I dont normally write this fast, but this is something that's nice and easy to do for me. I did receive a question on how Star was able to carry weaponry on campus, and while I plan to address that later (I'm a big fan of 'show me dont tell me' in fic writing, so I try to keep with that) I felt it was still appropriate to offer an explanation here, as an in-story one might be a while away. As far as I can tell from canon, Ecto weaponry is non-lethal to humans and functions more as a 'phaser set to stun' kind of thing than an actual pistol (as far as non-ghosts are concerned, at any rate). Star could easily explain away her pistol as a fantasy replica of a laser gun. While close to the truth, laser munitions are still a bit too sci-fi for the world at large to take seriously, and while there may be regulations on actual guns or tasers, there's no legislation on laser weapons. Sort of like how it's legal to own operational flame throwers in many states, simply because gun control laws don't actually mention them. Or how you cant have a knife with a blade longer than three inches without a license, but metal tipped wooden stakes are fair game.
Star woke up to the droning of her roommate's alarm clock at 9:15. Without even looking in a mirror, Star knew her blond hair was a mess, and she probably had huge bags under her eyes from all her nights of interrupted sleep. She didn't mind, though. If there was one thing Star knew, it was that no one just woke up looking ready for the day. No one.
A few years ago, she might have said that no one just woke up looking pretty, but she no longer believed that to be true. Living on edge made her realize that there were more important things than superficial beauty, and everyone had something about them that was innately beautiful. Her roommate, Morgan, for example, had thick dark eyelashes that framed violet eyes. Star herself liked the look of her own pink lips. Yes, everyone woke up looking pretty in their own way, she supposed, but there was a difference between looking beautiful and being presentable. It was why she even bothered getting up with her roommate's alarm, a whole two hours before her English course. Her daily beauty regimen was a predictable routine that helped her feel ready to face the day. That, and it was nice to have the time to actually enjoy breakfast in the dining hall before class.
Groggily, Star climbed out of bed and walked over to the in-room sink to brush her teeth and hair. The alarm still droned on.
"Morgan," Star called to the sleeping bundle in the other bed as she squeezed toothpaste onto the red and white bristles of her tooth brush. There was only a groan in response. "Time to get up," she said, a bit firmer. She pulled out what her friends liked to call her 'mom voice.' "Now." It had the intended effect.
Morgan quickly sat up in bed muttering, "I'm up, I'm up," while Star brushed her teeth.
She moved onto her hair and makeup as she watched Morgan scrambling to get ready in the mirror. Why she insisted on only giving herself 20 minutes to get ready for her first class was something Star couldn't understand. It wasn't like she minded though. Waking up to Morgan's alarm was much easier than waking up to her own. She felt a sense of responsibility when she had to ensure her roommate was out the door on time, and that gave Star more motivation to actually get up herself. She had stopped caring about her own well-being a long time ago, and it was only when others depended on her that she actually took much initiative anymore.
A lot of Amity teens were like that, now that she thought of it. If it weren't for their family and friends, she doubted many would even get out of bed in the mornings. The only reason Star even continued attending Casper High, with its constant ghost attacks, was to be there to support Paulina, Dash, and Kwan. Looking back on it, this was probably why Mr. Lancer had assigned so many group projects her senior year. She knew from personal experience, that if it was just her grade on the line then she would do practically nothing, but when others depended on her she always exceeded expectations.
Lost in her thoughts, Star didn't notice Morgan leave until she heard the door click shut behind her. Morgan was nice enough, and that was all Star could really ask for in a roommate. She was a bit quirky, if her interest in palmistry and tarot cards were anything to go by, but she was far from the weirdest person she had ever met. And she had good taste in fashion, so that was a plus in Star's book.
She glanced at the silver watch that had found a permanent home on her left wrist. It was 9:55. She'd have to leave soon if she didn't want to be rushed while she was eating. She had packed her bag the night before, so all she really had to do was get dressed. It felt like a blue sort of day, Star decided. She pinned her hair back with a blue flower hair clip and slipped out of her sweats and into a light blue skirt and matching flats. Blue, blue, blue. Even though the blue was vibrant, it served to subtly reflect her downcast mood. Star smiled to herself when she realized that if she had worn this to Casper, Paulina would've been on her in an instant demanding to know what was wrong. Anyone who knew her well enough knew that her color choice for the day always reflected her mood. After shrugging on a plain white tee, she grabbed her keys and backpack before leaving her room for the day.
After locking the door, she double checked that everything she needed for the day was in her bag. The last thing she wanted to do was go to class only to find she left her computer in the dorm. Her phone, wallet, laptop, and English text book were all accounted for. Out of habit, she checked the waistband of her skirt and found the Fenton laser tucked in there. She must have grabbed it without even realizing what she was doing. She wasn't sure whether to be unnerved that she would hide a weapon on her person unconsciously, or relieved that she had remembered to grab the one thing that made her feel safe outside. Star shook her head. It wasn't worth thinking about. Another look at her watch showed it was already 10:15. With a small sigh she began making her way towards the dining hall.
One hour and 10 cups of low quality coffee later, Star found herself sitting in the back corner of her English class. It was less of an English class, and more of a creative writing class the way her professor taught it, but she didn't mind. It was an easy A, and a required credit, and that was all that really mattered to her. She spaced out as the rest of the students filed in, only returning to reality when Professor Smalls closed the door with a sharp click.
Professor Smalls was, like his name suggested, a short and kind old man, who had a vibrant love for storytelling and the English language. On the first day he said to the class "The first part of writing a good essay, was telling a good story," and that the narrative of an argument was just as important, if not more so, than the facts that supported it.
Professor Smalls got his classes attention by clearing his throat and saying, "I want everyone to take out a piece of paper and write the name of a mythical creature, or unexplained phenomena on it, and pass it forward."
Star raised an eyebrow, curious to see where he was going with this. As instructed, she pulled out a sheet of paper, and after some deliberation wrote 'Leprechauns' on it. Leprechauns were safe, in Star's mind. Unlike robots or genies or dragons or, she shuddered just to think of it, ghosts, leprechauns never tried to destroy her home town. She passed her paper forward.
Once he had all the papers, Professor Smalls proceeded to toss them into an obscenely tall top hat he had hidden behind his desk and mix them up as he explained today's activity. "Today," he began, "we are going to discuss the mythology and cultural context of different mythological creatures, which will be decided by whatever I draw from my hat." He winked at some students in the front row.
"Depending on how long our discussion lasts, we'll go from there." Eventually he stopped mixing up the papers, and reached down to the bottom of the hat. It went up to his forearm. Star wasn't sure why anyone would need a hat that tall, but she didn't question it.
"Ah, here we are," Professor Smalls said as he pulled out a crumpled piece of notebook paper. He smoothed it out on his desk before smiling a little. "Ah, this is a good one. A nice broad topic." He seemed to nod approvingly at the sheet of paper before looking up to address his class. "Today we will be discussing ghosts."
Star felt her heart shatter. She suddenly couldn't breathe. Ghosts? Why did it have to be ghosts? She felt like Indiana Jones confronted by the snake-infested Well of Souls. She clenched her fists on her desk. She could do this. It wasn't that bad. They were just talking, right? She took a deep breath. She was fine, and would be fine.
"Now," began Professor Smalls, "the spirits of the departed is a wonderful subject for us to tackle today, because unlike most myths, there is still some speculation on whether or not ghosts are real." Star scoffed in her head. Her hand unconsciously moving to the small bulge in her waistband that was the lipstick laser. She was fine. She would be fine.
Professor Smalls spoke again, bringing her back to reality. "What I want you all to do, is raise your hand if you believe in ghosts." About half the class raised their hands, Star included. Though her hand was only about halfway up, just enough to indicate that it was raised and nothing more. One or two students were practically out of their seats, their hands were up so high.
"Very good," he continued. "I see we have a good mix of skeptics and believers." He paced slowly in front of the classroom, hands behind his back. "On the believing side for now, have any of you actually seen a ghost?"
Star didn't keep her hand up. She knew that look in her professors eyes. It meant he was going to call on someone to speak, and she did not want it to be her. Not today. Not about ghosts. No.
About four people had their hands still raised. "Mr. Andrews," said the professor, indicating a student two rows in front of Star, "Would you care to share your story?"
Andrews nodded before speaking up. "Yeah, well, this may seem hard to believe," he hesitantly began, only continuing after an encouraging nod from Professor Smalls, "Well, me and my pops were drivin' through this no name town on the way to my gramma's one summer. We were just drivin' along when out of nowhere this kid just falls to the ground right in front of us, just thwack!" he hit the table for emphasis, "hits the ground."
Star sat up a little straighter, worry leaking its way into her features. Most ghost encounters involved dark cemeteries and creepy attics. Not kids falling out of the sky. Andrews went on after another nod from the professor. "So anyway, here we are, my pops an' I worried about the well bein' of some twerp, when he just gets up! Right off the ground. See, the creepy thing was, this kid had white hair and he was glowing, of all things! Next thing we know some green chick pops up outta nowhere-" Star had stopped listening.
She could only hear her own heartbeat. Suddenly she wasn't in class at King University anymore. She was walking down the streets of Amity Park, trying to get home before the next ghost attack. Except she was still in class at the same time. It was like she knew where her body was, but her mind couldn't seem to escape the past. Anxiety crept up inside her. She couldn't be here. She had to leave. Without thinking she stood up very suddenly, fists clenched around the straps of her backpack. Andrews stopped in the middle of whatever story he was regaling the class with. Star didn't care. She knew how they all ended. Phantom sucking the day's menace into his little soup can and then moving on like he hadn't a care in the world. Not stopping to see if anyone was ok, more concerned with getting the sealed ghost in a can back to wherever it was from than making sure the passing civilians made it home safely.
She might have heard Professor Smalls calling her name, asking if she was alright. But she couldn't hear it at the time. It was like she was under water, and all that mattered was getting air. Getting back to the surface. Getting away from this classroom. She left the building, not even noticing the silent tears that had started to stream down her face.