Author's Introduction:
I apologize for the ls I'm using to divide sections of this chapter. The bally ruler function on the blinkin' document editor refuses to work. I have to say I miss just uploading fics from my own files. This bally thing is a pain.
Okay, everyone who's been following this story will know: I began this and came up with the idea before "Double-Cross My Heart" even aired, so I swear I didn't take that whole "Danny spies on Sam" thing from an actual episode. (Really! Check the update date! XD) Sometimes I honestly think certain television studios have my brain wired for surveillance. When I sat down with Danny to start this chapter and brought my concerns to his attention, he just smiled and me and said we'd work it out, that we always do. And I have to say he's right about that.
"At times like these, going on with one's life seems impossible, and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable." (Bridget Jones)
My life is falling apart. I used to work on this fic at my job. Now I don't have that anymore, and a million things happened in between then and now, and the job search is getting increasingly more difficult so I had to take something small just to pay the bills. I'm starting to get rather depressed, so I keep trying to keep the creative wheels turning. A lot of that energy has gone into fanart on my DeviantArt page (http/firestar9mm. but I refuse to give up on writing. I dragged Danny into my den by his collar and sat us both down with chocolate milk and said "We are going to finish this chapter tonight for sure!" And he was quite helpful, and we did.
So here's chapter four. And after that, chapter five. Still alive!
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Eye of the Beholder
A Danny Phantom fanfiction
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Chapter Four: Such Good Photography
You've got me captured, I'm under your spell
I guess I'll never learn
I have your picture
Yes, I know it well
Another page is turned…
And while she watches I can never be free
Such good photography!
I'll wait till your love comes down
I'm coming straight for your heart
No way you can stop me now
As fine as you are
(I'll Wait, Van Halen)
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Sam bent feverishly over the sewing machine. She was not going to let this beat her. She would make a dress for home economics if that was what she had to do to pass, but it would be her dress. Her terms. And if she had to stay up all night to do it, then all night.
She would show that awful old stoat Mrs. Tetschlav. She'd finish her dress herself, before next week, and she'd model it herself when grading time came. Paulina would think she'd won, because she wouldn't have to model a goth garment in front of the entire class, but Sam would be the real winner—she'd pass on her own merit and not give in to Mrs. Tetschlav's insane rules and unfair punishments. She'd show them all.
She'd come up with the design herself—they'd had to, and Mrs. Tetschlav had devoted an entire class to it, circling the workstations like a sparrowhawk to make sure everyone was coming up with an original design. Then she'd made copies of everyone's design and kept them in a folder, so that no one could simply pick a dress out of a boutique and say they'd deviated from their design. Like Mr. Lancer, Mrs. Tetschlav made cheating in her classes next to impossible.
Sam's dress design was simple—she hadn't wanted to make extra work for herself by trying to do something complicated. The hardest part was the satin cap sleeves, and sewing them to the PVC she was using for the bodice was proving to be no picnic. But the rest was easy—a satin skirt that billowed from the waist all the way down to her ankles, a deceptively simple gown with a neckline that yawned like the jaws of hell. She smirked as the needle broke through the plastic yet again.
Not up to competition standard, indeed!
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Danny had barely passed his last two science courses—in fact, his straight 'C' average was in danger of becoming a 'D'. But suddenly, all the things he'd never written down in his notebook were coming back to him.
For instance, when a body was exercising—running away from a ghost, maybe, or from Dash Baxter; or in Sam's case, home economics—lactate was produced faster than the body's tissues were able to remove it by supplying oxygen. Contrary to popular belief, this buildup did not directly cause the burning in one's muscles commonly associated with lactic acid.
So why did his arms feel like they were going to fall off?
Danny hoped that Lancer was going to stick with the lesson plan and give them as much time in the editing lab as he'd promised—if he kept just letting the camera roll like this, he'd end up with a ton of extra footage. He'd been holding the camera up in front of Sam's window for nearly ten minutes. Luckily, she'd left her heavy drapes open. He wasn't confident enough to phase through her wall; she would be able to sense that he was in the room. She was just that good.
But tonight Sam's concentration seemed entirely focused on a sewing machine and the fabric she was sliding through it—Danny assumed it was her sewing project. All he could see was black satin and the shine of an overhead light on PVC. He chuckled, his sensory memory supplying him with the scent of vinyl, leather, and a hint of sugar underneath—the scent of Sam. Shaking his sudden blush away, he tried to calculate how long she'd been working on it. He'd seen bits of satin peeking out of her backpack every so often over the last week, which made him think she'd been bringing it back and forth to work on at home. Right now, she'd been toiling without a break for at least as long as he'd been camped out in the tree outside her window—nearly an hour—but it was hardly for Danny to know how long it would take to finish sewing a dress, or how much she'd worked before that.
Her brow was knitted in concentration, and he had to smile at the way she caught her tongue at the corner of her mouth, unable to believe how much energy she was devoting to something she hated.
Actually, it wasn't so hard to believe. Sam never did anything halfway, something he admired greatly about her. Gothic fashion, ultra-recyclo-vegetarianism, ghost hunting, friendship—Sam gave her all to every single one. There was something to be said for a girl so tenacious she'd enter a beauty pageant just to teach the audience a lesson in perspective. And while there were elements of the ridiculous about her protests—except for her campaign to save the biology frogs from dissection, he had ruined that one—her heart was in the right place.
It prompted a thought that made excitement curl in his stomach—if he ever managed to let her know he wanted something deeper than their friendship, what would it feel like to be the focus of that amazing energy, that ferocious love?
He wanted so badly to find out. Without his conscious control, his face was sliding into that contented smile, eyelids dropping to half-mast, lips curling slowly at the corners. He remembered well the first time she'd put that look on his face, the first time their lips had met. Valerie had been in hot pursuit of "Inviso-Bill", and Sam had come up with a desperate measure for a desperate time. She'd leapt on him and her weight had carried them both to the ground, and he knew he hadn't been imagining the fevered light in her eyes as she rode him down before leaning in close and—
Blinking his sudden blush away, he realized Sam had left her room. The sewing machine was idle and still on the card table she'd dragged in to place it on, but goth and dress were missing. Startling to attention, Danny cursed himself for being caught unaware. Deciding to take his chances, he phased through her wall, invisible, silent as possible. A few steps around the room he knew so well confirmed what he'd seen. No Sam in the bedroom. No Sam in the hallway.
He was looking in her partially open closet for her favorite leather jacket—she wouldn't have left the house without taking it; the night was surprisingly chilly—when he noticed the light go out under her bathroom door. Cursing himself for an idiot—he hadn't even considered the bathroom—he stepped into the closet, the hand holding the camera partially phasing through a black and purple corset and his intangible feet standing in a pair of Sam's lace-up knee boots. Hiding in the closet was already proving to be a mistake—seeing Sam's clothes made him think of what she'd look like in the clothes, the corset and boots especially. Shaking these thoughts away before they moved on to even more dangerous territory where most of the clothes were decidedly absent, he sucked in a breath just before the bathroom door opened.
Sam came back into the room, headed for her floor-length mirror. Without his control, his thoughts swung from the racy right back to the romantic when he saw the result of her efforts. The dress was mostly finished, although two big safety pins were holding the side zipper to the PVC. A sliver of bare skin could be seen between the pins, but it didn't disrupt the fit of the dress. The stitches, while neat, were large and unprofessional, but he had to admit they looked goth; she could play that off and say that she'd planned it that way. The only real flaw was that the skirt was too long. She stumbled on the way to her mirror, then finally got tangled up in it and went down for good halfway across the room.
Danny held his breath; her head was lowered and her hair was obscuring her face. Her shoulders shook, and he wondered if he should come out of hiding and ask her if she were all right. But then she lifted her head, and he realized she was laughing at herself. It was easy to see she was proud of her efforts, as elementary as they were. He smiled at her and remembered his camera. Hoping she wouldn't hear the whirr that sounded when he turned it on, he trained it on her and did his best to hide the lighted screen.
Sam had regained her feet and made it to the mirror, turning this way and that as any girl would do. Seemingly satisfied, she walked a few steps back towards the bed, then stopped. Camera still rolling, Danny froze. Had she heard him, sensed somehow that he was there?
But she said nothing. Instead, she gathered her skirt in one hand and started to spin, slowly at first, then faster. She let go of the fabric and the gathers of the dress unfolded, swinging around her till she lost her balance and fell again, onto the bed this time. Her giggles were muffled into the pillow as she rolled onto her side, and then she didn't move again. After a few minutes, Danny stepped carefully out of the closet, wondering even as he did it why he was bothering to sneak past while he was already invisible. It was strange with her there, lounging in that gown, as if he'd trespassed in the queen's chambers and needed to be quiet. Passing closer to the bed, he saw the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the shiny vinyl; she was asleep.
Danny turned off the camera and reached for her bedside lamp, extinguishing the light and allowing himself one more glance before phasing back out into the night. The camera wouldn't get to see Sam curled up on her bed in her pretty dress, but glowing green eyes could see in any dark.
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Her heart hurt.
Her heart hurt and the lights were dim, and she thought she saw Danny next to her bed, smiling down at her as he reached for the lamp. She stretched out her arm, ignoring the pain, knowing he could help, but he put out the light and then everything was dark.
Sam woke up with a start, pressing her hand over her heart. The stabbing pain worsened, and she looked down and saw what was wrong—one of the safety pins she'd used to secure the bodice of her dress had come undone and was pressing into her skin. Pulling it carefully away, she sighed and tossed it onto the card table with the sewing machine.
Dreaming of Danny again. She was starting to get used to it.
Not fourteen anymore, she thought absently as she unpinned the dress and let it fall to pool around her feet. She knew that sooner or later it wouldn't just be puppy-love crushes on girls like Paulina. Soon there would be more girls like Valerie, girls who were actually interested in Danny. And Sam would still be standing silently by, unable to tell Danny how she really felt about him. She knew her time was running out.
Sometimes she thought she could do it—she and Danny would share a smile and she'd know that she wanted that smile forever. But the moment would pass and the fear would set in—fear that she couldn't keep it, that she'd scare that smile away with the truth.
If she told him, she ran the risk of spoiling the friendship that she'd held close to her heart all her life—ruining the comfortable status quo that she, Danny and Tucker shared; that security she loved so much. But if she didn't tell him, she'd have to sit and watch him date every girl in Amity Park—in the world—except her, until he found a girl who'd steal that smile from her forever.
The problem was that she hadn't decided yet.
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Dash Baxter hated a lot of things.
Luckily for the rest of society, Dash didn't devote a whole hell of a lot of thought to his hatred. He had all the self-awareness of a car battery, and his hatred was an easy thing to avoid as long as it wasn't looking directly at you. Of course, not everyone was that lucky. Some were unluckier than others.
Dash Baxter hated a lot of things, but there was little he hated more than seeing Danny Fenton looking so happy. There was something different about Fenton lately—he had this confidence about him that was just begging to be crushed. The biggest surprise of all had been in gym class the other day, when the smaller boy had actually threatened to fight him—Dash's jaw had dropped to his Nikes when he'd heard that.
Still, the most influential factor in that incident had been, as always, spooky Sam Manson. All someone had to do was upset or threaten her, and Danny Fenton bared fangs and leapt to her defense. Sort of like Cringer turning into Battlecat in the light of He-Man's enchanted sword.
"I know it's usually the other way around, Fenton, but I think today I'll turn your smile upside down."
"You put way too much thought into this," Danny said, his face flushing slightly from the rush of blood to his head—Dash had seized his ankles and turned him upside down. "Nice shoes, Dash. Where'd you get them, a telephone line?"
Dash's face contorted and he gave Danny a shake, which was the best comeback he had. "Jeez, Fenton. It wasn't enough that your girlfriend stopped you from puttin' up your dukes in gym class, huh? You're really asking for it!"
Danny swatted at Dash's shins, looking for all the world like a big, angry housecat being held by its footpaws.
"Put him down!" Tucker ordered, rounding a corner and taking in the scene.
Dash treated him to a brilliant grin and obeyed. Danny, of course, landed on his head.
"Thanks, Tuck," Danny groaned from the floor.
For his part, Tucker looked guilty. "Sorry, I didn't think that one through."
"Maybe I should film this for my video essay," Dash guffawed as he watched his prey rub his aching head. "It's a beautiful sight!"
Danny got to his feet, with help from Tucker. "You wouldn't know beauty if it came up and bit you in the face."
"Want to bet?" Dash jeered. "Lancer's as much as said he doesn't expect you to pass our video assignment. You'll be lucky to get an F-plus!"
"I'm sure you know all about F-pluses," Danny remarked dryly. "I could get a better grade than you if I filmed a guy sleeping for eight hours!"
"So let's put your video where your big mouth is, Fentard!"
Tucker stepped in. "Danny, don't. You remember what happened the last time you had a bet with Dash. Hello? Underwear sandwich?"
Danny shuddered. "Don't remind me, okay? The taste is still clinging to the back of my throat. And I would have won that bet if it hadn't been for my parents," he added. He pointed a finger at Dash. "You're on. If I get a better grade than you, I get to borrow your car for the entire weekend."
Dash's eyes sparked, as if he hadn't been expecting such a stake. "Not bad, Fenton. But if I win, you have to attend an entire day of classes in her dress." He pointed across the hallway to…
"Sam?" Danny and Tucker exclaimed.
Sam was walking carefully down the corridor, the bodice of the black gown forcing her breasts to defy gravity. The skirt was starlit nightfall around her, just brushing the floor so that her heels were audible but not visible beneath it. The satin shone in the overhead lights. Her makeup was perfect.
For one minute, even Tucker was at a loss for words, until the silence finally got to him and he grated out, "Wow."
Dash howled. "You're gonna look great in that, Fentina! Make sure you wear the black eyeliner, too!"
"What are you talking about, Dash?" Sam gave the jock the withering glance she kept on reserve for him.
Dash gave her his best yearbook smile, but his eyes were twinkling evilly. "Oh…you'll see." He turned and lumbered off, Godzilla returning to the depths of the Tokyo bay.
Sam folded her arms beneath her breasts and laughed a dark-chocolate laugh, drawing the boys' attention back to her. "Do I want to know what he's talking about?" she teased, arching a brow at them.
Tucker laughed, too. "No. You definitely don't."
Danny said nothing; he'd turned his full attention to Sam. "Your dress is finished," he said softly.
Sam blushed and dropped her gaze. "Yup," she said, almost shyly.
Danny's heart forced itself into his throat. "Turn around for me?" He hadn't meant for his voice to crack.
Forgetting her shame, she raised her eyes to his, looking confused. "Huh?"
"Turn around," he said, softly so that telltale crack wouldn't creep into his words again. "Please?" he added.
Still looking puzzled, Sam turned slowly, her heels clacking on the floor as her hips swayed from side to side in a graceful rotation. From far away, the skirt had seemed to sparkle; up close, Danny could see that effect had come from dozens and dozens of tiny dark rhinestones on the skirt.
"You look…" he said, unsure of what word to choose. What would sound the way he felt without being…completely uncool?
Sam's face looked shy but pleased, waiting, waiting…
"Wow, Sam. You made that?" Tucker said appreciatively.
Danny let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He wasn't sure if he was annoyed at Tucker for being so predictable as to get in the way yet again, or if he was relieved to have more time to think of a word to describe how she looked.
"Sure did," Sam said proudly, swishing her skirt. "Took me nearly forever, but it's done and it hasn't come apart, tripped me, ripped, popped a seam, or fallen off yet. So I'm pretty happy with it," she laughed.
"Did you sew all those rhinestones on yourself?" Tucker asked, adjusting his glasses to inspect her skirt.
Sam gave him a look. "Have you shot your bolt? Of course I didn't. I went to my attic and found my mother's old Bedazzler. Sewing them on would have taken me till graduation."
Tucker was grinning. "Pretty slick, Sam. I'm proud of you."
"Me, too," Danny added, trying to fight off the remains of his blush. "You look—"
The bell rang.
"Corks," Sam hissed. "I've got to get to home ec before I rip the hem of this thing! See you guys after." She wheeled clumsily, a glittery, noisy party favor making her careful way down the hall.
"Gentlemen, you're late," Mr. Lancer said, coming into the doorway. Glancing after Sam, he added, "Well, Better Homes and Gardens! Ms. Manson isn't doing so badly in home ec after all, it seems. That dress is quite beautiful."
Danny smacked his forehead. "Beautiful" would have been a very good word to say to Sam.
Lancer gave him a rather evil grin. "Pity you didn't have your camera, isn't it, Mr. Fenton?"
Danny answered that with a glare and headed into the classroom.
"Yeah, that's too bad, Danny, you should start carrying it around with you again," Tucker supplied unhelpfully. Danny swung the glare his way.
Dash guffawed from the front of the room. "Remember, Fenton Ford Coppola, when I get a better grade than you, you're going to be wearing that dress!"
"I wonder how fast your car will go on the open road, Dash? One-ten? One-forty?" Danny snarled in answer.
Lancer rapped a pointer on the blackboard. "Gentlemen! If you please. Since you're feeling so vocal, which one of you wants to be the first to tell me the answers to last night's homework questions?"
Danny and Dash immediately pointed at each other in a rare occurrence of agreement—sort of. "He does."
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Sam was back in her street clothes at her locker when Danny and Tucker caught up to her.
"I like that smile," Danny purred. "I take it the project went well?"
Sam closed her locker, looking smug. "Even Mrs. Tetschlav had to admit I'd worked my tail off on that stupid thing. And I think she secretly liked the way the rhinestones made it sparkly. She said she was 'forced' to give me a B-plus."
"A B-plus!" Tucker exclaimed. "Way to go, Sam! That's awesome!" He held up his hand for a high-five, and the goth happily smacked him one.
"A B-plus!" Danny exclaimed as well, except that he sounded a lot more incredulous. "Is she insane? You worked so hard on it! You stayed up all night sewing it and adjusting the stitching—you even fell asleep trying it on! And you look beautiful in it! She should have given you an A." He folded his arms, scowling.
Tucker's eyes were wide and he was stepping on Danny's toes insistently, over and over again as if trying to convey a desperate message.
But Sam looked surprised and—pleased! " 'And the little kangaroo in his pouch said, 'HUMPH!' too'!" she giggled. "Danny, I'm perfectly happy with a B-plus, as long as I pass this stupid class. But it's nice of you to say that."
"I mean it," he said, more calmly. "It really did look great, Sam. You really did your homework."
"Speaking of homework," Tucker said, "Danny had better get started on his, or that dress is going to get an encore."
It was Danny's turn to step on Tucker's foot as Sam gave them a puzzled look. "You guys keep making allusions to Danny and my dress. What are you not telling me?"
Danny put a hand behind his head guiltily. "Ah—nothing!" Keeping his foot firmly on Tucker's to stop him from talking, he added, "But I do need to finish up my video. Are you free to film tonight?"
It was Sam's turn to look guilty. "Um—actually, no. I've got—this thing."
The boys narrowed their eyes suspiciously. "A thing?" Tucker asked.
"What kind of thing?" Danny cross-examined. "Homework-thing, family-thing, doctor's-appointment-thing, date-thing, what kind of thing?" He narrowed his eyes further until they were nothing more than icy slits and leaned into Sam like an obsessive detective. "It's not a date-thing, is it?"
"No," Sam giggled, pushing him gently back. "It's not a 'date-thing'. Overprotective much?"
"Much," Tucker chuckled. Danny stomped his foot.
"Look, I'm just looking out for you," Danny said. "You remember what happened the last time?"
Sam rolled her eyes. "I had nearly forgotten, but thanks for opening up a painful scar!" she joked.
Danny blanched. "I just…you know," he said sheepishly.
"Do I?" Sam asked softly.
Now would be a good time, Danny told himself. Now would be a great time. Just say it. It'll take less than a minute.
"It'll take less than an hour," Sam said before he could psych himself up enough. "How about I come over after my thing?"
Danny willed his eyes to stay blue at the mention of the "thing". "Very well," he teased in an affected voice. "Go to your 'thing' if you must. But I'll have you know you'll wish you were with me the whole time."
Tucker pretended the ceiling was very interesting, but Sam laughed good-naturedly. "I just might. See you later, okay?" Turning to leave the building, she almost ran smack into an irate Paulina.
The popular princess' eyes were narrowed and she was scowling, biting the words off through gritted teeth as if she could barely leash her rage. "You may have won this round, goth chick, but you just wait, you just wait until the Christmas cookie project!" Turning an about-face on her heel, she stomped away.
Sam glanced around at the crowd in the hallway, who'd witnessed the spectacle. Jerking a thumb in the direction Paulina had stormed off, she said, "B-minus," and shrugged.
The crowd accepted the explanation and continued what they were doing. Danny tapped Tucker's shoulder. "Come with me to my locker. I've got to get my camera and beat her home."
"Oh, no, you don't," Tucker said. "Since you brought up 'last time', you remember how angry she got when she found out you'd been spying on her?"
"This—is—different," Danny insisted through gritted teeth. "Besides, Tuck—her thing might be something noteworthy for my film!"
Tucker sighed, realizing he couldn't stop Danny from hanging himself. "I doubt it."
But in truth, Tucker couldn't have been more wrong.
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Tucker was completely depressed. He'd bought the best video camera—state-of-the-art, with bells and whistles that he couldn't even pronounce. And yet every attempt he'd made to film beauty had ended in failure, except for the time he'd tried to film inside the girls' locker room—that had ended in dismal, painful failure. And detention, which he'd finally finished serving last week.
Walking at his side, Tucker saw a determined smile on his best friend's face. The halfa looked like he didn't have a care in the world.
Which made no sense to Tucker, really. At first glance, Danny's life seemed full of problems, the most immediate of which was the fact that Sam was undoubtedly going to catch him spying sooner or later. He'd nearly given the game away earlier in the hallway, and no amount of stepping on his foot had brought it to his attention. On top of that, by now everyone had heard the story about how Sam had thrown him and his camera out of home economics. His project didn't seem to be going well, and his interactions with Sam seemed to be erratic at best.
So why smile?
Tucker had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with love. Despite everything that was going wrong lately, Danny had been far more relaxed than usual, as if the decision to finally make his move for Sam had lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. Even when Sam had gotten annoyed at him, Danny kept an unshakable faith that all would be forgiven in the end—as if the fact that he loved her was everything, and it would make all the hurt disappear.
For Danny's sake, Tucker hoped that was true. Did love make you forget that everything else in your life was going wrong? Was that love? What was that?
Maybe that was the problem, Tucker reflected. His own two great loves—technology and beautiful women—had failed him. There had to be something else, anything else he found worthy enough to film!
As he pondered this dilemma, his stomach growled. Man, I'm hungry, he thought, looking at his watch. Maybe I'll hit up the Nasty Burger after Danny gets to Sam's…
It was as if the clouds parted and a ray of sunlight hit its mark right on his brain. Of course! The thing he loved best was at the Nasty Burger, every day!
"That's it!" he yelled, throwing his arms wide and nearly knocking Danny over.
"What's it?" Danny laughed, covering his face to block.
"I got it—I know what I'm going to film for my video essay!" Tucker said.
Danny grinned, glad his friend had found his muse. "What is it?"
"You'll see, man, you'll see." Tucker laughed. "I gotta go get started. Good luck with Sam tonight."
A high-five and a smile exchanged, and the two boys headed to their respective goals.
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Sam pursed her purple lips at her mirror. Damn that Danny. She'd meant to dress up for her…thing…tonight, but now she wasn't sure whether or not her forty-five minutes of going overboard on it were for her previous engagement or for the fact that she was meeting him afterward.
"And the beautiful princess descended the stairs and kissed her grandmother goodbye," a voice said as she got to the foot of the stairs.
Sam grinned and obeyed. "Knock it off, Grandma."
Sam's grandmother smiled and ruffled her granddaughter's hair. "You look very pretty, Sammy. Going to see your Danny tonight?"
"No!" Sam squealed. "Well, yes, but not till later on. I didn't dress up for that."
Her grandmother just laughed. "So you dressed up for your other thing, and it's just a coincidence that you're going to see Danny afterward?"
"Exactly," Sam said frostily, heading for the door.
Shaking her head and smiling, her grandmother called, "Knock him dead, Sammy!"
"I will!" Sam shut the door. "Wait a minute. Did she say 'him' or 'them'?"
Choosing to ignore the thought, she sighed and wrapped her arms around herself for a second. It was a little colder than she'd expected.
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Danny actually felt the temperature drop around him. That only happened when his powers flared up—which usually happened when his emotions got out of control.
Whichever it was, Sam was not dressed for anything but a "date-thing" in his opinion. Spiderweb high-hi stockings were definitely date-thing clothes. And he recognized that purple corset from hiding in her closet. He'd been right—it looked even better when she was actually wearing it.
For one wild second, he thought of turning visible in her path. Don't go out with him, Sam. Go out with me. But he remained a…ghost, watching her.
But whoever her date was, he wasn't picking her up—point in the minus column, Danny thought smugly.
Sam was the only Manson who purposely stopped using the family's chauffeur as soon as she'd gotten her driver's license. She got into her comfortably battered Mustang and started the ignition. After following her for a few blocks, Danny recognized the route—she was heading for one of her favorite haunts, the Skulk and Lurk bookstore.
Inwardly, Danny groaned. She was probably meeting some goth who'd recite bad poetry to her and make toasts with absinthe as he compared her beauty to lame stuff like the dark of the grave and the gleam of vampire fangs. He rolled glowing green eyes and wondered if he should just go home.
…Yeah, right. No way.
The people who hung out at the Skulk and Lurk always cracked Danny up. Half of them were usually legitimate goths, punks, fringers or just plain degenerates. But the other half…you got a real cross-section of middle-schoolers who were just pretending, genuinely confused kids who weren't sure they should be there but didn't fit in anywhere else, or the worst of all—those rare, disturbed individuals who played role-playing games. The first couple of times Danny and Tucker had gone to the Skulk and Lurk with Sam, all three took perverse delight in trying to make those people see the light, only to be confronted with increasingly hysterical shrieks of "I am so a vampire! My powers are dark and terrible, and when we overrun the daywalkers you will suffer long and slow!" or something else along those lines. Eventually, Danny realized it was much more fun to play along and laugh at the ridiculous things that were said over shakes at the Nasty Burger later.
Danny really hoped Sam wasn't meeting one of those guys. If she was, he was afraid he'd have to intervene.
Compared to some of them, she was dressed downright conservatively. The Skulk and Lurk was always packed on nights they had poetry slams—there was even a bouncer at the door wearing metal gauntlets and a ring pierced through both nostrils, like a bull. To get past him, you had to be either famous, drop dead gorgeous, or dressed like something out of a Jhonen Vasquez book. There was a line when Sam got there, so Danny amused himself keeping tabs on those who got in right away, those who were told to wait for a manager's verdict, and those who were told to just go home. Those who got in: a girl dressed from head to toe in spiderwebs with a live tarantula on her shoulder; a boy with a noose around his neck, and a boy and a girl who appeared to be sewn together (or, at least, their outfit was). Danny was actually wondering if the fact that Sam was a regular would be enough to get her in, but when it was her turn, the bouncer simply smiled at her and nodded his head, and she went in.
When Sam was shown to her table at the back of the room, no one was waiting for her. It didn't seem to bother her; she simply sat and ordered something to drink calmly, her eyes flicking over the other patrons every so often. Sometimes she smiled to herself, other times she looked thoughtful, but she never once glanced back at the door, or looked around for her date. Danny had to wonder. She'd said she wasn't going on a date. Maybe she really wasn't.
She doesn't lie, a nagging voice said in his mind. Not like you.
Shut up, brain, he shot back. I'm in love, which has nothing to do with you and your logic.
Danny wanted very badly to sit at Sam's table with her, but she'd notice the chill of his presence. More than that, she'd notice him, and he wouldn't be able to keep silent if she felt him near. Instead, he hung back against the nearby wall, still intangible. The other patrons for the most part did not notice his presence—except a pair across the room. The man leaned to whisper in the woman's ear; she tilted her head to hear the secret, then followed his gaze to the wall where Danny was invisibly leaning. They both smiled—kind, interested smiles—and Danny realized they could see him. He tensed, waiting for them to call out to him or approach him, but they turned back to their drinks and to each other, leaving him alone. He let out the breath he'd been holding.
Maybe not everyone at the Skulk and Lurk was a phony.
Grateful to the mediums for leaving him in peace but still shuddering from the close call, he turned his attention to the stage and focused on the show.
He was almost immediately sorry he'd done so.
The boy—at least, Danny was pretty sure it was a boy—was reading his poem in a voice like dead leaves scraping on concrete, but he was having trouble seeing past long, pale hair, which he kept seizing in his free hand and throwing over his shoulder. It would slide back to cover his eyes every third line or so.
"Demons from hell seek the chosen one. Utter blackness eats my…"
He paused, throwing his hair over his shoulder.
"…eats my heart and soul."
Sam sighed, crossing one leg over the other and propping her chin on her hand. Danny smiled. At least she didn't like it either.
By the end of an hour, Danny was truly suffering. He had a feeling Sam was too—he noticed her eyes fluttering shut every so often and her head drooping, but she'd snap awake and pretend to pay attention again almost immediately.
"I curl like a snake around his heart and sink my fangs in," a girl was moaning on the stage. Danny felt like banging his head against the wall. Not only were these poems bad, they were all about fifteen minutes long. Didn't anybody write haikus anymore?
Dirty limericks, even?
And Sam was still alone at her table. Danny was now convinced she'd been telling the truth. She'd never wait this long if she'd thought she was being stood up. And the poetry was bad. There was no reason to stay.
So what are you still doing here, Sam? Danny asked silently. Don't you want to come see me? Don't you know I'm waiting for you?
And then the MC—a tall, spindly man who was wearing more eyeliner than Sam—gave her a friendly nod, and she stood up as the spotlight found its way to her. She nodded her acknowledgement, then walked to the stage. Danny watched in awe as Sam ascended the platform, rising gracefully above the assembled crowd. Almost shyly, she took her place and posed. She held nothing in her hands, no book, no paper. Whatever she was about to say, she knew by heart.
So this was the "thing" she'd had to do tonight—a "thing" she'd want to dress prettily for, a "thing" she wouldn't necessarily want Danny or Tucker to know about. Danny felt his heart swell and a smile creep across his face—her shyness was so cute.
He barely had the presence of mind to turn on his camera and focus as Sam took a breath, eyes closed. When she opened them again, she fixed them on the back of the room—a middle distance that she didn't know Danny was invisible in.
Spellbound, he continued to film as Sam began to speak.
It's not the night-time that I fear; I don't believe in ghosts.
But I can't sleep, and I'm still haunted, and awake I lie.
I claim I do not love him, but still awake I lie.
They do not come—not sleep, not love, not he I want the most;
I tell myself that it's all right—
I don't believe in ghosts.
Appreciative murmurs were almost instantaneous, even if some of them just liked it because it was the shortest of the poems yet. Danny let a shiver take him; what could she have meant by those lines?
Sam was blushing; she didn't hang around after her performance was finished. Danny noticed the mediums watching as she headed for the back door; he sketched a mock salute at them before he chased her. Their soft laughter followed him out—the two happiest people in that entire building.
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"Welcome to Nasty Burger, how can I—oh, it's you." Valerie frowned at Tucker over the cash register. "What'll it be, Foley?"
"I need your help," Tucker said. "For my video essay." At her horrified look, he added, "Look, just hear me out, okay? I promise I'll have you on my side in five minutes."
Valerie narrowed her eyes. "I go on break in ten minutes. This had better be good."
Tucker smiled. "If you help me, it will be."
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Danny had just arranged himself in what he thought was a believable sofa-remote-control-television position when Sam rang the bell. Danny's mother happened to be passing through and was closer to the door. "Well, hello, Sam! Oh, don't you look pretty!"
"Thanks, Mrs. Fenton. Is Danny home?" Sam swept in and chuckled when she saw Danny lying on the sofa. "Rough night?"
"You have no idea," Danny said as he sat up. "What happened to your date?"
"I told you, I didn't have a date." She stretched her hands to him. "Come on, want to film?"
"Want to be my date?" Danny asked lightly. "I'll bribe you with ice cream?"
She gave him a wary look. "Don't you have to finish your video essay?"
"Saaaaaammmyyyyy," he cajoled. "Iiiiiice creeeeaam."
She tried not to giggle, but failed.
"It'll be fine, Sam. Promise. Come on, let's get ice cream. My mom's right, you look too nice to stay in."
"Oh, knock it off. And you're paying for the ice cream," she said.
"My pleasure," he laughed. "After all, you are my date."
"I'm a little too dressed up to go to Carvel," she said.
He pretended to make a big show of looking her over. "You're right. Wait here. I'll go put on a suit."
Maddie Fenton smiled secretly at the laughter coming from the foyer, and was careful not to go back into the living room until she heard the door shut behind them.
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Somewhere out in the night, he woke, the same way he'd been waking all the time lately—scared and alone.
He wasn't sure where he was, but it was dark and cold. He felt lonely, and uncared for, and even the moon seemed not to hear the whimpers he couldn't hold back.
The first few nights he'd paced his prison, searching for a way out, for anything, but as the days slipped by he had tired of that and had begun to realize the nights were all the same. No one was coming for him; he was alone.
Alone in the universe.
He lay down and fought wakefulness back, for it was only in sleep he felt free.
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Author's Notes:
I wish it hadn't taken me so long to get this chapter up. I mean, I wish a lot of things, but I can't find Cosmo or Wanda lately. I hope they're in Chocolate City, Utah, or something like that. Somewhere that tastes good. Come back soon, guys! I have wishes!
When Dash is annoyed at Danny's recent cheerfulness, a mention is made of Prince Adam of Eternia's faithful cat companion, Cringer, who becomes Battlecat when Adam's Greyskull sword turns him into He-Man. (My cousin and I used to watch a lot of Masters of the Universe when we were kids. Stripe me rudder if they haven't just put that out on DVD, too.)
Danny also tells Dash that he could get a better grade even if he filmed "a guy sleeping for eight hours". Sorry, Danny, Andy Warhol beat you to that in 1963.
Okay, who remembers that ridiculous Bedazzler thing that they sold on TV in the 90s:D
"And the little kangaroo in her pouch said, 'HUMPH!' too!" The local teen drama group just did "Seussical! The Musical". Not a surprise that I'm a big fan of the Sour Kangaroo. XD
Please don't blame Sam for that poem she read at the Skulk and Lurk; I wrote that, so it's not her fault. If I remember correctly, the Skulk and Lurk bookstore appears in Lucky in Love as well as Double-Cross My Heart.
ROLE PLAYERS SCARE THE HELL OUT OF FIRESTAR. And that is all I will say about that.
I hope someone's still reading this thing; I feel just plain awful about leaving it alone so long! I wish things were better. As it stands, I'm working four days next week on the sales floor….yikes…..:F
Next chapter: Things (hopefully) start to come together.