At first she thought it was stupid that her mom wanted to buy her a dress for the dance. She assumed it would be a horrific thing, pink and frilly, and that she'd have to douse it in black paint. Then hope the material didn't stiffen.
Not that Sam wanted to go the dance in the first place. What was a school dance anyway, but a strange ritual designed to pit teenagers against each other? Comparing clothes, comparing dates, and scrutinizing each other as they shook their butts around like monkeys looking for a mate. No thank you.
But her mom found a store online that was Sam's style. She scrolled through the website and was charmed by the selection. Not everything was black, but it all had this cool Victorian vibe. At least that's what she thought at first, but then she kept looking and realized the dresses were a hodgepodge of different time periods.
Some of the dresses looked like they belonged on a doll at a tea party. Sam understood where her mother had found the appeal. Yet there were options for punk or goth dresses that looked badass. It was a Japanese style, the website said, called Gothic Lolita.
When Sam pointed at her favorite dress, a massive bundle of black and purple silk laid over a hoop skirt the size of a small bus, she expected her mom to say no.
Her mom surprised her though. She said she was just happy to see her Sammykins finally take an interest in something feminine.
"You'll look wonderful!" she said, clapping her hands. "Now all you need is a date."
At lunch the next day Sam was still fuming over the assumption that she needed a date to have a good time at a school dance. How sexist! How archaic!
Tucker was telling them about the list of girls he was asking while they grabbed their lunch trays. As they headed towards their table Danny was laughing at Tucker's impression of his latest rejection, looking back towards him to say something.
He didn't notice Paulina standing in his path until it was too late.
"Excuse me," he told her. "Sorry, I didn't see you." He'd managed to save his tray from falling, but he dropped his applesauce. It landed on her foot, the lid ajar.
"Ew!" she shrieked. "These are my favorite shoes!" she whined. Sam rolled her eyes.
What a drama queen.
Danny handed his tray to Tucker. "Sorry," he said with a shrug. "Let me get that."
Sam blinked as, in one smooth motion, Danny knelt and picked up the cup. He used his hand to scoop as much of the sauce off Paulina's shoe as he could. Then he wiped the residue off with the edge of his shirt and shrugged again. "Best I can do."
Paulina stared at him, flabbergasted. Sam was equally baffled. Since when had Danny ever been able to deal with the cheerleader in such a nonchalant way?
Danny stood and took his tray back from Tucker, who was staring at him with his mouth hanging open. If Danny noticed the reaction, he didn't say anything. He just walked off towards their usual table. Sam and Tucker exchanged a what the hell look and then followed after him.
As soon as they sat down Tucker clapped Danny on the back. "Dude! You're my hero!"
"What?" Danny was frowning at his soiled applesauce. "Why."
Tucker sputtered. "You just- you just," he turned to Sam. "Tell him what he did!"
She sighed. "You talked to Paulina Sanchez as if she weren't Paulina. Sanchez." Sam could tell by the look on his face that the name meant nothing to him and she felt her throat tighten. She tried to swallow the feeling. Baring her teeth in what was meant to be a casual smirk, but what was probably a manic grin, Sam chuckled.
It was ironic. A year ago she would have killed to see something like this. But now…
It only reminded her of what had been lost.
"I mean you've only been in love with her since the sixth grade," Tucker said. "I've never seen you talk to her without stuttering or tripping over yourself! But now you just, you just-"
Danny was tugging at the hairs at the base of his neck, eyes still on his applesauce. Sam knew this meant he was uncomfortable. Or she thought it did. It used to. What did it mean now? She couldn't be sure of anything anymore.
"Anyway, congratulations dude," Tucker said. If he picked up on their discomfort he didn't show it. "That was so cool. I bet she'll be impressed at your confidence. Hey, maybe you could even ask her to the dance. Danny, you have to ask her. I dare you."
"Confidence," Danny echoed. "Is that what that was?"
She didn't like seeing this look on his face. He looked frustrated. Lost. He was biting the skin off of his bottom lip and staring at his food with no clear intention of eating. She watched the scabs on his lip, which had just healed, begin to bleed again and wanted to say something.
Before she could think of anything Dash had slammed his own lunch tray onto the table. She jumped, startled, and Danny almost fell out of his seat.
"Who do you think you are Fentina? Assaulting girls with applesauce?" Dash said. He stood with one foot propped up on the bench beside Danny, his knee bent, his elbow leaning against it. He was tilted toward Danny, smirking. "You know I can't let you get away with that."
Danny rolled his eyes. "As if you need an excuse to come harass me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dash said. He leaned further into Danny's space.
"Jesus Dash," Sam began. She started unbuckling the straps from one of her boots. They were heavy enough to bruise and the threat usually kept Dash from getting physical.
"It means you're obsessed with me," Danny said. "Why don't you get a life?"
Sam paused with her boot in her hands. Dash too, could only stare at Danny in silence. Tucker, on the other hand, was laughing hysterically. He gave Danny a high five.
"What," Dash said. "Your parents get a little credit for some cool gadgets and suddenly you think you're the big man on campus? You're still a bunch of freaks you know that?"
"Do you rock yourself to sleep with a collection of my pictures cut out of yearbooks?" Danny said. "Or do you photograph me yourself after sticking your leg out to trip me in class?"
Dash sputtered, his face slowly turning red. Sam was impressed despite herself.
"Is there a reason you like to see me sprawled on the ground, Dash?" Danny continued. "That what gets you going?"
Tucker wasn't laughing anymore. He was staring between Dash and Danny, eyes wide with his napkin in his mouth. Sam held her breath, her boot still ready to be thrown.
"Not as much as I'd like to see you strung up on a flagpole by your underwear," Dash said quietly. He reached forward and Danny stood up, out of reach. "Bet you're scared now-"
Danny pulled something from his belt. A little green box. "Not so fast," he said. "You wouldn't want me to activate one of my parents cool gadgets, now would you?"
Dash scoffed. "I'm so sure yo-"
Danny pressed a button. The little box squirted out a jet of green goop all over Dash's face. Students from other lunch table's were watching them now. They started laughing.
"Fenton! Wh-what is this?!" Dash tried wiping his face off with the sleeve of his jacket, to little effect. He groaned in frustration. "You're going to regret that," he said. Then he stomped away. Presumably to wash his face in a bathroom somewhere.
Danny sat back down and picked up his burger. Sam stared at him as he started eating with his eyes down. "What the hell was that," she said. "What is wrong with you?"
Danny shrugged.
Tucker spat the napkin out of his mouth. "Holy shit, that was… that was..."
"It was wrong," Sam said. "How could you use a ghost weapon on someone?"
"Aw c'mon," Tucker said. "It's Dash, he deserved it."
"Yeah," Danny mumbled around a mouth full of burger. "Deserved it."
"Isn't that stuff radioactive?" Sam said. She was tempted to throw her boot at his thick skull, but she took a deep breath and put it back on her foot instead.
"It's harmless," Danny said. "My dad gets covered in the stuff all the time."
"But it's not like you to just-"
"There you go again," Danny said. He put his burger down. "I think I've lost my appetite."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam said. She swung her legs back and forth under the table and bunched her skirt into her fists. Wanting to control herself, but also wanting to kick him.
"You're always telling me how you think I should be," Danny said. For the first time in a while blue eyes stared directly at her. "How I'm somehow failing at being myself."
The words were a slap in the face. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but nothing came out. She stopped swinging her legs and nearly ripped the seam in her skirt with her grip.
Danny stood up with his tray. "Lost my appetite," he said. "I'll see you guys later."
She could only watch helplessly as he walked away. When he was gone she shoved her own lunch tray away and slammed her head down on the table.
"You want to explain what I'm missing here?" Tucker said. "Cause I'm lost."
Sam groaned. "Ever since the accident-"
"Wait, I take it back. I'm not lost," Tucker said. "You are."
She lifted her head. "What?"
"You need to let it go, Sam." Tucker was ignoring his food too.
Tucker never ignored his food. She straightened. "It's not as simple as that."
"Isn't it? He's got his memories back. He's fine." Tucker removed his glasses and cleaned them against his shirt. "There's something else going on."
"First of all, he's lying when he says he remembers squat," Sam said. "But what else could be going on?"
"He's been grouchy ever since he went to Wisconsin with his folks," Tucker said. "I asked him about it, but he just blew me off."
"Since Wisconsin?" Sam said. She took a tentative bite of her salad. It was soggy. "I haven't noticed him being grouchy." Not strictly true. Danny seemed like he was always a little testy. Ever since the accident. Their friendship wasn't the same.
"Well, he's always kind of grouchy around you," Tucker said. "So I guess to you it was the same difference."
That stung. "Fuck you."
"I'm sorry, but you need to stop analyzing every little thing he does," Tucker said. "That's what drives him crazy."
"Did he tell you that?"
"He didn't have to." Having said his peace Tucker finally dug into his meal. Sam stared at him in disgust and poked at the sorry mess that had become of her salad.
When he finished eating Tucker looked apologetic. "Sam, it's going to be okay."
"No it's not," she said. She didn't want to be comforted. She wanted to sulk.
"It doesn't matter what he remembers or doesn't remember. He's still the same person."
You're wrong, she thought. That boy was not the real Danny Fenton. She'd killed him.
And she could never make it right.