A/N: Recent updates and announcements can be found in my profile section.

Story details: It's November in Elwood City, and there is a lot for the students of MCM to anticipate. Opening night for the fall musical will be here before they know it, but they must survive the Autumn Ball, the big school dance, first. Arthur wants to ask Francine to the ball, but Francine is having none of it. She would rather set him up with someone else. Or would she? Buster and Ladonna's plans to go together are dashed when Ladonna is called away for a family wedding, but someone else already has sights set on Buster as a possible date. George never got the courage to ask Fern, and now he wonders if he will even attend the dance at all. Steadily reclaiming his life, Alan struggles to define his friendship with Muffy after making a discovery about her. And then there is Fern, who cannot be bothered with such nonsense because she is at war with her mother. Will she win?

The adults are not having a great time, either. Bitzi wrestles with welcoming a new man into her life, just as she and her ex are becoming better friends. Although Chip has moved closer to home, Catherine is still keeping the Crosswires updated on his wellbeing, and she wonders if she might be overstepping her bounds. And Chip is still dreading Thanksgiving, which is coming up, hard and fast.

Read on to find out what happens in Danger Girl.

This story is rated T for language, themes, suggested subject matter, and description of bodily injury. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Series title credit goes to SpongeGuy.

A Different Point of View, Part 5

Danger Girl

When the working day is done

Oh girls, they wanna have fun

Cyndi Lauper

Chapter 1

The Magenta Menace

"I'm in my room

It's a typical Tuesday night

I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like

And she'll never know your story like I do…"

It was part of the role she played today, the facile, saccharine music currently streaming through her earbuds. Fern reminded herself of that before subjecting her ears to the wholesome pop idol's song. After that, it was easy to sink into her adopted persona and sway her head to the beat with a contented smile. Fern approached the entrance of Elwood City Hospital with a subtle spring in her step. She was on her way to the morgue.

She had come dressed for the occasion. This was the brightest outfit she had worn in quite some time, if one did not count her costume for the community production of Annie last fall. Today's ensemble was a costume, too, so she was not sure if it really counted either. Regardless, she had been proud of the look she managed to pull together as she checked herself in the bathroom mirror before leaving school today. She had snagged a pleated denim skirt and a pair of pink tights from Care to Ware for a song. A puzzled-but-accommodating Muffy had lent her the pink Taylor Swift tee. The denim jacket was hers, though, as were the white Chucks. They still fit, and she was grateful. A pink ribbon in her hair tied everything together. Fern was small in stature, with round eyes and a sweet, innocent face. Combined with this getup, she could easily pass for eleven, perhaps even ten. And that was the plan. Everything about her this afternoon was all part of the role she had to play.

It was Wednesday afternoon. Today had to be the day since the rest of her week would be eaten up by musical rehearsals. The closer to opening night, the more rehearsals there were. That was usually the way of it. They even had an extra-long rehearsal scheduled for this Saturday morning. Not next Saturday, however; that was the day of the Autumn Ball. As soon as school was out, Fern had headed straight to the girls room to change. Wearing the costume to school would have been much easier, but it likely would have raised questions from some, and she did not wish to answer them. Off went her black jeans, under which she wore the tights, and on went the skirt. She traded her gray thermal for the Taylor Swift shirt, tied the ribbon in her hair, and then she was on the move, hanging back just enough so none of her friends spotted her, taking her planned shortcuts to the hospital.

Now that she had made it here, Fern supposed there was one more thing that would really sell her role, not to mention make it more fun. Though she had acted is if she knew exactly where she was going to avoid being stopped by hospital personnel, she had been hailed by a smiling older man behind the help desk shortly after passing through the main entrance. Fern pulled one of her earbuds out and listened to the graying aardvark man as he kindly asked her if she needed directions. Since she was trying to pass for a younger kid, it was only natural the man would try to aid her, even if his aid was unwanted. Unneeded. To elude suspicion, Fern decided to go with it. What was the harm? She was on her way there anyway.

"Yes, please," she said, allowing her enunciation to loosen, her vocabulary to become more childish and less refined. "I know my grampy's room number. Wrote it on my hand—see?" Fern quickly flashed her palm, upon which she had messily scrawled a number in blue gel ink during final period. The print was small and the number was smeared, but it would look believable without close examination. "But I wanna go to the gift shop first and buy him a balloon. Do you know where that is?"

"Ayuh," said the man, and Fern instantly suspected he was originally from Maine. "You're well on your way, little lady. Just walk straight through the atrium—em, that's the big open area with the chairs…"

The man pointed to the area just ahead of Fern, as if she somehow could not see what was in front of her.

"Got that? Then you'll take a left. Gift shop is past the elevators and on your right. Can't miss it."

"'Kay, thanks!" Fern said brightly, and she continued on.

At the giftshop, Fern purchased a shiny silver mylar with "GET WELL!" emblazoned across its center in bold purple. She asked for a hot pink ribbon to go with it, and consciously bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly as she watched the clerk fill the balloon with helium. Exiting the shop with a pleased expression, she made her way to the elevators, bopping to the music, the balloon tied to her wrist and floating a foot above her head.

Fern took the elevator one floor up, just to keep up pretenses, then took the stairs down to the basement, the balloon bobbing on its tether with each step down. She collected her thoughts on the way, taking out her earbuds and draping the cord over the back of her neck. She would definitely need to keep her ears pricked up starting now. If there were security guards or cameras, she would turn back. Well, maybe she would keep going if there were only cameras, just to see how far she could get. As Stephanie Bachman said in her memoir, a big part of writing something new was seeing what you could get away with. And this was writing, part of Fern's writing process anyway, just as much as drafting, rewrites, or line edits. And if she were being truthful, practical research could also be a bit thrilling. But she was not here to be thrilled. Above all else, she was here to absorb details. The door leading to the basement level was much like the ones at school, but whereas the doors at school were wooden with elongated rectangular windows above the handles, this one was made of metal, and the window was double-paned, with a layer of wire in a twisting honeycomb pattern sandwiched in between. Fern stopped to peer through the glass. All was clear.

The first thing she noticed upon stepping into the basement corridor was the powerful scent of skunky coffee lingering in the air. Either a coffee maker was in a room nearby, or someone had recently passed through with a particularly rank cup. The directory posted on the wall opposite the elevators indicated the morgue was to her left, and she headed in that direction. There were no cameras or guards, which was encouraging. The morgue was a straight shot down a long stretch of corridor, however, which was a letdown. Fern had secretly been hoping for at least a couple of twists and turns. Oh, well. One could not have everything. She could add as many corners as she wanted to the hospital basement in Danger Girl. At least she had a baseline. She took in the rest of her surroundings. Unlike the floors above her, which were mostly finished in tile, the floor down here was bare, grayish-brown cement. Several drains studded the floor along the way. In case of flooding, perhaps? Or perhaps they were there to aid cleanup of anything that might leak from a body bag. A drop ceiling hung above her, its rectangular fluorescent light fixtures covered with dusty, square-patterned grates. The walls were cinderblock, coated over in thick and rubbery paint, eggshell white with a blue tinge.

Eggshell, she thought. Eggshell with the slightest blue cast, possibly due to the fluorescents, which are also a bit blue. I like that—that's certainly going in.

Fern had yet to cross paths with a single person down here. There was an eerie absence of noise one expected from a building occupied with people—no voices carrying, no carts rolling down the hallway, no phones ringing or even doors opening and shutting. There was a low-level humming, but it did not sound as if it came from one source. She was sure the lights were part of it. If the classrooms at school were quiet enough, she could hear the hum of the fluorescents and the air conditioning. That was another thing. It was cold down here, exceptionally cold. Was that mandatory? Was there so much electricity running through this part of the building they had to keep it icy to offset the heat generated by the electrical equipment? Possibly, or it could have something to do with corpses. She could feel the secondhand buzz from the equipment differently, separate from the electric thrill coursing through her in the moment.

There it was. A black placard on the wall next to a set of double doors painted the same shade of eggshell said "MORGUE" in simple white block lettering. These doors had no windows, no way to preview what was inside. Fern wound her hand around the balloon's ribbon until it had shortened enough to clutch it to her chest. She could feel static emanating from it, stretching its fingers out to tickle her under her chin. She paused with her hand on the door handle, and a shiver of unbridled joy spider-walked its way up her spine. It was time to chance a peek inside, but there could well be people behind the doors. Living people.

That's okay. Just remember your lines. Do it for Danger Girl, for Kelly…

Fern steeled herself and turned the handle. She cracked the door and cautiously looked through the gap. After witnessing a couple of seconds of no movement, she decided to risk it.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," she breathed.

She took a couple of timid steps inside the morgue. It seemed to be completely empty, and she was awestruck. She let go of the balloon, allowing it to unwind itself until it was back to floating above her head. The odor was awful, putrid, worse than any dead animal she had ever smelled. It was not just a smell that currently hung in the air, waiting to dissipate. It was part of the room, a permanent fixture, like how the cafeteria always smelled of food and floor wax, no matter what time of day one stepped inside. Still, the morgue was everything she hoped it would be and more. It consisted of a suite divided into different sectors, each likely designated for a different task. The most striking and unexpected feature of the main room was what could only be described as a giant shining metal scoop hanging above a large stainless-steel table. The scoop was like the ones found hanging inside those coin-operated claw games at Bowl City, just on a massive scale and obviously not for snagging Dark Bunny plushies. Fern wondered if this device was used to lift more sizable victims onto the table, ultimately deciding that it probably was. Except for the plate scale upon which the table sat, the floor as well as the walls were covered in off-white tiles, very much like the ones found in household bathrooms. There were several drains in the floor here, too, and lengths of black hoses coiled up on the walls. Easy cleanup. To the back of the main room, through a large archway, she could see them. The wall housed several body coolers, looking like a giant checkerboard, only every square was a cold and steely gray. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

As amazing as it was to be in the moment with all this, her time was not unlimited, and she did not want the smell to seep into her clothes.

Try to explain this one to Mom.

She could stop by the candle and body spray shop on her way home and partake of the testers. Many testers. All the testers. That should knock it out, or at least cause major confusion. Right now, she needed to snap some photos and get out of here. She was very close to making a clean getaway, something she had not accomplished at Kiddie Cove. She took her phone from her jacket pocket and unplugged the earbuds, but before she could pull up her camera, she was interrupted by a stern, deep voice behind her.

"Young lady, what are you doing down here?"

Fern froze.

Showtime. What's my motivation?

Before showing her face to the man, Fern pinched her expression, and she willed herself to feel the burning in her nose, for the tears to well in her eyes.

You're in a terrifying place. No eleven-year-old girl should ever stumble upon a place like this, especially when she's all alone. You were only looking for the commissary. No, the cafeteria. Eleven-year-old girls would say "cafeteria"...

Fern let out a high-pitched and frightened squeak as she clutched her phone to her chest with one hand. She stretched out the hand with the balloon tied around it and pointed toward the coolers. Her tears began rolling, hot and fat.

This is horrifying. Absolutely horrifying! You were just here to visit your grampy. That's all. How did this go so wrong?

"I said why are you down here?"

Fern exhaled a shaky, shuddering breath and said, "Are…are th-th-those… Those have dead people in them, don't they?"

Fern turned to see a tall and skinny blonde monkey, not someone she would have matched with such a voice, but it was certainly an interesting juxtaposition. He wore scrubs in a depressing shade of olive green. It seemed that he had entered the scene with the intent to be threatening, imposing. However, when he set eyes on Fern, her pink outfit, her small frame and watery eyes, his resolve seemed to melt.

"S- Sir? This is where the dead bodies go, isn't it?"

The man's mouth fell open, and he blinked hard as his face turned sympathetic toward her. His name was Troy, according to his lanyard.

"This is the morgue, sweetie, yes," he said, his voice much softer now. "What in the world made you want to come down here?"

"I didn't!" Fern wailed through her tears. "I didn't want to come down here at all! I… I was visiting my grampy on the third floor. He's having surgery. I wanted to help my mom, so I told her I would go to the cafeteria and get her a turkey melt. That way she wouldn't have to leave Grampy's side. And I— I— I guess I took a wrong turn or something. Oh, I wasn't expecting to see dead bodies today!"

She buried her face in her hands as she sobbed. She hoped Troy would not inquire as to why she had worn her schoolbag on a trip down to the cafeteria before she sensed movement.

"Those poor people!" she said, voice muffled.

Troy spoke up. Obviously having leveled himself with Fern, his voice was coming from right in front of her.

"Hey, hey…shhh…hey, sweetie, it's okay. Do you hear me? It's all right. Don't worry. There aren't even any dead— There's nothing…behind those doors right now. We're empty at the moment."

Fern gave a loud ostentatious sniffle, rubbing her eyes with her fingers.

"Really?"

"Really. Totally empty. It's not sad or scary, just boring."

One more loud sniff.

"That's good."

"Listen…you got a little lost, that's all. If you'll pay attention, I'll tell you exactly how to get to the cafeteria. It's really easy to get there, not far from here at all."

"Okay, as long as you promise it's easy."

"I swear it. Now, all you have to do is take a left out of here and get on the B elevators. Not the A elevators. That means you've gone too far. Stop at the B ones, okay? Then you get on the elevator and press the button that has a G on it. You'll go up one stop, and when the doors open, you're right there at the cafeteria."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Well, that is easy. Thanks. I'm sorry I disturbed you," she added sheepishly.

"Don't you worry about that, okay?" said Troy as he straightened up. "Just try to pay attention to where you're going. You could get into some big trouble if you don't. Now, you go and help your mommy out. She's lucky to have a nice little girl like you."

Fern nodded at Troy as she clutched the balloon and her phone to her chest again. She turned and scampered out of the morgue, sniffling from the traumatic experience all the way to the elevators. As the elevator doors closed, ready to haul her back up to ground level, she wiped her face with the sleeve of her denim jacket and smiled a watery-yet-satisfied smile as she dropped the act.

Brava! she congratulated herself.

Minutes later, Fern sat on a bench outside the fragrance shop, scribbling down everything she could remember about her trip to the morgue in her Danger Girl notebook, a spiral-bound five-subject with a green cover in honor of Kelly, her protagonist. Thanks to her ungrounding and limited word processor time, most of her newest work in progress was within the confines of this notebook, but Fern hoped to type it all down soon. No longer needing the balloon, she had left it behind at the hospital, tied to a railing outside a patient's room. It was too chilly to be sitting here, really, and she was getting a headache from all the perfume she had applied to her clothes and bags, but it was worth it. What was a little pain and discomfort when stacked against the incredible experience she had today? An even trade, if you asked her. She was describing the morgue's giant metal claw when her phone rang inside her jacket pocket.

It was her mother.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Fernie, dear!"

Her mother had been in a good mood lately, ever since Fern landed the role of Marian in Mill Creek Middle's fall production of The Music Man. She sounded exceptionally cheerful today, excited even.

"I need you to come home right away. I have something for you and I cannot wait for you to see it!"

A gift for her? That was curious. What on earth could it be? Fern did not think she would be lucky enough for her mother to buy her a laptop. Nevertheless, she was intrigued.

Fern entered her home approximately twenty minutes later. Though she had taken multiple shortcuts, she owed the speed and ease with which she ran to all the training she had been doing in preparation for her hike up Raccoon Hill. Jenna had assumed Fern was goofing off when she showed up for a jog donning her hiking boots and a fully-loaded backpack.

"Are you crazy?" Jenna had asked as they warmed up.

"No, just in training," Fern had said simply before sprinting off and leaving Jenna behind on the sidewalk.

"For what?" Jenna called after her. "The Marines?"

She had built up her speed and stamina. When she paid Van Houten Farms a visit, she wanted the journey up the wooded hillside to be as quick and easy as possible so she would have more time to take in the farmhouse and the land on which it sat. She progressed from sidewalks to grassy fields, from grassy fields to small hills, to bigger hills, and bigger hills still. The run home through alleys and backyards was nothing now. Fern did not even break a sweat.

She was intercepted by her mother as soon as she walked through the front door.

"Oh, Fernie!" she said, stopping short to wave a hand in front of her nose. "Go easier on the perfume or you'll put people off! I'm so glad you're finally here. You are not going to believe what I found for you."

Her mother guided her by the arm toward the sofa and urged her to have a seat.

"And close your eyes, dear. I want to get the full effect."

Fern did as she was told and closed her eyes as her mother disappeared out of the living area for a few seconds, retrieving whatever it was she had thought Fern would love so dearly. Fern could not help feeling a little embarrassed to be doing this. Maybe it was a laptop after all. There was rustling as her mother came back into the room. There was also the unmistakable sound of a zipper unzipping.

"Okay! Open them up and get a look at this!"

Fern opened her eyes and was confused. Her mother was holding a dress, a long, satiny magenta one with a flowing skirt. That was not the confusing part. The confusing part was why her mother had bought it for her.

"Isn't it gor—oh? What's wrong?"

Her mother's face fell when she clapped eyes on Fern, disappointed her daughter was not giving the reaction for which she had hoped.

"You don't like it?" she said, worry in her voice.

"I…don't understand it," Fern said flatly.

"Why…honey…it's a dress. It's your dress!"

"What for?'

It was hitting her. She was not stupid. Part of Fern wondered if the reason she had not immediately been able to comprehend the situation was because her brain was trying to reject the idea. She had a strong suspicion as to what her mother's answer was going to be, and if it was the answer she anticipated, she knew she was not going to like it.

"It's for the Autumn Ball. Isn't it just the loveliest thing? I bought it from Mabel Jenkins. Her daughter attended a semi-formal at that private school in Belmont last year, and when she showed me the pictures, I knew you needed it. I think it suits you to a T. Of course, we'll need to have it altered, which is why I needed you to come home as soon as possible. We're going to Flora Stubblefield's house. Fantastic seamstress—she'll have this altered for you in plenty of time for the dance. But we need to hurry! I'll just grab my jacket."

"There's no need to rush, Mom," Fern said.

"There certainly is. We—"

"Mom, please. You don't have to. Call Mabel and ask for a refund. Or sell it at Care to Wear. I don't plan on going to the Autumn Ball."

Her mother looked back at her as if she had spoken a foreign language.

"What do you mean you don't plan on going to the Autumn Ball, Fernie?"

"I mean I lack the interest that would give me the motivation to attend such an event."

Her mother blinked.

"In other words, I don't want to."

"What? Why?"

"Because I just don't want to? What other reason do I need?"

"How about a better reason than 'I don't want to'? This is your eighth-grade year, honey. The last one spent in middle school. You should want to experience everything. Otherwise you might regret it."

Fern had a feeling she would regret the Autumn Ball if she did experience it. She did not feel up to going to a dance where people would be happy, surrounding her, and she did not want to see Buster and Ladonna, who were likely going as a couple. She got enough of that at lunch and at rehearsals, and she saw no reason why she would ever want to subject herself to such imagery of her own free will. She did not want to subject herself to it by her mother's will, either.

"I'm going to be perfectly fine."

Her mother placed her hands on her hips, the magenta dress hanging at her side and dragging the floor.

"Why are you being so standoffish all of a sudden?"

"I'm not being standoffish, Mom."

"You were doing so well. What changed?"

The boy I like, the boy I was thinking about asking to the Autumn Ball, has a girlfriend now, and I did absolutely nothing to stop it.

She had plenty of time to step up, to tell him how she felt. Buster could be so dense sometimes. Why had she ever thought sitting back and letting him take the hints, letting him make the move was a viable option? But in swooped Ladonna, and she had taken Buster from her with ease. No one would want to be reminded of that for three straight hours. She could not explain this to her mother, of course. Her mother did not understand anything Fern felt, so why should this be any different?

"I just don't want to go, that's all. I'm allowed not to like certain things."

"Fern…" her mother said, and Fern knew she was ramping up to some next-level rabid nonsense only a social butterfly like her mother could comprehend. "You are the lead in the fall musical. You are so smart and talented. Don't you want a perfect, well-rounded year? Don't you want to make memories with your classmates, take lots of pictures and show them off?"

"Not really. I don't see why a silly school dance makes that much of a difference in the long run. I'm not going. I'm sorry you bought the dress for nothing."

Fern got up to leave, but she never made it out of the room.

"You will go," her mother said, and Fern froze for the second time today.

"You can't make me go to a school dance," she said, whirling around, feeling braver than perhaps she should have.

"Can't I?" Her mother's tone was growing more dangerous by the second. "As I remember, Fern Victoria, you're still on thin ice for that little stunt you pulled on Ivy Drive."

She was referring to the time a few weeks back when she helped Buster break into his former childhood home.

"Make that the little crime you pulled, young lady. You honestly didn't think I'd forget that, that I'd let you get off scot-free? What kind of mother would I be if I didn't try to teach you a lesson?"

Fern wanted to tell her what kind of mother she was, but her thoughts were interrupted.

"Wait—you were waiting for the Autumn Ball to come around just so you could punish me with it?"

"No, I'm going to make you do some volunteer work for your punishment. You're going to work at the food pantry and help them gear up for Christmas, and you're going to help write Christmas cards for the JROTC drive. I've already signed you up."

The card drive was Ladonna's thing. Buster would likely be there as well. This couldn't get much worse.

"And now I think I'll add the Autumn Ball to your itinerary. You need to get out and socialize, be a part of your school. It'll be good for you. I think you'll learn a valuable lesson if you just try new things."

This was absolutely unbelievable.

"M- Mom—" she stammered.

"You will go, Fern, and that's final. Get in the car."

Fern fell quiet during the ride to Flora Stubblefield's house. It was not that she did not want to cry or protest; she figured either of those things could land her in even more trouble. Her energy would just be wasted anyway. Instead, she chose to channel that energy, that seething anger at this injustice, into figuring out how she was going to get out of going to the Autumn Ball. Standing on top of an ottoman in the horrible gown her mother had selected, as Flora, an ancient poodle woman circled her with a measuring tape and pincushion shaped like a hedgehog, the wheels in Fern's head began turning. She thought back to parents' night, when her mother lamented over not being able to chaperone the dance. She had said that she would be at a realtor expo that weekend, which meant she would be out of town. That meant her father would be in town, and he would be left in charge, and that would afford Fern a lot of opportunities.

Good.

Fern decided that she would not attend the Autumn Ball, no matter what her mother's final word was. Oh, she would put on a nice show for her mother. She would wear the nightmare gown, allow her father to take lots of pictures of her big smile, and walk through the doors of the MCM gym, maybe even with a date on her arm. But that did not mean she planned to stick around for the festivities. And she would not. That was her final word.

To be continued…