Hey, this is the author of this story. *calls into magically summoned announcer cone thingy* As much as I wish I owned this, I am not male. Or an adult. So, as much as it pains me to admit this, I do not own Danny Phantom.

-Miaulin out

At school, I am considered an average Joe with weird parents. Now, this reputation is something I hate. Usually, at any rate. This was not one of those days though. Mostly. I got shoved into my locker, not once, not twice, but three times. Honestly, by the time it was lunch break, I was glad to get mostly overlooked, and, when looked at, treated like a malignant tumor. I sat, relatively safely, with my best friends Samantha Manson, and Tucker Foley. Sam is a gothic ultra-recyclo-vegetarian. This means that she wears black and other "dark" clothes, while eating food that never had a face on it (lonotng story), and she has an annoying, if somewhat interesting view on life. Tucker, on the other hand, is a super-carnivore, capable of finishing off entire steaks without hesitation. He also loves his tech, to the point of naming it. I am fairly certain that he does it for entertainment purposes only. I hope. I would hate to send him to Jazz for an evaluation. I am rambling, aren't I? Well, I was sitting at the table with them.

"Are you going to tell me what outrageous consequences I have to face for losing a bet with you, Sam?", I said, somewhat irritated with myself for having ever considered betting against both her and Tucker, and then proceeding to lose.

"You get to finally tell us what is happening in the basement, and absolutely must try to get us to see it down there. I mean, your parents work with ghosts! Dark and creepy is my thing. So tell already!", Sam said it, and you could tell because of the dark-and-creepy comment.

"Are you certain?"

"Duh"

"Are you certain, Tuck? Usually, you're the cautious one." I wasn't very certain this was a good idea. Actually, I knew it wasn't.

" Dude, the tech you've managed to show me is awesome. If they're working on something extra big, won't it be really high tech?", Tucker commented.

"Wonderful. My two best friends plan on forcing information out of me. Is this nessesary?"

"Totally", their response was simultaneous. "So tell me?" Sam continued. Little known fact here: Sam can wear the most pleading, kicked-puppy eyes in all of the world. If she asks you to do something, whatever you do, do not look her in the eyes. Especially if you do not plan on doing what she asks you to do. Unusual in a goth.

"Fine! They're working on a weird hexigonical shape in the wall."

"What is this shape in the wall for?"

"You should go find out what it is!" This was Tucker.

"Do I have to sneak down there?"

"Yes. Either that or ask your parents."

"No. I am not asking them."

"After supper, please?"

"One can but trust to hope."

See that button down there? It is pretty, isn't it? Click on it, and tell me how I'm doing...Flames will melt marshmellows. Good thing I hate said food. Especially, tell me about my dialogue. I have a horrific time with dialogue/narrarration balance. It may take me long periods of time to update because before I began this fanfiction, I failed to work out a image of Sam or Tucker modified for this story. So, I apologize in advance, and ask that you review, favorite, etc. all of these motivate me, and if not for those encouraging actions, this chapter would've been much later in coming. By the way, if you can guess the reference I give you, kudos. " A story may come when I cease, and abandon it, but it is not this one!" Do not look it up, though. It isn't a real quote, but it is a paraphrase/rewording so it applies to the situation. Bye!

-Miaulin