Danny's POV:

"And now we shall discuss the importance of teamwork . . ." Of all the teachers to give us a lecture, it just had to be the gym teacher. Naturally. With the way my luck's been running, I really shouldn't be surprised.

As Ms. What's-Her-Name (okay, so I forgot . .. . will you just sue me and get it over with already?!) continued her oh-so-interesting lecture (I mean, honestly, what kind of gym teacher gives lectures?), an oh-so-menacing Dash Baxter glared at me. This will not bode well. Aw, why do I care? It's not like he hasn't glared at me 24-hours-a-day, 7-days-a-week or somethin'.

"And that concludes my piece on the importance of teamwork!" Ms What's-Her-Name finished (finally) with a stern glance around at her little happy charges. "Does everyone understand?"

"Nope." I blurted.

"Fenton?" she asked, looking unsurprised (wonder why?). "Did you even listen to a word of my speech?"

"Nope." Damn that truth potion. I'll never buy anything from Axion Labs ever, ever, ever again.

"Care to grace us as to why you weren't listening?!"

"Because." Maybe this teacher is smarter than Lancer . . .

"Because why?" . . . why do I even bother raising my hopes? This is Casper High we're talking about. Even the smartest student here has the attention span of a goldfish and as many brains as a baby goldfish . . . baby, egg, same difference . . . shut up already.

"Maybe I have better things to worry about than your little lecture." Ah, well. If I'm gonna have to live with the consequences of acciedentially swallowing truth potion, I might as well go out with a bang. Maybe I'll even gain a bad-boy reputation from this . . . doubtful, but a guy can dream, can't he?!

. . . can't he?

"Like what, Fenton?" Oh, goody. I pissed her off. "Enlighten us." Oooh, that's a long word there, good job! Maybe, when you take the SATs, you'll get the same score as Dashy-poo!

Yeah, I said Dashy-poo . . . get over it. I'm really, really not in the mood for it. And neither would you, if you were me . . .

"Like maybe battling gho-"

SLAP!!!

. . . I officially hate Tucker.

"FOLEY! You know the rules! Do NOT slap another student when I'm interrogating him!"

"Sorry . . . just don't hurt the PDA! Anything but the PDA!"

Good, ol' reliable Tucker . . . yeah, right.

"Thanks, Tuck. I really needed an aching cheek . . . right after I FINALLY LOST THE PAIN FROM SAM SLAPPING ME, TOO!!!"

"Oww . . ." Tucker held his ear. Welcome to my world, buddy.

"FENTON! Answer the question! What on earth can be more important than a lecture on the importance of teamwork?!" Heh. The ironic thing is, I know more about teamwork than she does. When you're fightin' ghosts on a daily (more like hourly) basis, you can't help but learn how to work as a team. Anyone in the room besides Tucker and me who fights malevolent spirits every hour? I didn't think so, so don't try to tell me about teamwork.

. . . yeah, fun-filled little rants aside . . . moving on!

""Like maybe battling ghosts! I already told you that!"

SLAP!!!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tucker Foley, when I get out of whatever torture this maniac teacher assigns me now, you are so dead. And you know full well how I can do dead. So you better start runnin', boy . . . . . .

"FOLEY! DETENTION! FENTON! DETENTION!"

"Oooh, detention . . . scary place." I pretended to cower, then straightened with a smirk Huh, that's new . . . but, then again, what isn't? "Thanks, I really needed something to fill my afternoon. D'you think you could sign me up for Monday, too?"

"Fenton . . . . . . . ." Oooh, scary voice! I'm soo terrified.

"Like detention's gonna do anything, anyways . . . honestly, do you even know how many times I've already been there?"

"Fenton . . . . . . . . not another word, or it's the principle's office with you!"

I was grinning now, as I leaned a little closer. " . . . another word."

"PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE! NOW!"

I laughed, ambling out as if this were a daily thing (you know, it kinda is . . . even though I've never actually tried to get in trouble before . . . usually, I'm in there becuase I've missed too many classes from fighting too many ghosts; everyone thinks I'm a troublemaker, but I'm really not . . .). "Yes! An excuse to get out of this class!"

Five minutes later . . .

"Hey, Ichiyama." I strolled in, bored expression plastered on my face. "How many times have I been in here now . . . twenty? Maybe we should put a plaque on that chair out in the waiting room. Here's an idea: we can label it, saying 'This chair is hereby reserved for Danny Fenton'. Eh, sound good? Glad you agree. Bye now!" I headed back out the door. I'd breezed in and out so fast, she didn't even realize what had happened. She just blinked after me, little microscopic brain trying to process my little mini-rant.

"It can be screwed on to the back, right there." I called back over my shoulder, tracing my index fingers in a rectangular shape on the chair's wooden back. "Gold, with wonderful embossed lettering . . . oh, very nice." I blew my way back into Ichiyama's office, beaming inside at the look of befuddlement on her face.

Normally, I wouldn't say this, but . . .

. . . messing with Ichiyama is actually pretty fun.

Sam would be proud, eh?

. . . just as long as she doesn't show her appreciation by kicking me . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . oww . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .