A/N:

Welcome to Chapter Four! Things are starting to heat up in the story, and not for Danny's benefit. I'm posting chapter 17 of Bittersweet Future today as well, so prepare for a double feature for those who read both.

Summary:

Danny wakes up feeling foul and drags himself through a terrible school day...

Warnings:

Physical violence, bullying(Dash), description of physical illness

Artifice: A strategic maneuver that uses some clever means to avoid detection or capture.

Ardent: characterized by intense emotion ... an intense degree of zeal, devotion, or enthusiasm

4:45am; October 21st, 2005; Fentonworks

The feeling of aching muscles greeted him as he pried his eyes open. The inside of his head pounded, a frantic drumming beat pumping faster than his sluggish pulse, tempting him to roll over and forget school. His back twanged from the throw Technus had landed right before he shoved him into the Thermos, a low throbbing ache that flared up with every breath. Underneath it all existed a static, a fuzziness shooting along his nerves, that made him drift somewhere above his mattress... Or he was actually floating, one of the two. He peeked open an eye and found himself hovering a few inches off his bed. That did happen sometimes, but it wasn't usually accompanied by feeling like his insides were slowly imploding.

He forced himself back against the sheets, warm and comfortable, and curled up in bed. Did he really have to go outside? He wracked his brain, considering his options, tucking his legs up to his chest as he tried to stay warm and ignore the searing pain in his skull. He had a test, not a quiz, and it was the first real test of the semester. It was in Algebra Two, and making up any test in Mr. Stewart's class was an ordeal. The man hated having to administer a test more than once, and he made it teeth-achingly miserable for any student who forced the task upon him. With a long-suffering groan, he pushed himself into a sitting position and glanced over at his alarm clock. He still had an hour before breakfast. Maybe if I take a long shower, and grab some pain pills, I can tough it out today? It was Friday. If he made it through, he had the whole weekend to relax and recover from whatever had crawled inside him and started multiplying.

He jerked his protesting body over the edge of the bed, and shambled into a standing position. He almost never got sick anymore; in fact, he couldn't remember the last time it had happened. It must have been early freshman year, before his powers really settled. As far as he could figure, having a half-ghost's physiology had made him immune to human sickness. Well, he'd thought so before he'd woken up this morning, feeling like the human half of him wanted to die. He pressed his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, absorbing the pleasant heat of the falling water. It was doing wonders for his muscles, so now all he had to do was solve his headache. He fumbled around in the medicine cabinet, grabbing some Advil, before dry swallowing it and getting on with the rest of his morning. There was breakfast to look forward to and the walk to school in the mid-autumn chill to consider.

He decided, looking through his wardrobe at his array of hoodies and jackets, to wear the heaviest one on the walk to school. He didn't think he was bothered by the cold anymore, but better not to take chances when coming down with a cold. The throbbing in his head settled down into a dull, distant ache as he clomped down the stairs towards the kitchen, his sister's off-tune humming and the smell of toasting bread drawing him there. "Hey Jazz," he cleared his throat, shaking off the last of the morning grogginess.

"Hey, little brother, you sound terrible." She glanced over towards him and stirred something in the inside of a pan, maybe eggs.

"Just woke up."

"Did not. I heard you in the shower way earlier than normal."

"Haven't spoken yet." He reached into the fridge for some OJ. Vitamin C helps colds and flus right? He poured himself a glass, looking around Jazz to see what she was making. "Can you make me some eggs too? Like four of them?" He opened the pantry and grabbed a new jar of strawberry jelly, having noticed that the one in the fridge was gone, and grabbed four slices of bread to turn into toast.

"You want them over-easy?"

"It's going on a sandwich, so yes please."

"Oh, you must be feeling awful, you're never this polite."

"Can't I just turn over a new leaf?" He pressed the arms on the family-sized toaster, sending all four slices to their warm new home inside. He opened the pantry again and decided to eat a fruit cup too, the more vitamins the better.

"Careful, Danny, that's starting to look like a balanced breakfast. Eggs, toast, fruit, the only thing you're missing is vegetables."

"Who eats veggies with breakfast? I mean, other than Sam."

"There are lots of cultures that eat vegetables with breakfast. In fact, it's kinda a recent western thing to not do so."

"Hurrah for the modern miracles of toaster pastries and easy access to sausage." He grabbed the toast when it popped up, starting to slather it in jelly.

"Are you sure you're feeling ok?" He tossed the plastic knife he'd grabbed into the trash, opening the fruit cup and reaching into the fridge for some cheese slices. He could feel the insistent ache under the efforts of the medicine and his own attempts to ignore it. It was fine.

"I'm fine. Can't a guy, I don't know, be nice to his sister and eat a healthy diet?"

"You only do that when you're feeling icky. Are you feeling icky, baby?" His mom waltzed into the kitchen, goggles perched atop her head, concerned look on her face. "You always got clingy when you were sick, and picky about your food. These days, you get unusually sweet and crave healthy food instead."

"You both are making it impossible for me to become a better person. Do you want me to drink out of the milk carton, or say you smell, Jazz? Would that make you believe I'm normal?" He grabbed the eggs for his breakfast sandwiches and slid into his spot at the breakfast table. "Where's dad?"

"Finishing up a few things in the lab. You're not usually up this early, either. Having trouble sleeping?" She pulled a few things out of the fridge to chop, and he realized she was prepping for omelets. He kinda wanted one of those…

"I'm gonna lick Jazz's oatmeal spoon."

"Ew! Acting like a brat does not prove you're feeling ok."

"Ah, but you forget, I always feel better once I spread it to someone else. You'll just be my first victim." He reached slowly for her spoon on the table, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ok, you're clearly fine if you're making stupid jokes like that." She moved her spoon away anyway, and started digging into her meal. "Don't you have a test today? If you're really not feeling good, you could make it up on Monday instead."

Just like his perfect sister's perfect memory to recall he had a test. "It's in math, so I'll be fine, even if I was on death's door. It's not like Algebra's been giving me any trouble." He finished off his fruit cup and started to dig into his first sandwich with gusto. Nothing, not even the beginning of a cold, could put off his appetite.

"I'm glad math has been going so well for you, Danno." His dad popped out of the basement, probably drawn up by the chatter and his desire for omelets. "Oh babycakes, do we still have that leftover baloney?" His dad was the only person he knew who liked actual fried baloney in his omelets. Bacon is right there, dad. I don't get this. He finished off his first sandwich and reached for the second.

"It's even easier than in middle school, I think. Mr. Stewart can be boring to listen to, but he's a good teacher." He shoved the last of the sandwich into his mouth in one bite, earning a disgusted look from his older sibling when he smiled around the pooch in his cheeks.

"Ugh, I regret complaining about you being more mature. Are you happy now?" She grabbed her dishes, heading to the sink.

"I'd be happier if you took my dishes too!" He popped up from the table, already looking for where he'd slung his backpack the night before. When a glance around the room proved it was absent, he rushed up the stairs, heading for his room.

"If you aren't sick, you can take your own plate to the sink!" Jazz called after him, voice sounding exasperated and suitably bugged by his antics. He caught his breath on the other side of his room's door, wincing past the renewed aching in his skull. Ok, so maybe that little show of vigor wasn't worth the resulting pain. He carefully bent over to grab his backpack and checked its contents. All the books he'd taken home with him, an assortment of folders, color coded courtesy of Jazz, his calculator and pencil case, all shoved inside haphazardly, peered back at him. He looked around his room, for his last binder, and found it sitting on his desk. He shoved that inside too, with a little effort, and slung it onto his left shoulder.

Regret, immediate and cruel, fired down his nerves as the weight pulled on the still-healing torn muscles on that side. He switched it to his right, and grimaced when those muscles protested as well. Finally settling on an equal measure of suffering, he slipped both arms through the straps and started back towards the front door of the house. With the medicine doing its best to conquer his headache, that left very little to soothe his aching muscles. He'd thought the shower would do the trick—it normally did—but apparently he was in worse shape than a single shower could solve. He thinned his lips and held back a groan as he went down the stairs, already dreading heading back up them at the end of the day. "I'm heading out."

"Already?" His mom looked at the clock, eyebrow raised in surprise at his punctual exit sans scuttling around for notebooks or his shoes.

"I promised to meet Sam and Tucker at the school library early today to go over our math homework."

"I thought you said it was going well?" His dad leaned around the kitchen corner, butter knife covered in strawberry jelly.

"I'm helping them with their homework." He felt the warmth of his smug delight shake away some of the cobwebs covering his bones. "I told you, I'm crushing it at math this year." The proud smile on his dad's face made his eyes and nose burn, so he pulled up the hood on his jacket to avoid the expression. "I'll be back right after school, since we're doing study hall this morning." He patted himself down for his keys and cell and headed for the front door.

"Oh wait! If you're leaving now, do you want me to drive you? I'm volunteering for tutoring this week, so I have to be at school early too."

"Nah," he waved her off, already standing on the front steps, "I wanna talk to Sam and Tucker, they have a few questions about Chemistry too." Now, he was just bragging, but damn it, half the time his parents thought he was a moron. He would take what he could get. He waved goodbye to his family, closed the door behind him, and started off towards school. He carefully made his way down the front of the concrete steps and tucked the jacket tighter around him. He'd left with plenty of time, so he didn't have to rush to the group's typical meeting spot.

Good thing too, he thought, tugging on the strings for his jacket hood to pull it more closed, because I think this is getting worse, and I couldn't run if I wanted to. He trudged over the icy sidewalk, careful to avoid the slippery patches where people hadn't thrown salt out against town ordinance. They weren't supposed to de-ice the public sidewalks themselves, but no one wanted a twisted ankle or to bust their ass on the asphalt, so they ignored the city's protests. He rounded a corner, feeling a steady ache along the front of his shins as his muscles worked. Dear God, I did not miss colds. He hoped his superhuman metabolism and immune system would kick this virus' RNA after a weekend to sleep in and laze around the house. He took a shallow breath of the frosty morning air, regretting that he hadn't brought a scarf with him. But, if he had grabbed one, it would have been suspicious.

He did not need his sister's babying, or his parents' overly attentive pampering. His sister he could brush off, but if his parents got too invested in his physical health, they'd start running tests. They could not run tests. He still wasn't sure how much he looked half-human on normal blood tests, but he'd seen his own blood enough times in the last year to know it had bits of green in it even in human form. That was not going to be ignored by his parents. He considered if it was normal for your parents to run blood tests on you when you were ill as Tucker rounded the corner heading towards their meeting spot. Probably not. He concluded, as his bestie settled in next to him, his lighter jacket covering his shoulders.

"Dude, what's with the get-up? Preparing for a trip to Antarctica?" He gestured to Danny's heavily blanketed attire, PDA in his other hand.

"I felt like shit when I woke up; so I figured better safe than sorry."

"Wait, you have cooties? Dude, why didn't you tell me before I got within ten feet! You should have texted me. I have three tests next week!"

"Chill out man," Danny rolled his shoulders, trying to shift the weight of his backpack into a more comfortable position. "It doesn't feel like a cold or something exactly, and besides, there's no way you'll catch whatever weird bug can infect a halfa."

"Says you! What if it's some super bug that will wipe me out for a month, and that's the only reason it got a foothold in your system at all?" Tucker took two big steps back, frown fixed firmly on his face.

"How do we know it's not a ghost infection?"

"Could it be?" His friend looked contemplative then, punching in some text into his PDA, likely looking up the possibility. "The literature says that ghosts can't get sick."

"The 'Literature' says halfas can't exist and ghosts aren't alive, too." Up walked Sam, still sporting her favorite skirt, but with thicker leggings underneath that kept her legs from freezing. She was dedicated to the goth cause, so no early morning chill would convince her to drop it. He did miss the sight of her bare legs though. "I can't think of a reason ghosts couldn't get sick."

The group started off towards school, with Danny walking between his two friends, readily enjoying the warmth their bodies provided. The chill hadn't bothered him before this, and the realization that it was doing so now disturbed him. He hadn't been bothered by the cold since before the accident. He really was coming down with something. "If it's a ghost thing, then you really won't have to worry about catching it, Tuck. Not like you have a core."

"True...what's it like having a dead illness?" Sam leaned closer, and he had to fight the urge to press against her. The two of them were always warmer than he was, but now he was craving their heat.

"Body aches, headache, and muscles just don't want to work."

"What do you mean by that last one?"

"I mean," he started, as he huffed up the steps to Casper, "that any exertion makes me feel like I have a charlie horse."

Sam's eyes drifted to the side, tongue poking out of her lips, the face she made when she was considering something serious.

"That honestly sounds like the flu." She concluded as they loitered outside of their homeroom class.

"Then maybe some rest this weekend will solve it." He said back, sagging into his desk by the two of them. All he had to do was make it through today, and then he could sleep all Saturday morning and shake off this bug.

I may be crushing math, but European History is crushing me. He thought, watching Mr. Clark hand back his pop quiz face down. History involved memorizing and drawing connections. If he had more time to study, he'd probably be fine. As it stood, his limited free time evaporated with little effort, gobbled up by ghost hunting, chores, and maybe too many video games. He loathed the idea of cutting out any more hangout time with his friends, but the test was next week, and he needed at least a C. If he was honest, he really needed at least a B-. His parents gave him more leeway on subjects outside of math and science, but he'd burned through all of that last year. He either kept his grades up, or things got dicey at home. He loved his Funstation 3; he'd die if they locked it in the grounded cabinet again.

He flipped over the test, flinching at both the result at the top and the contraction of his muscles. During the transition between homeroom and second period, his insides had started feeling wretched. The little effort the Advil had to give had given up the ghost, and he was left feeling like he'd been tenderized all over by a giant meat mallet or Dash's fists. He took a deep breath, sucking in the warm air of the classroom, and tried to ignore it. Bigger problems and all. So, the pop quiz was a bust, a C low enough that only the class curve had rescued it. He'd be worried about his parents' reaction—a ban from hanging out with friends and playing video games—if he hadn't planned on sleeping the whole weekend away. He groaned when he realized they'd make him stay up studying with a grade this poor instead of letting him sleep. Can't I catch a break? He wondered, shoving the quiz into a folder and burying it in his backpack.

The answer seemed to be a resounding 'no', because not one full period later he felt the headache slinking its way back after he'd flinched away from the fluorescent lighting. The ache started in the back of his skull this time, dull but constant, and he considered going home after Mr. Stewart's test. He slumped into his seat and rubbed the back of his neck, idly attempting to release the tension stored there. Once he aced this test, he could put his head down the rest of the testing period, maybe even get a cat nap in.

The thought motivated him, and when the man said 'you may begin' Danny focused his attention on the test. A smirk came to his lips as a quick scan of the page proved the problems easy. First good news today. He bubbled in the answers, and handed in his test, to the open glares of his classmates. He usually twiddled his thumbs a few extra minutes on top of going slower to avoid those looks, but he needed sleep more than he needed to avoid pissing off the jocks in the class.

That's what he'd thought before he remembered he shared this class with Dash, of all people. Class ended and the football star caught his eye, miming slitting his own throat with a finger, glaring at him after they'd exited the classroom. Great. Usually, because of his efforts, no one knew who was throwing off the curve in class, but now the cat was out of the bag; Dash had another reason to wail on him. If the idiot just studied for once, he wouldn't have to worry about getting benched for failing his classes. But no one told Dash Baxter anything, least of all someone clinging to the bottom of the social ladder like Danny Fenton.

He'd worried his way through fourth period, fighting to pay attention to the Spanish teacher and ignoring Tucker's attempts to get his attention. Time dragged on, every second carved into stark relief by the increasing aches all over his body. He'd put his head down the last half of Spanish too, having finished the worksheet. The ringing bell felt like it hammered on the top of his skull, and he cursed whoever made over the counter stuff so weak. He released a breath as he headed towards lunch, content he'd gotten some more rest before the second half of the day. He waved Tucker off, convincing him to continue his routine of trading out his books for the second half of the day instead of hovering around him in concern. He hesitated on the other side of the double doors, dreading the drone pouring out of the other side, before pushing them open.

The wall of sound did nothing for his aching head. Still, he blitzed towards their favorite table, pulling his lunch box out of his backpack. His mom's leftovers were better than the mac and cheese on the menu today. The goopy, wet, sticky mess that passed for the side dish turned entrée existed as a matrix of sorrow and horror more than real food. He wasn't in the mood to brave it. He took out his container of chips and started munching, unwrapping the homemade sandwich filled with pot roast and other goodies. His eyes searched through the crowd, looking for his friends, before he saw them hustling towards his position. He waved, taking another bite of chips and took out a canned soda—off-brand, but fruity and delicious. "Hey guys."

"Oooo, that looks like black cherry." Tucker said, pulling out his own bagged lunch to join him.

"Yup, dad hit the Shop-N-Save and grabbed a whole pallet."

"Those are my second favorites." Sam joined him on his right, pulling out her own lunch bag. She took out a curry and some rice, and another container full of fresh fruit. He felt his mouth water looking at them, and groaned. Craving fruits and veggies? He was definitely sick.

"You can swing by my place this weekend, and grab some to take home. He really went buck wild. There's, like, 65 cans of these things in the pantry."

"Did he see a special?"

"Couldn't resist." Danny started taking a swig of his drink, "You know how he is about savings."

The two of them giggled, and he joined in with a smile, thinking of the last time his dad had bought enough toilet paper to last through the end of the world because of a buy one, get two deal. "So, food aside, my morning's been shit."

"Didn't do so hot on the pop quiz?"

"How'd you know?"

"Everyone's been talking, or really complaining, about it all morning. Lots of groans and bellyaching and worrying about their weekend plans being ruined by a lack of preparation." Sam speared a piece of tropical fruit on her fork and pointed it in his direction. "You're in the same boat because you spent all last weekend playing Punch Killer 2 at the arcade with Tucker." She had told him to study, but he didn't appreciate the reminder right now.

"Yeah, I know, Sam. I didn't flunk it, but well..." he slapped down the paper between them on the table, watching their expressions for their reactions.

"The only reason you didn't flunk it is that everyone else flunked it harder."

"There are so many pointless dates and stupid names for this class. Do you actually care how the Byzantine Empire maintained its power over Constantinople after the fall of the Western Empire?" He frowned, shoving the offending paper back into the folder and away from sight into his backpack. He wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of that for a few more hours.

"Not at all, but I do like not being grounded, and I assume you do too. We can't raid that new dungeon in Doom if you're banned off the internet for a month again."

"It's not that bad." He hedged.

"Not unless you flunked your math test too."

"Worse," he griped, eyes flitting around the cafeteria for his potential torturer, "I completely kicked its ass."

"How is that worse, dude?" Tucker took a bite of another piece of pork chop, face scrunching up in confusion.

"I have that class with Dash, remember? And I was feeling so awful, I decided to just blaze through it so I could put my head down."

"Ok?"

"It took me seven minutes."

"Damn, we really should have you tutor us in Algebra."

"The point is that everyone saw me do it, and now the school's biggest sports star, and king of the bullies, knows I'm the reason the curve started over 100% last time."

"I'm so glad we have different math teachers this year." Tucker shoved a scoop of mashed potatoes into his mouth, and followed it with a slurp of Yahoo.

"I'm dead meat as soon as he finds me, guys." He looked around the room again, eyes stopping on the table where Valerie usually sat. It was empty. He frowned, taking in the drafty corner with consternation. Maybe she'd chosen someplace less freezing to squat now that the temperatures were really dropping? It felt like cope.

He hadn't seen her all day, not even in second period with that pop quiz. Not like I'm watching her every move, but—A wave of misery rose from his insides, starting at his toes and working its way up to the top of his head, picking up in intensity as it passed every major cluster of joints. He breathed through the pain, eyes watering as it peaked somewhere just below his threshold for moaning. He'd thought the Advil had worn off in third period, but apparently it had just done so now, because that felt like burning death.

"Hey man, are you alright?"

"Yeah…I just got hit with a wave of extra headache, is all. It's so loud in here." He leaned forward, rubbing his palms against his temples. The worst of it was in his head, but now there was a crackling burn everywhere, so the rubbing only did so much. "The wave also went everywhere else." He admitted.

"Maybe you should go home?"

"Uh, and deal with my parents' disappointment sooner?"

"You're clearly sick, though. It was a pop quiz; you could blame it on being ill." Sam reasoned, abandoning her lunch to reach over and grab his hand. The warmth of it eased some of the pain in his finger joints. "It wouldn't even be an excuse. You look like crap, man."

"Thanks Sam. Always glad for your brutal honesty."

"It's a good thing! Nothing sells a story better than the truth." Tucker moved his own food away, leaning into his field of vision. "If I felt as bad as you looked right now—"

"You'd probably be as dead as he is." Dash's shadow loomed over the table, casting a dark gloom over his already deep misery. "I bet you do feel awful, Fentina, now that you realized how badly I'm gonna turn you into hamburger meat for fucking up that test for me."

"No one can make you study but you Dash. Maybe if you spent less time exercising your right hand, you'd have time to avoid flunking Algebra." Sam shot back.

"If I don't practice my spiral, we won't go back to state."

"I meant stop jerking off, you moron." Sam gave up on subtlety, leaning forward on her forearms to squint closer to Dash's face.

"Uh, I don't need to jerk off, I have all the girls on the cheer-squad to do that for me."

"That's not what you said yesterday when you were whining about being hard up."

"They've just been busy!"

"Since none of the girls want to help you out, why don't you ask one of your best bros? They already do it metaphorically, why not go the whole hog?"

"I'm not—I'd never—You have such a sick mind, Manson!" It was hilariously easy to throw Dash off. He'd be more amused about it if the other boy wasn't dragging him away from the table by the back of his shirt at the moment. "Just for your little girlfriend's mouthiness, I'm gonna pound you extra hard Fenturd!"

"That's not helping your case, Dash!" Tucker called after them, shoving his things and Danny's own into their respective backpacks. Danny watched him and Sam rush after them before the doors to the cafeteria stole them from sight.

Shit. Sam's sense of humor is going to earn me a blackeye. He worried as Dash, and then all of his friends, surrounded him down a deserted hallway a few meters to the left of the lunchroom.

"Alright, Fentoenail, you have anything you wanna say for yourself?"

"I offer free tutoring?" The punch that landed in his gut left him choking down his lunch.Double Shit. "I can let you copy my homework." Another one, this time to the side of his jaw, leaving a smarting sting that he knew would bruise later.Fuck. "What do you want? I'm not trying to ruin your grades on purpose!" Two of his friends joined in this time, firm kicks socking him in his legs, bringing him to the ground.

"I don't care what you think you're trying to do, I need to pass math class to stay on the football team, andyou're making that impossible." He hauled him off the ground, fist wrapped around the front of his sweater. "Stop being so smart about math, and flunk that next test." He shook him, bring the pounding in his skull to a fever pitch.

"I can't! My parents—"Another punch to the jaw, accompanied this time by a cracking noise. He felt his teeth rattled in his skull.

"Do you think I give a shit about your crazy parents, Fenton? You better fail that test, or I'm gonna make this beating look like a joke." He gave him a swift kick to the middle, and he felt his ribs creak in response. Dash took a couple deep breaths, before picking him off the ground. He heard Sam and Tucker yelling somewhere past the ringing in his head. "I'll let you off with just these love taps this time, loser. I'm in a great mood this week." He forced him back up to his feet, the hold on his sweater strangling him. "I got to see Phantom fight that electronics ghost on Tuesday; I even got a picture. So, because of that, I'm going easy on you." His fist flew onto his face one last time, before he stepped over his prone body, the circle of thugs already breaking up with him. "I might be in a good mood now, but if you don't fail that test next time, I'm gonna tear you a new asshole, Fenton!"

Danny clutched at his stomach, breathing shallowly through the worst of the fading aches from Dash's strikes. God, one of these days I'm going to drop him from the top of the school and watch him shatter on the asphalt. He moaned as another wave of pain emanated from his midsection.That gave way to the rush of icy torment from his core as it tried to heal the damage. He pushed down the urge to throw up, fighting as the sensation crested and then receded.Shoot me.

"Danny? Can you hear us?" Sam's hands, warm and gentle, lifted his head and brushed his bangs out of his face. He leaned into her touch for a moment, before straightening up and nodding.

"Yeah, I'll be alright. It looked worse than it was."

"It looked like he beat the hell out of you."

"I told you he was pissed." He worked his way back to his feet, hissing as the pull effort to stand made the agony everywhere worse. "Nothing's broken or anything," he waved his friend's worried expressions away, "it's just extra misery on top of feeling nasty already." He worked his way to the hallway wall, leaning back to take some of the pressure off his bruised legs. "And my core feels weird." He muttered, mostly to himself.

"Weird how?" A new, familiar voice called from the front of the hall. "Thanks for texting me, Sam."

He briefly sent her a betrayed look, before he responded, "Uh, you know, like I just got socked in the stomach repeatedly."

Sam rolled her eyes at his expression, hands on both of her hips. "He really looked like he would take it too far that time." She justified, placing her cell back into her backpack.

"Come on, Danny, you and I both know you didn't mean...that core." Jazz walked up to the group of friends, refocusing the conversation on his ghost powers.

"It's nothing serious, Jazz; I can just feel it working to heal everything."

"And you usually can't?"

"Nope." He leaned away from the wall, shaking out his limbs in a show of bravado. "It feels weird to feel the energy working so fast? It's like, a tide of itchiness washing over everything that's healing."

"That does sound like it feels weird." Tucker offered, looking around him to Jazz.

She narrowed her eyes, then crossed her arms and took a long look up and down his entire body. He tried not to squirm. "What was that all about anyway?"

"Dash is just mad his brain is made of rocks, and decided to take it out on someone smarter than him. The usual." Sam glared down the way Dash and his friends had left, a deep scowl on her face. "He wants Danny to throw the next test so he has an excuse to continue coasting through life."

"Danny, you can't do that!"

"I'm not gonna, Jazz!" He snapped at her, annoyed between the anguish and the assumption he'd throw his chances at maintaining his struggling GPA away to placate Dash. "He can either study or deal with failure. You'd think after last year, he'd be used to failing math tests." Rumor had it, Dash hadn't passed Geometry at all. Instead, the coach and his parents had begged and threatened the new math teacher into passing him. He'd used up some social cache to do that though, if it were true, so that would explain why he was going so hard to intimidate Danny into compliance. "I'll figure something out. Maybe if I have to do a makeup test, that would work? Those are graded separately…"

"You can't skip class."

"I didn't say I would!" Now, more than fed up with Jazz's nagging, he pushed off the wall completely and started back to the cafeteria. "Lunch isn't totally over, and I'm still hungry, so can we finish this later?" He marched off, not waiting to hear her reply. Later would happen at home, and he had at least a few more hours to think of how to deal with their parents.

A/N:

Welcome to the bottom, dear reader! The next chapter is for Saturday as planned. We are 2/3s of the way through the First Act already! The pieces are being put into place. By next Wednesday, the first act will be coming to a close. :D

Can't wait until then for more Passion? Consider following my art/writing blog on tumblr. There you'll find excerpts, lore posts, and more to keep your attention between chapters.

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