Author's Introduction:
Well, this surprised even me, but this isn't the last chapter of this story. Apparently, there's a whole lot more going on than I originally thought, and so there's a little more to tell. Hope you guys have fun with this!
Eye of the Beholder
A Danny Phantom fanfiction
Chapter Seven: Our Hearts Begin To Pound Again
I never could explain it, or even try to name it
All I feel whenever I'm alone with you
But there's a certain sweetness
I find a true completeness deep inside
That never goes away whatever we do
We stop, we start, we fight it, but we lose
It's always so confusing
Cause at that moment, you hug and kiss me goodbye, like a friend
Our hearts begin to pound again
(Back In Love, from the soundtrack to El-Hazard: The Magnificent World)
Amity Park slept.
It was a moonless night, and the stars shone all the brighter for it, twinkling benevolently down on the rooftops and windowpanes of the slumbering town.
Amity Park dreamed.
Danny's love for Sam was most evident in a place no one but him would ever see it—his dreams.
Most people would have considered Danny's dreams frighteningly ordinary. He dreamt of lying in the Casper High quad during lunch hour, his head pillowed in her lap, her fingers traversing absently through his hair. He dreamt of watching movies with her on the sofa in his living room, snuggling under a shared blanket. He dreamt of taking her on dates, real dates, of goodnight kisses that were delicious promises of a deeper closeness to come.
And sometimes, he dreamt of the closeness they already had. Like tonight. Just beyond the peaceful night, the atrocities of school and the stress of ghost-hunting waited, but tonight, Danny was flying over Amity Park with Sam in his arms, held close against his chest until the only sound in his ears was the whistling wind and a shared heartbeat.
Danny shifted in his sleep, the faintest smile on his lips.
Across town, someone else was smiling in their sleep. In her dreams, Sam was playing hide and seek with Danny on the streets of Amity Park. No matter who was hiding and who was seeking, they always managed to find one another, happier to see each other every time.
If Mrs. Manson had looked in on her daughter, she'd have been amazed at the expression of simple joy on Sam's face.
If you had asked the students of Casper High, they would have said that Mr. Lancer was stodgy, uncompromising, and by-the-book. However, the students looked on their teacher with the jaundiced eye of those who had suffered his detentions and punishments; their analysis wasn't entirely true.
Yes, Lancer was by-the-book. He was stodgy, and uncompromising. But a vivid imagination lurked in that bald head, and right now it was leading him on a journey through a literal Faerieland…
The forest was alive with the rustle of trees and the dapple of shadows. Starlight carved everything into high relief and cups of dark. As Lancer looked up, the brightest star above began its fiery descent from the night sky.
The star sped closer and closer, and then screeched to a stop right in front of Lancer's startled face, revealing it to be not a star at all, but a six-inch humanoid figure haloed in scarlet light. It tossed long hair from a delicately beautiful face, the motion throwing colors back like a prism, and fluttered iridescent dragonfly's wings behind its slender back.
The pixie flitted back and forth past his wide eyes, then grabbed the end of his tie and pulled, leading him further into the whispering forest.
Spellbound, Lancer followed the pixie to a clearing bathed in pale starlight. A throne woven of gnarled tree limbs and creeping vines overlooked the grassy floor, and a figure perched upon the wood. All other thoughts were forgotten as he gazed upon her grace, her shining. Her hair rippled like liquid gold down her back, throwing warmth onto her pale skin, and her wide, clear eyes were a sharp, almost startled green. Lancer sank to one knee, recognizing her happy fair immediately—only one so beautiful could rule the Summer Court of Faerie.
But why would Titania, Seelie Queen of all Summer, be dressed in rags?
It was true. Her gorgeous body was wrapped in tattered burlap, and she curled herself to one side modestly as those grass-green eyes glared down at him.
"You promised me," she hissed. "You promised me that I would be beautiful, that I would be arrayed in sunlight and warmth!"
"My Queen," Lancer said, "I have not forgotten my promise. I have found someone who can spin the magic you require. She only needs to be convinced to aid us."
Titania seemed to calm a bit, her posture easing on her woodland throne. "Who is this mageling? Why do I not know of one so powerful in my realm? Does she serve Winter?"
Lancer thought grimly that if the girl he spoke of served any season, it would be Air and Darkness itself—Winter. "My Queen, she does not reside in either Court, but beyond Faerie in the mortal realm."
Titania's soft lips curved in a smile. "If she is a mortal, then she will trade her skills for power. They all fall to the same bargains eventually."
Lancer sighed. "My lady, this mortal is stubborn, and does not often exercise even the power she has. Moreover, she is served by a most loyal knight, and he will not allow any glamour or trickery near her."
Another shift in posture and Titania was once again the petulant child. "I am the Queen Who Is," she cried. "You have promised me finery for our upcoming festivities. You must convince this mortal girl to spin her magic. The power I give you and the trust I place in you is a match for any strong knight, any willful heart. You must fulfill your promise to me!"
Titania held out her hand, thumb and ring finger bent. Pixies swarmed to her in a rainbow of flickering lights. "Assist my knight," she called. "Lead him to this mageling. Do not return until your aim is fulfilled!"
Dazedly, Lancer followed the kaleidoscopic pixies through the dark wood, desperate to please his Queen.
He stumbled upon the focus of his search in a shadowed glen. Samantha Manson, clothed in the gown she'd sewn in home economics, sat at a loom, weaving cobwebs and starlight together skillfully. Yes, this was the magic he needed.
"You again," Sam said scornfully, turning her attention to him, her fingers never stopping their work on the loom. "Deader than an icicle in hell, remember?"
"Ms. Manson," Lancer implored. "I beg of you. I need your help. I must serve my Queen."
"And I serve mine," a new voice said, and like one of the ghosts that haunted Amity Park, Danny Fenton appeared out of nowhere, a smug grin on his face. "Want me to run him off for you?" he asked Sam.
"No, he can show himself out," Sam said, her grin just as smug. "Can't you, Mr. Lancer?"
"We are prepared to bargain for your services," Lancer said.
Sam laughed. "Bargain with a faerie? Mr. Lancer, better warriors than me have died trying. Sometimes, inspiration isn't worth the price your muse will charge. Listen!" Like an audio aid, hounds could be heard baying in the distance. "Leanansidhe rides, and here you are with no finery for your Summer Queen, no weapon of iron to protect you, and not a baby in sight to trade for your freedom…" The goth's eyes sparkled wickedly. "I'd start running if I were you."
"Scorpion girl," he hissed. "This is not over. You've not seen the last of me—Mr. Lancer!"
And with that, he turned and bolted into the forest, the hounds getting ever closer and Sam's triumphant laughter ringing just beyond.
Lancer woke with a start, his copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream falling off his chest and tumbling to the floor, where it closed with a thump.
He rubbed hastily at his eyes, shuddering, a cold sweat breaking out over his bald head. "Damn," he hissed. Nightmares again.
Mr. Lancer hadn't been sleeping well the past two weeks. When he'd signed up to direct the drama club's winter production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, he'd had no idea of the trouble he'd gotten himself into. The sets weren't done, the actors didn't know their lines, and he had no idea where he was going to get the costumes. Approaching Principal Ishiyama about renting them ended in dismal failure and a long lecture about the Board of Education's budget cuts. Much as he'd hated to do it, Lancer had turned to his arch-rival, Mrs. Tetschlav, to see if he could enlist the home economics class to help, but of course, Tetschlav had gleefully refused to change her lesson plan in order to accommodate all the extra sewing. However, there was no rule that said he couldn't approach the students and try to get them to volunteer on their own. But Lancer was not good at getting people to volunteer for things—it was so much easier, he lamented, to catch them in trouble and just make it their punishment to do what was needed.
Sam Manson, and her rather romantic sewing technique, was his only remaining hope. And she also seemed to be taking a perverse delight in refusing to assist him.
Lancer loved William Shakespeare, and he loved the theater. What he didn't love was how badly the drama club was doing in their Midsummer rehearsals. He knew, he just knew that if they only looked the part, they'd grasp the material so much better. But he'd hit a dead-end, and every time he closed his eyes he heard the faerie hounds baying for his blood…
He lay down again, closing his weary eyes and hoping for one of those nonsensical dreams in which people threw hula hoops at each other and ate ice cream that never seemed to melt.
They marched.
They marched not with torch and pitchfork, but with picket signs and raised fists. They were clothed not in chain mail and armor, but in PETA t-shirts, ponchos, peasant blouses, shirts emblazoned with the insignia of the Dave Mathews Band and Darwin fishes. The ground shuddered under the tramp-tramp-tramp of Birkenstocks.
The kid at the Nasty Drive-Thru slowly lowered his headset. "They are coming," he said quietly to his comrades, in the voice of one who sees his own death approaching and knows he is powerless to stop it.
The other Nasty employees moved like chain lightning. The fry-o-later girl held a basket of boiling oil at the ready, in case anyone breached the perimeter, while the cashiers threw themselves at the doors, locking them. The mascot remained outside, giving his fellow defenders a slow, determined nod. Then he turned towards the oncoming army and prepared to sacrifice himself, padded gloves at the ready.
The chanting began. "N-A-S-T-Y! You ain't got no alibi…" Signs that said "Down with the Nasty Burger" and "One Health Code Violation Too Many" waved in anger.
The Nasty cashiers dove for Condiment Island, searching for hot sauce to use as a desperation weapon.
Meanwhile, the kid working Drive-Thru began taking orders from the loyal customers who forced their cars through the angry mob outside. The show must go on.
Sam looked at the skirt she'd laid out on her bed. It was the best thing she'd sewn in home ec so far; her stitches were small and neat and the design was pretty creative, in her opinion. It would really impress Mrs. Tetschlav if she were able to wear it all day without ruining it, and just showed up to class wearing it, Sam reasoned.
And, of course, there might be fringe benefits to that, as Valerie had teasingly pointed out. "Maybe you can model it for Danny…"
For a while, Sam had thought she was imagining things. She could never remember the exact moment it had happened, but somewhere along the line her best friend's smile had begun to do things to her heart rate. She could pick out his individual laugh in a crowd; she was attuned to his moods as if they were her own. When he was sad, she felt it just as sharply; and when he was happy, so was she. Even after all these years, she still woke up looking forward to the day because Danny was there.
In the beginning, she'd tried studiously to ignore the way her blood bubbled when he was near. She came up with a variety of excuses—hormones, the tension that existed between people who spent a lot of time together, her admiration of his abilities—but she'd finally admitted that she was only fooling herself. It was him—it was so much deeper than how he looked or what he could do.
And when she and Tucker had heard the sizzle of electricity and smelled the scent of ozone in that portal and known that something wasn't right, Tucker had had to grab her to stop her from running blindly in after Danny. She'd known that if anything had happened to him her life would be bereft and cold.
Maybe that was the moment, she reasoned. Maybe it was then that she'd known it was too late—she loved him, and that was that.
She'd done passably well keeping it all inside—at least, she thought she had; there were some days that she felt like her feelings were stamped on her forehead, that everyone knew except Danny.
But lately…
Lately, she'd wondered if maybe he held onto her a little longer when they hugged. He seemed to edge closer to her when they sat or walked side by side, the line of his body touching hers in a casual closeness that made her stomach flutter. He was always tickling her, playfully wrestling with her on some pretense—stealing the last snacky cake from her, trying to get more room on the sofa during movie night, that sort of thing.
And ever since he'd asked her to be the subject of his video essay, he'd amped the contact up to ten. All the kind words and compliments and that sweet, secret smile…the feather-light touch of his fingers on her waist as he teased her, called her beautiful…the way he'd swept her into his arms to carry her home, smiling so surely at her.
It was all so sweet, so intimate, so…so much more than what friends did. If she hadn't known better, she'd have said he was…flirting with her.
She'd warned herself not to get her hopes up, that he was Danny, lovable but clueless, oblivious as always. But the idea that he might be waking up, that it might be possible—she couldn't help the way her pulse picked up and her chest tightened with a longing she'd been repressing for way too long. And the truth was, she loved how playful he was being, how he was pushing the boundaries lately. She wanted to play, too—wanted to show him how she liked what he was doing.
And she thought she knew how to start.
Danny slid into the Mustang's passenger seat, slinging his backpack down to the floor at his feet. "Hey," he said cheerfully.
"Morning," Sam said, greeting him with a smile that spilled all the way up into her eyes. She shifted the Mustang into drive, and Danny's eyes followed the movement—
—and nearly fell out of his head.
"Something wrong?" Sam asked, a bit of a teasing edge to her voice.
Trying not to look like a drooling wolf, Danny laughed—then hated how nervous it sounded. "Not for me, but maybe we should turn around—I think you forgot your skirt!"
Sam laughed out loud, as if he'd said exactly what she wanted him to say. "It's my home-ec project."
Danny tried unsuccessfully to tear his eyes away from the sheer spiderweb that covered her thigh—well, a small part of her thigh. "Maybe I should have taken home ec."
"Why? Do you think it would look better on you?" Sam's eyes were dancing.
His eyes hooded themselves and his voice was softer, more serious as he said, "Definitely not."
The Mustang pulled up the curb in front of Tucker's house, and Danny was treated to yet another gearshift, her arm giving a teasing glimpse of not only the spiderweb but of the tempting expanse of thigh that the skirt didn't cover.
Sam beeped the horn as Tucker appeared at the door. "Tuck! Come on!" she called.
The techno-geek slid into the backseat. "How come you never come to my house first?" he teased, reaching over the seat and pulling gently on Sam's little ponytail. "I always have to sit in the back."
"There's no special benefits to riding up front," Sam laughed.
"That's what you think," Danny murmured, still checking out her skirt in his peripheral vision.
"Hm?" Sam said, shifting the car into drive again.
"What are you looking at?" Tucker asked.
"Nothing," Danny said quickly, forcing his eyes front.
"So, Tuck, how'd you sleep last night?" she asked.
"Horribly," Tucker sighed. "I had nightmares that Valerie threw me into the fry-o-lator. I hope she didn't see that YouTube thing."
"I don't think a lot of people saw it, Tuck," Danny said encouragingly.
In truth, Danny couldn't have been more wrong, and Team Phantom was blissfully ignorant of what was going on at the Nasty Burger.
Unfortunately, Valerie wasn't.
Valerie double-knotted the laces on her white sneakers, carefully chewing on a piece of toast that she held in her mouth with her teeth. Getting to her feet, she called a goodbye to her dad and headed for the little blue Geo that was parked in front of her home. Glancing at the radio clock as she turned the key in the ignition, she saw she had a little time before she had to get to school. I'll just swing by work and pick up my paycheck, she decided. Then I can cash it on my way home from school, no sweat.
If Valerie could have seen what was waiting for her at the Nasty Burger, the words "no sweat" would have been the last thing on her mind.
Sam maneuvered the Mustang into a parking space and turned off the engine. She reached her hand back to Tucker, and he gave her her spider backpack, which had been carefully buckled in beside him in the backseat. Slinging it over her shoulder, she got out of the car.
Danny tried to find a comfortable middle distance to stare into, but that skirt was impossible to ignore, especially now that she was standing up.
The design was very simple—a black miniskirt, a bit shorter than the skirts she usually wore. The black fabric was slit up her right thigh and replaced with sheer fabric with a spiderweb print. Coupled with her favorite combat boots and her trademark black camisole, the outfit was enough to give a guy ideas.
And she was so Sam. She didn't pose, didn't make any sign that she felt his eyes on her; she simply strode confidently past him and Tucker, not looking back as she called, "Come on, guys, let's go!"
Tucker somehow managed to control his facial expression until Sam turned away. "Wow," he said, eyes wide, voice an impressed whisper. "I've got to hand it to Sam. She sure knows how to get a guy's attention!"
Danny schooled his face into a serious expression. "A woman's most fascinating feature is her mind, Tuck."
Tucker laughed. "And that is one wicked skirt Sam's mind came up with."
Sam had meandered back to them by now. "Why are you guys hanging back like that?"
"The better to see you with, my dear," Tucker said smoothly. "That skirt is kickin'."
"I'll kick you," Sam said playfully, swatting at her friend.
Danny sometimes envied Tucker for his ability to tease Sam. Since Tucker and Sam were nothing more than the best of friends, the techno-geek was able to make suggestive comments without being embarrassed or worrying that he'd go too far and offend her.
"You know, if a guy saw you in that skirt he might start thinking things," Tucker continued, eyes twinkling. "I mean, Sam, you're throwing yourself at us here."
"I'm throwing myself at an A in home ec, Tuck," Sam laughed.
Tucker pretended to pout. "How come girls never throw themselves at me?"
Like an audiovisual aid, pounding footsteps barely warned them of another person's approach—and then Valerie slammed into Tucker, eyes wide, chest heaving.
Danny and Sam froze in place, caught by surprise. The techno-geek and the ghost hunter stumbled in a graceless half-circle; Tucker managed to brace himself against the sudden weight and keep them both upright.
"Why, Valerie," he joked, "this is all so sudden, but how can I resist when you're wearing my favorite scent?"
Valerie had regained some of her breath by this time. "It's…not…perfume, dork…head," she wheezed. "It's Nasty Sauce."
"That is my favorite scent," Tucker said, leaning closer to sniff her hair. She gave him a shove. Her white sleeveless top had dark red blotches all over it, and some of her hair seemed to be hardening under the goo as well. Even her sneakers were stained. Perfume, Nasty Sauce, whatever, she was coated in it.
"Why are you covered in Nasty Sauce?" Danny asked.
"Are you hurt?" Sam added.
Val looked grateful at the other two teens for having a better grasp of the situation than Tucker. "I don't know what happened," she said. "I got up early and thought I'd swing by work to pick up my paycheck. The next thing I know a crowd of protestors toss a bucket of Nasty Sauce on me and start calling me names."
The expression of guilt that crossed Tucker's face was almost cute.
"Come on, Val," Sam sighed. "Want to go get cleaned up? I'll go with you to the locker room."
"Thanks," Valerie said. "You can guard the door while I shower. Come with me to my locker so I can get my gym bag? I've got more clothes in there."
Sam nodded at the boys. "See you guys later."
"Nice skirt," Valerie said as they rounded the corner.
"Thanks! I made it," Sam said, her voice full of pride. And then they were gone.
Danny and Tucker each let out a huge breath they'd been holding, each for different reasons.
"I guess Val didn't see my video after all," Tucker said. "Now I just have to make sure she never sees it."
"Sam did a great job on that skirt," Danny sighed. "She'll definitely get out of her practical, and Lancer will let her crash our class and see my video. Then…"
The two boys exchanged pained glances. "It's going to be a long day."
Sam leaned against the locker room door until she felt someone knock on the door from the other side.
"Okay," Sam called, and took her weight away from the door. Valerie emerged in a change of clothes, shaking her wet hair out. "Thanks, Manson."
"No big," Sam said. "Feel better?"
"Yeah." Valerie tossed her towel into the bin and the girls walked out of the locker room. "I have no idea what the hell was going on at the Nasty Burger this morning."
Sam tried to change the subject, knowing Tucker wouldn't want her to tell. "Heard your video essay got the best grade in the class," she threw out. "Way to go."
A genuine, good-spirited grin crossed Valerie's face. "Thanks. I worked really hard on it. I think everyone was really impressed." Then her expression turned sly. "Fenton's up today. You nervous?"
"Why would I be nervous?" Sam laughed. "It's just a video about what I do all day."
Valerie smirked. "I don't know, Sam. You might get a surprise."
Sam frowned as Valerie opened her locker and threw her gym bag in. "What do you mean?"
Valerie just shook her head, pawing through the books on her locker shelves. "Don't worry. You'll see."
"I intend to," Sam said, swishing her skirt. "If I get a good enough grade on this, I'll be excused from my practical today. I'm going to ask Lancer if he'll let me sit in on your class."
Valerie arched a dark brow, intrigued. "Really? Does Danny know you're going to do that?"
"It was his idea," Sam said.
"Wow," Valerie said, looking impressed. "Fenton's really playing hardball here. Good for him."
Sam was thoroughly confused, but before she could ask any more questions, the bell rang. Valerie cursed and slammed her locker door. "Thanks for guarding the door, Manson. See you in English, okay?"
"Valerie!" Sam called as the ghost hunter started to jog down the hall, her voice more uncertain than the other girl had ever heard it. "Am I going to like this video?"
Valerie turned to throw a smile in the other girl's direction. "I can't wait to see your face!"
Lunch couldn't come fast enough for Danny. Sam had been walking ahead of him in the halls all day, crossing one leg over the other in class as she wrote notes. She'd been teasing him all day, that flirty skirt, those secret smiles—and he was loving every second of it, but he couldn't come up with a response. He'd been racking his brains the entire morning for the perfect way to show her that he loved what she was doing.
He yawned in the quad, unable to help it. Tucker followed suit. "Me too, man. We shouldn't have stayed up so late playing Doomed."
Sam was sitting between them, skirt arranged modestly over her thighs. She was sipping cherry Coke through a straw, looking a little drowsy herself.
"Is that skirt comfortable, Sam?" Danny asked suddenly.
She blinked, the question catching her off-guard. "Yes. Why?"
"Good." He stretched out on the grass, laying his head in her lap, noting her sharp little intake of breath.
Tucker winked at Sam. "I'm too slow, man. He gets to ride shotgun, he gets to sleep in your lap…"
Sam blushed, but played it as cool as she could. "Maybe Danny just likes my skirt."
"It is comfortable," Danny murmured, opening one eye and smiling.
Sam's straw scraped at the bottom of the can. "Tuck, would you go in my bag and hand me the other can?"
"Sure thing." Tucker leaned over and retrieved Sam's bag. "Gimme your straw."
Mr. Lancer steeled his nerves and stepped out into the early afternoon sunlight. He was the most feared teacher at Casper High (although Mrs. Tetschlav would have debated that fact), he told himself. He was not afraid of a girl, no matter how spooky she dressed.
When he managed to locate Sam Manson in the quad, his stomach lurched. She was holding court regally in a small corner of the quad. Daniel Fenton was reclining in her embrace, head pillowed in her lap; Tucker Foley was handing her a drink, complete with straw.
The dream faerieland of the night before flashed across his brain, and he almost retreated. Then he reminded himself that he was Mr. Lancer, and he had a responsibility to the Seelie Queen of Summer to array her—or, rather, the high-school actress who would play her part—in finery worthy of her title. Steeling himself, he strode across the grass to confront his adversary. "Ms. Manson."
"Mr. Lancer!" Sam exclaimed, rearing up from her relaxed position and throwing Danny off her lap.
The boy frowned at being disturbed. "Hey, Sam, what's wrong? I thought we were comf—" Looking up, he noticed Lancer's stern gaze and blushed. "Oh. H-hey, Mr. Lancer. Nice day, isn't it?"
"Want a soda, Mr. Lancer?" Tucker said cheerfully, another can of cherry Coke in his hand.
Lancer almost smiled at the teens' sudden bashfulness, and Tucker's attempt to divert his attention. "No thank you, Mr. Foley, this is not a social call. I am here to figure out why Ms. Manson flatly refuses to help me with a dilemma I'm tangled in."
Sam's face fell. "Mr. Lancer, please. I hate sewing. I'm beating my brains out just trying to pass home ec—I can't sew costumes for the drama club!"
"Oh, come on, Sam," Tucker said. "Sure you could!"
Sam frowned at him. "Tucker," she hissed.
The boys were too caught up in pride to realize what she was trying to do. "Did you know she made that skirt she's wearing, Mr. Lancer? She did a nice job, right?"
"Stop it," Sam hissed, swatting at him.
Lancer smirked. "It is quite an improvement from the beginning of the semester. Thank you, boys, you've proved my point."
Sam glared at Danny. "Nice going, guys."
Realizing their mistake, Danny blushed. "Oh…sorry."
"Whoops," Tucker added, smiling nervously.
"Please," Sam sighed. "Please, Mr. Lancer, I just hate to sew. I won't do a good job, and I don't want to ruin your play."
Lancer had never known Sam to be dishonest, and he couldn't keep a stern front up before her sad face. "All right, Sam, but if you change your mind, I'd appreciate it if you let me know."
"I will," Sam promised, looking relieved.
"Hey, Mr. Lancer?" Danny asked. "If Mrs. Tetschlav excuses Sam from her home ec practical, can she come to our class and see my video? Since she's in it, I mean?"
Lancer smiled, having seen some of Danny's footage. "I don't see why not." Turning to Sam, he said, "If you're free that period, just come to my classroom, Sam."
"Cool," she said. "Thanks, Mr. Lancer."
Defeated, Lancer trudged back into the school building. Maybe he wasn't afraid of girls—but dark magelings, that was something else entirely.
Sam watched her skirt swish as she walked towards Lancer's classroom. Even Mrs. Tetschlav had had to admit she was impressed, and Sam had been included in the large group of girls who had been excused from the practical due to improvement. So she wasn't really looking where she was going, and ended up walking smack into someone.
"Ow! Hey, watch it, gloom cookie!" Dash Baxter sneered, brushing at his letter jacket. "Don't get goth all over me."
Momentarily startled, Sam regained her composure. "Sorry, Dash. I wasn't looking where I was going."
"You don't have class on this side of the building right now," Dash said. "What are you even doing here?"
Sam smiled. "I'm going to your class to watch the video essays. Danny's showing the one he filmed about my daily routine today."
Dash arched a blond brow. "Daily routine?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "He followed me around with a camera and filmed what I do all day. Isn't that what the videos are about?"
Dash blinked, and then his mouth twisted in a sneer and he laughed. "Oh, man. You're even dumber than you look."
Sam felt her heart knock hollowly against her breastbone. "What? What is it?"
Dash's grin was nasty. "If Fenton Polanski told you that the videos were about people's routines, then he lied to you. That's not what they're about at all."
A dark suspicion was rising in Sam's mind. After all, Valerie had been so cagey this morning about Danny's video, as if she knew something Sam didn't…and whenever she'd asked Danny about the video, he'd neatly sidestepped all her questions, being secretive—spying on her!
Willing her blood to stop frothing in her veins, Sam said thickly. "So wait. If they're not about routine—what are they about?"
Dash was snickering. "I can't believe Fenton filmed you for his essay. He is such a geek. I'm going to win this bet for sure!"
"Bet?" Sam demanded, rage, frustration and hurt whipping her brain into a thick paste. "If you don't start talking, Dash—"
But the bell rang, interrupting. Dash smirked. "Lights, camera, action," he teased. "I can't wait to see your face when you see this, darkqueen. You're going to flip—especially at the shot of you in that pink dress!"
"Pink dress…?" Sam was confused. "Paulina's dress from home ec? But how?? I thought I got rid of him before he filmed any of that!"
"Guess not," Dash jeered, loping off.
Sam was boiling hot just listening to it. Was this all some kind of joke? No wonder everyone was smiling at her when they talked about it, giggling like Munchkins who knew a secret, waiting, just waiting for oblivious Sam to show up so they could tell her the punch line was her.
How could Danny? How dare he? He'd promised her—he'd promised her! He'd told her everything was going to be all right, and she'd believed him, she'd even thought maybe he was finally starting to wake up…
Hot tears bit at her eyes. She whirled to run in the opposite direction from Lancer's classroom and once again smacked into someone's chest. She barely registered feeling a nervous heartbeat before she realized who it was.
"Hey," Danny laughed nervously. "What's your hurry? I guess you got out of your practical—that's awesome! Ready to go?" Suddenly noticing how flushed she was, his expression faded to concern. "Sam, what's wrong?"
Strength returned to her and she pushed him, hard. "Get off me. It's you, it's you, you lying bastard. You're what's wrong! How could you do this to me!"
Danny was thoroughly confused. "What? Sam, what are you talking about?"
"Dash told me that you've been lying to me about the video subjects. What kind of bet are you in with him?" she demanded angrily. "How could you use me like this? Embarrass me in front of everyone?"
Danny looked dazed as the chain of events became clear to him. "Sam, listen. Dash is an idiot. Just come with me, you'll see—" He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away, hard.
"I am not going anywhere with you. I have had it with you, Danny Fenton. I don't even want to look at you right now." She turned and abruptly stalked down the hall. "You've ruined everything, everything!"
He couldn't see her face as she called that last, but it sounded like she was crying.
Danny bolted after her, but only got halfway down the hall. Lancer rounded the corner and blocked his path like a bald messenger of doom. "Halt, Mr. Fenton. Don't think you're getting out of today's video screening."
Danny was winded, nostrils flaring, as if any minute he'd start breathing fire. "My video is perfect, Mr. Lancer. It's the best in the class. But I have to catch up with Sam. There's been a huge misunderstanding."
Lancer looked weary. "Mr. Fenton, it can be argued that your entire relationship with Ms. Manson is a huge misunderstanding. Yet, you both muddle through and come back to each other. I absolutely can't allow you special privileges on a graded assignment. As soon as class is over, you can find Sam and sort everything out. Unless you want Mr. Baxter to win your side bet?"
Rage shot through Danny like a bottle rocket at the sound of his adversary's name. In a flash, he was past Lancer and into the classroom. The overweight, out-of-shape teacher got into the room just in time to hear Danny roar, "I'm going to kill you."
The classroom was a scene of chaos. Tucker Foley and Valerie Gray were having extreme difficulty keeping a bristling, snarling Danny away from a completely confused Dash Baxter.
"What the hell are you talking about, Fenton?" Dash asked. "Where's your girlfriend? I told her I couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she saw your video!"
Saying that to Danny was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. "You're dead!" he growled. "You are so dead. You ruined everything! You are dead when this is over!"
"Sit down, Mr. Fenton," Lancer roared, ending the struggle. "All outside conflicts will be dealt with after class. The next person who moves will fail this assignment. Is that clear?"
Everyone shuffled to their seats. Dash tried to hide his relief with a sickly little smile—if Fenton had broken Gray's hold, he might actually have been dangerous.
Valerie and Tucker were exchanging confused looks, while Danny buried his head in his arms like a WB drama. Valerie reached to pat his shoulder, but his voice came dark and hateful from the cage of his arms, one word: "Don't."
"This cannot get any worse," Tucker murmured to Valerie.
But Tucker had spoken too soon. "Oh, Mr. Foley," Lancer said airily. "Before we begin with the day's videos, would you mind telling me why I found choice clips of yours all over the Internet last night?"
Tucker froze, giving Lancer the classic rabbit-in-the-headlights look.
Valerie gasped, pieces clicking together for her. "Tucker!" she exclaimed. "No wonder people are protesting over at the Nasty Burger!"
"Hey, yeah, I saw that on YouTube last night," Monique giggled. "It's even worse the second time!"
Danny actually looked up from his desk. "Wait," he said. "It's not his fault!"
"I'm sorry," Tucker burst out. "I didn't do it! I don't know how it got on YouTube. Honest. If I could find out who did it, I'd like to smack 'em. I worked so hard on that video! They had no right to steal it."
Murmurs of agreement sounded around the classroom.
"You should sue, dude," Kwan said to Tucker.
"Tucker, you're a hero!" Heather said. "Maybe now the Nasty Burger will be brought up to code!"
Tucker pulled his hat down over his face. Danny dropped his head beneath his arms again.
Lancer frowned. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fail you, Mr. Foley."
"Wait a minute," Valerie said, standing up. "Mr. Lancer, if Tucker made a video about how much he loves the Nasty Burger, why would he put that footage on the Internet? There's a huge protest going on at Nasty Burger right now. I got a bucket of Nasty Sauce thrown on me by some hippies who were upset about the health code violations!"
"Eww," Monique said. "Really?"
"Yeah!" Valerie said. "Tucker wouldn't do that. He loves the Nasty Burger, and he wouldn't do anything to get it shut down or harassed by protesters."
Tucker pulled his hat back up, giving Valerie a wan smile.
Lancer considered this. "Interesting point, Ms. Gray." Leveling a glance at Tucker, he said, "All right, Mr. Foley. You're off the hook for now, but watch your step."
"Watching step, sir!" Tucker said.
As Valerie sat down, Tucker leaned closer to her. "You rule."
She smiled. "I owed you."
"Mr. Fenton," Lancer said. "Would you like to come out from behind your arms long enough to see your video?"
"It doesn't matter now," Danny mumbled. "Whatever."
Dash snickered. Bolstered by her victory on behalf of Tucker, Valerie attempted once more to give Danny a pat, and this time he didn't shrug her off.
"Come on, Danny. I'm sure it's a great video," she said. Danny lifted his head, unable to stop a little smile.
"Start 'er up, Mr. Lancer," Tucker said. "Let's see it."
Lancer nodded, dimmed the lights, and Danny's video began.
Danny had agonized over whether or not to use background music in his film. While under most circumstances they'd be required to get the proper permission from BMI or ASCAP to use licensed music in their films, Lancer had told them that the videos would remain in his possession after screening and would not be distributed, so he was willing to turn a blind eye. Still, Danny was hesitant—there was no one song he could select that would be perfect for Sam, could talk about her properly.
In the end, he solved the problem by replacing background music with narration. And who better to tell a story about his beloved Sam than him?
The first shot of the film was of Sam's darkened room. The phone's alarm rang, and she emerged from the canopy to silence it, looking sleep-tousled and adorable. The picture froze as she blinked her long lashes, trying to get her bearings, and his voice came on.
"This is Samantha Manson. And you're probably not her friend."
He continued talking as the action cut to Sam, fully dressed and finishing up her preparations for school. As she pulled on her combat boots, Danny's voice continued, "In fact, you probably don't know anything about her at all."
The camera followed Sam to her vanity. "Here's what you do know."
"She's goth—" Sam fastened her black collar and cuffs.
"She's pretty—" Sam penciled on her black eyeliner.
"And she hangs out with that Danny Fenton kid all the time." Here the scene changed to the front of Sam's house, when he'd propped the camera on the mailbox. The result was a perfect shot of himself and Sam getting into the Mustang. "You might remember him from that time you tripped him in the lunchroom."
There were a few giggles, but not unkind ones. Danny smiled a little, remembering how much fun he and Sam had had filming.
Now the camera was on Sam driving. She reached for the dial as he had asked, and the Dumpty Humpty record came on. "Oh, and she has great taste in music, too."
A few whoops from Dumpty Humpty fans, including Valerie.
The scene cut to Sam opening her locker and finding her books for the day. "So that's what you know about Sam." The picture froze again as Sam shut her locker. "Which is basically nothing."
The camera now focused on Sam in Paulina's horrible pink gown. He hadn't gotten much good footage of that due to being thrown out of the room almost immediately, so the angle was of the camera looking up at Sam from a steep angle.
"Sam is the kind of person who takes responsibility for her actions. Even when they include dressing like a sofa in front of her entire home-ec class." The camera froze on Sam looking particularly mournful. "It's really something to look cute in a dress as bad as this one!"
More giggles, the loudest ones from people who had seen Paulina's dress before. Mr. Lancer arched a brow.
The camera unfroze, and Sam's face darkened in fury. "Sam's also the kind of person who'll tell you exactly what she thinks of you. For instance, she's about to rightfully throw me and her camera out of her class for trying to film her in that horrible dress!"
The laughter got louder as Sam yelled at Danny, "You are not filming me in this nightmare frock from hell!"
Here the picture got really jumpy as Danny was hustled out of home economics with his camera cradled near his chest. The door slammed and Danny's voice continued to narrate. "Yeah, I deserved that."
Now everyone was really giggling, and Danny saw some of the other students smiling at the screen. Even Lancer had on an approving look.
The giggles died down as the scene cut to Sam working feverishly on her gown at her sewing machine. "Sam is the can-do kid," Danny continued. "If she wants something, she'll never give up—" The scene cut to Sam posing in front of her mirror in the half-finished dress. "—until she gets it right."
"Sam cares about everything," Danny said to open up the following screen. Onscreen, Sam climbed the fence towards the trapped badger. "She loves her friends, she loves the planet, she loves animals." Sam was freeing the badger, which waddled out and bit her on her gloved hand. "And even when the things she loves hurt her—" The camera clattered to the ground, missing the part where Danny Phantom came to Sam's rescue. It ended on its side in the dirt, focusing on Sam's rueful smile, "—she never stops loving them."
The camera cut to Sam, Danny and Tucker in the kitchen with the Easy-Bake Oven. "So that's Sam Manson. And you're probably still not her friend. And you don't know what you're missing, because she's beautiful. Beautiful on the inside—" The camera cut to Sam laughing and teasing Tucker as she tossed him gummy bats. "—and the outside." Sam onstage at the Skulk and Lurk, in her pretty corset and skirt, with an entire audience's faces rapt and shining as they listened to her recite.
The camera cut to the shot he'd taken of Sam as she'd fallen asleep listening to him talk about stargazing. "So I don't care what grade I get on this video. Sam's my friend, and that's what I care about."
Sam closed her eyes; the screen went black and the credits came up.
A Fenton Films Production. Directed by Danny Fenton. Filmed by Danny Fenton. Produced by Danny Fenton. Narrated by Danny Fenton. Starring Samantha Manson. Special appearances by Tucker Foley, the crowd of regulars at the Skulk and Lurk Bookstore, and an unnamed badger. Thanks to Jack Fenton for use of camera equipment; thanks to Jazmine Fenton for use of her Easy-Bake Oven.
And in red letters was the last message, which had taken all of Danny's nerve to include.
Special thanks to Samantha Manson, for being beautiful.
The entire room was silent for a minute, and Danny winced, visions of red Fs dancing in his head—until half the girls cried, "Awwwww!" and applause broke out around the room.
Even Lancer raised an eyebrow at Danny, as if he'd decided the boy wasn't a complete waste of time. "Very interesting, Mr. Fenton." A ghost of a smile was playing around the bald teacher's lips.
But the happy atmosphere was broken by a harsh, braying laugh from Dash Baxter. "That was so lame!"
Everyone turned to look at the disturbance. Dash jeered at Danny. "That isn't beauty," the jock said. "That's just the goth chick doing the same stuff she always does."
Lancer finally smiled for real. "Mr. Fenton? Your rebuttal?"
Danny's voice held a hint of a snarl as he answered the other boy. "Sam is beautiful. Always. Every day. Everything she does. All the time."
Silence, then Valerie cut in. "Wow, Fenton."
Danny smiled, just a little. "I'll take 'wow'."
"Oooh!" Paulina trilled as Sam trudged back into the home ec room. "That's more like it! I was getting sick of seeing you so happy these past few weeks, gothic princess!"
"What are you doing here, Sam? You got out of the practical. Go home," Star said, puzzled.
Sam put her spider backpack on her workstation and sank into her seat. She didn't even look at Paulina, or Star, or the two other girls who had had to remain behind and practice the areas they were weak in.
The dark-haired beauty exchanged confused looks with her entourage, then tried again. "Don't start crying or anything. You'll smudge all your black eyeliner and look like a big goth raccoon!" she jeered.
Sam frowned absently at a Tupperware container of extra cookies she'd had from the day before and hadn't had time to decorate. Opening the container and selecting one, she bit rather fiercely into it.
More confused looks were exchanged. Paulina actually sounded mildly concerned as she said, "Um…Sam, I'm totally ripping on you, at an inappropriate time. Helloooo?"
Sam rolled her lips under and out as though she were smoothing lipstick, but her eyes were wet and jumpy.
Girls are a strange beast to say the least. They are sneaky, conniving, irritable, unpredictable, and will often go to great lengths to make each other cry. But should an outside force attack the gender, they will rally together at the most unlikely moments. Almost as one, the girls abandoned their tests and closed ranks around the goth.
"Sam, what's wrong?"
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Sam didn't answer, still chewing her cookie.
"It's that Danny Fenton kid, isn't it?" Star said, gritting her perfect teeth. "That loser."
Sam swatted at Star. "Hey. Don't call him that."
Another fascinating thing about girls is that when there is an attack or rejection by the opposite sex, even bitter enemies will extol the virtues of the afflicted one to make her feel better and boost her ego.
"You could do better than him anyway," Paulina said, flicking her hair. "Especially if you wiped all that black and purple stuff off your face."
Sam snickered."So not doing that. You guys are going to fail your test if you keep talking to me," she added.
"Who cares? I hate this class," Paulina whined. "I thought it was going to be fun, but really, it's just hard work, and I'm never going to use it anyway. When am I going to need to know how to sew?"
Sam looked down at the Tupperware again. "Sewing," she murmured. "That's it!" Turning to Paulina, she said, "Paulina, I know no one has ever said this to you before, but you are a genius."
"Thank you!" the popular princess beamed, not even noticing the insult.
Sam suddenly shoved the Tupperware container at Paulina. "Here. These are extra ones I had. Decorate them and tell Tetschlav you made them, okay? I know she'll give you a passing grade."
Paulina took the container, confused. "Am I crazy or are you helping me?"
"Consider it a gift," Sam said, taking up her backpack and heading for the door. "If this idea works, I'll have owed you one."
Author's Notes:
"Back In Love": Most people don't know it since I am very vocal against the impersonal, soulless mass-producing of new and recent anime (as well as the smug, self-indulgent behavior of a bunch of fanbrats trying to jump on a trendy bandwagon without knowing a lot about the classic films and series of the genre), but a lot of my favorite stories are anime. I love anime from the 80s and early 90s, stuff like Ronin Warriors, Tenchi Universe, Gundam Wing, Phantom Quest Corp., Record of Lodoss War, that sort of thing, and I have a large collection of CDs full of their image songs and background music, which I play in my Jeep on long drives. The song used to open this chapter is the English title from El-Hazard: The Magnificent World, and it can be found on the Best of El-Hazard CD as well as the Pioneer release P-Anime: Best of the Best, which contains a lot of fun songs from classic Pioneer titles like Moldiver and Armitage The Third.
Lancer's dream sequence: I loved writing Lancer's dream sequence, which borrowed heavily from my scant knowledge of Faerie lore (which I find fascinating). A quick index of the faerie, or sidhe (pronounced "shee"): There are two courts of Faerie—the Seelie Court of Summer, ruled by Titania, Queen of Summer, and the Unseelie Court of Winter, ruled by Mab, Queen of Winter. Each court governs for half the year, hence, seasons, and according to the lore each side has little knowledge of the other. Pixies, pookas, satyrs, nymphs, elves, trolls, centaurs and the like can serve either Summer or Winter, but not everyone plays with the Courts. Iron and cold steel are dangerous to the fae, so if you run into a vengeful faerie, you'd better hope you have some on you. Both Queens are mentioned at some point in works of Shakespeare—Mab is mentioned in Romeo and Juliet when Mercutio rails about the chaos of dreams, and Titania is mentioned in A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I thought Lancer would be very enamored of them. The Leanansidhe that Sam makes reference to is actually a vampire faerie who is often found out hunting with her hellhounds (once humans, of course, who were tricked into servitude). Leanansidhe is a muse, and offers inspiration to artists and writers—for a price, which is usually more than you can afford. According to the lore, all faeries love to bargain—trading is a huge part of their culture, and while making a pact with a sidhe is dangerous, breaking one is a thousand times worse—lying to the fae negates all bargains and puts you in a world of hurt, which is why Lancer's so anxious to please Titania and get her the pretty costume he promised her!
Dash refers to Danny as Fenton Polanski when he's teasing Sam. This is a reference to director Roman Polanski, who directed films like Rosemary's Baby, The Ninth Gate, and Death and the Maiden. Dash also calls Sam "gloom cookie", which is the title of an excellent goth comic series by Serena Valentino.
Sam's skirt: The design for Sam's skirt with the spiderweb slit is based on a skirt that my youngest sister designed for me in her high school sewing class as a surprise My kid sister is a whiz with a sewing machine—you wouldn't believe the stuff she can stitch.
Next chapter: Well, now the whole thing's gone to hell, hasn't it? This is a problem that even Danny Phantom might not be able to fix!'
But I'm sure that Danny Fenton can.