY forum were surprisingly accommodating."
There was a silence for a moment. Danny scratched his head, "Are you still mad at me too?"
Unrolling his sweater sleeve, Tucker put the dice bags away into his backpack. Class was going to start soon.
"Tucker… Are you-"
"I heard you," He said sullenly. Tucker adjusted his glasses, "It's… It's none of my business what you do or don't do with your powers; I've learned that much. As much as I want to be included, I know that… I can never relate to what you're going through, just like how you could never understand what it's like being… being an autistic black kid. You used to like going to pep rallies, and you stopped 'cuz I couldn't do them. You never brought it up, but I noticed."
He concluded, "I don't know what the ghost equivalent of a pep rally is, but I'll be there for you if I can."
Tucker stood and headed towards the exit, "I'm gonna go find Sam before she burns down something."
Placing his head on the table, Danny realized that didn't answer his question either. Why was he so bad at this?
The library was slowly becoming a shell of its former self… er- its former shelf?
Casper High wasn't exactly big into 'book learning.' They weren't churning out ivy league scholars by any means. Sure, you had your odd Jazz or Pointdexter, misunderstood geniuses- with potential to be revolutionary doctors or lawyers. People of influence maybe someday. Casper High didn't really accommodate those students. That wasn't to say there was no funding or money to provide for them. Just most of that money trickled back into sports and athletics. Those were the types that felt like they owned the place. Sam was a gymnastics prodigy since the age of four. She didn't want Casper High. She didn't enjoy that her twice great grandfather's name was on the library no one was grateful for. It didn't change how alienated she felt from those in her own 'social class'.
Though through all the excess amounts of material goods in her stately townhouse, she never felt more closer to her family or their lineage than right here. Sitting in their library. The Mansons, before her mother took over control of the investment assets- always seemed to pick losing horses.
She didn't like the idea of coasting; she didn't like being comfortable for too long. Though she had to cling to it, any shred she could find. That's why she beat herself up over having feelings. For all the money in the world, she couldn't afford emotions. Sam sat in the skeleton of her grandfather's greatest gift, taking in the smell of stale page fibers.
Danny wasn't a losing horse.
Sam turned the page of her occult book that she wasn't absorbing. Her eyes just scanned the illustrations for familiarity. It was times like these where belief felt so misplaced. After months of punching herself mentally until her hands were scraped, she did this to Danny for a reason. Whether cosmically, spiritually- Her life as it was now had to be this way for some purpose.
Having defiance be her defining attribute, Sam realized how silly it was that she was leaving it up to fate itself to be her compass. She had spent many sleepless nights pulling at that thread. No one would have liked what was at the end of the line.
It was immature to assign blame to an accident. No one could have predicted it. Though it did nothing to make her skin stop itching. She saw the toll it took on Danny, though, and she wondered- if he blamed her too. Or if he knew that she had… a fleeting attraction to his 'alter ego.' If she could even defend it that way. It was just Danny with some hair bleach. Sam shut her book, nearly chucking it off the table. Brain stupid. Emotions bad-
This fight wasn't about Dash encroaching on her space. It wasn't about a self-entitled rich boy sauntering into a mess that didn't belong to him. It wasn't even about Danny spending time with someone else. This was just another exercise in Sam hurting others because she couldn't bear to hurt alone.
At one point, way before high school even existed, Danny had confided in her that he had always wanted Dash to be his friend. She couldn't see the appeal. Sam had always assumed it was one of those- power fantasy things that boys had. He didn't want to be friends with the actual Dash Baxter. He wanted to be Dash Baxter. He wanted that same level of popularity-
She was staring off into nothing. Letting her vision become unfocused with her frustration, and in walked in a familiar large blond martini-glass frame. Though suspiciously missing a trademark red jacket, in favor of an unassuming black muscle shirt. Well, one had to assume it was a muscle shirt or all normal clothes just sat like that on a football legend to be.
Sam noticed that the jock had several rather decently sized paperbacks on the counter. Was he lost?
"Hey… I'm all for ditching, but you're my home ec partner for life, till death do us part," Tucker leaned on the corner of the table, trying to find some comforting words. All he could manage was a vague attempt at demonstrating his loyalty. Sam craned her neck around Foley to see that Dash had already left, and the books were gone as well.
Foley coaxing Sam continued," -and we have to do a presentation about credit card interest rates. I mean, I helped you put it together, no offense but the red text on a black background that's a little sixth grade…"
Swallowing all of her pride, Manson toyed with her bracelets, "I'm sorry, for I spoke to you back there. That wasn't cool. I know you don't like being talked down to... "
"Someone's gotta keep my ego in check," He joked, raising a hand.
High-fiving him, Sam clasped onto his hand to pull herself out of her chair. She gathered her occult book, distracted that she dropped it onto the floor.
"Danny's really got you bent out of shape, huh?" Tucker returned it to her, "Or should I say-"
"You shouldn't, actually." Sam darted her glance around- she yanked Foley behind the culture section. She held her ritual book close, correcting, "I really shouldn't have said anything."
"You didn't have to." Foley dismissed, "You always eyeball his ghostly swish tail butt. Girl, there's nothing there."
She covered her eyes in cliche teenage girl shame speaking in a whisper-scream, lamely attempting to get Tucker to do the same since he had trouble controlling his volume, "I know there's nothing there! I've checked!"
"... Are you ever going to tell him?" It was a loaded question as it was honest. Tucker was nothing if not blunt. He had little patience for things that didn't involve academics or technology. Usually, Sam was of the same outlook. Secrets? Drama? As a group, they tended to stick to what they knew, which was obscure music, tabletop RPGs, and science. Well, and the one-off time they accidentally murdered their own friend, but they never claimed they were good scientists.
"Tucker, I can barely look you in the face when we talk about it," Manson crossed her arms. "What do you think?"
"Do you remember the dance?" He steered her by the shoulders past the check-out desk.
"I try not to."
"I get flashes here and there- " Foley gave a so-so motion, "being overshadowed through some of it didn't help. But at one point, you and I were supposed to go together."
Sam landed on the crash bar with her back, "That was… weird."
"Good, weird?" Tucker smiled slightly, helping her push the door.
Sam didn't respond. Tucker scratched his head through his hat... suppose that was a good enough answer. They exited the library.
There was no curing what ailed Sam, and that was Danny. Tucker could live with that. As long as she was happy, as long as Danny was happy- then surely he could find it in him to be happy too. Though… Danny did resemble a bird with a healed wing, still stuck in its cage by the window. It wasn't so much that he wanted to be rid of them, but they could stand to hover less. They wandered the empty halls, with nothing but the rhythm of their shoes on the linoleum.
"Tucker, were you gonna say you had a crush on me-?" Sam decided that the question was too freaky to ignore.
Distracted by his possible solutions, Foley hummed, "hm?"
Then his ears finally did their job besides holding up his glasses. Tucker shrugged casually as if he didn't drop a bombshell that would've shaken a lesser friendship to the bedrock, "I get a crush on everyone, Sam."
Manson winced, stopping in her tracks, "Doesn't that hurt?"
"If you love everyone you come across, it becomes greater than the sum of the hurt."He didn't stop; he kept going. Because like it or not, they were going to class.
She shook her head, catching up. "It can't be that easy."
"No, but it gets easier." Tucker found the arm rail for the basement stairs, "Everything does."
At the top of the stairs, Sam found herself significantly less frozen in place. At least now, she unclenched her teeth and loosened her hands around her book before descending to the next floor.
"Since the school play is rapidly approaching." Mr Lancer began, gesturing to the sign-up sheet at the front of the classroom, "I figure we could shift gear from the motor history of our great state of Michigan and focus on the history of oral performance-"
Kwan snickered.
"Yes, I too find Greco-Roman opera very amusing." Lancer removed his reading glasses with lethal derisive intent, "So amusing I expect a twelve hundred word essay in my hand tomorrow, Mr Byun."
"Aww, man," the linebacker whined.
Unflappable, the teacher continued his tirade, "Unfortunately for you all, you will have a slightly less amusing task. Mythology of any culture has a habit of evolving with the times. Whether to unconscious choice or deliberate translator meddling."
By the window, Danny stared at the grey overcast, wondering where all the sun yesterday went. He scribbled 'mythology' in his notebook and waited for Mr Lancer to reach the point.
He drew a box with a few pushes of chalk with a missing lid, "Pandora, for example. She's one of my favorite examples. All the gods made Pandora with the intention to punish man- so to say. With her magic box of chaos with her."
"Most scholars paint Pandora as an unwitting and curious individual. Not knowing the dangers of her box. Though the closest and my interpretation- Pandora knew perfectly well what her box held, she had Hermes' cunning and the rage of Aries. She was the first Trojan horse, sent to Epimetheus."
Lancer made an explosion with his hands before excitedly running his fingers over the chain for his reading glasses. He drew a wave exiting the box. Laughing somewhat maniacally.
He coughed, "Of course, what left that box was sickness, death, evil itself in some versions. However, the one thing that would not leave the box was hope. I'd like to believe even Pandora herself put this addition into the box because she and the gods' combined power weren't strong enough to renounce it completely. Incredibly cheesy, I know."
A loosely wadded paper ball landed on Danny's notebook. Since this was a common method the populars would use to mess with him- not an especially good one, Danny brushed it off his desk.
The next one hit his temple.
He scowled, glaring in the direction it came from. And there Dash was facing the front of the room, but with a smirk directed for him. Danny thought they were finally on good terms now?
Oh God- oh no. It donned on him that these could be love-
Jesus, he couldn't even think it.
Love notes?
Danny shuddered at the thought. When the third one nearly bounced off the window as a trick shot and landed in Danny's hair, that's when he decided that this was a waste of paper.
Scooping the first one from the floor, it was probably best to read them in order. The scrawl was heavy-handed but neater than he originally thought. What was unexpected was that he drew out circles for his lowercase I's.
"Thanks for Saturday. I know it was kind of- how it usually is around here. My dad was more worried about us than the car. It took me forever to convince him that we were fine after seeing the damages. Dads are like that, I guess. I still can't believe it. A few more inches to the left, I could've been skewered.
It would be cool if we could hang out again.
But if you don't, that's cool too."
Danny looked at Dash. Writing down something that Lancer was squawking about. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Had all the paper bullets thrown his way had clumsy attempts at being friendly?
Unfolding the second one, Danny let go of a humorous sigh,
"I almost forgot, but that thing from the drive-in followed me home. It's been hanging around my backyard. It doesn't seem that dangerous, but if you still want to take him back to your lab… or whatever it is your parents have."
The third paper ball was a generously cute drawing of what appeared to be a pit bull puppy with folded ears, colored in with a green highlighter.