Sam's POV:

"Danny, you really made a scene back there with Valerie." I hinted at my anger. Why was I so jeal-- no. I'm not jealous. No way am I jealous of Valerie and Danny!

What's there to be jealous of, anyway? I mean, aside from the . . . baby-blue eyes . . . perfectly messy black hair . . . sweet little grin . . . nononononono! Bad! Bad! Danny is my best friend! Meaning, he's not open for dating! Sure, he could date Paulina . . . shallow little b that she is . . . no, he can't date Paulina. I won't let him. Whoa, possessive much . . . but Danny is mine after a-- NO! Not mine. Not mine . . . not mine . . . not mine. He could, theoretically, date . . . Valerie . . . no. I won't let him date her either. Not in a lifetime. Not in a million years. Not in a million lifetimes . . . no. If Danny's gonna date anyone, it's gona be m---- NO! NOO!

"Yep. But I don't carrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre . . ." Danny grinned cheesily, nuzzling his pile of Nasty Burgers wiht a dreamlike expression gracing his features. Not gracing. I wonder what would happen if he were be doing that to me instead, only shirtle----- bad thoughts, Sam! Bad thoughts! BAD THOUGHTS!!!

Although . . . . . .

No.

Nonononono.

We aren't going to go there.

"And Sam says I'm obsessed with Polly." Tucker scoffed.

"Polly?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Who's Polly?"

My techno-geek friend shoved something grey and very familiar into my face. "Polly, this is Sam, my best friend! Sam, meet Polly. Isn't she just the best-est, best-est, best-est?!"

" . . . Polly? You named your PDA Polly?!"

"Why? Somethin' wrong with it?"

Danny stopped cooing to his burgers long enough to raise his head and add his own two-cents. "I think she's more of a Brittney, if you ask me." This being said, he redirected his attention to his food, murmurring something along the lines of "Danny loves you, yes he does! Yes he does! He loves his little burger-babies, doesn't he? Danny loves you, yes he does!"

Shaking off now-scary images of Danny and his burgers, I sighed and grabbed his arm. "I still can believe you actually eat that greasy junk . . ." I told him as I dragged him out of the toxic waste dump masquerading as a fast-food resteraunt dubbed appropriately as the Nasty Burger. Tucker and the newly-christened Brittney followed suit.

"SAAAAAAAAM!" Danny wailed. "MY BURGER-BABIES! WE FORGOT MY BURGER-BABIES!"

"I think they can do without you for a little while, Danny."

"But-but-but-but-but-but-but-but . . ."

"Yes, we have established that that is your butt, Danny." Tucker ambled past. "I doubt you need Sam to agree with you on that one, but if you're still not sure I'm sure she won't mind double-checking for you."

"TUCKER!!!!!!"

" . . . yeah, I know when I should shut up. I just simply choose not to."

"TUCKER BENJAMIN FOLEY!!!!! GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE---" Danny and I chased Tucker down the street, screaming curses at the top of our lungs.

I don't think you'd enjoy a description of what we did to Tucker, so we'll let your imaginations run wild. Enjoy.
"Owww . . ." Tucker moaned.

Danny and I ignored him.

"Owww . . ."

Danny laid down a card.

"Owww . . ."

I contemplated his choice, then laid down my own.

"Owwwwwww!"

"Oh, give it a rest, Tucker." I rolled my eyes as Danny laid down his hand, grinning at me victoriously. I smirked, then showed him mine. As he puzzled over how I'd beaten him, I swept the pile of odds-and-ends we'd been betting on towards me. Inspecting my wins, I unearthed . . . a sock?

"Danny . . . you bet one of your socks?"

"Not mine. Tucker's."

I cringed and flung said sock to the other side of the room.

The phone rang then, annoyingly so. As if on cue, Danny's parents (more specifically, his mom) shouted from downstairs "Danny dear! Can you get that for us?!"

"SURE!" Danny bellowed back. Right in my ear.

Never a quiet moment in the Fenton household, eh?

"Hello, Fenton household, Danny Fenton speaking. Jack and or Maddie Fenton can't come to the phone right now, but if you'd like to leave a messafe for them, I'd be glad to take it. If you have a message for my sister Jazz, she's not available right now either, but I will take a message for him as well. If you'd like to schedule an extortionism, that would qualify under a message for Jack and or Maddie Fenton. If you have information regarding a ghost, please include that in a message to Jack and or Maddie Fenton. If you wish to schedule a general appointment, I can set that up for you. How may we help you?"

"Whoa . . ." I whispered. I've heard him perform his family's wierd little monologue before, but it never ceased to amaze me that he and Jazz had memorized all that. And the fact that Danny could do it in one breath . . .

"'Ello, is this a Daniel Fenton?" A cheesy Austrailian accent said clearly.

"Yessir."

"This is the Sydney Opera 'Ouse, mate. Do you happen to know a certain Dash Baxter?"

"Yessir . . ."

"Well, he's helped you get cast as the gay extra in the Phantom of the Opera! Aren't you so excited?! Anyway, your plane leaves in five minutes, mate! Better hurry down to the airport so you can come Down Unda as soon as possible!"

" . . ."

"Wow, you're already in character! See you so--"

"Sir, can I ask one question?" Danny was . . . smirking?!

"Um. Sure -- I mean, yessir."

" . . . did you really think you could pull off an Austrailian accent, Dash?" Danny grinned, then promptly hung up.

"What . . . was that all about?" Tucker blinked, having stopped his moaning just as the phone rang. He was attempting and failing to beat me in another game of cards, and I'd already won his other sock. Which had promptly joined its match across the room.

"Dash tried to prank-call me."

" . . . and you're still under that truth potion . . . ?" I asked, grin falling off my face.

"Yep." My grin was replaced on Danny's face. I never knew I could look so . . . devilish.

" . . . Tucker . . ."

"Yeah?"

" . . . I think now would be a good time to leave the country. I really don't want to be here to see what Danny does to Dash . . ."

"Hey! I'm not that bad when I'm hellbent on exacting a cruicial and evil plan of revenge involving a wrench, feathers and a vaccuum!"

" . . . . . . . . . . . ." Well. That was oddly . . . specific.

" . . . what?"

" . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"I'm not that bad . . . right?"