Chapter Three:
"Sometimes when I consider what tremendous consequences come from little things, I am tempted to think there are no little things."
– Bruce Barton
Sam Manson hadn't been working at Casper High School for very long, just a brief semester. While she was a first year teacher, she had practically grown up here, and yet she was still treated as if she was fresh meat, the lackey to the older educators. She was educated and bright, eager to teach. It was a profession she loved dearly, much to the disgruntlement of her mother.
Sam knew that her mother, Pamela Manson, didn't really have any position to place judgment. Sam was twenty-seven years old and had already made her share of mistakes; mistakes she had learned from.
Every decision she had ever made had defined her, especially after Danny's death.
In the weeks following, Sam had nothing left to do but rebel. After a while, she began to dabble with alcohol, resulting in the worst - though ultimately, the best - decision of her life. Eight months later, little Holly was born. Holly's father wasn't really in the picture anymore, and it was just the two of them, mother and daughter, on their own. When Holly was three years old, Sam struggling to make ends meet, Pamela finally decided to intervene.
Pamela was willing to help pay for Holly's necessities, if, and only if, Sam agreed to return to school: get her GDA, go to college, and get an actual job. (Apparently working two shifts at the supermarket didn't count as a real job as far as Pamela was concerned.) In the beginning, Sam had declined the offer, claiming that she'd find a way to make it work.
Until Holly's medical problems started. The little girl, the light of her mother's life, was diagnosed with leukemia. As it was, Sam had no way of paying her daughter's bills, no way of keeping up with rent. In the end, she had no choice but to accept Pamela's offer, agreeing to return to school once they had battled the cancer into remission.
And they did.
On Holly's fifth birthday, Sam returned to school. In a flurry of online and practical courses, Sam ultimately graduated with her teaching certificate. When Sam accepted a position at a small town New York school, Holly's cancer battled into remission, she informed her mother that, though they could still keep in touch, they no longer needed her money.
The pair still spoke every now and again; however, upon Sam's relocation back to Amity Park, Indiana, the two had steadily decreased their conversations. Sam knew that her mother didn't entirely approve, that she was worried Sam would slip back into old habits.
But all Sam was asking for was a leap of faith.
With a sigh, she closed out of her email, running a hand through her hair. Holly was at gymnastics practice and wouldn't be done for another half an hour or so. With a groan, Sam grabbed her grade book, preparing to enter the grades into the computer, when a knock sounded at the door.
"Excuse me?"
She looked up, a smile already positioned on her face. She remembered the words her senior adviser, Mr. Lancer, had told her: "You never know with these parents; they're extremely volatile. You remember the accident, Sam. A lot of these parents still have children here; sometimes they'll be your students. Most have gotten over it but you can never be too sensitive. Especially for you. After last time they're still very wary about their chemistry teachers."
"Yes, can I help you?" she asked the man.
He stepped forward into the room, his hands awkwardly positioned in his pockets. "You're Ms. Manson, right? The Chemistry teacher?"
She nodded, inspecting him. He was fairly ordinary; no defining features, or at least none that she could place. She couldn't be positive, of course (after all, she did have over a hundred students), but she was fairly certain that she had never seen him before, and Sam liked to think she had a fairly decent memory.
"Yes, that's me," she said. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Er, yes. My daughter and I are looking to enroll in the school and the office said it was okay to get a look around. They said you wouldn't mind giving us the back stage tour," he answered, adjusting his glasses.
She knew that technically he was right. She certainly wasn't accomplishing anything productive, was finished with all her work for the day. She couldn't help but feel exasperated, though; she was annoyed that the faculty had sentenced her, the newbie, to the position of tour guide.
With a resigned sigh, she stood from her chair, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the fabric of her skirt. She plastered on a smile, spreading her hands in a welcoming gesture.
"Sure," she said. "I'd love to."
It wasn't entirely true, of course, and she was fairly certain that the unnamed man realized that too.
"Brilliant," he said. He turned, facing the door. "Bailey! Come on in!"
With a smile, the man turned back to Sam. "She's a little shy, you see," he explained. "I'm Logan, by the way. Logan Smith. And this – " he motioned towards the small girl who had just entered the room " – is my daughter, Bailey."
If Logan, the father, was ordinary, then the daughter was certainly extraordinary.
Logan Smith was simple: his hair was shaggy, blond curls falling past his ears. His eyes, she couldn't quite make out the color, were hidden behind thick black frames. His bone structure was fine and sharp, his stature thin and wiry. Sam supposed he was handsome, in an ordinary sort of way. (This, after the last fifteen years of her life, was certainly not a bad thing.)
His daughter, on the other hand, seemed to be the polar opposite, baring no resemblance to her father. Whilst Logan was pale and wiry, the girl was short and dark. Her eyes were wide, her hair long, and her short stature barely grazed Sam's shoulders. Her olive skin was flushed, her face devoid of make-up. There was no resemblance – not even a well-placed freckle – between the pair.
Sam assumed that adoption was involved somehow (or very dominant genes stemming from the mother).
"Hello," she said to the girl, holding out her hand. "I'm, as I'm sure you're already aware, Ms. Manson."
"Pleasure to meet you," the little girl said quietly, her hand fully disappearing in Sam's grip. "I'm Bailey." Her voice was soft, timid, but she held and maintained eye contact, her hold on Sam's hand tight. Too tight.
With an uncomfortable cough, Sam turned her attention to the girl's father.
"So, what schools have you toured so far?" she asked.
"This is our last stop," he said. "We've toured all the surrounding districts, but nothing has really...stuck."
"Well, Casper's a great school – one of the best in the state," she said, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. "Shall we begin the tour then?"
The pair nodded, falling into step as Sam led them out of the classroom.
"The basement's essentially the science department – you'll find all the classes in that branch down here. Freshmen are generally at the end of the hall; Bailey, what grade will you be in?"
"She'll be a freshman," her father interjected. "But she's planning on taking some of the more advanced courses."
"Which means, I imagine, that I'll be seeing you in class," Sam said. As the girl grinned at her, Sam couldn't help but feel rather unsettled. There was something strange about the child, something disconcerting.
"I look forward to it, ma'am."
Sam raised her brows in astonishment. Though not entirely sparse, manners were increasingly becoming few and far in between. Her own daughter, even, only used manners on rare occasions.
"So, shall we go upstairs?" She motioned towards the looming staircase, already beginning her lecture on the esteemed English department.
The pair nodded, following silently behind her.
"Holly, what do you want for dinner? I was thinking take-out..."
Holly Manson glanced up from her pre-algebra text book, pen dangling from her lips.
"Whatever!" she called. "Just not pizza; we had that last night." With a sigh, she put down her pencil, getting to her feet. She found her mother in the kitchen, searching the cupboards for the phone book.
"Mom, why couldn't you have just been a math teacher? I'm gonna fail!"
"You're exaggerating, dear. I talked to Mr. Foster the other day, and he said your scores have really been improving."
Holly sighed, lifting herself up onto the counter. "I have to pass, Mom, otherwise Coach will kick me off the team."
"Are you sure that's such a bad thing? Isn't it a bit too taxing? And it would give you more time to work on your studies..."
Holly rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest.
"The doctor said I was perfectly healthy, mother," she said, her voice sharp. "I'm not a little kid anymore, you know."
From across the kitchen, Sam halted her movements.
"Holly, I would appreciated it if you dropped the attitude," she remarked, her eyes narrowed.
Scowling, the pre-teen made her way back into the living room. She knew that her mother simply had her best interests at heart; she understood her fears. She understood - respected them, even - but that did not mean that she had to like them. Especially after all the work Holly had had to do to get where she was. Holly had spent her childhood in and out of hospitals, confined to her bed. When the cancer was finally fought into remission, Holly had been left weak and lonely.
When they were certain that the cancer was out of the picture and her mother started working again, Holly had been permitted to begin attending school. It hadn't been easy; by fourth grade, friendships had already been formed, and so Holly committed herself to her studies and new found love: gymnastics.
By the time they had moved to Amity Park, Holly was prepared to try out for the middle school gymnastics team.
It was undeniable that her mother wasn't happy. (That was an understatement. For a week, the two barely spoke.)
As time passed, Sam gradually opened up and began to accept that Holly loved cheering and wasn't going to change her mind any time soon. They had finally reached a draw, but sometimes the pair still fell back into the old routine, the familiar argument resurfacing.
From the living room, Holly could hear her mother moving angrily about the kitchen. Shutting her eyes tightly, she counted to ten, willing her mother to calm down.
Twenty minutes later, her mother reemerged, carrying a bowl of popcorn in her hands.
"I was thinking about inviting Tucker and Jazz to dinner tomorrow night, is that okay with you?" Sam asked, positioning herself on the couch beside Holly.
Holly thrust her hand into the bowl, smiling, "I haven't seen Uncle Tuck in forever!"
Unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face, Sam handed her daughter the popcorn bowl. "You saw him just the other week, Hall. He hasn't changed that much!"
Holly rolled her eyes.
"No, mom, you saw him. I got stuck doing homework in the kitchen while you guys discussed a 'very serious matter.'"
Sam frowned, retracting her hand from her daughter's hair. She had forgotten about that day. Sam had still been reacquainting herself with the town and, inevitably, the ghost hunting it required.
Ever since that fateful day in classroom five hundred and five, the town had been overrun with ghosts, more so than ever before. Though the citizens of Amity Park would never realize the truth, Danny Phantom had also been killed in the fateful accident. While the city mourned the loss of the students, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had been thrust into the vacant spot Danny's death had caused.
The trio had been forced to mourn quietly as they worked to keep the ghost situation under control. Ultimately, it had been too much for Sam to handle. Danny was her best friend, the boy she had loved since their kindergarten days, and she hadn't even been allowed time to grieve. The Mansons had taken a quick look at their daughter and decided that Amity Park was unhealthy for the struggling family. And, though she could never admit it to Tucker and Jazz, she had agreed with them.
By moving away she had been given the opportunity to start over, to mourn without the burden of ghost hunting and sympathetic looks trailing behind her everywhere she went. It was a breath of fresh air, especially when she discovered that she was pregnant.
She knew that Tucker and Jazz still hadn't quite forgiven her for leaving, and so she was doing everything in her power to pick up the slack now that she had returned. After all, it was only fair.
"Well, you'll see him tomorrow night, dear. And Jazz, too," Sam said, offering a weak smile to her daughter.
"Just so long as we don't have to eat Nasty Burger, Mom. That's all I ask," her daughter said, grabbing a handful of the popcorn.
"That sounds perfectly reasonable," her mother agreed. "I'll –" She was cut off by the shrill tone of her cell phone. "I'll be right back, hon."
She grabbed the phone, hurrying back into the kitchen.
"Tuck, what is it?"
"You wanted to help, Sam; here's your chance. There's been a ghost attack in the park and we're going to need all the help we can get. You in?"
Author's Note: It's taken three chapters, but Sam has finally entered the story, guys. So, no, she's not dead and she's not in the ranks of the Association, she's just had quite a bit on her plate.
This is probably the last of the chapter updates to come this quickly. Up until this point I've had all the chapters typed and ready to go, just in need of some slight editing, but now I've got to begin writing the chapters from scratch before updating. I hope to keep up a system of weekly updates, but patience is a lovely thing, my dear readers. I'm about to enter my last quarter of high school and between school, scholarships, and work (+ everything else), it might get a little complicated sometimes. I do promise to do everything within my power to keep the updates coming. Reviews, too, always help out the motivational process, though! ;)
Thanks a billion to all the lovely individuals who reviewed the last chapter: BerryEbilBunny, Oak Leaf Ninja, Fluehatraya, 1valleygirl4, and ThePurpleSuperCow. You guys definitely made my weekend!
(And, hey, to any Young Justice fans, have you had the chance to see Misplaced yet? What'd you think of it?)
Don't forget to review and make a certain author incredibly happy! :)
-Inky