Author's Introduction:
I don't know about everyone else, but when I have a bad day, I like to sleep. I figure I'm safer there.
Unfortunately, when you sleep away the afternoon and evening, you're up all night when you have work at 9 AM the next day.
So I thought I'd be productive, and lo—chapter two.
Obligatory disclaimer: Don't own Danny Phantom, love Danny, drink with me Butch. Also don't own this chapter's musical reference—Dar Williams' What Do You Hear In These Sounds?, arguably the greatest song about therapy ever. It can be found on the album End of the Summer.
Ordinary World
A Danny Phantom fanfiction
Chapter Two:Amazing Insight
And she's so kind
I think she wants to tell me something but she knows that it's much better if I get it for myself
(What Do You Hear In These Sounds?, Dar Williams)
The light was purple and soft outside the window. Jazz was seated at the kitchen table, all of her old psychology papers fanning around her, when Danny trudged into the kitchen. The smell of Hugo Boss cologne was significantly fainter than before, but still noticeable. His black shirt looked wet in places.
"Hi, little bro," Jazz murmured, glancing up from an old essay on multiple personality disorder. "What happened to your shirt?"
"Hey." Danny's greeting was dejected, not at all like the sweet smile Jazz remembered from earlier in the quad. The pall of the Fenton house was stealing over him again, the way it cowed everyone else who lived there.
He sounded so down that it she took a break from her paperwork and gave him her full attention. "What's wrong? Where's Morticia?"
The name-calling earned her an angry, ice-blue glare from her brother. "Don't talk about Sam that way."
Jazz smiled. At least he was reacting. "Okay, I'm sorry."
"And to answer your question, Sam went home." He opened the refrigerator and rummaged around for a minute before coming up with a can of cherry Coke. Bringing it to the table, he plunked down in a seat across from her without being invited.
"You sound angry about that," Jazz mused.
Danny snorted, popping the tab on the can. "Ha! I couldn't care less." He took a long sip from the can, then placed it on the table before adding, "If anyone's angry, it's Sam."
Jazz put her MPD paper down. "Want to talk about it?"
Danny huffed. "No, Dr. Freud. There's nothing to talk about. We went to the Nasty Burger, and everything was fine until Sam got the last cherry Coke they had."
"What's wrong with Sam drinking cherry Coke? The two of you drink it like it's going out of style. Coca-Cola is the only large corporation Sam seems to support," Jazz pointed out with a puzzled expression on her face.
Danny squirmed in his seat, and Jazz had a feeling that she wasn't going to want to take his side when the story ended. "Well, it was the last one," he said. "And then Paulina came in."
Jazz couldn't hold back a laugh. "What'd she think of your Hugo Boss?"
Danny's forehead creased beneath his dark bangs. "What?"
That was her baby brother, master of the short attention span.
"Paulina ordered a cherry Coke, and they didn't have any left." He squirmed again, and now Jazz didn't think even he was going to take his own side.
"So?" she prompted.
"So…I sort of offered her Sam's soda."
Jazz pounded her head down on the table. "Oh, Danny."
"It was just a cherry Coke!" Danny burst out. "What's the big deal! Sam can get cherry Coke anywhere she wants!"
"Did you ask Sam if that was okay with her?" Jazz felt like she was talking to a kindergartener.
Danny blushed. "Well—no, but I went right to the register and got her a regular Coke."
"And then what happened?" Jazz asked, although she was pretty sure she knew.
"She thought it might look better on me," Danny spat, indicating his wet shirt. "And then she called me a jerk and stormed out."
Once again, Jazz thought, a Fenton man was right on both counts.
Jazz sighed. "Did Paulina sit down with you after Sam left?"
Danny blushed. "Um…no. In fact, she sort of just took the cherry Coke and wandered away."
"Way to go, Danny. Was that worth pissing Sam off?"
Danny finished his soda and crushed the can in his hand. "Whose side are you on, Jasmine?"
"Sam's, Daniel." Jazz smiled. "Sam didn't care about the soda. She was upset that you cared more about Paulina's feelings than you did hers."
"I care about Sam's feelings," Danny pouted, looking a lot like his father.
"You weren't acting like it." Jazz clucked her tongue, finding that Danny's soda can had left a damp ring of condensation on her essay on Erikson's theories in Jane Eyre. Her hand shot out to lift the paper off the damp table. "Danny! These are important papers!"
"No, they're not. They're just your old psychology papers. And you already got As on all of them," he added jealously.
"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm studying them," she said. "I've got a really big paper and I don't even know how to begin, so I'm trying to see what I did right on all these papers. Once I figure it out, I'll just do the same thing on this paper."
Danny smiled at his sister. "You're such a Fenton."
"I am not!" Jazz snapped, smacking the Erikson essay down on the table fiercely with one hand. Danny's face slid back to its usual startled expression.
Recovering, he shook his head. "Jazz, the only thing you did to deserve those As was work really hard. So if you work really hard on this paper, you'll ace it, too."
Jazz felt bad for screaming at him. "Thanks."
"Welcome." Danny got a paper towel and cleaned the condensation off the table.
"Want some free advice?" she asked.
Danny looked wary, but said, "Okay."
"Go get a bottle of cherry Coke, and bring it to school tomorrow. Give it to Sam at lunch and tell her you're sorry you hurt her feelings."
Danny blinked once or twice, turning the idea over in his head, then nodded. "That might actually work."
"Every so often I come up with a brilliant idea," Jazz said dryly. "Let me know how it goes, okay?"
"Sure thing. Don't burn your brain out down here." Danny loped out of the room, tossing a grin behind him as he went.
Jazz sighed and turned to the last page of her paper on psychological damage in the formative years. Her eyes were drawn to the red ink at the bottom of the page.
A+. Excellent work, Jasmine. You've got amazing insight!
Jazz was no stranger to staying after school—in addition to being the Only Normal Fenton, she was an overachiever and had been a member of the Student Council, the year book committee, and the school newspaper.
Today she had a different mission. She was racing back to her teacher's classroom, hoping to catch him before he left for the day. She needed someone to tell her where the hell to begin this suicide paper.
Skidding into the classroom, she saw she needn't have hurried. Mr. Worth was sitting calmly at his desk, reading The American Journal of Parapsychology. A handful of dejected-looking teens were scattered around the classroom, doing various forms of nothing.
Worth looked up from his journal. "Hi, Jasmine. What can I do for you?"
Still breathless from hurrying, Jazz panted, "I didn't know you were doing detention today, Mr. Worth."
Jazz's psychology teacher was a placid man with small glasses, a neat goatee and a ready smile. Closing his journal, he smiled. "Today the bell tolls for me, Jazz. Did you want to join my friends here?"
Someone muttered a curse from the back row. Unable to help glancing back there, Jazz was surprised once again to see Sam Manson. The goth's frown matched her charcoal eyeshadow and black eyeliner, which appeared smudgy, as if she'd hurriedly brushed at her eyes. A bottle of cherry Coke was sitting on her desk, half-empty.
Turning back to Mr. Worth, Jazz regained her train of thought. "I need some help with my paper."
Worth stroked his beard. "Of course, Jazz. What part?"
"The paper," Jazz elaborated. "I can't seem to start."
Worth chuckled. "Well, sit down, Jazz, and we'll find you a jump-off."
Jazz pulled an empty chair across the room and sat down gratefully. "All I've managed to collect so far is statistics. For instance, according to the National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, suicide is the eighth leading cause of death for males in the U.S.; however, females are reported to attempt suicide three times as often as males. I'm wondering if there's a way I can relate those statistics to the subject as my opener," she explained.
"You mean, why females are more likely to attempt, but males are more likely to succeed?" Worth asked.
"Right," Jazz said. "Would that make any sense?"
"Sure it would." Worth's wire-framed glasses flashed at Jazz as he gestured to the walls around them. "Keep in mind you're surrounded by the subjects of your research, so anything goes."
Jazz squirmed. "I think many students would find that invasive."
Worth sighed. "We're scientists, Jazz, and further than that, we're psychologists. Probing inside the mysteries of the human mind will always be viewed by some as invasive. But research of any kind is important in the advancement of our field. Would you do an invasive study if it could someday stop a teenage boy or girl from attempting suicide?"
Jazz chewed her lip. She could hardly see how a high school term paper would advance her field, but the message was clear—if she wanted to ace this paper and keep her perfect record as the Only Normal Fenton, she'd have to do things according to the rules. She nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
"Not at all, Jazz. Always a pleasure, and I hope I helped you," he said, shaking her hand. "Nice to have a visit that isn't forced," he added with a chuckle, indicating the trapped detentionees.
Sam's glare could have frozen beer.
Sam was trudging out of the school doors when Jazz rolled down her the window of her '98 Jetta. "Hey, Sam. Want a ride home?"
It took a minute for Sam to weigh the unaccustomed kindness of Jazz's offer versus the possible catch involved divided by the long walk home, but she eventually walked to the car and got in.
"Thanks," she said. The cherry Coke lay in Sam's plaid lap, and Jazz made a mental note to interrogate her brother later.
"I can't imagine how you got detention and my dork of a brother didn't," Jazz said.
Sam laughed. "Well, every so often Danny manages to avoid Lancer for a day or two."
"But you weren't so lucky, hm?" Jazz put her blinker on.
"Actually, I got detention for refusing to participate in gym." Sam fiddled with her ever-present spiked cuffs. "They wanted me to take my cuffs off, and I didn't want to."
"They gave you detention for that?" Jazz asked.
"I think they thought I might spike something other than the volleyball," Sam quipped dryly, looking out the window.
"Why didn't you just take them off?"
"I just didn't want to. They're mine, and the school can't make me take them off."
"I have to hand it to you, Sam. You don't back down." Jazz smiled.
"Thanks," Sam said.
Jazz was pleased; she seemed to be making headway with the goth, which was beneficial if the girl was going to be hanging around the house so much. Judging by those looks Danny and Sam sometimes gave each other by accident, Jazz made a mental note to toss her wedding bouquet in Sam's direction.
The thought made her smile at the cherry Coke in Sam's lap.
The Jetta slowed to a stop at a red light. "This is just fine, Jazz. Thanks." And she opened the door and hopped out of the car.
"Sam, wait," Jazz gasped, making a grab for the goth and trying to keep the steering wheel steady. She came up with a handful of air. "I'll take you to your door."
"No, it's okay, I'm nearly home," Sam called. "Thanks for the ride—and tell Danny thanks for the soda!" And she jogged down the block, disappearing beyond the Seven-Eleven before Jazz could say another word.
The light turned green, and the Ford F-150 behind Jazz blasted its horn.
Danny dropped a kiss on his sister's head as he walked into the kitchen and slid a plate of sugar cookies across to her.
Surprised but pleased, Jazz took a cookie. "What was that for?"
"For being the smartest sister in the world." Danny beamed. "Sam and I are friends again."
Jazz knew that her plan had worked, but she pretended to be surprised anyway. "Really? Great, Danny. I knew she'd forgive you."
Danny smiled, shrugging. "Yeah. She called me a loser and an asshole and jumped on my back to get me in a half-nelson, but she was laughing the whole time, so I think it's safe to say she's happy again." Danny bit into a sugar cookie. "She was supposed to come over, but she got detention in gym because she refused to take off her spiked cuffs. Tucker and I asked her if she wanted us to wait around for her, but she said no."
Jazz decided against telling Danny that she'd driven Sam home—well, sort of home. No one in the Fenton household had actually seen where Sam lived, or knew much about her family. Sometimes Sam's house seemed as mysterious and ghostly as the things the Fentons chased—no one was sure if it even really existed.
"How's your paper going, Jazz?" Danny reached for another cookie, his wristwatch reflecting light onto the wall.
"Ghost!" Jack bellowed, and a hole was immediately blasted through the wall where the reflection was.
Jack sidled through the kitchen door, twirling a laser pistol around his finger. The smell of ozone drifted into the kitchen.
"I showed that ghost what for with the Fenton Firestar," Jack said proudly, blowing smoke away from the barrel of the pistol. "What do you think, guys?"
Jazz glanced at the counter, where Danny had leapt when the shooting started. "It's great, Dad. Do you have an invention to peel Danny off the ceiling, too?"
"Don't say 'peel'," Danny groaned, obviously remembering the Fenton Ghost Peeler.
Maddie peered through the crater in the wall, goggles down over her eyes. "Hi, kids!"
Jazz shook her head sadly. "Ever think about suicide?" she quipped to Danny, who was sliding off the counter warily, eyes trained on the Fenton Firestar.
"Every Monday and Wednesday," Danny sighed.
Author's Notes:
Cherry Coke is the biggest advancement modern science has ever made.
Jazz's essay on Erikson in Jane Eyre might have appeared in one of my college courses, but I can assure you I did not get an A. (chuckles.) Of course, I didn't work nearly as hard as Jazz.
I also might have gotten kicked out of a high-school gym class for refusing to take off spiked bracelets, once upon a time, but I used to get kicked out of gym for a lot of stupid things, like playing hockey left-handed.
I haven't seen every episode of Danny Phantom yet, although I'm working on it, so I apologize for any discrepancies. Regarding Sam's background, I know we do eventually see her house and meet her parents, but I'm still operating under the early mindset that no one knows much about her home life, including how rich she is and an embarrassing nickname like "Sammykins".
There is also no such invention as the Fenton Firestar. That's simply a homage to my new pen name and favorite firearm, the Firestar 9mm. (smiles.)
Next chapter: Jazz begins her research in earnest, and I promise to spend some more time with Tucker. I haven't forgotten you, Tuckerino!